A
paean to older women friends: it
occurred to me late last year that I have had the remarkable good fortune to be
(almost) life-long friends with three extraordinary women, all of whom turned
80 in 2016 and all of whom I remain in touch with. Each of them, at different times and in
different ways, had a significant impact on my life. (Yes, I should have included this story in my
2016 letter, but I didn't think of it until a week after I'd mailed the 2016
edition.) In alphabetical order.
1.
Ellen Berscheid, retired Regents Professor of (Social) Psychology,
University of Minnesota. I met Ellen
when I entered the Ph.D. program in Psychology after dropping out of the
University of Minnesota Law School in 1973.
In my second quarter in Psychology, in early 1974, I took the
graduate-level introductory course in Social Psychology, taught by Ellen
Berscheid. During one of the class
sessions, Ellen mentioned her dismay at "grade inflation," the
apparent increase in the number of high grades given to students even though
they weren't necessarily putting in any more work or learning any more. (One remembers the oddest things from classes. One of the lessons from Ellen was that folk
wisdom about social psychology is often ambiguous: "absence makes the heart grow
fonder" but "out of sight, out of mind"; "birds of a
feather flock together" but "opposites attract"; "he who
hesitates is lost" but "look before you leap"; and so on.)
Ellen's
comment on grades led me to initiate a study of University grades from 1955 to
1974 (with help from the University administration and funded by the student
government), which documented conclusively that grades had indeed inflated over
the period—and especially during the period of the Vietnam War (when faculty
members may have given male students in particular sufficiently high grades to
enable them to stay in college and avoid being drafted—or so one hypothesis
goes, anyway). The report made a splash
in the local newspapers and resulted in my being asked to address the Council
of Academic Officers—primarily the deans—about grade inflation. So at age 24, knowing little about the
administration of the University, I was sitting in front of the all of the
deans and the president and vice presidents explaining why I thought grade
inflation was not a good thing. The dean
of the Law School at the time wondered why this was an important issue. I never did like the guy thereafter.
(I
am often startled by coincidence. Just
when I finished composing these paragraphs about Ellen, I found on my Facebook
news feed an article from March, 2016, titled "A’s for
Everyone: How Grade Inflation Is Wrecking Higher Education," with the
subtitle "Students who may not deserve high marks are getting
them." So 40 years later the
problem hasn't gone away—so you can see how much effect my study had on the
course of events. Nor is it confined to
the U.S. Two days after I wrote the
preceding paragraph, the daily news update Inside Higher Ed had an
article: "British Universities Fret
About Grade Inflation":
"Roughly one in four students are leaving British colleges and
universities with top honors, raising concerns about grade inflation and the
devaluation of degrees.")
Ellen
and I got to know one another because of the study and have maintained the friendship
for the succeeding 43 years. While we
have enjoyed discussions on a variety of topics over the years, we have debated
and sparred in friendly fashion about religion ever since we met. I don't recall now how we ever got on the
subject in the first place.
It
was Ellen who was partly responsible for my returning to school to obtain my
Ph.D. She pointed out to me, in a kindly
but also mildly acid tone, that I would turn 40 (a few years later) with or
without the degree, so I might as well have it than not. Her logic was indisputable.
Ellen
made her mark as one of the "founding mothers" of the study of close
relationships, has been recognized nationally with numerous awards for
contributions to the field, and is one of the most distinguished psychologists
in the country. When I was in the
doldrums following my divorce, she suggested I take a look at her
recently-published magnum opus on close relationships. I did so, and learned much—and emailed her to
tell her that while much of what was in the book made sense, some of it did
not. She asked if I would go through and
provide her comments on sections where I thought the research results were
puzzling. I wasn't exactly in the mood
to do so at the time, but I acceded to her request, in part because I was
complimented she thought enough of me to ask.
One datum came through loud and clear:
older single men have much higher mortality and morbidity rates than do
attached/married males. I already knew I
had no intention of staying single, but reading that information in her book
provided whatever additional impetus I needed to get into serious dating. After going through the book paragraph by
paragraph, I was a soi-disant expert on close relationships in the State of
Minnesota (i.e., after Ellen herself).
