Tom Tom

By Tom Kando

I just spent a month in Europe, mostly visiting my 98-year old mother who lives an hour North of Amsterdam, and helping her with this and that. I took my Garmin with me, with the Eurochip. Over there, they call GPS “Tom Tom.” Different brand, I guess.

This technology is miraculous and hilarious. For example, I took my mother down to Belgium for a couple of days. For the first time in my life, I drove around Europe without even a map in my car as a backup.

That the Garmin could accurately guide me down the major freeways and turnpikes to the large cities was expected. But what blew my mind is that it also knew every single back alley of every hamlet in every country! For instance, I once took the wrong exit off a major turnpike somewhere in Belgium. In order to get back on track, I had to meander through a maze of tiny rural streets. The Garmin knew every single one of them, guiding me accurately towards my destination.

Amazingly, the Garmin even knows specific addresses. For example, we approach my friend Wilfried’s house on 227 Lomburg Lane, in the tiny Belgian town of Herselt. And somehow the machine knows that this house is 550 feet from where we are driving!

I suspect that it would be the same in Calcutta or in Sao Paolo. I am usually not a fan of fancy technology, but this is truly impressive.

I also smile when I realize that the whole worldwide GPS system is in the hands of the US Army in Colorado. It runs on 36 satellites. So America is not entirely washed up, yet.

We call the lady who talks to us through the Garmin “Mary.” Mary is funny sometimes.

Of course, all the GPS jokes have already been made a thousand times, about arguing with your Garmin, telling her/him to go to hell when you deviate from her commands, when she “recalculates,” etc. I am usually a Johnny-come-lately to new technology. But here are a few funny things:

When we hit the road to Belgium and “Mary” began to talk to me, I replied something like:

“No Mary. That’s not the right way! You don’t know what you are talking about!”

My mother cautioned me to be polite and not to get into a fight, thinking that I was talking to a live woman.

Also, we have the machine set on English. In non-English places, Mary has trouble with pronunciation. For example, somewhere in Belgium, we had to drive down King Boudewijn Avenue. To Mary, this became King Boodahweejn Avenue. I had no idea what she was talking about, but fortunately, the screen also spells out street names.

And for some reason, even though Mary is English, she also mis-pronounces English names in foreign countries. I suppose she has to mispronounce consistently. For instance, we had to take Martin Luther King Boulevard somewhere in Holland, but to her this was Marteen Looder King.

Oh well, Mary is a lot of fun, and GPS is a miracle. leave comment here Read more...

Lost in the Ardennes

by Madeleine Kando

I took a trip to Belgium this week with my very old mom. We spent hours inching our way through miles and miles of traffic jammed small, shiny Mercedez-Benzes, BMW's and Alfa Romeos. Everyone seems to drive expensive cars here. An occasional sign that says 'bad road surface' on stretches of impeccably smooth asphalt makes me wonder what kind of standard the Dutch attach to a 'bad road surface'. How would they call the potholed, frost-cracked highways back in good old Boston?

We finally left clean, organized Holland and made it to Belgium. At least I think we entered Belgium because there are no signs that tell you whether you have crossed the border. I knew we were no longer in Holland because of the road conditions. They started to look more like the familiar wrecks in the US.

You see, compared to America, those small Northern European countries are all very 'high-context' cultures. Their inhabitants expect foreigners to know things without it being spelled out. You are supposed to 'smell' in which country you are driving through. They don't believe in old fashioned signs that say 'Bienvenue a la Belgique'. Back in the good old dark ages you had to cross not one, but two borders: one to leave Holland, after which you were in no-man's land for a bit, until you reached the actual Belgian border where they thoroughly inspected your car for contraband.

That IS a problem around here because some of these Northern European countries are the size of peanuts and if you get distracted for a second by the gorgeous scenery, you end up in Germany, or Luxemburg.

Americans live in a low-context cutlure. They expect everyone else to be foreign, so they have the decency to spell out things for you. It doesn't matter that you have crossed the entire Atlantic Ocean to get there, as soon as you arrive, a sign says: 'Y-O-U  A-R-E  N-O-W   I-N  T-H-E  U-S'. Now that's polite.

