Category: Politics

In a clever bit of rhetoric, people who opposed mask and vaccine mandates during the last pandemic used pro-choice terms. For example, a person opposed to getting vaccinated might say “my body, my choice.” This phrase is, of course, a standard part of pro-choice language. While some who did this were no doubt engaged in bad faith rhetoric or trolling, the analogy between abortion rights and the right to refuse vaccination is worth considering.

An argument by analogy will typically have two premises and a conclusion. The first premise establishes the analogy by showing that the things (X and Y) in question are similar in certain respects (properties P, Q, R, etc.).  The second premise establishes that X has an additional quality, Z. The conclusion asserts that Y has property or feature Z as well. The form of the argument looks like this:

 

           Premise 1: X and Y have properties P, Q, R.

           Premise 2: X has property Z.

           Conclusion: Y has property Z.

 

X and Y are variables that stand for whatever is being compared, such as chimpanzees and humans or apples and oranges. P, Q, R, and are also variables, but they stand for properties or features that X and Y are known to possess, such as having a heart. Z is also a variable, and it stands for the property or feature that X is known to possess. The use of P, Q, and R is just for the sake of illustration-the things being compared might have more properties in common.

One simplified way to present the anti-vaccine (or pro-vaccine choice) analogy is as follows:

 

Premise 1: The right to choose an abortion is analogous to the right to choose to not be vaccinated.

           Premise 2: The right to choose an abortion is supported by the left.

           Conclusion: The right to choose to not be vaccinated should also be supported by the left.

 

While this analogy seems appealing to many anti-mask mandate folks, a key issue is whether it is a strong argument. The strength of an analogical argument depends on three factors. To the degree that an analogical argument meets these standards it is a strong argument.

First, the more properties X and Y have in common, the better the argument. This standard is based on the notion that the more two things are alike in other ways, the more likely it is that they will be alike in some other way. Second, the more relevant the shared properties are to property Z, the stronger the argument. A specific property, for example P, is relevant to property Z if the presence or absence of P affects the likelihood that Z will be present. Third, it must be determined whether X and Y have relevant dissimilarities as well as similarities. The more dissimilarities and the more relevant they are, the weaker the argument. So, is the analogy between the restrictive voter laws and mask mandates strong? To avoid begging the question by making a straw man, I will endeavor to make the best analogy I can—within the limits of truth.

The right to choose an abortion is often based on a principle of bodily autonomy; often expressed as “my body, my choice.” For the pro-choice, this principle warrants a person’s choice to have an abortion: it is their body, so it is their choice. While there is debate over the moral status of the aborted entity, an entity which might (or might not) be a person is killed by abortion. As such, the principle of bodily autonomy allows a person to kill another entity.

The right to forgo vaccination on the principle of bodily autonomy would seem to work in a similar manner. For those who are pro-choice about vaccines, this principle warrants a person’s choice to forgo vaccination: it is their body, so it is their choice. So far, so good. But, as with abortion, the choice does not just affect the person making the choice.

A person who forgoes vaccination willingly puts themselves and others in avoidable risk of infection and death. But, if a person can justly abort another entity as a matter of their choice, then one could infer that a person could thus put others at risk of illness and death as a matter of choice. But does the comparison hold here? I contend that because of critical differences, it does not.

First, while an abortion kills an entity there is good faith moral debate about whether the entity is a person. In contrast, a person who did not get vaccinated during the pandemic put those who are indisputably people at risk and, in many cases, without their choice or consent. One can, of course, argue that the aborted entity is a person and start up the anti-abortion debate. But this would have an interesting consequence.

If it is argued that the aborted entity is a person (or otherwise has sufficient moral status) and thus its right to life overrides the person’s right to bodily autonomy, then the same reasoning would apply to the pro-vaccine choice argument. Their bodily autonomy does not give them the right to put others at risk. As such, a person who argues in good faith that being pro-choice about abortions is like being pro-choice about vaccines must be for both or opposed to both. So, anti-abortion folks can only use the pro-choice bodily autonomy argument for vaccine choice in bad faith (or from confusion). In contrast, a pro-choice person need not be pro-vaccine choice. They can accept that the aborted entity is not a person or has a lower moral status than the person while accepting the obvious fact that the people who were harmed by the unvaccinated are people.

Second, an abortion kills a single entity while forgoing vaccination during pandemic puts everyone the person contacts at risk of illness and even death. Since those at risk are indisputably people, forgoing vaccination in a pandemic is far worse than an abortion. One can, of course, get into a debate about assessing harm in terms of probabilities and other considerations. For example, a person who forgoes vaccination might not infect anyone and if they do, no one they infect might get ill, and if they do get ill, then they might not die. In contrast, an abortion always kills the aborted entity. This becomes a debate about the right to harm other entities and assessing harm. But, if someone argues that a person does not have the right to harm another entity based on bodily autonomy, then this would apply to both abortion and vaccination: there should be no choice in either case.

Third, there is a difference in the cost for not being able to make the choice. If a person cannot choose an abortion, they can face great economic and social hardships. Our society is unkind to women, and it is especially unkind to mothers who lack support and resources. In contrast, the COVID vaccines are incredibly safe.  Much safer than giving birth in the United States. Once again, if someone accepts the pro-vaccine choice reasoning, then they would also need to accept the pro-choice reasoning in the context of abortion.

As such, the attempt to use pro-choice language and draw an analogy between reproductive rights and anti-vaccine rights fails logically. However, some might see it as having rhetorical value or as a bit of fun in trolling the libs with their own slogans.

 

Because of the psychological power of rhetoric, words do matter. Words have both a denotation (the meaning) and a connotation (the emotions and associations invoked). Words that have the same denotation can have very different connotations. For example, “police officer” and “pig” (as slang) have the same denotation but different connotations. As would be expected, the ongoing fight over vaccines involves rhetoric. One interesting example of this was presented by Ben Irvine: “People who don’t want the vaccine aren’t “refusing” it. You don’t say a person is “refusing” to take anti-depressants. Or “refusing” to get married. You can decline without refusing. You decide what’s best for you. Refuse is a manipulative term, loaded with unfair moral pressure.”

As Irvine indicates, while “refuse” and “decline” have similar meanings, they differ in rhetorical loading. As Irvine sees it, “refuse” is negatively loaded with “unfair moral pressure.” Presumably “decline” lacks this quality.  So, what is the difference between them?

