I'm a journalist, so I like to look for the untold stories, the lives that quietly play out under the scream of headlines. I've also been going about the business of putting down roots, choosing a partner, making babies. So for the last few years, I've been trying to understand what constitutes the 21st-century good life, both because I'm fascinated by the moral and philosophical implications, but also because I'm in desperate need of answers myself.
Ja sam novinarka, stoga volim neispričane priče, živote koji se tiho odvijaju pod vikom naslova. Također pratim stvari poput puštanja korijena, odabira partnera, pravljenja djece. Posljednjih nekoliko godina, pokušavam razumijeti što to sačinjava dobar život u 21. stoljeću, zato što sam sam opčinjena moralnim i filozofskim posljedicama ali i zato jer sam i sama u očajničkoj potrebi za odgovorima.
We live in tenuous times. In fact, for the first time in American history, the majority of parents do not think that their kids will be better off than they were. This is true of rich and poor, men and women. Now, some of you might hear this and feel sad. After all, America is deeply invested in this idea of economic transcendence, that every generation kind of leapfrogs the one before it, earning more, buying more, being more. We've exported this dream all over the world, so kids in Brazil and China and even Kenya inherit our insatiable expectation for more. But when I read this historic poll for the first time, it didn't actually make me feel sad. It felt like a provocation. "Better off" -- based on whose standards?
Živimo u nesigurnim vremenima. Zapravo, po prvi puta u američkoj povijesti većina roditelja ne smatra kako će njihovoj djeci biti bolje nego njima. To vrijedi za bogate i siromašne, muškarce i žene. Neki od vas će možda biti tužni kada to čuju. Na kraju, Amerika je duboko uključena u ovu ideju ekonomske transcedencije, da svaka generacija napreduje u odnosu na prethodnu, zarađuje više, kupuje više, je više. Izvezli smo ovaj san diljem svijeta, tako da klinci u Brazilu i Kini i čak Keniji naslijeđuju naše nezasitno očekivanje prema nečemu više. Ali kada sam čitala ovu povijesnu anketu prvi puta, nije me rastužila. Činila se kao provokacija. "Biti bolje" -- na osnovu čijih standarda?
Is "better off" finding a secure job that you can count on for the rest of your life? Those are nearly extinct. People move jobs, on average, every 4.7 years, and it's estimated that by 2020, nearly half of Americans will be freelancers. OK, so is better off just a number? Is it about earning as much as you possibly can? By that singular measurement, we are failing. Median per capita income has been flat since about 2000, adjusted for inflation. All right, so is better off getting a big house with a white picket fence? Less of us are doing that. Nearly five million people lost their homes in the Great Recession, and even more of us sobered up about the lengths we were willing to go -- or be tricked into going, in many predatory cases -- to hold that deed. Home-ownership rates are at their lowest since 1995.
Da li je "biti bolje" naći siguran posao na koji možeš računati ostatak života? Takvi su skoro izumrli. Ljudi mijenjaju posao u prosjeku svakih 4.7 godine, te je procijenjeno da će do 2020., gotovo polovica Amerikanaca raditi honorarno. U redu, da li je "biti bolje" samo broj? Da li se radi o tome da se zaradi čim više? Sa tom jednom mjerom, mi gubimo. Medijan po glavi dohotka stagnira od otprilike 2000., prilagođeno inflaciji. U redu, da li je "biti bolje" velika kuća sa bijelom ogradom? Sve nas je manje za to. Skoro 5 milijuna ljudi izgubilo je domove tijekom Velike recesije a još nas se više otrijeznilo u pogledu dokle smo spremni ići ili bivani prevareni kamo idemo, u mnogim slučajevima kako bismo imali tu ispravu. Razina posjedovanja nekretnine je najniža od 1995.
All right, so we're not finding steady employment, we're not earning as much money, and we're not living in big fancy houses. Toll the funeral bells for everything that made America great. But, are those the best measurements of a country's greatness, of a life well lived? What I think makes America great is its spirit of reinvention. In the wake of the Great Recession, more and more Americans are redefining what "better off" really means. Turns out, it has more to do with community and creativity than dollars and cents.