So here I am, trying to stay in Belgium. But no luck. Something tells me I am in the wrong country. I see a lady that looks like a native and stop to ask for directions. In French, because that's what I spoke ten minutes ago in a café: 'Madame, dans quelle direction est Monschau?'

'Nein, nur Deutsch'. (no, only German). She goes to her car and brings back a map, the same map that I am holding in my hand. She shows me on the map where Monschau is. 'Well, duh, I know where Monschau is on the map too, Fraulein, I am nicht blind.'

'Danke schon' I say and drive off. Getting directions didn't work out but at least I know I am in Germany. After many involuntary detours we finally make it to this amazing place called Monschau. A village so old that I expect knights to come charging out of the old castle on the hill. The tiny cobblestoned streets are swarming with people of every imaginable nationality. On the village square, surrounded by old timber-framed German houses, we settle for a well-deserved drink. It's crowded. Tourists have gathered here to enjoy this gorgeous spring day. I hear Dutch, French, German, Italian and some languages that I don't understand (Russian? Romanian?). The waitress is dressed in a Mädel costume with her bussom pushed high with a black laced up ribbon. What is amazing is that she only speaks German. With all these nationalities drinking her coffee she has maintained her high-context culture to a tee. If you don't speak German you have to rely on sign language. So I gesticulate and try to make her understand that I want 'black' tea with lemon.

This place feels like the Tower of Babel. The waitress cannot communicate with her customers. The Belgians don't speak German, the Germans don't speak French and the notoriously high-context French don't WANT to speak anything but French, even if they can.

I am a bit nervous about the trip back home. We are only a few hundred kilometers away from Bergen, but I will have to find my way through three or maybe four countries, depending if I take a wrong turn into Luxemburg. Oh, look! A group of bikers with Dutch letterings on their shirts. I walk over and ask them if they have encountered a country called Belgium on their trip and if so, in which direction that would be, please. They point to a sign that says 'Malmedy'. So, off we go, hoping that in a few hours we will be driving on some unblemished road surface. That will be a clear sign that we are in Holland again.

It will be a relief to be back in Boston. At least I won't have the problem of finding myself in the wrong country, even if I drive for days in a straight line. I bet these nice 'low-context' Californians have signs posted that read: 'You are now about to drive into the Pacific Ocean'. leave comment here Read more...

What Makes you Happy?

By Tom Kando

An excellent Dutch monthly magazine I was just reading is Maarten! - named after its editor-in-chief. It is entertaining and provocative.

The issue I picked up recently (April 17) had Happiness (Geluk) as its main cover story, including interviews with some prominent Dutch people.

For example, there is an article by Alies Pegtel based on an interview with former Minister and Parliament member Rita Verdonk. I am not sure, but I believe that this lady has been controversial as the leader of a political party named Proud of the Netherlands, a somewhat nativist party.

Be that as it may, the now retired Minister ponders what makes her happy. Her list is predictable, and sensible: For one thing, she has always felt happiest pouring much energy into her work. Good. But small things are also important, she says. For example, a beautifully sunlit flower vase, or her blossoming garden. Quite.

She is also a lot happier now that she has retired from Parliament. There, she couldn’t stand the lack of collegiality, the gossip, the backstabbing and the opportunism.

Amen! I, too, spent 40 years in the bureaucracy - academia in my case - and I still remember the pain more clearly than the pleasure.

Ms. Verdonk adds that the greatest cost she paid, while in politics, was the violence she did to her body and to her health. Again, I strongly empathize - the stress, the headaches, the power contests, the nitpicking. I too, experienced these very onerous things while surviving the bureaucracy for 40 years, and I am sure they aged me.

On the positive side, again, Ms. Verdonk was always happy when she was able to achieve concrete results, solve problems, contribute to the betterment of society.

This article made me think: I find Ms. Verdonk’s list quite reasonable. But as I look around me - in Europe or in America, doesn’t matter - I see lots of people who find happiness in things which leave me entirely indifferent, and in some cases things which I find downright repulsive.