In a moral context, “refuse” implies active rejection, and context determines whether its connotation is negative or positive. While not always the case, “refuse” sometimes implies that there is an expectation to accept rather than reject. As would be expected, if what is being refused is seen as morally wrong, then using “refuse” suggests something positive. For example, “Sergeant Jane Doe refused to obey an illegal order” suggests something positive, that Doe actively rejected the order and that there is an expectation that soldiers will obey. Interestingly, people who believe that requiring vaccinations is morally wrong should embrace the language of refusal as refusing something you think is wrong is the right thing to do. But “refuse” can also be negative.

As Irvine noted, to say those who choose not to get vaccinated are refusing the vaccine asserts they actively reject something rightfully expected of them. To illustrate, to say “Jane Doe refused to stop drinking and smoking while pregnant” suggests Doe should be condemned: there is a moral expectation that Doe should not put her unborn child at risk. “Decline” works differently.

In general, “decline” means to pass on something. It seems more passive, more polite, and less forceful than “refuse.” There is also (usually) no implied expectation of acceptance. In a moral context, there is usually the assumption that there is no (or little) moral weight involved. To illustrate, “when offered dessert by the waiter, Joe declined” indicates that Joe passed on dessert and was under no obligation or expectation to order it. It would be odd to say that Joe refused the dessert, unless he was particularly forceful in his rejection or was for some reason expected to eat it. In contrast, it would make sense to say, “Joe refused to pay for the dessert he did not order or receive and demanded it be removed from his bill.” This is because Joe would be actively rejecting paying and, of course, there is a general expectation that one will pay the bill. Obviously, I am not claiming to be the word police: people can and do use “decline” as they would use “refuse” and vice versa; I am just noting that Irvine has made a reasonable distinction between how we often use these words rhetorically. But is he right?

On the one hand, he seems correct: when people talk about vaccine refusal, they are likely condemning the decision. Their moral expectation is that people should get vaccinated and hence to not accept it would be a refusal (like refusing to stop drinking while pregnant) rather than declining it (like a slice of pie). But his point seems to be that this is wrong: people should not use “refuse” because it is “unfair moral manipulation.” He seems to suggest we should use “decline” instead. If true, then he would be assuming that there is not a legitimate moral expectation for people get vaccinated and thus it is acceptable to decide to remain unvaccinated. For those who disagree with his position, this might seem to be a rhetorical trick.

As discussed above, “decline” implies that the rejection is more passive, less forceful, and of something for which there is no or little expectation of acceptance. To accept that people are declining rather than refusing the vaccine would be to (probably) agree that they are doing nothing wrong or not failing in a moral obligation. That is, they are not refusing to protect others, they are merely declining a shot. This, some might contend, would trivialize their decision: declining to be vaccinated is like declining a slice of pie after dinner and not like refusing to stop drinking while pregnant.  This seems a reasonable point: to use “decline” would be to use a term that lacks moral pressure and thus assumes that those who do not get vaccinated are acting morally (or at least not acting wrongly).

While I think people should get vaccinated, discussing the moral issue without begging the question requires using neutral language: language that neither assumes nor refuses condemnation. As such, when discussing the moral issue of whether people should get vaccinated, we should not use “refuse” or “decline” but should use a neutral description such as “decide to not get vaccinated.” Then the ethics of the decision can be debated. It might turn out, as I believe, that there is a moral obligation to get vaccinated. In which case, the use of “refuse” would be warranted. But it might be the case that there is no such obligation, then the use of “decline” would be warranted.

In the last pandemic Americans were caught up in a political battle over masks. Those who opposed mask mandates tended to be on the right; those who accepted mask mandates (and wearing masks) tended to be on the left. One interesting approach to the mask debate by some on the right was to draw an analogy between the mask mandate and the restrictive voting laws that the Republicans have passed. The gist is that if the left opposed the voting laws, then they should have opposed mask mandates. Before getting into the details of the argument, let us look at the general form of the analogical argument.

An analogy will typically have two premises and a conclusion. The first premise establishes the analogy by showing that the things (X and Y) in question are similar in certain respects (properties P, Q, R, etc.).  The second premise establishes that X has an additional quality, Z. The conclusion asserts that Y has property or feature Z as well. The form of the argument looks like this:

 

           Premise 1: X and Y have properties P, Q, R.

           Premise 2: X has property Z.

           Conclusion: Y has property Z.

 

X and Y are variables that stand for whatever is being compared, such as chimpanzees and humans or apples and oranges. P, Q, R, and are also variables, but they stand for properties or features that X and Y are known to possess, such as having a heart. Z is also a variable, and it stands for the property or feature that X is known to possess. The use of P, Q, and R is just for the sake of illustration-the things being compared might have more properties in common.

One simplified way to present the anti-mask mandate analogy is as follows:

 

Premise 1: Mask mandates and restrictive voting laws are similar in many ways.

           Premise 2: Restrictive voting laws are opposed by the left.

           Conclusion: Mask mandates should also be opposed by the left.

 

While this analogy seems appealing to many anti-mask mandate folks, we must see if it is a strong argument. The strength of an analogical argument depends on three factors. To the extent that an analogical argument meets these standards it is a strong argument.

First, the more properties X and Y have in common, the better the argument. This standard is based on the notion that the more two things are alike in other ways, the more likely it is that they will be alike in some other way. Second, the more relevant the shared properties are to property Z, the stronger the argument. A specific property, for example P, is relevant to property Z if the presence or absence of P affects the likelihood that Z will be present. Third, it must be determined whether X and Y have relevant dissimilarities as well as similarities. The more dissimilarities and the more relevant they are, the weaker the argument. So, is the analogy between the restrictive voter laws and mask mandates strong? To avoid begging the question by making a straw man, I will endeavor to make the best analogy I can—within the limits of truth.

On the face of it, both the mask mandate and the restrictive voting laws are aimed at preventing harm. In the case of the mask mandate, the coercive power of the state was to be used to protect people from the pandemic. In the case of the restrictive voting laws, the coercive power of the state was supposed to protect people from voter fraud. This seems an essential and compelling similarity if the state has the right to use its coercive power to protect citizens from harm. As such, if the use of mask mandates was warranted to protect people from the danger of COVID, then the use of restrictive voting laws would be warranted to protect people from the danger of voter fraud. However, further consideration reveals that the analogy fails.

