Class loyalties tested on not-so-deserted island

Recently, Miss Cheapist was fortunate enough to spend time on the island of Molokai, Hawaii. The experience could be summarized as unsettling solitude, unmitigated natural beauty, and a home-stay with a transplanted East Coast couple, whose lifestyle embodied a "back to the land"ethos not recognizable as belonging to the 21^st century. Upon her return to New York, Miss Cheapist was forced to revisit the question: What was the city worth to her?

Unlike other islands in Hawaii, which have been developed into tropical play-lands, Molokai and its residents have fought to maintain a landscape and community preserved in time. Its main road runs less than 50 miles, from east to west, without a traffic light. It is dotted with homes of native Hawaiians, many of whom post hand-made signs protesting La'au Point, a concession made by a local group to allow a developer to build on one area for high-end eco-homes, in return for the protection of many more acres for generations to come. Four years ago, the hot-button topic was fighting the influence of "ice" on local youth and families.

With few hotels, paved roads, or shopping centers, one accustomed to the conveniences and luxuries of an island vacation might become frustrated. Not only could the island be much more pleasurable without blatant hostility toward outsiders and more access to recreation outside of expensive or extreme sports. The native-led moratorium on development also seemedl to undermine the chance of improvement in the island residents' quality of life, and many do struggle with the worst poverty in the state. La'au Point was not exactly an eminent domain story of a Bruce Ratner displacing whole communities to build a stadium, a borough given over increased congestion, noise and obnoxious land-grabbing. These proposed homes will barely leave a carbon footprint on the island, and the money from sales will allow the developer to reopen an old hotel, creating more jobs. The amount of protected land offered in exchange is far larger than any won by a grass-roots movement, and would remain untouched into the future. The resistance from Hawaiian groups highlighted how fiercely a betrayed community will fight to hang on to their last remaining assets, expecting reparations for past injustices. Undeniably native Hawaiians have been subjected to a near-genocide in the process of American colonization of the islands. However, could this conflict stall the growth of today's generation of Hawaiians, perpetuating distrust and knee-jerk reactiveness to any change? Uncertain if she was even entitled to an opinion on these local politics, Miss Cheapist felt her class conscience challenged.

The setting allowed her to spend significant time before a vast and unforgiving sea, reflecting upon her existence. Without the distractions and desires of urban life, she quickly became frightened. Once dwarfed by the high prices and lack of authenticity in the city, she then found herself scared of the dark and unable to grapple with her helplessness in the face of unimaginable natural forces.

The city, she realized, allowed her (and many others, she supposed), to delay a necessary process of self-actualization. With nightlife, shopping, and other opportunities to pursue pleasure and companionship, she never really needed to test her own physical strength and mental acuity. Urbanites tend to believe that because they work hard, play hard, and can withstand the threat of "crime," that they have truly challenged themselves. Yet, in nature, another set of skills were required. In New York, Miss Cheapist could always blame something other than herself; there was always someone richer, more savvy, more fit, and more educated than oneself in the city. Survival meant merely accepting this truth and coping with grace.

After Miss Cheapist came to this revelation, she began to observe the lives of her friends who moved there, the M. family. They were not intimidated by Molokai's remoteness, excited by the opportunity to create a garden, spear-fish with sharks for food, educate their child among people of a different race and culture, and actually integrate themselves into a community. They raised corn and squash. Their newly acquired chickens roamed freely on the property and ate homemade grain. After four years of attending an immersion school, their son was fluent in Hawaiian and considered the island his home.

At the same time, they worked crazy hours at their not-for-profit jobs, fought like any other married couple, and worried about paying their mortgage. Not completely disdainful of the trappings of modern life, Mr. M, had formed an unnatural attachment to his newly acquired iPhone. After a hard days work, he clutched it like a drink, taking in segments of Fox reality shows purchased online. It was clear some things would always be inescapable, regardless of one environment. Perhaps they also paid a price for their isolation.

Ms. M joked to Miss Cheapist that if the end of the world ever came, she could always flee to their home, which was created as its own self-sustaining entity. Mr. M. joked that Miss Cheapist would not survive one day in Molokai, silently condemning her existence to one of a spoiled, city girl dependent on a Candace Bushnell fantasy.

