Authorities Can't Find Anything To Charge Alleged 'Extremist' With But Still Insist On 24-Hour Monitoring, Computer Restrictions

Canada's civil liberties-trampling anti-terrorism law (C-51) only recently passed, but authorities have been nothing if not proactive in combating the threat posed by radicalized citizens. Co-opting US law enforcement's belief that supportive words = 'material support,' the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) raided the home of an "extremist," arresting him and seizing a bunch of his computer equipment.

Harun Abdurahman, known as Aaron Driver to his father, apparently came under surveillance after expressing his "extreme views" during an interview with a Canadian newspaper. His father, a career member of the Canadian Armed Forces, seems somewhat dismayed by his government's actions.

"They told me he was on the watch list. He was considered a radical extremist and 'we hope he doesn't go to terrorist,'" said the man's father in an exclusive interview with CBC News in March. The CBC is not identifying the father.

"Here you've got your national security force, if you will, monitoring your child," he said. "How would you react to something like that? I didn't know what to say."

Driver/Abdurahman may be C-51's first test case/victim, even though his surveillance and arrest occurred before the law was passed. But if the aftermath of this arrest is any indication, Canadians who articulate "extreme" views have a lot more reasons to fear their government than their government has reason to fear them.

After spending a week in jail, Driver has been released. He has not been charged, but federal authorities are treating him as though he just served a lengthy prison sentence for an incredibly heinous crime. There are 25 stipulations attached to his release (once again, not charged with any crime) which will severely limit Driver's ability to live anything approaching a normal life.

Here are just a few of the restrictions imposed by authorities:

• Wear an electronic monitoring device around the clock.
• Take part in "religious counselling" and forward the counsellor's name to RCMP.
• Follow an overnight curfew (from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. daily) and stay at his home in Winnipeg's Charleswood neighbourhood. The home was raided earlier this month.
• ​Surrender any passports he has and not apply for any passport from Canada or any other country.
• Not possess any desktop, laptop or tablet computer. Any cellphone he has must be approved by RCMP, and the phone number must be submitted to police.
• Provide passwords and access to his cellphone at the RCMP's request, with "such requests not to exceed two times per month."
• Stay away from social media websites, including Facebook, Twitter, Kik, Surespot and Telegram encrypted chat.
• Have "no contact or communication directly or indirectly with any member of ISIS, ISIL, Islamic State of Iraq and Syria and Al Qaida in Iraq." He must also not possess anything bearing the logos or names of any of those groups.

The government believes these are reasonable restrictions to place on a person who has not been charged with nor convicted of any criminal activity. Federal prosecutor Ian Mahon sees these stipulations -- which are far more severe than those that convicted criminals face -- as nothing more than an appropriate level of quid pro quo.

"If he is willing to enter into certain conditions, then there's no reason to keep him in custody," Mahon told CBC News on Monday.

How about "if he hasn't been charged with any crimes, then there's no reason to keep him in custody?" That's sort of how criminal custody works. Apparently, plenty of exceptions will be made for someone deemed dangerous enough to justify a raid involving several officers loaded in tactical gear and the seizure of electronics, but not dangerous enough to be charged and put on trial. This is the Canadian government aggressively chilling speech it doesn't like and nothing more.

And for all the supposed danger Driver posed, the police didn't seem to exercise much care during its weeks of surveillance.

Neighbours say undercover officers have been watching the home in the city's southwestern neighbourhood of Charleswood for months.

LOL. "Undercover."

If the RCMP truly believed this was a dangerous individual, it would have done better obscuring its presence. But all it was looking for was an excuse to bust someone for the nonexistent crime of supporting unpopular views. It openly surveilled a Canadian citizen, held him for a week without charge and then only agreed to release the uncharged Driver if he would agree to further round-the-clock scrutiny from authorities so concerned about his online comments, they couldn't even find anything to charge him with.

In College and Hiding From Scary Ideas

KATHERINE BYRON, a senior at Brown University and a member of its Sexual Assault Task Force, considers it her duty to make Brown a safe place for rape victims, free from anything that might prompt memories of trauma.

So when she heard last fall that a student group had organized a debate about campus sexual assault between Jessica Valenti, the founder of feministing.com, and Wendy McElroy, a libertarian, and that Ms. McElroy was likely to criticize the term “rape culture,” Ms. Byron was alarmed. “Bringing in a speaker like that could serve to invalidate people’s experiences,” she told me. It could be “damaging.”