One critical relevant difference is that the number of COVID cases (and deaths) in the United States is huge, while the number of cases of voter (or election) fraud is vanishingly small. The last pandemic killed 1,193,165 people in the United Stated.  In contrast, there were about 16 charged cases of voter fraud in the 2020 Presidential election. In some cases, these charges stem from absurd efforts, such as a person who voted and asked if he could vote for his son. When told he could not, he returned and attempted to impersonate his son. . One could attempt to address this by providing evidence that fraud is widespread and pervasive enough to warrant the comparison to COVID. Alternatively, one could argue that few people actually died of COVID, so the number is small enough to warrant the comparison to voter fraud. But there is no evidence for either: COVID killed almost 2 million people in the United States and voter fraud barely exists.

The level of risk is also important in determining if the use of coercive power of the state is warranted. If an illness arose that only infected 16 people, then it would be absurd for the state to use its power to impose mask mandates. The level of threat would not warrant such an imposition. Naturally, if there were millions of cases of voter fraud, then the state would be warranted in acting as that would be a serious threat.

Another important difference is the severity of the harm. COVID killed almost 2 million people in the United States (and is still killing people). Voter fraud had no meaningful impact on the 2020 election and all efforts on the part of Trump and his supporters have failed repeatedly to reveal evidence to the contrary. Mike Lindell, the My Pillow Guy, exemplifies the bizarre absurdity of the conspiracy theory about voter/election fraud. One could attempt to address this by providing evidence that voter/election fraud is harmful enough to warrant the comparison to COVID. Alternatively, one could argue that the danger of COVID was grossly exaggerated and thus warrant the comparison to voter fraud. But there is no evidence for either: COVID killed millions and the 16 charged cases of voter fraud had no effect on the outcome of the election.

Another relevant difference is the effectiveness of the measures. Justifying the use of the coercive power of the state requires showing that this use is effective in addressing the harm. To compel people and produce no benefit would be a failure on the part of the state. While masks were not magical armor against COVID, they do provide a meaningful level of protection when used correctly. In contrast, the restrictive laws the Republicans passed do not seem to have any relevance to preventing fraud (which barely exists). For example, even Lindsey Graham admitted that the law preventing voters from receiving food and water while waiting in line does not make ‘a whole lot of sense.’ One could attempt to address this by providing evidence that the laws are effective at preventing fraud and so warrant the comparison to mask mandates. Alternatively, one could argue that the effectiveness of masks was grossly exaggerated and thus warrant the comparison. But there is no evidence for either: masks seemed moderately effective while the voter restrictions were not. Given this evaluation, the analogy is weak. Interestingly, the analogy would be a problem for people who are anti-mandate but pro voter restriction.

There are other relevant differences as well, such as voting being a foundational right that should be protected rather than restricted and being allowed to freely infect people during a pandemic is not a right and masks were barely an inconvenience.

If we do accept that mask mandates and voter restriction laws are analogous and it is assumed that the laws are warranted because they are aimed at addressing a harm that barely exists, then it would follow that mask-mandates were justified. After all, the mandates were aimed at addressing a disease that killed almost two million Americans. Alternatively, if one accepts that the mask mandate is unwarranted despite the harms of illness and death, then it would follow (by analogy) that the restrictive voting laws are utterly unwarranted since they impose great restrictions to (allegedly) address a harm that barely exists. But this assessment will have little impact: the comparison being made seemed to be mostly made in bad faith for rhetorical purposes rather than being a well-considered argument based on a theory of when the state should coerce its citizens. 

While Republican politicians in my adopted state of Florida profess to love freedom, they have been busy passing laws to restrict freedom. During the last pandemic Governor DeSantis opposed mask mandates and vaccine passports on the professed grounds of fighting “medical authoritarianism.” He also engaged in the usual Republican attacks on cancel culture, claiming to be a supporter of free speech. However, the Governor and the Republican dominated state legislature banned ‘critical race theory’ from public schools, mandated a survey of the political beliefs of faculty and students, and engaged in book banning. On the face of it, the freedom loving Republicans appear to be waging war on freedom. One could spend hours presenting examples of the apparent inconsistencies between Republican value claims and their actions, but my focus here is on value vagueness.

In my ethics class, I teach a section on moral methods which are argument templates for ethical reasoning. One method, which is useful beyond ethics, is Logical Consistency. Two claims are logically consistent with each other when both can be true at the same time. For example, the claim “restricting freedom is sometimes acceptable” is consistent with the claim “restricting freedom is sometimes unacceptable” since they can both be true.  Two claims are inconsistent when both cannot be true at the same time (but both could be false). For example, the claim “people should be free from government control” would seem to be inconsistent with the claim “the government should ban the teaching of critical race theory.”  This is because while these claims cannot both be true at the same time, they could both be false.

If someone makes inconsistent claims, then at least one of their claims must be false. The fact that two (or more) claims are inconsistent does not, however, show which is false. But you can know that a set of claims contains inconsistent claims without knowing which ones are false. Since logically inconsistent claims cannot be true at the same time, it is irrational to accept such claims when their inconsistency is known. But there is a way to respond, rationally, to a seemingly reasonable charge of inconsistency.

In some cases, it is possible to respond to the charge of inconsistency by dissolving the inconsistency. This can be done by showing that the inconsistency is merely apparent. This is achieved by arguing that the claims are consistent despite appearing inconsistent.

In the case of value claims, such as claims about political or moral matters, an inconsistency can seem to occur because of how the person making the charge defines a term or phrase. Their definition can be different from that used by the person making the claim. In some cases, this difference can be the result of bad faith, but people can disagree about definitions in good faith.  The concept of freedom is an excellent example of this: people have different definitions of this concept, and the definition is relevant to sorting out a charge of inconsistency about freedom.

Those who read my work know that I often accuse Republicans of being inconsistent. But they could be defended by showing that under their conception of freedom, they are consistent. For example, the same Republicans who rage against “cancel culture” and lost their minds over Dr. Seuss and Mr. Potato Head are the same people who passed laws cancelling the teaching of (what they claim is) critical race theory. They are also the people who professed outrage when an athlete protested police violence during the national anthem. On the face of it, they seem to engage in inconsistent claims: people should be free to express their views, but people should be forbidden from teaching critical race theory and condemned for protesting police violence during the national anthem.  But there is an easy way to respond to this charge in a sensible manner.

