A kinder, gentler nation

That phrase of George H.W. Bush, surprisingly, describes my aspiration for this country. We’ve got a long way to go.

A friend occasionally scolds me for being “progressive,” which he equates with utopianism. The world is what it is, and there’s really nothing anyone can do about it. That may very well be true, but I choose to believe that things could be—and should be—different.

Suppose you join me for a bit as I describe that aspiration. I’ll just lay out a list.

  • free health care for everyone, regardless of circumstances
  • free education, from pre-school through graduate school
  • a squeezing from both the top and the bottom, so that the rich aren’t so rich and the poor aren’t so poor
  • generous, even lavish support for the arts, in schools and in communities
  • clean water
  • clean air
  • immaculate and well-maintained sidewalks and streets
  • human-scale architecture that both calms and uplifts
  • no death penalty
  • rare and always safe abortions
  • great, not just adequate, schools, with beautiful, clean, and efficient buildings, well-paid and well-trained teachers, ample supplies, state-of-the-art technology
  • a national pension fund that provides a secure and adequate retirement for every worker
  • livable-wage jobs for anyone who needs work
  • truly livable, walkable cities and towns
  • state-of-the-art public transportation systems readily available to all, with an emphasis on convenience, comfort, and aesthetics
  • no guns or bullets
  • safe and high-quality food at affordable prices
  • attractive and eminently usable “third places” (home and work being the other two places), where people congregate to eat and socialize
  • beautiful, proximate, and citizen-friendly public buildings
  • no Fox News
  • no coal plants
  • no Tea Party
  • no Rush Limbaugh
  • a military with the sole objective of only defending our borders against foreign enemies, and no more
  • no Grover Norquist
  • no Harley Davidsons in downtowns
  • a completely different government based on and fueled by ideas; no politics of dirt (i.e., real estate); a unicameral parliament; no judicial review

I should think that in such a country, people would be less anxious, less worried, less greedy, and less angry. They would me more tolerant, more relaxed, more educated, more social, more civil, and more reasonable. In short, we would become a kinder, gentler nation.

What’s wrong with that?

Hedges and “the gap”

Writing for Truthdig, Chris Hedges sets the tone:

We have been, like nations on the periphery of empire, colonized. We are controlled by tiny corporate entities that have no loyalty to the nation and indeed in the language of traditional patriotism are traitors. They strip us of our resources, keep us politically passive and enrich themselves at our expense.

Hedges, citing Robert Gamer’s book The Developing Nations, explains that the Rest of Us are to the One-percenters as colonies are to imperials. Hedges:

In it Gamer notes that although the oppressed often do revolt, the object of their hostility is misplaced. They vent their fury on a political puppet, someone who masks colonial power, a despised racial or ethnic group or an apostate within their own political class. The useless battles serve as an effective mask for what Gamer calls the “patron-client” networks that are responsible for the continuity of colonial oppression. The squabbles among the oppressed, the political campaigns between candidates who each are servants of colonial power, Gamer writes, absolve the actual centers of power from addressing the conditions that cause the frustrations of the people. Inequities, political disenfranchisement and injustices are never seriously addressed. “The government merely does the minimum necessary to prevent those few who are prone toward political action from organizing into politically effective groups,” he writes.

So, what about the Occupy movement? Does it worry the One-percenters? Hedges thinks so.

The real danger to the elite comes from déclassé intellectuals, those educated middle-class men and women who are barred by a calcified system from advancement. Artists without studios or theaters, teachers without classrooms, lawyers without clients, doctors without patients and journalists without newspapers descend economically. They become, as they mingle with the underclass, a bridge between the worlds of the elite and the oppressed. And they are the dynamite that triggers revolt.

This is why the Occupy movement frightens the corporate elite. What fosters revolution is not misery, but the gap between what people expect from their lives and what is offered. This is especially acute among the educated and the talented. They feel, with much justification, that they have been denied what they deserve. They set out to rectify this injustice. And the longer the injustice festers, the more radical they become.

Or, maybe not. We’ll see.

When I ponder the American Revolution and its causes, varied to be sure, I appreciate Hedges’s focus on the expectation gap. The American colonists, or at least their putative leaders, weren’t miserable. They did, however, sense opportunity. Why allow ourselves to be governed from afar? Why should we have to pay this or that tax yet be denied political representation? Why do we obey a king? Besides, there are fortunes to be made, none of which should be siphoned off by the Crown.