U redu, nemamo stalno zaposlenje, ne zarađujemo puno novca i ne živimo u velikim, lijepim kućama. Pogrebna zvona zvone za sve što je učinilo Ameriku velikom. Ali, jesu li to najbolje mjere veličine neke zemlje, dobro življenog života? Smatram da je ono što čini Ameriku velikom duh re-inovacije. U osvit Velike recesije, sve više Amerikanaca redefiniraju što znači "biti bolje. Ispostavilo se da ima više veze sa zajednicom i kreativnošću, nego sa dolarima i centima.
Now, let me be very clear: the 14.8 percent of Americans living in poverty need money, plain and simple. And all of us need policies that protect us from exploitation by employers and financial institutions. Nothing that follows is meant to suggest that the gap between rich and poor is anything but profoundly immoral. But, too often we let the conversation stop there. We talk about poverty as if it were a monolithic experience; about the poor as if they were solely victims. Part of what I've learned in my research and reporting is that the art of living well is often practiced most masterfully by the most vulnerable.
Moram biti vrlo jasna: 14.8 posto Amerikanaca koji žive u siromaštvu trebaju novac, jasno i glasno. Svi mi trebamo politiku koja nas štiti od iskorištavanja od strane poslodavaca i financijskih institucija. Ništa što dolazi ne sugerira da je jaz između bogatih i siromašnih išta drugo nego duboko nemoralan. Ali, prečesto dozvoljavamo da razgovor stane na tome. Pričamo o siromaštvu kao da je monolitsko iskustvo; o siromašnima kao da su isključivo žrtve. Dio onog što sam naučila iz svojih istraživanja i izvještaja je da je umjetnost dobrog življenja često prakticirana do majstorstva od strane najranjivijih.
Now, if necessity is the mother of invention, I've come to believe that recession can be the father of consciousness. It confronts us with profound questions, questions we might be too lazy or distracted to ask in times of relative comfort. How should we work? How should we live? All of us, whether we realize it or not, seek answers to these questions, with our ancestors kind of whispering in our ears.
Ako je nužda majka izuma, počela sam vjerovati da je recesija otac svjesnosti. Suočava nas sa dubokim pitanjima, pitanjima koja smo prelijeni ili prezauzeti pitati u vremenima relativne udobnosti. Kako bismo trebali raditi? Kako bismo trebali živjeti? Svi mi, shvaćali to ili ne, tražimo odgovore na ova pitanja, dok nam naši preci šapuću u uho.
My great-grandfather was a drunk in Detroit, who sometimes managed to hold down a factory job. He had, as unbelievable as it might sound, 21 children, with one woman, my great-grandmother, who died at 47 years old of ovarian cancer. Now, I'm pregnant with my second child, and I cannot even fathom what she must have gone through. And if you're trying to do the math -- there were six sets of twins. So my grandfather, their son, became a traveling salesman, and he lived boom and bust. So my dad grew up answering the door for debt collectors and pretending his parents weren't home. He actually took his braces off himself with pliers in the garage, when his father admitted he didn't have money to go back to the orthodontist. So my dad, unsurprisingly, became a bankruptcy lawyer. Couldn't write this in a novel, right? He was obsessed with providing a secure foundation for my brother and I.
Moj pradjed je bio pijanac u Detroitu, koji bi ponekad uspio da zadrži posao u tvornici. Imao je, koliko god to nevjerojatno zvučalo, 21 dijete, sa jednom ženom, mojom prabakom, koja je umrla sa 47 godina od raka jajnika. Sada, kada sam trudna sa drugim djetetom ne mogu niti zamisliti kroz što je morala proći. Ako pokušavate izračunati -- radi se o 6 parova blizanaca. Moj djed, njihov sin, postao je putujući prodavač, i preživio je i dobro i loše. Moj tata je odrastao otvarajući vrata utjerivačima duga i praveći se da mu roditelji nisu doma. Sam je skinuo zubnu protezu kliještima u garaži, kada mu je otac priznao da nema novaca da opet idu ortodontu. Tako da je moj otac postao, što ne iznenađuje, stečajni odvjetnik. Ovo nema niti u romanu, je li? Bio je opsjednut pružanjem sigurnog temelja mojem bratu i meni.
