Historians have long recognized that disproportionately high numbers of young white southerners supported secession. Carmichael offers a compelling explanation for why this was so, without portraying his subjects as mediocre statesmen or citing the eternal impetuousness of youth.
Deftly blending cultural, social, economic, and political history, Carmichael rejects the notion that young Virginia gentlemen who came of age in the late s were immature, impassioned, and reckless. They were, he argues, idealistic and ambitious men who believed deeply in progress but worried that their elders had squandered Virginia's traditional economic and political preeminence.
Confronted with their state's apparent degeneration and their own lack of opportunity for advancement, Carmichael's young Virginians endorsed a pair of solutions that put them at odds with their conservative elders: economic diversification and, after John Brown's raid on Harpers Ferry, southern independence.
Whether this generational dynamic extended beyond Virginia remains to be seen. But other recent works, including Stephen Berry's study of young white men in the Old South and Jon Grinspan's essay on youthful Republicans during the presidential campaign, indicate that similar concerns about progress, decline, and sectional destiny haunted many young minds on the eve of the Civil War.
More work in this area is necessary, especially on how members of the new generation remembered the sectional conflict that had been raging since before they were born.
Clearly, though, the generation that ascended to national leadership during the s came of age in a very different world than had its predecessor.
Further analysis of this shift promises to link the insights of the long sectional conflict approach particularly regarding public memory with the emphasis on late s discontinuity that veins recent scholarship on sectionalism. Recent historians have challenged conventional periodization by expanding the chronological scope of the sectional conflict, even as they confirm two key moments of historical discontinuity. This work revises older interpretations of Civil War causation without overturning them.
A second trend in the literature, however, is potentially more provocative. But several recent studies have risen to the task.
Challenging the notion that the antebellum North must have been nationalistic because of its opposition to slavery and its role in the Civil War, Susan-Mary Grant argues that by the s a stereotyped view of the South and a sense of moral and economic superiority had created a powerful northern sectional identity.
Championed by the Republican party, this identity flowered into an exclusionary nationalism in which the South served as a negative reference point for the articulation of ostensibly national values, goals, and identities based on the North's flattering self-image. This sectionalism-cum-nationalism eventually corroded national ties by convincing northerners that the South represented an internal threat to the nation. Although this vision became genuinely national after the war, in the antebellum period it was sectionally specific and bitterly divisive.
Never simply the repository of authentic American values, the nineteenth-century North developed a sectional identity in opposition to an imagined though not fictitious South. Only victory in the Civil War allowed for the reconstruction of the rest of the nation in this image. If victory in the war obscured northern sectionalism, it was the defense of slavery, coupled with defeat, that has distorted our view of American nationalism in the Old South.
The United States was founded as a slaveholding nation, and there was unfortunately nothing necessarily un-American about slavery in the early nineteenth century. Slavery existed in tension with, not purely in opposition to, the nation's perennially imperfect political institutions, and its place in the young republic was a hotly contested question with a highly contingent resolution.
Moreover, despite their pretensions to being an embattled minority, southern elites long succeeded in harnessing national ideals and federal power to their own interests. Thus, defense of slavery was neither inevitably nor invariably secessionist.
This is a key theme of Robert Bonner's expertly crafted history of the rise and fall of proslavery American nationalism. Rather, it was their failure to bind slavery to American nationalism—signaled by the Republican triumph in —that finally drove slaveholders to secede. Confederate nationalism was more a response to the demise of proslavery American nationalism than the cause of its death. Other recent studies of slaveholders' efforts to nationalize their goals and interests complement Bonner's skilled analysis.
Matthew J. Karp casts proslavery politicians not as jumpy sectionalists but as confident imperialists who sponsored an ambitious and costly expansion of American naval power to protect slavery against foreign encroachment and to exert national influence overseas. Similarly, Brian Schoen has explored cotton planters' efforts to ensure that national policy on tariff rates and slavery's territorial status remained favorable to their interests.
As cotton prices boomed during the s, planters grew richer and the stakes grew higher, especially as their national political power waned with the ascension of the overtly sectional Republican party.
The simultaneous increase in planters' economic might and decline in their political dominance made for an explosive mixture that shattered the bonds of the Union. Still, one must not focus solely on cases in which proslavery nationalism was thwarted, for its successes convinced many northerners of the veracity of the slave power thesis, helping further corrode the Union. James L. Huston shows that both southern efforts to nationalize property rights in slaves and the prospect of slavery becoming a national institution—in the sense that a fully integrated national market could bring slave and free labor into competition—fueled northern sectionalism and promoted the rise of the Republican party.
