The controversy reveals that we wrongly assume, with dangerous implications for public health, that women who get breast implants must be rich.
A Venezuelan woman sits next to the two PIP breast implants that she had removed. The yellow implant at left, made by Poly Implant Prothese, had broken. / AP
the past few months, the leak-prone breast
implants of French company Poly Implant Prothese has turned into an international furor. At issue
is the company's use of non-medical-grade silicone, which has an
increased risk of rupture. The gel inside the implant, once released,
can inflame the surrounding tissue. Though there's limited evidence for this, fears
persist about the irritation leading to an increased risk for
cancer. The scope of the potential impact is tremendous. As of last
week, the estimate cited by
the BBC was that "up to 400,000 women in 65 countries are believed to
have been given implants" from the company. PIP founder Jean-Claude Mas is now facing
charges of involuntary injury, while policy professionals, journalists,
and the public are asking how the implants could have made it past
safety inspectors to have reached so many women.
there were ever a time to move beyond our dangerously facile debate about
cosmetic surgery, it's now. European media have been hammering the point that it's time to take implant safety as seriously as
drug safety, and take cosmetic procedures as seriously as any other operations, which is what they
To answer the question of how the
implants could have made it to so many women, though, one has to ask how
and it is that so many women are getting breast implants at all. Paris-based plastic surgery and dermatologist
organization IMCAS recently released some new numbers that help explain. Cosmetic surgeries not only rose by 10.1 percent in 2011 but are expected to
rise by another 11.12 percent in 2012, despite the scare.
A significant portion of the debate touches on a longstanding theme of how people think about cosmetic surgery: who, if anyone, should help cover the costs for removing and replacing defective implants? Though insurance policies and national
governments have already declared themselves willing to foot the bill for the
faulty implants' removal, that doesn't come without caveats. The implicit moral question the responsible officials seem to be asking themselves is, Should governments compensate for losses in botched vanity
projects? And herein lies the need
for a more careful look at the phenomenon of plastic surgery.
France, the government will only pay for new implants if the originals
were for reconstructive surgery. Politicians in Germany have been urging
similar policies. Elizabeth Niejahr neatly summarized this thinking in Die Zeit as "one
shouldn't make cosmetic surgeries even more popular. ... Those who, out
of vanity, decide to undergo the knife, should be aware of the
consequences." SPD Carola Reimann, Niejahr pointed out, has also argued
that "It's about the beauty ideal and the pressure to conform."
These politicians have a point, namely about moral hazard. But behind these sentiments lies a deep confusion about plastic surgery that's worth
surfacing. The idea that implants are for "vanity" seems to imply selfishness and, with it, an exercise
of will. But the charge that implants are about a "pressure to conform" implies the opposite. Which is driving
the trend towards plastic surgery? A projected growth in surgeries,
despite the dire stories of the past year, begins to look like a
pathology not just in individual women and men, but in society itself;
if that's the case, how helpful is it to blame individuals for
succumbing to what appears to be a mass psychosis?
criticizing the French and potential German positions, makes an
important related point: many politicians are assuming that the women
paying for non-reconstructive implants must be rich, and are adjusting
their rhetoric accordingly. But a glance merely at "trash talk shows,"
Niejahr notes, suggests this is "a false picture." How? "There may be many
women who save for new breasts or with what little credit they have
choose a larger chest over a new car."
just an inaccurate image: the suggestion that women who get breast
implants must be rich is a dangerous misconception with real implications. The enormous black market in cosmetic surgery, as
well as the apparently flourishing cosmetic surgery tourism trade -- with
terrifying stories of incompetently executed, dangerous procedures -- should be
evidence enough, even without Niejahr's trashy TV.
This isn't to say that governments should pay
for implant replacements (though Niejahr does make that argument): it's
questionable fiscal policy to pay for implant replacements in the
current European economic climate, even before you get to the possible
moral hazard argument. But in the debate over the appropriate policy
position, European politicians do need to be careful about the
assumptions they convey in their rhetoric.
these few critics in the current Continental debate show, this may be the
perfect time to probe the dark undercurrents of plastic surgery trends.
Tighter regulations may reduce dangers within the European Union, but they don't
change the fact that these surgeries still carry risks -- and they're
definitely not going to help the women who head to Mexico. Double-D
millionaires aren't a public health problem -- but they are a disturbingly convenient fiction.
Three families of fallen servicemembers received next-day UPS letters from President Trump after a turbulent week in which Trump falsely claimed he had called “virtually all” of the families.
The Trump administration is scrambling to defend the president’s characterization of his communications with grieving military families, including rush-delivering letters from the president to the families of servicemembers killed months ago. Donald Trump falsely claimed this week that he had called “virtually” all fallen servicemembers’ families since his time in office.