He was probably right, on some level, as the visit was more unsettling than relaxing to her by the end. Upon her return, the city no longer seemed to represent the center of the universe. Miss Cheapist knew there was more out there, and her ambitions leaned in a new direction.

But did she have the courage to pursue it?

Obama in Brooklyn: Grassroots-style

After paying $25 dollars to hear Senator Barack Obama speak at the Brooklyn Marriott, Miss Cheapist decides to enter the realm of political punditry, and contribute her observations.

Confession: while she is a regular voter, Miss Cheapist maintains a love-hate relationship with elections, keeping a distance in ways that betray the potential of Gen Y, the last hope for civic participation since the drop-off noted by Robert Putnam from the 1960s. Perhaps one could characterize her ambivalence as “political cheapness.” Realizing her limitations, (maybe she should have camped out in Ohio in ’04), Miss Cheapist attended the event because after reading Dreams of My Father and following Obama's senatorial victory, she felt some stirrings that America was ready for something new. Maybe she even had the ‘audacity to hope’ for a future in this country that embraced ambiguity and the intellect, and was willing to engage in unscripted, productive conversations about race, class and responsibility within the national and international realm.

While it was awe-inspiring to be in a room with the latest celebrity candidate and be surrounded by such a diverse group of potentially inspired people, little things kept reminding Miss Cheapist just how cheap her tickets were. Senator Obama presents himself as being the product of a grassroots movement, and there are probably many engaged with his campaign who had lost faith in leaders years ago, or never felt they had a voice. Still…why did grassroots have to feel so low-budget? Doesn’t the everyday voter deserve some respect and comfort in the political process?

Miss Cheapist would have been happy to hear him outdoors in front of Borough Hall, as his optimism and diction seemed well suited to the echoes of downtown Brooklyn--but, that was not an option. Miss Cheapist bought her ticket from a nice campaign rep via email, waited in line outside for over an hour just to enter the Marriott, and after being asked to show ID, was crammed into a large, hot, room with no chairs, unable to see the stage that would hold the guest-of-honor. Potentially, he could be the next President of the United States. But nobody under six feet really needed to see him.

Miss Cheapist expected live streaming video projected onto large elevated flat screen monitors sharing Obama's visage with everyone. This is a technology that has become de rigeur in churches with large congregations that rival the audience at the Marriott that day for that same purpose of restoring faith through personality. But no. She only saw him shifting between the backs of people's heads and shoulders. In contrast, the press corps and cameramen had a special platform that allowed them an unobstructed view, ready to bring Obama, unfettered, to the television screens of America, perpetuating the illusion that he truly belongs to everyone. Meanwhile, those interested in hearing him without the interference of media personalities were treated like cattle.

Miss Cheapist doesn’t want to lay blame. Committed and talented people run the campaign, of course. And the event was an earnest effort to include as many people as possible. After all, everyone who is anyone lives in Brooklyn now. It’s important to get involved! According to The Brooklyn Paper online, Obama attended a private fundraising party on Tuesday night, prior to the Marriott, at a mansion in Brooklyn Heights, adding to the $61,000+ he has raised from that neighborhood alone (all necessary funds, no question). In addition to food and drink, Miss Cheapist is certain that this elite group of guests had direct, personal contact with Obama, and seats were probably available, when they wished to appreciate him from afar.

Of course, Miss Cheapist does not wish to trade her experience. Being in a room of thousands, all seeking some kind of connection to the political process was certainly moving, and it was interesting to observe that not everyone had made up their minds. The room was filled with curiosity, as if people wanted to experience the Senator for themselves, hear his strategy, insight and intonations, perhaps test his sincerity. The people were the true celebrities of that evening, and Obama worked hard to win them over, and speak to their issues, touching on gas prices, CEO vs. teacher salaries, an end to the war and the closing of Guantanamo Bay. His ideas were met with applause and shouts of affirmation. Still, this event intended for “everyday working people,” as Obama referred to the audience, also unintentionally pointed out in uncomfortable ways the inequalities that exist among voters. It proved again, in our democracy, sometimes you don’t get what you pay for. Or maybe the people just haven’t paid enough.

