11 minute read
Editorial
THE CRIMSON EDITORIAL BOARD Not All Foregin Money is Dirty Money
Earlier this month, the United States Department of Education opened an investigation into Harvard’s foreign funding, requesting information on gifts and contracts connected to various foreign governments, including China and Iran, as well as from a number of foreign companies.
Harvard is not alone in receiving this scrutiny; Yale, Georgetown University, Cornell University, and MIT are all part of the government’s larger campaign to crack down on “academic espionage.”
Harvard has been roiled with funding scandals this year, from the arrest of Chemistry Department Chair Charles M. Lieber for lying about Chinese funding sources to the exposure of the University’s ties to Jeffrey Epstein.
These situations raise deep concerns about the ethics and intentions of the people that fund our institution and are given access to it.
In light of these recent events, we agree with the premise of the Department of Justice’s probe: that Harvard’s system to evaluate its funding sources is imperfect, and is in need of improvement.
However, Harvard’s relationship with the Department of Education must be understood in the context of the Department’s broader backlash against institutions of higher learning. In her 2017 speech at the Conservative Political Action Conference, current Secretary of Education Betsy D. DeVos made a point of specifying that “the fight against the educational establishment” she has committed her Department to extends to colleges and universities.
DeVos went on to condemn institutions of higher learning broadly, which she characterized as places where “the faculty, from adjunct professors to deans, tell you what to do, what to say, and more ominously, what to think.”
The Trump administration has also already targeted Chinese students at elite institutions of higher education, restricting student visas as part of a broad package of trade restrictions targeting Beijing.
Because of developments such as this, we are cautious of fully embracing the Department of Education’s inquiry, though we think the specific concern raised is valid in nature.
The key issue regarding accepting financial contributions must be its impact on the academic work of our institution. Harvard should be open to accepting contributions from foreign governments so long as these contributions improve the quality of our institution. We do not believe that the foreignness of a funding source, in and of itself, should lead us to exclude donations. If Harvard receives money from a foreign government to study specific legitimate academic inquiries, we should welcome the contributions for the knowledge or good they will help produce. However, if the foreign government in question contributes in the hopes of propagating some self-serving political counter-narrative, or does so for some other overtly political purpose by leveraging Harvard’s credibility, then the donation becomes problematic. Contributions for the purpose of whitewashing misdeeds and exerting influence must obviously be avoided.
In short, intention is key. Harvard must keep its contributions clean to facilitate its ability to do rigorous academic work.
But ruling out donations simply because they come from another country runs deeply counter to the international, open spirit we believe the University should champion.
This staff editorial solely represents the majority view of The Crimson Editorial Board. It is the product of discussions at regular Editorial Board meetings. In order to ensure the impartiality of our journalism, Crimson editors who choose to opine and vote at these meetings are not involved in the reporting of articles on similar topics.
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Cocktail Party Politics OP-ED
“H ow ‘bout that debate last night? Pretty crazy, huh?”
Last week, the Las Vegas debate outperformed both the Grammys and the Golden Globes, becoming the most-watched Democratic primary debate ever. But I doubt that nearly 20 million people tuned in because they thought listening to Elizabeth Warren explain her universal child care plan would be more intellectually stimulating than an Ariana Grande performance. People got exactly what they came to see: some damn good entertainment.
Take a look at the headlines after the debate: “Elizabeth Warren came out swinging, and Mike Bloomberg was left battered” and “Elizabeth Warren Roasts Mike Bloomberg in Rowdy Las Vegas Debate.” Clearly the Las Vegas setting was apt for the show; if you change the names in the articles it might sound like a recap of Conor McGregor vs. Floyd Mayweather. By DANIEL L. AKLOG
Now, many of these articles seem to be using sports language facetiously, but it’s not an unreasonable way to describe the debate. NBC, the airing network, clearly wanted to evoke a sporting event; many of the questions were designed to conjure heated one-on-one matchups. Even the debate’s introduction looked like something they would air before Sunday Night Football.
The way many of us follow politics mirrors the way we follow sports. It’s entertaining, even a little fun — cracking jokes about the opposition, laughing with your fellow supporters, diving into the details and statistics.
There’s an emptiness to much of our political culture — a hobby masquerading as civic engagement. Opinion pieces, cable news, podcasts, debates, what is the point? It’s easy to have a bad relationship with politics. With so much information available, we can arm ourselves with an encyclopedia of useless political knowledge that is almost never applied to anything meaningful. As Tufts political science professor Eitan Hersh said, “What they’re actually doing is not participating themselves in any active way. They’re really just following the news.” Political knowledge can often be nothing more than cocktail party fodder — a way to signal your sophistication and intellect. Dinner table punditry might make you look good; after all, knowing the demographic makeup of Ohio is sure to turn a few heads. But if impressing our friends is the culmination of our efforts, then we end up looking a bit silly.
Many people do, however, go beyond the cocktail party and act in the real world, but not because they can predict how Ohio will vote. They might not know the details of how Joe Biden and Pete Buttigieg differ on gun control, but they fought for a park in their town. They might not know who represents Florida’s fifth congressional district, but they volunteer at the homeless shelter. We need to do more to commend these people for the impact they have.
But I’m not talking about these people; I’m talking about the large portion that are hyper-invested and at the same time do so little. There’s a subset of people — well-educated, probably liberal — whose knowledge goes far beyond being well informed into the unnecessary (you will find many right here on this campus).