The recent uprisings in the Middle East suggest the same. People’s expectations, no doubt fueled by the West and its manifestations, changed from passive resignation to we shall overcome. Dictatorship rubs against newfound sensibilities. Therefore, remove the dictator. We’ll figure out the rest as we go along.

Despite his insight, I’m more pessimistic than Hedges. Most of us aren’t miserable, though we may be anxious. Moreover, we’re disinclined to organize ourselves politically. We’re too busy “friending” and “texting” and otherwise chatting about and sharing our decidedly mundane experiences, whether it be an infant’s laughter, a cat’s playful encounter with an iPad, or the most recent sightings of the ubiquitous Kardashians.

Hedges is certainly mindful of popular culture. Indeed, that’s a major point, expressed previously by Walter Lippman and Noam Chomsky—our consent has been and is forever being manufactured. I submit that the implicit consent serves as an obstacle to political action, whether or not organized or coordinated.

We can impose on this phenomenon the conclusions of the research done by Daniel Kahneman and others about the human psyche. We humans are inherently lazy. We’d prefer not to use our “Type 2″ mental processes, because that involves work. But the business of organizing and coordinating requires such Type 2 thinking, what Kahneman also calls “slow.” We’d rather live in the world of “fast,” where instincts rule.

Returning to the American Revolution, that was led by a relative handful of learned men passionate about the possibilities of severing “political bands.” I recall reading a short textbook in college wherein the author estimated that support for revolution among the general population was in the single digits, inadequate numbers to expect a spontaneous irruption. Urgent disdain for England needed manufacturing.

I often wonder about the Canadians, our neighbors to the north. Immersed in profound ignorance of that country’s history, I ask myself why they didn’t similarly revolt. Canada patiently waited until 1982, when it obtained legal independence from the UK, though it remains within the Commonwealth of Nations. To my eye, Canadians are doing quite nicely without the perceived need to revolt.

So, I just don’t see revolution in the cards. My realistic hope is that we reverse the thousand cuts and chip away at the system that no longer works for us—if it ever did. Discretion trumps valor.

Faux foodie

I naturally gravitate toward food. All kinds and, from time to time, lots of it. I was raised in a meat-and-potatoes family, with my dad earning the sobriquet “Murph,” because of his love of the Irish staple. Each meal was a feast, as if the brood would commence plowing the back forty after the last crumb disappeared. So, surplus calories were the norm, and the addiction rarely wanes.

Some element of mind-over-matter has worked of late to reduce the surplus. While I could hardly be mistaken for a stick, I am a considerably smaller man than a couple of years ago. I’m now “watching” my diet, as if I never before glanced at the small mountains of food sitting atop my plate before entering my mouth. Yet the cravings continue.

Okay. Keep eating, but eat “better.” That’s another way of saying “consume more fruits and vegetables,” which I have incorporated into my new eating regime. I also avoid milkshakes, fries, candy, and my favorite cookies. No fun in that.

On occasion I subscribe to food-related magazines, mostly through some deal or other. I figure that if I spend more time preparing the meals than actually eating them, I’ll be doing my body a favor. What comes into my mailbox now is Bon Appétit, a Condé Nast publication. Years ago Food & Wine received my attention.

Here’s my gripe about them: I can guarantee that I will lack one or more ingredients for any of their recipes. At random, I find a recipe on page 114 of the May issue of Bon Appétit. It’s called ‘jerk chicken.’

As it happens, I have some chicken in the refrigerator. So far, so good. I even have an extra red onion and garlic cloves. However, the list of what I lack includes:

  • Scotch bonnet chiles (whatever the hell they are)
  • scallions
  • fresh thyme (mine’s dried and in a small jar)
  • fresh ginger (again, dried but in a small can)
  • allspice
  • kosher salt (I’ve got plenty of Morton’s in a cardboard container with the metal spout)
  • adobo (what?)
  • Maggi Liquid Seasoning (it’s capitalized, though I have no idea why)

You can appreciate that I cannot make any “jerk chicken” tonight. Heck, I doubt that I could find some of these missing ingredients at the store, which caters more to meat-and-potatoes folks.

Oh, and I don’t have any Vietnamese coffee or pine nuts or bottles of clam juice. That means the other recipes in this issue are off limits.

It really is a magazine for snobs, for people who obsess over food (“foodies”) and spend an inordinate amount of time preparing rare dishes requiring ingredients from far-off lands that one might discover in a specialty store. Everett has none.