So I ask these questions by way of a few generations of struggle. My parents made sure that I grew up on a kind of steady ground that allows one to question and risk and leap. And ironically, and probably sometimes to their frustration, it is their steadfast commitment to security that allows me to question its value, or at least its value as we've historically defined it in the 21st century.
Stoga pitam ova pitanja zbog nekoliko generacija borbe. Moji roditelji su osigurali da odrastem u sigurnosti koja omogućava propitivanje, rizik i skok. Ironično, i vjerojatno ponekad frustrirajuće za njih, je da njihovo čvrsto stremljenje ka sigurnosti meni omogućava propitivanje njene vrijednosti, ili barem povijesno definirane vrijednosti u 21. stoljeću.
So let's dig into this first question: How should we work? We should work like our mothers. That's right -- we've spent decades trying to fit women into a work world built for company men. And many have done backbends to fit in, but others have carved a more unconventional path, creating a patchwork of meaning and money with enough flexibility to do what they need to do for those that they love. My mom called it "just making it work." Today I hear life coaches call it "a portfolio career." Whatever you call it, more and more men are craving these whole, if not harried, lives. They're waking up to their desire and duty to be present fathers and sons.
Krenimo sa prvim pitanjem: Kako bismo trebali raditi? Trebali bismo raditi kao naše majke. Tako je -- proveli smo desetljeća pokušavajući uklopiti žene u svijet rada namijenjenom muškarcima. I mnoge su učinile puno da se uklope, ali druge su urezale puno neuobičajeniju stazu, stvarajući kolaž značenja i novca sa dovoljno fleksibilnosti da naprave ono što moraju za one koje vole. Moja mama je to zvala: "samo neka se radi." Danas to "životni treneri" zovu "portfelj-karijerom." Kako god to zvali, sve više muškaraca žudi za ovim cjelovitim i ne ugnjetavanim životima. Otvaraju se želji i dužnosti da budu prisutni očevi i sinovi.
Now, artist Ann Hamilton has said, "Labor is a way of knowing." Labor is a way of knowing. In other words, what we work on is what we understand about the world. If this is true, and I think it is, then women who have disproportionately cared for the little ones and the sick ones and the aging ones, have disproportionately benefited from the most profound kind of knowing there is: knowing the human condition. By prioritizing care, men are, in a sense, staking their claim to the full range of human existence.
Umjetnica Ann Hamilton je rekla, "Rad je vrsta znanja." Rad je vrsta znanja. Drugim riječima, ono na čemu radimo je ono što razumijemo o svijetu. Ako je to istina, a mislim da je, tada žene koje su relativno malo brinule za malene i bolesne i za stare, su se također relativno malo okoristile od najdublje vrste znanja koje postoji: znanja ljudskog uvjetovanja. Čineći skrb prvom, muškarci, u neki ruku, tvrde svoje pravo na puni opseg ljudskog postojanja.
Now, this means the nine-to-five no longer works for anyone. Punch clocks are becoming obsolete, as are career ladders. Whole industries are being born and dying every day. It's all nonlinear from here. So we need to stop asking kids, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and start asking them, "How do you want to be when you grow up?" Their work will constantly change. The common denominator is them. So the more they understand their gifts and create crews of ideal collaborators, the better off they will be.
To znači da 9-do-5 više ne odgovara svakome. Ukucavanje vremena dolaska je suvišno, a ujedno i karijerni napredak. Čitave industrije se rađaju i nestaju svakoga dana. Od sada nadalje sve je nelinearno. Stoga moramo prestati pitati djecu, "Što želiš biti kada odrasteš?" i početi ih pitati, "Kako želiš biti kad odrasteš?" Njihov posao će biti neprestana promjena. Zajednički nazivnik su oni. Što više razumiju svoje darove i stvore timove idealnih suradnika, tim će im biti bolje.
