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Please note that, where applicable, links have been provided to original texts which these letters address. Also, your thoughts may be sent via the online Letters to the Editor section.
Craig Lambert discusses serious issues regarding the changing nature of competitive athletics in the Ivy League ("The Professionalization of Ivy League Sports," September-October, page 36). Did, however, a fellow editor play a practical joke by running a cover picture prominently featuring "Adidas" advertising on a Harvard soccer uniform after Lambert proudly writes of Harvard's "quaint idea" of not accepting "clothing in exchange for promotional considerations"?
"Recruiting wars," "child (athlete) specialists," "the endless season," "the logo in left field," and above all "the god of the won-loss column" all accurately describe worrisome issues on Ivy League campuses. As Lambert generously notes, a "thoughtful" article in the Princeton Alumni Weekly (November 6, 1996) addressed most of these issues, following a review of competitive athletics at Princeton conducted by the Board of Trustees.
But Lambert's article is ultimately disappointing. After identifying disturbing problems and giving specific examples, his conclusions seem to contradict his evidence. He seems to say these problems exist everywhere else, but not at Harvard.
It is not easy to know how the immense pressures generated by American culture's lionization of increasingly competitive, specialized, commercial athletics can coexist with very high quality educational institutions. The fierce competitive pressures described by Lambert lead to an athletics culture and ethos that may even be incompatible with the objectives of academic and personal growth pursued at both Harvard and Princeton.
Harvard and Princeton are in enviable positions--both enjoy remarkable academic and athletic success. It is appealing to believe that these two institutions are well situated to provide leadership within the Ivy League, to address forthrightly the issues presented by athletics competition. It seems possible that these two institutions can help encourage sensible reforms and constraints at the margins. But do any of us believe that our two institutions might renounce the model of all-out competition--and the athletics "arms race" that inevitably goes with it?
Thomas H. Wright, LL.B. '66
Vice president and secretary, Princeton University
Princeton, N.J.
Craig Lambert replies: several readers commented on our cover photograph. Manufacturers of sports apparel have for many years put their names on their products. A runner who purchases Nike running shoes will wear shoes that say "Nike," but that does not mean that Nike sponsors the runner, much as owners of Ford automobiles drive cars with nameplates that say "Ford" with no sponsorship implied. Naomi Miller's jersey bears the Adidas logo because the Harvard women's soccer team purchased Adidas uniforms. Harvard teams do not accept clothing in exchange for promotional considerations.
it is ironic that Patricia Henry, the senior associate director of athletics at Harvard, would lament the competitiveness of young kids and teenagers today, seeing as it is the very desire to attend her institution that pushes some so far. All those piano lessons and soccer practices are in preparation for Ivy League applications.
Gabrielle Tiven
Atlanta
The article is extremely interesting and informative, but there is an error of fact. Lambert states that among the 300-odd colleges playing Division I athletics, only the Ivies employ a need-based financial-aid policy for student athletes. That is inaccurate. Lafayette College, Bucknell University, and Colgate University are Division I institutions that grant financial aid to their student athletes based solely upon financial need. We are members of the Patriot League, which recently authorized grants- in-aid in men's and women's basketball, but the three named schools have stated their intention to continue with a need-based financial-aid policy in all sports.
Arthur J. Rothkopf, LL.B. '58
President, Lafayette College
Easton, Pa.
I agree with professor Helen Vendler that form--or the relation between form and idea/emotion/mood--is the essence of lyric poetry. But I disagree somewhat with her interpretation of the form of Shakespeare's sonnet 30, as expounded in "Two Poets" (September-October, page 62).
Pointing out that the "simplest of all forms, that of proportion" is illustrated in this poem by a disproportion between the 12 lines devoted to loss or grief and the two (final) lines celebrating restoration and happiness, Vender concludes that, "in the world as this poem sees it, more of life is spent on grieving than on joy." I would suggest a somewhat different interpretation: that the disproportion is intended to emphasize the powerful force of love, which succeeds in a short space of time in obliterating all the negative aspects of life. The more space accorded to those negative elements, the more striking is their reversal by the power of love. Two lines of bliss easily wipe out 12 lines of woe.