Ellen
continues to be interested (as a scholar) in topics that I also find
intriguing, such as the nature of consciousness (she's delving into quantum
mechanics because it is one of the approaches to studying consciousness!). We continue to have lunch once or twice per
year (when she retired, she moved back to her native Wisconsin, in Menomonie,
but that's only a 45-minute drive from Minneapolis) and talk about subjects of
interest. We also continue to exchange
emails about life, travel, and academic matters, and I continue to be enriched
by her presence in my life.
2.
Shirley Clark, retired Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs for the
Oregon higher education system and, before that, Professor of Higher Education
at the University of Minnesota and Assistant Vice President for Academic
Affairs (and, a number of years later, Interim Provost and Vice President for
Academic Affairs). I met Shirley in 1975
when she was Assistant Vice President; her office was on the same floor as mine
in the University's main administration building (Morrill Hall). Although our responsibilities did not
intersect to any significant extent, they did so just enough that I got to know
and like her very much.
She
decided to leave the administration and return to her faculty position; she was
in that role when she served on the University's senior faculty committee
advising the president and administration, and was elected chair of the
committee. That was the same time I had
taken the job of professional staff to the committee, so we began working more
closely together. Shirley joined Ellen
in badgering me about returning to graduate school to obtain my Ph.D., and I
finally did so—and Shirley agreed to be my Ph.D. adviser. In that role she was enormously helpful in
getting me going and orienting me to the department and the "higher study
of higher education." I am not sure
I would have pursued the degree without her guidance and insistence.
Unfortunately
for me, Shirley was offered the vice chancellor's position in Oregon, so she
and her husband Jack (also a colleague I worked closely with) left Minnesota
after many years here and I had to find a new adviser (I did, and he was
wonderful in the role—but I still missed having Shirley). We stayed in touch, however, and I continued
to gain from her insights and wisdom—and still do. My regret about her move was that I had not
seen her in person in many years—but finally caught up with her last summer in
Eugene, about which more later. (When
Jack and Shirley left for Oregon, they asked us to "take care of"
their lake cabin in Wisconsin.
"Taking care" of it mostly meant mowing the lawn and ensuring
there was no damage to it; what it also meant was that for four summers,
starting in 1991, we had use of a lovely lake place every weekend. They wouldn't even let us pay the utility
costs. So the weekends of Elliott's
formative summers—he was born in 1990—were spent at the lake. It doesn't seem to have had any effect on him
whatever. He loved the sunfish and
crappie filets that Pat made—he ate them like potato chips. As an adult, he won't eat fish of any kind.)
One
of the small elements of Shirley's persona that I have always tried to imitate
and to impress upon my children—with only modest success in both cases—is her
practice of speaking in complete English sentences, punctuation (implicit)
always included. I marvel at her
precision every time I listen to her—in part because it is so rare and in
larger part because I believe it reflects a disciplined and thoughtful mind.
Shirley
is indirectly and unbeknownst to her responsible for this part of the
letter. In mid-December of 2016 she and
I were in touch the old-fashioned way:
we talked on the telephone for nearly an hour. Later that evening, in the jumble of thoughts
we all have when somewhere between being awake and sleeping, the fact of these
three women all turning 80 and that they had been such part of my life came to
mind. What's amazing is that I
remembered it the next morning.
I
also need to make a note for the record.
I am given credit for the "6 Presidents" event at the
University in May 2015. It's true that
it was my idea, but when I floated the proposal before 3 of the 6 presidents,
including the current president, they all gave it a thumbs down. So I dropped it—but I did happen to mention
the idea to Shirley in an email. She
wrote back to tell me of a similar panel that had been constituted at the
University of Illinois when she was on the faculty there, before she and Jack
came to Minnesota. I passed along
Shirley's description to one of the former presidents, who, upon reading the
description, changed his mind about the attractiveness of a "6
Presidents" event. The others did
as well, so the event came off. It is to
be recorded, however, that it would never have happened had not Shirley written
to me.
3.
Christine Grant, retired Director of Women's Athletics, University of Iowa. When the president of the University of
Minnesota rearranged administrative responsibilities in 1976, he shifted
athletics to the vice president for whom I worked. That vice president assigned me central staff
oversight responsibilities for athletics—budgets, facilities, policies, the
usual stuff of any organization. As I
have told many friends over the years, inasmuch as I had never had any interest
in athletics and heaven knows no one had ever accused me of being an athlete, I
approached the job as a complete novice.