For one thing, the whole world seems to have become enamored with machines. Cars have made men happy for generations, but now, it’s more the electronic machines which make many people orgasmic - computers, I-phones, digital this and digital that. Both cars and electronics leave me utterly indifferent.

Money is, of course, a perennial. From Wall Street to Main street, the love of money reigns supreme. Many people love money more than the things money buys.

Closely related are possessions. Often, it is the ownership of something which makes people ecstatic, not its use - think of the motor homes and boats parked in many driveways, and hardly ever used, because the owners don’t have the time to use them.

The sensual pleasures are important. Good food, good wine, etc. I’ll go along with this. I enjoy sensual pleasures.

Unfortunately, there are also the pathological sources of happiness: it begins with power over others, which is vastly more common than you might think. Then there is the pleasure many derive out of inflicting pain - teasing, pestering, humiliating, demeaning someone in front of others. This, too, is extremely widespread.

Less sinister is a desire to be popular, successful, admired. I say less sinister, because I confess that I suffer from this need. Additional pathological sources of happiness include gun ownership (“I’ll give you my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands”) , substance abuse, gambling.

The only supremely true sources of happiness are love and beauty (as in Mozart). leave comment here Read more...

Reminiscing the Past

by Madeleine Kando

Another visit to beautiful Holland, visiting my very very old mother Ata, my past, my buried emotions. It's here that I am able to touch the parts of me that are easily neglected in my daily life.

I look out on fields covered with tulips of every imaginable color as far as the eye can see. Giant windmills with enormous turbines dot the horizon and the smell of grass and cow manure fills the air. The sound of bird song on this fresh early morning and the muffled hum of an airplane flying high in the clear blue sky has ignited the inextricable circuitry of a past life, buried deep inside me, rarely explored but always present.

A past life filled with sensory pleasures, which is the privilege of youth. Have my senses grown dull with age? Or does youth have more time to indulge in the sights and sounds of the world around us? Does the caress of a soft breeze on a young cheek feel different than on mine as I lie here reminiscing on my no longer existing Dutch life?

I look at the shimmer of a spider web caught trembling in this unique Dutch light. Ata's porch has become a refuge from my hectic, cold Boston life. A butterfly is fluttering by in search of his twenty-four hour life and I am in search of my slowly fading past life, like an old black and white photograph, until I cannot see the details any more. Soon only a blank sheet will be left, floating away on the current of the millions of past lives.

Now that I have time to rest, I look back on the road I have traveled and instinctively search for the meaning of my wanderlust, why life has taken me so far from this porch in Bergen.

It helps in a way, to have left. It allows me to distinguish between what happened and what could have been. I could have stayed. I could have never experienced the adventure of living in the New World. Never have been exposed to the cultural confusion that is part of emigrating.

I am glad I nipped my Dutch life in the bud. I know that now. It was the right thing to do. Although a Dutch unwrinkled Madeleine is always standing there, looking over my shoulder as I lead my real American life. I wonder what she would have become had I not pushed her out of the way. Would she have reached a ripe old age, her mind filled with memories of a Dutch past? Would she have been a good wife, a good mother, a good teacher? Would she have wondered, like I do, what the American Madeleine would have been like?

But there would not be an American Madeleine. Not even a potential one. Just like there is no Chinese or Portuguese Madeleine in MY life. So, is it only the people who move away that walk hand in hand with a doppelganger? Or does everyone wonder about the 'what could have beens' when they visit old, familiar places? Does my mother wonder what her non-existent Hungarian self would have been like, had she stayed in Hungary?

She is ready to say good-bye to all the lives she could have had and the one she carved out for herself. She says she does not belong here any more. For her, the die is cast and things have become very simple. That is the advantage of very old age, you can take a step back and know that it is someone else's problem now. She has done her share of wanting. But unlike me, she knows that what you DO have is far more precious than all the wanting in the world. leave comment here Read more...