Proslavery nationalism and its policy implications thus emboldened the political party whose victory in convinced proslavery southerners that their goals could not be realized within the Union. As the standard-bearers of northern and southern interests battled for national power, both sides emphasized that their respective ideologies were consistent with the nation's most cherished principles.
Recent scholarship in such varied fields as intellectual, religious, political, and literary history suggests that although often incompatible, the values and ideals of the contending sections flowed from a common source. Capitani on domestic sentimental fiction suggests that the highly politicized differences between northern and southern ideologies masked those ideologies' common intellectual roots. Some scholars have argued for more fundamental difference, maintaining that southern thinkers roundly rejected democracy and liberal capitalism, while others have gone too far in the other direction in presenting northern and southern whites as equally committed to liberalism.
But the dominant thrust of recent work on sectional ideologies suggests that they represented two hostile sides of a single coin minted at the nation's founding.
Since a coin flip cannot end in a tie, both sides struggled for control of the national government to put their incompatible ideals into practice.
The nationalization of northern ideals was a hotly contested outcome, made possible only by armed conflict. Conversely, the sectionalization of white southern ideals was not inevitable. Proponents of both sections drew on nationalism and sectionalism alike, embracing the former when they felt powerful and the latter when they felt weak. Together, recent studies of northern sectionalism and southern nationalism make a compelling case for why the Civil War broke out when it did.
If the South was always a separatist minority and if the North always defended the American way, secession might well have come long before It is more helpful to view the sectional conflict as one between equally authentic not morally equivalent strands of American nationalism grappling for the power to govern the entire country according to sectionally specific values.
Southern slaveholders ruled what was in many ways the weaker section, but constitutional privileges such as the infamous three-fifths clause, along with other advantageous provisions such as the rule requiring a two-thirds majority in the nominations of Democratic presidential candidates, allowed them to remain dominant prior to , until their successes aroused a sense of northern sectionalism robust enough to lift the Republican party into power.
Almost overnight, the proslavery nationalist project collapsed. Only then did decisive numbers of southern whites countenance disunion, a drastic measure whose use had long been resisted within the South.
The Civil War erupted when northern sectionalism grew powerful enough to undermine southern nationalism. In the model of Civil War causation sketched above, northern voters who joined the Republicans fretted over the fate of liberty in a slaveholding republic. But whose liberty was at stake? Recent scholarship powerfully demonstrates that for moderate opponents of slavery the most damnable aspect of the institution was not what it did to slaves but what it allowed slaveholders to do to northern whites.
Popular antislavery grew from trepidation about the power of the slaveholding class and its threat to republican liberty, not from uproar against proslavery racism and racial oppression. And since this concern fueled the Republican party's rapid growth and presidential triumph, white northerners' indignant response to slaveholders' clout contributed significantly to the coming of the war by providing secessionists with a pretext for disunion.
If the fate of the enslaved did not preoccupy most northern whites, the same cannot be said of their southern counterparts, whose politics are intelligible only in the context of slave resistance.
In sum, recent work confirms the centrality of slavery in the coming of the war in a very specific and nuanced way, showing that the actions and contested status of enslaved people influenced southern politics directly and northern politics more obliquely. This work reveals an asymmetry in the politics of slavery: in the South it revolved around maintaining control over slaves in the name of white supremacy and planters' interests, while in the North it centered on the problem of the slaveholding class.
While some abolitionists were indignant at the slave system and what it did to black men, many more northerners became antisouthern and antislavery because of what the slave system did or threatened to do to them. A failure to recognize this can easily lead us into a blind alley of oversimplification, and to view the events of a hundred years ago as a morality play with heroes and villains rather than a plausible presentation of a human dilemma.
Many twenty-first century scholars have taken this point to heart while implicitly challenging Gara's stark contrast between moral and self-interested antislavery. Slavery could be condemned on moral grounds for a wide variety of reasons, some of which had much to do with enslaved people and some of which—whether they stressed the degeneracy of southern society, the undemocratic influence of slaveholders' political clout, or the threat that proslavery zealots posed to civil liberties—did not.
