Category: Politics

In my previous essay, I considered various arguments that we have obligations to people we do not know. In this essay I will consider hunger in the United States of America in the context of obligations.

The United States is both the wealthiest nation and one that has been facing an obesity epidemic. Hence, it might seem odd to claim that hunger is a problem in the United States. Millions of Americans, many of whom are white and rural, suffer from food insecurity. American children, senior citizens and people with disabilities make up the largest demographic of people who are food insecure. Most families suffering from food insecurity have at least one employed adult. One reason why employed adults need assistance is declining wages: people can work multiple jobs and still not earn enough to buy adequate food. These facts run counter to the usual stereotypes that are exploited by wicked politicians.

The United States does have a program to address hunger—what was once called food stamps is now called SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program). While sometimes enjoying bipartisan support, the recent politics of ignorant cruelty has focused on gutting programs that help people, such as SNAP. On average, SNAP recipients run out of benefits before the month ends and must turn to charity, such as food pantries.

The federal government also uses taxpayer money to subsidizes the production of certain crops. Corn gets the lion’s share and is distantly followed by wheat and soybeans. Rice, sorghum, peanuts, barley and sunflowers also receive some subsidies while the only subsidized fruit is the apple. Because of such subsidies, food products that contain corn, wheat or soybeans tend to be the cheapest. Hence, low-income people get most of their calories from such foods. Examples include sodas, energy drinks, sports drinks, chicken, grain-based desserts, tacos and pizza.  These foods tend to be high calorie and low nutrition foods. To be fair and balanced, a taco with the right ingredients could be healthy food, but these healthy versions are usually not what low income people are eating.

Food deserts also impact the diet of people with low incomes. These are areas lacking supermarkets but usually have fast food restaurants and small markets (like convenience stores). A surprising number of Americans live in these food deserts and do not own a car that would allow them to drive to buy healthier (and cheaper) food. The food sold at these places tends to be more expensive than the food available at a grocery store and they tend to be high calorie, low-nutrient foods.

These two factors help explain the seeming paradox of an obesity epidemic among hungry people: we have easy access to high calorie foods of low nutritional value. Hence, people tend to be overweight while also being malnourished. Now that the nature of the problem has been discussed, I now turn to the matter of obligations to others.

On the face of it, the main issue regarding obligations to the hungry would seem to focus on whether there is an obligation to provide people with food. This can be broken down into two sub-categories. First, whether there is a collective obligation to provide hungry citizens with food via the machinery of the state (in this case, SNAP). Second, whether there is an obligation on the part of better-off citizens to provide food to their hungry fellow citizens.

Arguing that the state has such an obligation is relatively easy. A minimal obligation of the state is to provide for the good of the people and to protect them from harm. While the traditional focus is on military and police forces, this would seem to extend to protecting citizens from nutritional deficits and hunger.

A utilitarian argument can also be advanced for this obligation: helping to feed millions of citizens creates more utility than disutility. Part of this is the fact that people are happier when they have good food to eat. Part of this is the less obvious fact that when people get hungry enough, open rebellion might seem better than starving to death—so feeding the poor helps maintain social stability. Or so those who praise bread and circuses might claim.

One objection against this view is to contend that providing such support creates a culture of dependence encouraging people to stay poor. The obvious is that, as noted above, those receiving the aid are mostly people who are seniors, people with disabilities or children—people who should not be expected to labor to survive in an advanced, wealthy nation. Also, as noted above, most families that receive SNAP have at least one working adult. People are not on SNAP because they turn down opportunities for riches—they are on SNAP because of the lack of opportunities.

Things become more controversial when the issue switches to whether better off individuals are obligated to assist their fellow citizens. This means doing more than just paying taxes that help fund SNAP. Such assistance might involve donating money, time or food.

Intuitively, people usually think that such charitable acts are nice things to do and worthy of praise. However, some think that there is no obligation to do this and that someone who does not assist others in this way is not a bad person. This does have some appeal—after all, being bad is typically seen as being actively bad rather than merely not doing good things.

Turning back to the general arguments for obligations to others, there are religious injunctions to feed the hungry (which explains why American churches are on the front line in the war against hunger), and it is easy to reverse the situation: if I were hungry, I would want my fellow citizens to help me. As such, I should help them when I am well off.

The utilitarian argument also applies here: a person who gives a little to help the hungry will incur a small cost (but might gain in happiness) but it will yield greater happiness on the part of the recipients who now have something to eat. As such, the utilitarian argument would seem to ground this obligation. Of course, there is the stock objection about building dependence, which is all too often made by people who inherited their wealth or acquired it by exploiting the labor of others.

Rational self-interest would also seem to provide a reason to provide such aid—there are plenty of selfish reasons to do so, not the least of which is gaining a good reputation and helping to keep social order.

The debt argument might work here as well—if a person has benefited from the assistance of others, then she would be obligated to repay that debt. However, a person could contend that if they have not received food from others when hungry, they owe nothing.

The argument from virtue applies here: the virtue of generosity obligates a person to give to others in need. This, and the religious injunction, would seem to be the truest forms of actual obligation—as opposed to merely doing it from self-interest or for utility.

