I identify with Ellen.
(Schor 1998, pp. 128)
Even though she has become extremely frugal, she can’t get her monthly
expenses much below $1,200. (All told, my month expenses typically
border the limits of my graduate stipend, the support from which is
absent during January, June, July, and August.) She had run down her
savings and was on the verge of tapping into her retirement accounts.
(I have a pathetic little retirement account from working for a
university in New York. No financial support from my parents who,
after a firing, bouts with cancer and heart failure respectively, have
summarily depleted their savings and are slowly sieving through their
retirement account to pay their mortgage. Really, the largest amount
of money connected to my name is my student loan debt. After
attending college on a partial athletic scholarship and working full
time throughout most of my first MA (in history – beware the dangers
of disciplinary wandering), I still somehow have over $61,000 in
debt. The interest is grimly ticking forward even though I am a full-
time student. If I paid my loans back three years from today, making
payments of $2,000 a month, I will owe just over $75,000. If I wait
seven years and eke out $1,000 monthly payments, I will owe around
$84,000. Most likely, I won’t be able to make good on either payment
plan.) Ellen let her health insurance lapse. (I am thankful to have
health insurance but often charge prescriptions or pay out of pocket
for my asthma medication. Also, as a graduate student I have no
dental or eye insurance. I fill out sliding scale applications at low
cost clinics and laugh alongside my colleagues about our dental
catastrophes. I know of three students in my satellite graduate
office alone who have put off dental procedures for years resulting in
teeth broken by cavities, root canals six months in the making, and
one impending visit designed to undo the damage caused by three years
of neglect.) Professor Schor writes that Ellen has periodic emotional
crises about her situation and gets scared a lot. (Ellen, I hear
you.)
I lay bare my fiscal situation not to elicit doleful stares and
emphatic back pats, but to ask us, as a class, to make the personal
political in our consideration of the motives and life positions that
make alternatives to current consumptive practices viable. I’ve
sensed the annoyance of my hometown friends and of my family for
years, shrinking under their confused head-shaking and quizzical
murmurs about why, despite the fact that I have “my degree,” I am
still “in school.” I suspect, however, that this is a Catch-22 with a
presence more pervasive than its origin as a first-generation college
student vignette implies. It has an application to this class and to
our collective understanding of where the urge to sustain an image of
our lifestyles originates. I doubt that in glancing around our
classroom that any of us might guess that there are others among us
with such uncertain, guilt-ridden futures. I also doubt that I am
alone in this fundamental insecurity.
Downshifters cite a loss of balance in their lives, a word that
resonates with many Schor chronicles. Different from simple-livers,
downshifters “have experienced a change in which time and quality of
life became relatively more important than money” while simple-lives
“find a (low) level of sufficiency income, beyond which spending more
is no longer positive” (Schor 1998, pp. 138). Jonathan Wharton, a
design consultant who morally expatriated to simple-living unable to
rectify the decoupling between what design was supposed to do “make a
person’s life easier” from what he actually perceived “that as we
acquire things, they don’t necessarily enhance our lives” (Schor 1998,
pp. 140).
Black and Cherrier ask a two-fold question: “does anti-consumption fit
within the discourse of sustainability? If so, what are the
characteristics and meanings affiliated to practices of anti
consumption for sustainability and what makes practices of anti
consumption part of sustainable living?” (2010, pp. 438). They
discover that anti-consumption takes precedence over green consumption
and that rejecting, reducing, and reusing are practices essential to
maintaining desired anti-consumptive identities. The authors report
that all of their informants were “sustainable bricoleurs, negotiating
sustainability within their daily lives using whatever is available to
them … in constant movement amongst webs of identity claims and
responsibility towards individual needs and environmental
conservations” (Black and Cherrier 2010, pp. 449). The authors argue
that “care for individual needs was found as a strong element of anti-
consumption for sustainability… suggest[ing] that anti-consumption for
sustainability is not just a result of environmental concerns, but
that it mostly stems from the subjectivity of the consumer and their
personal needs” (2010, pp. 451). This self-orientation, is maybe
harder to swallow than the well oiled altruistic, other-centered
motivation for learning to live more lightly on the earth, but might
hold more promise for changing deeply embedded identity-based
practices. What will it take for people trying to signal that they’re
“made it” through their consumptive practices to adopt an
‘anticonsumerist ethic’ that their psyche does not intuitively
interpret as “antithetical to material prosperity?” (2010, pp.
451).
The example that I made out of my financial anxiety at the beginning
of this post might be part of the answer. Luka just started a
Roslindale branch of the Common Security Club (http://
www.commonsecurityclub.org/) a group designed to reconfigure personal
connections to the market through collective learning, sharing, and
support. Over 40 people showed up for the introductory session. Like
Evans and Abrahamse argue, consumptive “lifestyles are far more
complex than the rhetoric would have it, and that any attempt to
motivate their uptake on a wider scale needs to understand the many
facets, tensions and difficulties associated with ‘real world’
attempts to live one” (Evans and Abrahamse 2009, pp. 500). Can
collectives like this naturalize alternative lifestyles with a broad
enough impact so that the “structural” changes these articles always
circle eventually occur? Is normalizing a shorter (paid) working week
a possibility if this kind of deceleration catches hold?
This week our authors argue that just as we all negotiate identities,
cycling somewhat less than fluidly between them, one of the mechanisms
driving this kaleidoscopic motion is presentation of self. Is a
perverse reciprocal relationship at play wherein the decreasing
likelihood of individual financial abundance brings about elevated or
exaggerated levels of our personal performances of it? How can we
repurpose this energy so that our propensity towards what Evans and
Abrahanmse call “life projects” serves to mitigate economic and
ecological tensions rather than exacerbate them?