Roald Dahl’s books — James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory — were recently rewritten to excise terms like “fat” and “ugly” (“enormous” and “brute” are apparently more palatable). Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels got the same treatment for racism, as did Agatha Christie’s works. Disney has edited everything from Aladdin to Toy Story 2 to remove offensive content, with as much care as it devotes to wiping out LGBTQ stories from films in production and finished films streamed in the Middle East. Movies and shows for adults — The Office, The French Connection — have been altered. And while no one is picking up the paintbrush just yet, the names of old art pieces in museums are being revised as well.

These practices are not fully new, of course. Movies shown on television have long been edited for language, sexual content, length, and so on. The radio has traditionally muted vulgar lyrics. It wasn’t exactly the Left pushing for such things. (In general, conservatives and the religious have a long history, and present, of cancellations and censorship, from book bans to moral panics over films and music, but this piece aims to focus specifically on changes to previously published works.) But people of all stripes and times have participated. In 1988, The Story of Dr. Dolittle (1920) was scrubbed of racist elements long after the author’s death. Residents of past centuries did pick up tools and modify paintings and sculptures featuring nudity — even a Michelangelo or two. And so on. Yet the modern age has brought a new, perhaps unprecedented intensity to the alteration of past works of art. Driven by the Left, it is the responsibility of the leftist to consider its ramifications.

Publishers, studios, and streaming services want to offer people classic, beloved works, but recognize their racist, homophobic, sexist, nonconsensual elements are wrong. There is no doubt that the decision to act can stem from a sincere desire to address harm, but some institutions lack any real principle or spine, modifying art and then reversing course immediately after the inevitable backlash, racing in this direction to avoid one mob and then in the opposite direction to avoid another, whatever can be done to protect image and profits. Capitalism at work.

As for individuals, while the independent thinker will always find institutional overreactions, things that really weren’t that bad, she will likewise be unable to deny the horrific nature of some scenes and terminology in older media. That something should be done to curtail the impact of bigoted ideas and portrayals is right and reasonable.

Alteration is not the only option available, of course. New introductions, content warnings, serious discussions before or after a film, and so on have been and can be utilized, offering context and critique rather than cuts. Then there’s the nuclear option, which is a removal but one that preserves the work: no longer publishing texts (auf Wiedersehen, Dr. Seuss), removing a creation from your streaming platform, etc.

These may be comparatively beneficial — even the last one — because they avoid certain problems. Despite the noble motives behind changing past art, there is something a bit bothersome about it: doesn’t this make past artists out to be better people than they were? If Roald Dahl or Hugh Lofting employed harmful language or stereotypes, why would they deserve a more polished, progressive image for today’s readers and those of the long future? The awful caricatures of Native Americans, unabashedly called “injuns,” in Peter Pan (1953) should quite frankly be a mark upon Disney forever. What interest have I in making Walt Disney of all people, or his studio, or the film’s many directors and writers look better? This isn’t precisely the same as whitewashing. In history, or the present, whitewashing is intended to glorify individuals or events by ignoring crimes and horrors. The Founding Fathers need to be heroes, so their enslavement of human beings and vile racism can be downplayed and swept under the rug. Here the motive is entirely different: awfulness will be surgically removed so that bigoted ideas and behavior are better contained, an attempt to avoid infection of children and adults alike while still letting them enjoy beloved works. Nevertheless, the effect is rather similar. Sanitization may have a clear benefit, but it inherently creates ahistorical representations of past artists. They are positioned as fundamentally different, more moral people. This does not seemed deserved, and it is troubling to voluntarily create any false view of history, whether of its cultural creations, its artists, or anything else. This may not be a big deal for those of us who know edits have been made — but children and future generations may not have such a firm understanding, resulting, to some degree, in a rosier view of authors, filmmakers, and studios of the 1950s and other decades.