Digging deeper, there is also another issue. As noted above, people are hungry mostly because they are not earning enough to purchase adequate food. One reason for this is that wages have consistently declined for most Americans, although the profits of businesses have steadily increased. As such, the United States is the wealthiest country in the world yet has many very poor people. This raises the moral issue of whether employers are obligated to pay a living wage—a wage that would enable a person to purchase food on that salary without requiring the assistance of the state or others.

Businesses obviously have a strong self-interest argument against not paying living wages when they can get away with it. Lower wages mean greater profits and shifting the cost to other people (taxpayers and those who contribute to food pantries) means that their workers survive despite the lack of a living wage. However, there is still the moral question of whether they have an obligation to provide such a living wage.

The religious injunctions would seem to apply to employers that accept these specific faiths—and companies that wish to claim they are religious should be obligated to act the part. But companies that use religious arguments seem more focused on legalizing their intolerance and harming others rather than helping people. However, secular companies can easily claim exemption.

Reversing the situation would also apply: presumably those running businesses would not want to be so poorly paid. Of course, they would probably claim that as job creators there is a relevant difference.

The utilitarian argument does involve some complexities. After all, there can be good utilitarian arguments for allowing some to suffer so as to produce greater utility for others—so a case could be made that the utility generated outweighs the disutility of the low pay. However, the opposite sort of argument can also be made.

The debt argument would also apply. If corporations are people (or legal fictions run by people), then they would have a debt to the others that make civilization possible. As such, they should pay back this debt, perhaps in the form of decent wages.

The virtues of fairness and generosity would seem to obligate employers to pay employees fairly and this should be a living wage, at least in many cases. If corporations are people, then they should surely be held to the same obligations as actual people.

Thus, there are good reasons to accept that we are obligated to help others and feed the hungry.

 

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After the murder of Michael Brown, protests took place which led to additional conflicts between citizens and police. Initially, the police met the protestors like an invading army: many officers were in military gear and backed up by armored vehicles. Militarized and brutal responses to protests have occurred repeatedly. As noted in my previous essay, this approach is based on a philosophy of order that perceived threats are to be met with physical force. Even when the perceived threat consists of citizens acting within their rights.

One reason is practical—the state has an advantage of force. As Thoreau notes, “…the state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses.  It is not armed with superior with or honesty, but with superior physical strength.”

Another reason for this is conceptual. Many authorities prefer to use coercion rather than persuasion and reason. There is also a philosophical element—those in authority often seem to have a philosophical view about the rights of citizens that differs from that of the founders they so often praise when running for re-election.

To begin with the most obvious violations of constitutional rights, the rights of free speech and assemble have been routinely violated. The harassment of journalists also seem to be clear violations of the freedom of the press.

Section 1 of the 14th amendment has also been relentlessly violated since citizens have been “deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law” and citizens have been denied “the equal protection of the laws.” The violations of the 14th amendment are not limited just to the treatment of the protestors—the disproportionality  in the response to protests illustrates systematic violation of this amendment.

There are also clear violations of internationally established human rights: the protestors have been shot with rubber bullets (admittedly this is better than being shot with metal bullets) and tear gas has been used.

Those who accept natural rights, such as John Locke, would agree that these rights are being regularly violated. The most obvious being the right of liberty.  As such, the violations are not just a matter of violations of human law but also violations of natural rights (assuming there are such things). For those who prefer a more utilitarian approach to liberty, Mill’s utilitarian arguments would certainly support the claim that the state has been violating the rights of protestors.

One obvious counter to this view is the claim that the police are justified because they are acting to protect the rights of life, liberty and property for some people. This, of course, requires the use of force and it might appear that some rights are being violated in the keeping of order.

This counter has some abstract merit. The state does have an obligation to prevent protestors from violating the rights of other people. Being a protestor does not grant a person special rights to violate the rights of others, so a protestor who engages in unwarranted violence or other misdeeds can be justly stopped or arrested.

There is also the obvious concern with people who use protests as an excuse to engage in or as cover for misdeeds such as looting and violence. If the police arrest someone who has come to “protest” by stealing, they have not violated that person’s rights as they have no moral right to steal even if they claim it is an act of protest. That said, a case can be made for theft as an act of protest.

A reply to this counter is that the legitimate need to protect rights does not justify violating those rights. So, while the police have an obligation to keep protestors from committing crimes against life, liberty and property the police also have an obligation to not violate the rights of the protestors. I admit that this can be challenging in practice since opportunists and criminals can mix in with actual protestors. Just as they mix in with politicians and police. However, if our society is supposed to respect rights, effort must be taken to ensure that these rights are protected—even (and especially) in heated moments. After all, rights are not just for corporations.

 

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One of my first essays on police and race was in response to the August 9, 2014, killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson. Brown was unarmed when he was killed. While some claim Brown was murdered, others claim the shooting was justified. While there were efforts at reform, killings continue and hence this subject is, sadly, always relevant. In each incident there is the question of whether force was used legitimately (and what that might mean).

From a legal standpoint, the concept of legitimacy is defined by the law and whoever has the authority or power to impose their definition. From a moral standpoint, the legitimacy of force depends on what ethical theory is being used. Intuitively, though, the use of force against an unprovoked attack would seem legitimate. Using force against someone who does not present a threat would intuitively seem to be morally unjustified.

