Andrea S. James

Category: Lamentation

  • The mob asks the wrong questions

    By now, most of us have heard the tragic story of Harambe the gorilla.

    In case you missed it, the gist of what happened is this: A toddler fell into the gorilla enclosure at the Cincinnati zoo. Harambe, a 400-pound gorilla, saw the boy sitting in the water and stared at him for a bit. A few times, Harambe pulled the boy through the water quickly, moving the boy to a different location. A full video shows the encounter. Forced to decide quickly, zoo officials killed Harambe with one shot to the head and later said that a tranquilizer dart would have agitated the gorilla and would have taken too long to kick in, putting the boy’s life at risk.

    Beyond being sad for everyone involved and wondering how much a new gorilla would cost the zoo ($100,000 to $200,000 it turns out), I had mostly put this story from my mind.

    But as is usually the case when animals get killed, mob mentality went wild. People saw themselves in the event and felt invited to share a conclusive opinion on who is to blame. The media took the ongoing interest and ran with it.

    And this is where the story gets interesting for me again — not the event itself, but the reaction to the event and the questions that people are asking and not asking about it.

    Consider the analysis of the mob. The dominant themes on social media seem to revolve around the following:

    1. An excoriation of the mother of the child as negligent, complete with threats against her life

    2. Defense of the mother and all parents in general. (To that end, Washington Post’s Amy Joyce has a good take: “Remember that time you were a perfect parent every minute.”)

    3. A debate over whether the gorilla was attacking the child, protecting the child, playing with the child, or something else.

    The fact that the mob’s blaming questions and conclusions all focus on the immediate actors — the boy, the mom, the gorilla — reveals a lack of critical thinking. The mob is often narrow-minded and can’t see past the end of its collective snout.

    There are smarter, bigger, more illuminating questions to ponder. Questions that evolve us even farther from the apes.

    Personally, I’ve always liked the follow the money approach to analyzing any situation.

    I present the following questions without judgment, and without any real conclusions myself, for the sake of a more rational, intelligent societal discussion:

    1. What is the risk / reward profile of operating a zoo, and is it worth it?

    2. The Cincinnati zoo brought in $40 million in revenue last year, 16% of which, or $6.5 million, came from taxpayer subsidies. Is the zoo something that the taxpayers believe enhances the city? Are taxpayers happy with the subsidy? Are they paying the right amount?

    3. Did you know that zoos have dangerous animal response teams tasked with keeping the public safe? Can we accept that if we are going to cage animals and charge people money to look at them, there is inherent risk to that? Are the risks worth it?

    4. Can we accept and understand that all activity carries risks and that the only way to eliminate risk is to eliminate the activity, and even then, you might introduce a new set of risks? Accepting that, how does the discussion evolve?

    5. The Cincinnati zoo has $17 million worth of notes payable and bonds payable. Does the tragedy put that debt at risk? What assets secure that debt?

    6. What tradeoffs were made between having a clear line of sight to the animals and having an enclosure that could be fallen into, in the first place? Was that tradeoff worth it? Would a giant piece of plexiglass, or metal bars have been better, or would such a design ruin the public’s viewing pleasure?

    7. How much would it cost to have a double moat enclosure, or a better design that would prevent anyone from falling directly into the gorilla area? Is the cost worth it?

    8. What’s the elasticity of demand on admissions pricing? Would you pay an extra $2 for your zoo ticket to have a space where it isn’t physically possible for kids to fall into enclosures? Would you pay an extra $10?

    9. A tragedy happened and cannot be reversed. Now what? What other questions should zoo officials ask themselves? Taxpayers? Zoo goers?

    Ask more questions and poke holes in the conclusions of the mob — that’s my take.

    Edited to add:

    A lawyer friend shares that my post reminds her of a legal formula used to calculate negligence. The formula is as follows:

    If (Burden < Cost of Injury × Probability of occurrence), then the accused will not have met the standard of care required.
    If (Burden >= Cost of injury × Probability of occurrence), then the accused may have met the standard of care.

    Wikipedia link to the concept of the calculus of negligence.
    Wikipedia link to the judicial philosopher, Billings Learned Hand, (what a name!), who came up with the standard.

     

    If you liked that post, you might like:

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    Why the passage of time confounds us
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    Maximize the moment. And jump.

  • A gift to humanity

    I believe that great people are God’s gift to us.

    Every once in a while, people come along who advance our understanding of math, science and technology. Great minds whose genius changes our lives for the better.

    Sir Isaac Newton. Albert Einstein. Bill Gates.

    Steve Jobs.

    Jobs died today. A bright light has gone out.

    And people are mourning en masse. That’s how you know he was special, a gift to humanity. And you know what? That’s beautiful.

    We mourn when we lose public figures. They are a part of us. And no less so was Steve Jobs.

    He made the most of his time here on earth. His contributions changed how we live.

    I love that people are putting flowers at Apple headquarters.

    Thank you, Steve.

    — ### —

    Previous related post:

    Have you thought about death today?

  • September 11, 2001 – September 11, 2011

    I grew up in New Jersey on Monmouth Bay, near the Keyport docks, across from which the Twin Towers stood.

    When the attacks happened, I was in Washington, D.C., attending college.

    I’m mourning today. But, I’ll be flying.

