I’m sure you know me as the person who keeps sending out Carpes about various things I’ve made. The west hall kitchen is my home away from home. But it isn’t just mine, it’s everyone’s in West Hall. And as such, the tragedy of the commons has befallen us.
What is the tragedy of the commons? The idea, proposed in a pamphlet in 1968, is that when people are given unfettered access to a space, they will eventually destroy it by using too much of the resources. On the other hand, the idea was used as a basis to argue that too many people will have kids and overpopulation will destroy us. Which isn’t true.
But how can I say this hasn’t happened? When I made my first dish in West Hall, there were ants crawling over the not-so-freshly washed dishes and a spoon encrusted with… something (also ants) that I had to soak for half an hour. I went to clean up the East Hall kitchen for the scavenger hunt, and there was a bowl with a bit of dried rice and a desiccated chicken bone just sitting there. So why don’t people clean up this stuff?
I don’t agree with the idea that tragedy of the commons even applies to West Hall. The problem is that no one thinks of the kitchen as the commons. I think of the kitchen as my space, and I’m sure the cooking club does too, but what if you only go in there once in a while? Make some pasta or use the only kettle you can? You might not have the same attachment to the space. What ownership do you have over those piles of various cooking implements stacked to the ceiling? None. So you have no reason to clean up.
But stuff piles up in the sink, and I see stuff put away with food still crusted on it. At home, I was that kind of person. It needs to look clean enough that my parents accept that I did the dishes, then I can go back to my room. But here, I’ve started to feel pride in my work. I’m not cooking for my family, I’m cooking for people that won’t lie and say my mini apple pies are great (Y’all actually will, you’re too nice. I know there wasn’t enough sugar in those pies.) I need to make sure the tools are clean enough for the next person who will stumble in with a recipe and a dream.
And now I come to the end. What’s the answer? How can we fix this? The answer is in the tragedy of the commons. At least part of the name. Commons. This is all our space. As my mother said to me when I was refusing to clean something sitting in the sink, “It may not be yours, but can you please just do it?” If you come in for a snack and a chat, wash a glass while you’re there. And if you don’t know how, well, the commons will help you out. Shoot me an email, I know how to do dishes. And I might even have cupcakes.