In discussing police use of force, I have found that some people see the critical issue as whether an officer was justified in using force in that situation. This view is reasonable but has an obvious defect: it does not consider the broader context. A particular officer could be morally justified in using force in the individualistic context of one person facing another. However, there is the broader context involving the social roles of the individuals, the social context, the history of race in America, the political context and so on. That is, the incident is not just a matter of two people who encounter each other in the context of violence. It is also a confrontation of class and race heavy with the weight of history. These considerations lead to broader moral concerns regarding why such situations arise.

One part of the answer is the history of race in America. This history sets the stage for death. To state a truism, being black in America is rather different from being white. Since I look very white, my experience has been the white experience. Being a philosopher, my awareness of this means that I know my experience is not universal and it would be fallacious to draw uncritical inferences from myself. Hence, I must rely on others to have some understanding beyond my own experiences. I do know that blacks tend to be treated rather worse by the police and young black men are singled out for some of the worst treatment. It is, of course, important to note that many police officers are decent people—I know several that I have met through running and gaming. Not surprisingly, young black men look at the police differently than white folks and the dynamic between young black men and police is often a rather bad one. I had indirect experience with this years ago. I was training for the Columbus marathon with a fellow grad student who is African American. While running through a neighborhood on the course, we were stopped by a cop who inquired what we “boys” were doing. Not wanting to be arrested or shot so close to the big race, I reigned in my pride and engaged my diplomatic skills while my friend stood in silent anger. I vividly remember that this was the first time in my white life that I was afraid of a cop; it was a radically different experience than interacting with the police in my hometown in Maine. What seemed to defuse the situation was that I told the cop that we were training for the marathon and that my friend had a shot of making the US Olympic team. This appeal to patriotism worked and the cop let us go. We sped away, glad that we had not been arrested or shot for running through a fancy neighborhood.

After that incident, I was stopped by the police another time while running and then again while biking, although I was doing nothing wrong. I recall feeling the calm that washes away fear that I feel when I was fighting in tae kwon do matches; I understood that I could arbitrarily be shot.

From these incredibly limited experiences, I can only imagine what it would be like to be subject to police attention regularly. Once again, to be fair to the police, I have also had many positive experiences with officers, and it would be unjust to sweepingly condemn all police because of the actions of some. However, there is clearly a serious moral problem in America.

Another obvious part of the answer is the philosophy of order held by many in power. While perhaps not familiar with Hobbes, they tend to operate in accord with his view of order and morality. Trump has made this clear when he said that the only limits he recognizes are his own mind and morality (which is terrifying as both are corrupt). The practical application of this view is that force is the primary (sometimes sole) tool in their toolbox.  The most visual manifestation of this is the militarization of the police: even small-town police forces have combat gear and sometimes even armored vehicles. As Thoreau noted, “thus the state never intentionally confronts a man’s sense, intellectual or moral, but only his body, his senses.  It is not armed with superior with or honesty, but with superior physical strength.” That this approach leads to violence is hardly surprising.

When the context of race is combined with a philosophy of force, it is hardly a surprise that violence and death are all too often the results. As such, even if an officer was justified in their individual actions, they were taken in a context that is fundamentally morally flawed. The situation should (morally) not arise.

 

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As Stephen Colbert’s current show winds down after being terminated, seemingly at the command of the Trump regime, I thought I’d look back at an episode of the Colbert Report.

Campbell Brown appeared on the July 31, 2014 episode of the Colbert Report to promote her Partnership for Educational Justice filing a legal complaint in Albany aimed at eliminating New York’s teacher tenure laws.  In my previous essay, I discussed the main topic, namely that of the points made in the legal complaint. In this essay, I will discuss some interesting points from Brown’s appearance on the Colbert Report. While a 2014 event might seem like ancient history, her appearance raises some issues that are still relevant today.

When Brown went to the show, she encountered protestors outside the building. Interestingly, she described them as trying to silence her and was critical of their presence. Colbert responded by noting that the protestors were exercising their First Amendment rights.

On the face of it, Brown used a common tactic—accusing critics of wanting to silence those expressing opposing viewpoints and using this as grounds for rejecting, dismissing or ignoring the criticisms. To be fair, some critics do say their opponent should be silenced. Because I accept the right to freedom of expression, I am against the silencing of critics. And, because I am consistent, I also oppose the demands of critics to silence those they criticize. I will admit there are exceptions, but these are just that—the exceptions.

However, it is important to distinguish between protests or criticism and attempts to silence. To protest someone or something is to express a negative view, and this is different from endeavoring to silence someone. For example, someone might have protested Brown’s lawsuit by making a sign and standing by the entrance to the building. This would express a stance against Brown, but unless the person told Brown to stop expressing her views or tried to shout her down, the person was not trying to silence Brown. It must be noted that even if a person would be happy if the target of their criticism did shut up, this is different from trying to silence someone.

To criticize something is to assess and evaluate it, which is different from trying to silence a person. I was myself critical of Brown, but I did not endeavor to silence her.  She had every right to make her claims and express her views, just as I had the right to express my own—even when my claims were critical of her claims. To assess is to not to silence. Even to claim someone is wrong is not to silence them. Saying “you are mistaken” is not the same as saying “shut up.”

