CDC Declares Emergency for Epidemic of TDD – All Known Treatments Ineffective

“Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.”—Aldous Huxley

Experts at the CDC are very concerned about the outbreak of Telepathy Delusion Disorder (TDD) across the nation.  Those affected by TDD believe they can perceive what others think, believe, and intend without asking them.  CDC noted small numbers of TDD victims prior to 2008, but the disorder has spread exponentially in recent years.

Efforts to stem the epidemic have been futile.  Those afflicted show 100% resistance/non-compliance when offered treatment.

TDD can affect:

  • Perception – Distrust, misinterpretation, ascribed motives, inferred intentions, ability to read the thoughts of others.
  • Thinking – miscomprehension, non-fact reasoning, conflation of concepts, objectifying others, certainty that their beliefs and opinions are facts
  • Language – Word choices, profanity, accusations, name-calling, generalizations, labeling, expression, and understanding
  • Emotion –  Angry attitude, personality changes, aggression, acting out, arrogance, and social inappropriateness
  • Judgement – Loss of logical function, rash conclusions, spontaneous attacks

Those with TDD can seem completely normal until the disorder is triggered by others, or events that disagree with their delusion.  Once triggered, no amount of information can dispel their beliefs.  They may vigorously proclaim and defend the world as they see it, despite facts to the contrary.  Because of this, they tend to congregate and socialize with others who share the same disorder.

What TDDs have in common is that they believe:

  • All the non-afflicted agree with them.
  • Their opinions and beliefs are absolute truth.
  • They can read minds
  • They objectify opponents
  • They can detect the intentions of large amorphous groups
  • They know what is best and the best ways to do it
  • They must thwart those with opposing ideas
  • They must be extreme in word and deed

Two opposite and intolerant variants of the disorder have arisen, based on core beliefs:  TDD-L(eft) and TDD-R(ight).  They attack, and reinforce each other; they intentionally try to infect others.

The CDC offers these suggestions to avoid being infected and to treat those afflicted who are willing.

  • Practice separating provable facts from opinions, beliefs, and assertions.
  • Practice asking what people they think, rather than “mind-reading.”
  • Avoid willful ignorance of facts that conflict with your beliefs
  • Investigate your important beliefs to better define and shape them.
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Available Care Act – Beyond “Coverage”

Much talk about insuring people for healthcare needs.  The giant bedpan in the room is availability.  What good is having Medicare, Medicaid, exchange plans, if you cannot find a doctor for hundreds of miles who will accept your provider’s coverage?  Just look.

The pundits talk about providing millions of people “access” to healthcare; however, they cannot explain why many of the “covered” still do what they did when they had no insurance, go the emergency room of the public hospital known to be the one that cannot turn them down.

Health insurers specify what they will cover and what the insured must pay, in terms of dollars and percentages.  What they do not spell out, is the amounts they are willing to pay the doctors and hospitals for various treatments.  The doctors and hospitals that are willing to accept the insurer’s terms are added to a “network.”  If the insured uses these doctors and hospitals, “in network,” the patient pays less; “out-of-network” providers, the insured pays much more.

Medicare, and the related private insurance plans are shunned by many healthcare providers because of the intense complexity of coding rules, poorer reimbursement rates, and 6-month slow-pay of claims.  I cannot blame them for wanting the easiest, most profitable patients, but look at what that does to retirees:  it shoves them into the offices of the newest, least experienced doctors, who do not have privileges at the best hospitals.

Another specious barrier doctors erect is “not accepting new patients.”  If that is true, why do they prominently promote their doctors, facilities, and services?  Why do they list the insurance plans they accept, on fancy websites?  What do they do when patients get well, move, change, outgrow their need, or die?  Who takes their places?  Are there waiting lists?  This policy seems wildly inconsistent, and dubious to me.

Today’s labyrinth of laws, maze of insurance coverages, intricacies of medical practice, incorporation of hospitals, vast array of medical devices, tests, and procedures, and incomprehensible myriads of drugs and medicines, are the starting point of future choices.  The concept of choosing your doctors, clinics, and hospitals still appeals to me.  If all health insurance policies must meet some minimum standards of coverage, why should health providers exclude any of them?

We have a historic opportunity to put features into the fabric of healthcare; the federal government has more incentives and flexibility to “get it right” as they formulate new laws.  Why not pass a new law called “The Available Care Act?”  If you accept anything except cash for medical services or goods, you accept the coverage of any patient who walks in your door.

 

Public Broadcasting Unable to Balance Reporting on Campaign 2016

I am sad and embarrassed that I have defended PBS ala KERA for years against politically conservative and independent friends’ accusations of blatant bias to the left.  I tried to support the balance of individual programs, like Diane Rehm, and the “broadening” value of clearly unbalanced programs like Texas Standard, The Takeaway, and Latino USA.  But I have been undermined by the clear favoritism displayed for Hillary Clinton.