The concept of freedom is vague and saying one supports freedom is to make a vague claim. Outside of a philosophical analysis of “freedom” this is a normal and sensible thing to do: if you spent the time precisely defining your concept of freedom during a speech or conversation, your audience would fall asleep if they could not flee. When a person is pressed on their view, then that is the time to be more precise about their concept. For example, I also say that I am for freedom of expression. But if I were asked if I thought Ted Cruz should be free to shout death threats at Mike Pence, I would say that he should not do that. If someone attacked me for this seeming inconsistency, I would contend that my account of freedom of expression does not make freedom absolute and there are limits to freedom. I would, as always, use the stock argument about the role of harm in limiting freedoms and point out Hobbes’ realization that a right to everything amounts to a right to nothing.

Republicans can do the same and argue that while people should be free to decline masks and vaccinations during a pandemic, they should not be free to discuss critical race theory in class or protest police violence during the national anthem. They would, however, need to show how these are consistent under their theory of freedom. On the face of it, this would be difficult. Take, for example, the usual use of the principle of harm: while this allows me to be against Cruz making death threats against Mike Pence, it would not seem to warrant the freedom to go unvaccinated during a pandemic. Yet it would seem to allow people to teach critical race theory and protest. So, they would need some other means of justifying the different applications. A plausible approach is to use the principle of relevant difference.

If there are relevant differences between the cases, then this warrants a difference in application of the concept of freedom. Common differences include who is taking the action, that nature of the action, and the consequences of the action. In my Cruz example, above, I can appeal to a relevant difference in terms of the harmful consequences of allowing people to make such threats. Republicans could contend that who is acting is relevant; when Republicans are accused of being racist and sexist, they could see freedom as something that belongs to white men. They could also focus on the action: kneeling in protest is different from going without a mask during a pandemic (the difference could be that one energizes their base and the other enrages their base). The challenge is showing how this is a relevant difference that warrants the difference in freedom.

It is also worth noting that while value concepts are vague (until clarified), this vagueness can be exploited for rhetorical purposes. The general strategy is to use a value term (or phrase) vaguely to make the target audience feel positive (or negative). Since audience members will generally use their own definition for a concept, this can be very effective: the audience will often assume that they all have the same view of the concept.

 Value concepts that are seen as positive can be very effective in this role. “Freedom” is very popular in the United States, so politicians talk endlessly about it. It is a vague concept, so it can be applied broadly and inconsistently. So, for example, Republicans in Florida talked about fighting mask mandates because they love freedom. They also pass laws restricting freedoms, counting on the fact that “freedom” is vague. The defense against being swayed by this rhetoric is to determine what the concept really seems to mean (if anything) to the person using it. In the case of Republicans in Florida, their conception of freedom has very strict limitations that seem to be defined by such factors as race, class, gender and religion. But, of course, this need not be a problem for them: if their base has a similar conception, they can seem to be speaking virtuously about freedom while acting against freedom.

, and they have cast the woke elite as the generals of this opposing force. “Wokeness”, like “cancel culture” and “critical race theory”, is ill-defined and used as a vague catch-all for things the right does not like. In large part, the war on wokeness has been manufactured by the right’s elite. In part, the war arises from grievances of the base. There are even some non-imaginary conflicts in this war —at least on the part of the Americans that can be seen as blue-collar workers. I will be focusing on this and will try to define the groups and harms as clearly and honestly as possible.

Put roughly, the United States has two broad categories of blue-collar workers. There are the traditional blue-collar workers, such as those in manufacturing, employees of plumbing businesses, truck drivers and so on. There are also the blue-collar elites; they own small businesses, are successful self-employed electricians, work as middle managers at blue-collar industries and so on. As with any class, there are degrees of each. For example, a successful self-employed plumber could be considered a blue-collar elite, but would be lower on the economic class structure than someone who owns and operates a profitable plumbing company they built up from their original one-person business. Someone who simply bought a plumbing company with their inheritance would most likely be a white-collar elite.

The woke, broadly speaking, could be seen as folks on the left who embrace liberal values. While this aspect of the definition is contentious, the woke can be seen as focusing mostly on social issues relating to such factors as race and sexuality and being less (or not at all) concerned about general economic issues.

The woke can be seen as breaking away from concerns about the lower economic classes in general and focusing on specific oppressed groups. The woke elite are what David Brooks calls the Bobos; this is the ruling class of the left that has largely abandoned the working class left of the past. There are, of course, degrees in these classes. A poor college student working at McDonalds for tuition money who blogs and tweets in support of transgender rights could be seen as woke, but not elite. Stephen Colbert can be seen as an example of a top tier woke elite. As noted above, there is the problem of what counts as being in the woke class and the right’s “definition” is so vague it is useless in a rigorous discussion. To be fair, they do not intend this usage: “woke” is a political term and is kept intentionally vague. The right calls those concerned with broad economic issues “socialists”, “communists” and “Marxists.” But they also apply these labels to mainstream corporate Democrats, such as former VP Harris.

As would be expected, these terms are usually not used rigorously, correctly, or consistently. A person could be condemned as being “woke” for allegedly ignoring the plight of workers while simultaneously being blasted for being a “socialist” who supports unions, better benefits, and higher wages. But back to the woke elite and blue-collar folks.

As noted above, the elite of the right blast the woke elite for abandoning the blue collars in favor of a woke ideology. The blue-collar workers believe, correctly, that their situation has gotten worse, especially relative to their parents and grandparents. The blue-collar elites, though well off economically, see themselves as victims: they are excluded, mocked, or simply ignored by the woke elite. They are not wrong about this. I will begin with the workers.

Trump and his fellows have appealed to the perception of white, blue-collar workers that the woke elites have abandoned them in favor of woke ideology. There are also those who accept racist explanations for their woes. For example, there is the idea that minorities are stealing jobs from white workers (with the aid of the woke elites). These workers are not wrong that they are being hurt, but their explanations tend to be mistaken. So, let us look at the woke elite and race.