That said, the tactic of accusing protestors or critics of trying to silence one does have some rhetorical value. First, it allows a person to dismiss or reject protestors/critics with a lazy ad homimen: “they are just trying to silence me, so their claims have no merit.” Second, it has an emotional appeal in that it casts the protestors or critics as being opposed to freedom of speech. The irony, of course, is that this is an attempt to silence the critics.

Another interesting aspect of the discussion was when Colbert asked Brown about who was funding her group and lawsuit. As Colbert, who once owned his own super PAC noted, it is legal to keep the names of those funding such an organization secret—even when they are actively involved in politics. When pressed a bit, Brown used another common tactic—she claimed that anonymity protects the donors from being harassed. This ties into the previously discussed tactic in which protestors and critics are cast as villains who are trying to silence a person. In this case, the opponents of her views are presumably being presented as the sort of people who would cruelly harass those they disagree with. This would, of course, have cast Brown as a brave hero—she was facing harassment, so the anonymous donors did not have to.

As Colbert noted, not revealing her donors is her legal right. However, the claim that she is keeping them anonymous to protect them from harassment was dubious. While Brown was subject to criticism and was protested, she did not seem to have been subjected to onerous abuse. The anonymous donors would presumably also not be cruelly abused—though they might be criticized.

Those more cynical than I might claim that the donors were concealed for nefarious reasons and there was speculation about who is the money behind the mouth. Those on the left, naturally enough, suspected a right-wing cabal aimed at destroying unions and privatizing education. Those of more moderate views might suspect a bi-partisan group that was aimed at privatizing education for the profit of themselves and their cronies. Some might even take Brown at face value: they backers are sincerely concerned with education reform. But, for some reason, they did not want anyone else to know.

Given her commitment to secrecy, it is ironic that in 2013 Brown created the Parents’ Transparency Project which was claimed to be aimed at bringing transparency to the negotiation process involving teachers’ unions.

This situation did raise the larger issue of secret funding. On the one hand, it could be argued that people have a right to privacy when it comes to their legal, financial and political machinations. On the other hand, secret money has at least two negative impacts. The first is that it has a corrosive effect on the openness that is supposed to the hallmark of democratic systems. The second is that it keeps the public in ignorance—knowing who is backing which candidates, causes and lawsuits seems is important for making informed decisions. Of course, it can be countered that the public does not need to know this, that it should not matter who is really funding something as they hide behind patriotic or positive sounding fronts.

Back in 2014, I was for transparency in such funding. First, I thought that such secret money is contrary to the openness that is critical to a democratic system.  I still think that. I thought that secret money deals were appropriate for oligarchies and corrupt states, but hardly suitable for what is supposed to be an open democracy. Now, in 2026, I can see that the United States has become an open oligarchy, with open corruption. While there anonymous funding is still a thing, it seems less important now given this open corruption.

Second, I believe that people should take responsibility for their beliefs and actions—being able to influence without accountability is morally unacceptable. I still believe this, although the open and unpunished corruption of today shows that some can engage in open corruption with no accountability.

Third, there is the matter of courage—only a coward hides behind anonymity when there is no real danger beyond people knowing what a person is backing. I still think this, but now some feel safe engaging in open corruption.

 

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Way back in the summer of 2014, the United States Supreme Court struck down a Massachusetts law that forbid protestors from approaching within 35 feet of abortion clinics. The buffer zone law was established in response to acts of violence. Not surprisingly, the court based its ruling on the First Amendment, accepting that such a buffer zone violates the right of free expression of those wishing to protest or provide unsought counseling to those seeking abortions.

Though I am a staunch supporter of the freedom of expression, I do recognize that it has justified limits—especially when they protect the life, liberty and property of others. To use the stock examples, freedom of expression does not permit people to engage in death threats, slander, or panicking people by screaming “fire” in a crowded, non-burning theater.

While I recognize that a buffer zone serves a legitimate purpose in enhancing safety, I tended to agree with the court based on utilitarian considerations. The harm to freedom of expression arising from banning protest in public spaces exceeds the risk of harm caused by allowing the protests. But people who engage in threatening behavior should be removed, but that does not require a buffer law. But the arguments in favor of the buffer zone have merit—weighing the freedom of expression against safety concerns is challenging but can be debated in good faith.

Ironically, but as one would expect, the Supreme Court has its own buffer zone. There is a federal law that bans protestors from the plaza of the court. This buffer zone is legally justified by defining the plaza as not being public space. This is like how pro-gun legislatures ban guns from their workplace while ensuring that guns can be freely brought into most other places. There is, as far as I know, no requirement for consistency in the law. But morality usually requires such consistency, at least in the application of principles (although this can be debated).

A principle is consistently applied when it is applied in the same way to similar beings in similar circumstances. Inconsistent application is a problem because it violates three commonly accepted moral assumptions: equality, impartiality and relevant difference.

Equality is the assumption that people are initially morally equal and hence must be treated as such. Naturally, a person’s actions can affect the initially equality. For example, a person who commits horrible evil deeds would not be morally equal to someone who does predominantly good deeds.  Impartiality is the assumption that moral principles must not be applied with partiality. Inconsistent application would involve non-impartial application.

Relevant difference is a common moral assumption. It is the view that different treatment must be justified by relevant differences. What counts as a relevant difference can be very controversial. For example, while many people think that gender is not morally relevant to how much someone should be paid, there are those who disagree.  But relevant difference requires that principles be applied consistently.