One must further wrestle with the larger question. Is it right to change someone’s art without his consent? What if she wouldn’t want her piece altered? This provokes a couple answers. If it’s a work judged to be benign, everyone would be outraged at the suggestion of tinkering — don’t change Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life or Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, leave alone the works of Beverly Cleary, A.A. Milne, and Beatrix Potter! They may not approve and are not around to object; let their creations exist as they intended. (Studios and publishers have the legal right to tamper, of course, but that does not mean they should.) It’s easy to say that problematic art and artists have forfeited that right to preservation and respect of intention. “It’s racist, he’s racist, who gives a shit?” But as a writer, I’m horrified at the thought of someone changing my books or articles when I’m gone, even to make them better, less offensive, more moral. Beyond constructing a false view of who I was, it would be without my consent and against my strong-felt wishes and beliefs (verbalized here, with any luck forever). I imagine that most artists, whenever they lived, did not want other people meddling with their creations. There is too much obsession, care, and satisfaction involved in the creative process. So, if this is a treatment and right I want for myself — respect for my consent and control over my own material offspring — I have to extend it to others. No matter how innocent or flawed their pieces. Only those who would sincerely have no issue with a song, book, article, painting, film, sketch, photograph, or other work they made being changed a century from now in an attempt to purify it can support editing Dahl or Disney (one cannot say “that would never happen” or “there’d be nothing offensive to cut” because it is likely that few of the impacted creators of today could have imagined any of this happening to their work either). The rest of us must begrudgingly respect the consent of artists (though not the content of their art) or else fall into hypocrisy.

It seems worth adding that not only do our views on preservation and the artist’s consent change when speaking of benign art versus offensive art, a change that is questionable, it also appears that the form of art matters. The idea of brushing over an offensive painting in a museum is far less comfortable, and still nearly unthinkable, compared to tinkering with entertainment and books. How about altering old photographs? Or imagine Spotify offering new versions of old, beloved songs and simply wiping out the originals. Surely one is a bit slower to defend such things. But why? Why would the form matter? Similar feelings have lurked in the back of my mind as this writing has progressed. Perhaps understandably, I find the alterations of books more troubling than films and shows. I also find tampering with films and shows for impressionable children less irksome than doing the same to entertainment for adults. Yet those distinctions and biases don’t seem to matter much. Art is art, no?

The other strategies noted above avoid all of these challenges completely. Artists may not deserve (in more than one sense) to have their work modified by others, but people have the right to discuss, condemn, or ignore art. All that’s expected. Content labels, new introductions, serious discussions, and cancellations are fair game. Of course, people will disagree over which works should be pulled from platforms or publication and which should be offered with commentary and criticism. I have little hope of solving that. It is the intention here to simply highlight these possibilities as more acceptable choices, and encourage some skepticism of changing past art of any form.

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When it was announced that The Little Mermaid of 2023 would alter the lyrics of the 1989 original’s “Kiss the Girl,” two questions on consent arose — though their implications often went unexplored.

The first question related directly to the old song. “Yes, you want her,” the crab whispers to Prince Eric, who is on a romantic boat ride with the former mermaid Ariel. “Look at her, you know you do / Possible she wants you too / There is one way to ask her / It don’t take a word / Not a single word / Go on and kiss the girl.” This was changed to “Possible she wants you too / Use your words, boy, and ask her / If the time is right and the time is tonight / Go on and kiss the girl.” Boys can benefit from this (as can others), because framing a kiss as the “one way to ask” a girl if she “wants” you is backward. The kiss should come after there’s an understanding that you’re wanted. The change has some value and is, one must say after watching it, rather charming and humorous (“Use your words, boy” is incredible phrasing).

