Its Time to Legalize Cloning :: Argumentative Persuasive Topics

Cloning: Just Legalize It! Cloning is a very controversial topic since it relates to moral values of human beings. In February 1997 scientists in Scotland announced the birth of the first cloned sheep named Dolly, this heralded the future of cloning possibilities and scientists began extensive experiments on cloning and have since then cloned both plants and animals successfully. The next step was to clone actual human beings but before experiments could have been carried out pressure started build on the scientists because people started to doubt if cloning was ethical and morally correct. Governments began to introduce bans and constraints on cloning, as they felt cloning was not correct and because they represented the people of its country, it had to act on it. Cloning has its cons but its pros seem to overcome them greatly. If cloning were allowed to be experimented scientists would come up of a way to clone body organs which are an exact replica of an individual body organ. This would prove very to be very beneficial to a person who may have lost a body organ such as a kidney, scientists could clone that particular organ for the individual, which, in the long run, would work better than a transplant organ. Cloning will certainly expand the scope of medicine greatly, thus enhance the possibilities of conquering diseases such as the Parkinson's disease, cancer and other diseases that were earlier considered incurable Cloning could be used to increase the population of endangered species of animals and thus save them from total extinction. This would help maintain a natural balance on the earth and have a continuos natural life cycle. Cloning could certainly benefit couples who are infertile and want to have a child of their own, thus they could use cloning to produce a baby with their similar characteristics. In fact they may be able to even choose the characteristics of their child. Equally important women who are single could have child, using cloning instead of artificial insemination. Cloning could also provide a copy of a child for a couple whose child had died. Another goal of cloning is to produce livestock with ideal characters for the agricultural industry and to be able to manufacture biological products such as proteins for humans. Some people would suggest that cloning is unnatural and not ethically correct but so would be talking medicine when you fall sick.

The Lost Symbol Chapter 119-121

CHAPTER 119 In the chamber at the top of the House of the Temple, the one who called himself Mal'akh stood before the great altar and gently massaged the virgin skin atop his head. Verbum significatium, he chanted in preparation. Verbum omnificum. The final ingredient had been found at last. The most precious treasures are often the simplest. Above the altar, wisps of fragrant smoke now swirled, billowing up from the censer. The suffumigations ascended through the shaft of moonlight, clearing a channel skyward through which a liberated soul could travel freely. The time had come. Mal'akh retrieved the vial of Peter's darkened blood and uncorked it. With his captive looking on, he dipped the nib of the crow's feather into the crimson tincture and raised it to the sacred circle of flesh atop his head. He paused a moment . . . thinking of how long he had waited for this night. His great transformation was finally at hand. When the Lost Word is written on the mind of man, he is then ready to receive unimaginable power. Such was the ancient promise of apotheosis. So far, mankind had been unable to realize that promise, and Mal'akh had done what he could to keep it that way. With a steady hand, Mal'akh touched the nib of the feather to his skin. He needed no mirror, no assistance, only his sense of touch, and his mind's eye. Slowly, meticulously, he began inscribing the Lost Word inside the circular ouroboros on his scalp. Peter Solomon looked on with an expression of horror. When Mal'akh finished, he closed his eyes, set down the feather, and let the air out of his lungs entirely. For the first time in his life, he felt a sensation he had never known. I am complete. I am at one. Mal'akh had worked for years on the artifact that was his body, and now, as he neared his moment of final transformation, he could feel every line that had ever been inscribed on his flesh. I am a true masterpiece. Perfect and complete. â€Å"I gave you what you asked for.† Peter's voice intruded. â€Å"Send help to Katherine. And stop that file.† Mal'akh opened his eyes and smiled. â€Å"You and I are not quite finished.† He turned to the altar and picked up the sacrificial knife, running his finger across the sleek iron blade. â€Å"This ancient knife was commissioned by God,† he said, â€Å"for use in a human sacrifice. You recognized it earlier, no?† Solomon's gray eyes were like stone. â€Å"It is unique, and I've heard the legend.† â€Å"Legend? The account appears in Holy Scripture. You don't believe it's true?† Peter just stared. Mal'akh had spent a fortune locating and obtaining this artifact. Known as the Akedah knife, it had been crafted over three thousand years ago from an iron meteorite that had fallen to earth. Iron from heaven, as the early mystics called it. It was believed to be the exact knife used by Abraham at the Akedah–the near sacrifice of his son Isaac on Mount Moriah–as depicted in Genesis. The knife's astounding history included possession by popes, Nazi mystics, European alchemists, and private collectors. They protected and admired it, Mal'akh thought, but none dared unleash its true power by using it for its real purpose. Tonight, the Akedah knife would fulfill its destiny. The Akedah had always been sacred in Masonic ritual. In the very first degree, Masons celebrated â€Å"the most august gift ever offered to God . . . the submission of Abraham to the volitions of the supreme being by proffering Isaac, his firstborn . . .† The weight of the blade felt exhilarating in Mal'akh's hand as he crouched down and used the freshly sharpened knife to sever the ropes binding Peter to his wheelchair. The bonds fell to the floor. Peter Solomon winced in pain as he attempted to shift his cramped limbs. â€Å"Why are you doing this to me? What do you think this will accomplish?† â€Å"You of all people should understand,† Mal'akh replied. â€Å"You study the ancient ways. You know that the power of the mysteries relies on sacrifice . . . on releasing a human soul from its body. It has been this way since the beginning.