The challenge ahead is to reinvent the social safety net to fit this increasingly fragmented economy. We need portable health benefits. We need policies that reflect that everyone deserves to be vulnerable or care for vulnerable others, without becoming destitute. We need to seriously consider a universal basic income. We need to reinvent labor organizing. The promise of a work world that is structured to actually fit our 21st century values, not some archaic idea about bringing home the bacon, is long overdue -- just ask your mother.
Izazov je ponovan izum mreže socijalne sigurnosti koja će uklopiti ovo, sve više podijeljeno društvo. Trebamo prijenosne zdravstvene povlastice. Trebamo politike koje odražavaju svačije pravo na ranjivost ili brigu za ranjivost drugih, bez oskudnosti. Moramo ozbiljno promisliti univerzalni osnovni dohodak. Moramo ponovno izumiti organizaciju rada. Obećanje svijeta rada koji se može uklopiti u vrijednosti 21. stoljeća, ne neka arhaična ideja o "donošenju slanine doma," to već dosta kasni -- samo pitajte svoju majku.
Now, how about the second question: How should we live? We should live like our immigrant ancestors. When they came to America, they often shared apartments, survival tactics, child care -- always knew how to fill one more belly, no matter how small the food available. But they were told that success meant leaving the village behind and pursuing that iconic symbol of the American Dream, the white picket fence. And even today, we see a white picket fence and we think success, self-possession. But when you strip away the sentimentality, what it really does is divides us. Many Americans are rejecting the white picket fence and the kind of highly privatized life that happened within it, and reclaiming village life, reclaiming interdependence instead.
Sada, što sa drugim pitanjem: Kako bismo trebali živjeti? Trebali bismo živjeti kao naši preci koji su imigrirali. Kada su došli u Ameriku, često su živjeli u zajedničkim stanovima, preživljavanje, skrb o djeci -- uvijek su znali kako napuniti još jedan trbuh, bez obzira koliko malo hrane imali. Ali rečeno im je da uspjeh znači ostaviti selo iza i tjerati onaj ikonični uspjeh Američkog Sna, bijelu ogradu. Čak i danas, kada vidimo bijelu ogradu pomislimo na uspjeh, samo-vlasništvo. Ali kada ogulimo sentimentalnost, ono što zbilja čini je da nas dijeli. Mnogi Amerikanci odbijaju bijelu ogradu i vrstu visoko privatiziranog života koji dolazi s njom i ponovno prihvaćaju seoski život i uzajamnu ovisnost.
Fifty million of us, for example, live in intergenerational households. This number exploded with the Great Recession, but it turns out people actually like living this way. Two-thirds of those who are living with multiple generations under one roof say it's improved their relationships. Some people are choosing to share homes not with family, but with other people who understand the health and economic benefits of daily community. CoAbode, an online platform for single moms looking to share homes with other single moms, has 50,000 users. And people over 65 are especially prone to be looking for these alternative living arrangements. They understand that their quality of life depends on a mix of solitude and solidarity. Which is true of all of us when you think about it, young and old alike. For too long, we've pretended that happiness is a king in his castle. But all the research proves otherwise. It shows that the healthiest, happiest and even safest -- in terms of both climate change disaster, in terms of crime, all of that -- are Americans who live lives intertwined with their neighbors.
50 milijuna nas, na primjer, živi u međugeneracijskim kućanstvima. Ovaj je broj eksplodirao sa Velikom recesijom, ali ispostavilo se da ljudi zapravo vole živjeti ovako. Dvije trećine onih koji su živjeli sa više generacija pod jednim krovom kažu da je to poboljšalo njihove odnose. Neki ljudi biraju dijeliti domove ne sa obitelji, nego sa drugim ljudima koji razumiju zdravstvene i ekonomske dobrobiti dnevne zajednice. CoAbode, online platforma za samohrane majke koje žele dijeliti dom sa drugim samohranim majkama, ima 50.000 korisnika. Ljudi stariji od 65 su posebno skloni traženju tih alternativnih životnih aranžmana. Oni razumiju da njihova kvaliteta života ovisi o spoju samoće i solidarnosti. Ako promislite, to važi za sve, mlade i stare podjednako. Predugo smo se pravili da je sreća biti kralj u dvorcu. Sva istraživanja pokazuju upravo suprotno. Pokazuju da su najzdraviji, najsretniji, i čak najsigurniji što se tiče katastrofa klimatskih promjena, kriminala, svega toga Amerikanci koji žive isprepleteni sa svojim susjedima.