The second question is more muddled and interesting. Articles covering the lyrical change often drew attention to something else: in this scene, Ariel has already bargained away her voice. A writer for Glamour noted, without elaboration: “These lyrics suggest that Prince Eric doesn’t need Ariel’s verbal consent to kiss her, which of course he does, but there’s the slight issue of the fact that she cannot speak.” Insider wrote: “The song occurs during a point in the plot where Ariel has given up her speaking (and singing) voice for a pair of human legs, but the overall implication that Prince Eric should make a move on Ariel first and ask for consent later is likely troubling for some modern viewers.” A host of The View said, “With ‘Kiss the Girl,’ she gave her voice away so she could have legs, so I don’t know how she could talk… How do you consent if you can’t talk?,” to which a writer for CinemaBlend responded, “That’s very true… That would make it even worse for Prince Eric to kiss Ariel if she was literally in a position where she couldn’t speak up if she didn’t want to be kissed.” And so on (“Ariel’s voice is gone and she literally can’t offer verbal consent,” The Mary Sue).

This criticism may come from a noble place — affirmative statements are indeed valuable — but it has an odd implication. If verbal consent is always necessary, that precludes romance and sex for human beings who cannot speak. Selective mutism aside, there are various biological and neurological problems that can render someone voiceless. On the Left, we will race to be the most virtuous and woke, but this can sometimes erase or crush (other) marginalized people. These writers rush to say that “of course” Eric needs “Ariel’s verbal consent to kiss her,” and because she can’t speak it would be wrong for him to make an attempt. But unless one wants nonverbal people to never experience a kiss, unless we pretend such individuals have no agency, there needs to be room to demonstrate consent without verbal affirmation. There’s other linguistic forms like sign language and agreement in writing (which is often just a lame, whiny joke from the Right, but sometimes an actual thing), but also the nonverbal signals that sensible leftwing or liberal organizations and universities still point to when discussing safe sex. Moving closer, leaning in for the kiss, closing one’s eyes in anticipation, and so on. This is what Ariel does in the original film. She cannot speak, or use sign language, or in the moment write, but she is alive and has agency. As a writer for Jezebel put it: “Keep in mind that the plot leaves no question of Ariel’s consent. She huffs and puffs through the scene as Eric swerves her. It is her entire mission, in fact, to be kissed, as it will defeat Ursula’s curse and allow her to remain permanently human.” Actions can give consent.

Conversely, actions can revoke it, as when someone pulls away, lies inert, avoids eye contact, etc. This fact also points to the importance of not positioning affirmative, explicit statements (spoken, signed, or written) as the only way to consent. “Listening only for verbal signs of possible consent without paying attention to a person’s non-verbal cues is not a good way to determine consent either,” a sex ed organization once wrote. “For example, a person could say yes due to feeling pressured, and in a situation like that the verbal cue could be present alongside non-verbal signs of no consent.” Actions are just as important as words — they give consent, take it away, and even override affirmative statements. As Ursula once howled, “Don’t underestimate the importance of body language!” Actions can be misinterpreted, of course, in the same way an explicit Yes can be hollow. Romance and sex have to be navigated with care. (It goes almost without saying that intentional violations of nonverbal or verbal objections must be shown no mercy.)

Two ideas prompted this writing. First, the equating of an inability to speak with an inability to consent. It completely and obviously forgets a group of human beings. As if nonverbal people do not exist, have no agency, and can never enjoy love safely because they cannot literally say Yes. Second, there’s the drift away from what could be called sex realism. Framing the spoken, signed, or written word as the only way to actually consent marks anything else as nonconsensual. Is that realistic? Most human beings who have enjoyed a kiss or sex or anything in between would probably say No. They know pleasure and connection can be consensual without words. Even the most fervent Leftist is probably not, consistently, during every romantic encounter, saying “May I kiss you?” / “Kiss me”; “Can I touch you there?” / “Touch me here”; or “May I take this off?” / “Take this off” before the action occurs. I can offer no proof of this, of course, only the anecdotal — I date liberal and leftwing people, and nonverbal consent still seems to be standard practice. At times there is open communication about the big ones (“Are you ready for that?” / “Fuck me”), which is wonderful, but oftentimes you fall passionately into each other’s arms without any explicit statements, which is wonderful as well. Even those who have adopted a step-by-step, regular check-in approach to love probably take it seriously when with someone new, but let it fade when things advance into a relationship or marriage. On the one hand, this makes sense — you now know your person, what she likes, there’s trust and comfort, and so on. But on the other hand, it’s not fully clear why you shouldn’t continue to seek affirmative, explicit, linguistic agreement before taking any sort of action — if words are the only way to actually consent, what difference would it make if this is someone you met an hour ago or a husband of 30 years? Marital rape exists, partners can commit nonconsensual acts, consent can be violated. Perhaps some people actually do practice what they preach, not proceeding without a linguistic instruction or a positive response to an inquiry, regardless of whether they are with someone new or a longterm lover. Only they can condemn, without hypocrisy, other people for relying on nonverbal agreement. But all this is doubtful. More likely, people convey consent with their actions all the time. There’s performative demands on the internet, and then there’s how people actually behave when with someone they like.