It's not you, it's me: Reflections on the Emotionally Cheap

Moving away from issues of class, Miss Cheapist ponders the existence of a priceless, and common form of cheapness: emotional withholding and its counterpart, cowardice. Although Miss Cheapist has maintained a somewhat functioning, stable relationship for many years now, she has observed and noticed among her friends' mates, and even, occasionally, in the behavior of her own current and past partners, the phenomenon of emotional cheapness.

In 2001, Miss Cheapist dated a Manhattan assistant D.A., who, at first blush, had the looks, literacy, and quick wit of someone worthy of a serious crush. Things skipped along for at least four months, and he had even dropped the L word, when the terror attacks of September 11 took place. Miss Cheapist, completely overwhelmed with feelings of vulnerability (shared probably by many in the tri-state area and nation), was traumatized by images of bodies falling out of the sky, which triggered memories of past losses. Naturally she became somewhat "needy," clinging to the D.A., as a beacon of hope in a world that seemed to be dismantling. Instead of responding with understanding, or even puffing up with some constructed sense of masculine protectiveness (after all, he did have a gun collection, and was ready for the end), this Mr. Perfect responded with disgust and old-world stoicism. A month of withheld intimacy later, he retracted his declaration of love and said he changed his mind about everything. Then he disappeared, never to be contacted again.

Miss Cheapist, humiliated, but quickly realizing that friends were far more reliable in the healing process than any romantic entanglement, quickly erased him from her short-term memory, only using him as an cautionary tale for how signs of emotional cheapness can rarely be detected in the first few months of dating bliss, when one is blinded with the possibility that she has found someone compatible, someone who "gets" her. Miss Cheapist has heard similar stories of emotional abandonment from her attractive and successful female friends, who at first find seemingly "perfect" men who are unbelievably smitten with them. It is only after a short period (no more than 6 months), when Mr Perfect's character or abilities are tested; the woman makes the terrible mistake of "asking for more," and suddenly, the man is inscrutable, claiming that he has nothing to give, and thus, can not commit. How could she not see that he is not "ready," he asks. In fact, many of these men don't even have the courage to break up; they withhold emotion and compassion, with the hopes that they will appear so repulsive that the woman will do the dirty work for them and say goodbye forever in some hysterical and typically "crazy-woman" manner. How cheap. It's the emotional equivalent of walking away from the bathroom when the bill comes, so that the other person feels obligated to take care of the check.

In fact, it is difficult to detect a man who possesses this quality of emotional cowardice. One can easily present himself as charming and understanding at first. So impersonal and easy to play a role! After all, the D.A. even claimed to Miss Cheapist that he read fiction, his favorite being Michael Ondaatje (the lesser known works, not just The English Patient) to sustain his access to the free and unencumbered. For another friend, M., Mr. Right for Right Now (RFRN), a seemingly humble and socially conscious teacher, claimed that he had no interest in dating other women, until he had a chance to visit Venezuela, where obviously, the sex was so abundant and irresistible that he could no longer maintain their monogamous relationship. In a fit of greed, the RFRN tried to prepare M. before his trip, letting her know that it was impossible for him to pass up "hooking up" with others, if the chance arose, because then he would lament the fact that he was not having "enough fun" while on vacation.

This notion that one must "have fun" at the expense of everything, is the primary engine of emotional cheapness. The emotionally cheap is actually an indulgent and greedy small-brained monster, who actually wants to consume everything it desires, at no price. After all, few really want to deal with the complexities of individuality and eccentricity, when so many industries of the world (not just the nation) are set up for Americans, especially men, to enjoy pleasure without emotion! Why commit to one person, when for the same price of a free dinner, you can have another? Yes, the illusion of variety also perpetuates emotional cheapness, because at a certain point, intimacy is not the goal, but instead test-driving and tasting in the name of knowing ones market is far more important. So in this climate, how does a woman protect herself? Hey don't take it personally. Yes, you may have little flaws and weird aspects to your personality, but that's not why he could not give you what you needed. Know that Mr. RFRN will eventually tire of the pursuit and test drives, only to settle down with someone no more exceptional than yourself, then withholding emotion on a long-term basis, until he can't bear it anymore. After all, you believed he was perfect before you got to know him; do you have the patience to tolerate all of his problems and imperfections if he really came back, begging for forgiveness? Unlikely. Hey, you can be cheap too.