Well, I do confess to setting out to try some of these during momentary lapses of good judgment. I motor off to the store, then traipse up and down the aisles in search of items found only on the pages of Bon Appétit. I strike out.

“What do you mean you have no Scotch bonnet chiles?” I intone to the poor clerk. “What kind of place is this?”

“Sir,” she says. “We have ample supplies of meat and potatoes.”

“That works,” I reply, quickly abandoning my foolish project. After all, I do like them potatoes.

The three Stooges

I confess that the younger me thoroughly enjoyed the Three Stooges. If you’re looking for some post-modern rationale for this enthusiasm, you won’t get it from me. Watching them made me laugh. Plain and simple. I nailed all the lingo and the cheek thrumming and the reverse hops, and would gladly demonstrate to anyone inclined to watch and listen. But I’m talking many, many years ago.

So, I was pleasantly surprised to see a new movie starring the Three Stooges. Not the original actors, of course, whom I presume are long departed. We’ve got a new bunch, who, judging by the adverts, bear a striking resemblance to the actors of my youth, especially the Curly character, now played by Will Sasso.

Taste has no brains. We either like something or we don’t, without the capacity to persuade others of our preferences. Yes, one can talk a good story, even pen a review pro or con. But the verdict belongs to the individual viewer.

This morning, then, I’ve read three different takes on the movie. They range from very positive to a strong negative.

Roger Moore judges flicks for the McClatchy-Tribune News Service. His review appeared in the Everett Herald, and he gives the Three Stooges three stars. He writes:

There’s an inner 9-year-old in us all, dying to get out, to laugh at pratfalls, slaps, eye-pokes and fart jokes.

That’s what Fox and the Farrelly Brothers are counting on. That’s why they’ve revived “The Three Stooges,” those princes of the puerile, champions of the childish and lions of lowbrow.

And from the moment Larry David appears, in full nun’s wimple and habit, as Sister Mary-Mengele (hah!), this updating of the Stooges works. (Or should we say “woiks”?)

Then I turned to the Seattle Times. The reviewer, Soren Andersen (a dour Dane?), believes the movie and its creators deserve a “poke in the eye,” along with a half-star.

Are we laughing yet? No? Well, take a gander at this scene where the boys use infants in a nursery as, ah, pee projectors, giving one another urine facials.

Thus is a classic act updated for the 21st century. With body fluids galore.

The “Stooges” screening I attended was one of the most peculiar I’ve ever sat through. Up on the screen: high-decibel cacophony. Out in the audience, save for a rare, strangled chuckle: silence. The silence of the tomb.

Ouch.

Ah, but the stately New York Times liked it. At least its reviewer did, and that would be Manohla Dargis.

At their best the Farrellys’ movies exult in the stupid and the profane as a means of liberation, including from good taste, even if their characters tend to put away their freak flags at the end, often in the interest of a normalizing romance. Much of the pleasure in “The Three Stooges” comes from watching and hearing (the boings and thumps are terrific) grown men smack each other silly in Rube Goldberg-like formations and without suffering so much as a single black eye, enduring psychological damage or, as bad, being forced to change. Like Wile E. Coyote and those inflatable clowns that bounce back after every punch, the Three Stooges take plenty of hits but keep on coming. They are, as the Farrellys understand, testaments to human resilience, one slap and tickle at a time.

I’m not likely to watch this movie in a theater. I now prefer to watch videos at home, whether on the television, computer, or iPad. So, I’ll wait until it’s available via streaming. But I will watch it, “nyuck, nyuck.”

Hazing

An apparent glutton for punishment, I endured two separate episodes of hazing. I was a “pledge” at Theta Delta Chi in my freshman year at Berkeley. Squeezed finances forced me to move back home for the second half of the year; so I missed the ceremony crowning me an “active.” Things must have improved financially, because I re-entered the fraternity the next fall.

Our first pledge class numbered only seven. The idea was to surprise the “actives” with a “sneak.” We awoke early in the morning, then did some silly things like spread limburger cheese on the radiators, then turning them on full blast. Must have produced an horrific odor.

The following September there were 22 of us in the pledge class. We did a big-tme sneak, involving the abduction of several actives. We transported them into the Berkeley hills, tied them to trees, then headed over to Clark Kerr‘s splendid house in El Cerrito. His son, Sandy, was a pledge brother. We camped out on the expanse of lawn overlooking San Francisco Bay. As I recall, we consumed prodigious volumes of Red Mountain wine mixed with something like Squirt. There were roasted hotdogs, too. Most of us got so drunk that, in my case, I was rolling about in my own vomit. In the morning, we stinking pledges ate breakfast at the local iHop, before caravanning to UC Santa Cruz, where we played football on the beach then caused a mini-riot at the campus. Idiots, were we.