Overall, it is a fine idea to modify lyrics to position a proper kiss as only coming after an understanding that such an act is desired. This understanding can be gained by simply asking, as the song urges; it is typically the clearest form of consent. But nonverbal communication also conveys this understanding. And acting on it is moral. To push nonverbal-spurred romance into the realm of the objectionable is to say nearly all human beings — mute or verbal, hookup or lifelong companion, male or female or nonbinary — are guilty of sexual violence. The spoken, signed, or written word cannot be the only way to agree to a kiss or sex. It may be valuable to encourage people to do this, especially kids and teens — the ones watching The Little Mermaid, after all — as they may be worse at perceiving or conveying nonverbal consent due to underdeveloped brains, worse impulse control, lack of experience and knowledge, etc. But romance without explicit statements can be consensual. Failure to procure them therefore can’t be castigated with any seriousness. The Little Mermaid of 2023 perhaps understands this — despite the new lyrics, Eric never actually asks Ariel if he can kiss her (she could have nodded). Like standard human beings, they lean in toward each other, their actions acknowledging their consent. The way most of us behave, after posting on the internet.

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Only one public university (system) in Missouri can offer PhDs. Only one can offer first-professional degrees in law (J.D.), medicine (M.D.), and more.

The University of Missouri and its supporters in the legislature have for decades maintained a monopoly on doctoral degrees. For a long time, only UM system schools could offer them.

For instance, in 2005, Missouri State University was banned from offering any doctoral, first-professional, or engineering programs unless it was in cooperation with Mizzou, which would be the degree-awarding institution. This was the price of then-Southwest Missouri State’s name change to Missouri State. The name for limits on growth, to protect Mizzou’s position as the state’s largest university and its “prestige.” Other laws barred or scared off other universities from offering the highest degrees.

In 2018, Missouri passed a law with some good changes, some bad. Universities were finally given a pathway to offer more doctoral degrees — like, say, a Doctorate in Education (Ed.D) — without going through Mizzou. But it was enshrined into law that “the University of Missouri shall be the only state college or university that may offer doctor of philosophy degrees or first-professional degrees, including dentistry, law, medicine, optometry, pharmacy, and veterinary medicine” (H.B. 1465, page 4). Further, engineering degrees and a few others must still go through Mizzou.

Impacted universities include Missouri State, Truman, Central Missouri, Southeast Missouri, Harris-Stowe, Lincoln, Missouri Southern, Missouri Western, and Northwest Missouri. Looking at their catalogues you find no doctoral programs, with a few exceptions, such as two at Central Missouri offered through Mizzou and Indiana State, and eight at Missouri State, with one through UMKC.

Proponents frame all this as eliminating costly duplicate programs and promoting cooperation. But by that reasoning, why should multiple universities offer the same bachelor’s degrees? The actual reasoning is obvious. A monopoly on doctoral degrees means more students and income for the UM system. At the expense of every other public university. At the expense of students, who may want to study elsewhere. And to the detriment of the state, which loses money to other states when students don’t get into Mizzou or a sister school, are priced out, or do not find the program they’re looking for — they have no choice but to go to graduate school in another state.