If I had not watched start-to-finish PBS coverage of both national conventions, and listened to subsequent commentary on TV and radio, I might have continued this defense.  Alas, after this experience, I surrender to the right-wing and independent critics.

Did anyone else notice the obviously terrible sound engineering during the Republican National Convention?  Constant drowning out of the commentators by the convention floor noise was, if not intentional, amateurish.  Again and again, the words of the cast were obliterated by background sounds.

Not so during the refined, carefully orchestrated coverage of the Democratic National Convention.  In fact, a transparent barrier appeared behind the broadcasting commentating crew, which, seemed to dampen the convention floor noise and allowed viewers to clearly hear every favorable word spoken.

This morning, I heard Cokie Roberts suggest the best strategy Hillary Clinton should use to counter Donald Trump, i.e. (as closely as I can remember,) “she should not waste her money on TV ads, that seem not to have any effect, but on get-out-the-vote efforts.”

It is no secret that Cokie Roberts is not acting as a neutral journalist, but as an undisguised supporter of Hillary Clinton.  I did not hear that clarification before, during, or after the segment described as the news.

I feel betrayed.  I have my own political ideas, and try mightily to encourage balance and civility in the discourse between partisans’ increasingly divisive rants.  I discourage both ends of the political spectrum from ad hominem attacks and political “racism” (e.g. “conservatives are all idiots.”)  Yet, here I am, overwhelmed by the evidence of bias.

I can no longer underline the “public” in Public Broadcasting System.

 

 

Hillary Clinton Showed More Awareness of Her Speaking Voice

During Hillary Clinton’s acceptance speech, I liked the improvements in her speaking voice.  I shake my head when I read that her supporters lecture us to be more politically correct; you cannot order us to, “stop not liking her delivery, you men do the same thing and get accepted.”  Listeners cannot escape their visceral responses.  I say, “Stop telling us how we should respond.”

Our culture has conditioned us to hear and respond to voices since we were babies.  We did not choose our responses; we grew them based on the events that accompanied the speaking.  We are sensitive to tones, overtones, undertones, volume, brittleness, rhythm, pace, inflections in both high-pitched and low-pitched voices.  We have all been soothed and yelled at by both men and women.  We know it when we hear it. Watch how babies respond to voices; that is our nature.

Before microphones, people speaking to large groups or singing had to amplify their voices, a kind of practiced yelling.  Preachers in churches, actors on stages, singers of opera, and teachers in classrooms had to speak/sing loudly to be heard.

The advent of microphones made this unnecessary. Radio and television stations discovered which kinds of speaking voices are soothing, grating, jarring, preaching, threatening, etc.  They just do not hire people who do not speak successfully to their audiences.

No amount of chiding, “people should not let shrill voices bother them, they should just hear the message,” will change our automatic responses.  The speaker must accommodate the listener, not the other way around.  That is what voice coaches do.

What I noticed, during Hillary’s speech, was how many times she caught herself when she started to elevate her voice for emphasis, and lowered it into a more powerful, conversational range.  There is no need for yelling with today’s microphones.

The finest example at the convention was Michelle Obama’s amazing speech.  Replay it to experience the smoothest, clearest, most comfortable, conversational speaking I have ever heard.  She made it easy to hear her very strong points without yelling, grating, or preaching.

So, let the critics of the voice critics relent; no one will take you seriously; no one will cheer if their ears are not happy.

12 Signs of Attitude – How Others Assess Your Behavior

Are you being respectful or disrespectful?  Other people, including authorities, are very sensitive to signs of possible danger.  A disrespectful person puts anyone on edge, especially the police.  A respectful attitude goes a long way to put everyone at ease, especially the police.

Older generations consistently trained their children how to show respect, be polite, be considerate, and follow the unspoken rules of being civil; they also led by example to demonstrate the good results a person can get by being mannerly and pleasant.  Much of the training was interrupting disrespectful behavior. (e.g. Stop strangling your sister!)

Today, I see less respect and consideration everywhere I go.  Traffic is the most common example; people just leave their shopping carts in the middle of the aisle; people text while eating dinner; people take their children with them shopping but do not control their actions or screaming.

There is little social cost for these egocentric practices; but there can be serious, even deadly consequences for being disrespectful and belligerent with the police.  I believe that developing “manners” is valuable, and possibly life-saving.

Here is a table of behaviors that communicate respect and disrespect.

How do you appear to others?  What practices could you and your family adopt to convey more respect, and improve safety in police encounters?

