Limitarianism by Ingrid Robeyns

 Limitarianism by Ingrid Robeyns, Astra House, New York, 2024

Review by Ed Meek

Excessive wealth seems to be getting a little out of hand. To take one example, Jeff Bezos has a net worth of about $199 billion (according to CNN). We have a limit for how poor someone can be in the United States: the poverty line for annual income is $15,060. That’s where the safety net kicks in. Should we limit how rich someone can be?

In 2011 the Occupy Movement gained widespread support when thousands of people in New York City and around the world protested the concentration of wealth in the top 1%. Today, according to Statista.com, the top 1% holds almost a third of the wealth in the US. The top 10% controls two thirds of the wealth, leaving the rest to be divvied up by the bottom 90% and a measly 3% for the bottom half of the country. Despite the widespread popularity of the Occupy protest, the group made no concrete policy demands. Ingrid Robeyns, Utrecht University Academic (Economics and Ethics) provides a solution for them and us in her book Limitarianism.

Because of the growing disparity between the rich and the rest, capitalism is just not working very well for most Americans. Anne Appelbaum in Twilight of Democracy points out that this wealth gap leads people to embrace authoritarianism under a strongman who promises something better (or a return to the good old days). Sound familiar? While President Biden and The New York Times assure us that the economy is just great with plenty of jobs and inflation under control, most Americans think the economy is poor and the country is headed in the wrong direction.

Robeyns tries to convince us that limiting wealth, and reallocating it, will result in a better life for all of us. Does anyone need to have a billion dollars? She asks. According to economist Jeffrey Sachs, (whom she cites) “2775 people in the world are billionaires.” How about Elon Musk with his $193 billion (according to Forbes). Musk was able to buy Twitter with $40 billion and is now reshaping it to fit his twisted agenda. Musk also owns half the satellites in orbit. Isn’t that a little too much money and power for one individual? Robeyns wants to set a suggested personal wealth limit of 10 million dollars. The principal reason she gives for redistributing wealth is that it is the moral thing to do. It is a matter of fairness. You can hear echoes of this in phrases like “climate justice” and calls for “equity.”

Robeyns wants to redistribute the wealth to solve the problem of poverty. As Matthew Desmond tells us in Poverty, by America, the US has had the same rate of poverty (12%) for over 50 years. That’s 40 million poor people, far and away the most of any first world country. In comparison, a little over 1% of the population of China lives in poverty. Meanwhile, the federal minimum wage is $7.25 an hour. That just about gets a person to poverty level. To make matters worse, Desmond and Robeyns tell us that it is the top income earners who reap the most benefits from the government in tax breaks for mortgage payments, lower taxes on capital investments than on labor, tax breaks for losses, and low taxes on inheritance.

Robeyns illustrates how the rich work the system and use their wealth in ways that hurt everyone else. They buy political favors, influence the media, and promote a culture of acquisition through

neoliberalism: the belief in individualism, private ownership, and free trade. Neoliberalism gained traction under Reagan and was picked by Clinton, then the Bushes and Obama. Now the tide is beginning to turn under Biden and the “social democrats” who are attempting a new version of the New Deal.

Robeyns also claims the wealthy are standing in the way of addressing climate change since they are the group with the biggest carbon footprint with their mega-mansions, car collections, yachts, and private Jets.

Philanthropy is not the answer according to Robeyns. With a few exceptions, philanthropists divert money that might have been better spent. Bill and Melinda Gates are an exception with their work on world health and green technology. Too many rich donors use tax-deductible contributions to enrich elite colleges and influence politicians to perpetuate the upper class. Robeyns even claims Limitarianism will be good for the rich. Avoiding taxes, finding friends and lovers they can trust, maintaining multiple estates must be a struggle, she says.

How should we tackle the problem of excessive wealth? Robeyns wants much more progressive income taxes. After WW11, tax brackets went as high as 90% on income. The top bracket today is 37%. She suggests a CEO to average worker income ratio of 12 to 1 (it’s 344 to 1 now according to the Economic Policy Institute). She’d like higher taxes on capital and the elimination of tax havens. And last but not least, she’d like much higher taxes on inheritance. Inheritance is not earned or deserved, she says. She wants to limit it to $400,000.

Robeyns is not alone in her call to address the concentration of wealth. Biden wants to raise taxes on the rich and eliminate tax havens. Politicians on both sides of the aisle have brought up closing the wealth gap (from Bernie Sanders to AOC to Josh Hawley and Marco Rubio). The organization Patriotic Millionaires is working to address the wealth gap. But because both political parties in the US embraced neoliberalism for so long, a significant number of Americans have turned against the government. Rebalancing and regulating capitalism must occur if we are to deal with the many problems we are facing. Limitarianism is well-worth considering and debating.