Some More Thoughts on 'Individualism'

by Madeleine Kando

I have been racking my brain to try to understand why there is such venom spouting in this country against anything to do with 'government'. I do not presume to be an expert on these matters, but trying to clarify some key concepts might shed some light on this question.

The concepts of private versus public and its close connection with 'individual' versus 'collective' keep cropping up. There are certain aspects of life that are called 'private' for a reason. Sex is one of them. Sexual preference is another. Deciding if, when and by whom you want to have a child is a third.

Even deciding if you want to be treated for a fatal disease, for how long and when you want to put an end to it is a private matter, in my opinion.

Much of what I read and hear in this context has caused confusion in my mind. so I looked up the definition of 'individual' versus 'collective'.

Individualism: 'The belief in the primary importance of the individual and in the virtues of self-reliance and personal independence. A doctrine holding that the interests of the individual should take precedence over the interests of the state or social group.'

Collectivism: 'Any philosophic, political, economic or social outlook that emphasizes the interdependence of every human in some collective group and the priority of group goals over individual goals.'

Privately and temperamentally I consider myself an individualist. I believe in my own ability to take care of myself, whether it be my health, my education or my spiritual well-being. I practice natural healing methods for a common cold and bouts of sciatica. I educate myself by reading books, searching the internet, reading papers, etc. I go for long walks in the woods, do yoga, meditate etc.

But I am intelligent enough to realize that my freedom to act 'individualistically' on a personal level is only possible because the society I live in supports this. If there were no health insurance, schools to educate the scholars on which I rely for my knowledge, if the society to which I belong would not take care of people like me 'collectively', none of this would be possible.

In an anarchistic society without public institutions I would not be able to flourish as an individual. I would have to travel to a neighboring country where they do have hospitals, schools and libraries, all supported by the group.

Ironically, the image of ‘the rugged, self-reliant, individual’, not wanting to be told what to do, wanting less government and more individual freedom, which is the hallmark of many right wing conservatives, especially the Tea Party, is in conflict with the roots of American individualism. American individualism is based on a voluntary allegiance to the group, as opposed to one’s historically determined place in a ‘collective’ society. If anything, Americans are more conformist than many Northern European societies. Religious affiliation, marriage vows, being part of a social club, all these allegiances are taken very seriously by Americans.

The misplaced slogans of Republicans chanting ‘less government, more individual freedom’ will lead us to a place where no one will gain ANY freedom.

I agree, my individual rights should be protected by the group (i.e. government). But the rights of the group to which I belong also should be protected by me as an individual. The park where I walk my dog is public, but it can only be so because I, as an individual, pay taxes to maintain it. By deliberately dismantling all the ‘public’ institutions in this country in the name of individual freedom, everyone will suffer from the atrophy of the ‘public’ good. leave comment here Read more...

Congress and the Age of Reason

by Madeleine Kando

Last week I read an article in the Wall Street Journal called ‘Fight Against Government Flab is Personal for these Politicians’, which made me slightly nauseous. It describes how a group of mostly younger Republican Congressmen have become enamored with an exercise program called P90X . Its success is based on an approach called 'muscle confusion', meaning that it includes a hodgepodge of work-out techniques like yoga, pilates, kick-boxing etc. Republican Congressman Paul Ryan is the most ardent follower and promoter of this P90X fad. He is just as ardently leading the charge in pulling the social support net from under our feet.

While he is working on confusing his muscles with his Republican buddies Kevin MacCarthy and Jeff Flake, the rest of us can look forward to loosing our unemployment benefits, our food stamps, health care coverage and social security. All thanks to the energetic, super-healthy, super-sculpted Mr. Ryan.

Many of us don’t know if we'll be able put enough food on the table or pay our rent. It is downright infuriating to realize that the very same lawmakers that so enthusiastically work on sculpting their bodies are the ones that are most energetic about taking away our ability to stay afloat. Has it ever occurred to Mr. Ryan that obesity is the poor man's way to survive? Sculpting bodies is a rich man’s pass-time. Is it beyond his comprehension that the only type of food a poor family can afford is cheap high-calorie junk food?

