Personal Writings

An experiment in sharing economy

Kayak_and_sea_otters

We have a vacation house in Wellfleet, on Cape Cod. A twenty-minute walk through woods and marshes gets me to a public beachfront on the bayside. It is a hidden gem with extraordinary sunsets and ten-foot tides.

For as long as I can remember, there have always been rowboats, canoes and occasional kayaks stored at the beach front. We also stash an oldish canoe there. The boats are not locked, everyone just ties up to a wooden fence that town authorities installed for our convenience. A couple of years ago, they built a long rack for storing an increasing number of these vessels, evidently to protect the fragile beach grass from being trampled when the boats were dragged back and forth by their owners.

I noticed over the past three or four years a rapid proliferation of kayaks. Every year there would be more of them. This past year I counted approximately forty. The storage rack is already full and excess boats just came to be stored out on the sand.

Now, a kayak is a good choice for these waters because the frequent winds make a heavy canoe difficult to navigate. So we decided that we also wanted a kayak of our own. Before buying one, which is not a big expense, I set out to study other people’s kayaks in order to decide on the style most appropriate model for us. The first thing I noticed was that the boats were hardly ever used; each kayak is always in the same precise location. Whenever I am in the area, I rarely ever see anyone launching their personal kayak.

So is it not possible for us to share these boats among ourselves, rather than keep adding new ones? I estimate that there are about 200-300 houses for which this beachfront is regarded as “their beachfront,” so the prospect of more vessels on this tiny piece of sand and grass is very unappealing. I created a laminated sign and put it up there. So far, no responses.

The matter of SUVs

suv

I recently became aware of the fact that all of my departmental colleagues who teach and do research on sustainability drive sport-utility vehicles (SUVs). It shocked me. When SUVs first became very popular, sometime in the 1990s, there was a considerable backlash from the environmental block—both activists and intellectuals. The SUVs’ miserable fuel efficiency was considered fair game for public shaming, as were their owners. I took it as given that “we,” the right-thinking people who care about the environment and sustainability, do not drive SUVs as a matter of principle and symbolism. I was wrong. So what happened? Is it the fate of all our righteous indignations that after a while we simply join the newest social practice and consumer preference?

But that should not be all. When I commented to one young SUV-driving colleague with a wife and no children on this matter he pointed out to me that I fly around the world to professional meetings more than anyone else in my academic department and thus probably have the highest ecological footprint of us all. He is right. But I am not sure if the comparison is correct. If I stop attending international events and decline the nice invitations that I receive, my professional life as I know it will end. It is not the same for SUVs. And besides, what about the symbolism and the principle?