 

Respectful

Disrespectful

1

Calm/Relaxed

Tense/Agitated

2

Pleasant

Unpleasant

3

Watch/Listen

Interrupt/Ignore

4

Polite

Critical

5

Speak Normally

Raise Your Voice

6

Considerate Inconsiderate
7 Ask Peaceful, Clarifying Questions

Complain/Accuse

8 Answer Questions & Requests Clearly

Criticize/Berate/Refuse

9 Positive Facial Expression

Angry Facial Expression

10 Stand /Sit Still

Pace/Walk Away/Wriggle

11 Peaceful Hand & Body Gestures

Wild, Angry Gestures

12  “Sir,” “Ma’am,” “Officer”

Expletives & Epithets

“Equality” – An Evil Definition

What qualities are we trying to “E?”  Who decides “equal?”  How does anyone improve the qualities of another person?

When a political party adds a word to their platform, shouldn’t they define it?  Does anyone believe our human race was advanced and improved by denying the qualities that surpassed “normal” or “average?”

I cannot seem to find anyone anywhere who can or will say exactly what they mean by “equal,” or how “equality” will be achieved.

If fostering equality means reducing those who excel by taxation or regulation, what will that accomplish for the “unequals?”

What politicians are ready to point at individual citizens and say, “You are unequal, you are above equal, you are exactly equal.”?

Am I supposed to be so ignorant that I do not interpret this criminalization of success as a naked call for federal government stripping resources from those with money to finance distributions of resources to those who are “below equal.”?  Do I want to live in a communist society where everything is artificial, and nothing works?  No.

Millions of people have risked life and limb to get to the place where they are unencumbered by lack of opportunity – the USA.  They are here to improve their chances for a better life for themselves and their children.  They see that here they have a chance that their efforts will pay off.  Do they require a perfect environment?  Do they insist that the government remove the obstacles to their accomplishments?  No.

Oh, and by the way, where is the campaign for GLOBAL equality?  (Silence)  Hmmm, so giving up what we have that exceeds what other people have in other parts of the world is different.  Hypocritical at best.

Kurt Vonnegut was prescient in a short story he wrote in 1961, (just as George Orwell was in 1944 when he published “Animal Farm.”)

Read what he wrote.

 <HARRISON BERGERON by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr  1961

THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal.  They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way.  Nobody was smarter than anybody else.  Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else.  All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though.  April for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime.  And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.

It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts.  And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear.  He was required by law to wear it at all times.  It was tuned to a government transmitter.  Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.

George and Hazel were watching television.  There were tears on Hazel’s cheeks, but she’d forgotten for the moment what they were about.

On the television screen were ballerinas.

A buzzer sounded in George’s head.  His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm.

“That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,” said Hazel.

“Huh” said George.

“That dance-it was nice,” said Hazel.

“Yup,” said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren’t really very good-no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn’t be handicapped. But he didn’t get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.

George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.

Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself, she had to ask George what the latest sound had been.

“Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer,” said George.

“I’d think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds,” said Hazel a little envious.

“All the things they think up.”  “Um,” said George.

“Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?” said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers.

“If I was Diana Moon Glampers,” said Hazel, “I’d have chimes on Sunday-just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion.”

“I could think, if it was just chimes,” said George.

“Well-maybe make ’em real loud,” said Hazel. “I think I’d make a good Handicapper General.”

“Good as anybody else,” said George.

“Who knows better than I do what normal is?” said Hazel.

“Right,” said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.

“Boy!” said Hazel, “that was a doozy, wasn’t it?”

It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling, and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples.

“All of a sudden you look so tired,” said Hazel. “Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa, so’s you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch.” She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, which was padlocked around George’s neck.

“Go on and rest the bag for a little while,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re not equal to me for a while.”

George weighed the bag with his hands. “I don’t mind it,” he said. “I don’t notice it any more. It’s just a part of me.”

“You been so tired lately-kind of wore out,” said Hazel. “If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few.”

“Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out,” said George. “I don’t call that a bargain.”

“If you could just take a few out when you came home from work,” said Hazel. “I mean-you don’t compete with anybody around here. You just set around.”

“If I tried to get away with it,” said George, ” then other people’d get away with it-and pretty soon we’d be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

“I’d hate it,” said Hazel.

“There you are,” said George. The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?”  If Hazel hadn’t been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn’t have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head.

“Reckon it’d fall all apart,” said Hazel.

“What would?” said George blankly.

“Society,” said Hazel uncertainly. “Wasn’t that what you just said?

“Who knows?” said George.

The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn’t clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, “Ladies and Gentlemen.”

He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.

“That’s all right-” Hazel said of the announcer, “he tried. That’s the big thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred pound men.

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody.

“Excuse me-” she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.

“Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen,” she said in a grackle squawk, “has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.”

A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen-upside down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.

The rest of Harrison’s appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever born heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H-G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.  And to offset his good looks, the H-G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle-tooth random.