There is an ongoing argument about what the biggest problem we face is. Some would claim it is the conflicts between nations. The rise of China, the aggression of Russia, the discord in the Middle East. Others would say it is the challenge of climate change. Or maybe it is the issue of media disinformation promulgated by Fox News, Truth Social, Facebook, X and Tik Tok with the spreading of conspiracy theories, gaslighting and the blurring of reality. It is certainly arguable that the thread that connects all these problems is the concentration of wealth and power. The only way to solve all these issues, according to Ingrid Robeyns, is to redistribute the wealth and power.

Red Letter Poem #215

 The Red Letters

 

 

In ancient Rome, feast days were indicated on the calendar by red letters.

To my mind, all poetry and art serves as a reminder that every day we wake together beneath the sun is a red-letter day.

 

––Steven Ratiner

 

 

 

 

 

 

Red Letter Poem #215

 

 

 

 

On the Road to Lviv

 

 

When Zagajewski read at Vilenica,

In the courtyard of a medieval castle

That fell to ruin long ago, to the poets

Seated beneath a chestnut tree, which rained

Ripe chestnuts on their heads at intervals

No one could time, their attention may have wandered,

For they kept looking up, as if in prayer,

Since poetry is prayer. This festival

In the Karst region of Slovenia

Brought kindred spirits from around the world

To revel in the word made manifest,

Here in the courtyard and later in a cave

The organizers called their tectonic cathedral.

Say amen to the poets, then, who savor

A blaze of words under the chestnut tree.

 

 

             ––Christopher Merrill

 

 

 

 

To leave   

in haste for Lvov, night or day, in September   

or in March.  But only if Lvov exists,

if it is to be found within the frontiers and not just   

in my new passport. . .

 

––Adam Zagajewski

                                       “To Go to Lvov”

 

 

Christopher Merrill has been speaking to people who aren’t there.  Of course, this seems to be something of an occupational hazard for poets.  After all one could argue that, in some cases, the self which composes a poem and the one who, later on, stops to make coffee are, at best, distant relatives.  And, of course, there’s always some imagined readership whose eyes might someday interact with the written text.  But, in Christopher’s case, his poems have, as part of their very conception, a broader invisible audience––and this is especially true for his recently-published On the Road to Lviv (Arrowsmith Press.)  It’s a book-length poem, written in short sections, depicting his deepening connection with the people and culture of Ukraine.  It evolved over time, beginning during a trip to that country in 2006; continuing with a visit after the Maidan Revolution ousted their corrupt president; and culminating with the 2022 start of the Russian invasion.  He has undertaken these often-hazardous journeys because––in addition to being an acclaimed poet, essayist, journalist, and translator––he’s currently the director of the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa.  A cultural diplomat, he began recording his impressions of that beleaguered nation, and soon found himself in conversation with the much-loved Polish writer Adam Zagajewski––even though he died one year prior.  As Christopher slowly made his way toward Lviv, how could he not think of what is perhaps Zagajewski’s most famous poem, “To Go to Lvov”–– the city of that poet’s birth, and one that’s changed hands numerous times over the years, from Polish to Soviet to Ukrainian (the old ‘Lvov’ spelling reflecting the Russian influence.)  Zagajewski’s was a dream-pilgrimage to a city where his soul resides; Christopher Merrill’s was a nightmarish odyssey through the ruins of history.

 

I love how the poet’s diction is constantly shifting throughout the verses; one moment he is reporting, with journalistic exactitude, the way a Russian thermobaric bomb “is capable/ Of vaporizing bodies,” and how it “Explodes in a bright flash that sucks the air/ Up from the ground and out of human lungs.”  And the next, his speech is that of a political scientist, describing the theater bombing in Mariupol where “at least 600 citizens were killed/ That day in March in what investigators/ Concluded was not only the most heinous/ War crime in the first month of the invasion/ But the most visible in modern warfare.”  But before we can even catch our breath, his utterance shifts, becoming that of the broken-hearted poet who zeroes in on just the precise image, just the critical detail to shake readers’ hearts as well: 

 

For a set designer had inscribed the word

CHILDREN in white paint on the pavement outside

The entrances in front and back, in Cyrillic

Letters large enough for satellites

To register, and journalists to broadcast

Around the world, and Russian pilots to read

Before they followed their orders.  Bombs away.  

