Me, too, but what’s next?

To guys who are wondering how to respond to #metoo beyond an emoticon: When I was a freshman, a friend of mine was raped by someone else in our circle. Most people in the group could not believe that someone they liked could do that, and believed him when he said it was a misunderstanding, she was just crazy, etc. Faced with a choice between losing her friends or pretending it had never happened, she recanted her accusations and tried to rationalize what had happened to her. The guy went on to rape three other women that I know of.

When your knee-jerk reaction to hearing an accusation about your guy friend or colleague is that there must be a misunderstanding because he’s perfectly nice to you (you, who are not his victim type), you signal to victims that we cannot trust you to listen or help or intercede for us. When you run interference by making sure your friend or colleague isn’t alone with girls at parties or late at the office, you are enabling your friend, because you’re not confronting him about his behavior, you can’t watch him every second, and you’re signalling to victims that you know there’s a problem, but your priority is avoiding conflict by protecting your friend/colleague from the consequences of their actions.

Here’s what you CAN do. Listen to us. Believe us. Ask how we want to handle the situation and back us up. If you are in a position to confront your friend/colleague about their behavior, do so: he is far more likely to listen to you than to us, and if you really believe he’s a decent guy who just doesn’t understand appropriate boundaries, getting called out is the only way he is going to learn. If he still doesn’t change his behavior, extricate yourself from him. Men surrounded by friends, admirers, and contacts seem trustworthy, but if it’s clear no one wants to touch them with a ten-foot pole, it’s harder for them to convince new victims to trust them.


On More Perfect Unions

(This article first appeared at

I don’t know which makes me more heartsick: the terrible events in Charlottesville and their shockwaves throughout the country, or the fact that I have stopped being surprised by the ugly things white Americans are still capable of doing. Before the election, many white liberals believed that with a two-term black president, the fiftieth anniversary of major civil rights victories, a woman as the Democratic presidential candidate, legalized gay marriage, and the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, we were entering a new era of social justice, with a majority of young people in favor of equal rights for all. In the past year, we have had a rude awakening about how far we have really come and how much further we still have to go.

As Jews, we have a long and painful history of thinking our wandering is done, that we have found a tolerant and enlightened home—in such places as England, Spain, Syria, France, and Germany––only to be rudely awakened, over and over, by bigotry and xenophobia.

Because of that long and painful history, in 1790, the Jews of the Touro Synagogue (then called Yeshuat Israel) in Newport, Rhode Island asked President George Washington whether they were really safe in America, or whether their situation might rapidly deteriorate under a future administration. In response, Washington responded:

… happily, the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens…. May the children of the stock of Abraham who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants—while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.

Reflecting on the violence in Charlottesville for the New York Daily News, Shaun King argued that to fight racism effectively, we have to understand how it is baked into our national identity, “Don’t tell me this nation was founded on faith and freedom. It was founded on oppression and violence. What we’re seeing in Charlottesville isn’t un-American. NO! That violence and bigotry are as American as it gets.”

He’s right. The same man who wrote to Touro Synagogue, espousing the belief that equality and freedom should be guaranteed for everyone, also owned hundreds of enslaved people, used slave labor to build the White House, and worked with Thomas Jefferson to embed a ban on discussing slavery until 1808 into the Constitution.

And yet Washington wrote that letter to the Touro Synagogue.

Our founders wrote of creating “A more perfect union.” They recognized that perfection is something we strive for, not something we have yet achieved. It’s why we have a procedure for amending our Constitution.

We have always been this bad. And we have always been better than this. Grappling with this contradiction has always been hard for us as American Jews, sometimes able to “pass” or be folded into the comforts of white privilege, sometimes abruptly and painfully othered, always aware of our own history of persecution, less comfortable with the thought that we might be aligned with the persecutors. When I was little, I once asked my father why we had to feel guilty about slavery when our family had never owned slaves. He responded that our family came to this country in part because it was a place of opportunity—but that opportunity and economic bounty was built through generations of slave labor. We benefitted from that inequality even though we had never participated in it. He made me conscious that while America was a safe and comfortable home for us, other people didn’t have the same experience, and we had a responsibility to make the country a safe and welcoming place for them as well.