Ms. Byron and some fellow task force members secured a meeting with administrators. Not long after, Brown’s president, Christina H. Paxson, announced that the university would hold a simultaneous, competing talk to provide “research and facts” about “the role of culture in sexual assault.” Meanwhile, student volunteers put up posters advertising that a “safe space” would be available for anyone who found the debate too upsetting.

The safe space, Ms. Byron explained, was intended to give people who might find comments “troubling” or “triggering,” a place to recuperate. The room was equipped with cookies, coloring books, bubbles, Play-Doh, calming music, pillows, blankets and a video of frolicking puppies, as well as students and staff members trained to deal with trauma. Emma Hall, a junior, rape survivor and “sexual assault peer educator” who helped set up the room and worked in it during the debate, estimates that a couple of dozen people used it. At one point she went to the lecture hall — it was packed — but after a while, she had to return to the safe space. “I was feeling bombarded by a lot of viewpoints that really go against my dearly and closely held beliefs,” Ms. Hall said.

Eleanor Taylor

Safe spaces are an expression of the conviction, increasingly prevalent among college students, that their schools should keep them from being “bombarded” by discomfiting or distressing viewpoints. Think of the safe space as the live-action version of the better-known trigger warning, a notice put on top of a syllabus or an assigned reading to alert students to the presence of potentially disturbing material.

Some people trace safe spaces back to the feminist consciousness-raising groups of the 1960s and 1970s, others to the gay and lesbian movement of the early 1990s. In most cases, safe spaces are innocuous gatherings of like-minded people who agree to refrain from ridicule, criticism or what they term microaggressions — subtle displays of racial or sexual bias — so that everyone can relax enough to explore the nuances of, say, a fluid gender identity. As long as all parties consent to such restrictions, these little islands of self-restraint seem like a perfectly fine idea.

But the notion that ticklish conversations must be scrubbed clean of controversy has a way of leaking out and spreading. Once you designate some spaces as safe, you imply that the rest are unsafe. It follows that they should be made safer.

This logic clearly informed a campaign undertaken this fall by a Columbia University student group called Everyone Allied Against Homophobia that consisted of slipping a flier under the door of every dorm room on campus. The headline of the flier stated, “I want this space to be a safer space.” The text below instructed students to tape the fliers to their windows. The group’s vice president then had the flier published in the Columbia Daily Spectator, the student newspaper, along with an editorial asserting that “making spaces safer is about learning how to be kind to each other.”

A junior named Adam Shapiro decided he didn’t want his room to be a safer space. He printed up his own flier calling it a dangerous space and had that, too, published in the Columbia Daily Spectator. “Kindness alone won’t allow us to gain more insight into truth,” he wrote. In an interview, Mr. Shapiro said, “If the point of a safe space is therapy for people who feel victimized by traumatization, that sounds like a great mission.” But a safe-space mentality has begun infiltrating classrooms, he said, making both professors and students loath to say anything that might hurt someone’s feelings. “I don’t see how you can have a therapeutic space that’s also an intellectual space,” he said.

I’m old enough to remember a time when college students objected to providing a platform to certain speakers because they were deemed politically unacceptable. Now students worry whether acts of speech or pieces of writing may put them in emotional peril. Two weeks ago, students at Northwestern University marched to protest an article by Laura Kipnis, a professor in the university’s School of Communication. Professor Kipnis had criticized — O.K., ridiculed — what she called the sexual paranoia pervading campus life.

The protesters carried mattresses and demanded that the administration condemn the essay. One student complained that Professor Kipnis was “erasing the very traumatic experience” of victims who spoke out. An organizer of the demonstration said, “we need to be setting aside spaces to talk” about “victim-blaming.” Last Wednesday, Northwestern’s president, Morton O. Schapiro, wrote an op-ed article in The Wall Street Journal affirming his commitment to academic freedom. But plenty of others at universities are willing to dignify students’ fears, citing threats to their stability as reasons to cancel debates, disinvite commencement speakers and apologize for so-called mistakes.

At Oxford University’s Christ Church college in November, the college censors (a “censor” being more or less the Oxford equivalent of an undergraduate dean) canceled a debate on abortion after campus feminists threatened to disrupt it because both would-be debaters were men. “I’m relieved the censors have made this decision,” said the treasurer of Christ Church’s student union, who had pressed for the cancellation. “It clearly makes the most sense for the safety — both physical and mental — of the students who live and work in Christ Church.”

A year and a half ago, a Hampshire College student group disinvited an Afrofunk band that had been attacked on social media for having too many white musicians; the vitriolic discussion had made students feel “unsafe.”