† â€Å"You know nothing of sacrifice,† Peter said, his voice seething with pain and loathing. Excellent, Mal'akh thought. Feed your hatred. It will only make this easier. Mal'akh's empty stomach growled as he paced before his captive. â€Å"There is enormous power in the shedding of human blood. Everyone understood that, from the early Egyptians, to the Celtic Druids, to the Chinese, to the Aztecs. There is magic in human sacrifice, but modern man has become weak, too fearful to make true offerings, too frail to give the life that is required for spiritual transformation. The ancient texts are clear, though. Only by offering what is most sacred can man access the ultimate power.† â€Å"You consider me a sacred offering?† Mal'akh now laughed out loud. â€Å"You really don't understand yet, do you?† Peter gave him an odd look. â€Å"Do you know why I have a deprivation tank in my home?† Mal'akh placed his hands on his hips and flexed his elaborately decorated body, which was still covered only by a loincloth. â€Å"I have been practicing . . . preparing . . . anticipating the moment when I am only mind . . . when I am released from this mortal shell . . . when I have offered up this beautiful body to the gods in sacrifice. I am the precious one! I am the pure white lamb!† Peter's mouth fell open but no words came out. â€Å"Yes, Peter, a man must offer to the gods that which he holds most dear. His purest white dove . . . his most precious and worthy offering. You are not precious to me. You are not a worthy offering.† Mal'akh glared at him. â€Å"Don't you see? You are not the sacrifice, Peter . . . I am. Mine is the flesh that is the offering. I am the gift. Look at me. I have prepared, made myself worthy for my final journey. I am the gift!† Peter remained speechless. â€Å"The secret is how to die,† Mal'akh now said. â€Å"Masons understand that.† He pointed to the altar. â€Å"You revere the ancient truths, and yet you are cowards. You understand the power of sacrifice and yet you keep a safe distance from death, performing your mock murders and bloodless death rituals. Tonight, your symbolic altar will bear witness to its true power . . . and its actual purpose.† Mal'akh reached down and grasped Peter Solomon's left hand, pressing the handle of the Akedah knife into his palm. The left hand serves the darkness. This, too, had been planned. Peter would have no choice in the matter. Mal'akh could fathom no sacrifice more potent and symbolic than one performed on this altar, by this man, with this knife, plunged into the heart of an offering whose mortal flesh was wrapped like a gift in a shroud of mystical symbols. With this offering of self, Mal'akh would establish his rank in the hierarchy of demons. Darkness and blood were where the true power lay. The ancients knew this, the Adepts choosing sides consistent with their individual natures. Mal'akh had chosen sides wisely. Chaos was the natural law of the universe. Indifference was the engine of entropy. Man's apathy was the fertile ground in which the dark spirits tended their seeds. I have served them, and they will receive me as a god. Peter did not move. He simply stared down at the ancient knife gripped in his hand. â€Å"I will you,† Mal'akh taunted. â€Å"I am a willing sacrifice. Your final role has been written. You will transform me. You will liberate me from my body. You will do this, or you will lose your sister and your brotherhood. You will truly be all alone.† He paused, smiling down at his captive. â€Å"Consider this your final punishment.† Peter's eyes rose slowly to meet Mal'akh's. â€Å"Killing you? A punishment? Do you think I will hesitate? You murdered my son. My mother. My entire family.† â€Å"No!† Mal'akh exploded with a force that startled even himself. â€Å"You are wrong! I did not murder your family! You did! It was you who made the choice to leave Zachary in prison! And from there, the wheels were in motion! You killed your family, Peter, not me!† Peter's knuckles turned white, his fingers clenching the knife in rage. â€Å"You know nothing of why I left Zachary in prison.† â€Å"I know everything!† Mal'akh fired back. â€Å"I was there. You claimed you were trying to help him. Were you trying to help him when you offered him the choice between wealth or wisdom? Were you trying to help him when you gave him the ultimatum to join the Masons? What kind of father gives a child the choice between `wealth or wisdom' and expects him to know how to handle it! What kind of father leaves his own son in a prison instead of flying him home to safety!† Mal'akh now moved in front of Peter and crouched down, placing his tattooed face only inches from his face. â€Å"But most important . . . what kind of father can look his own son in the eyes . . . even after all these years . . . and not even recognize him!† Mal'akh's words echoed for several seconds in the stone chamber. Then silence. In the abrupt stillness, Peter Solomon seemed to have been jolted from his trance. His face clouded now with a visage of total incredulity. Yes, Father. It's me. Mal'akh had waited years for this moment . . . to take revenge on the man who had abandoned him . . . to stare into those gray eyes and speak the truth that had been buried all these years. Now the moment was here, and he spoke slowly, longing to watch the full weight of his words gradually crush Peter Solomon's soul. â€Å"You should be happy, Father. Your prodigal son has returned.† Peter's face was now as pale as death. Mal'akh savored every moment. â€Å"My own father made the decision to leave me in prison . . . and in that instant, I vowed that he had rejected me for the last time. I was no longer his son. Zachary Solomon ceased to exist.† Two glistening teardrops welled suddenly in his father's eyes, and Mal'akh thought they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Peter choked back tears, staring up at Mal'akh's face as if seeing him for the very first time. â€Å"All the warden wanted was money,† Mal'akh said, â€Å"but you refused. It never occurred to you, though, that my money was just as green as yours. The warden did not care who paid him, only that he was paid. When I offered to pay him handsomely, he selected a sickly inmate about my size, dressed him in my clothes, and beat him beyond all recognition. The photos you saw . . . and the sealed casket you buried . . . they were not mine. They belonged to a stranger.† Peter's tear-streaked face contorted now with anguish and disbelief. â€Å"Oh my God . . . Zachary.† â€Å"Not anymore. When Zachary walked out of prison, he was transformed.