1. What my bike taught me about white privilege 

It’s a way of trying to make visible the fact that system is not neutral, it is not a level-playing field, it’s not the same experience for everyone. There are biases and imbalances and injustices built into the warp and woof of our culture.

2. Volatile political battle with racial, religious, and democratic undertones that stemmed from a simple majority school board election.

3. Love is patient, love is kind, love will punch you in an elevator.

4. Interruption versus apology: Gender communication at the office. (Spoiler alert- everyone can do better)

Hat tips: AEK, EGM & ALA

Small incentives for immunizations have large positive effects on using health services in India, so why not employ the same strategy for Golden Gophers? Even grad students like suckers.

Somewhere between the chaos of the final dissertation data collection (exacerbated by normal life in Tanzania) and a celebratory trip to the French Alps to celebrate the completion of fieldwork, I adopted a French disdain for anything that resembles work in August.

It's September now; welcome back to the blog. Post on public education coming tomorrow.

1. In fact, under the assumption that consumption is proportional to wealth, the estimates imply that a doubling of wealth will cause the average Ivorian farmer to demand an additional one-quarter of a wife.

Jacoby, H. G. (1995). The economics of polygyny in Sub-Saharan Africa: Female productivity and the demand for wives in Côte d'Ivoire. Journal of Political Economy, 938-971.

2. A reduction in the number of children born to a couple can increase the representation of their children in the next generation if this enables the couple to invest sufficiently more in the education, training, and "attractiveness" of each child to increase markedly their probability of survival to reproductive ages and the reproduction of each survivor.

Becker, Gary Stanley, and Gary S. Becker. A Treatise on the Family. Harvard university press, 2009.

3. This is consistent with previous literature, which suggests that wives may serve as an alternate form of capital accumulation.

Akresh, Richard, Joyce J. Chen, and Charity Moore. "Altruism, Cooperation and Intrahousehold Allocation: Agricultural Production in Polygynous Households." UW Madison AAE department seminar. 2011.

Don't quote economics papers to win friends.

1. Shakeup at the Minneapolis Fed. Turns out economists can't resolve their differences either.

2. Peeta Mellark, the feminist.  Unpredictably, I love the challenges of typical gender roles in this film. But full disclosure: I'm on a complete Hunger Games binge at present. The second movie was amazing.

3. Do Mark Dayton's policies promote job growth in Minnesota? While I agree with many of Dayton's progressive policies, drawing the distinction between Wisconsin and Minnesota economies only based on three years of state leadership is audacious. Ceteris paribus? Not even close.

Hat tips: LANS, DW, Mom.
 

Last week, I had a labral repair surgery in my hip. It was not hugely invasive: an hour and a half of arthroscopic repair under general anesthesia, three weeks of crutches and two months of physical therapy. Most importantly for me, it is nowhere near as painful as an ACL repair.

Check out those numbers above. Four hours of time at a surgery outpatient center, two of which were in recovery, cost $16,582. Seriously? This doesn't include pre or post-operative appointments or any physical therapy.

My insurance only paid 35% of that price tag. HealthPartners negotiated that price for "bringing" patients like me to the surgery center. So, what is the point of the 16k, then? I highly doubt any uninsured person would have this semi-elective surgery (not recommended for folks with arthritis and not totally necessary for folks aren't "active"). Also, my Mom brought me to the surgery.

Also take note of that relieving 0 next to member responsibility. I guess the university makes up for its meager graduate assistant stipend with a fairly generous health plan.

Hat tip: HVM

I'm not sure if you've noticed, Minneapolis, but there is an enormous swath of highways in the middle of the city. I've lived one mile from this highway knot for four years and it still blows my mind.

It separates awesome hippy hangouts like Seward from the thriving East African hotspots in Cedar-Riverside, trendy downtown from the University hipsters. The Vikings stadium, the Mississippi River, Little Earth Indian Reservation (one of the largest urban Indian reservations), the University of Minnesota, the best coop in the cities, Hennepin County Medical Center and the Mill City Museum are all within one mile of this highway maze. Did the city miss the memo about how mixing folks is good for growth?

As a precursor to this slightly embarrassing story, let me start by saying that the single thing I miss the most here in Tanzania is my own independence. Although I make my own schedule and have passable Swahili, I am dependent on drivers, field assistants, colleagues and watchmen.  I miss driving on a whim to Wisconsin and taking walks alone at night.  I even miss things that facilitate independence, like maps, online menus and consistent prices. A combination of my stubborn American affinity for individual freedoms and undeserved overconfidence in knowing Tanzanian culture got me into a bit of trouble.

So, to train for Kilimanjaro, I decided to hike part of Mt Meru, in Arusha National Park. A friend of mine from church, Roger, is a guide and said he’d help set me up with a two-day hike. A couple days before the trip, Roger got sick and set me up with his friend John to organize and guide me on this trip. I don’t know the trails or the park, and of course not much information about Meru is online, so John and Roger organized the trip for me. We settled on a (pretty cheap) price because I wanted to carry my own gear.  But of course there are park fees, hut fees and a ranger fee. The ranger is a national park employee wears army gear and carries a gun to protect guests from wildlife.  It is required by the park that a ranger accompany every group hiking Meru.