The
mid-1970s was a period when women's college athletics were just getting off the
ground, after the passage of Title IX of the Higher Education Amendments of
1972, which forbade discrimination on the basis of sex for any institution
receiving federal funds. As part of my
new responsibilities, I began attending the national conventions of both the
National Collegiate Athletic Association—NCAA—and the Association for
Intercollegiate Athletics for Women (AIAW).
I quickly got to know many of the women from Big Ten schools, and in
particular Christine Grant at Iowa. Over
the years I've known her, she's (deservedly) been given more national honors
and awards in recognition of her service to athletics, and especially to women
in sport, than I could earn in 10 lifetimes.
As
an undergraduate I'd studied American constitutional law and history and
learned about the slow advance of civil rights.
I realized much later that the focus had never been on women's rights. I had not given the topic much thought
(mostly because it had never occurred to me there was a question: what antediluvian thought men and women
shouldn't be treated the same in society?).
In long conversations with Christine and some of her colleagues from
around the country, it became evident to me that women were in a number of ways
as disadvantaged as blacks and other minority groups in the country—and not
just in college athletics. Christine
sensitized me to issues of sexism, and taught me much, for which I have been
grateful ever since. (One thing
Christine has not been able to do is make me much more interested in athletics
per se than I was 40 years ago; I was interested in the administration of
college sport but the games? Not so
much, although a little more.)
I
have visited Christine in Iowa City nearly annually for almost 40 years. (Fortunately, the drive between Minneapolis
and Iowa City has been shortened by over an hour with the completion of new
freeways and highway upgrades.) Before I
met Pat, I would go down by myself; then Pat and I would go; then Pat and I and
the kids would go (turning Christine's house into the Hotel Grant). Kathy and I have only been down twice since
I've known her (Kathy), but we did visit last summer and are resolved to do so
again.
Unrelated
to athletics, Christine is a native of Scotland. When I was on leave at the University of
Edinburgh in 2006, she put me in touch with her brother Hugh and his friend
Margaret, who lived (and still live) in a small town very close to Edinburgh. Hugh and Margaret were wonderful friends when
we were in Scotland, and gave us several fun tours of the area surrounding
Edinburgh.
My
life is infinitely richer for having had the acquaintance of these three women
for four decades. (Yes, all three of
them have received this letter every year I've written it.) I hope this isn't taken as a
self-congratulatory "I've had a great life" kind of entry; I intended
it to be a tribute to these three friends of mine. It also seems that when I was about 25 years
old I enjoyed the company of women about 40.
After
reading this panegyric, Kathy asked me if I could name any men who had played
similar roles in my life. I can; I
thought of four or five who did. But
those names are for another day.
* * *
One night Kathy and I were talking about where we were 30
years earlier (that is, in 1987, when I was 36). I was married and had one child, but no
evident career. I had just taken the job
with the senior faculty committees, but that was intended to be for a couple of
years, not evolve into the Secretary to the Faculty position it became soon
thereafter and that I kept for 27 years.
Kathy in 1987 had neither career nor marriage and child; fast forward so
she's also age 36, in 1992, and she was in the same position: married with one child but no evident
career. Fortunately, we both fell into
careers at that point in our lives and lived happily ever after.
* * *
I
was surprised to read, in a report on Bloomberg.com, that losing one's job is a
greater blow to one's mental health and well-being than losing a loved spouse
(or a divorce). I've always understood
that the worst blow anyone can take is the death of a spouse or an unwanted
divorce—that those are even worse, in terms of impact on mental health, than
losing a child. At least in Britain,
according to researchers there.
Fired
employees never quite recover to the same level of well-being, a measure that
includes mental health, self-esteem and satisfaction with life, according to
data provided to Bloomberg this week from a review of more than 4,000 research
papers.
The best cure, it seems, is to find another job,
preferably as high or higher status than the job one lost as well as with
similar salary. The researchers report
that people do recover from the loss of a spouse; eventually they get back to
where they were before (mentally).
Meeting and getting involved with/marrying will pretty much eliminate
the pain of the earlier loss. At least
in the studies of job loss that were reviewed, however, British men hadn't
recovered even after four years. (Women
seem to be affected less than men by job loss.)
There's little evidence about why job loss has such a
devastating effect. The researchers
suggest that the impact is related to "the importance we place on having a
meaningful job."