† His adolescent physique and childlike face had drastically mutated when he flooded his young body with experimental growth hormones and steroids. Even his vocal cords had been ravaged, transforming his boyish voice into a permanent whisper. Zachary became Andros. Andros became Mal'akh. And tonight . . . Mal'akh will become his greatest incarnation of all. At that moment in Kalorama Heights, Katherine Solomon stood over the open desk drawer and gazed down at what could be described only as a fetishist's collection of old newspaper articles and photographs. â€Å"I don't understand,† she said, turning to Bellamy. â€Å"This lunatic was obviously obsessed with my family, but–â€Å" â€Å"Keep going . . .† urged Bellamy, taking a seat and still looking deeply shaken. Katherine dug deeper into the newspaper articles, every one of which related to the Solomon family–Peter's many successes, Katherine's research, their mother Isabel's terrible murder, Zachary Solomon's widely publicized drug use, incarceration, and brutal murder in a Turkish prison. The fixation this man had on the Solomon family was beyond fanatical, and yet Katherine saw nothing yet to suggest why. It was then that she saw the photographs. The first showed Zachary standing knee-deep in azure water on a beach dotted with whitewashed houses. Greece? The photo, she assumed, could have been taken only during Zach's freewheeling drug days in Europe. Strangely, though, Zach looked healthier than he did in the paparazzi shots of an emaciated kid partying with the drug crowd. He looked more fit, stronger somehow, more mature. Katherine never recalled him looking so healthy. Puzzled, she checked the date stamp on the photo. But that's . . . impossible. The date was almost a full year after Zachary had died in prison. Suddenly Katherine was flipping desperately through the stack. All of the photos were of Zachary Solomon . . . gradually getting older. The collection appeared to be some kind of pictorial autobiography, chronicling a slow transformation. As the pictures progressed, Katherine saw a sudden and dramatic change. She looked on in horror as Zachary's body began mutating, his muscles bulging, and his facial features morphing from the obvious heavy use of steroids. His frame seemed to double in mass, and a haunting fierceness crept into his eyes. I don't even recognize this man! He looked nothing like Katherine's memories of her young nephew. When she reached a picture of him with a shaved head, she felt her knees begin to buckle. Then she saw a photo of his bare body . . . adorned with the first traces of tattoos. Her heart almost stopped. â€Å"Oh my God . . .† CHAPTER 120 â€Å"Right turn!† Langdon shouted from the backseat of the commandeered Lexus SUV. Simkins swerved onto S Street and gunned the vehicle through a tree-lined residential neighborhood. As they neared the corner of Sixteenth Street, the House of the Temple rose like a mountain on the right. Simkins stared up at the massive structure. It looked like someone had built a pyramid on top of Rome's Pantheon. He prepared to turn right on Sixteenth toward the front of the building. â€Å"Don't turn!† Langdon ordered. â€Å"Go straight! Stay on S!† Simkins obeyed, driving alongside the east side of the building. â€Å"At Fifteenth,† Langdon said, â€Å"turn right!† Simkins followed his navigator, and moments later, Langdon had pointed out a nearly invisible, unpaved access road that bisected the gardens behind the House of the Temple. Simkins turned in to the drive and gunned the Lexus toward the rear of the building. â€Å"Look!† Langdon said, pointing to the lone vehicle parked near the rear entrance. It was a large van. â€Å"They're here.† Simkins parked the SUV and killed the engine. Quietly, everyone got out and prepared to move in. Simkins stared up at the monolithic structure. â€Å"You say the Temple Room is at the top?† Langdon nodded, pointing all the way to the pinnacle of the building. â€Å"That flat area on top of the pyramid is actually a skylight.† Simkins spun back to Langdon. â€Å"The Temple Room has a skylight?† Langdon gave him an odd look. â€Å"Of course. An oculus to heaven . . . directly above the altar.† The UH-60 sat idling at Dupont Circle. In the passenger seat, Sato gnawed at her fingernails, awaiting news from her team. Finally, Simkins's voice crackled over the radio. â€Å"Director?† â€Å"Sato here,† she barked. â€Å"We're entering the building, but I have some additional recon for you.† â€Å"Go ahead.† â€Å"Mr. Langdon just informed me that the room in which the target is most likely located has a very large skylight.† Sato considered the information for several seconds. â€Å"Understood. Thank you.† Simkins signed off. Sato spit out a fingernail and turned to the pilot. â€Å"Take her up.† CHAPTER 121 Like any parent who had lost a child, Peter Solomon had often imagined how old his boy would be now . . . what he would look like . . . and what he would have become. Peter Solomon now had his answers. The massive tattooed creature before him had begun life as a tiny, precious infant . . . baby Zach curled up in a wicker bassinette . . . taking his first fumbling steps across Peter's study . . . learning to speak his first words. The fact that evil could spring from an innocent child in a loving family remained one of the paradoxes of the human soul. Peter had been forced to accept early on that although his own blood flowed in his son's veins, the heart pumping that blood was his son's own. Unique and singular . . . as if randomly chosen from the universe. My son . . . he killed my mother, my friend Robert Langdon, and possibly my sister. An icy numbness flooded Peter's heart as he searched his son's eyes for any connection . . . anything familiar. The man's eyes, however, although gray like Peter's, were those of a total stranger, filled with a hatred and a vengefulness that were almost otherworldly. â€Å"Are you strong enough?† his son taunted, glancing at the Akedah knife gripped in Peter's hand. â€Å"Can you finish what you started all those years ago?† â€Å"Son . . .† Solomon barely recognized his own voice. â€Å"I . . . I loved . . . you.† â€Å"Twice you tried to kill me. You abandoned me in prison. You shot me on Zach's bridge. Now finish it!† For an instant, Solomon felt like he was floating outside his own body. He no longer recognized himself. He was missing a hand, was totally bald, dressed in a black robe, sitting in a wheelchair, and clutching an ancient knife. â€Å"Finish it!† the man shouted again, the tattoos on his naked chest rippling. â€Å"Killing me is the only way you can save Katherine . . . the only way to save your brotherhood!† Solomon felt his gaze move to the laptop and cellular modem on the pigskin chair. SENDING MESSAGE: 92% COMPLETE His mind could not shake the images of Katherine bleeding to death . . . or of his Masonic brothers. â€Å"There is still time,† the man whispered. â€Å"You know it's the only choice. Release me from my mortal shell.