Popular antislavery strove to protect democratic politics from the machinations of a legally privileged and economically potent ruling class. Slaveholders' inordinate political power was itself a moral problem. These findings may prompt historians to reconsider the relative emphasis placed on class and race in the origins and meanings of the Civil War, particularly regarding the political behavior of the nonabolitionist northern majority.
Numerous recent studies emphasize that perceived threats to white freedom pushed northerners to oppose the slave power, support the Republican party, and prosecute the Civil War on behalf of liberty and the Union. Nicole Etcheson's study of the violent struggle between proslavery and antislavery forces over Kansas during the mids contends that the key issue at stake was freedom for white settlers.
As the antislavery position edged closer to the mainstream of northern politics, critiques of slavery grounded in sympathy for enslaved people faded as less philanthropic assaults on the institution proliferated. Even histories of fugitive slave cases underscore the preeminence of white liberty as the activating concern for many northerners. As the historian Earl M. Maltz has pointed out, the fugitive slave issue was never isolated from other political controversies. Thanks to the Kansas-Nebraska Act, which seemed to prove the existence of a southern plot to spread slavery onto previously free western soil, fugitive slave cases during and after aroused increased hostility among white northerners who suspected that slaveholders threatened the liberties of all Americans.
Those fears intensified throughout the s in response to cases in which free northerners stood trial for violation of the Fugitive Slave Act. In two of the three cases explored by Steven Lubet the defendants were not runaway slaves but predominantly white northerners accused of abetting fugitives from slavery. The Fugitive Slave Act's criminalization of noncompliance with slave catchers proved especially odious. Two recent studies of the Joshua Glover case reinforce this point. Formerly a slave in St.
Louis, Glover escaped to Wisconsin and, with the help of sympathetic white residents, from there to Canada in But the dramatic confrontation between free-state citizens and the slaveholder-dominated federal government only began with Glover's successful flight, since the political reverberations of the case echoed for many years after Glover reached Canadian soil.
Debates over the rights and duties of citizens, over the boundaries of state and federal sovereignty, and over the constitutionality of the Fugitive Slave Act hinged on the prosecution of the primarily white Wisconsinites who aided Glover's escape. None gained more notoriety than Sherman Booth, the Milwaukee newspaper editor whose case bounced between state and federal courts from to , and whose attorney, Byron Paine, capitalized on his own resulting popularity to win a seat on the Wisconsin Supreme Court.
Long after attention left Glover, who was undoubtedly relieved to be out of the public eye, conflicts over northern state rights and individual rights highlighted the threat to white liberty posed by the slave power and its federal agents. Of course, the white northerners prosecuted under proslavery law would have remained in obscurity if not for the daring escapes made by enslaved people.
As Stanley Harrold has shown, runaway slaves sparked dozens of bloody skirmishes in the antebellum borderland between slavery and freedom. To stress the importance of conflicts over white liberty in the coming of the Civil War is not to ignore the political impact of slave resistance. Quite the reverse: recent studies of Civil War causation have deftly explored the relationship between slave agency and sectional antagonism, revealing that slave resistance provoked conflict between whites, even in situations where racial justice was not the main point of contention.
Northern sectionalism was a reaction against proslavery belligerence, which was fueled by internal conflicts in the South. Narratives of Civil War causation that focus on white northerners' fears for their liberties depend on slave agency, for the aggressiveness of the slave power was, essentially, a response to the power of slaves.
Revealingly, recent works by John Ashworth and William W. Freehling both stress this theme. Both scholars published long-awaited second volumes of their accounts of Civil War causation in Beyond this coincidence, however, it would be difficult to find two historians more dissimilar than Ashworth, a Marxist who privileges labor systems and class relations, and Freehling, a master storyteller who stresses contingency and individual consciousness.
For all their methodological and ideological differences, however, Ashworth and Freehling concur on an essential point: the struggle between masters and slaves accelerated the sectional conflict by forcing masters to support undemocratic policies that threatened northern liberties. The resulting hostility of northerners toward slaveholders provoked a fierce response, and the cycle continued.
According to Ashworth, class conflict forced ruling elites in both sections to pursue clashing political and economic policies. Thus, structural divergence in social and economic systems between North and South inflamed the political and ideological strife that resulted in disunion. Class conflict was especially problematic in the South, whose enslaved population did not accept proslavery principles in the same way that, by the s, some northern workers embraced free-labor ideology.