Last fall, the president of Smith College, Kathleen McCartney, apologized for causing students and faculty to be “hurt” when she failed to object to a racial epithet uttered by a fellow panel member at an alumnae event in New York. The offender was the free-speech advocate Wendy Kaminer, who had been arguing against the use of the euphemism “the n-word” when teaching American history or “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” In the uproar that followed, the Student Government Association wrote a letter declaring that “if Smith is unsafe for one student, it is unsafe for all students.”

“It’s amazing to me that they can’t distinguish between racist speech and speech about racist speech, between racism and discussions of racism,” Ms. Kaminer said in an email.

The confusion is telling, though. It shows that while keeping college-level discussions “safe” may feel good to the hypersensitive, it’s bad for them and for everyone else. People ought to go to college to sharpen their wits and broaden their field of vision. Shield them from unfamiliar ideas, and they’ll never learn the discipline of seeing the world as other people see it. They’ll be unprepared for the social and intellectual headwinds that will hit them as soon as they step off the campuses whose climates they have so carefully controlled. What will they do when they hear opinions they’ve learned to shrink from? If they want to change the world, how will they learn to persuade people to join them?

Only a few of the students want stronger anti-hate-speech codes. Mostly they ask for things like mandatory training sessions and stricter enforcement of existing rules. Still, it’s disconcerting to see students clamor for a kind of intrusive supervision that would have outraged students a few generations ago. But those were hardier souls. Now students’ needs are anticipated by a small army of service professionals — mental health counselors, student-life deans and the like. This new bureaucracy may be exacerbating students’ “self-infantilization,” as Judith Shapiro, the former president of Barnard College, suggested in an essay for Inside Higher Ed.

But why are students so eager to self-infantilize? Their parents should probably share the blame. Eric Posner, a professor at the University of Chicago Law School, wrote on Slate last month that although universities cosset students more than they used to, that’s what they have to do, because today’s undergraduates are more puerile than their predecessors. “Perhaps overprogrammed children engineered to the specifications of college admissions offices no longer experience the risks and challenges that breed maturity,” he wrote. But “if college students are children, then they should be protected like children.”

Another reason students resort to the quasi-medicalized terminology of trauma is that it forces administrators to respond. Universities are in a double bind. They’re required by two civil-rights statutes, Title VII and Title IX, to ensure that their campuses don’t create a “hostile environment” for women and other groups subject to harassment. However, universities are not supposed to go too far in suppressing free speech, either. If a university cancels a talk or punishes a professor and a lawsuit ensues, history suggests that the university will lose. But if officials don’t censure or don’t prevent speech that may inflict psychological damage on a member of a protected class, they risk fostering a hostile environment and prompting an investigation. As a result, students who say they feel unsafe are more likely to be heard than students who demand censorship on other grounds.

The theory that vulnerable students should be guaranteed psychological security has roots in a body of legal thought elaborated in the 1980s and 1990s and still read today. Feminist and anti-racist legal scholars argued that the First Amendment should not safeguard language that inflicted emotional injury through racist or sexist stigmatization. One scholar, Mari J. Matsuda, was particularly insistent that college students not be subjected to “the violence of the word” because many of them “are away from home for the first time and at a vulnerable stage of psychological development.” If they’re targeted and the university does nothing to help them, they will be “left to their own resources in coping with the damage wrought.” That might have, she wrote, “lifelong repercussions.”

Perhaps. But Ms. Matsuda doesn’t seem to have considered the possibility that insulating students could also make them, well, insular. A few weeks ago, Zineb El Rhazoui, a journalist at Charlie Hebdo, spoke at the University of Chicago, protected by the security guards she has traveled with since supporters of the Islamic State issued death threats against her. During the question-and-answer period, a Muslim student stood up to object to the newspaper’s apparent disrespect for Muslims and to express her dislike of the phrase “I am Charlie.”

Ms. El Rhazoui replied, somewhat irritably, “Being Charlie Hebdo means to die because of a drawing,” and not everyone has the guts to do that (although she didn’t use the word guts). She lives under constant threat, Ms. El Rhazoui said. The student answered that she felt threatened, too.

A few days later, a guest editorialist in the student newspaper took Ms. El Rhazoui to task. She had failed to ensure “that others felt safe enough to express dissenting opinions.” Ms. El Rhazoui’s “relative position of power,” the writer continued, had granted her a “free pass to make condescending attacks on a member of the university.” In a letter to the editor, the president and the vice president of the University of Chicago French Club, which had sponsored the talk, shot back, saying, “El Rhazoui is an immigrant, a woman, Arab, a human-rights activist who has known exile, and a journalist living in very real fear of death. She was invited to speak precisely because her right to do so is, quite literally, under threat.”