Or should we follow the example of these anointed, young, vigorous Republicans. Yes, let's all head for the gym doors. Let's build those muscles while our teeth are rotting away because we cannot afford a dentist.

We are at the mercy of a group of 'Generation X' Republicans, obviously more concerned with their looks than how a civilized democracy should be run. A group that is lacking any sense of social equality.

What they are good at is not only trimming their own fat but ours as well. Ryan and his gym-buddies are prancing around in their gym shorts and have the audacity to vote to lower the top tax rate to 25%. They are bent on muscling out income tax on capital gains, kick box the corporate income tax into oblivion, rip Social Security, crunch the tax exclusion for employer-sponsored health insurance, and power walk all over traditional Medicare and most of Medicaid, all in the name of budget deficit reduction.

The article inspired me to look at some age statistics for our current Congress. Of 429 Representatives, 57 are from the 'silent generation' (people born between 1925 and 1945.)** There are 253 'boomers' (those born between 1943 and 1960) and 119 ‘Generation X’ Congressmen (those born between 1961 and 1981.)

Twice as many 'silent' generation Congressmen are Democrats, about an equal number are 'boomers', but there are three times as many Republican ‘Gen-Xers’ as Democrats. Does that mean we are seeing an age imbalance in our government?

I don't blame our ‘Gen-X’ Congressmen for wanting to stay in shape. They still have to worry about their looks. But I don’t want to know about it. It’s in bad taste. Leave the job of public exhibitionism to Jerry Springer. For the rest of us who are trying to make ends meet, who cannot afford a health club membership and who rely on cheap, high-calorie food for subsistence, it would be a lot less painful if right-wing conservative politicians would keep their private lives out of the media and their gym-shorts out of sight.

** Why they are called the 'silent' generation is a mystery to me because most rock stars of the 60s were of the Silent Generation, including the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix and Elvis Presley. Marlon Brando, Marilyn Monroe, Clint Eastwood and James Dean are also members of the silent generation. leave comment here Read more...

The curse of the 'R'

by Madeleine Kando

If you want my opinion, the most difficult letter to pronounce in any language is the letter ‘R’. You can spend a life-time perfecting a language which is not your own, but the ‘R’ will always give you away.

Take me, for example. I had to learn French, Dutch, German, English and Spanish and it would have been a cynch for me to masquerade as a native had it not been for the cursed ‘R’.

That evil-doer always gave me away. It doesn’t help that we are all deaf to our own voice. Yes, deaf. If you want to hear your own voice the way others hear it, you have to record it first. Either that or travel to the Grand Canyon and shout something, to hear it echoed back. Even then, you might think: 'Wow, that person sounds weird. I am glad I don't sound like that.' Yes, if non-native English speakers knew what they really sounded like, they would stop talking altogether.

But to get back to my eternal enemy, the notorious ‘R’. I have to admit that things could have been worse. Had I been born in China or Japan my battle with the ‘R’ would have been lost the day I was born. I would have been doomed to order 'flied lice' for dinner for the rest of my life.

The thing is, the ‘R’ is a mischievous little bugger. It knows that it is a consonant, but the sneaky bastard enjoys getting a free ride on the back of the poor vowel that precedes it.

Take the word ‘part’, for example. In many languages the ‘R’ has the decency of standing on its own, so that a Frenchman will correctly say: ‘parrr’, pronouncing the ‘R’ as a third, distinct, sound in that word. The ‘R’ in English, (especially British English) however, often will ride piggyback on the vowel in front of it.

If you live in Boston, the 'R' becomes particularly lazy and the word is pronounced ‘paht’. But it isn't satisfied by just riding piggyback; it also changes the sound of the 'a' in front of it, and the way the word is pronounced by native Bostonians brings shivers down the spine of any 'normal-English' speaking person. It is pronounced: 'paaaht'. See what I mean?

So what’s a foreigner to do? Well, it depends on which language you speak originally. The expression ‘you cannot teach an old dog new tricks’ surely applies here. If you are from Spain or France, there is no way you will loose the habit of pronouncing ‘R’s like rolling marbles in your mouth. That's what 'R's are meant to do, or they wouldn't be called 'R', don't you agree?