Instead, interminable slave resistance compelled southern masters to gag congressional debate over slavery, to demand stringent fugitive slave laws, and to agitate for a territorial slave code—in short, to act the part of an authoritarian slave power. By contending for their freedom, slaves obliged their masters to behave in ways that convinced even the most bigoted northern whites that slavery menaced their own liberties.
Freehling tells a similar tale in his own inimitable idiom. At the outset of the second volume of The Road to Disunion, he points to the underlying tension between slavery and democracy in antebellum America, referring to the Old South's colliding democratic and despotic governing systems. The Old South combined dictatorship over blacks with republicanism for whites, supposedly cleanly severed by an All-Mighty Color Line. But to preserve dictatorial dominion over blacks, the slaveholding minority sometimes trenched on majoritarian government for whites, in the nation as well as in their section.
Most Yankees hardly embraced blacks or abolitionists. Yet racist Northerners would fight the Slave Power to the death to preserve their white men's majoritarian rights. Scholars who foreground northern concern for white liberty in a slaveholding republic underline the importance of class conflict between northern voters and southern elites in the coming of the Civil War.
Moderate antislavery northerners condemned slaveholders for aristocratic pretensions and tyrannical policies, not for racial bigotry. But for many scholars, race remains the key to understanding antebellum sectional politics. The tendency remains strong to frame the sectional conflict and the Civil War as one campaign in a longer struggle for racial justice. Not surprisingly, studies of radical abolitionism are the most likely works to employ this framework.
Radical abolitionists nurtured a strikingly egalitarian conception of race and fought for a social vision that most scholars share but one that the modern world has not yet realized, and therein lies their appeal. Since the s, commitment to an admirable antiracist ideal, not wishful thinking, has given a powerful boost to a primarily racial interpretation of the sectional conflict. But the recent scholarly emphasis on issues of class and the slave power suggests that framing the sectional conflict as a clash over racial injustice is not the most useful approach to understanding Civil War causation.
The slave power was defined not by racism but by slaveholders' capacity to use federal law and muscle to advance their class interests. Proslavery racism was, like all racism, reprehensible, but it is easily, even when subtly, overstated in accounts of Civil War causation. Hammond's highly public articulation of this theory outraged proponents of free labor and made him a particularly notorious proslavery propagandist. Moreover, Hammond's comparison of the northern and southern working classes suggests a curious ambiguity in the relative importance of class and race in proslavery ideology.
This subject demands further scholarly attention, but important advances have recently been made. Genovese have indicated that the irascible George Fitzhugh, who proclaimed that working people of all colors would be better off as slaves, was not alone in developing a defense of slavery compatible with racism but ultimately based on class relations.
On the other hand, slaveholders, at least as much as any other antebellum Americans, benefited from portraying slavery as a fundamentally racial issue. As Frank Towers has shown, planters feared the day when nonslaveholding southern whites might begin to think in terms of class and shuddered at the prospect of working-class politics in southern cities.
That one of the most strident articulations of the race-based proslavery argument—which promised that the subjugation of blacks made equals of all white men—appeared in was no coincidence, as southern elites sought to ensure regional white unity on the eve of a possible revolution.
In pursuit of their interests, southern ideologues drew on both class- and race-based arguments, and if the latter stand out to modern readers, the former did more to alienate individuals in the free states. Slaveholders' conflict with northern voters, the collision that triggered secession and war, grew not out of clashing racial views but out of competition for political power.
The most broadly appealing brands of antislavery defined this competition as one between classes. Proponents of popular antislavery presented sectional issues in terms of class more often than race, and with tremendous effect. Their interpretation of sectional friction generated mass sympathy for a cause that otherwise would have remained a fringe movement. This moderate antislavery ideology is easily discounted if we attribute genuine antislavery sentiments only to those few northerners uncontaminated by racism.
It grew from many sources: Jacksonian antipathy to concentrated economic and political power; an often-radical producerism that would guarantee to the worker the fruits of his labor; a demand for land reform that would reserve western soil for white farmers; and a morally charged concern about the fate of democracy in a nation dominated by slaveholders.
Class-based Jacksonian radicalism thus informed the ideology of the Free Soil party and, crucially, the Republicans. Antislavery politicians such as New Hampshire's John P.