You’d be hard-pressed to avoid the conclusion that the student and her defender had burrowed so deep inside their cocoons, were so overcome by their own fragility, that they couldn’t see that it was Ms. El Rhazoui who was in need of a safer space.

I'm a liberal professor, and my liberal students terrify me

by Edward Schlosser

I'm a professor at a midsize state school. I have been teaching college classes for nine years now. I have won (minor) teaching awards, studied pedagogy extensively, and almost always score highly on my student evaluations. I am not a world-class teacher by any means, but I am conscientious; I attempt to put teaching ahead of research, and I take a healthy emotional stake in the well-being and growth of my students.

Things have changed since I started teaching. The vibe is different. I wish there were a less blunt way to put this, but my students sometimes scare me — particularly the liberal ones.

Not, like, in a person-by-person sense, but students in general. The student-teacher dynamic has been reenvisioned along a line that's simultaneously consumerist and hyper-protective, giving each and every student the ability to claim Grievous Harm in nearly any circumstance, after any affront, and a teacher's formal ability to respond to these claims is limited at best.
What it was like before

In early 2009, I was an adjunct, teaching a freshman-level writing course at a community college. Discussing infographics and data visualization, we watched a flash animation describing how Wall Street's recklessness had destroyed the economy.

More on how professors react to their students

I'm a professor. My colleagues who let their students dictate what they teach are cowards.

I was a liberal adjunct professor. My liberal students didn’t scare me at all.

The video stopped, and I asked whether the students thought it was effective. An older student raised his hand.

"What about Fannie and Freddie?" he asked. "Government kept giving homes to black people, to help out black people, white people didn't get anything, and then they couldn't pay for them. What about that?"

I gave a quick response about how most experts would disagree with that assumption, that it was actually an oversimplification, and pretty dishonest, and isn't it good that someone made the video we just watched to try to clear things up? And, hey, let's talk about whether that was effective, okay? If you don't think it was, how could it have been?

The rest of the discussion went on as usual.

The next week, I got called into my director's office. I was shown an email, sender name redacted, alleging that I "possessed communistical [sic] sympathies and refused to tell more than one side of the story." The story in question wasn't described, but I suspect it had do to with whether or not the economic collapse was caused by poor black people.

My director rolled her eyes. She knew the complaint was silly bullshit. I wrote up a short description of the past week's class work, noting that we had looked at several examples of effective writing in various media and that I always made a good faith effort to include conservative narratives along with the liberal ones.

Along with a carbon-copy form, my description was placed into a file that may or may not have existed. Then ... nothing. It disappeared forever; no one cared about it beyond their contractual duties to document student concerns. I never heard another word of it again.

That was the first, and so far only, formal complaint a student has ever filed against me.
Now boat-rocking isn't just dangerous — it's suicidal

This isn't an accident: I have intentionally adjusted my teaching materials as the political winds have shifted. (I also make sure all my remotely offensive or challenging opinions, such as this article, are expressed either anonymously or pseudonymously). Most of my colleagues who still have jobs have done the same. We've seen bad things happen to too many good teachers — adjuncts getting axed because their evaluations dipped below a 3.0, grad students being removed from classes after a single student complaint, and so on.

I once saw an adjunct not get his contract renewed after students complained that he exposed them to "offensive" texts written by Edward Said and Mark Twain. His response, that the texts were meant to be a little upsetting, only fueled the students' ire and sealed his fate. That was enough to get me to comb through my syllabi and cut out anything I could see upsetting a coddled undergrad, texts ranging from Upton Sinclair to Maureen Tkacik — and I wasn't the only one who made adjustments, either.

I am frightened sometimes by the thought that a student would complain again like he did in 2009. Only this time it would be a student accusing me not of saying something too ideologically extreme — be it communism or racism or whatever — but of not being sensitive enough toward his feelings, of some simple act of indelicacy that's considered tantamount to physical assault. As Northwestern University professor Laura Kipnis writes, "Emotional discomfort is [now] regarded as equivalent to material injury, and all injuries have to be remediated." Hurting a student's feelings, even in the course of instruction that is absolutely appropriate and respectful, can now get a teacher into serious trouble.

(Shawn Rossi)

In 2009, the subject of my student's complaint was my supposed ideology. I was communistical, the student felt, and everyone knows that communisticism is wrong. That was, at best, a debatable assertion. And as I was allowed to rebut it, the complaint was dismissed with prejudice. I didn't hesitate to reuse that same video in later semesters, and the student's complaint had no impact on my performance evaluations.