I never lost a job so I can't understand the impact, but
I can imagine it. Even though this was
about the British, my bet is that this equally true of Americans—if not even
more so, given American work habits (longer work weeks than almost everyone in
Europe). It could also be more
devastating in the U.S. because one has always lost health insurance if one
lost a job. Whether or not that is or
will remain true is hard for me to tell.
* * *
I dearly love my son Elliott but sometimes he exhibits
personality traits that I’m not fond of.
As he was facing his last full day at Moorhead State, I texted him to
ask if he would not feel at least a little bit of sadness at leaving, given
that it was where he had been trained, and blossomed, artistically. Nope, he wrote, he was anxious to get away
from the "stupid tundra" and never go back again. I told him I meant the school, not the
geographic location. Same feeling, he
said. I replied that if I were him, I’d
look back fondly on my experiences, given the growth that occurred. He agreed about the experience but not the
school. I maintained they are
inseparable.
Am I misguided in thinking that?
* * *
In
many cases, divorce leads to estrangement and the separation of families. In some, it can be the result of, and
exacerbate, intrafamilial warfare. (In
some cases, of course, it is necessary and desirable, such when there is
spousal or child abuse.) I have not seen
statistics, but I’m guessing that some significant portion of divorces can end
with civil if not friendly relationships.
I am pleased (and relieved) that mine has turned out
about as well as can be expected. On
Christmas Eve 2016, we had Christmas with my two kids, Kathy, and my former
wife Pat. (Kathy’s son Spence was in
Texas with his dad’s family, or he would have been there, too.) Pat offered to bring dinner; we took her up
on the offer. It was a pleasant evening
and everyone had a perfectly good time.
Kathy and Pat met a few years ago and have interacted on a few occasions
since with no animosity and with mutual respect. At one point a year or so ago Kathy even
commented that she could like Pat as a friend if the circumstances were
different.
I’m also heartened to know that in the case of some dear
friends, their children got divorced but the divorced spouses have amicable
relationships that includes sharing child-rearing obligations responsibly and
cordially. I’ve known of some extremely
bitter divorces, so it’s a relief to know that there can be adult, thoughtful,
and calm ends to a marriage that does a minimal amount of psychological damage
to the children.
I
may have written this before in an earlier letter, but I’ve cited it numerous
times to folks I know going through a divorce.
In the case of one couple who went through a hellacious divorce—and I
was friends with both of them, which was awkward at times—the husband later
told me that there are three sides to any divorce: his side, her side, and the truth. In most cases, that’s probably accurate, but
there are no doubt instances of abusive marriages where the blameworthiness
lies squarely on one party.
These
marriage terminations also remind me of an opinion expressed many years ago by
Ellen Berscheid (see earlier in this message, she who knows something about
human relationships). The problem with
liberalized divorce laws—which she fully favored—is that they make it TOO easy
to end marriages that should not be terminated.
We never have the counterfactual, of course, but she speculated—and I
agree with her—that in many cases, if the couple had stuck it out and gotten
through their difficulties, they could have had a long and happy marriage. Now it's so easy to divorce that even a minor
tiff can end a marriage. I certainly
don't want to return to days when divorce was nearly impossible—largely to the
disadvantage of women, I am sure—but any divorce makes me a little sad, because
presumably all marriages start out with high hopes.
The
phenomenon of divorce isn't alien in my family.
Besides me, my maternal grandmother got divorced from her second husband
(she was a widow) in the early 1950s, her younger sister (in whose house we now
live) got divorced in the early 1930s, and my dad's mother's mother got
divorced around the turn of the century—and married some guy and went to
Skagway, Alaska with him! (That must
have been the end of the world in 1900—and maybe it still is.)
* * *
In
the view of at least one writer, Adam Serwer in the Atlantic, the widespread admiration for Confederate General Robert
E. Lee is unwarranted and a misreading of history. "The myth of Lee goes something like
this: He was a brilliant strategist and
devoted Christian man who abhorred slavery and labored tirelessly after the war
to bring the country back together.
There is little truth in this."
He was a Christian and seen by historians as a good tactician—but
"his decision to fight a conventional war against the more densely
populated and industrialized North is considered by many historians to have
been a fatal strategic error."
A
Washington Post article included
comments from one of the leading historians of the Civil War (and debunker of
Lee's military prowess), Edward Bonekemper.