Elizabeth A. Howe, Ph.D. '87
Worcester, Mass.
In the context of the national debate on the cost and availability of medical services, it is relevant to raise the subject of the effectiveness of these services, as John Lauerman has done ("The Elusive Diagnosis," September-October, page 19). Although he has correctly described the problem of elusive diagnoses, he has not gone on to suggest an obvious solution.
Outside of certain research programs and institutions, most physicians practice medicine much as it was practiced in the previous century--using educated guesswork and trial and error. They rely primarily on personal knowledge and experience in the diagnosis and treatment of the hundreds of thousands of identified diseases and disorders. They have persistently avoided reliance on a systematic and scientific data base, which could be made readily available to them.
This hit-or-miss method may achieve a reasonable diagnostic and treatment success rate related to the common major illnesses, but predictably fails when applied to the enormous and expanding number of rarer and "orphan" diseases that afflict an equal number of patients.
Yes, it is common experience for most of these patients to be "referred" endlessly among various generalists and specialists, spending great amounts of time and money, accused of whining and feigning, blacklisted by insurance companies, and made hopelessly frustrated. Until by good fortune they connect with a doctor who remembers some article or lecture or previous case that suggests a similar symptomatology. Or, more likely, until the patient himself comes across useful information from a friend, in a magazine, or on the Internet.
More concerned with personal and professional stature and proprietary interests, physicians have continued to resist becoming part of the information age--drawing on (and contributing to) a larger accumulated body of knowledge than their own. Is it offensive to suggest that doctors could improve their effectiveness by utilizing computer-assisted diagnosis and treatment to compare a particular and puzzling range of symptoms against an international data base, surveying all possible tests and treatments, and then later inputting their results of treatments and long-term outcomes (with protection of patient privacy)? The National Institutes of Health has long recommended putting such a system in place, with little support from the profession.
I have had a rare movement disorder since I was 16. It took a parade of specialists, numerous misdiagnoses and partial diagnoses, countless wrong treatments, and 30 YEARS of life-diminishing frustration before my condition was correctly diagnosed as cervical dystonia--even though my symptoms perfectly matched those first described in the medical literature for this disorder in 1911.
For too long doctors have preferred to call medicine an art and not a science, a craft and not a technology. In fact it should be all of these things.
Charles F. Sanders, M. Arch. '73
Boulder
While Lauerman brings up many valid points, he fosters a continuation of stigma against proper psychiatric diagnosis and treatment with the unfortunate statement, "An undiagnosed patient may be referred for psychiatric treatment, and may even be branded a lunatic."
This statement implies that psychiatric diagnosis and treatment are not part of medicine. The truth is that modern psychiatry is very much part of medicine and is usually straightforward. Unfortunately, because of the public's fear and misunderstanding of psychiatry, and because of the reluctance of other physicians to make appropriate psychiatric referrals, even common psychiatric conditions continue to be widely underdiagnosed and undertreated.
Studies have shown that proper psychiatric referral is cost effective, since undiagnosed patients greatly overutilize other medical services with no benefit.
William E. Skiba '74, Ph.D., M.D.
Houston
As a third-year Harvard Law School student familiar with the laws and facts related to animal research, I take issue with the two letters from animal researchers in the July-August issue (page 88). The researchers tried to assure readers that Harvard's use of animals is "humane," emphasizing that Harvard complies with all relevant laws, and that animal research is necessary for medical advances important to saving human lives.
First, it is absurd for the researchers to imply that their compliance with federal, state, and local laws insures "humane" treatment of the animals. There are no laws in existence that regulate experimentation on animals. The federal Animal Welfare Act, the Massachusetts law pertaining to research facilities, and the local Cambridge ordinance all merely regulate the living conditions of the animals--how many centimeters their cages must be, the fact that they must be given food and water, etc. (and even these meager "protections" do not apply to mice, rats, or birds, the animals most often used in research). All of the laws explicitly preserve the discretion of the researchers to do whatever they like to the animals as part of their actual experiments: they can burn them, remove parts of their bodies, break their bones, drain their blood, insert things into their brains, inject poisons and drugs into their stomachs, cut their nerves, and keep them isolated from any contact with animals of their own species. They can withhold painkillers if they think that painkillers will interfere with the experiments in any way. They can kill the animals after experiments, and commonly do so by breaking their necks, freezing them, cutting their arteries, forcing them to inhale poisonous gases, and injecting barbituates into their hearts. A large number of mice, rats, dogs, pigs, monkeys, and other animals are regularly killed at Harvard, and more than 25 million are legally killed in research each year in the United States.