† â€Å"Please,† Solomon said. â€Å"Don't do this . . .† â€Å"You did this!† the man hissed. â€Å"You forced your child to make an impossible choice! Do you remember that night? Wealth or wisdom? That was the night you pushed me away forever. But I've returned, Father . . . and tonight it is your turn to choose. Zachary or Katherine? Which will it be? Will you kill your son to save your sister? Will you kill your son to save your brotherhood? Your country? Or will you wait until it's too late? Until Katherine is dead . . . until the video is public . . . until you must live the rest of your life knowing you could have stopped these tragedies. Time is running out. You know what must be done.† Peter's heart ached. You are not Zachary, he told himself. Zachary died long, long ago. Whatever you are . . . and wherever you came from . . . you are not of me. And although Peter Solomon did not believe his own words, he knew he had to make a choice. He was out of time. Find the Grand Staircase! Robert Langdon dashed through darkened hallways, winding his way toward the center of the building. Turner Simkins remained close on his heels. As Langdon had hoped, he burst out into the building's main atrium. Dominated by eight Doric columns of green granite, the atrium looked like a hybrid sepulcher– Greco-Roman-Egyptian–with black marble statues, chandelier fire bowls, Teutonic crosses, double-headed phoenix medallions, and sconces bearing the head of Hermes. Langdon turned and ran toward the sweeping marble staircase at the far end of the atrium. â€Å"This leads directly to the Temple Room,† he whispered as the two men ascended as quickly and quietly as possible. On the first landing, Langdon came face-to-face with a bronze bust of Masonic luminary Albert Pike, along with the engraving of his most famous quote: WHAT WE HAVE DONE FOR OURSELVES ALONE DIES WITH US; WHAT WE HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS AND THE WORLD REMAINS AND IS IMMORTAL. Mal'akh had sensed a palpable shift in the atmosphere of the Temple Room, as if all the frustration and pain Peter Solomon had ever felt was now boiling to the surface . . . focusing itself like a laser on Mal'akh. Yes . . . it is time. Peter Solomon had risen from his wheelchair and was standing now, facing the altar, gripping the knife. â€Å"Save Katherine,† Mal'akh coaxed, luring him toward the altar, backing up, and finally laying his own body down on the white shroud he had prepared. â€Å"Do what you need to do.† As if moving through a nightmare, Peter inched forward. Mal'akh reclined fully now onto his back, gazing up through the oculus at the wintry moon. The secret is how to die. This moment could not be any more perfect. Adorned with the Lost Word of the ages, I offer myself by the left hand of my father. Mal'akh drew a deep breath. Receive me, demons, for this is my body, which is offered for you. Standing over Mal'akh, Peter Solomon was trembling. His tear-soaked eyes shone with desperation, indecision, anguish. He looked one last time toward the modem and laptop across the room. â€Å"Make the choice,† Mal'akh whispered. â€Å"Release me from my flesh. God wants this. You want this.† He laid his arms at his side and arched his chest forward, offering up his magnificent double-headed phoenix. Help me shed the body that clothes my soul. Peter's tearful eyes seemed to be staring through Mal'akh now, not even seeing him. â€Å"I killed your mother!† Mal'akh whispered. â€Å"I killed Robert Langdon! I'm murdering your sister! I'm destroying your brotherhood! Do what you have to do!† Peter Solomon's visage now contorted into a mask of absolute grief and regret. He threw his head back and screamed in anguish as he raised the knife. Robert Langdon and Agent Simkins arrived breathless outside the Temple Room doors as a bloodcurdling scream erupted from within. It was Peter's voice. Langdon was certain. Peter's cry was one of absolute agony. I'm too late! Ignoring Simkins, Langdon seized the handles and yanked open the doors. The horrific scene before him confirmed his worst fears. There, in the center of the dimly lit chamber, the silhouette of a man with a shaved head stood at the great altar. He wore a black robe, and his hand was clutching a large blade. Before Langdon could move, the man was driving the knife down toward the body that lay outstretched on the altar. Mal'akh had closed his eyes. So beautiful. So perfect. The ancient blade of the Akedah knife had glinted in the moonlight as it arched over him. Scented wisps of smoke had spiraled upward above him, preparing a pathway for his soon-to-be- liberated soul. His killer's lone scream of torment and desperation still rang through the sacred space as the knife came down. I am besmeared with the blood of human sacrifice and parents' tears. Mal'akh braced for the glorious impact. His moment of transformation had arrived. Incredibly, he felt no pain. A thunderous vibration filled his body, deafening and deep. The room began shaking, and a brilliant white light blinded him from above. The heavens roared. And Mal'akh knew it had happened. Exactly as he had planned. Langdon did not remember sprinting toward the altar as the helicopter appeared overhead. Nor did he remember leaping with his arms out-stretched . . . soaring toward the man in the black robe . . . trying desperately to tackle him before he could plunge the knife down a second time. Their bodies collided, and Langdon saw a bright light sweep down through the oculus and illuminate the altar. He expected to see the bloody body of Peter Solomon on the altar, but the naked chest that shone in the light had no blood on it at all . . . only a tapestry of tattoos. The knife lay broken beside him, apparently having been driven into the stone altar rather than into flesh. As he and the man in the black robe crashed together onto the hard stone floor, Langdon saw the bandaged nub on the end of the man's right arm, and he realized to his bewilderment that he had just tackled Peter Solomon. As they slid together across the stone floor, the helicopter's searchlights blazed down from above. The chopper thundered in low, its skids practically touching the expansive wall of glass. On the front of the helicopter, a strange-looking gun rotated, aiming downward through the glass. The red beam of its laser scope sliced through the skylight and danced across the floor, directly toward Langdon and Solomon. No! But there was no gunfire from above . . . only the sound of the helicopter blades. Langdon felt nothing but an eerie ripple of energy that shimmered through his cells. Behind his head, on the pigskin chair, the laptop hissed strangely. He spun in time