My inaugural gown was worth a dozen seals

Among the innumerably hideous recollections i have over many years of following Exxon's attempts to dodge financial responsibility for the Valdez oil spill was the company's proposition that each seal caught in the crude was worth exactly $1000. Presumably that would be the assessed value before fur and lungs were coated in hydrocarbons, and maybe 20 years ago, Exxon thought they were being overly generous, since nowadays Chinese wholesalers offer seal coats for as little as $85. Then again, Exxon may have been flaunting their arrogance, as it appears that black seal fur is quite a bit more expensive. Who knows? It's all pretty despicable, so much so that i shouldn't even be embarrassing myself by making such lame, inane jokes about it.

We see the same mentality in US health insurance companies, telling people their kids' survival is not worth the expense, or that a middle finger is of greater value than a ring finger (which may actually be true, considering appropriate responses to corporate mandates in just about any rapacious industry). If Michael Obama had bought her inaugural gown on eBay, she would have had enough money left over to stock the Jefferson Memorial pond with a large family of seals... according to Exxon's calculations, which in the end are as offensive and ridiculous as dumping a wild marine animal into an urban pool or spending $20.000 on a dress. Probably though, the First Lady put style first and felt cost wasn't an issue; or, that since one can't put a monetary figure onto what/how Americans would feel seeing her look absolutely regal that night, the figure presented in cooperation with the dress was essentially priceless, ergo whatever was spent is irrelevant.

The issue of valuation has always dogged me. Aside from - or perhaps in spite of - the obvious relationship between production costs and asking prices, determining the intrinsic value of something is relative, at best and impossible, at worst. With consumer goods, it's easier to look at this than when dealing with something like a mountain gorilla. For example, if i were to buy a fancy color printer, it would be a simple matter of keeping track of how much money i save at Copy Central and how much more income i'd be able to explicitly derive from the sale of whatever propoganda, cards, etc. i printed myself, until the point where money saved + income generated = purchase price of the printer. That's very straightforward. When i look at my teaching fees, setting the value is much trickier, because i've really no idea how much one lesson is intrinsically worth on its own merit. Hence, i have to rely on what the market will bear and hope my prospective students find a rationale for accepting the fees i request. Some do, some don't - when i get a high fee, i put more energy into that class, but i'm not convinced this actually produces more value, in the basic, albeit elusive, sense of the term. The mountain gorillas? You spend a day bushwacking after them in the jungle and then tell me how much money you would've accepted in exchange for that experience. As poor as i am financially, i cannot give you a figure for which i would willingly have foregone that adventure and its concomitant stash of gaia-esque insight.

Raj Patel has come out with a new book which looks at this very important and compelling question, The Value of Nothing, and i'm sure it will be worth reading if, like me, you sometimes find yourself overwhelmed by all the distortions of value in which we mall-walled urbanites, especially, are adrift. There's no telling how long it will be before Patel's book is available (in English) in Hungarian bookstores, but maybe after seeing this video, one of my 5 readers - surely none of whom live in Hungary - will feel inspired to give the book a whirl and then you can tell me about it.

Women in Resistance

Speaking of Vietnam (see previous entry), i’ve just finished reading Last Night I Dreamed of Peace: The Diary of Dang Thuy Tram. Dr. Thuy grew up and went to medical school in Hanoi, North Vietnam in the 1960s. She was intensely committed to supporting the revolution in the South, eventual reunification of her country, and standing tall against the american devils. The diaries chronicles her experiences working in hidden clinics, trekking through mine fields to treat resistance fighters in the middle of the night, etc. - all acts of incredibly bravery; she also chronicles her struggle to obtain party membership and show her leadership worth and self-learning as she was given more and more responsibilities by the party. The majority of entries are about her personal relationships, particularly psychic withdrawal from the great love that was not meant to be. After giving it her all for nearly 4 years, she was killed by an american soldier in 1970. The contents in her pack were sent to US military intelligence, eventually the diaries surfaced and were published in Vietnam in 2005.

One of the striking things was her unwaivering belief in a future Vietnam that would be nothing less than utopian. She had such a clear vision of where it all was going, and used that as a source of power to not crack when things got really hairy. Her constant self-chidings about having bourgeois emotional responses to a variety of events is absolutely charming, and because the diaries are so personal, they provide an incredible lens into how/why she felt her own development was an integral part of the development of her country. No hubris here, she simply believed that the decades-long struggle, all the blood it had shed, the political vision it harboured, demanded nothing less from all of them. As the bombing intensified in her area and the clinic had to keep relocating, what she writes conveys a sense that there was a very blurred line between civilians and resistance; everyone living there was effected by the US invasion and understood that survival meant resistance… an almost biologically logical response.

Here’s her entry on 16 January 1969, following a quick evacuation of the clinic. Thuy had stayed with patients who could not be moved.

The whole house is empty. The Clinic is silent and oddly somber. There are only a few wounded soldiers and some staff left. I can hear the murmurs of the stream outside.

I am already twenty-six years old, no longer a naïve girl. Why do I let this gloomy scene color my feelings? In fact, it’s the other way around. Ngyuen Du says, ‘When one is sad, the scenery can never be cheery.’ What joy is there when the American bandits are trampling on our nation and killing our countrymen? What joy is there when our country is still divided, when family members are still scattered in all directions? But, Thuy, does your heart recognize only yearnings and sorrow? Our struggle demands that the people have great joy and a strong will and belief in our cause. Nurture these positive sentiments and wipe away the cloud of sadness from your eyes.