In 2015, such a complaint would not be delivered in such a fashion. Instead of focusing on the rightness or wrongness (or even acceptability) of the materials we reviewed in class, the complaint would center solely on how my teaching affected the student's emotional state. As I cannot speak to the emotions of my students, I could not mount a defense about the acceptability of my instruction. And if I responded in any way other than apologizing and changing the materials we reviewed in class, professional consequences would likely follow.

I wrote about this fear on my blog, and while the response was mostly positive, some liberals called me paranoid, or expressed doubt about why any teacher would nix the particular texts I listed. I guarantee you that these people do not work in higher education, or if they do they are at least two decades removed from the job search. The academic job market is brutal. Teachers who are not tenured or tenure-track faculty members have no right to due process before being dismissed, and there's a mile-long line of applicants eager to take their place. And as writer and academic Freddie DeBoer writes, they don't even have to be formally fired — they can just not get rehired. In this type of environment, boat-rocking isn't just dangerous, it's suicidal, and so teachers limit their lessons to things they know won't upset anybody.
The real problem: a simplistic, unworkable, and ultimately stifling conception of social justice

This shift in student-teacher dynamic placed many of the traditional goals of higher education — such as having students challenge their beliefs — off limits. While I used to pride myself on getting students to question themselves and engage with difficult concepts and texts, I now hesitate. What if this hurts my evaluations and I don't get tenure? How many complaints will it take before chairs and administrators begin to worry that I'm not giving our customers — er, students, pardon me — the positive experience they're paying for? Ten? Half a dozen? Two or three?

This phenomenon has been widely discussed as of late, mostly as a means of deriding political, economic, or cultural forces writers don't much care for. Commentators on the left and right have recently criticized the sensitivity and paranoia of today's college students. They worry about the stifling of free speech, the implementation of unenforceable conduct codes, and a general hostility against opinions and viewpoints that could cause students so much as a hint of discomfort.

It's not just that students refuse to countenance uncomfortable ideas — they refuse to engage them, period.

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I agree with some of these analyses more than others, but they all tend to be too simplistic. The current student-teacher dynamic has been shaped by a large confluence of factors, and perhaps the most important of these is the manner in which cultural studies and social justice writers have comported themselves in popular media. I have a great deal of respect for both of these fields, but their manifestations online, their desire to democratize complex fields of study by making them as digestible as a TGIF sitcom, has led to adoption of a totalizing, simplistic, unworkable, and ultimately stifling conception of social justice. The simplicity and absolutism of this conception has combined with the precarity of academic jobs to create higher ed's current climate of fear, a heavily policed discourse of semantic sensitivity in which safety and comfort have become the ends and the means of the college experience.

This new understanding of social justice politics resembles what University of Pennsylvania political science professor Adolph Reed Jr. calls a politics of personal testimony, in which the feelings of individuals are the primary or even exclusive means through which social issues are understood and discussed. Reed derides this sort of political approach as essentially being a non-politics, a discourse that "is focused much more on taxonomy than politics [which] emphasizes the names by which we should call some strains of inequality [ ... ] over specifying the mechanisms that produce them or even the steps that can be taken to combat them." Under such a conception, people become more concerned with signaling goodness, usually through semantics and empty gestures, than with actually working to effect change.


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Herein lies the folly of oversimplified identity politics: while identity concerns obviously warrant analysis, focusing on them too exclusively draws our attention so far inward that none of our analyses can lead to action. Rebecca Reilly Cooper, a political philosopher at the University of Warwick, worries about the effectiveness of a politics in which "particular experiences can never legitimately speak for any one other than ourselves, and personal narrative and testimony are elevated to such a degree that there can be no objective standpoint from which to examine their veracity." Personal experience and feelings aren't just a salient touchstone of contemporary identity politics; they are the entirety of these politics. In such an environment, it's no wonder that students are so prone to elevate minor slights to protestable offenses.

(It's also why seemingly piddling matters of cultural consumption warrant much more emotional outrage than concerns with larger material implications. Compare the number of web articles surrounding the supposed problematic aspects of the newest Avengers movie with those complaining about, say, the piecemeal dismantling of abortion rights. The former outnumber the latter considerably, and their rhetoric is typically much more impassioned and inflated. I'd discuss this in my classes — if I weren't too scared to talk about abortion.)

The press for actionability, or even for comprehensive analyses that go beyond personal testimony, is hereby considered redundant, since all we need to do to fix the world's problems is adjust the feelings attached to them and open up the floor for various identity groups to have their say. All the old, enlightened means of discussion and analysis —from due process to scientific method — are dismissed as being blind to emotional concerns and therefore unfairly skewed toward the interest of straight white males. All that matters is that people are allowed to speak, that their narratives are accepted without question, and that the bad feelings go away.