to see its screen suddenly flash to black. Unfortunately, the last visible message had been clear. SENDING MESSAGE: 100% COMPLETE Pull up! Damn it! Up! The UH-60 pilot threw his rotors into overdrive, trying to keep his skids from touching any part of the large glass skylight. He knew the six thousand pounds of lift force that surged downward from his rotors was already straining the glass to its breaking point. Unfortunately, the incline of the pyramid beneath the helicopter was efficiently shedding the thrust sideways, robbing him of lift. Up! Now! He tipped the nose, trying to skim away, but the left strut hit the center of the glass. It was only for an instant, but that was all it took. The Temple Room's massive oculus exploded in a swirl of glass and wind . . . sending a torrent of jagged shards plummeting into the room below. Stars falling from heaven. Mal'akh stared up into the beautiful white light and saw a veil of shimmering jewels fluttering toward him . . . accelerating . . . as if racing to shroud him in their splendor. Suddenly there was pain. Everywhere. Stabbing. Searing. Slashing. Razor-sharp knives piercing soft flesh. Chest, neck, thighs, face. His body tightened all at once, recoiling. His blood-filled mouth cried out as the pain ripped him from his trance. The white light above transformed itself, and suddenly, as if by magic, a dark helicopter was suspended above him, its thundering blades driving an icy wind down into the Temple Room, chilling Mal'akh to the core and dispersing the wisps of incense to the distant corners of the room. Mal'akh turned his head and saw the Akedah knife lying broken by his side, smashed upon the granite altar, which was covered in a blanket of shattered glass. Even after everything I did to him . . . Peter Solomon averted the knife. He refused to spill my blood. With welling horror, Mal'akh raised his head and peered down along the length of his own body. This living artifact was to have been his great offering. But it lay in tatters. His body was drenched in blood . . . huge shards of glass protruding from his flesh in all directions. Weakly, Mal'akh lowered his head back to the granite altar and stared up through the open space in the roof. The helicopter was gone now, in its place a silent, wintry moon. Wide-eyed, Mal'akh lay gasping for breath . . . all alone on the great altar.

Private Prisons And Public Prisons - 815 Words

The Corrections Corporation of America (CCA), which is essentially the Enron of the private prison industry, has long touted private prisons as an alternative to government-owned prisons. Indeed, CCA has set forth three reasons justifying the creation of private prisons for federal inmates: †¢ Cost Effectiveness. Private prisons are less expensive to operate and will save the federal government millions of dollars. †¢ Safety. Private prisons are effectively protect inmates’ safety. †¢ Humane Treatment. Private prisons are modern facilities that provide humane treatment to inmates. Studies have shown that private prisons achieve none of these goals, and the reason is simple: private prisons operate under a fundamentally different regulatory structure that alters the choices -- and motives – of its participants. Indeed, unlike their federal counterparts, private prisons operate in a market economy where maximizing profits is vital to sustainability and thus a driving factor in corporate decision-making. Under basic economic theory, when operational costs exceed current and future estimates, corporations must identify ways in which to reduce such costs and therefore increase profitability. This is precisely what happened in the private prison context. Corporations such as CCA often underestimate the cost of operating private prisons in a manner that would increase safety and treat inmates more humanely. As a result, operators of private prisons made the deliberate choiceShow MoreRelatedThe Between Private And Public Prisons942 Words   |  4 Pagesbe tween private and public prisons. While private prisons have been useful, I believe that it does not have an advantage over public prisons with regard to rehabilitation and reoffending rates of offenders. Private prisons were first implemented in order to combat the effects of overcrowding and the increasing cost of maintaining public prisons (Mennicken, 2013; Jones Newburn, 2005). While private prisons have been successful in that regard, there are various other concerns, ranging from prison andRead MoreThe Between Public And Private Prisons1824 Words   |  8 Pagesdefectiveness. Being governed by humans, there –nevertheless— exists an imbalance due to the natural imperfections of the mind. One particular subject matter is the deliberate breaking of moral standards surrounding the prison system. Specifically, the private prison sector. These private prison corporations indulge in uncommon for-profit business practices to strategically maximize their yields in undisclosed manners. An obvious lack of transparency. So, could their practices be so vile for the need ofRead MorePublic Facilities And Private Prisons1116 Words   |  5 Pages Prison is an institut ion designed to securely to house inmates who have been convicted of crimes. The United States holds the records for having the largest inmate population residing within the walls of the correctional system. The inflation in correctional spending and the largest prison population have impelled lawmakers and the government to look toward the privatization of prisons. Privatization of prisons is the use of private sector or corporation in financing, constructing, andRead MoreEssay about The Public-Private Prison Debate2326 Words   |  10 PagesCalifornia is suffering from a crisis in the prison system. Its facilities are operating at double capacity and grossly deficient medical care is the cause of at least one inmate death per week (Wood, 2008, para. 2). Because of this need for reform, the federal government is stepping in to direct the state prison’s operating procedure. Although the financial choices of each state should be free from federal control, the federal govern ment is still known to put pressure on states to make decisionsRead MoreThe Prison Industrial Complex Is The Economic Interrelation Between Private Prisons And Various Public1748 Words   |  7 PagesThe prison-industrial complex is the economic interrelation between private prisons and various public and private job sectors that have become dependent on the expansion of the private prison system. A partial list of these sectors includes construction, pharmaceuticals, and law enforcement, including probation and parole. The prison-industrial complex also runs a cheap