When we returned Sunday night to the fraternity, the actives were waiting. Now the fun started. Affectionately called ‘hell week,’ we pledges were subjected to all manner of insults, like having to gulp, though not swallow, thankfully, mouthfuls of “pledge soup,” which contained items I dare not mention. As in the Army, the purpose of this 24/7 abuse was to humiliate us. We were forced to memorize then recite Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky. There were also trivia questions that we had to answer. For example, how many tiles in the ceiling of a Boalt Hall lecture room? If we erred, we were spanked with our very own paddle that we had previously fashioned. We were led to believe that our errors were tabulated. At the end of the festivities, we were to be paddled once for every mistake.

Not. Just before the whacks, the actives yelled “Surprise!,” gave us all hugs, then coaxed us into the dining room for the “graduation” dinner.

In neither sneak-cum-hell week did matters get too far out of hand. No one was hurt, though we pledges were certainly addled by the experience.

But hazing can get carried away, as this New York Times article reports.

In the early-morning hours of that Friday in February 2011, at around 3 a.m., George Desdunes and another Cornell sophomore were sitting on a couch blindfolded, their wrists and ankles bound with zip ties and duct tape.

They had been kidnapped and driven to a town house somewhere on campus, one of the annual hazing rights of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity. This particular ritual worked in reverse of most hazing. It was the freshmen pledges who kidnapped older students.

Sounds very familiar, so far. Then…

Eventually, Mr. Desdunes passed out and was loaded into the back seat of a Honda Pilot belonging to one of the brothers. At the fraternity, it took several people to carry him to his room, but when they found it locked, he was brought to the library and left on a leather couch.

They tilted his head, said Mr. Williams, so “he would vomit onto the floor” and not choke. Then they walked downstairs to the kitchen, made themselves something to eat and went to bed.

The S.A.E. house was quiet a few hours later, at 6:45 a.m., when the cleaning man and his father arrived for work. The place was worse than usual. There had been a beer pong tournament that night. Plastic cups were strewn all over. Furniture was broken. The room smelled like stale Keystone Light. After finishing the toilets, the younger cleaner walked by the library and noticed a student in a brown hoodie lying still. “I could see what looked like vomit or mucous on his mouth,” he told the police. “I tried to wake him by grabbing his foot to make sure he was O.K. There was no response.” Mr. Desdunes’s right pant leg was rolled up. One of the zip ties was around his ankle; a second zip tie with duct tape lay on the floor beside the couch.

The cleaners called 911.

When the police and firefighters arrived, they found an unresponsive male. He was not breathing, had no pulse and was cold to the touch. They laid him on the floor, cut off his sweatshirt, suctioned his throat and applied CPR. He was put on a stretcher and taken to a hospital in an ambulance.

That could have easily happened to any one of us fraternity guys back then in 1965 and 1966. We tied a guy to a tree in the middle of nowhere. Bears? Creepy perverts? Hypothermia? I think the active somehow made it back to the fraternity before we did. We returned to check on some other actives that we had tethered to the front lawn, Gulliver-like. They were gone, so we assumed that all was well. The previously tied-up brother was also standing outside. How the f**k did he beat us?

Looking back I cringe at the silliness of it all. There was a lot of crazy shit that took place in other fraternities along Greek Row. Theta Delta Chi, to its credit, was different. Indeed, we boasted the highest GPA average of them all, no thanks to me, of course.

Why eat meat?

The New York Times as assembled its “murderer’s row” of judges who will consider entries on the topic: Why eat meat? The paper is interested only in serious essays, and will summarily reject offerings from those who say, “I like meat.” No, you must don your philosopher’s hat or poke a pipe into your mouth to provide an ethical basis for being a carnivore.

On the panel is Peter Singer, who came to veganism via a moral argument. He presumable liked the taste of meat, but then banished it from his diet, succumbing to utilitarian logic, I suppose. He’s been studying and writing about ethics for most of his adult life, and has authored several books, much of them dealing with why we should be moral beings. He, alone, presents a formidable challenge for those who submit their reasoned opinions.