So it's not just that students refuse to countenance uncomfortable ideas — they refuse to engage them, period. Engagement is considered unnecessary, as the immediate, emotional reactions of students contain all the analysis and judgment that sensitive issues demand. As Judith Shulevitz wrote in the New York Times, these refusals can shut down discussion in genuinely contentious areas, such as when Oxford canceled an abortion debate. More often, they affect surprisingly minor matters, as when Hampshire College disinvited an Afrobeat band because their lineup had too many white people in it.
When feelings become more important than issues

At the very least, there's debate to be had in these areas. Ideally, pro-choice students would be comfortable enough in the strength of their arguments to subject them to discussion, and a conversation about a band's supposed cultural appropriation could take place alongside a performance. But these cancellations and disinvitations are framed in terms of feelings, not issues. The abortion debate was canceled because it would have imperiled the "welfare and safety of our students." The Afrofunk band's presence would not have been "safe and healthy." No one can rebut feelings, and so the only thing left to do is shut down the things that cause distress — no argument, no discussion, just hit the mute button and pretend eliminating discomfort is the same as effecting actual change.

In a New York Magazine piece, Jonathan Chait described the chilling effect this type of discourse has upon classrooms. Chait's piece generated seismic backlash, and while I disagree with much of his diagnosis, I have to admit he does a decent job of describing the symptoms. He cites an anonymous professor who says that "she and her fellow faculty members are terrified of facing accusations of triggering trauma." Internet liberals pooh-poohed this comment, likening the professor to one of Tom Friedman's imaginary cab drivers. But I've seen what's being described here. I've lived it. It's real, and it affects liberal, socially conscious teachers much more than conservative ones.

Oxford University, where a debate on abortion was canceled last year. (Sura Ark/Getty Images)

If we wish to remove this fear, and to adopt a politics that can lead to more substantial change, we need to adjust our discourse. Ideally, we can have a conversation that is conscious of the role of identity issues and confident of the ideas that emanate from the people who embody those identities. It would call out and criticize unfair, arbitrary, or otherwise stifling discursive boundaries, but avoid falling into pettiness or nihilism. It wouldn't be moderate, necessarily, but it would be deliberate. It would require effort.

In the start of his piece, Chait hypothetically asks if "the offensiveness of an idea [can] be determined objectively, or only by recourse to the identity of the person taking offense." Here, he's getting at the concerns addressed by Reed and Reilly-Cooper, the worry that we've turned our analysis so completely inward that our judgment of a person's speech hinges more upon their identity signifiers than on their ideas.

A sensible response to Chait's question would be that this is a false binary, and that ideas can and should be judged both by the strength of their logic and by the cultural weight afforded to their speaker's identity. Chait appears to believe only the former, and that's kind of ridiculous. Of course someone's social standing affects whether their ideas are considered offensive, or righteous, or even worth listening to. How can you think otherwise?
We destroy ourselves when identity becomes our sole focus

Feminists and anti-racists recognize that identity does matter. This is indisputable. If we subscribe to the belief that ideas can be judged within a vacuum, uninfluenced by the social weight of their proponents, we perpetuate a system in which arbitrary markers like race and gender influence the perceived correctness of ideas. We can't overcome prejudice by pretending it doesn't exist. Focusing on identity allows us to interrogate the process through which white males have their opinions taken at face value, while women, people of color, and non-normatively gendered people struggle to have their voices heard.

But we also destroy ourselves when identity becomes our sole focus. Consider a tweet I linked to (which has since been removed. See editor's note below.), from a critic and artist, in which she writes: "When ppl go off on evo psych, its always some shady colonizer white man theory that ignores nonwhite human history. but ‘science'. Ok ... Most ‘scientific thought' as u know it isnt that scientific but shaped by white patriarchal bias of ppl who claimed authority on it."

This critic is intelligent. Her voice is important. She realizes, correctly, that evolutionary psychology is flawed, and that science has often been misused to legitimize racist and sexist beliefs. But why draw that out to questioning most "scientific thought"? Can't we see how distancing that is to people who don't already agree with us? And tactically, can't we see how shortsighted it is to be skeptical of a respected manner of inquiry just because it's associated with white males?