inmate labor force for various corporations. Approximately 2,266,800 adults are currently imprisoned in America. In addition toRead MoreThe Use Of Private Prisons For Federal Inmates1604 Words   |  7 PagesPhase Out Use of Private Prisons for Federal Inmates. This was an article title created by Charlie Savage, a Pulitzer Prize winner and correspondent for the New York Times in Washington on August 18, 2016. Savage wrote how the Obama administration would begin to phase out the use of private run prisons to hold inmates. This was ultimately due to the research done on the quality of life for inmates, the safety of inmates and prison employees, and the security of private run prisons. In the articleRead MorePrivate Prisons : Are They The Criminal Justice Systems? Savior Or Destroyer?1615 Words   |  7 PagesPrivate Prisons: Are They the Criminal Justice Systems’ Savior or Destroyer? As of 2005, there are over 107 privately operated secure facilities contracting to hold adult criminal offenders in the United States (Seiter, p. 164) According to Richard P. Seiter (2011), â€Å"A private correctional facility is any correctional facility operated by a nongovernmental agency and usually in a for-profit manner that contracts with a governmental entity to provide security, housing, and programs for offenders†Read MorePrivatization Of A Capitalist Society1699 Words   |  7 PagesA criminal is easier to deal with when they’re found dead. A living criminal must be tried in court of their peers, provided legal representation, and then must have whatever prison time they receive - if any - paid for by the Government. Meanwhile a dead criminal just needs to be acknowledged then buried. When it comes to dealing with live criminals, a government finds itself in a position where it must provide for the safety and wellbeing of members of society that are often ignored, which canRead MoreIs Prison Privatization Really a Long Term Fix? Essay1698 Words   |  7 PagesPrison Privatization is a term used for which local, state and federal correction facilities hire companies from the private sector to run prisons and provide prison-related services. Some private companies are contracted only to provide things such as medical care, counseling, food services, and maintenance within publicly owned jails and prisons. Today, more and more private companies are being contracted to not only design and build, but also to operate new jails and prisons on both the stateRead MorePrivatization Within The Criminal Justice System Essay1510 Words   |  7 Pagespermeates every level of the criminal justice system, from incarceration to probation. Many states have turned to private institutions in an attempt shed operating costs, while also increasing effectiveness throughout the criminal justice system. These acts can include anything from providing treatm ent programs to full blown management of the entire prison system. Overcrowding at prisons and the rising costs associated with them has led many states to turn to some form of privatization within the criminal

A Liberation Psychology By Martin Baro - 934 Words

â€Å"Washing one s hands of the conflict between the powerful and the powerless means to side with the powerful, not to be neutral†(Paulo Freir). Throughout the book Writings for a Liberation Psychology by Martà ­n-Barà ³ mentions a variety of psychology warfare used primary amongst the lower class population in order to have control over them. To what extend can the book Writings for a Liberation Psychology by Martà ­n-Barà ³, be used to establish community organizing or even creating a community in order to hold unity against the variety psychological warfare being used by the oppressors. For instance Dr. Baro, comments â€Å" Simply to assume that every vote has the same meanining is to ignore the mulitiplicity of causes that may lead a person to vote, and the multiplicity of motives that can be hidden behind a vote for a givne party or candidate.† (pg. 71). Through this section of the book, baro is bringing the idea of why people in El salvador feel like they have the right to go out to vote but not control of what votes actually get counted for. For starters the people know for a fact that the voting polls are being riged, however how can they develop consciousness in order to express themselfs towards their own community in order to detain riged polls? Dr. Baro comments on how historical memory could be one of the keys to making changes around you: The hard struggle struggle to satisfy everyday basic needs forces the popular majorities to stay in a here and now without a before

Hills Like White Elephants, by Ernest Hemingway Essay example

Hills Like White Elephants â€Å"The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. [†¦] The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was very hot and the express from Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went to Madrid† (290 paragraph 1). Ernest Hemingway crafts a well written dialogue in this story about a man and a girl. The story begins with a detailed description of a train station in Spain surrounded by beautiful hills. The story then turns into dialogue between the two. A man and a girl who appear to be traveling sit down at a†¦show more content†¦Hemingway creates his dialogue so well that he does not have to use he said and she said through the whole story. He does not have to use this because he makes it obvious to the reader through the tone of the story when the man is sp eaking and when the girl is speaking. Hemingway’s use of dialogue is also very revealing in the fact that it shows how the characters are feeling. The way he creates the dialogue makes it possible for the reader to feel the emotion of the character. â€Å"I wanted to try this new drink. That’s all we do, isn’t it- look at things and try new drinks?† â€Å"I guess so.† The girl looked across at the hills. â€Å"They’re lovely hills,† she said. â€Å"They don’t really look like white elephants. I just meant the coloring of their skin through the trees† (291 Line 35). In this part of the dialogue it is apparent that there is some sort of tension between the two characters. The reader can tell there is a problem by the tone of the conversation. The reader can tell which character is saying what line because the feelings of the man and the girl have been established at this point. The way the flow of the dialogue has gone mak es it very clear that the man would like to continue his free and exciting lifestyle while the girl is left wondering what she should do. Sylvester 3 The man said that he wanted to try this new drink and proceeds to comment on howShow MoreRelatedHills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway580 Words   |  2 PagesE.B. White once said, â€Å"Theres no limit to how complicated things can get, on account of one thing always leading to another.