6 Apr, 16 | by Iain Brassington
3 Apr, 16 | by Iain Brassington
Julie Bindel had a piece in The Guardian the other day about India’s surrogate mothers. It makes for pretty grim reading. Even if the surrogates are paid, and are paid more than they might otherwise have earned, there’s still a range of problems that the piece makes clear.
For one thing, the background of the surrogates is an important factor. Bindel writes that
[s]urrogates are paid about £4,500 to rent their wombs at this particular clinic, a huge amount in a country where, in 2012, average monthly earnings stood at $215.
It’s tempting, at first glance, to look at the opportunity to be a surrogate as a good thing in this context: these women are earning, by comparative standards, good money. But, of course, you have to keep in mind that the standard is comparative. If your choice is between doing something you wouldn’t otherwise do and penury, doing the thing you wouldn’t otherwise do looks like the better option. But “better option” doesn’t imply “good option”. So there’s more to be said there; more questions to be asked. Choosing x over y because y is more awful doesn’t mean that x isn’t. It might be a good thing; but it might not be. There might be economic – structural – coercion. Choosing to become a surrogate might be a symptom of there being no better alternative.
A related question is this: are the women really making a free choice in offering their reproductive labour even assuming that the terms are economically just? Possibly not:
I have heard several stories of women being forced or coerced into surrogacy by husbands or even pimps, and ask Mehta if she is aware of this happening. “Without the husbands’ [of the surrogates] consent we don’t do surrogacy.”
Note (a) the non-denial, and (b) the tacit acceptance that it’s the husband’s decision anyway. That’s not good.
(In a wholly different context, I’ve recently been reading David Luban’s Lawyers and Justice, and – in a discussion about lawyers cross-examining complainants in rape cases, he makes this point:
([H]ere we have two people who are confronted by powerful institutions from which protection is needed. The defendant is confronted by the state [that is: in any criminal trial, the defendant does need protection from the power of the state – IB], but the victim is confronted by the millennia-long cultural tradition of patriarchy, which makes the cliché that the victim is on trial true. From the point of view of classical liberalism, according to which the significant enemy is the state, this cannot matter. But from the point of view of the progressive correction of classical liberalism, any powerful social institution is a threat, including diffuse yet tangible institutions such as patriarchy. (p 151)
(The sentiment would seem to apply here. A view of human agency that sees liberty as being mainly or only about avoiding state interference is likely to miss all kinds of much more subtle, insidious pressures that are liberty-limiting. Economic factors are such pressures. The idea of the wife as property is another.)
I do wonder if readers of this blog might help out with answering one more question, though. more…
30 Mar, 16 | by Iain Brassington
“Hey, Iain,” says Fran, a Manchester alumna, “What do you make of this?” I won’t bother rehearsing the whole scenario described in the post, but the dilemma it describes – set out by one Simon Carley – is fairly easily summarised: you work in A&E; a patient is rolled in who’s unconscious; there’s no ID, no medic alert bracelet – in short, nothing to show who the patient is or what their medical history is; but the patient does have an iPhone that uses thumbprints as a security feature. And it might be that there’s important information that’d be accessible by using the unconscious patient’s thumb to get at it – even if it’s only a family member who might be able to shed some light on the patient’s medical history.
It’s a potentially life-or-death call. Would it be permissible to hold the phone to the patient’s thumb?
For those who think that privacy is a side-constraint – that is, a moral consideration that should not be violated – the answer will be obvious, and they’ll probably stop reading around about… NOW. After all, if you’re committed to that kind of view, it’s entirely possible that the question itself won’t make a great deal of sense (tantamount to “Is it OK to do this thing that is plainly not OK?”), or at least not be worth asking. But I don’t think that privacy is a side-constraint; I’m increasingly of the opinion that privacy is a bit of an iffy concept across the board, for reasons that needn’t detain us here, but that might be implied by at least some of what follows. In short, I think that privacy is worth taking seriously as a consideration, but it’s almost certainly not trumps. At the very least, that’s how I shall handle it here. (Note here that the problem is one of privacy, not – as the OP has it – confidentiality; it’s a question about how to get information, rather than one of what you can do with information volunteered. A minor quibble, perhaps, but one worth making.) Even if I’m wrong about privacy in general, the question still seems to be worth asking, if only to confirm that and why it should not be violated. more…
24 Dec, 15 | by Iain Brassington
Here’s an intriguing letter from one John Doherty, published in the BMJ yesterday:
Medical titles may well reinforce a clinical hierarchy and inculcate deference in Florida, as Kennedy writes, but such constructs are culture bound.