“If you see this boy,” said the ballerina, “do not – I repeat, do not – try to reason with him.”

There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.

Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake. George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have – for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune.

“My God-” said George, “that must be Harrison!”  The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head. When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing Harrison filled the screen.

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood – in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.

“I am the Emperor!” cried Harrison. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!” He stamped his foot and the studio shook.

“Even as I stand here” he bellowed, “crippled, hobbled, sickened – I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!”

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds.

Harrison’s scrap-iron handicaps crashed to the floor.

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.

He flung away his rubber-ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.

“I shall now select my Empress!” he said, looking down on the cowering people.

“Let the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!”

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all he removed her mask.  She was blindingly beautiful.

“Now-” said Harrison, taking her hand, “shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!” he commanded.

The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too.

“Play your best,” he told them, “and I’ll make you barons and dukes and earls.”

The music began. It was normal at first-cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs.

The music began again and was much improved.

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while-listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.

They shifted their weights to their toes.

Harrison placed his big hands on the girl’s tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers.

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well. They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.

They leaped like deer on the moon.

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it.

It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling. They kissed it.

And then, neutraling gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.

It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor.

Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.

It was then that the Bergerons’ television tube burned out.

Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George. But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.

George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again.

“You been crying” he said to Hazel.

“Yup,” she said.  “What about?” he said.

“I forget,” she said. “Something real sad on television.”

“What was it?” he said.

“It’s all kind of mixed up in my mind,” said Hazel.

“Forget sad things,” said George.

“I always do,” said Hazel.

“That’s my girl,” said George. He winced. There was the sound of a riveting gun in his head.

“Gee – I could tell that one was a doozy,” said Hazel.

“You can say that again,” said George.

“Gee-” said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy.”>

 

“Harrison Bergeron” is copyrighted by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., 1961.

Tricked Again & Again

Every time we think we have learned all the tricks politicians can use to magically “fix” problems with more government, we fall for another trick, or the same trick wearing a disguise.

If you pay good money to gain admission to a magic show, you purposely pay for illusions; you insist on being amazed by apparent suspension of the laws of nature; you yearn for certain universal truths to be suspended.  But then, you leave the tent, make your way home, and find that physics and gravity persist.  Listen to the pitch:

“Well step right up folks, a little closer there, sir, make room for the lovely lady behind you.  The show is about to begin.  You will be amazed at the wonders you will witness just inside this door.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, inside this tent, and this tent only, can you see the future manifest right before your eyes.”

 “Are you mad about your lower-paying jobs, over-the-top costs of education, or the hard-to-notice economic recovery?  Are increasingly unaffordable health insurance premiums getting you down, while your out-of-pocket medical costs are skyrocketing?  Then this is the show for you.  Relax, come on in; see and enjoy the amazing magical solutions to these and many other problems; witness and wonder at the incredible, the one, the only Mystical Mogov Mandate.”

 “And how much will it cost to witness these miracles? A hundred dollars?  A thousand dollars?  No, tonight, because you have taken your valuable time to be here, this event is 100% free.  That’s right, not even one penny will leave your pocket.  In fact, many of our patrons report that they actually leave our tent and are shocked to find more money in their pockets, just for accepting our ticket.”

“This year we have completely revamped every amazing feat of magic.  You will be astounded at how different the same act can look if you just believe it will work this time.”

“I know some of you may have attended our shows in years past.  But that was so long ago, it does not matter.  After all, we need to live in the here and now, and not dwell on ancient memories.”

 “Oh, and to ensure your safety, we do ask you to please leave your guns at the door.  After the show, it will be clear that you don’t need them anyway.” 

 I get uncomfortable when politicians insist we need to “hold the course” that has not worked, while they fix the problems caused by the “course” we held.

It is clearer and clearer to me why Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump have risen to smite the “Pharisees” of both political sects:  Americans are exhausted by a river of blatant lies.

We are fed up with smiles that promise relief, but portend more pain.  We cheered and voted for “you can keep your doctor” now we are sobbing at no choice of doctors, higher premium and out of pocket costs, and insurance companies denying treatment for much needed treatments.

We are livid at fairy tales that we can borrow a king’s ransom to redeem our children from poverty through college; then we find them still living in our basement, working part-time, no future jobs.  We are incensed at proclamations of higher employment when our diets grow meager, and our prospects grow dimmer.

The old guard’s patrician grasp for power may well be their undoing.  Their elite pretense of empathy may lead the plebeians to throw off the chains of their indentures.  The power mongers’ smugness, avarice, and sense of entitlement can breach the comity of our unique American social contract.  America’s promises to promote equity of opportunity, and its commitment to liberty have been a bold experiment.  Our failure to honor these promises could show the rest of the world that there is no foundation of truth beneath our declaration of “unalienable rights” and “pursuit of happiness.”