Category Archives: bio

Smog Days: Italy’s Pollution Problem

When I was a kid in Pittsburgh and Connecticut, waking up to find snow on the ground was always exciting, because it meant the possibility of a snow day – a day off from school due to dangerous road conditions. I’d crouch over the radio, holding my breath for the longed-for announcement that my school district was closed, so I’d be free to play all day in the wonderful snow.

It snows very rarely here in Milan, never enough to close the schools. But in January we almost had an analogous phenomenon: smog days.

Northern Italy normally gets enough rain in the winter to wash away the poisons belched into the air by oil-burning heating systems and far too many cars. But not this year: we went nearly sixty days with no rain at all. As we enjoyed the sunshine, the poisonous gases and particulates accumulated to dangerous levels. After the air quality had been officially “terrible” for nine days in a row, environmental laws forced many communities to close their streets to traffic. In Milan, we had several Sundays of no cars at all, which was very pleasant; the streets were delightfully quiet. However, this was not likely to have much effect on the smog, because many Milanese go out of town on the weekends anyway and do their driving elsewhere.

The next solution tried was four days of “alternate license plates” – on even-numbered dates, only cars with even-numbered license plates could be on the road, and vice-versa for odd dates. This meant that many more people were forced to take public transport, so, to lighten the load on the buses, trams, and subways, the regional government also decreed that all middle- and high-school students would start school at 10:00 rather than 8:00. (The kids, of course, were heartbroken.) There was even the threat of a no-cars Friday, which would have meant closing all city and state government offices and schools, but then it rained just enough for a last-minute reprieve.

We’ve since had enough wind and rain to clear the air thoroughly, but the lesson gets clearer as the air gets murkier: Italy has a serious, long-term pollution problem that we can’t depend on the weather to solve. Real, long-term solutions in sight? Few. For now, as for so many years, hopes of truly effective change appear to be lost in a sea of political wrangles, while more and more cars continue to squeeze into Italy’s smog-choked cities.

Car Stories

I have never yet driven in Europe. We moved to Italy when our daughter was 15 months old. During a trip around the US when she was 3 or 4, we talked about what we would do on the next leg of the trip, when we got to California:

“We’ll rent a car at the airport and I’ll drive us to where we’re staying,” I said.

“You can’t drive,” retorted Ross.

“Yes, I certainly can drive.”

“No, women don’t drive.”

This apparently logical conclusion was drawn from the fact that she had never seen me drive. However, she made this statement while in a car which my friend Sue was driving! Confronted with the fact that Sue was driving and was indubitably female, Ross had to revise her ideas.

When we arrived in California and picked up the rental car, I sat in the parking lot, carefully doing all the things you’re supposed to do when you first get into a new car: check the mirrors, adjust the seat, etc. After several minutes of watching me fiddling around, Ross burst out: “You’re so dumb you don’t even know how to drive a car!”

Thanks, kid – just what I needed to hear when I was in fact feeling a bit nervous, not having driven for a while. But a few days later she graciously told me: “You drive pretty well.”

National Self-Esteem

Can a country have an inferiority complex? Certainly the US strongly feels its own superiority, and this is reflected in its media. As pointed out in a Doonesbury cartoon years ago, a lot of American advertising uses the word “America” to sell products that have nothing to do with nationality. Mike Doonesbury asks: “Why are Americans so insecure about themselves? Do any other countries make ads that are so relentlessly chauvinistic?”

As a matter of fact, they don’t – at least not that I’ve seen. But Mike had the wrong end of the stick: the driving force here is not insecurity, but pride. Americans have a strong sense of what it means to be American, and it’s the kind of warm, fuzzy feeling that makes advertisers want to create a link (in the public mind) between their product and “being American.”

Watching American TV, you might get the idea that American is not only the best thing to be, it’s the only thing to be. The American media tends to ignore the rest of the world, at least until forced by events to sit up and take notice.

To a point, this is understandable; most news organizations report to a local/national audience whose interest in faraway events is limited. In reports of, say, an airline disaster, the local news will say that “x number of people from our country were involved, x others;” I’ve seen this in both the UK and Italy. The disasters that no one local is likely to be involved in get short shrift indeed: “x thousand people killed in floods in Bangladesh. End of story.”

But the United States is the leading player on the world stage, so other countries’ news media report extensively on America’s affairs, both internal and external. What happens in America affects the world. (This, by the way, is a huge responsibility, but one that most Americans seem unaware that they carry.)

Italy, on the other hand, seems to have an inferiority complex. It’s the world’s fifth or sixth largest economy, yet Italians seem to feel that Italy doesn’t really deserve much of a position on the world stage. Maybe I’m just imagining things, but I get this impression most strongly from the Italian news media.

The US public probably would not have noticed that Italy sent troops to the Gulf War, but the Italian TV news gave “our boys” lots of coverage, partly, I suppose, because it was easier and cheaper to interview them than soldiers of other nationalities. But sometimes it felt as if the Italian journalists were like the nerdy kid who tries too hard to get noticed by the rest of the class: “See, see! We’re there, too!”