Timothy Eckels Sr. hadn’t heard anything from President Trump since his son Timothy Eckels Jr. was killed after a collision involving the USS John S. McCain on August 21. But then, on October 20, two days into the controversy over the president’s handling of a condolence call with an American soldier’s widow, Eckels Sr. received a United Parcel Service package dated October 18 with a letter from the White House.
Emma Perrier was deceived by an older man on the internet—a hoax that turned into an unbelievable love story.
Emma Perrier spent the summer of 2015 mending a broken heart, after a recent breakup. By September, the restaurant manager had grown tired of watching The Notebook alone in her apartment in Twickenham, a leafy suburb southwest of London, and decided it was time to get back out there. Despite the horror stories she’d heard about online dating, Emma, 33, downloaded a matchmaking app called Zoosk. The second “o” in the Zoosk logo looks like a diamond engagement ring, which suggested that its 38 million members were seeking more than the one-night stands offered by apps like Tinder.
She snapped the three selfies the app required to “verify her identity.” Emma, who is from a volcanic city near the French Alps, not far from the source of Perrier mineral water, is petite, and brunette. She found it difficult to meet men, especially as she avoided pubs and nightclubs, and worked such long hours at a coffee shop in the city’s financial district that she met only stockbrokers, who were mostly looking for cappuccinos, not love.
DeepMind’s new self-taught Go-playing program is making moves that other players describe as “alien” and “from an alternate dimension.”
It was a tense summer day in 1835 Japan. The country’s reigning Go player, Honinbo Jowa, took his seat across a board from a 25-year-old prodigy by the name of Akaboshi Intetsu. Both men had spent their lives mastering the two-player strategy game that’s long been popular in East Asia. Their face-off, that day, was high-stakes: Honinbo and Akaboshi represented two Go houses fighting for power, and the rivalry between the two camps had lately exploded into accusations of foul play.
Little did they know that the match—now remembered by Go historians as the “blood-vomiting game”—would last for several grueling days. Or that it would lead to a grisly end.
Early on, the young Akaboshi took a lead. But then, according to lore, “ghosts” appeared and showed Honinbo three crucial moves. His comeback was so overwhelming that, as the story goes, his junior opponent keeled over and began coughing up blood. Weeks later, Akaboshi was found dead. Historians have speculated that he might have had an undiagnosed respiratory disease.
Rumors are swirling over what took place in the final hours before four U.S. servicemen died—but a clear picture of what actually took place is only beginning to emerge.
On October 4, a small group of U.S. troops were preparing to leave a meeting with community leaders near the small town of Tongo Tongo in Niger. They were close to the Malian border, traveling in unarmored pick-up trucks with limited weaponry and a few dozen of their Nigerien counterparts. Then they were ambushed.
By the time the more than 30-minute assault was over, three U.S. troops were confirmed dead and two more were gravely injured. Another, Sergeant La David Johnson, was missing and his body would not be recovered for another two days. French aircraft, called in for back-up, circled overhead as fire was exchanged below. They later helped to evacuate survivors.
This account, based on public statements from the Trump administration, interviews with U.S. Africa Command officials; former State Department and intelligence officials; and the man who almost served as the senior director for Africa on the National Security Council, along with additional reporting from other news outlets like CNN and The Washington Post, suggests a direct link between the fatal ambush and the absence of a clear strategy or perhaps even a cursory understanding of U.S. operations in Africa by the Trump administration.
The staggering scope of the country’s infrastructure initiative—and what it means for the international order
The Pakistani town of Gwadar was until recently filled with the dust-colored cinderblock houses of about 50,000 fishermen. Ringed by cliffs, desert, and the Arabian Sea, it was at the forgotten edge of the earth. Now it’s one centerpiece of China’s “Belt and Road” initiative, and the town has transformed as a result. Gwadar is experiencing a storm of construction: a brand-new container port, new hotels, and 1,800 miles of superhighway and high-speed railway to connect it to China’s landlocked western provinces. China and Pakistan aspire to turn Gwadar into a new Dubai, making it a city that will ultimately house 2 million people.
China is quickly growing into the world’s most extensive commercial empire. By way of comparison, after World War II, the Marshall Plan provided the equivalent of $800 billion in reconstruction funds to Europe (if calculated as a percentage of today’s GDP). In the decades after the war the United States was also the world’s largest trading nation, and its largest bilateral lender to others.
In Season 2, the terrific NBC sitcom continues to explore ethics without sacrificing complexity or humor.
