The New Republic

Thinking of Carol Gilligan's work as social science has always been a bit of a stretch, but that is how it has generally been received by critics and adepts alike: as a body of psychological research supporting certain controversial hypotheses about the differences between men and women, probably the most influential such hypotheses of the last twenty-five years. Gilligan's famous contention is that girls and women are possessed of a distinctive morality more attuned to maintaining relationships and caring for others than to arguing for justice and equity.

In 1986 the Japanese health department launched a campaign to screen infants for neuroblastoma, the second most common form of early-childhood cancer, after leukemia. The test was easy to administer: Parents simply pressed a piece of filter paper to their baby's wet diaper, allowed the paper to dry, and then mailed it to a laboratory. Doctors had known since the 1950s that neuroblastoma tumors cause the body to excrete an unmistakable chemical signature in the urine; in the 1980s analyzing that signature became simple enough to perform on a large scale.

Sometime during the summer of 1918, an influenza virus that had recently swept through the United States and Europe evolved into a far more virulent organism. World War I was still underway when the first case of the new flu was reported in America, at Camp Devens near Boston. Within days new victims had appeared in military bases up and down the Eastern seaboard. By the time the virus hit America's cities, public health officials knew they were dealing with no ordinary strain of influenza.

The Maya Angelou Public Charter School in Washington, D.C., is the kind of institution conservatives love -- a place that offers opportunity but demands responsibility. Students are in school ten and a half hours per day, all year long, mostly studying core subjects like reading, writing, math, and history. When not in class, they work in student-run businesses, where they earn money and learn job skills. Those who achieve academically are held in high esteem not only by their teachers but by their peers.

When you think "First Amendment martyr," you don't exactly think AT&T. It's a safe bet that few executives at the telecom giant tote aclu membership cards or pace their office corridors reciting the lyrics to "Fight the Power." But AT&T has decided that channeling William Kunstler is a shrewd (if deeply dishonest) way to ward off government regulation. And, incredibly, it's working.

Every PC user is familiar with the notorious "blue screen of death," the azure void that appears when Windows crashes. And even amateur geeks recognize the ubiquitous "Fatal Error!" warnings that pop up seconds before a program implodes, zapping into oblivion hours of spreadsheeting or a spirited game of Tomb Raider.

"I only left prison in January and look where I am now. God meant for me to be here. He expects results. I expect results."

Ricky, a formerly drug-addicted ex-con, was describing his participation in the Anacostia Men's Employment Network (AMEN), a Lutheran outreach for unemployed and underemployed men. He had earned an AMEN diploma, signifying his participation in a three-week course on how to "get and keep a job."

Brooklyn representative Major Owens hasn't just fought the good fight; he's rapped it. Known as "the rapping congressman," Owens has broken into spontaneous verse on the House floor to express his opinions on death-row inmates, impeachment, and public schools. Owens says he raps "as an outlet for political frustrations," and his frustrations are easy to understand.

Stock traders selling short. Bored kids. Anti-capitalist terrorists. Any of these could be responsible for the recent hack attacks that hobbled Yahoo!, Buy.com, E*Trade, and other commercial websites. But last week the hard-core techies who post messages on the website of Slashdot magazine were fingering a different suspect: the federal government.

Imagine for a minute that the anti-Castro militants in Miami get their way and, 40 years from now, Elian Gonzalez is still on our side of the Strait of Florida. Imagine him as a restaurant owner, a car-wash attendant, a state senator--whatever you like--but middle-aged, with children of his own. Fidel Castro is long dead, and democracy has taken hold in Cuba.