A couple of Italian pilots managed to do something newsworthy: they were shot down, captured, and beat up by the Iraqis. The Italian press was delirious: finally, we have something momentous to say about Italy’s participation in the war.

Italy’s lack of national self-esteem shows in other ways. There are some things that everyone acknowledges the Italians are good at: food, design, leather. But beyond that, many Italians are convinced that the Americans do it better. Back when I was with Incat Systems, a small Italian company bent on conquering the global CD-R software market, we had trouble selling our software to Italians; some thought that software from Italy couldn’t possibly be any good. When half of the company moved to California and the same Easy CD software had an American address on it, more Italians were eager to buy it: it’s American, it must be good. (Whether Italian or American, Easy CD went on to take the lion’s share of the worldwide CD-R market; that’s why Adaptec bought it.)

As far as American customers knew, Easy CD was always an American product. Years later, when Easy CD Creator 4 was released, the suggested retail price (SRP) was $99 in the US, with a $20 rebate. In Europe SRP was set at the after-rebate price of $79. I got vitriolic email from an American: “How dare you give a lower price to foreigners on an American product?”

My response was: “The original Easy CD Creator was the offspring of Easy CD, developed in Italy, and CD Creator, developed in Canada. Even today, of the engineering staff in California, at least half were not born in America. So what exactly is an ‘American’ product?”

Never heard from him again.

“Brave” Opinions

I started out thinking that this newsletter would be technical, then realized that I am currently (maybe permanently) burned out on writing about my one great area of technical expertise, CD-R. So the thing took a travel-writing sort of turn, but then the events of and following Sept 11 made that seem trivial. My last edition got more serious, and one person wrote that I was “brave” to take on the topics that I did.

Honestly, I didn’t think of it as taking a big leap – I feel that I’m simply sharing thoughts with an extended circle of friends, and I hope that you perceive this as a conversation in which you are welcome to take part, even if (so far) I’m doing most of the talking. Calling this a “newsletter” doesn’t give me any particular authority, and I don’t claim to know all the answers or always to be sure of what I’m saying. One reader took issue with some of my comments in the last issue, but I think we’ve sorted that out – we’ve established that we both like a good argument. <grin>

This is different from what I was doing before for the company, and I’m still feeling my way into it. After years of technical and marketing writing, I’ve moved to the op-ed page. Here I don’t have the restrictions of representing a company, and can be candid about my own thoughts and opinions. Where there is opinion, there’s always room for dispute, so I don’t expect you always to agree with or like what I have to say. But I do hope you’ll always feel free to discuss it with me.

Now, It’s Personal

A few weeks ago I wrote about Woodstock School, and you probably guessed from the tone as well as the content that the place means a lot to me. Before I arrived at Woodstock, I had led a tumultuous life which included attending nine different schools in several different countries. Woodstock was a haven and a refuge, and it provided a much-needed stable point of reference in my chaotic life.

So, if there is any place in the world that I truly call home, it’s there – on a beautiful campus tucked away in the foothills of the Himalayas, far from the world and all its troubles.

Or so I thought.

Today, through the alumni network, I learned about the publication in The Indian Express newspaper of the prison diary of Ahmed Omar Sheikh. A British national of Pakistani origin, he was jailed in India in 1994 for kidnapping four people. His objective was to hold them for a very particular ransom: the release of Maulana Masood Azhar, a Kashmiri separatist militant then in an Indian jail. In 1999, a plane was hijacked in India, and this time Sheikh succeeded: the planeload of hostages was released in exchange for the freedom of Azhar, Sheikh himself, and another. According to the Express, “The FBI is exploring leads that Sheikh could have been involved in the transfer of $100,000 to Mohammad Atta, one of the hijackers in the September 11 attacks in the US.”

The diary recounts Sheikh’s arrival in India in 1994 and his various attempts to find foreigners, preferably Americans, to kidnap. His plan was to befriend a foreigner travelling alone, and invite the person to visit his “family”, who would then take the traveller hostage. While travelling about in search of victims, Sheikh wrote:

“Next morning, I went to Woodstock School… and applied for a job as a teacher. … if I got it, I could easily bring one of my co-teachers down to visit my ‘relatives’… I had an interview with the vice-principal and I didn’t get offered the job!”

In other words, he hoped to take a job teaching at Woodstock so that he could kidnap one of its American teachers.

In the event, nothing happened; the vice-principal either smelled a rat, or simply didn’t care for Sheikh’s qualifications. But this news was a fist in the stomach to me. I had already accepted, reluctantly, that now is not the time for me to go to Mussoorie for the 20th-anniversary reunion that I and my classmates were so looking forward to. I’m not so concerned about my personal safety – I have a very good sense of self-preservation and am alert to possible dangers. But, with war going on in the vicinity, things could get messy and travel become more difficult, and I didn’t want to leave my family in Italy to worry about me if I got stuck.

But now I must even more reluctantly accept that my beloved school is a potential target. And that truly hits me where it hurts.


Postscript

In July, 2002, Shaikh was sentenced to death in Pakistan for masterminding the kidnapping and murder of Daniel Pearl.