We need to own our past and present sins while holding on to our aspirations to be better, and never forgetting our civic responsibility of working towards a more perfect union, a place where people of all races and religions can settle in safety—where none shall make them afraid. Let’s roll up our sleeves and get back to work.

2017 Hugos: What it means to be out of the woods

I don’t love all the 2017 Hugo Award winners. And that’s a good thing.

I’ve been a geek and a nerd and a lover of all things speculative my entire life, but until 2015, I’d never involved myself much with the Hugos. I knew they were important and prestigious, but I loved novels, not short stories, and in any given year, I was reading or rereading old stuff more than I was trying newly printed works. Why pay for Worldcon membership just to vote for one or two items in one or two categories and leave the rest blank? I didn’t feel like it mattered for me to force my way into the conversation if I didn’t have anything to add.

2015 was a rude awakening. When the Puppies managed to hijack almost every slot in almost every category for the Hugo ballot nominations, I was angry. The Puppies claimed that certain people didn’t belong in this community, and that touched a nerve: this was supposed to be the place where all the bullied and strange and lost are welcome. Where, when you had no place to go, they had to take you in. And through GamerGate and RaceFail and other incidents, the community was just starting to talk through the ways people had been made to feel unwelcome or unsafe, and bringing their actions more into alignment with those ideals. The idea that quality work that was beloved by a majority of fandom was not welcome because it was created by a girl, or a person of color, felt like a sickening step backward. I was angry. I was outraged. I suddenly had a lot of things to add to the conversation.

That first year was mostly about shutting down the Puppies, voting “No Award” over and over again. The second year, voting on the preliminary ballot, was about educating myself, reading more widely in the field, encouraging others to opt in as I had and start actively shaping the community. The finalist ballot was still a bit thin on non-Puppy material, but I read everything and voted my conscience, and was gratified by the victories of 2016.

This year, as I’ve written elsewhere, was huge, literally and figuratively: the first year since the rules change, which meant that there was way more to read in every category, all of it amazing and varied. The experimental “Best Series” category didn’t make the reading list any less daunting, either! There were a few Puppy choices still on the final ballot, but that was to be expected: like it or not, they are members of our community. So I made my way through the massive reading list, voted, then fretted, waiting for news of the results.

The winners’ list, announced on Friday, is pretty stunning: a lot of experimental fiction, a lot of challenging, complex stories that don’t usually get told. And their creators are almost all women or people of color. “Best Series” was a personal favorite of mine, the Vorkosigan Saga by Lois McMaster Bujold, featuring a disabled hero. I’m delighted that Seanan McGuire’s “Every Heart a Doorway,” with its multiple queer and transgender protagonists, won, though if it could have somehow shared the prize with Victor LaValle’s “Ballad of Black Tom,” I would have been elated beyond all description. And for NK Jemisin to win “Best Novel” two years running feels like a nail in the Puppies’ coffin, since she’s been the target of so much vitriol for being a talented and outspoken black woman in the field.

In the end, everything that won a Hugo this year was exceptional work that pushed the boundaries of the genre. The 2017 Hugos don’t perfectly reflect my ballot or my tastes. But they do reflect the general consensus of a community I am proud to be part of.


I have thoughts about Virginia, and separate thoughts about the Hugos. I’m also going to be moving over copies of various blog pieces I’ve written over the past four years for the Jewish Women’s Archive, back-dated to when they were originally written (you can find the complete list of JWA articles here), so I just wanted to give warning that your feed may be really full for the next few hours.

The Campsite Guide to Exiting Relationships

(This article first appeared at

Chatting with friends about bad breakup stories, I found myself struggling to explain my own philosophy for breakups. Breakups are complicated. The models we get from pop culture often involve lots of drama, betrayal, and revenge. In the other direction, the Jewish value of shalom bayit, “peace in the home,” can be taken to an extreme where women are pressured to stay and try to fix things no matter how bad things get. But shalom bayit is not the only Jewish value that can be applied to relationships. As I told my friends, I try to live by the ideal of tikkun olam, repairing the world, both in my work and in my personal life. Someone in the group pushed back, “Isn’t breaking up the opposite of repair? Isn’t it inevitable that when someone gets hurt, things get worse?”

Another person, though, brightened and said, “That’s like the Campsite Motto, isn’t it? Leave things better than you found them?”