John and I left Arusha at 9am and took public transport to the Momela gate at Arusha National Park.  We arrived around 10:15 and I waited while he checked into the administrative desk, where we had a booking for our hike and ranger.  I sat down at the tourist picnic tables and waited. By 11, I was getting bored and anxious to start. I had been hoping to hike quickly for the day, go past the hut and gain more elevation in the afternoon before hiking down to sleep.  John said we were still waiting for the ranger and park administration big man said that he was coming. But to me, "he is coming" in Tanzania could mean in five minutes or five hours.

I put on my pack and starting saunter down the trail to explore a bit. Then John comes along and tells me we really should go back to the gate, it’s not safe out here without a ranger. I grudgingly follow him back to the picnic tables where we are greeted by park administration big man who yells at John and I about the dangers of wandering off alone due to aggressive buffalo. I inform him that I looked and did not see any buffalo.

I ask park administration big man when the ranger is coming and he tells me fifteen minutes. I may have rolled my eyes. Eventually, more other tourists show up who are also planning to hike to the same hut. John tells me that we will be joining this group with their ranger and then taking a different ranger on the way down tomorrow. I’m disappointed and tell him that this means I am paying a redundant ranger fee and joining this other group means we’ll have to take their pace for the day. He agrees that it’s not ideal, but doesn’t exactly agree with my comment about “money going straight into the deep pockets of the corrupt park administration” (and as the words are coming out of my mouth, I realize I sound exactly like my dad).

By noon, park administration big man tells me to sign the guest logbook. This seems like progress. I’m skeptical of this entire bureaucratic process, so I don’t take it very seriously. Every time I visit a village administrative office or dispensary for work, I’ve signed one of these administrative guest books. I’ve probably signed fifty guest books. So, just like I do in my study villages, I sign my name as my Swahili name, Tabasam McCarthy. I write a fake address (actually I write that I live on Privet Drive, HP shootout).  And where it asks for my ID number, I draw a line, just as I’ve seen my Tanzanian colleagues do. The following conversation ensues.

Park Administrative Big Man: Where is your passport?
Me: It is locked up safely at home. I don’t hike with my passport.
PABM: You must have your passport. Write down the number here.
Me (In Swahili, trying to be charming): Oh, I don’t know my number because the passport is new! But there’s no problem, you don’t need it here.
PABM (In English, not charmed): To enter this park, it is necessary to inform the officials of your passport number. This is for your own safety. If something dangerous happened in the park, we need your information.
Me (In English, not so charming): So you can do what? Mail a letter to my parents using the Tanzanian post? Right, that will definitely be useful.
PABM (In Swahili, pissed): I don’t like this. I don’t like this. This is not appropriate.

He storms off. I write down an eight-digit number. It is not my passport number. 
Me: There! I wrote down my number. Now let’s go.

PABM: Do you think this is a game? This is the Tanzanian National Parks Authority! This is for your own safety. It is required that you follow the rules of this country because you are a visitor here. When I come to your country, I follow your rules and respect the authority! It is the national park authority who will decide if you can enter the park today, do you want to come to Arusha National Park?? Do you realize the importance of safety information?

By this point I realize that I have crossed a line. A thousand sassy responses are flying through my head, but I want to go hiking.
Me: Yes, I understand.

PABM storms off and is arguing with John and two other guides about my behavior. I only pick up “white person” “game” and “problem.” John then asks me to please sit down on the picnic benches and stay quiet for a little while. I tell him that the other tourists do not have their passports and they encountered no problems. PABM is now yelling into his cell phone. I glare and sit on the insults in my head. It’s 12:45. Then, Roger calls. Apparently PABM called the booking agent, who called Roger.

Roger: Tabasam, what is going on?
Me: This man is on a power trip and we have been waiting for two hours for a ranger! Also, you didn’t tell me that I needed my passport.
Roger: Pole (sorry for the situation), but you need to respect this man. Go write your English name.
Me: That’s it? Why didn’t he just ask me for my English name??
Roger: Because this is serious. I’ll call you back. Bye.

I walk over to the book, watching PABM who is clearly pretending he doesn’t see me, and cross out Tabasam and write Aine Seitz McCarthy. Full passport name. I sit back down.

Finally, PABM gathers all the guides, tourists and myself into a group to tell us that we are about to enter the park and hike to Miriakamba hut, that the ranger will lead us and we have a five hour hike (so, absolutely no new information).  He points to one group and says “you will have a four day trip,” to another group “you will have a three day trip” and then to me and says “ah-een-ay sats will have a two day trip.”

Me: Nice pronunciation, ridiculous authority man. Now you know why I wrote Tabasam. [Just kidding, I didn’t say this.]

The hike finally began and I was distracted by chatting with the other friendly tourists. John cautiously apologized for the situation and encouraged me to be respectful.  Be submissive and bow down to this crazy man on a power trip? Never!

Of course, that was my immediate reaction. But today, I reconsider. He is right that I am a visitor, a guest, in this country.  I’ve been here for long enough that I think I know how the world works.  I don’t.  No Tanzanian would ever get away with that kind of arrogant disregard to official procedure in the states. Was my passport number necessary? I still don’t think so. Did the ranger ever save me from any threatening wildlife? Absolutely not. But frankly, being a rich guest, barely functional in the national language, does not empower me the privilege to override leadership and do whatever I want.