You are supposed to say: 'Bears are usually barred from bringing beer to bars before breakfast.' You don't say: 'beahs are usually bahed from bringing beeh to bahs befoh breakfast.' (Unless you have the misfortune of being Bostonian or a New Yawker.)

So, if Americans cannot agree on how to pronounce their own 'R', how do they expect foreigners to learn the correct pronunciation?

My advice to you is to not even try. Just lay it on thick with your foreign accent. Usually it will charm at least a certain percentage of the people around you and the rest? Well, you can please some people some of the time but you cannot please all the people all the time. So there!  leave comment here Read more...

Revenge

by Madeleine Kando

I have to tell you a secret. My favorite movies are the ones that have some kind of revenge as their theme. Like 'Rob Roy' or 'The Brave One'. They tap into a very deep seated emotion: a feeling of deep satisfaction when a wrong has been put right by the vengeful act of the victim turned hero. In 'Rob Roy' the wronged hero is played by Liam Neeson, a giant of a man. In 'The Brave One' the hero is played by Jodie Foster, one of the smallest actresses I know. They both get even with the bad guy(s) and live happily ever after.

Revenge and the act of vengeance are a very old practice in the history of mankind. Every primitive society practices the art of revenge, and the older the society, the better it is at it. From the Scottish clans to the Japanese Samurai class, revenge was the way people doled out justice.

Vengeance is sweet. 'Revenge is a dish best served cold' says Vito Corleone in The Godfather. Waiting to take revenge until the one that harmed you least expects it, is the best way to take revenge.

Another proverb, attributed to the Chinese philosopher Confucius, states that "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves." The implication here is that a desire for revenge may ultimately hurt the seeker as much as the victim. Read more...

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

by Madeleine Kando

I heard on the news the other day that 'walking six miles a day might improve memory in the elderly'. Because the brain has to cope with a lot of different inputs as you walk, the way you place your foot on the ground, the sounds you hear and the things you see, all have to be processed and this keeps brain cells active. It prevents the brain from shrinking.

So, why is meditation so good for you? Isn't the goal of meditation to 'empty' your mind of thought? Wouldn't a meditator's brain eventually shrink to the size of a peanut? Maybe that's why gurus and other idols of the art of meditation are so 'nice', so 'at peace'. They have emptied their mind of all the disturbing thoughts that living in this cruel world generates in any normal sized brain.

If you are honest with yourself, you have to admit that most human functions shrink as you age. I won't go into too many depressing details, but everyone knows that as you age you lose some of your height, vision, hearing, muscle mass etc. The only thing that doesn't seem to shrink with age is your waist size.

Ok, so I can look forward to turning deaf, blind and becoming a midget. But if walking helps brain cells, why not devise a method to exercise your eyes, your ears and your stature to stop their functions from shrinking?

I tried to enroll in a 'eye yoga' class but couldn't find one, so I started my own 'eye exercises'. I take my eyes for a 'walk' every day. I sit in front of the mirror and make big circles with my eyeballs, look left and right, up and down, squeeze them, look cross eyed, the whole shebang. I cannot really tell if my eyes are rejuvenating though. I might just end up looking cross eyed as I get older.

Ears are pretty sedentary things, so you cannot really exercise them, but I have tried to turn music down to a point where I have to strain to hear it. I turn on the television and sit in another room to see if I recognize any of the familiar anchormens' voices.

To stop myself from shrinking I hang upside down on my gravity invertor at least twice a day. When my husband comes home after work, I unobtrusively inch my way close to him to see if I have gained any height. So far, I haven't noticed any difference, but you never know. Better safe than sorry, I always say.

On the other hand, part of me thinks that shrinking as you age might not be such a bad idea. Nature has been kind enough to give us humans time to adjust to growing into adults. Can you imagine how traumatic it would be if you were born an adult?