This sort of perspective is not confined to Twitter and the comments sections of liberal blogs. It was born in the more nihilistic corners of academic theory, and its manifestations on social media have severe real-world implications. In another instance, two female professors of library science publicly outed and shamed a male colleague they accused of being creepy at conferences, going so far as to openly celebrate the prospect of ruining his career. I don't doubt that some men are creepy at conferences — they are. And for all I know, this guy might be an A-level creep. But part of the female professors' shtick was the strong insistence that harassment victims should never be asked for proof, that an enunciation of an accusation is all it should ever take to secure a guilty verdict. The identity of the victims overrides the identity of the harasser, and that's all the proof they need.

This is terrifying. No one will ever accept that. And if that becomes a salient part of liberal politics, liberals are going to suffer tremendous electoral defeat.

Debate and discussion would ideally temper this identity-based discourse, make it more usable and less scary to outsiders. Teachers and academics are the best candidates to foster this discussion, but most of us are too scared and economically disempowered to say anything. Right now, there's nothing much to do other than sit on our hands and wait for the ascension of conservative political backlash — hop into the echo chamber, pile invective upon the next person or company who says something vaguely insensitive, insulate ourselves further and further from any concerns that might resonate outside of our own little corner of Twitter.

Do Blue Lives Matter More?

By Larken Rose

The pattern of blacks being killed by American police gave rise to the “black lives matter” campaign, which gave rise to the “police lives matter” campaign in response. But there is a fundamental difference between the two. The implication in the first campaign is that black lives matter as much as any other lives (which of course is true), whereas many of those repeating the mantra of “police lives matter” seem to believe that the lives of badge-wearers matter more than the lives of ordinary people. This can be seen in the words and deeds of those in “law enforcement” and many who support them.

For example, in instances where someone was shot to death by police, often in a barrage of gunfire, while pulling out a cell phone or a wallet, police apologists will proclaim that it was the dead man’s fault, implying that police being “cautious” to the point of being paranoid and trigger-happy is justified and acceptable, because they weren’t sure whether the person had a weapon or not. If anyone without a badge exhibited such an attitude—“I will make sure you are dead, because I’m not sure whether you might be armed”—such an individual’s actions would universally be recognized as reckless, irresponsible, immoral and criminal. Yet all a “King’s Soldier” (cop) needs to do to receive unquestioning forgiveness from many, is to proclaim, “I feared for my life.”

As another example, responsible gun owners know that the only time you should point a gun at someone is when you have the moral right to kill that person. Yet there are countless videos of American police pointing guns at people—which amounts to issuing a death threat—without the slightest justification. It is a perfect example of just how much the King’s Soldiers value their own lives above that of the peasantry, when they routinely engage in behaviors which convey the message, “I am willing to endanger your life and threaten to kill you simply because I’m not entirely sure what you’re up to.”

One cliché argument used to excuse police violence is that those (allegedly) brave and noble officers just want to make it home at the end of the day. But when that excuse is used to justify paranoia, violence, threats, endangerment, assault, and outright murder, it becomes clear that their true mentality is, “I don’t care if the common folk make it home at the end of the day, as long as I do.” In other words, they believe that police lives matter more than other lives.

And it’s not merely a case of an individual thinking that he matters more than anyone else (which would be bad enough). There are countless examples of cops joining in a violent assault, or lying under oath to cover up the misdeeds of their fellow cops, showing that cops value the lives of other cops—even those they don’t know—more than they value the lives of the public they pretend to serve. Many have demonstrated that they will eagerly destroy the lives of innocents through planting evidence or lying under oath, or through open assault or murder. But they will quickly resort to paranoid reckless endangerment of the public (such as happened in the Dorner case) if they feel at all threatened themselves. And when one cop does have the courage and integrity to expose police corruption and misconduct, he is almost always fired, as well as being shunned and threatened by his former colleagues for daring to choose truth and justice over loyalty to the gang in blue. Why? Because too many “law enforcers,” victimizing innocent civilians isn’t as bad as turning against guilty cops.

Furthermore, those in the ruling class—the politicians and their enforcers—not only think that their lives matter more than yours; they think that you should believe that too. Whenever one of the King’s Soldiers dies, the media coverage, with all the solemn rituals, the prolonged propaganda about how the cop was a great hero, and how big a loss it is for the world that this happened, is designed to make you imagine that those in power, and those who do their bidding, are more noble, more righteous, and more important than a mere peasant like yourself. If ten people are killed in a city on a given day, and one of them was a hired gun for the politicians, who do you suppose will get the most mention—or any mention at all—in the news that day? That’s right: the King’s Soldier. For all the “protect and serve” propaganda we hear, there is clearly a residual medieval authoritarian mindset in a lot of people’s minds.