It’s high time Missouri legislators corrected this nonsense. Students, alumni, and everyday proponents of fairness and sanity should contact their legislators and those who serve the districts of affected universities. Then sign the petition.

[2025 Update: A bill has passed allowing MSU to offer any PhD except engineering; Mizzou’s monopoly over dentistry, law, medicine, optometry, engineering, and pharmacy remains intact.]

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George Orwell’s 1984 quickly introduces the reader to the three slogans of its fictional authoritarian government: war is peace, freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength. According to the common interpretations, these are not meant to be literal equivalents — to be at war is not to be at peace. Rather, as the novel suggests, they are propagandistic cause-effect relationships, tradeoffs. War, the State promises, will bring about peace. True freedom is found in slavery — if you submit to the Party, you will live a successful, comfortable, happy life. Ignorance, giving up personal and contrary ways of thinking, makes society stable, safe, united. The slogans present necessary evils, unpleasant means to noble ends: accepting war, slavery, and ignorance brings personal and national benefits. (The order reversal of the middle slogan is intriguing. We have, from the reader’s perspective, “bad is good,” “good is bad,” “bad is good.” Orwell chose not to pen “slavery is freedom,” which would have aligned with the others and made the “slavery brings freedom” interpretation even stronger. Still, any notion of “freedom bringing slavery” is difficult to reconcile with the other two, given that this propaganda is presenting terrible things as desirable. The Party isn’t going to tell citizens to watch out for slavery but embrace ignorance and war.) Winston Smith, of course, finds out the hard way what happens when war, slavery, and ignorance are not accepted.

In a time of rightwing attempts to overthrow free and fair elections, rising authoritarianism among the populace, and an American system too underdeveloped to handle anti-democratic threats like Trump, one can’t help but think of Orwell. We’ve seen in terrifying fashion how democracy requires the truth to survive, withering in ages of disinformation. Even language became concerning. Blatant falsities about an inauguration crowd size were infamously labeled “alternative facts,” not really doublethink, but reminiscent of how past facts were erased and replaced in the novel. Truth Social, a platform built for Trump and his lies, sounds uncomfortably like the Ministry of Truth, the propaganda division of Oceania whose pyramid-shaped building displays the Party’s three slogans. Of course, conservatives delight in noting that 1984 was a 1949 response to authoritarian socialism in the Soviet Union, and often whine about how woke cancel culture, COVID vaccines, masks, and lockdowns, or welfare and universal services represent the tyranny and submissive collectivity of which Orwell wrote. But they forget Orwell was a socialist who advocated for democratic socialism as frequently as he warned of communism, and they live in a strange world where every liberal (to say nothing of Leftist) policy or cultural shift warrants screams of 1984 but demagogic leaders, casual dismissals of legal and democratic norms, absurdities spewed for reasons of power, plots to ignore election results, violent attacks on the Capitol, authoritarian and nationalistic voters, and so on somehow are of little concern.