† This quotation means that nobody ever knows how complicated things are going to get, and on top of that they can get worse. One can agree with this statement because in life you can go through unexpected situations that really affect your life in a negative way, and in life things might get worse. Both Soldiers home by Ernest Hemingway and Hills like white elephants by ErnestRead More`` Hills Like White Elephants `` By Ernest Hemingway886 Words   |  4 Pagesreader could put themselves into. Whether they choose to partake in a wayward journey full of adventure or the daily life of a human being with morals; a story’s aspect influences those thoughts with a deeper understandi ng. In Ernest Hemingway’s â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants,† it follows an American man and girl at a resting point during their travels. They arrived by train, stopping between Barcelona and Madrid. While there, they patiently waited for the next train at a bar inside of the station.Read MoreHills Like White Elephants By Ernest Hemingway893 Words   |  4 Pages Ernest Hemingway was a prolific writer. His short story, â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† shows the tense situation between a man and a woman on vacation. Hemingway chooses to be vague in many ways. He never gives real names to his characters, nor explicitly states where they are besides hinting that they are in Spain. Additionally, he leaves it entirely to the reader to discover what the couple is discussing. By only providing information to the reader through only the dialogue of the two centralRead More`` Hills Like White Elephants `` By Ernest Hemingway939 Words   |  4 PagesThe short story â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† written by Ernest Hemingway, is an intriguing literary work that foretells the story of a man and a woman waiting for a train, whilst discussing their feelings and emotions towards the surgical operation that is about to occur on the woman. Although the story was originally written in August 1927, the piece was later published in Hemingway’s short story collection ‘Men Without Women’. The text includes a wide variety of literary terms and has various criticalRead MoreHills Like White Elephants By Ernest Hemingway990 Words   |  4 Pages Another relationship coming to an end†¦ Throughout the story â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† written in 1927 by Ernest Hemingway, he used the train station setting, the desired operation, and obviously the relationship between the American and the girl to symbolize a crumbling relationship and unwanted gift between them. The American and the girl find themselves wound up in a rough, unplanned situation that they are trying to fix. Many bread crumbs are dropped throughout the story to symbolize a collapsingRead MoreHills Like White Elephants By Ernest Hemingway1446 Words   |  6 PagesErnest Hemingway’s short story â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† explores the topics of abortion, sex before marriage, and feelings of separation. There are many different points of view one can take on Hemingway’s work. The main literary analysis that will be explained is the significance of the title and how it is layered into the story in various places. In addition to this, the narrator’s point of view will also be discussed since it plays a role in bringing the characters together. Lastly, it willRead More`` Hills Like White Elephants `` By Ernest Hemingway1750 Words   |  7 PagesErnest Hemingway’s stories are known for their ever interpreting meanings behind them, and â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† does not trail from the rest due to the never mentioned word ‘abortion’. â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants,† written by Ernest Hemingway, takes place around World War 1 in Spain, at a train station (Hills Like White Elephants. 4). An American man and a girl have been discussing the girl’s unspecific operation. It is apparent that the girl is perturbed about this operation, while theRead More`` Hills Like White Elephant `` By Ernest Hemingway865 Words   |  4 Pagesbefore it begins, or as easily getting rid of problem before it even became one. In the short story â€Å"Hills like White Elephant†, the compensation of abortion can easily be seen between Jig and her American lover’s decision whether to keep t he innocent’s life or not. Ernest Hemingway uses the fiction element plot, symbolism, and setting to illustrate the theme of abortion in â€Å"Hills like White Elephants.† Abortion has been viewed as a crucial struggle between couples. Many view this situation as endingRead MoreHills Like White Elephants By Ernest Hemingway1037 Words   |  5 PagesOlivia Sellers English 102 Scheck February 10, 2016 â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† by Ernest Hemingway Ernest Hemingway’s â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† can be puzzling and hard to decipher. Due to this, a number of conclusions can be drawn away from the text. The dialog between characters leaves a number of questions unanswered and leaves the reader confused about the conversation as a whole. Many things are left unsaid and not explained in the story, with that being the case, the reader must takeRead MoreHills Like White Elephants, by Ernest Hemingway1432 Words   |  6 Pagesunderstood behaviors. Ernest Hemingway weaves both of these stereotypes into his short story â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants.† The story’s plot revolves around a couple arguing about whether or not to have an abortion. In Hemingway’s â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants† a theme of male domination can be found, but by examining the dialogue closely, a theme of females asserting their will and manipulating emerges as well. Male domination is the primary and most obvious theme in â€Å"Hills Like White Elephants.† During the

My Ex-Best Friend free essay sample