Given that the plaza of the court is a space analogous to a sidewalk, then if free expression guarantees the right to protest in front of abortion clinics, then the same should apply to the plaza, even if allowing protests puts the court at risk. To grant protestors access to the sidewalks outside clinics while forbidding them from the plaza of the court would be an inconsistent application of the principle. The same can be said about protesting outside any federal building, such as a place conducting ICE operations.  But, of course, there is always a way to counter this.

One principled way  to counter this view is to show that an alleged inconsistency is merely apparent.  One way to do this is by showing that there is a relevant difference in the situation. If the Supreme Court wishes to morally justify their buffer while denying others their buffers, they must  show a relevant difference that warrants the difference in application. They could, for example, contend that a plaza is relevantly different from a sidewalk. One might point to a size difference and how it impacts protesting. They could also contend that government property is exempt from the law (much like certain state legislatures ban the public from bringing guns into the legislature building even while passing laws allowing people to bring guns into places where other people work)—but they would need to ground the exemption. Otherwise, it would just be defending an inconsistency with more inconsistency.

My view is that there is no relevant difference between the scenarios: if freedom of expression applies to the spaces around private property, it also applies to the spaces around state property (which is the most public of public property).

 

 

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Years ago, the Hobby Lobby decision by the Supreme Court of the United States raised numerous issues including one about beliefs and facts. Oversimplifying things for the sake of brevity, the owners of Hobby Lobby said they were opposed to abortion on religious grounds and they claimed to believe that certain forms of birth control are abortion. On this basis, they claimed that providing insurance to their employees that covered what they saw as abortion would violate their religious beliefs and impose an unreasonable burden.

As I tell my students in my ethics class, a moral issue often involves three main components. The first consists of the relevant facts. A factual matter is such that the claim being made is true or false regardless of how we think or feel about its truth.  For example, the mass of an object is a factual matter.  The second consists of the relevant concepts, which are often in dispute. Resolving such a dispute involves presenting and defending definitions of the key terms. In the Hobby Lobby case, a key concept is abortion. The owners of Hobby Lobby claimed that certain birth control methods are methods of abortion. This seemed to be because the owners claimed to believe that life begins at conception, and they seemed to reject the notion that pregnancy begins at implantation. 

If pregnancy begins at implantation (which is the scientific consensus), then the methods in question (specifically those which prevent implantation) do not involve abortion.  As such, the owners of Hobby Lobby would have held factual incorrect beliefs regarding these methods of birth control, and this would undercut their moral position. If their moral opposition is based on a factual error, it would seem to be unfounded.

However, if pregnancy begins at conception (which is not the scientific consensus), then these methods do involve abortion. In this case, the owners of Hobby Lobby would have been factually correct. But the question would remain as to whether their moral claims were correct. After all, a person can be right about the facts but be wrong about the morality, which leads to the third component, that of morality.

Obviously, a moral issue always has a moral component. In this case, the moral issue is whether abortion is morally wrong. The owners of Hobby Lobby claimed to believe this—but belief does not entail a claim is true. People  often sincerely believe false claims. Fortunately for the owners of Hobby Lobby, they did not need to argue their moral beliefs were correct or even plausible—they just had to convince the court that they believed what they claim to believe. Given the context, this is not unreasonable—after all, the issue addressed by the court was not whether abortion is morally wrong.

The owners of Hobby Lobby did not even need to argue for their factual claims and their concepts. They did not need to make the case that pregnancy occurs at conception and that the methods in question cause abortions.   Apparently, they merely needed to establish that they believe what they claim to believe. This raises an interesting general issue that goes beyond the specific Hobby Lobby case: should facts matter when considering cases involving value beliefs?

On the one hand, it can be argued that the facts should not matter—at least in the sense of requiring that the beliefs in question be proven. This can be based on practicality: religious beliefs would be difficult to prove, and this could be seen as imposing an impossible burden on those bringing legal cases involving their values. Also, legal cases about such beliefs are not about their truth but about the right to hold such beliefs.

On the other hand, it can be argued that facts do matter—especially when the beliefs have an impact on others. Returning to Hobby Lobby, the reasoning seems to have been that the owners should not be required to follow the law because they are opposed to abortion and they believe that the birth control methods cause abortions. If it is claimed that it does not matter whether the owners are right or wrong about actual claims, this establishes the general principle that the truth of the claims does not matter in such contexts. This raises the question of how far this principle should extend.

In the Hobby Lobby case, to say that the facts are not relevant might not seem serious. After all, the question of when life begins is one that is disputed and the Hobby Lobby owners could engage in a conceptual dispute over the definition of “abortion.” But suppose we accepted the principle that the facts do not matter, only the sincerity. This would entail that if the owners of Hobby Lobby claimed that paying women the same as men caused abortions, then all that would matter would be the sincerity of their beliefs. The fact that such a claim is obviously false and absurd would not matter. Once the principle that truth is irrelevant is accepted, then truth is irrelevant. If the owners could show they sincerely believed that equal pay for women would cause abortions, then the facts would not matter. One could argue that such absurd claims would not pass muster but a cynical person might point out that someone would just need to appear adequately sincere.