Also anxious to review entries is Michel Pollan, who is not a vegetarian but pushes for organic food. He teaches at Berkeley and wrote the popular book The Omnivore’s Dilemma.

Rounding out the panel is another philosopher, a New York Times columnist, and a novelist who also wrote a non-fiction piece Eating Animals (he’s now a vegetarian, according to Wikipedia).

By the way, I have struggled with the issue of eating meat. My mother always served mostly red meat at nearly every meal, except for Fridays. My dad insisted on hamburger or bacon or beef roasts. I can’t say that it’s in my DNA to eat beef, but it’s definitely part of my upbringing.

At any rate, I shall not be submitting an essay. I have no good reasons for eating meat. The best I could say was that I like it, which immediately gets me disqualified. On the other hand, my entry would be far below the 600-word limit. Just three words, really.

 

More trains requires more brains

There was an article in yesterday’s Everett Herald about the Sounder train that runs between Everett and Seattle. It’s not cheap. A former planner estimates that each rider costs $57, though the fare is only $7.50. Now catch this:

One of the biggest expenses for the system is $258 million the agency paid up front to Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad for the permanent right to use the rail lines between Seattle and Everett.

I took the Sounder once. It’s a pleasant enough ride, taking one along Puget Sound and providing spectacular views of the water and the mountains. Yet, the route reflects our collective stupidity.

There aren’t very many people who live next to the railroad track on the shoreline. We taxpayers shelled out $258 million to lease private tracks that mostly serve commercial purposes. The Sounder can run only four times in the morning to Seattle and four times coming back, because the railroad company needs the rails to haul freight.

I’ve never been to Europe. Heck I rarely travel outside my downtown apartment. On occasion, though, I catch Rick Steves’s programs. There are trains all over the continent moving millions from town to village to city and from country to country—along dedicated tracks.

Before he died, Tony Judt railed against the threats to rails.

In continental Europe, despite some closures and reductions in services, a culture of public provision and a slower rate of automobile growth preserved most of the railway infrastructure. In most of the rest of the world, poverty and backwardness helped preserve the train as the only practicable form of mass communication.

America desperately needs public rails, and I’d run them with electricity generated by renewable resources like hydro. It’s dumb to take a plane from Seattle to Portland, and almost as dumb to drive your car. But how nice and convenient it would be to hop a train when you wanted to transport yourself those 300 174 miles.

How crucial timing is. We paved over paradise, ripping out rails in the process. How expensive it is now to run trains where we need them—between population clusters. Yet, it was okay to build a freeway right through the middle of Seattle, displacing thousands and destroying neighborhoods, my wife’s family’s included. But we love cars, right? Such freedom. We can drive anywhere at any time. This worked okay for a while, until too many humans wanting to do the same thing made driving a curse rather than a pleasure.

We’re paying four bucks for a gallon of gas these days. Lets’ say that you average 20 miles per gallon. A trip of 100 miles will consume five gallons and cost you $20. If you commute 30 miles to your job, by the end of the week you will have put 300 miles on your car. That’s $60.

You’re not alone, though. You’re joined by thousands of other commuters who transform the freeway into a barely moving parking lot. Let’s suppose there are 10,000 people driving to Seattle along I-5 each morning and evening and they average 30 miles each way. In total they will travel in a typical work week three million miles (60 miles x 5 days x 10,000). At 20 mpg, they will have spent in the aggregate $600,000. Their combined monthly bill for gasoline alone is $2.4 million. Over 12 months they will have paid $28.8 million just for gas.

Can you imagine what kind of rail system you could buy for $28.8 million a year? If you were to invest that amount each year at five percent interest over three decades you’d have over $2 billion.

Actually, there are more than 250,000 cars that pass each day by milepost 169, which is downtown Seattle. So we could multiply the above numbers by 25, and we’d get $720 million. Now we’re up to $50 billion. That could buy a pretty nice rail system paralleling the I-5 corridor.

But we don’t think this way—collectively, I mean. We are decided individualists, so we take into account only our particular costs of transportation. We buy a car. We purchased gas for it. We pay the maintenance costs, and so on. Few of us bother to consider the aggregate costs of all of us. Fewer still think about what we could collectively do differently with all that money.

Instead, if a politician said that she wanted to build a splendid rail system and it would cost $50 billion, we’d tell her to go to hell. That’s too much money. Period.