She got it.

I don’t think a breakup (with a partner or a friend) has to be painful; it’s possible to leave without being cruel and without destroying the other person’s dignity.

Let me just take a second to point out what I hope should be obvious: if you’re breaking off a relationship with someone who is physically or emotionally abusive, the only repair you can do is to your own soul by leaving and regaining a sense of safety and strength.

If, however, you’re in a relationship that has been fine and is just not working anymore, with some thought and effort it usually is possible to leave someone without shattering your world or theirs.

Here are the questions I use when it’s time for me to make my exit.

1.How can you be kind and clear in leaving? Whether you’re fleeing someone you can’t stand or saying goodbye to someone you can’t keep, it’s possible to say “this isn’t working” without detailing what you think their worst qualities are or giving them false hope that you might be able to work it out.

Before you talk to the other person, think about what you actually want. Would you stay in the relationship if they just changed a particular behavior, or have you already checked out? Either choice is valid, but there’s a difference between the two conversations. Ask for space if you need to sort through your feelings, but not as a tactic for extricating yourself—don’t let them assume you’ll come back if you have no intention of doing so. If you are hoping to stay, think about how long you are willing to work with your friend or partner to change things before throwing in the towel.

But if you are completely done, it’s better to say you’re unhappy, or this isn’t working, rather than make the other person think that if they just changed, you would stay. I’ve found it’s less painful for everyone involved to talk about basic incompatibilities (“You are not going to stop wanting to raise a family in a Jewish home, and you deserve to be with someone who will do that with you,” or “You are a really talented singer, but I just can’t deal with being the breadwinner indefinitely while you focus on your music,”) rather than listing all the things that drive you crazy. And of course, it costs nothing to say, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

2. What have you learned from the other person? What have you taught them? This can be anything from an insight into how the world works to the right way to make an omelet. For relationships that were once lovely, this can be a way of holding on to, and honoring, what was special, but even in abusive relationships, it can be a way of acknowledging the positive traits that made you stay (so you don’t blame yourself for not leaving sooner).

One ex was responsible for my love of Dar Williams and Tori Amos. Another introduced me to Doctor Who and Indian food. One taught me (the hard way) not to trust people blindly. The next taught me how to let people in again and helped me trust my instincts more now that they’d been honed by experience. And one invaluable friend taught me that it’s unfair to expect other people to read my mind, that I have to ask for what I want. And in turn, when I think of the people I’ve loved, I can point to ways I influenced them: teaching one to bake challah, showing another Firefly for the first time, convincing one friend to leave a dead-end job for something more meaningful, teaching another how to listen without trying to fix things. Considering the impact you’ve had on each other (good and bad) has three benefits: it can help you find closure, it can remind you to treat the other person more compassionately during a breakup, and it can help you fine-tune what you’re looking for next.

3. Has the relationship changed how you want to behave in your next relationship? To avoid repeating old mistakes, we have to look at what went wrong and keep an eye out for the same dynamics in other relationships. For several years, I had a pattern of becoming close friends with intense people who needed me desperately. They would pour their hearts out to me and make me feel important. And then, after a while, I would realize that we were spending hours every day on their dramas, but that they barely knew or cared about my life at all. Recognizing that pattern helped me realize that friendships and romantic relationships could and should be more than one person in crisis and the other playing counselor. Reflecting on this pattern helped me see warning signs of such relationships before I got entangled again.

Relationships, like campsites, can be expansive, fun, and a space for growth and coming together with other people. As we exit a campsite we are reminded to leave things better than we found them, as a kindness to the space and to the people who come after us. I do it because it’s the right thing to do. But I also do it because more than once, I’ve been grateful for the things someone learned from a previous relationship that have made them a wiser and more loving partner to me. I don’t want to trash the places or people I leave behind. It’s so much better to appreciate the space, clean up the mess, and say thank you.

Tisha B’Av thoughts

This holiday commemorates a lot of terrible, world-shaking events in Jewish history. The destruction of both the First and Second Temples. The expulsions from England and Spain, with their attendant horrors. And the list goes on.

But what always stuck with me was the Rabbis’ interpretation of why all this happened, that the trigger event was a man who accidentally invited his enemy to a party and then threw him out, publicly humiliating him and setting him on a blind course of revenge that destroyed their country. They called it Sinat Hinam, senseless hatred, the most poisonous, destructive force.