 

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To narrow the moral discussion, I am focusing children migrating to the United States who are not criminals. One reason for this is that the issue of whether criminals should be allowed to come here for the purpose of committing crimes has an easy and obvious answer.

As some Americans like to claim that the United States is a Christian nation, it is tempting to apply Christian ethics to the issue of whether children should be allowed to migrate to the country. While many professed Christians prefer a selective reading of the bible,  the book is clear about this issue: “Thus has the LORD of hosts said, ‘Dispense true justice and practice kindness and compassion each to his brother; and do not oppress the widow or the orphan, the stranger or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another.’” The bible also enjoins people to “not mistreat or oppress a foreigner, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” Given these statements, it seems to follow that those who profess to practice Christian ethics would be morally (and religiously) obligated to show compassion and kindness to the children who are strangers and foreigners.

There are those who take these injunctions seriously and act accordingly. However, there are others who profess faith but do not heed the words: “But they refused to pay attention and turned a stubborn shoulder and stopped their ears from hearing.…” To be fair and balanced, they might sincerely believe that Christian ethics is limited to the values they happen to like.

Alternatively, a person could profess they embrace Christian ethics but contend these principles are overridden by more important concerns. One possible line of argumentation is to point out that children who arrive here illegally should not be given the full measure of compassion but sent back to their place of origin. Another line of argumentation is utilitarian: though extending kindness and compassion to migrant children would be laudable, this would require resources that are either unavailable or would be better used elsewhere (such as helping poor Americans). On this view, utilitarian ethics or practical concerns would trump religious based ethics.

There are non-Christians and those, though professing to be Christians, explicitly reject the principles mentioned above. Such people would need other reasons to believe that migrant children should be treated with compassion and kindness.

One option to appeal to a principle of moral debt: when someone has been harmed, the wrongdoer has an obligation to set matters right. While children migrate for various reasons, many from Central America migrate to escape violence and crime. This claim can be challenged—one could argue that the children are sent to the United States for other reasons, such as better economic opportunities. Some of these arguments have merit and must be given due consideration. After all, if children are coming to the United States illegally to escape danger and death, then that is very different morally than if they are coming to have a better life.

But it seems reasonable to think that some of the children are fleeing danger. An obvious concern is why this might obligate the United States to allow them to stay. One answer, as noted above, is to appeal to a moral debt owed by the United States. Some might wonder what the foundation of such a debt might be. There are two easy and obvious answers to this.

The first is that the United States has a well-documented history of political and economic machinations in the region. These include toppling governments, supporting death squads, and other such nefarious deeds. In short, the United States has significantly contributed to the conditions that threaten the children of the region with death and danger. Fairness does, of course, require noting that the United States has not been alone in its adventures in the region (the Cold War helped shape much of the current situation) and some instability and chaos is self-inflicted. Given the United States’ role in creating the current situation, we owe a collective debt, and this would obligate us to addressing the consequences of these past actions.

The second is that a significant cause of violence in the region is the production and distribution of drugs. While there is some local consumption, the people of the United States are a primary market for the drugs produced in this region and the war on drugs pursued by the United States has been even more disastrous in Central and South America than it has been in the United States. Given our role as drug consumers and our war on drugs, the United States is  a major contributor to the violence and danger of the region. Since we are doing wrong, this would create an obligation on our part towards the children that are fleeing the situation we helped to create and continue to sustain.

To use an analogy, if affluent outsiders wreck a neighborhood and are the prime customers for a drug industry that arises there, then the outsiders are moral accountability. If children try to flee the ruins of that neighborhood and head into the affluent neighborhood, it would be wicked of those people to insist on sending them back into the mess they worked so hard to create and maintain.

 

 

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As with regulation, some people are opposed to taxes. Other people are fine with taxes—usually with imposing taxes on others. In general, though, people prefer to not pay taxes. As such, it is hardly a surprise that the companies running the sharing economy try to avoid paying taxes. On the face of it, companies like Airbnb and Uber profess they are just providing a way to connect people to pay for goods and services. This can be seen as a more organized version of the old informal sharing economy in which people sublease, rent out property, or get gas money to drive a friend to the airport.

The old informal economy often operates without taxes being paid (although this is not always done legally). For example, if Professor Sally informally rents her house to her grad student Bob while she is in Europe, Professor Sally and Bob will probably not pay taxes for this—although they would if Bob was renting a room at a hotel Sally owns. While there are probably people who would like taxes paid on even informal transactions, the informal nature of such transactions often makes this impractical. The traditional informal sharing economy is small and decentralized so taxing it would probably be cost prohibitive. There is also the legitimate concern that such private transactions can fall outside of the domain of state concern.

However, when a company such as Airbnb gets involved, things change. The once informal economy becomes centralized around companies and there is also an increase in the scale of operations. After all, it is one thing if Professor Sally’s grad student is paying a modest fee to stay in her house while she is in Europe, it is quite another if Professor Sally starts running her house as a hotel. It also becomes a different matter if the number of people renting out property increases significantly. There would seem to be three important changes between the informal sharing economy and the new sharing economy.  The first is centralization. Instead of people reaching informal agreements as individuals (who often know each other), there would be business transactions through a central company. The second would be the character of the process—short-term renting via a company is closer to the hotel model than to the old informal model. The third would be the number of people involved: the sharing economy would presumably be larger than the old informal economy.