Shrinking with age might be nature's way to make it easier for us to ultimately completely disappear when we die. Who knows, if we could live to be two hundred years, we would all shrink to the size of a little clump of clay and it wouldn't be so hard to say farewell. leave comment here Read more...

Deficit, Schmeficit

By Madeleine Kando and Tom Kando

Wisconsin’s Governor Scott Walker and his Republican minions are now trying to take away most collective bargaining rights from public employees (shrewdly excluding police, firefighters and state troopers). Other Midwestern states are moving in the same direction. The purported objective is to help close the state’s $3.6 billion budget deficit. Most states have a budget deficit these days. Wisconsin’s is by no means the worst.

We propose a much better plan, one that would keep public workers from demonstrating and still satisfy the Republican governor and his supporters:

Wisconsin has about 30,000 households making over $1 million a year (It also has 100,000 millionaires, measured by NET WORTH). (Source: Wealth, Income and Power by Sociology Professor William Domhoff).

People who make over a million a year don't get taxed more than someone who makes $380,000. It's all the same to Uncle Sam, whether you earn $380,000 or $10 million, you get taxed at 35% max. Does that seem logical to you?

In addition, most states also levy income taxes. For example, Wisconsin’s rates range from under 5% to nearly 7.75% of income over approximately $300,000.

Why not tax those who make over a million dollars a year a few percent more? Note that we are talking about INCOME, not just being a mere “millionaire,” which many of us approach by just owning a relatively nice house and a few investments.

If 30,000 Wisconsinites would each pay 5% more on each million they make, this would yield $1.5 billion on just their first million! Add to this a 5% tax on the additional millions earned by the super-rich, and presto, your budget deficit is gone. End of story. All these people need to do is forego a few trips to the Bahamas.

You may say that we are mixing apples and oranges - state and federal taxes - and that we are proposing to raise federal taxes to remedy state deficits. But how revenue is increased is irrelevant. There are plenty of mechanisms for the different levels of government to share revenue with each other. The federal government already rebates billions to the states all the time.

We can hear you say: 'Oh, that reeks of socialism. That's not what America is about'. Really? Did you know that in Holland the highest tax rate is 52%? Compare that to the highest bracket of 35% in America, which only kicks in if you make more than $380 thousand! And of course, they also have additional levels of taxation over there, just as we do.

This brilliant plan would not only solve many states' budget deficits, but it would also make this country more equal. On this list of countries by income equality, you can see where America ranks on the 'Gini index'. The Gini index is a measure of income inequality. A country that scores 0.0 on the Gini scale has perfect equality in income distribution. A score of 100 indicates total inequality where only one person corners all the income.

The most equal countries on the list are Denmark and Japan. Holland ranks fairly high in terms of equality. America, as you can see, ranks about the same as some very underdeveloped countries in Africa, like Sierra Leone and Senegal. We are not suggesting bringing back proscriptions. This was the method used by Roman dictator Sulla and emperors such as Julius Caesar to solve their budget deficit. They declared a list of the richest citizens - many of them senators - to be criminals, chopped off their heads and appropriated ALL their assets. We don’t favor this method, even though our own average senator’s net worth is $14 million, and Congress’ total net worth is $2.5 billion. (Source:Your Senator Is (Probably) a Millionaire).

We suggest a more civilized form of redistribution (another taboo word in America, along with “socialism.”). Redistribution based on a more progressive and therefore more just tax system, one more similar to the one in Europe, Japan, Canada and the rest of the Western world.

What is so abominable about the current fiscal debate in this country is that there is a near consensus that the problem is just one thing, namely overspending at the public level. Anyone who dares to suggest that there are two sides to the issue - too much spending and insufficient revenue - gets tarred and feathered. So it’s open season on Unions, on teachers and on the entire public sector. No matter that spending by the states is already way, way down.

As a society, we are driving in the wrong lane, in the wrong direction. We are trying hard to emulate the enormous inequalities of banana republics. Not content to have a top tax rate of 35% for millionaires, the Republicans want to reduce the rate to 29%! The 2010 elections prove that the brainwashing of the public is now complete. leave comment here Read more...