 

Christopher’s collection Watch Fire earned him the Lavan Younger Poets Award from the Academy of American Poets.  His writing since has been translated into nearly forty languages; and among his many honors are a Chevalier des Arts et des Lettres from the French government, and fellowships from the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial and Ingram Merrill Foundations.  In April of 2012, he was appointed to the National Council on the Humanities by President Barack Obama.  Reading On the Road to Lviv, and seeing the facing-page translations into Ukrainian, it becomes plain that his new book is also intended to speak––not for, but to––the people of that country, both the brutalized survivors and the all-too-silent dead.  Christopher is attempting to stand as a witness to that suffering, to make sure that politicians never attempt to take refuge behind the deceitful shield: we didn’t know.  In her landmark anthology Against Forgetting: Twentieth Century Poetry of Witness, Carolyn Forché writes of that earlier time: “These poems will not permit us diseased complacency.  They come to us with claims that have yet to be filled, as attempts to mark us as they have themselves been marked.”  Certainly, there are children being born into the 21^st century for whom names like Mariupol and Kharkiv and Lviv will not be coupled with the sting of tears.  This poet is speaking to them as well.

 

 

 

 

 

Red Letters 3.0

 

* If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to:

steven.arlingtonlaureate@gmail.com

 

 

* To learn more about the origins of the Red Letter Project, check out an essay I wrote for Arrowsmith Magazine:

https://www.arrowsmithpress.com/community-of-voices

 

and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene

http://dougholder.blogspot.com

 

* For updates and announcements about Red Letter projects and poetry readings, please follow me on Twitter          

@StevenRatiner

Somerville Poet Alex Levering Kern: Knows 'What an Island Knows'

Alexander Levering Kern is a poet, chaplain, editor, and Quaker educator originally from Washington, DC and based in Somerville and (whenever possible) Chebeague Island, Maine. He is the author of a book of poems, What an Island Knows (Shanti Arts, 2024), and a forthcoming poetry collection from Cervena Barva Press. Alex is the editor of the anthology Becoming Fire and founding editor of Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality & the Arts (www.pensive.com). His work appears widely in publications such as Consequence Online, Spiritus, About Place Journal, Georgetown Review, Spare Change News, The Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA), Soul-Lit, and in anthologies from Tiferet, Meridian, Main Street Rag, Pudding House, and Ibbetson Street. Recipient of various writing awards, Alex was selected as a resident at the T.S. Eliot House in 2024. Alex has served and learned alongside communities around issues of justice, peace, and healing in a variety of global contexts: in post-earthquake Haiti, post-apartheid Southern Africa, northern Nigeria, rural Honduras, and with unhoused and displaced people in the United States. His work has been covered by the Washington Post, Boston Globe, Harvard Gazette, Somerville Times, and the Sidwell Friends Alumni Magazine. I recently touched base with him about his new collection of poetry What an Island Knows and he agreed to an interview.



Your book is like a poetic journal of your summers spent on Chebeague Island off the coast of Maine. What is it that inspires you about this place?


Excellent question, Doug. Before I answer, I want to thank you for all you do to promote poetry and the arts in Somerville, Boston, and beyond. Every community needs a tireless advocate and organizer, and you're our guy! As a fellow editor and educator, I especially appreciate your efforts with Endicott College students and other emerging poets and writers. Please keep up the great work!


So back to Chebeague (the name is pronounced "Sha-big," from an Abenaki word). The practice of "place" has always been central to who I am as a person and a poet. Growing up in Washington, DC, my childhood "sacred place" was my Quaker grandparents' orchard in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Southwestern Virginia. For my children, it's this gloriously beautiful island in the Casco Bay off the coast of Portland. Their grandparents (my in-laws and Somervillians Michael and Beth Grunko) bought a summer cottage on the island in the early 1990s and our large extended family has been retreating there ever since. It's become much more than a summer home. It's a place of being, becoming, and belonging.


There is so much that inspires me about the island. My debut book of poems, What an Island Knows, is in many ways a love song to this place - and to local communities everywhere. Like any place, the island faces major challenges (environmental, economic, etc.), yet is an endless source of resilience, renewal, and inspiration. I'm inspired by its natural beauty, its history and culture, and the amazing people who've called this place home: year-round residents, summer folks, and the Wabanaki tribes, the original inhabitants whose important legacy endures.


Betsy Sholl, the former poet laureate of Maine, described your poetry as a form of "cherishing." What is your definition of cherishing—and do you feel that your work accomplishes that?