From a practical standpoint, having a centralized company and a large operation allows the collection of taxes to become much more practical. This can justify taxing the sharing economy like other businesses.

From a moral standpoint, if it is acceptable for businesses with the same model (such as the traditional hotel) to be taxed in a certain way, then the same would apply to the new sharing economy. So, if Sally would have to handle taxes if she ran a traditional hotel, then she should have to do the same if she ran her sharing economy hotel through a service like Airbnb. Or perhaps Airbnb should be the one to handle the taxes.

Naturally, it might be wondered why taxes should be imposed on the new sharing economy—even if the new sharing economy is similar to the old economy. Of course, the people who make money through sharing rides or apartments do pay taxes for that income. However, there was some controversy over services like Airbnb paying the hotel tax.

One reason for sharing companies to pay taxes and fees like traditional companies is fairness. After all, the free market is not as free if some companies enjoy special breaks. Although, to be fair and balanced, the American economy is built on special breaks.  Another reason is that the taxes and fees are needed to pay the public services and infrastructure that such companies (and their sharers) utilize. It might be contended that this is already covered by the income taxes paid by individuals engaged in sharing. However, by that logic, businesses would also be exempt from taxes and fees on the grounds that their employees pay taxes. Which would certainly appeal to businesses that pay taxes.

 Also, the growth of the sharing economy imposes new costs on the community like having a similar new business. For example, having many Uber drivers is like adding a large cab company. As another example, having Airbnb rentals in a community makes the area more like a hotel zone, with the accompanying burden on the community. As such, if the community (which includes those who are not part of the sharing economy) faces increased costs then it is acceptable to pass these costs on to those who benefit from this new economy.

There is also the cost of regulating the industries. As  noted in my previous essay, when the sharing economy becomes comparable to the normal businesses (such as hotels and cab companies), then comparable public good (such as safety) regulations should apply. Naturally, these come with costs, and it makes sense that the costs should be connected to the profits, rather than just be taken from the community. For example, with non-professional drivers acting like cab drivers and people renting out apartments and homes like hotels, there are legitimate concerns about public safety. Cab companies and hotels bear some of the cost of their regulation and so too should the sharing companies.

Naturally, there is the general debate about what is a fair tax or fee and concerns about the impact of taxes on the economy. However, it seems reasonable to believe that the sharing economy is analogous to the non-sharing economy and that it should bear a fair share of costs imposed upon the community.

 

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Academic freedom is usually taken as being more than merely the right to freely make specific claims in that it is supposed to provide broad protection in such matters as selecting books, developing curriculum and so on. It is also supposed to protect professors (tenured professors at least) from being unjustly fired or punished for expressing their views. It is, of course, not a license to act without consequences.

While defending academic freedom is often seen as leftist, conservatives have accused the left of restricting the academic freedom of conservative thinkers. While this claim is often hyperbole, there have been past incidents of faculty being punished for holding views that are regarded as politically incorrect. For example, Mike Adams was apparently once denied promotion to full professor based on his political engagement rather than a lack of qualifications. There were past proposals to replace academic freedom with academic justice.  While justice sounds good, the proposal was to substitute an ideological test in place of the general right. In short, academics could research what they wished, if it was consistent with the definition of “justice” in use. There were also proposals for trigger warnings, which also raised concerns about academic freedom. The right, in general, criticized such things and professed to favor freedom. As such, one might think that when they came into power, they would push for freedom.

One specific problem of academic freedom arises for state colleges and universities. While even for-profit schools receive money from the government, state schools receive funding as decided by the state legislature. While academic institutes, they are subject to the control of the state government.

Given that the state government is (in theory) acting in accord with the “will of the people” and that the schools are funded with state money, it is not unreasonable to believe that the state has the right to impose a degree of control over the schools. An important question is the extent to which the state should impose on academic freedom. As might be guessed, people answer this question based largely on their ideology.

As noted above, some of the loudest voices crying out for academic freedom were once on the right. Or rather, those crying out for freedom for certain views. When Republicans have power, they tend to pass laws that restrict freedom. For example, Florida’s state legislature has been busy reshaping the general education of the state schools. The law includes a ban on teaching “identity politics”, it forbids teaching that “systemic racism, sexism, oppression, and privilege are inherent in the institutions of the United States” but requires that humanities courses must include selections from the Western canon (even, for example, a GENED class on Japanese literature). And, of course, the Trump regime, which professes to love freedom, has been very busy intimidating universities to push them to conform to his will.

This view of freedom is not surprising. As Mill noted in his classic work on liberty, people rarely make decisions on liberty based on a consistent principle about what should be allowed and what should be restricted. Instead, people decide based on what they like and dislike. As such, it is hardly a shock that folks on the left and right praise freedom when it is protecting something they like while they are happy to restrict freedom when it involves something they dislike.

While the law is whatever those in power say it is, there is still the question of whether the state has the right to make such impositions. As noted above, one way to argue is that since the state funds them and they are public institutions, then the state government has the right to dictate to the universities in such matters as the content of their courses.