The woke elite and right elite are both fighting to stay at the top of the hierarchy, but they do differ in some of their methods.  But there are similarities. The woke elite, by definition, profess to be anti-racist (or at least not racist). But they generally benefit from racism in two ways. First, the white woke elite benefited from past racism and benefit from current racism in the usual ways, though they profess to condemn these things. Second, racism gives them a battleground with their opposing elite on the right. The elite of the right have, for the most part, use racism as a tool to maintain the social hierarchy that benefits them. For example, they use racism to divide the working class against each other. The woke left elite can be sincere in this fight, but they also benefit from keeping the fight focused on such matters as race to distract from concerns about class, since they are part of the upper classes.

Both the work elite and right elite are careful to avoid engaging each other issues of economic class; this is because they largely agree on the economic class structure (them on the top, everyone else beneath them) and do not want to disrupt that. A key difference, as noted above, is race. For the right, race is both a tool to maintain the existing hierarchy and a key part of the hierarchy. While the woke elite benefit from racism, they are like elites prior to the construction of race: their hierarchy is not built on race, and racism is not one of their tools. While professing a kinder, gentler view of economics, they do all they can to lock themselves in their position and thus lock out others. One example is education: the woke elites jealously protect their control over who has access to elite universities. The infamous college admission scandal laid bare how the elites attempt to control this access.

A second example is the concentration of the woke elite in a few cities. This has hyper concentrated wealth with a range of negative effects. This includes harm to the cities that would seem to benefit from this, such as a skyrocketing cost of living. A third example, which is what the right (ironically) focuses on is that the woke elite have transformed the Democrats from a party with some meaningful commitment to workers into a party that has abandoned them in many ways. It has also had a similar impact on the American left in general. There are, of course, some who have remained strongly committed to workers, such as Bernie Sanders. But the blue-collar workers are right to recognize the woke elite as their enemies, but not for the reasons the right gives. It is not the anti-racism of the woke that hurts workers, but their commitment to maintaining the economic social order. The woke elite are committed to maintaining the existing social order, they just do not use racism as a tool in doing so because they have other tools that work very well. And, if they embraced racism, they would just be elites of the right.

The right is correct to call out the woke elites for abandoning the workers, but they only offer lies, racism, sexism, and no real help. They have no desire to meaningfully improve conditions for the workers, the “woke” Bezos and anti-woke Ted Cruz are both vehemently anti-worker. The difference is that Cruz sees racism as a critical tool and Bezos (probably) does not since he has other tools that keep him on top. As such, blue collar workers need a third party, one that will fight for them and not for the woke elite or the right elite.

When it comes to pollution, people respond with a cry of NIMBY and let loose the dogs of influence. This shows that everyone gets what is obviously true: pollution is unsightly, unpleasant, and unhealthy. Air pollution alone is deadly, killing millions of us each year. It is also obviously true that our civilizations flood our home with pollution, and we must decide where this pollution goes.

As one would expect, the cost of pollution is regularly shifted onto those with less influence. The wealthy and politically influential use this power to ensure that pollution is concentrated in places where the poor and uninfluential live. To illustrate, we do not see incinerators or coal burning power plants constructed near the residences of Nancy Pelosi, Ted Cruz, Bill Gates, or Oprah.

In the United States (and elsewhere) race is also a factor: pollution is concentrated along racial lines, even accounting for disparities of income. To illustrate, highways tend to run through minority neighborhoods and industrial plants tend to be located near minority residences. While some might rush to point out that white Americans are also subject to horrific levels of pollution, this is hardly the devasting riposte that one might think it is. After all, pollution is distributed disproportionally to wealth and there are many poor white people in America. Also, pointing out that white people are also heavily exposed to pollution only shows how widespread the problem is. As with most harms in America, pollution hurts the poor, the children, and minorities the most.

In some cases, sources of pollution are intentionally inflicted on the poor and minorities.  In other cases, the same result arises without conscious intention. To illustrate, if a company proposed to build a refinery near a wealthy white neighborhood, the residents would use their influence to block it. The company would keep trying to find a location and would, of course, end up somewhere where the inhabitants lacked the power to prevent it from being built in their backyard. This would be a poorer area that is also likely also to have a minority population. It can be argued that the wealthy white folks have no desire to inflict pollution on these poor people, it just happens because of the disparity in power. After all, that refinery must go somewhere, just not in their backyard. While the folks who make the decisions probably care little about ethical theory, it can and should be applied to this decision making, be it direct or indirect.

One obvious approach to such large-scale moral decision making is to use a form of utilitarianism: the pollution should be located where it does the least harm to those who matter morally. Deciding who (and what) matters and how much they matter involves sorting out the scope of morality. There is also the problem of sorting out the calculation of value: what is the measure of the good and the evil? There are many ways to address matters of scope and value, which can lead to good faith moral debate. Interestingly, a solid argument can be made for the common practice of dumping the most pollution on those with the least power.

As John Kenneth Galbraith said, “The modern conservative is engaged in one of man’s oldest exercises in moral philosophy; that is, the search for a superior moral justification for selfishness.” Utilitarianism provides an easy way to do just that by adjusting the scope of morality. As noted above, determining the scope of morality is a matter of determining who has moral worth and to what degree they have it. One extreme example is ethical egoism. On this consequentialist view,  each person limits the scope of morality to themselves. Ayn Rand is a good example of an ethical egoist. On her view, everyone should be selfish and do what maximizes their self-interest. In terms of the scope of morality, the ethical egoist sees themself as the only one with moral worth. The opposing view is altruism. This is the view that at least some other people count morally.

An ethical egoist can easily provide a moral justification for shifting the cost of pollution onto others: only they count, so the right thing to do is to ensure that someone else is exposed to pollution. Obviously enough, this view entails that everyone will be selfishly striving to push the pollution onto someone else and they are all morally right to do so. The matter would, from a practical standpoint, be settled by strength: the strong will do as they wish, the weaker will suffer as they must. This is likely to strike some as being fundamentally unethical or even an absence of ethics. But one can expand the scope of morality while still pushing pollution onto others.

One obvious approach is to argue that the people in the upper classes have more moral worth than those in the lower classes. How the scope is set can vary greatly. One might, for example, claim that only the elites have any moral worth at all. One could be more “generous” and grant all classes moral status, but have the moral status correspond to the class status. On this sort of view, the poor would have some moral worth, but they would matter far less morally than the elites. This seems to be a commonly held view: only the most heartless would claim that the poor have no value, but our civilizations treat the lower classes as having far less moral worth. They are generally less honest about this these days; but it is evident upon even a cursory examination of countries like the United States and China.