Second, there are no legal or academic standards limiting experiments on animals to those necessary for developing cures to debilitating human diseases, and many animal experiments at Harvard are done for reasons quite unrelated to saving human lives. As in the humanities and other sciences, researchers and graduate students in the medical sciences, biology, and psychology devise their work by thinking up projects that seem interesting and that are likely to get funded. Successful grant applications often depend more on novelty and good connections than anything else. This is as true for research on animals as for other research. To illustrate this, here are a few examples of recently funded experiments at Harvard (quoted phrases are straight from the grant abstracts): mechanically blocking the coronary arteries of dogs, minipigs, and baboons and inserting catheters into their hearts, "to determine whether myocardial stunning differs among dogs, pigs, and baboons;" forcing primates to become addicted to cocaine and then subjecting them to a battery of shock tests for six months, to observe the behavioral effects of cocaine in the chosen species (the effects on humans are already known); suturing shut one of the eyelids of baby rhesus monkeys for several months, and then killing the monkeys and "harvesting" their retinas to study the effects of induced near-sightedness.
Finally, there is serious debate about the usefulness of animal research for developing cures to human diseases. An entire medical journal (Perspectives in Medical Research) is devoted to this debate. Even if animal research sometimes produces useful results for humans, it often produces misleading results and more frequently produces no relevant results at all. If a tenth of the money spent on animal research each year (billions of dollars) were applied to developing alternative research media, it is likely that better methods of research would be developed. It is certain that millions of animals would be spared the torture of vivisection.
Michelle Lerner
Founder, Harvard Law School Student
Animal Legal Defense Fund
Somerville, Mass.
I am a former student of Ruth Wisse and was quoted in Janet Tassel's "Mame-loshn at Harvard" (July-August, page 32). My conversation with Tassel resulted in a brief paragraph containing two errors: the first, that I am a member of the class of '97, and the second, that I am "an advocate of the PLO." While the former mistake might be excused by the fact that I did not officially receive my diploma until January 1997, the latter strikes me as serious.
During my conversation with Tassel, I readily presented my own, quite liberal perspective on Israeli politics. I explained that I disagree emphatically with the policies of the current Israeli government, that I look with distress on Israel's occupation of the West Bank and Gaza Strip, and that I await the day when there will be both peace and equality between the two peoples. No doubt I added that I am an advocate of Palestinian human rights, as I am a strong advocate of all human rights and cringe to see my own people so involved in their violation. But to say this is hardly to declare that I am "an advocate of the PLO."
Among several of the puzzling aspects of my alleged statement is, of course, that the Palestinian Liberation Organization ceased officially to exist as such a number of years ago. The chief organization responsible for representing the Palestinian people is now the Palestinian Authority (PA). As a political entity whose violent and corrupt policies have inspired the condemnation of Palestinians, Israelis, and human-rights activists alike, the PA strikes me as the kind of governing body that I would be hard-pressed to support.
Lizzy Ratner '96
New York City
Janet Tassel replies: during my conversation with Ratner, I was deeply impressed by her sincerity as she described her ambivalence about the situation in her beloved Israel. Her words to me were quoted accurately in the article. If it is any consolation, however, I construed her reference to advocacy as expressing a theoretical advocacy--perhaps because she also used the word "flaming." This would have been another way of illustrating Ruth Wisse's acceptance in class of "a lot of different volatile opinions"--to quote Ratner once again.
What seems to me an obvious corrective to the appalling problem of buried land mines ("A Hundred Million Nasty Surprises," by Matt O'Keefe, July-August, page 13, reporting on research by physicist Paul Horowitz) is implied in the first paragraph but never pursued. All that is needed is "for something to come along and supply the 10 to 20 pounds of pressure required for detonation." Whatever happened to the concept of the tank-mounted chain flail used in World War II to clear passages through minefields?