Six months into the Trump presidency, the dangers of senseless hatred are very clear. I don’t think I need to tell any one that we need to keep calling out and stopping the senseless hatred of bigots and misogynists. But I will say that we need to avoid falling into the trap of hatred too, of thinking anything that gets Trump out of office faster (or even just allows us to vent our rage and frustration) is okay. Remember that the goal is to get back to a country we can all live in. I have been so grateful for the senators who have fought to protect healthcare, the reporters who have patiently chipped away at layers of lies, the judges and governors who have said Not Here, and Never Again, the activists who have kept them all accountable. It’s slow. It’s hard. But we will get there. We will clean this house without burning it down.

A Female Doctor: It’s About Time

(This article first appeared at

In the days leading up to the announcement of the new lead for Doctor Who, I had a heated debate with a male friend about who might be cast for the role. “I just don’t understand why they have to keep gender-bending and race-bending everyone’s favorite characters in these existing franchises,” he complained. “It ruins the characters I like, and isn’t it lazy writing, anyway? Wouldn’t it be better for them to leave Doctor Who and James Bond and Spiderman as they are and add diverse new characters instead?”

For those not in the know, when ill health forced actor William Hartnell to step down from his lead role in Doctor Who in 1966, the producers of the show declared that the Doctor, being an alien, had a unique ability to “regenerate” at the end of his life, reincarnating himself in a new body. This enabled them to continue the show for more than five decades with new actors who each brought out different aspects of the Doctor’s character, and led to interesting moments where the Doctor got to interact with past and future versions of himself as he gallivanted across time and space. But over the past decade, some fans (as well as former stars of the show) have commented about the fact that while the infinitely curious and adventurous Doctor can regenerate into any body imaginable, somehow the actors that get chosen for the role have been uniformly white and male.

Until now.

With the announcement that the new Doctor would be played by Jodie Whittaker of Broadchurch fame, some fans have delighted that they can finally imagine themselves as the Doctor instead of just one of the Doctor’s companions. Others have voiced frustration that this iconic BBC character still doesn’t look like any of the people of color who make up vast swaths of the British population. And, predictably, a vocal group of white male fans have complained that their beloved Doctor suddenly has girl cooties (or, put more politely, that the Doctor now reflects more than just their own experiences).

I am all for introducing diverse original characters. And I have zero fear that all white male protagonists will vanish overnight from existing franchises. But the advantage of race-bending or gender-bending an iconic character is that they change both the kinds of stories we tell about that group and the ways in which we perceive that specific character.

Katee Sackhoff’s performance as the hard-drinking, roguish pilot Starbuck in the rebooted Battlestar Galactica gave us a female action hero who was both amazing and incredibly flawed in ways women don’t usually get to be. When John Watson has been portrayed by male actors, he’s been a foil, meant to highlight Sherlock Holmes’ contrasting brilliance and eccentricity. Lucy Liu’s portrayal of Joan Watson on Elementary has emphasized how problematic the character’s subservient enabling of Sherlock Holmes is when the character is played by an Asian woman. The writers were pushed to give Joan Watson a richer backstory to explain why she might stay with Holmes despite his treatment of her, and Liu’s Watson started pushing back against Jonny Lee Miller’s Holmes, becoming his apprentice and later a detective in her own right. While I can think of other actors who played marvelous Watsons, seeing Watson through the lens of Liu’s performance raised questions that ultimately transformed the character.

Which brings us back to Doctor Who. For five decades, the Doctor has been a quirky, chaos-loving explorer, saver of planets and destroyer of worlds, cheerful and dark in equal measure. How are those qualities going to read through the lens of Jodie Whittaker’s performance? How will established supporting characters react to the change? And what about the next companion, the sidekick character who gives the Doctor someone to explain things to, banter with, and rescue? If the show seeks gender balance by making the new companion male, how will the audience feel about identifying with a guy who is out of his element taking orders from a centuries-old, hypercompetent woman?

Time will tell.