Lee,
they [a number of historians] wrote, mishandled overall strategy of the war.
Outmanned, Lee should have taken a more defensive posture, drawing the North
into difficult Southern terrain. Instead, he was constantly on the offensive,
which resulted in heavy casualties and broken spirits.
"All
the Confederacy needed was a stalemate, which would confirm its existence as a
separate country," Bonekemper wrote.
"The burden was on the North to defeat the Confederacy and compel
the return of the eleven wayward states to the Union."
Historian
James McPherson put it this way:
"The South could ‘win’ the war by not losing." However, "the North could win only by
winning."
In
Serwer's view, the elevation of Lee to honorable status is part of a long-term
campaign by Southern states to eliminate the stain of slavery as a cause of the
Civil War and substitute the "lost cause" of state's rights. There continues to be praise for Lee on the
political right, as statues are taken down, and protests (by conservatives)
against the use of Lee's name by white supremacists. Serwer thinks otherwise.
(From
that same Post article: "The tenets of the Lost Cause are that
slavery was already dying before the war, that states’ rights were really the
issue anyway, that the South did the best it could against a powerful killing
machine (an early version of a participation trophy), and that Lee’s
subordinates (especially James Longstreet) bungled the war, most notably the
Battle of Gettysburg." Military
historians, including a Department of Defense research center, conclude that it
was Lee, not Longstreet, who made disastrous errors at Gettysburg.
Jamelle
Bouie, Slate's political correspondent, rounds out the picture of the Lost
Cause:
Confederate
president Jefferson Davis and "polemical writers like Edward Pollard, who
would give the name 'Lost Cause' to the movement [, aimed] to redeem and defend
the former Confederacy. Born out of
grief and furthered by a generation of organizations (like United Confederate
Veterans and the United Daughters of the Confederacy), proponents of the Lost Cause
would wage a battle for the nation’s memory of the war. To them it was not a rebellion or a fight for
slavery; it was a noble battle for constitutional ideals. As [Jefferson] Davis put it in his two-volume
memoir and defense of the Southern cause, The
Rise and Fall of the Confederate Government, slavery "was in no wise
the cause of the conflict, but only an incident," and the South was
fighting against "unlimited, despotic power" of the federal
government and its "tremendous and sweeping usurpation" of states’
rights.
This
sentimental picture of sectional rapprochement [about Lee] was spread by a
cottage industry of writers and publishers; in academia, it was helped along in
the early 20th century by scholars under the tutelage of historian William Archibald
Dunning of Columbia University.
Following his lead, a generation of writers would bring the Lost Cause
and its ideas into American historiography.
To the "Dunning School," Reconstruction was a terrible
failure, a product of dangerous revolutionaries (the Radical Republicans) and
an enfeebled, drunken, and corrupt President Grant. Dunning and his students justified the
proto-Jim Crow "Black Codes," and derided the entire project of the
Republican Party as a dangerous experiment in "Negro rule.")
Beginning
in the late 20th Century, a number of historians brought a much more
critical eye to Lee, drawing heavily on his own words.
Lee
was a slaveowner, believed it an evil, but more so to whites than blacks, and
believed Christianity justified slavery until blacks were advanced enough to be
free (but he had no idea when that time, as determined by God, might
come). He had no interest in whether the
blacks themselves thought they should be free.
He was also a malevolent owner, Serwer reports, who split up slave
families, unlike Washington's and others' practice of not doing so. Doing so exaggerated the anguish of the
slaves. At least in the case of slaves
who escaped, Lee directed the infliction of heavy punishment.
The
argument that secession was about state's rights is put paid by the state
declarations: every one of them
mentioned slavery as the cause of the rebellion, including Lee's home state of
Virginia. Serwer contends that Lee thus
chose to fight for a continuation of human bondage. When Lee's army captured black Union
soldiers, they were sent to the South as property. When Lee proposed to Grant an exchange of
prisoners, Grant insisted blacks be included; Lee refused; "negroes
belonging to our citizens are not considered subjects of exchange and were not
included in my proposition." Grant
then refused the offer.
The
presence of black soldiers on the field of battle shattered every myth the
South’s slave empire was built on: the
happy docility of slaves, their intellectual inferiority, their cowardice,
their inability to compete with whites.