It was this contest that aroused a northern majority to vote Lincoln into office and to enlist in the Union army. The issues of money, power, class, and democracy that concerned Jacksonian and other moderate antislavery northerners were not less morally charged because they focused on white liberty and equality in a republic.
Nor should we forget that this class-based antislavery critique contained the seeds of a racial egalitarianism that sprouted, however feebly, during the Civil War. The experience of war often turned whites-only egalitarianism into a far more sweeping notion of human equality. To ignore this transformation is to discount the radicalizing influence that the Civil War had on many northern soldiers and civilians. When coupled with an analysis of southern politics that emphasizes slave agency, this revival of scholarly interest in popular antislavery ideology offers not only a convincing interpretation of Civil War causation but also a politically and pedagogically important narrative about class and politics in American history.
Adam Rothman's essay on the slave power is a model of this fresh and constructive approach. On one level, he presents an accessible introduction to the history and historiography of nineteenth-century slaveholders. But the chief contribution of the work lies in the context in which the essay was published: an anthology on American elite classes, from early national merchant capitalists to postwar anti—New Dealers, and their relationship with American democracy.
Casting the slave power in this light gives the sectional conflict a bold new meaning, one that reveals the Civil War to have been both much more than and much less than a precursor to the civil rights movement.
To the extent that government is measured by its choice of important problems to be solved, the federal government clearly aimed high. Asked to rate the importance of the problem to be solved by each goal, respondents gave the 50 endeavors an average rating of 3. Eighty-nine percent of the respondents rated voting rights as a very important problem, followed by rebuilding Europe after World War II at 80 percent, improving access to health care for low-income Americans at 78 percent, and ending workplace discrimination, promoting equal access to public accommodations, and increasing arms control and nuclear disarmament all at 78 percent.
To the extent that government is also measured by its willingness to tackle difficult problems, the federal government most certainly picked its share of tough issues. Asked to rate the difficulty of the problem to be solved by each goal, respondents gave the 50 endeavors an average rating of 2. Sixty-six percent of the respondents rated advancing human rights and humanitarian relief as a very difficult problem, followed by arms control and disarmament at 65 percent, reducing workplace discrimination at 53 percent, renewing impoverished communities at 52 percent, and containing communism at 50 percent.
Finally, to the extent that government is measured by its ability to achieve its goals, the federal government earned mostly favorable marks. All endeavors were not so highly rated, however. The respondents were mostly underwhelmed, for example, by the importance of reforming taxes 17 percent rated it as a very important problem , exploring space 16 percent , controlling immigration 15 percent , increasing market competition through government deregulation 13 percent , and devolving responsibilities to the states 8 percent.
The poor ratings for reforming taxes, market competition, and devolution reflected a mix of ideology and consensus. Combined to increase the number of responses and, therefore, the surety of the comparison, conservatives and moderates were more than ten times more likely than liberals to rate devolving responsibility to the states as a very important problem 21 to 2 percent , while Republicans were more than five times more likely than Democrats to list reforming taxes as an important concern 57 percent to 11 percent.
Beyond these disagreements, however, there is also a fair amount of agreement that many of the problems at the bottom of the list just did not meet the minimum threshold demanded for federal action. Unlike the ratings of importance, there is virtually no difference by ideology or political party in the difficulty ratings. Respondents appear to agree that solving certain problems is relatively easy, particularly when the major challenge is simply investing more money in veterans benefits, highway construction, or home loans.
The respondents gave the federal government extremely low ratings on the successfulness of expanding job training and placement only 2 percent said the federal government had been very successful , improving mass transportation 1 percent , advancing human rights 1 percent , improving government performance 1 percent , renewing poor communities less than 1 percent , and increasing the supply of low income housing zero percent.
At these levels, there is no room for meaningful statistical differences between any groups of respondents. Simply put, government failed. The consensus was most pronounced on the ratings of difficulty. The disagreements were much more pronounced on the ratings of importance and success, where both gender and political attitudes produced statistically significant differences. Men rated rebuilding Europe as a more important problem than women did and saw expanding the right to vote, promoting equal access to public accommodations, containing communism, and reducing the budget deficit as more successful endeavors.
Conversely, women saw expanding the right to vote, improving air quality, reducing hunger, and reducing exposure to toxic waste as more important problems than men, but viewed all four as less successful. Liberals and Democrats rated expanding voting rights, increasing access to health care for low-income Americans, and reducing workplace discrimination as more important problems than conservatives and Republicans, and reducing the budget deficit as a more successful endeavor.