One can also bring race in as a factor in setting the scope of morality. The United States provides a clear example of this: while many racists would accept that people outside of their group have some moral worth, a racist regards their group as having greater moral worth than others. This allows an easy “justification” of shifting the harms of pollution onto minorities: for the racist, these people have less worth and thus it makes moral sense to have them suffer the harms.  There are utilitarians, such as J.S. Mill, who have a broader scope of morality, taking all humans and even much of “sentient creation” to count morally.

For those who consider all people to have moral worth, then shifting pollution onto the poor and onto minorities becomes more morally difficult. One could still make a case for doing so, but it would be harder than simply adjusting the scope of morality to devalue the poor and minorities.

 

During the last pandemic, some organizations mandated vaccination against COVID-19. As another pandemic is inevitable, it is worth revisiting the moral issue of mandatory vaccination in response to a pandemic.

Schools have a well-established precedent for requiring students to be vaccinated, although there have been ways to opt out.  The moral justification is usually a utilitarian one: while there is a cost and possible harm arising from mandatory school vaccinations, this is outweighed by the harm these vaccinations prevent. Students are in close contact in closed spaces for long periods of time, putting them at risk. As such, allowing students (or, rather, their parents) to opt out of vaccines would put themselves and others at greater risk. Exemptions can, and should, be granted in cases where a person would be medically harmed by vaccination; but these are extremely rare cases. During a pandemic, the moral argument is even stronger as the risk and harm would be greater than in normal circumstances.

In terms of a moral objection to mandatory vaccinations at schools during a pandemic is that the long-term effects of a new vaccine on children and teens would not be known. As such, one could claim that possible harmful effects of the vaccine might outweigh the harms of being unvaccinated. While this is a legitimate concern, it is not unique: all past vaccines have raised the same concern. So far, the benefits have consistently outweighed the harms of vaccination. So unless there is evidence that a new vaccine presents a special problem, then it is as morally acceptable to require it during a pandemic as it was, for example, to require the polio vaccine when it was developed. This is not to deny that things can go wrong, but that we always must make such decisions without having certainty.

Employers requiring vaccination is more controversial. While some professions, such as healthcare workers and military personnel, are usually required to get vaccinated these are exceptions rather than the rule. Most professions, even those that involve working closely with other people, do not require vaccinations, even during a pandemic. There are also moral questions about what employers can compel their employees to do.

In general, the American right supports granting considerable power to employers over their employees. One example is at will employment which allows employers to fire employees at will. For example, if an employee refused to stop smoking (outside of the workplace) they could be fired. As another example, if an employee expresses political views on their own time that their boss dislikes, they can be fired. Given that the right generally supports employers having great power over their employers, one might think they  would accept that employers could mandate vaccination on the pain of being fired. While workers would be free to refuse, few can afford to quit their jobs and companies have great coercive power.

But the right has made vaccines part of their political war. While they would normally favor employers imposing what they wish on their employees, the anti-vaxxers on the right have opposed this mandate. They have shown that when corporations do not side with them in their manufactured culture war battles, they will turn against these businesses. This is presumably because they believe the political points they gain will outweigh a conflict with the corporations who help fund their re-elections.

While the right professes to be anti-vax because of their love of freedom, this is a bad faith claim. The right has been busy passing restrictive laws to “solve” problems that do not exist. For example, the right has been busy limiting access to voting based on their “big lie” about the 2020 election. If they cared about freedom, they would not be doing this. They have also been busy passing laws aimed at trans people, claiming that strict restrictions must be in place to protect people from (imaginary) dangers. Again, if they believed that freedom is so important, they would not be passing such laws. And if they really believed in protecting people from real harm, they would not be anti-vax.

The left generally favors workers’ rights and often seeks to at least slightly reduce the power disparity. As such, it would make sense for the left to generally hold that workers could refuse to be vaccinated without being fired. That said, the left also has concerns beyond the workplace, so some leftists might favor mandatory vaccination imposed by the state. This would typically be morally justified on utilitarian grounds: the state is supposed to use its coercive powers to protect citizens, and this could include requiring vaccination during the next pandemic.

My own view is, to state the obvious, that this issue is complicated. On the one hand, people have the moral right to control their bodies. This provides a moral foundation for arguing against vaccine mandates. On the other hand, all rights should be morally limited by the harm that might be done to others in exercising them. To use a silly example, I have the right to run as fast as I wish. But I do not have the right to charge into other people. This is because my actions could hurt them. As another example, while I do have the right to remove the brakes from my truck, I do not have the right to drive it on public roads after doing this. This is because I would hurt other people. In the case of the next pandemic, the harms would likely warrant mandatory vaccination just as people are required to have working brakes on their vehicles and forbidden from charging other people like deranged bulls.

While most states have hate crime statutes, only  about five include law enforcement officers as a protected category. Utah is one of these states. After a 2021 traffic stop for speeding, Lauren Gibson is alleged to have stomped on a “Back the Blue” sign while “smirking in an intimidating manner” at a deputy. She was charged with a hate crime for her actions. These leads to two issues. The first is a specific matter: did her actions constitute a hate crime? The second is a general matter: should law enforcement be a protected category in the context of hate crime?

While the legal debate is best left to legal experts, I can consider the text of the law and assess whether it seems reasonable to interpret her actions as a hate crime. According to the Utah law, a hate crime occurs when a person commits an offense “with the intent to intimidate or terrorize another person or with reason to believe that his action would intimidate or terrorize that person.” And, of course, the person must be in a protected category. So, for example, if I went to Utah and was recognized as a philosophy professor and a crowd attempted to terrorize or intimidate me because of this, it would not be a hate crime, since philosophy professors are not a protected category. If the same crowd did the same sort of thing to a police officer who was with me, then that would be a hate crime. That is how protected categories work.

Given that Gibson was a 19-year-old unarmed woman at the time of the incident, it seems unlikely she believed she could intimidate an armed deputy. While she probably did not know it at the time, the deputy is a veteran of the department and had seen combat duty while serving in the military. One could, of course, argue that she did think she could intimidate and terrorize him by stomping on a sign and smirking; but those would be rather odd ways to try to intimidate and terrorize an armed deputy.