We are constantly told that the politicians’ hired guns have a dangerous job, that they put themselves in harm’s way for us on a regular basis, that they are noble, righteous and brave, and that the world would be chaos without them. All of these claims are demonstrably false. More often than not, they are a violent street gang, spending their time and effort either extorting money from the peasantry to give to their political masters, or harassing and dominating harmless people so they can feel powerful and important. So no, wearing a badge and mindlessly enforcing whatever bogus whims the politicians might decide to legislate this year does not make your life matter more than anyone else’s. If anything, the lives of aggressors (with or without badges) “matter” less than the lives of their intended victims.

No, Here’s Why Libertarians Are Mostly Men

by Julie Borowski

Today, there were a number of articles in mainstream media on why libertarians are mostly men.

Of course, this is no big secret. Anyone who has ever spent two seconds on a libertarian forum or at a conference notices that men tend to greatly outnumber women.

Why?

Mother Jones’ Kevin Drum guesses that it is because “hard core libertarianism is a fantasy.” I’m not going to waste time in this post explaining to Drum on why it isn’t a fantasy. So, let’s just follow his logic a bit here. Is he saying that women lack imagination? That we aren’t prone to dreaming? Women are huge consumers of fantasy literature so I’m going to say that his theory is bogus.

I’ve also heard, time and time again, that it’s because chicks are super emotional/irrational and want big daddy government to take care of them. While there may be some truth to that in how we are socialized, I actually think that theory is overstated. The conservative conferences I’ve been to have had a more equal ratio of men to women and they’re not fans of the welfare state, either.

I have my own theory about the libertarian gender ratio and I’ll probably get in “trouble” again for saying it. But, oh well because I think it’s true.

Libertarianism is still a marginal philosophy. It’s growing in popularity due in huge part to Ron Paul’s presidential campaigns. However, it’s still an outside-of-the-mainstream movement.

Marginal movements tend to attract certain types of people.

Look at the individuals in the libertarian movement. I joke that it’s full of nerds and rebels. Neither of these types of people really care what other people think about them. They are true to themselves and aren’t afraid to take interest in things that “normal people” might consider weird. “Screw ’em.”

This is why I think that men are more likely to be attracted to libertarianism as long as it is a more marginal philosophy. Men tend to place a lower importance on social interaction than women. (Yes, there are exceptions!) Therefore, the threat of social ostracism isn’t as big of a deal to them.

I’m more in the nerd category, honestly. When I became heavily invested into libertarian ideas and politics in college, I experienced some social ostracism from my peers–especially female ones. They thought it was strange that I spent so much time researching “nerdy political things” rather than partying or doing “normal” college activities. But it was nothing that I couldn’t handle because I’m an introvert, anyways. I just need a couple of people who think I’m alright and I’m good.

Most libertarian women that I have met are very different than your “average woman.” I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I wasn’t intimidated by a lot of them. They’re strong and independent. They don’t give a *beep* what you think about them. Mess with them and they’ll kick your butt. Basically, they do what they want.

In order to speak out about “unpopular/marginal” ideas, you need to have that kind of personality. If you have a great desire to be liked, ha, don’t get involved in libertarianism. Or at least hide your views. If you post about it on Facebook, get ready to get defriended or uninvited to Thanksgiving dinner this year.

As a vocal libertarian woman online, I’m used to the nasty insults by now. I’ll be honest, though. I still dread every time an acquaintance asks me, “so, what do you do for a living?” Because “I’m a libertarian commentator” tends to derail friendly casual conversation. (If you try to keep it broad, they will dig further!)

The good news is that libertarianism is becoming more mainstream. As it becomes more popular, it will attract new kinds of people, including more women. It won’t be just for nerds and rebels, anymore.

Full-time minimum wage workers can’t comfortably afford a 1-bedroom apartment anywhere in America

By Caroline Siede

The National Low-Income Housing Coalition has released a new report with a startling fact: According to Vox, “There is no state in the union where a full-time, minimum-wage worker can afford to rent a one-bedroom apartment for less than 30 percent of his paycheck (which is a standard measure of housing affordability).”

Vox has a full break down of the report, which tallies the number of hours minimum wage employees need to work in order to rent a one-bedroom place with 30 percent of their income. While some state averages come close to a 40-hour work week, the number is astronomical in others. Minimum wage employees in California need to work 92 hours a week to comfortably afford housing, New Yorkers need to average 98 hours, and New Jerseyans must complete a whopping 100 hours a week.

Of course these are all state averages and the reality of rental costs and city minimum wages may differ in specific areas. But across the board, increases in rental prices tend to be higher than increases in the minimum wage.

Vox has more details and the full National Low-Income Housing Coalition report is available here.