Food for Thought

That food is a (or even the) central theme for any ethico-political project aiming to overcome animal exploitation does not need much explanation: from Pythagoras to Peter Singer, from the ancient Greeks to contemporary moral philosophy, it is first and foremost the fact that humans eat nonhuman animals that constitutes the core of critical inquiry. Indeed, it is food animals who are killed in the greatest (in fact, more and more appalling) numbers and, in terms of injustice, it is they who face the most systematized harms at human hands. In a word, creating a more respectful world for animals requires changing our food practices. Yet if this is the baseline for most traditional and contemporary animal ethics, there exist blind spots and a certain fuzziness in outlining the details of “just” relationships with nonhuman animals and with food. That is why political philosopher Josh Milburn has devoted no fewer than two books to the nexus of food and animals. Bringing together animals ethics and food ethics, Milburn proposes a novel look at old relationships and overlooked questions.

Just Fodder: The Ethics of Feeding Animals (2022) tackles the difficult question of how to feed obligate carnivores in human care (especially in homes and wild animal sanctuaries) without violating animal rights, while Food, Justice, and Animals: Feeding the World Respectfully (2023) explores how we might develop an animal rights-respecting global food system for humans. Milburn situates his analyses squarely within the recent political turn in animal ethics. Thus, he is concerned less with individual ethical choices and more with larger questions of justice — specifically food justice. These books examine the deeper philosophical questions underlying food production and consumption and offer practical solutions to long-standing problems. Milburn’s writing style is clear, accessible, and engaging, presenting complex philosophical debates in a straightforward manner, which allows the reader to follow along easily. Even if we do not agree with many of his proposals, especially in the second book, we applaud Milburn for the sophistication and honesty with which he approaches his analyses. Both books make important contributions to the scholarship on animal rights and should be read by anyone interested in how issues of food and food justice are central to the whole debate about justice for animals.

New Answers to Old (and New) Questions

Just Fodder focuses on a number of philosophical and practical questions concerning the feeding of other animals, especially obligate carnivores, while upholding animal rights. Milburn asks us to consider not only what and how we feed to the animals closest to us (companion animals) but also what kinds of animals we should be permitted to feed or not to feed, whether and when we should feed them, and how our obligations change with respect to different categories of animals. That the question of justice is the fulcrum of the book is emphasized by the wordplay of the title. Food for animals has traditionally been considered “just” (i.e. merely) fodder, not worthy of philosophical investigation, which, as Milburn argues, is entirely misguided. Food production and consumption cannot be disentangled from issues of justice, and by extension from political institutions like the state. The question, then, is what just fodder might look like: how do we feed nonhuman animals justly?

Excluding those animals who are farmed for human consumption, Milburn presents a variety of categories in which nonhuman animals might be placed with respect to their relation to us. He begins with those “closest” to us, i.e. companion animals (or what he calls the “Animal Family”), and progressively expands the circle of consideration to “liminal animals” (called “Animal Neighbours”), animals attracted to and affected by agricultural practices (“Animal Thieves”), animal in sanctuaries or rehabilitation centres (“Animal Refugees”), and, finally, the most distant, wild animals (“Animal Strangers”). In Milburn’s relational view, the obligations we have towards animals are a function of the relationships we have with them and of how much we impact their lives. The obligations therefore decrease as the animals’ distance from us increases. We find his divisions helpful, if only for the purposes of the analysis: we are not sure, for example, that “Animal Thieves” is the fairest characterization of animals who scavenge in agricultural areas, as it betrays an anthropocentric bias by labelling these animals as “scroungers” of human “possessions”. Moreover, although it is important to acknowledge our relationships with other animals, it is equally if not more important to acknowledge that animals are not reducible to these relationships. While convenient for the argumentative line, this reduction is a potential downside of this method, and the reader should keep this in mind.

Before exploring the Animal Family, Milburn devotes a chapter to the question of animal carnivorism, which outlines the rationale and the logic of his overall approach. Milburn is confident that the obligatory carnivorism of certain species is neither a justified objection nor an insurmountable problem, since nutritional science has emphasized that what animals (including humans) need is specific nutrients, rather than specific ingredients. This is an important distinction, and one that is often overlooked. Ultimately, Milburn notes, due to advances in science and technology, it is possible to feed nonhuman animals justly without violating the rights of other animals, a welcome and encouraging assertion on the face of it.

Since killing some animals to feed others would harm rights-bearing subjects, Milburn proposes a series of alternatives that are made available by the development of nutritional science and new food technologies. Milburn rightly insists that plant-based solutions should always take precedence whenever possible. There is ample evidence to suggest that dogs, classed roughly as omnivores, can thrive on entirely plant-based diets. The same is very likely possible for cats, classed as obligate carnivores. Milburn points out that omnivore and carnivore are themselves loose categories that do not establish hard and fast rules about the specific foods an animal, human or nonhuman, might need to eat. Certainly, neither dogs nor cats need to eat raw animal flesh or even consume animal protein for their nutritional needs to be met. As long as the food they are being provided contains appropriate ingredients, they can justly be fed plant-based food. Milburn also provides a strong and compelling case for vertical agriculture as a solution to the ecological harms and animal rights’ violations caused by arable agriculture. Far from being a techno-fix, he argues, vertical agriculture is relatively easy to set up and could feed millions without any small field animals being killed and without huge swaths of land (and ecosystems) being destroyed for crops.