I believe it would be quite simple to cobble together a suitably armored vehicle with a rotating chain flail out in front to set off the light-duty "toe-poppers" that cause so much misery. Indeed, I can see something resembling an armored, radio-controlled rototiller for use on steep, narrow trails. Peace Corps or USAID or some such organization could build these things by the thousand.
George N. Kinnel '54
Canyon, Calif.
Paul Horowitz replies: the use of a mechanical "flail" (and similarly inspired ploughs, rakes, and other contrivances) for indiscriminate detonation of unseen mines has been successful in combat minefield breaching and area-clearing operations, where speed is important, and where a small residue of undetonated mines can be tolerated. However, in a humanitarian demining mission, one is often dealing with mines planted years earlier, now covered with bushes, even trees, and entangled in roots. Unfavorable terrain (steep slopes, ditches, debris, boulders, bogs) further limits the use of heavy machinery. To work successfully, demining machinery of this sort would have to mill ground thoroughly, applying enough impact to overcome the cushion of overgrowth, with coverage complete enough to ensure that no object as small as a hockey puck is left unthrashed, all of this often in obstacle-ridden terrain. Furthermore, mine-detonating machinery takes a real beating, and in many remote areas the necessary repair and maintenance is simply beyond foreseeable capabilities.
Despite efforts by clever inventors, no flail system has been devised that works well enough to be used in the vast majority of the world's vestigial minefields.
Richard Chait ("Rethinking Tenure," July-August, page 30) proposes that faculty members be given the option to sell their tenure rights for higher salary. This is an horrific proposal, akin to suggesting that faculty relinquish for cash their right to speak critically of university policies, or of the scholarly views of certain colleagues, or on issues of national moment. Tenure for the faculty member is a means to a larger social end. Faculty members should not be encouraged, or permitted, to barter that end for cash, particularly when they are likely to feel that their academic freedom will never be curtailed and that the trade-off is therefore of little consequence. All too often, experience shows, that will prove not to be the case.
Robert A. Gorman '58, LL.B. '62
Gemmill professor of law, University
of Pennsylvania, and former president, American
Association of University Professors
Cade, Serena, and George Eastman, friends of Pooh. FLINT BORN |
With reference to "In Pooh's Neighborhood" (September-October, page 77), I present myself as none other than the creator of the original door of Pooh's house.
About five years ago, when my daughter, Serena, was 2, and my son, Cade, was 5, we would bike by the Science Center on Sunday mornings on our way to church. My son would invariably stop to see what tokens had been left in the little recess then comprising Pooh's house. There was no door at that time, only a natural recess that had been painted a light purple and a very faded wooden sign signifying simply "Pooh." I removed the sign, took it home, and painted "Pooh" in bright Chinese red, and then reattached it to the tree.
Meanwhile, it occurred to me that for Pooh to have a proper home, he surely needed a door. So I made a cardboard template and from that, fashioned a door of 3/4-inch pine. This is the door that was vandalized and then repaired by someone else--who, I know not. When I installed the door it included a hook-and-eye latch, which I had to replace several times. The current restoration is lacking a hook and eye-- which I intend supplying.
The proliferation into Piglet's house and Rabbit's is very recent, and I have no idea who has begun the expansion.
I especially appreciate having Pooh's house, and now other friends of Christopher Robin, so close to the side entrance of the Science Center. Our scientifically and technologically driven world needs a reminder of our basic humanness embodied in Milne's creations.
George Eastman, Ed.D. '63
Cambridge
"In Pooh's Neighborhood" reminds me of something that's been rankling since I first passed by that door, years ago. As I remember, Pooh lived in the forest under the name of Sanders.
Ezra Sims
Cambridge
Editor's note: That is so.
"Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Sanders.('What does "under the name" mean?' asked Christopher Robin.
'It means he had the name over the door in gold letters, and lived under it.'
'Winnie-the-Pooh wasn't quite sure,' said Christopher Robin.
'Now I am,' said a growly voice.
'Then I will go on,' said I.)"
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