Determining intent can be tricky since as this requires speculating on internal psychological states. Naturally, a person can make their alleged intent clear by words or deeds. But stomping on a sign and smirking in this context seem to be based on an intention to express anger and displeasure rather than expressing an intention to intimidate and terrorize. One can, of course, say that she exercised poor judgment in antagonizing the deputy, but she probably did not expect to be charged with committing a hate crime. Smirking, after all, is generally not a crime. In the case of the sign, it had apparently been found abandoned by the side of the road. Stomping on an abandoned sign is also usually not a crime. While ignorance of the law is not an excuse, unless she was aware of the statute, she would have no reason to think that her actions would constitute a hate crime. After all, her actions are not what a person would intuitively think of as falling under a hate crime. While the legal judgment was up to the judge, it would be absurd to convict her of a hate crime—even under the statute. This leads to the question of whether law enforcement should be considered a protected category in the context of hate crimes.

While people can and do hate the police, hate crimes are not defined based on the emotion. After all, if a mob in Utah tried to kill me because they hate my ontological commitments, then they would be acting from hate but not committing a hate crime. As noted above, a hate crime involves intimidation and terrorizing aimed at a protected category. From a moral standpoint, a reasonable justification for focusing on intimidation and terrorizing is to distinguish crimes that might be committed against a person who just so happens to be in a certain category and crimes aimed at a person because they are in that category. So, if Ted embezzles money from Sally because he hates her for being a cruel boss, and Sally is in a protected category, then that would generally not be a hate crime. After all, Ted is not trying to intimidate or terrorize her. He is trying to steal money and just happens to hate her. But if Ted attacks Sally because she is in a protected category and intends to intimidate or terrorize her because of that category, then that could be a hate crime. As far as why a hate crime would be worse than a normal crime, one moral factor is that a hate crime also harms other members of the category. This is because the hate crime is not aimed just at intimidating or terrorizing a person but also aimed at intimidation and terrorizing them because they are within that category. So, if Ted commits a crime against Sally aimed at intimidating and terrorizing her because she is a woman, then he is also acting against other women and thus the consequences are usually greater than for a “normal” crime. Or so one might argue.

In the case of law enforcement, it is true that a person can be targeted for a crime because of their profession. While it is fortunately a rare occurrence, there are cases where police are targeted for assassination. But this is also true of many other professions. For example, journalists are subject to attacks because they are journalists (sometimes by the police). Thanks to Trump and his fellows, these attacks increased and are still an ongoing concern. Speaking of Trump and his fellows, their lies also contributed to increased attacks on public health officials. As such, if law enforcement should be protected by hate crime laws, then the same protection should be extended to other professions as well, especially journalists and public health officials. In this case, one might see an interesting case in which a journalist commits a hate crime against a police officer by “intimidating” them by filming them committing a hate crime by intimidating and terrorizing the journalist by shooting them with “less than lethal” munition and whacking them in the face with a club. One could, of course, argue that professions should not be the basis for being in a protected category.

Also from a moral standpoint, hate crime definitions often tend to focus on intimidation and terrorizing because of ethical concerns about power disparities between categories of people and not just between individuals. While individuals do vary in power, certain categories enjoy relative power advantages over others. To use an obvious example, men as a category have more power than women as a category. I, as a man can run through the park in the dark with no fear; the same is not true for most women. While there are individual women who can physically intimidate and overpower individual men, men as a category have the advantage when it comes to terrorizing and intimidating.   As another example, white Americans as a category have more power than other Americans. This is not to deny that an individual white American can be intimidated or terrorized by, for example, an African American. But white Americans generally have the advantage here when it comes to inflicting terror and intimidation. For example, Amy Cooper seemed to know exactly what she was doing when she attempted to use the police to intimidate Christian Cooper. In this specific case, her efforts backfired, and she got in trouble, but this is because the encounter was recorded. In other cases, the intimidation works as intended.

While an individual law enforcement officer could be intimidated or terrorized by someone outside of the profession, as a category law enforcement has an absurd level of advantage over civilians. Police are armed, often with military grade equipment, they usually wear some form of armor, and they have at least basic training in combat. They also have the advantage of being able to call on the power of the state, both in the form of reinforcements and in inflicting punishment through the legal system. They also often get away with using excessive, even lethal violence. There have been, of course, some famous exceptions that show if the violence is recorded and witnessed by many people and the incident gains national and international attention during the right phase of public opinion, then an officer might be held accountable. As such, law enforcement as a category is unlikely to be intimidated or terrorized by civilians. The weight of terror and intimidation is entirely on their side. As such, there seems to be no moral need to single out law enforcement for special protection under hate crime laws. To pre-empt likely straw man attacks, I am obviously not claiming that police should not be protected by the law; a crime against a person who is in law enforcement is still a crime but would not be a hate crime. So, why are their such statutes?

The easy and obvious answer is that the intention is to, ironically, intimidate and terrorize people who might come into conflict with the police. This could be during an arrest or during a protest. On the face of it, one could argue that a person who resists arrest is committing a hate crime under this statute. If stomping on a sign and smirking count as threats or intimidation, then protesting the police would also fall under this category. Protesting anything while police are merely present could fall under this sort of statute. An officer might, for example, see a protestor smirking at them and decide that was an attempt to intimidate them.

I must, of course, grudgingly admit that the right is devilishly clever to repurpose hate crime laws intended to protect marginalized communities and vulnerable groups. They are weaponizing these laws against these communities and groups; just as they have weaponized free speech. In closing, while law enforcement does deserve the full protection of the law, making them a protected category is obviously intended to weaponize hate crime statutes and do so largely against the people they were originally intended to protect.

 

It might seem like woke madness to claim that medical devices can be biased. Are there white supremacist stethoscopes? Misogynistic MRI machines? Extremely racist X-Ray machines? Obviously not, medical devices do not have beliefs or ideologies (yet). But they can still be biased in their accuracy and effectiveness.

One example of a biased device is the pulse oximeter. This device measures blood oxygen by using light. You have probably had one clipped on your finger during a visit to your doctor. Or you might even own one. The bias in this device is that it is three times more likely to not reveal low oxygen levels in dark skinned patients than light skinned patients.  As would be expected, there are other devices that have problems with accuracy when used on people who have darker skins. These are essential sensor biases (or defects). In most cases, these can be addressed by improving the sensors or developing alternative devices. The problem is, to exaggerate a bit, is that most medical technology is made by white men for white men. This is not to claim such biased devices are all cases of intentional racism and misogyny. There is not, one assumes, a conspiracy against women and people of color in this area but there is a bias problem.  In addition to biased hardware, there is also biased software.