When I worked in outback Australia the patients called me “Mate,” which is what I called them.
They still wanted me to be in charge.
Intriguing enough for me to go and have a look at what this Kennedy person had written. It’s available here, and the headline goes like this:
The Title “Doctor” in an Anachronism that Disrespects Patients
Oooooo-kay. A strong claim, and my hackles are immediately raised by the use of “disrespect” as a verb – or as a word at all. (Don’t ask me why I detest that so; I don’t know. It’s just one of those things that I will never be able to tolerate, a bit like quiche.) But let’s see… It’s not a long piece, but even so, I’ll settle for the edited highlights: more…
19 Dec, 15 | by Iain Brassington
Abortion is always going to be a controversial topic. For what it’s worth, I hold that there’s nothing wrong with it. That’s me speaking from my habitual non-consequentialist position. From a more utilitarian perspective, I’m willing to concede that, given the choice between world A, in which abortions happen, and world B, in which they don’t because noone gets pregnant without wanting it, and everyone is perfectly happy to continue with her pregnancy, A is worse. But A is nevertheless a whole lot less bad than world C, in which women are compelled to continue with pregnancies they don’t want. In other words, there’s no need or desire for abortion in super-happy-fluffy world, and super-happy-fluffy world is better than the real world – but we live in the real world, and having abortions available makes the real world better than it could be.
I’d like to think that I’m doughty enough to have my mind changed on this, though. Should someone have a really good argument for the wrongness of abortion, or the overwhelming badness, I’d like to think that I could be persuaded – that I’d let the argument go wherever it takes me. I think that that’s just intellectual honesty. It’s just that I have yet to come across an argument that I find persuasive, and I don’t even know what such an argument would look like.
What I can say is that, while I find even the best pro-life arguments unpersuasive, some are worse than others, though. There’s a guy who keeps posting to the Bioethics Facebook group with links to lamentably bad arguments. And, of course, there’s the CMF.
On their blog, Philippa Taylor has been getting herself into a tizzy about the recent ruling that Northern Ireland’s very restrictive laws contravene human rights legislation, and suggests that there is a whole range of reasons why the law should not be changed there.
Let’s have a look… more…
14 Oct, 15 | by Iain Brassington
I’d not realised it, but the latest iteration of the erstwhile Medical Innovation Bill – colloquially known as the Saatchi Bill – is up for debate in the Commons on Friday. This is it in its latest form: to all intents and purposes, though, it’s the same thing about which I’ve blogged before.
In a nutshell, the Bill does nothing except remove protections from patients who would (under the current law) be able to sue for negligence in the event that their doctor’s “innovative” treatment is ill-founded.
Much more articulate summaries of what’s wrong with the Bill can be found here and here, with academic commentary here (mirrored here on SSRN for those without insitutional access). There have been amendments to the Bill that make the version to be discussed on Friday slightly different from that analysed – but they are only cosmetic; the important parts remain.
Ranged against the Bill are the Medical professional bodies, the personal injuries profession, patient bodies, and research charities. In favour of the Bill are the Daily Telegraph, a few people in the Lords who should know better (Lord Woolf, Lady Butler-Sloss: this means you), and Commons MPs who – understandably – don’t want to be seen as the one who voted against the cure for cancer.
Gloriously, Christ Heaton-Harris, who introduced the Bill, did so only after winning the ballot for Private Members’ Bills. In a nutshell, he was allotted Parliamentary time, and then began the process of wondering what to do with it – which suggests that even the Bill’s sponsor doesn’t have a burning commitment to the cause – or, at least, didn’t when he took it on.
Still, the Bill has the support of Government; as it stands, there’s a good chance that it’ll pass.
SO: Take a few minutes to look up your MP’s email address – you can do that by following this link – and drop him/ her a line to encourage them to vote against the Bill.
3 Sep, 15 | by bearp
*Note that this article was originally published at the Huffington Post.
In the New York Times yesterday, psychologist Lisa Feldman Barrett argues that “Psychology Is Not in Crisis.” She is responding to the results of a large-scale initiative called the Reproducibility Project, published in Science magazine, which appeared to show that the findings from over 60 percent of a sample of 100 psychology studies did not hold up when independent labs attempted to replicate them.
She argues that “the failure to replicate is not a cause for alarm; in fact, it is a normal part of how science works.” To illustrate this point, she gives us the following scenario:
Suppose you have two well-designed, carefully run studies, A and B, that investigate the same phenomenon. They perform what appear to be identical experiments, and yet they reach opposite conclusions. Study A produces the predicted phenomenon, whereas Study B does not. We have a failure to replicate.