So say we all

Going through the Hugo finalists to vote on the ballot is looking to be a strange experience this year. It took two years for the rules change to kick in and close the loophole the Puppies had exploited, so for the last two years, as the Puppies stacked the deck with a mixture of racist, sexist drivel and just plain crap, I felt like I was often simply voting to deny them a victory, instead of actually rooting for things. Meanwhile, I waited on tenterhooks to see whether the rules change would really make a difference. It did, more than I could have imagined. This year, finally, I’m spoiled for choice and dealing with the agony of deciding which of my absolute favorites to put in second or third place.

That feeling is not just about the rules change. Before the Puppies mess, there was a stretch of a decade where I didn’t bother voting for the Hugo awards because I rarely read books the year they first came out, and I hardly read short stories at all. The winner was often something I’d never heard of, and which was not to my taste; I felt divorced from the process, so why bother voting? But now, I’ve spent so much of the past three years fighting for change and reading up on what was new and important in the field that I had strong opinions on the nominating ballot, I know at least half the finalists in every category already and I am looking forward to reading the remainder and making an educated choice. The rules changed, and I changed, and together, that changed everything.

You probably see where I’m going with this.

For good and for ill, fandom is a bellwether for trends in society at large: the same problems arise, but everyone in fandom communicates much more rapidly about the issues, and we have a lot of smart people who get their kicks from both breaking systems and fixing broken systems through a mixture of technology and social engineering. And then those tactics trickle down into mainstream culture. On the one hand, this means women in gaming were complaining about Gamergaters doxxing them for two years before Bernie Bros started posting the home addresses and phone numbers of female superdelegates online for harassers to use. But fandom has also given rise to the trend of guests of honor boycotting conventions that don’t have enforceable harassment policies (and conventions having to work out practical, enforceable policies), something I think is going to profoundly affect mainstream trade shows and academic conferences in the next couple of years.

What I’ve seen in the last few years in fandom was a sudden resurgence of racist, sexist spew from a segment of the community that felt unheard and undervalued. The shock of that caused a large portion of the voting public to educate themselves, get more involved, and close the loopholes that allowed that segment of the population to dominate. And the result of all that was a ballot that still allows that segment of the population to make their voices heard, but not to dominate the rest of the (now more active and informed) voters. As this solve works its way into the larger American conversation, my guess is that the rules change is going to be about gerrymandering and voter ID laws, and my hope is that the next couple of years will bring us to a point where that bigoted segment of the population still gets to be part of the conversation through senators and congresspeople who represent their interests, but don’t get to dominate the larger (and now more active and informed) public.


All the might have beens

Growing up, I heard more than once about my mother’s writing teacher in her freshman year of college, the one who wrote “Stick to prose” on her first set of poems, the one who made her give up on writing for ten years. Since my mother went on to become a poet whose work was widely anthologized and translated into multiple languages, the lesson was always clear: no matter what authority a professor may seem to wield, they don’t get to tell you whether or not you can be a writer.

So when I encountered my own classroom demon in my freshman year, I didn’t let him phase me. The class rule was that he would choose which stories to read aloud for critique, and although I was one of the few students who submitted every week (and always offered constructive criticism to other students), he hated science fiction and fantasy so much that he went through the rest of the class roster twice, going on three times, before he grudgingly read one of mine or of Susan’s, the only other speculative fiction writer in the class. At the end of the year, he held a party at his house and invited all his other students, but left the two of us off the list. And since he was the main fiction professor at the school, I had no choice but to take him again the following year.

He didn’t stop me from writing. I knew better than that. But he stopped me from believing that I could trust writing teachers to see past their disgust at the genre I wrote in to actually read my work or teach something of value. He was the reason I decided to go it alone, not majoring in English, avoiding MFA programs for years, just writing and submitting my work with no feedback from more experienced mentors. Avoiding teachers who might be like him has made my path a lot slower, harder, and lonelier than it needed to be.

He died this week, in his late eighties. Calculating based on his obituaries, he completely stopped writing fiction when he got tenure, thirty years before he met me, fifty years before he died. I can’t help thinking how sad that sounds. Did he secretly hate writing? Was he blocked but felt like teaching was the only way to pay the bills? Did he feel like a fraud, or just divorced from his life? Was he taking out his insecurities on his students?

I don’t really know how to feel about his death. I hope, for his sake, that he had students who liked him, who will mourn him. But the best thing I can say about him is he taught me how not to teach.