Well, Californians voted to spend about $10 billion, or a fifth of the above amount, on a high-speed rail system connecting Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Sacramento. If, and it’s a big if, the project is completed and its total costs are even double the bond issue, the collective value would exceed the sum of all the individual costs of those traveling by car to and from those major cities.

Americans, for all our strutting nationalism, can’t build things any more, even when we could actually reduce our societal costs. Building railroads is just one example. We don’t like planning. We don’t like government. We don’t like big ideas, period. Unless our leaders call for war. Then no expenditure is excessive, even if total spending soars into the trillions of dollars.

I have a hunch that keeping us divided, confined to our own individual, impoverished lives, allows us to be conquered by you know who. As the Rest of Us eat our own, making choices in our own perceived best interest while ignoring the sum of our costs, the One-percenters steal us blind.

To overcome this, in my humble opinion, requires us to get smarter. And we get smarter by thinking collectively, communally, and not as individual agents in a huge scheme designed and operated by just a thin slice of the population, those making millions and billions siphoned from the Rest of Us.

Or, you can continue pursuing the myth of free agency, believing that you are master of your own destiny. The One-pecenters prefer things that way.

Linsanity

Yep. I’ve got it. I was glued to the TV this morning to watch Lin and the Knicks take down the defending world champions. He and his team did not disappoint, with Lin scoring 28 points and dishing out 14 assists. Throw in a handful of steals and you have the recipe for victory.

Before the game some bozos at ESPN and elsewhere decided that it would be cute to engage in double-entendres. The turnover-prone Lin contributed to the team’s lone defeat on Friday, since he’s become the team’s starting point guard. Thus, there’s a “chink in the armor.” Get it? Today ESPN fired one culprit and suspended another.

Dave Zirin reminds us that America is still full of racists, both conspicuous and quiet.

 

Perhaps we have the wrong system

We take it as an article of faith that the U.S. system of government, a presumed democratic republic, is ideal, so much so that it should serve as the model for other nations. That no one has adopted our system is of no matter; as I said, this is about belief not about inconvenient facts.

It may have occurred to you that we can no longer get things done in America, despite enormous needs that require the collective resources of the federal government. But our government can’t get its act together to even begin to tackle our urgent problems.

So, each year we pile up unfunded mandates. And each year the costs of doing nothing compound.

The Chinese, on the other hand, have fewer impediments to building stuff, from high-speed rail to economic zones to office towers to energy resources. Indeed, China just does it.

Comes now a brave op-ed in today’s New York Times, written by a Chinese “venture capitalist.” He writes:

America and China view their political systems in fundamentally different ways: whereas America sees democratic government as an end in itself, China sees its current form of government, or any political system for that matter, merely as a means to achieving larger national ends.

I highly commend this provocative essay, which concludes thusly:

History does not bode well for the American way. Indeed, faith-based ideological hubris may soon drive democracy over the cliff.

I expect the Tea Party to issue a fatwa on Mr. Li.

Inequality and savings

One might think that Americans, with their meager safety nets and overall financial insecurity, would save more than they do. There’s much to fret about; rainy days are always looming. On the other hand, in those countries with more generous welfare states we might expect to see lower savings rates, since the state provides solid backstops, including healthier pensions. But take a look at this chart, based on OECD data.

Inequality is much higher in the U.S. than almost everywhere else; although I’m sure that wealthy Americans, with their substantial surpluses, save a much greater portion of their incomes than the Rest of Us, who are forced to spend every penny we make, which no doubt accounts for the relatively low savings rate.

In the above chart I’ve sorted from lowest to highest savings rate. The U.S. (solid black column) is at 4.6 percent (2011). The countries to the right of the U.S. on the horizontal axis have higher savings rates, but lower Gini coefficients. The Swedes, who have lower poverty and unemployment rates plus universal health care and generous safety nets, save almost 12 percent of their incomes. Yet right next door the Finns save only 1.6 percent of their incomes, while the Norwegians put aside nearly nine percent. The Danes spend more than they make, it seems.

These statistics suggest a low correlation between safety nets and savings rates. (It’s about 0.1.) Nor should we lump all the Nordic citizens together; some save, some don’t.

On a per capita basis, the Norwegians are richer than Americans. So they can afford to sock some money away. But every other country shown in the above chart is poorer than the U.S., yet most have higher savings rates.  (I don’t have the savings rate for Luxembourg.)

All of this to demonstrate that I have no idea why some countries’ citizens save while others not so much. Connecting dots gets us nowhere. Time for the psychologists to step in.