Conversely, conservatives and Republicans rated expanding trade and controlling immigration as more important problems than liberals and Democrats, and ensuring safe food and drinking water, enhancing workplace safety, protecting the wilderness, reducing hunger and nutrition, and improving air quality as more successful endeavors. These disagreements pale in comparison to the enormous consensus regarding the relative placement of the endeavors at the top and bottom of each list. Conservatives might have moved devolution up a few levels from the bottom on the list of importance, difficulty, and success, but not into the top ten; liberals might have moved containing communism somewhat further down the respective ratings, but not to the bottom.
As such, the ratings generally put the lie to the notion that the federal government creates more problems than its solves. To the contrary, the ratings clearly suggest that the federal government is fully capable of tackling important, tough problems, and succeeding.
Achievement is the kind of word that provokes an assortment of potential definitions. Some might argue that success alone defines achievement, even if that success involves unimportant problems. Others might suggest that success is trivial unless it occurs on important problems, even if those problems are easy to solve.
Still others might maintain that achievement is a word best reserved for success on important, difficult problems that the private and nonprofit sectors simply cannot solve on their own. The term becomes even more difficult to define when it is linked to government. Some would argue that government should only engage in endeavors that show the promise of impact, others that government should reserve its energies only for important goals, and still others that government should concentrate its effort on important, difficult problems that no other sector can tackle.
To that end, government achievement is defined as six parts success, three parts importance, and one part difficulty, with the final score a sum of the weighted ratings on each of the 50 endeavors. Promote Financial Security in Retirement. Twenty-one statutes comprise the effort to reduce poverty among the elderly through expanded benefits, pension protection, and individual savings, including 12 increases in Social Security benefits and two broad rescue attempts: the amendments to the Social Security Act that created the Supplemental Security Income program, and the Employment Retirement Income Security Act ERISA.
Reduce the Federal Budget Deficit. Launched in the mid s as budget deficits swelled, this is the most recent endeavor on the top ten list. Medicare is the flagship of this highly concentrated, three-statute endeavor, which also includes the relatively small-scale Kerr-Mills precursor to Medicare and the short-lived Medicare Catastrophic Coverage Act of As such, this is the only endeavor on the top ten list that involved a single breakthrough statute.
Eight statutes underpin the ongoing federal effort to augment the national highway system, most notably the Interstate Highway Act. Ensure Safe Food and Drinking Water. Reduce Workplace Discrimination. Seven statutes anchor this effort to prohibit workplace discrimination based on race, color, religion, gender, national origin, age, or disability, most notably the Civil Rights Act of , the Age Discrimination Act of , and the Americans with Disabilities Act of The endeavor is a classic example of how an initial breakthrough statute such as the Civil Rights Act can provide a wedge for further expansion over time.
Reduce Disease. The Polio Vaccination Act of is the starting point for the most eclectic group of statutes on the top ten list. Alongside vaccination assistance, the effort to reduce disease also includes targeted research on heart disease, cancer, and stroke, bans on smoking, strengthening the National Institutes of Health, and lead-based poison prevention.
Despite this dispersion, the endeavor reflects a clear commitment to reducing disease, whether through specific interventions or broad research investments.
Promote Equal Access to Public Accommodations. Featured Content. Note Criminal Law Vol. This Note argues that reform must come from re-envisioning the manner in which the parole process is administered and by applying a truly individualized approach. Article Constitutional Law Vol. The harm principle allows government to limit liberties as necessary to prevent harm. Does the freedom of speech present an exception to the harm principle?
Most American scholars say yes. It is common practice to proclaim proudly that the U. Constitution protects speech even when it causes harm. But two tenets of the author of the harm principle himself suggest that, today, this answer may be too glib.
For John Stuart Mill, the enhanced protection of speech is only a means to protect thought, and moreover, opinions lose their immunity if they cross over from thought into action. Together, these two points invite us to consider the possibility that the special protection we have come to afford, even to a newly broadened range of speech that goes well beyond thought, may be misplaced.
There are cases, I will argue, in which we should be slow to assume that society is necessarily without power to protect itself from harm that expression may cause.
Postscript Environmental Law Vol. This Article articulates the downsides to treating climate change as a national security issue and demonstrates how the U.
0コメント