Many medical devices use software, and it is often used in medical diagnosis. People are often inclined to think software is unbiased, perhaps because of science fiction tropes about objective and unfeeling machines. While it is true that our current software does not feel or think, bias can make its way into the code. For example, software used to analyze chest x-rays would work less well on women than men if the software was “trained” only on X-rays of men. The movie Prometheus has an excellent fictional example of a gender-biased auto-doc that lacks the software to treat female patients.

These software issues can be addressed by using diverse training groups for software and taking steps to test software for bias by using a diverse testing group. Also, having a more diverse set of people working on such technology would probably also help.

Another factor is analogous to user error, which is user bias. People, unlike devices, do have biases and these can and do impact how they use medical devices and their data. Bias in healthcare is well documented. While overt and conscious racism and sexism are rare, sexism and subtle racism are still problems. Addressing this widespread problem is more challenging than addressing biases in hardware and software. But if we want fair and unbiased healthcare, it is a problem that must be addressed.

As to why these biases should be addressed, this is a matter of ethics. To allow bias to harm patients goes against the fundamental purpose of medicine, which is to heal people. From a utilitarian standpoint, addressing this bias would be the right thing to do: it would create more positive value than negative value. This is because there would be more accurate medical data and better treatment of patients.

In terms of a counterargument, one could contend that addressing bias would increase costs and thus should not be done. There are several easy and obvious replies. One is that the cost increase would be, at worst, minor. For example, testing devices on a more diverse population would not seem meaningfully more expensive than not doing that. Another is that patients and society pay a far greater price in terms of illness and its effects than it would cost to address medical bias. For those focused on the bottom line, workers who are not properly treated can cost corporations some of their profit and ongoing health issues can cost taxpayer money.

One can, of course, advance racist and sexist arguments by professing outrage at “wokeness” attempting to “ruin” medicine by “ramming diversity down throats” or however Fox news would put it. Such “arguments” would be aimed at preserving the harm done to women and people of color, which is an evil thing to do. One might hope that these folks would be hard pressed to turn, for example, pulse oximeters into a battlefront of the culture war. But these are the same folks who professed to lose their minds over Mr. Potato Head and went on a bizarre rampage against a grad school level theory that has been around since the 1970s. They are also the same folks who have gone anti-vax in during a pandemic, encouraging people to buy tickets in the death lottery. But the right thing to do is to choose life.

A few years ago, PragerU tried to push back on Twitter (now X) against arguments by young Americans about racism. In general, getting involved in social media battles is a bad idea. To use an AD&D analogy, these fights are like punching green slime: the more you attack, the more you hurt yourself. And you end up covered in slime. It is usually best to avoid rather than engage. 

In the case of PragerU, they fired off what they presumed would be a sick burn of the youth: “Young people are enamored with ‘anti-racist’ rhetoric because they think they are fighting racist systems in America.  The TRUTH is they are fighting America itself and the very values the country was founded on.” Ironically, PragerU could have used some schooling in clear writing.

Their intended meaning, given the ideology evident in their videos, is that the youth think they are fighting racism, but they are wrong about this. Instead, they are fighting America and its founding values. Which are supposedly not racist. However, the tweet as written states that the youth think they are fighting racist systems in America, but they do not realize that the racist systems are America itself and its founding values. That is, PragerU seems have tweeted openly what they were supposed to keep quiet: they believe that America was founded on racism and that the racist systems are America. Sometimes they are willing to acknowledge that there were a few racist things in America’s past, but quickly rush to explain that they were not so bad and, of course, have no meaningful consequences for the present day.

 These are the same people who defend “Civil War” statues on the grounds that history must be preserved. This is a bad faith argument for obvious reasons. While a statue can be an historical artifact, a statue is not history. As comedians have noted, we do not have statues of Bin Laden in New York City, even though he is historically significant to the city. We do not do this because such statues are political statements. There is also the obvious problem that the history presented by PragerU and its ilk generally try to whitewash the past and ignore the truth. Attacking Critical Race Theory has become a key part of this strategic attack on history and facts. This is a fight that the right is currently winning, a backlash from a time when Black Lives Mattered.

 Ironically, PragerU (and those who share their ideology) agree with key factual claims accepted by most Critical Race Theorists about racism. These include the fact that the United States political, economic, and social systems have been dominated by white Americans to their advantage.  The difference is that Critical Race Theorists generally see the racism (systematic and otherwise) as morally wrong and something that needs to be addressed. PragerU and their fellows see these systems as generally good, although they were reluctant to openly assert this claim. Instead, they have engaged in revisionist history and take great effort to block criticism of the existing system.

PragerU is (as is usually the case) is mistaken in its key claims. While the United States founding values include racist values (they are explicitly laid out in the Constitution, political philosophy, and laws) there are other professed values that are not racist and some are even anti-racist. As Dr. King noted, the Declaration of Independence makes promises to all Americans, whether those promises were sincere or not. While America is racist, it is also anti-racist as America is not monolithic, and we have a complicated moral history. There are those, like PragerU, who fight for racist elements of the system and those, like the young Americans they tried to attack, who are fighting racism. In the face of the backlash, anti-racism is fighting a defensive battle with open racism in the ascendence. But as the racism becomes more open and extreme, America will probably push back towards the center. Probably.

PragerU, like many other right-wing propaganda engines, is engaged in a project worthy of a comic book villain, but all too real. While they do admit America had some racism in the past, they contend that it was not that bad. They take special pains to present slavery in a positive light and present many Confederates as heroic figures. They refuse to accept that past racism has had any significant systematic effect on the present. While sometimes willing to admit that there might a racist bad apple or two, they refuse to accept that racism exists in a significant and systematic form. They do all this while defending and enhancing racism, even “cleverly” accusing those critical of racism of being “the real racists.” As always, I am unsure if ordinary citizens who profess to believe these things are unwitting victims or accomplices who know the lies are lies but pretend to believe. One must thus either think them ignorant or dishonest; neither of which is a pleasant. I prefer to think that many believe out of ignorance, if only because ignorance is easier to overcome than dishonesty.