When We Talk About Abortion

(This article first appeared at

When North Carolina began debating bathroom laws last year, the issue was so new, so out of left field, that it was easy for liberals to take a step back and say, “We don’t have evidence of trans women assaulting other women in bathrooms. Most threats to women come from straight, cis-gender men. This law has nothing to do with protecting women; it’s purely a tool to harass transgender people.”

But sometimes an issue is so old, so shrouded in taboo, that we either don’t talk about it at all, or we’re so used to talking about it in certain terms that we never take that step back to ask, “Is this true? Do we know anyone who’s experienced this? What does the data say?”

This is particularly true of the battle over reproductive rights, where those who oppose abortion often couch the debate in religious terms, claiming to know what God wants without anyone checking their credentials for making that claim. They argue that any embryo or fetus, no matter how early, non-viable, or unwanted, is an innocent soul whose right to life automatically supersedes the rights of the imperfect adult woman carrying it—the mere fact that she has had sex makes her less worthy in some people’s eyes. Those who want to protect women’s right to bodily autonomy are then stuck either pointing to cases where the woman’s life is at stake, or cases where the woman or girl is an innocent victim of rape or incest. Even when they argue that abortion is sometimes necessary, they’re conceding the point that it is inherently immoral, a defiance of God’s will.

Here’s the thing, though: There is no condemnation of abortion in the New Testament, the Torah, or the Koran. In fact, Exodus 21:22-25 is pretty clear that the life of a fetus does not have the same status as the life of the mother, “When men fight, and one of them pushes a pregnant woman and a miscarriage results, but no other damage ensues, the one responsible shall be fined…But if other damage ensues, the penalty shall be life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, bruise for bruise.” (JPS Torah Commentary).

The ancient rabbis and later commentators interpreted this to mean that while a fetus has a potential for life that should be respected, it’s still only a potential; the woman’s well-being matters more. The Mishnah argues, “In the case of a woman struggling to give birth, one dissects the child in her womb and draws it out limb by limb because her life comes before the child’s life. Once the greater part of the child has emerged, we do not do so, because we don’t sacrifice one life to save another” (Mishnah Ohalot 7:6). Rashi clarifies, “As long as [the child] hasn’t emerged into the world, they are not a person, and it is permitted to kill them to save the mother. But once the head has emerged, we can’t harm [the child] because it as if they are a person, and we don’t sacrifice one life to save another” (Commentary to Sanhedrin 72b). Maimonides agrees, “…It is permitted to abort the child in her belly, either through drugs or by hand, because [the child] is like one who pursues her to kill her. But once the head emerges, we don’t do harm because we don’t sacrifice one life for another, and this is the nature of the world” (Mishneh Torah Rozeah v’Shemirat Nefesh 1:9).

While a few contemporary rabbis disagree with this reasoning, most uphold it, and the Reform Movement, the Conservative Movement, and the Reconstructionist Movement have expanded on it, ruling that if carrying a pregnancy to term will cause a woman psychological or emotional harm, she can choose to have an abortion. And all three movements have worked with the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice (alongside the Episcopal Church, the Unitarian Universalist Association, Catholics for Choice, and many others) to make it clear to lawmakers that while abortion opponents may use religious language, they do not represent all people of faith.

So what happens if pro-choice activists refuse to cede the moral high ground? What happens if we reject the terms of abortion opponents and say, “This is potential life, but it’s not yet life; let’s talk instead about the morality of denying women the basic human rights of health and safety?” Because the choice not to continue a pregnancy is about so many other choices. The choice to finish school. The choice to keep your dream job. The choice to deal with physical or mental illness by recognizing you need to put yourself first. The choice to focus on the kids you already have. The choice not to watch a child suffer and die of Tay-Sachs. The choice to leave an abusive or unfulfilling relationship. By taking away a woman’s ability to choose the course of her life, you take away what allows her to be a person.

It’s not a coincidence that many conservative Christian groups suddenly began obsessing about abortion at the height of the women’s movement when reproductive rights opened the door to real independence and freedom for women. As with the bathroom laws, this has never been about who they want to protect. It’s about who they want to control. And although reproductive justice is hardly a new issue, maybe we’re finally ready to debate it on different terms.