Does this mean that the phenomenon in question is necessarily illusory? Absolutely not. If the studies were well designed and executed, it is more likely that the phenomenon from Study A is true only under certain conditions. The scientist’s job now is to figure out what those conditions are, in order to form new and better hypotheses to test.
She’s making a pretty big assumption here, which is that the studies we’re interested in are “well-designed” and “carefully run.” But a major reason for the so-called “crisis” in psychology — and I’ll come back to the question of just what kind of crisis we’re really talking about (see my title) — is the fact that a very large number of not-well-designed, and not-carefully-run studies have been making it through peer review for decades.
Small sample sizes, sketchy statistical procedures, incomplete reporting of experiments, and so on, have been pretty convincingly shown to be widespread in the field of psychology (and in other fields as well), leading to the publication of a resource-wastingly large percentage of “false positives” (read: statistical noise that happens to look like a real result) in the literature.
23 Jul, 15 | by Iain Brassington
Long-term readers of this blog will know that, every now and then, I have a look at the CMF’s blog. This is largely because of my interest in the ethics of assisted dying, and the blog is actually a pretty good way into developments on the other side of the lines. There is rarely, if ever, anything new produced that’d move the argument on – but then, those of us who’re sympathetic to legalisation really aren’t doing any better. It’s become rather a sterile debate.
I do tend to blank out the apologetics; bet every now and again, something catches my eye: a part of this recent post, about the latest attempt to introduce an assisted dying Bill into Parliament, is one such. There’s a part where Peter Saunders claims that the Sermon on the Mount moved away from a literal take on the prohibition of murder to something more in keeping with the spirit of the law. This, though, prompts a question for me: why can’t we accommodate a person’s desire to die within the general law against killing? Might that desire mean that assistance is properly described as something other than murder? It is tempting to infer from what Saunders says elsewhere that he is at least not too worried about some forms of intentional killing: writing about the Kermit Gosnell story a couple of years ago, his headline noted that Gosnell may face the death penalty – but the body text did not mention that at all, let alone take a position on it. Yet if all deliberate killing is so straightforwardly wrong, we might expect that killing at least to be noted. If deliberate killing by means of the death penalty doesn’t raise a peep of objection, then we might wonder why assisting in someone’s death at that person’s behest is more of a worry.
Saunders does have an answer to this query, though: more…
20 Jul, 15 | by Iain Brassington
… the phenomenon of apologising for the wrong thing comes alongside people taking umbrage at the wrong thing. Last week, the BMJ ran a head-to-head feature on the “question” of whether doctors should recommend homeopathy. This was the latest in a series of articles in which a question is posed, apparently strictly on the understanding that it’ll accommodate a polarised debate, and one person is invited to give a “yea” response, and another to give “nay”. I won’t bother here with a screed about homeopathy: Edzard Ernst does a good job in the BMJ piece, as have many others across the blogosphere. (You could do worse, for example, than to have a wander through the Anomalous Distraction blog, which is written by an ex-schoolmate of mine, and which also has lots of pretty pictures of proteins and things.) Since it’s a nice day, and I’m in a reasonably good mood, I’ll even admit that when Hahnemann was working, something like homeopathy was probably as good a punt as anything else that medicine had to offer. But… y’know.
Aaaaaanyway… A rather angry letter appeared. I think it’s worth examining, because it makes a number of normative and value claims; and if norms and values aren’t the meat and veg of an ethicist’s life, then we might as well go home. more…
11 Jul, 15 | by Iain Brassington
A little addendum to yesterday’s monster post.
Ivan Oransky reports that, before deleting her Twitter account, Hope Amantine had apparently also said in a tweet that the story was “not meant to offend”. I’ve noticed that a lot recently: a person does something wrong, is publicly called out for it, and apologises for any offence caused. Greenpeace apologised for any offence caused when they trampled over the Nazca lines. Gary Barlow apologised for any offence caused by the stories about his tax-dodging. (Not for offence caused by tax dodging, but for offence caused by the world having come to know of it, natch.)
I hate it when people say that.
It reduces moral discourse to one of whether or not Smith was sufficiently courteous. Moral discourse is richer than that. Hell, moral discourse has got almost nothing to do with that.
More, I doubt anyone was offended in any of those cases. That wasn’t the problem. Lying was; trampling humanity’s patrimony was; dodging tax was. Apologising for causing offence is a non-apology, and leaves the real moral problem utterly unremarked.
I just wanted to get that off my chest. As you were.
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