    I’ve had this web site in some form or another since 2000. Here is what I posted a week after the attacks in 2001. This was before I knew I wanted to write for a living, before I knew whom I would marry, before I knew, really, much of anything. I had freshly turned 20.

    When I read my old post, I feel sort of tender about it. I detect a loss of innocence that was shared by a nation.

    (more…)

  • Politics is just politics, not citizenship nor community

    In American society, there is profound tension and disagreement over the role of rich versus poor, government versus corporations, individual versus collective, scarcity versus abundance.

    None of these debates are new under the sun, but there’s been extra intensity in argument of late.

    What’s the problem?

    The problem arises when people pick a side, make it stand in for a community and an identity, declare that the other is “evil,” and do not budge. All logic is pushed aside. Rational debate flies out the window.

    Checks and balances are a good thing. Our three branches of federal government, combined with a state system, were set up to promote them.

    Corporations that seek to maximize profit and efficiency are a natural check and balance on government, which doesn’t operate with the efficiency that naturally comes from a bottom line.

    At the same time, government representing the collective people are a check and balance on corporations, thus ensuring the health and safety of food, air and water.

    I see this tension play out daily in my own brain — where the liberal guilt I picked up in college, sometimes partnered with compassion, butts up against the conservative practicality and understanding of the role of incentives that I’ve come to appreciate from corporate America.

    This back-and-forth is not a bad thing. Individuals should be demanding of government, voting with their votes and opinion pieces, and demanding of corporations, voting with their dollars.

    But to the sensational attention seekers: I wholly reject your unconsidered arguments.

    Dig in your heels, refuse to debate, refuse to engage, and you’ve lost me. Call the other side stupid, and you’ve lost me. Use the word “evil” to describe a politician or CEO or corporation, and you’ve lost me. (In fact, just stop using the word “evil” outside of a religious context.)

    Most of us are moderately liberal or moderately conservative, with a smattering of so-called “radical” beliefs on random issues.

    We’re a nation of minds smart enough to invent airplanes, telephones, the Internet and hamburgers. Our political debate should be more intelligent.

    — ### —-

    Update: 10:30 a.m.

    Funny, in my inbox I just received a “special letter from Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz.” (All those lattes I buy gets me special treatment.)

    He puts it more eloquently than I did:

    We must celebrate all that America stands for around the world. And while our Founding Fathers recognized the constructive value of political debate, we must send the message to today’s elected officials in a civil, respectful voice they hear and understand, that the time to put citizenship ahead of
    partisanship is now.

    (More.)

    (more…)

  • How do you unlock your heart?

    If you’ve followed along for a while, you know that I’m nuts about downhill skiing. That said, I pretty much can’t stand the minutia involved in getting ready to go to the mountain.

    I live in a condo building and store my skis in a unit in my building’s basement. To load the skis into the car involves sticking my condo-unit key in my pocket, going to the elevator and using a special key to tell the elevator to go to the basement. Once down there, we unlock the storage area door and then there’s a combination lock on the storage unit itself.

    Then, we haul the gear upstairs – skis, helmet, poles, boots — and use another key to unlock the car and yet another to unlock the ski rack.

    We haven’t driven two feet and we’ve already had to employ six keys. It saddens me that humanity must be so guarded to protect ourselves from each other.

    But once we get to the mountain, we’re free. I always felt that there was a camaraderie on slopes — a bunch of like-minded people, willing to brave frigid winds and a mountain that could kill us, just to strap on some heavy piece of equipment and hurl ourselves down a hill. It’s play at its finest. Totally pointless and totally filled with utter, sheer joy.

    One day this past season was particularly cold. I was losing feeling in my fingers and my friends and I agreed that we’d grab lunch after this next run. Like I’ve done for more than 15 years, I raced over to the ski rack, popped off my skis, hung my poles around the top and clodded clumsily in my boots into the toasty restaurant.

    Probably two hours later, we re-emerged, full and warm and ready to have at it again.

    My skis weren’t there.

    After an hour of digging in the snow and checking the racks over and over and over again, I realized with sad finality: Someone had taken my skis.

    But, maybe it was a mistake, I hoped. Maybe they’d bring them back. Later that night, security informed me that there had been six thefts that day. I learned that equipment thefts are often not done by “just kids,” but have ties to organized crime. Criminals steal the gear, sell it on eBay or Craigslist, and use it to finance drug-running and other illegal activities.

    My skis were stolen.

    I hate that phrase. I hate what it means and I hate how much it still bums me out even as we head into summer. My skis were 10 years old and cheap and my ski ability had improved so much since I bought them that I should’ve had new ones by now anyway.

    My skis had little fiscal value. I bet they wouldn’t command more than $20 on the open market.

    And yet, the thieves had stolen something invaluable: my ski-culture trust.

    It’s interesting to me that in the Bible, Jesus refers to the devil as “a thief.” If I were to pick the worst adjective for evil, the worst thing you could do, I don’t think I would have chosen that one. I think I’d pick murderer or rapist or despot or tyrant. But Jesus says, “thief.”

    Even 2,000 years ago, people knew that thievery was a very evil thing. A murderer is a thief: He steals life. A rapist is a thief: He steals peace of mind. Despots steal autonomy. Petty thieves steal our ability to look at a strange man as a brother and love others as we love our selves.

    Before this upcoming winter, I’m going to have to buy new skis. I’m even a little excited for some new, shiny carvers.

    But what makes me sad is that I’m also going to buy yet another lock and key.