I love that Betsy Sholl, whose poetry I cherish, used the word "cherishing" in her foreword to the book. It's not a word I often use, but seems to capture what I'm after. To cherish means to love, to treasure, and to place great value, but also means to protect and care. For me, it’s an expression of what the geographer Yi-Fu Tuan calls "topophilia"- literally "love of place," with a profound sense of connection and spiritual identification. As Betsy notes, cherishing is akin to delight and begins with prayerful attention, a grateful and contemplative gazing into the heart of things, a pausing to "be with," "be in," and "be overcome" by awe and wonder. Cherishing also means reverencing the land and the ancestors, and pledging to steward it as if it were family, because it is. As to whether my writing accomplishes this "cherishing," I doubt it. Just as words cannot finally capture the love I feel for my family, poetry can only hint at the mysterious love at the heart of a place like Chebeague. That said, it's always worth trying!




In your poem " Passage Over" you write that people who visit the island are "ritual people." The ritual of returning to the island year after year—is it a sort of religious calling?


Absolutely! As a Quaker, I come from a tradition that ostensibly deemphasizes religious ritual, but I know it when I see it! Chebeague is a place of pilgrimage, of "eternal return," whether we choose to use that language or not. As Donna Miller Damon notes, Chebeague is one of an endangered species: unbridged islands in Maine with year round communities. The only way to access the island is by ferry or boat, so the ritual of return is a communal ritual, like “the solstice dance of a medieval village” I say: planning, packing, driving, unpacking, loading our luggage onto a bus, riding that bus to a ferry dock, loading and unloading again, ferrying over -- all the while greeting neighbors and helping each other to tote our provisions. There are also Fourth of July parade rituals and the "Chebeague Island wave," waving to neighbors and strangers in passing, whether a full-palmed greeting or a few fingers lifted, nonchalantly, while cycling past. These are but a few of the many rituals and traditions that bind us to each other, to the ancestors, and ensure that the community survives and flourishes.


In the poem "Found Art" you talk about finding beauty again in yourself, your family, and nature. Nature can be like a skilled therapist in some respects-- do you agree?


- It certainly is. As a human species, of course, we are "nature" ourselves, creatures inextricably linked to - and dependent upon - greater ecological systems for life. It's no surprise then that much of our (post) modern malaise is attributable, I think, to "nature deficit disorders" - our alienation from, and neglect and destruction of, non-human nature. Poets have always looked to nature for healing, wholeness, wisdom, and grounding - from the Psalmists to the ancient Buddhist poets to the Romantics and Transcendentalists to contemporary activist eco-poets. For me, being outdoors and in wild places is as essential as food or water. In the case of Chebeague Island, walking on the shore, listening to the trees, watching the stars and planets- is not an "escape" from the shadow or from the violence and injustice of the wider world. On an island, we are never apart from, but are always “a part of,” in a different way than on the mainland perhaps. In rest and retreat, we are renewed for our work in the world, and to come close to the beauty of an island is to experience a kindred beauty in others and in oneself, and beauty, as Dostoevsky writes, somehow will save the world.




Any future projects you would like to talk about?


Thanks for asking. I’ve been writing and editing poems for over twenty years, and have published widely in journals, but only recently decided to set aside fear and perfectionism and submit book manuscripts for publication. Christine Cote Brooks of Shanti Arts has been wonderful to work with on this current book. Later this year, the equally amazing Gloria Mindock and Cervena Barva Press will publish a collection of peacemaking and parenting poems I wrote during the height of the US wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Thanks to a residency at the T.S. Eliot House in Gloucester, I've been polishing several other book manuscripts, decades in the making: a poetic love letter to Somerville; a collection of poems about experiences working with unhoused and displaced persons; a book of poems about commuting in Boston; and collections of poems about family roots, Quakerism, and the strange and wonderful work of university chaplaincy. Wish me luck, my friend! Just as importantly, I continue to work with students co-editing Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality & the Arts, featuring exceptional poetry, prose, art, and translations from around the world. Please encourage folks to check us out at pensivejournal.com and consider submitting. Many thanks, Doug, and best wishes with your own creative endeavors!



Passage Over


Like a nautical compass we long for true north

wherever that place may be. It’s high tide

that draws us here: summer natives and islanders,

driftwood jettisoned from the mainland,

from every hidden corner of worry and need.


There’s a collective exhaling we feel on the bus

that trundles us down to the ferry dock:

strangers, neighbors, familiar dogs

each sniffing for ocean air.


We are ritual people, loading and unloading

our common freight, hand over hand

like the solstice dance of a medieval village,

the weak always helping the strong.


Soon our luggage will rest in the ferry

and we’ll nod and smile, unburdened for now.

The island waits, and when we reach the shore

we’ll go our separate ways.