Now, I've experienced this firsthand. For the last few years, I've been living in a cohousing community. It's 1.5 acres of persimmon trees, this prolific blackberry bush that snakes around a community garden, all smack-dab, by the way, in the middle of urban Oakland. The nine units are all built to be different, different sizes, different shapes, but they're meant to be as green as possible. So big, shiny black solar cells on our roof mean our electricity bill rarely exceeds more than five bucks in a month. The 25 of us who live there are all different ages and political persuasions and professions, and we live in homes that have everything a typical home would have. But additionally, we share an industrial-sized kitchen and eating area, where we have common meals twice a week.
Ja sam to iskusila iz prve ruke. Zadnjih par godina živjela sam u dijeljenoj zajednici. 1.5 jutara kaki voćaka, plodno žbunje kupina koje se obavijaju oko zajedničkog vrta, i sve to u centru urbanog Oaklanda. Devet jedinica stvoreno da budu drugačije, druge veličine, drugačijih oblika, ali da budu zeleni koliko je to moguće. Velike, blistave solarne ćelije na našem krovu znače da naš račun za struju rijetko prelazi pet dolara mjesečno. 25 nas koji žive tamo je različitih dobi i političkih uvjerenja i zanimanja, i živimo u domovima koji imaju sve što tipičan dom ima. Ali dodatno, dijelimo kuhinju industrijske veličine i blagavaonu gdje dva puta tjedno zajedno jedemo.
Now, people, when I tell them I live like this, often have one of two extreme reactions. Either they say, "Why doesn't everyone live like this?" Or they say, "That sounds totally horrifying. I would never want to do that." So let me reassure you: there is a sacred respect for privacy among us, but also a commitment to what we call "radical hospitality" -- not the kind advertised by the Four Seasons, but the kind that says that every single person is worthy of kindness, full stop, end of sentence.
Kada kažem ljudima da volim ovako živjeti, često imaju jednu od dvije reakcije. Ili kažu: "Tko ne bi volio živjeti tako?" Ili kažu: "To zvuči potpuno užasavajuće. Ne bih to nikada željela uraditi." Da vas razuvjerim: postoji sveto poštovanje prema privatnosti među nama ali i predanost onome što zovemo "radikalna gostoljubivost" -- ne ona koju oglašavaju Four Seasons, nego ona koja kaže da je svaka osoba vrijedna ljubaznosti, točka, kraj rečenice.
The biggest surprise for me of living in a community like this? You share all the domestic labor -- the repairing, the cooking, the weeding -- but you also share the emotional labor. Rather than depending only on the idealized family unit to get all of your emotional needs met, you have two dozen other people that you can go to to talk about a hard day at work or troubleshoot how to handle an abusive teacher. Teenagers in our community will often go to an adult that is not their parent to ask for advice. It's what bell hooks called "revolutionary parenting," this humble acknowledgment that kids are healthier when they have a wider range of adults to emulate and count on. Turns out, adults are healthier, too. It's a lot of pressure, trying to be that perfect family behind that white picket fence.
Meni najveće iznenađenje u zajednici poput ove? Dijeljenje kućnog rada -- popravci, kuhanje, pljevljenje -- ali i dijeljenje emocionalnog rada. Umjesto oslanjanja samo na idealiziranu obiteljsku jedinicu za brigu o svim emocionalnim potrebama, imate dva tuceta drugih ljudi kojima možete ići pričati o teškom danu na poslu ili riješiti problem učitelja koji loše postupa. Tinejdžeri u našoj zajednici često idu odrasloj osobi koja im nije roditelj pitati za savjet. Belle Hooks je to nazvala "revolucionarnim roditeljstvom," to skromno priznanje da su djeca zdravija kada imaju širi krug odraslih da emuliraju i računaju na njih. Ispostavilo se da su i odrasli zdraviji. Velik je to pritisak, pokušavati biti ta savršena obitelj iza bijele ograde.