But clearly, while it may be most appropriate for the text, depending on one’s reading, the cause-effect interpretation of the slogans doesn’t best reflect our realities. (Though you do see hints of it at times. American war has long been framed as necessary for peace, even if it achieves the opposite, and other horrors.) A literal equivalent interpretation gets much closer. While it probably won’t be publicized and sloganeered in a cartoonish manner, authoritarianism appears to rely on parts of the populace living in parallel worlds. (The State would publicize tradeoffs and push you to accept them, but it would not advertise the fact that you believe falsities and contradictions.) Parallel worlds, built on conspiracy theories and lies, were of course a major reason German democracy collapsed in the 1930s. The Nazis blamed Jews and Communists for Germany’s problems, which justified Hitler’s dismantling of democratic processes and restriction of civil rights. This is how authoritarianism grows and triumphs. It is not that one part of the populace believes war is necessary for peace and another does not. One believes war is peace. It doesn’t realize or accept that it’s ignorant, enslaved, at war; it thinks it is peaceful, free, and strong (this is different from the novel, where everyone knows, for instance, that it is wartime, with news from the front broadcast everywhere; “Winston could not definitely remember a time when his country had not been at war”). One part of the population believes destroying democracy is saving it. That stealing an election prevents a stolen election. The armed mob that broke into the Capitol, the conservatives decrying mass voter fraud (60% of Republicans, nearly 40% of the nation, still believe the 2020 election was stolen), and even some of the politicians sustaining the lunacy…they believe democracy is in danger as sincerely as liberals (and moderates and sane conservatives). It must be protected from those cheating Democrats, fraudulent votes, bad voting machines. Their own reality. Such dupes are completely detached from quality standards of evidence and reason (why would you trust a bad documentary or an article on Breitbart over the conclusions of Republican-controlled, recounted states, Trump’s own Justice Department and Department of Homeland Security, and some 60 federal court cases?), but they think they’re saving democracy. When they’re actually cutting its throat.

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[2024 Update: MSU has joined CUSA and risen to FBS.]

Missouri State students and alumni have long been unhappy being stuck in the Missouri Valley Conference. Just look at the extremely active forums of Missouri State’s page on 247Sports.com, where you will find constant dreamers longing for a school of our size to move onward and upward.

Much of this centers around football. MSU basketball, baseball, and so on playing in a smaller, less-renowned D-I conference has never been ideal, but at least we can win conference championships and go on to compete for NCAA national titles. We have the chance to battle at the highest level. With football, we’re FCS, and have no such opportunity. Bears fans want to step up to the FBS. 

And the administration is starting to feel the vibe. In August 2021, athletics director Kyle Moats told the Springfield News-Leader, “We’re happy in the Valley” but wanted to have everything in place so that “if we ever got the offer, we’d be ready to go.” Ten years ago, you would have only gotten the first part of that quote.

A move to FBS is no pipe dream. Since 2000, 33 FCS schools have advanced: Massachusetts, Old Dominion, Appalachian State, Georgia Southern, and more. Before that were the likes of Boise State, UConn, Boston, and Marshall. Geographically, Missouri State is well-positioned to join the Sun Belt Conference, Conference USA, or the American Athletic Conference (the Mid-American Conference is also a possibility; Bears swimming and diving is already a member). While a Power 5 conference like the Big 12 or SEC won’t happen, at least for another century or two, MSU has good opportunities for advancement now.

But the university and its supporters must take crucial steps to encourage the necessary invite. We need, as Moats pointed out, upgrades to Plaster Stadium. We need to keep improving the fan experience. Supporters must keep donating through the Missouri State Foundation site and MSU’s GiveCampus page. We need to attend games of all sports, no matter how the season is going. The NCAA has attendance requirements for FBS schools, though enforcement does not appear strict these days. More importantly, studies show higher attendance increases the odds of victory. We need to win to be noticed. And if you can’t make a game, stream it on ESPN+, watch it on TV, etc. Show broadcasters you love the content. Do the little things to help enrollment, too. Buy a car decal, wear MSU gear, post on social media. It’s small acts carried out by tens of thousands of people that change the world.

The arguments against ditching The Valley have never outweighed the potential benefits. Bigger conferences can mean bigger costs, yes. Some wouldn’t want to see MSU fail in a bigger conference, or shift to one unfocused on basketball. This is all short-sighted thinking. The SBC, CUSA, or AAC is a gateway to a more excited fanbase, broader national exposure, a higher profile, increased revenue from enrollment and attendance gains and TV contracts, and so on. We’ll have good years and off years, but we already know we can compete at the highest level of any sport if we have the right pieces in place. University advancement is an upward spiral, but you have to start spinning. When MSU sports regularly play Navy, Rice, SMU, or App State, you’ll be glad you did.

This article originally appeared on Yahoo! and the Springfield News-Leader.

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