Now, I could have written this piece as a call to action. We certainly need more civic activity in local and state politics, and it would surely help the country depolarize, but I’m not convinced that being politically attentive necessarily makes one more likely to act. Reading about politics on the internet is a lot easier than going out and accomplishing something tangible, so we cannot assume that the political junkie is one step away from civic action.
I’m not asking people to jump into local politics. Instead, I propose that some of us dial back the obsession with politics — to really reconsider the urge to consume so much politics.
In 2018 the New York Times published “The Man Who Knew Too Little,” an article about Erik Hagerman, who in the aftermath of the 2016 election, “swore that he would avoid learning about anything that happened to America after Nov. 8, 2016,” and secluded himself in the woods to restore the land. He was met with strong criticism as people considered his vow to be another perk of rich white male privilege — he didn’t have to pay attention because he wasn’t under threat. However, Vox co-founder Ezra Klein notes, “Were those of us sending angry missives into the ether really doing more than this guy who was restoring land to gift back to his neighbors?”
Now, I’m not advocating for sticking our heads in the sand. People obviously play a crucial role in representative democracy; if everyone acted like Hagerman, the government could run amok. In fact, I would still argue that far too many people in this country are under-informed and under-engaged. A poll showed that almost 40 percent of Americans asked could not even name one right protected by the First Amendment.
But we must keep in mind that political hobbyism is not civic virtue. Our country needs a well-informed electorate, but it’s a representative democracy; we don’t all need to roleplay as senators with an important vote in the morning.
COLUMN
Don’t Be So Quick to Say #MeToo to Cancel Culture
RESHINI PREMARATNE PLAYING DEVIL’S ADVOCATE
Iam a sexual assault survivor. I am the one in five women who will be sexually assaulted during college, according to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center. I am also a part of the 90 percent of sexual assault victims on college campuses who do not report the assault. But, it may not be for the reason you think. Although a bit outdated now, this 2007 report by the National Institute of Justice found that the three main reasons students do not report sexual assault are: (1) they did not think it was serious enough to report, (2) it was unclear that a crime was committed or that harm was intended, (3) they did not want anyone to know about the incident.
Yet, my decision to refrain from reporting was not because of any of those listed by the NIJ. Instead, I was afraid of hostile treatment towards my perpetrator. There is no handbook on how to process trauma like sexual assault — for the victim or for those around them. That is precisely what makes the publicity of reporting such a daunting task: the unpredictability it necessarily invokes in how anyone, including the survivor, responds.
Perhaps surprisingly, more so than the fear of judgment of myself as a survivor, I was afraid of the judgment it would provoke of my perpetrator. He had been a close friend for years — a relationship that was not without its own trials and tribulations, but still one of the closest ones I had ever forged.
The guilt he showed in our discussions of the incident was palpable, his remorse undeniable. He apologized profusely and sincerely, and took actionable steps to ensure he never mistreated another human being again.
To me, the victim of his actions, that is all that mattered. I decided for myself that it was my prerogative as the aggrieved party to delineate when justice had been served on my behalf. While his actions satisfied my demand for justice, I must confess that a fear of “cancel culture” also contributed to my ultimate decision to not report.
I was afraid of the unforgiving and seemingly arbitrary “cancel culture” that often accompanies reports of sexual assault — the public cries to “cancel” someone that commonly appends these incidents in pop culture movements like #MeToo. It represented a response that I, the victim in the incident, could not control even though my wellbeing should be the foremost priority.
Last week, I heard Tarana Burke, the founder of #MeToo, speak at The Cambridge Union. As she recalled the journey of the movement and the tremendous role it has served in supporting survivors, she also mentioned that it was not the responsibility of the organization to account for individuals who may distort the message of the #MeToo Movement into one that advocates for “cancel culture.”
Merriam-Webster defines cancel culture as the removal “of support for public figures in response to their objectionable behavior or opinions. This can include boycotts or refusal to promote their work.”
Yet, even though the #MeToo movement founder criticized aspects of the #MeToo movement’s that latch onto juicy details and seek harsh punishments on all perpetrators, Merriam-Webster attributes, at least partially, the pervasiveness of “cancel culture” — which often prompts exactly that kind of lashing out publicly and with incomplete information — to #MeToo.
Indeed, the #MeToo movement and its founder have made accountability for sexual assault more accessible by tapping into technology, like social media and digital news. But, I do not believe that the movement can take credit for those positive outcomes without also recognizing its contribution to the popularization of arbitrary cancel culture.
The online #MeToo phenomenon must also take responsibility for often doling out punishments and consequences that the survivors themselves may not have even wanted. As a movement that prides itself on prioritizing sexual assault survivors, it has to reconcile this messaging with the contingent of advocates who often adjudicate without consulting first.
However, I do understand how a sexual assault incident is not only an attack against that individual, but it is also an attack against the core values of a society and its state.
That is why criminal court cases are prosecuted by the state, by the society that has been afflicted by an individual’s actions. But, that is also why we must separate the court of law from the court of public opinion — and while pursuing a criminal route through the court of law is often the decision of the survivor, how the court of public opinion proceeds once granted the information is rarely in their control.
Individuals in any society deserve to have information that enables them to protect themselves. That is why we have a mechanisms like the sex offenders registry.
However, those kinds of public goods often require the survivor to self-report, and if we as a society do not demonstrate how the victim’s desires are our priority in the court of public opinion, then we kneecap ourselves in the court of law moving forward.