If this line of reasoning is good, then this would be a general principle and not one just limited to the Republicans wanting to purge “woke” content and DEI. So, if a state legislature passed laws forbidding teaching business courses or courses in religion, then that would be acceptable under this principle. It would also be acceptable for a law to be passed banning the teaching of Western history, Western values, anything that is seen as endorsing the patriarchy, and anything that is positive about white males and so on. That is, this principle would allow any state to impose any ideology onto the state schools.

Republicans would, one can infer, adamantly oppose to the ideology of their opposition setting the content for public schools. As such, it is probably fair to say that they do not have a general principle about the degree of state control over state schools but rather think that the schools should teach what Republicans like and not teach what they do not like—which is hardly a principle. In my own case, I follow a consistent principle of academic freedom and hence just as I oppose Florida mandating that GENED classes must not teach that “systemic racism, sexism, oppression, and privilege are inherent in the institutions of the United States”, I would also oppose a law that required GENED classes to teach this.

 

 

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As a philosopher, I became familiar with the notion of the modern political concept of privilege as a graduate student. This occurred sometimes in classes and sometimes when I was lectured by other students about my privileges as a white man. Lest anyone think I was exploiting my privileges, the lectures were always about my being a man and my general appearance of whiteness (I am only mostly white) as opposed to any misdeed I had committed. I was generally sympathetic to most criticisms of privilege, but I recognized that it is a fallacy to use a person’s membership in a privileged class as grounds for rejecting their claims. Back then, there was no handy phrase to check a member of a privileged class. Fortunately (or unfortunately) such a phrase emerged: “check your privilege!” Thanks to the victory of the right, this phrase is used less often these days. But as the right has been adept at adopting the tools of the left, I would expect them to have a variation on this to use against those who, in fact, lack privilege.

The original intent of the phrase was to remind someone making a claim on a political (or moral) issue that they are speaking from a position of privilege, such as being a male or straight. While it is most used against members of the traditional privileged classes (males, whites, the wealthy, etc.) it can also be employed against people of classes that are either privileged relative to the classes they are commenting on or in a different non-privileged class. For example, a Latina might be told to “check her privilege” for making a remark about black women. In this case, the idea is to remind the transgressors that different oppressed groups experience their oppression differently.

As might be imagined, some take issue with being told to “check their privilege.” In some cases, this can be mere annoyance with the phrase. This annoyance can have some foundation, given that the phrase can have a hostile connotation, and it can seem like a dismissive reply. But to be fair and balanced, it is no doubt exhausting arguing with the privileged and having a quick reply can save time and effort.

In other cases, the use of the phrase can be taken as an attempt to silence. Roughly put, “check your privilege” can be interpreted as “stop talking” or even as “you are wrong because you belong to a privileged class.” In some cases, people are interpreting the use incorrectly; the privileged are often very defensive and can, oddly, see themselves as the “real victims.”

Thus, the phrase can be seen as having two main functions (in addition to its dramatic and rhetorical use). One is as a reminder, the other is as an attack. I will consider each of these in the context of critical thinking.

The reminder function of the phrase is grounded in a real need to remind people of two common cognitive biases, namely in group bias and attribution error. In group bias is the tendency people have to easily form negative opinions of people who are not in their group. This bias leads people to see members of their own group more positively while seeing members of other groups more negatively. For example, a rich person might think that other rich people are hardworking while thinking poor people are lazy, thieving and inclined to use drugs. As another example, a woman might regard her fellow women as kind and altruistic while regarding men as violent, sex-crazed and selfish.

Given the power of this bias, it is worth reminding people about it, especially when their remarks show signs that this bias is likely to be in effect. Of course, telling someone to “check their privilege” might not be the nicest way to engage in the discussion and it is less specific than “consider that you might be influenced by in group bias.” But an insistence on “niceness” or “civility” is often a tool used to silence critics, so I understand why people would not be inclined to be “civil.” After all, “civil” can often be intended to mean “know your place” or “shut up.”

Attribution error is a bias that leads people to not appreciate that other people are as constrained by events and circumstances as they would be if they were in their situation. For example, consider a discussion about requiring voters to have a photo ID, reducing the number of polling stations and reducing their hours of operation. A person who is somewhat well off might claim that getting an ID and driving across town to a polling station on his lunch break is no problem—because it is no problem for him. However, for someone who does not have a car and is poor, these can be serious obstacles. As another example, someone who is rich might express the view that the poor should not be helped because they are obviously poor because they are lazy (and not because of the circumstances they face, such as being born into poverty).

Given the power of this bias, a person who seems to make this error should be reminded of this. But telling them to “check their privilege” might not be the most diplomatic way to engage and it is certainly less specific than pointing out the likely error. But, given the limits of social media, it might be a viable option when used in this context.

But using it to silence a person or to reject the person’s claim would not be justified. While it is reasonable to consider the effects of biases, to reject a person’s claim because of their membership in a class would be an ad hominen.  An ad hominem is a general category of fallacies in which a claim or argument is rejected based on some irrelevant fact about the author of or the person presenting the claim or argument. Typically, this fallacy involves two steps. First, an attack against the character of person making the claim, her circumstances, or her actions are made (or the character, circumstances, or actions of the person reporting the claim). Second, this attack is taken to be evidence against the claim or argument the person in question is making (or presenting). But such attacks are irrelevant to the person’s claim, whether it is a traditional ad hominem or a “check your privilege” attack.

 

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