Prompt: Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence. (431 words) When you think about your past, there’s always one person who sticks out, who shines more than the rest.With memories so clear, one may feel like she’s in reality.Those are the memories that haunt me, just like everyone, I had a best friend. We bought friendship necklaces, mocked actors in movies, yelled at video games, and held each others’ hand.To any onlooker, we looked like sisters, twins almost. She taught me how to feel confident when I was in fifth grade trying out for a solo in the school’s Christmas program. I didn’t get it, but somehow I was okay that I didn’t, I was proud for even trying. My twin helped me through sixth grade when I was bullied by a group of girls, the bullying was so bad that I stopped eating and was diagnosed with a pre ulcer. We will write a custom essay sample on My Ex-Best Friend or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page She talked some sense into me and I deflected the snood remarks, slowly, I became healthy again.The girl by my side was named Alexis, but she preferred Ali. She was my rock and I was hers. Seventh grade started and so did the bullying, but this time it was one of my friends. Constant stabs with words and hands rekindled my old habit. Ali noticed, and again, she helped me out of it.Eighth grade came and went with boy drama and broken hearts. The end of ninth grade almost killed me, after nine years she threw away our friendship. I blame it on her, but I know I had a part in it too, I didn’t try to stop her or work things out.Miscommunication cut the bond between us in half; Ali was okay and I was miserable. My rock grew legs and moved on, leaving me behind to welcome the darkness. Over the summer, all I wore was depression. I was by myself trying to figure out the world, burnt with intimidation. The nagging sadness made me feel alone and unwanted, it wasn’t until the fall of my sophomore year that I started fighting it. Everything Ali taught me, I put to use: believe in yourself, stay positive, you’re worth it, you’re unique and beautiful, and you’re strong enough to conquer every challenge God gives you. To this day, I’m still fighting my demon but I’m happy with my life, my friends, and my family. I’m growing stronger every day and everyone can see it. Ali has ha d a significant influence in my life and I can’t thank her enough for being my biggest fan, my teacher, my therapist, and my best friend.

Virtual Reality - What It Is And How It Works Essays -

Virtual Reality - What it is and How it Works Imagine being able to point into the sky and fly. Or perhaps walk through space and connect molecules together. These are some of the dreams that have come with the invention of virtual reality. With the introduction of computers, numerous applications have been enhanced or created. The newest technology that is being tapped is that of artificial reality, or "virtual reality" (VR). When Morton Heilig first got a patent for his "Sensorama Simulator" in 1962, he had no idea that 30 years later people would still be trying to simulate reality and that they would be doing it so effectively. Jaron Lanier first coined the phrase "virtual reality" around 1989, and it has stuck ever since. Unfortunately, this catchy name has caused people to dream up incredible uses for this technology including using it as a sort of drug. This became evident when, among other people, Timothy Leary became interested in VR. This has also worried some of the researchers who are trying to create very real applications for medical, space, physical, chemical, and entertainment uses among other things. In order to create this alternate reality, however, you need to find ways to create the illusion of reality with a piece of machinery known as the computer. This is done with several computer-user interfaces used to simulate the senses. Among these, are stereoscopic glasses to make the simulated world look real, a 3D auditory display to give depth to sound, sensor lined gloves to simulate tactile feedback, and head-trackers to follow the orientation of the head. Since the technology is fairly young, these interfaces have not been perfected, making for a somewhat cartoonish simulated reality. Stereoscopic vision is probably the most important feature of VR because in real life, people rely mainly on vision to get places and do things. The eyes are approximately 6.5 centimeters apart, and allow you to have a full-colour, three-dimensional view of the world. Stereoscopy, in itself, is not a very new idea, but the new twist is trying to generate completely new images in real- time. In 1933, Sir Charles Wheatstone invented the first stereoscope with the same basic principle being used in today's head-mounted displays. Presenting different views to each eye gives the illusion of three dimensions. The glasses that are used today work by using what is called an "electronic shutter". The lenses of the glasses interleave?h)0*0*0*the left-eye and right-eye views every thirtieth of a second. The shutters selectively block and admit views of the screen in sync with the interleaving, allowing the proper views to go into each eye. The problem with this method though is that you have to wear special glasses. Most VR researchers use complicated headsets, but it is possible to create stereoscopic three-dimensional images without them. One such way is through the use of lenticular lenses. These lenses, known since Herman Ives experimented with them in 1930, allow one to take two images, cut them into thin vertical slices and interleave them in precise order (also called multiplexing) and put cylinder shaped lenses in front of them so that when you look into them directly, the images correspond with each eye. This illusion of depth is based on what is called binocular parallax. Another problem that is solved is that which occurs when one turns their head. Nearby objects appear to move more than distant objects. This is called motion parallax. Lenticular screens can show users the proper stereo images when moving their heads well when a head- motion sensor is used to adjust the effect. Sound is another important part of daily life, and thus must be simulated well in order to create artificial reality. Many scientists including Dr. Elizabeth Wenzel, a researcher at NASA, are convinced the 3D audio will be useful for scientific visualization and space applications in the ways the 3D video is somewhat limited. She has come up with an interesting use for virtual sound that would allow an astronaut to hear the state of their oxygen, or have an acoustical beacon that directs one to a trouble spot on a satellite. The "Convolvotron" is one such device that simulates the location of up to four audio channels with a sort of imaginary sphere surrounding the listener. This device takes into account that each person has specialized auditory signal processing, and personalizes what each person hears. Using a position sensor from Polhemus, another VR research company, it is possible to move the position of sound by simply moving a small cube around in your hand. The key to the Convolvotron is something called the "Head- Related Transfer Function (HRTF)", which is