The "new better off," as I've come to call it, is less about investing in the perfect family and more about investing in the imperfect village, whether that's relatives living under one roof, a cohousing community like mine, or just a bunch of neighbors who pledge to really know and look out for one another. It's good common sense, right? And yet, money has often made us dumb about reaching out. The most reliable wealth is found in relationship.
"Novo bolje", kako sam to nazvala, je manje o ulaganju u savršenu obitelj a više o ulaganju u nesavršeno selo, bilo da su to rođaci pod jednim krovom, zajednica su-kućanstava poput moje, ili samo zajednica susjeda koji su odlučili zbilja znati i brinuti jedni o drugima. To je dobar zdrav razum, zar ne? A ipak, novac nas često čini glupima kada treba dotaknuti druge. Najpouzdanije bogatstvo je u odnosima.
The new better off is not an individual prospect at all. In fact, if you're a failure or you think you're a failure, I've got some good news for you: you might be a success by standards you have not yet honored. Maybe you're a mediocre earner but a masterful father. Maybe you can't afford your dream home, but you throw legendary neighborhood parties. If you're a textbook success, the implications of what I'm saying could be more grim for you. You might be a failure by standards you hold dear but that the world doesn't reward. Only you can know.
"Nove bolje" uopće ne znači pojedinačni uspjeh. Zapravo, ako ste gubitnik ili mislite da ste gubitnik, imam dobre vijest za vas: mogli bi biti uspjeh po standardima koje još ne poštujete. Možda ste samo osrednji privređivač, ali izvrstan otac. Možda si ne možete priuštiti kuću iz snova, ali možete legendarne zabave u susjedstvu. Ako ste tip uspjeha po udžbeniku, implikacije ovoga bi mogle biti sumorne po vas. Mogli biste biti gubitnik po vama bitnim standardima, ali koje svijet ne nagrađuje. To samo vi možete znati.
I know that I am not a tribute to my great-grandmother, who lived such a short and brutish life, if I earn enough money to afford every creature comfort. You can't buy your way out of suffering or into meaning. There is no home big enough to erase the pain that she must have endured. I am a tribute to her if I live a life as connected and courageous as possible. In the midst of such widespread uncertainty, we may, in fact, be insecure. But we can let that insecurity make us brittle or supple. We can turn inward, lose faith in the power of institutions to change -- even lose faith in ourselves. Or we can turn outward, cultivate faith in our ability to reach out, to connect, to create.
Znam da nisam na počast svojoj prabaki, koja je živjela tako kratak i surov život, ako zaradim dosta da si priuštim svaku moguću ugodu. Ne možete kupiti put iz patnje ili prema značenju. Ne postoji dom dovoljno velik da izbriše bol koju je ona morala izdržati. Ja joj odajem počast ako živim povezan i hrabar život koliko mogu. Usred toliko rasprostranjene nesigurnosti, mi zapravo možemo biti nesigurni. Ali nesigurnost nas može učiniti krhkima ili gipkima. Možemo se introvertirati, izgubiti vjeru u promjenu institucija -- čak i izgubiti vjeru u same sebe. Ili se možemo okrenuti na van, gojiti vjeru u sposobnost da posegnemo, da se povežemo, da stvaramo.
Turns out, the biggest danger is not failing to achieve the American Dream. The biggest danger is achieving a dream that you don't actually believe in. So don't do that. Do the harder, more interesting thing, which is to compose a life where what you do every single day, the people you give your best love and ingenuity and energy to, aligns as closely as possible with what you believe. That, not something as mundane as making money, is a tribute to your ancestors. That is the beautiful struggle.
Ispada da najveća opasnost nije neuspjeh u ostvarenju Američkog Sna. Najveća opasnost je u ostvarenju sna u koji zapravo ne vjerujemo. Nemojte to raditi. Napravite težu, zanimljiviju stvar, gdje stvarate život u kojem se ono što radite svakoga dana, ljudi kojima dajete najbolju ljubav, pronicljivost i energiju, poravnava najviše što je moguće sa onim u što vjerujete. To, a ne nešto prizemno poput zarađivanja, je doprinos vašim precima. To je predivna borba.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)