Last month, the NBC sitcom The Good Place returned for its second year after a first season that was widely praised as “surreal and high-concept” and “ambitious and uniquely satisfying.” In the two-part pilot, the show introduced a woman named Eleanor (Kristen Bell) who dies and finds herself in a non-denominational heaven by mistake—and who decides to learn how to become a better person in order to earnher spot in the afterlife. With that premise, The Good Place revealed what would eventually become the show’s most important theme: ethics. To avoid being sent to The Bad Place, Eleanor enlists her assigned “soul mate,” a former professor of moral philosophy named Chidi (William Jackson Harper), to teach her how to change her selfish ways.
More comfortable online than out partying, post-Millennials are safer, physically, than adolescents have ever been. But they’re on the brink of a mental-health crisis.
One day last summer, around noon, I called Athena, a 13-year-old who lives in Houston, Texas. She answered her phone—she’s had an iPhone since she was 11—sounding as if she’d just woken up. We chatted about her favorite songs and TV shows, and I asked her what she likes to do with her friends. “We go to the mall,” she said. “Do your parents drop you off?,” I asked, recalling my own middle-school days, in the 1980s, when I’d enjoy a few parent-free hours shopping with my friends. “No—I go with my family,” she replied. “We’ll go with my mom and brothers and walk a little behind them. I just have to tell my mom where we’re going. I have to check in every hour or every 30 minutes.”
Those mall trips are infrequent—about once a month. More often, Athena and her friends spend time together on their phones, unchaperoned. Unlike the teens of my generation, who might have spent an evening tying up the family landline with gossip, they talk on Snapchat, the smartphone app that allows users to send pictures and videos that quickly disappear. They make sure to keep up their Snapstreaks, which show how many days in a row they have Snapchatted with each other. Sometimes they save screenshots of particularly ridiculous pictures of friends. “It’s good blackmail,” Athena said. (Because she’s a minor, I’m not using her real name.) She told me she’d spent most of the summer hanging out alone in her room with her phone. That’s just the way her generation is, she said. “We didn’t have a choice to know any life without iPads or iPhones. I think we like our phones more than we like actual people.”
What I learned from attending a town-hall meeting and listening to students’ concerns
Sometimes it takes a group of young people to set you straight.
For months now, I’ve been reading about college students who’ve been seeking “safe spaces.” They’ve often been met by derision—even the highest ranked Urban Dictionary definition is mired in sarcasm, describing them as having “pillows” and “soothing music” that “allows them to recover from the trauma... of exposure to ideas that conflict with their leftist professors.”
I also had some mid-life skepticism about teenage hyperbole, that is, until I attended a town hall meeting at Duke University (my alma mater) earlier this month. The “community conversation,” as it was called, had been hastily convened to discuss the rash of racist and homophobic incidents on campus. Listening to those students—and watching their expressions—I realized that what’s been happening at Duke is serious, and no amount of sarcasm can disguise the pain and anger on campus, or cover up the real dangers lurking there.
The foundation of Donald Trump’s presidency is the negation of Barack Obama’s legacy.
It is insufficient to statethe obvious of Donald Trump: that he is a white man who would not be president were it not for this fact. With one immediate exception, Trump’s predecessors made their way to high office through the passive power of whiteness—that bloody heirloom which cannot ensure mastery of all events but can conjure a tailwind for most of them. Land theft and human plunder cleared the grounds for Trump’s forefathers and barred others from it. Once upon the field, these men became soldiers, statesmen, and scholars; held court in Paris; presided at Princeton; advanced into the Wilderness and then into the White House. Their individual triumphs made this exclusive party seem above America’s founding sins, and it was forgotten that the former was in fact bound to the latter, that all their victories had transpired on cleared grounds. No such elegant detachment can be attributed to Donald Trump—a president who, more than any other, has made the awful inheritance explicit.
In most big cities, cabbies aren’t allowed to turn away passengers because of their race or destination—but it still happens all the time.
At close to midnight, I had just gotten off of the plane at LAX after a long journey from my home in Hartford. Two hours before departure I had picked up my kids from school and then kissed my family goodbye. Travel is an inextricable part of my job as a baseball analyst with ESPN. This particular week was Los Angeles; the week before was Pittsburgh. So go my Wednesdays.
On my way to Los Angeles, I connected in Minneapolis where I was joined by Joe Vanderford, an ESPN cameraman who hailed from North Carolina. We had a great chat en route to L.A. Joe, who is white, told me how his father had been responsible for integrating the softball league in his hometown to which I responded that his father had been brave. He agreed, but added that his father had also loved the game and wanted to win; before integration, there had been some great players barred from playing because of race.