As Pryor writes, "fighting against brave and competent African
Americans challenged every underlying tenet of southern society." The Confederate response to this challenge
was to visit every possible atrocity and cruelty upon black soldiers whenever
possible, from enslavement to execution.
Lee
didn't change his views after the war.
He told a reporter "that unless some humane course is adopted,
based on wisdom and Christian principles you do a gross wrong and injustice to
the whole negro race in setting them free.
And it is only this consideration that has led the wisdom, intelligence
and Christianity of the South to support and defend the institution up to this
time." Lee opposed giving blacks
the vote and fought against Congressional efforts to enforce racial equality.
Serwer
concludes that Lee is no American hero.
"The white supremacists who have protested [the removal of Lee
statues] on Lee’s behalf are not betraying his legacy. In fact, they have every reason to admire
him. Lee, whose devotion to white
supremacy outshone his loyalty to his country, is the embodiment of everything
they stand for. Tribe and race over
country is the core of white nationalism, and racists can embrace Lee in good
conscience."
This
evolution of views about Lee reflects how history itself can evolve. All the time I was growing up and reading
history, Lee was the subject of admiration.
As historians have taken a closer look, however, the picture isn't so positive. So be careful who you admire.
* * *
As
the statue disputes continued, I liked the statement from the American
Historical Association council in August.
The council takes what I think is a reasoned approach. The closing paragraph of the statement sums
it up.
Nearly
all monuments to the Confederacy and its leaders were erected without anything
resembling a democratic process. Regardless of their representation in the
actual population in any given constituency, African Americans had no voice and
no opportunity to raise questions about the purposes or likely impact of the
honor accorded to the builders of the Confederate States of America. The
American Historical Association recommends that it’s time to reconsider these
decisions.
The
Association agreed with Mr. Trump's tweet that "You can't change history,
but you can learn from it." The
statement urges that it is necessary to learn what happened, the chronology of
the statues, and the context for why an individual is remembered in a statue. The Association observes that "equally
important is awareness of what we mean by 'history.' History comprises both facts and
interpretations of those facts. To
remove a monument, or to change the name of a school or street, is not to erase
history, but rather to alter or call attention to a previous interpretation of
history. A monument is not history
itself; a monument commemorates an aspect of history, representing a moment in
the past when a public or private decision defined who would be honored in a
community’s public spaces."
Drawing
on the work of historians who have focused on the South, the Association
indicts the motivation for the statues, something I am sure we've all read
about.
Drawing
on their expertise enables us to assess the original intentions of those who
erected the monuments, and how the monuments have functioned as symbols over
time. The bulk of the monument building
took place not in the immediate aftermath of the Civil War but from the close
of the 19th century into the second decade of the 20th. Commemorating not just the Confederacy but
also the "Redemption" of the South after Reconstruction, this
enterprise was part and parcel of the initiation of legally mandated segregation
and widespread disenfranchisement across the South. Memorials to the Confederacy were intended,
in part, to obscure the terrorism required to overthrow Reconstruction, and to
intimidate African Americans politically and isolate them from the mainstream
of public life. A reprise of
commemoration during the mid-20th century coincided with the Civil Rights
Movement and included a wave of renaming and the popularization of the
Confederate flag as a political symbol. Events in Charlottesville and elsewhere
indicate that these symbols of white supremacy are still being invoked for
similar purposes.
As
one would expect of an association of historians, it doesn't believe in either
trying to change or erase history. (The
only "change" comes with the evolution of historical thinking on any
part of history, the normal evolution of the discipline of history.) The question, rather, is what is worthy of
honor in public places; the Association urges public discussion of the subject,
drawing on the evidence and the historians to help interpret that evidence.
We
also encourage communities to remember that all memorials remain artifacts of
their time and place. They should be preserved, just like any other historical
document, whether in a museum or some other appropriate venue. Prior to removal they should be photographed
and measured in their original contexts. These documents should accompany the
memorials as part of the historical record.
The
Association also rebuts the claim that if it's Confederates now, next it will
be Jefferson and Washington.
There
is no logical equivalence between the builders and protectors of a
nation—however imperfect—and the men who sought to sunder that nation in the
name of slavery. There will be, and
should be, debate about other people and events honored in our civic spaces. And precedents do matter. But so does historical specificity, and in
this case the invocation of flawed analogies should not derail legitimate
policy conversation.
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