However, as Milburn points out, plant-based diets may not be possible for all animals in all situations, particularly carnivorous wild animals housed in rescue and rehabilitation facilities. It is therefore necessary to explore other options, like collecting (unfertilized) eggs from “backyard” (and companion) chickens. Milburn discusses how one might source “animal protein” from animals killed by vehicles or who have died of natural causes, yet he ultimately dismisses this because of the obvious difficulty of systematizing it. It is one thing for an individual rescue centre to rely on the occasional animal corpse on the side of the road, and another to rely on them as a consistent food source. Nevertheless, Milburn is convinced that eggs and cultivated meat can be produced without violating the rights of animals. We explore his proposals for these food products in greater detail below, but for now suffice it to say that we are not convinced that either are compatible with justice in the long term. Egg production, no matter how ostensibly “humane”, always risks exploitation and harm, and the production of cultivated meat, for humans or other animals, inevitably involves regarding animals as commodities. To be sure, wild animals must be fed something while plant-based alternatives are developed, but any recourse to cultivated meat should be temporary, not final.

Another concern we have is with the stark division that Just Fodder makes between sentient and non-sentient animals, something that also comes up in Food, Justice, and Animals. In both texts, Milburn argues that non-sentient animals can be “sacrificed” and used as food without a second thought. This, he maintains, is “neither morally problematic nor unjust” (JF, 45). He acknowledges that in some cases the attribution of sentience is problematic and that in the future new studies and new discoveries can and will change our current views, but he does not hesitate to dismiss, in a language that we find crude and insensitive, as “fair game” those not “qualifying” for just treatment. In his words: “I am comfortable saying that any animals who (or that) are non-sentient are ‘fair game’; we can feed them to carnivores” (JF, 46). Milburn, it seems to us, is far too comfortable both in his conviction that human knowledge and ingenuity can (or will) confidently allow us to draw lines between beings, and that this line-drawing sentientist position is just.

We are also troubled by Milburn’s claim that to avoid rehabilitated carnivores harming other rights-bearing animals upon release from sanctuaries, they should be kept in captivity indefinitely (and fed rights-less invertebrates and cultivated meat). Given that captivity is itself a fundamental injustice, it is difficult to understand how it is just to keep animals captive when they could be released. Once recuperated and healthy, wild animals ought to be able to live independently of human interference and to acquire food as they normally would. While maintaining animals’ habitats is certainly a question of justice, what other animals do in that habitat is not. It is disingenuous to suggest that we have “blood on our hands” if released animals kill other animals for food. They are not “ours”, so what they do outside a sanctuary is not, in principle, our responsibility (unless we have trained them to do harm). As sovereign beings, they should be entitled to proceed with their lives as they wish and as they need. We might have a responsibility to prevent our cat and dog companions from injuring other animals, but that is because we have an entirely different kind of relationship with them, as Milburn himself points out.

Despite these reservations, we are on board with most of Just Fodder’s claims and certainly support its efforts to find concrete solutions to problems often ignored or downplayed by animal scholars and activists. Let us now turn to Milburn’s second book, where we engage in a more sustained critique of some of the issues already raised and new issues that emerge with respect to feeding humans justly.

You Can’t Have Your Cow and Eat It Too

After having explored in Just Fodder how to feed other animals justly, in Food, Justice, and Animals Milburn turns his attention to how to feed human animals justly. He makes it clear from the outset that in the future “zoopolis” he envisions, animal agriculture as it is currently practiced would have no place. Milburn asserts that sentient animals have a prima facie right not to suffer or to be killed. The violence to which farmed animals are subjected should be absolutely impermissible in any society that deems itself just. However, rather than advocating for a shift to an exclusively plant-based food system, Milburn argues that it would be not only possible but even preferable to implement a non-vegan food system in the zoopolis. The non-vegan food system would avoid violating animals’ rights by relying on cellular agriculture to produce animal products, including cultivated meat. Meanwhile, eggs could be sourced from happy hens, who, along with their mammalian counterparts, would be protected by robust workers’ rights. Animals deemed not (sufficiently) sentient to warrant rights at all, such as jellyfish and oysters, would be considered “fair game” for farming, sale, and consumption.

Milburn presents two main reasons for reinventing animal agriculture rather than abandoning it. The first is that countless field animals are killed in plant-based agriculture, and it may not be as sustainable as some animal-based alternatives. The other is that eliminating animal products from the food system would undermine too many people’s conception of “the good life” and deprive them of “good work” to be justifiable or just. For some, he writes, “Christmas without turkey just might not be Christmas anymore” (FJA, 24), and for others missing out on foie gras or octopus may be too disturbing a prospect to consider (FJA, 9).

While we are highly sceptical of the viability of his proposals and disagree with many of the assumptions upon which they are based, we do appreciate Milburn’s attempt to work through problems that many proponents of veganism have not adequately addressed, and provide concrete solutions to a seemingly insurmountable problem: the fact that the majority of the human population shows a total unwillingness to give up meat and other animal products, no matter how much cruelty is involved in their production. Within the animal rights community, numerous initiatives are underway to inspire a shift to sustainable plant-based agriculture, but movement in this direction is frustratingly slow.

Nevertheless, we find it difficult to sympathize with many of Milburn’s proposals. From the outset, he is far too quick to give up on plant-based agriculture as the food production system of the future zoopolis. To be sure, sustainability and the problem of killing field animals in plant-based agriculture is serious and must be addressed. However, given the technologies and ingenuity at our disposal, this problem could be solved or at least seriously mitigated, especially if adequate funding and resources were provided. Indeed, as we saw above, Just Fodder proposes vertical agriculture as one solution to this problem. But it is curiously absent from the discussion in the second book.

We are also not convinced that maintaining a “good life” defined in part by the consumption of animal products is a valid reason for developing new forms of animal agriculture. It is true that many people associate turkey with Christmas and other foods with other traditions, but surely this does not mean that the foods should therefore stay in production. Some traditions must be abandoned for the cruelty or injustice they involve, period. As a committed liberal, Milburn does not want to propose constraining solutions and allows the state only a small, controlling role: neither the state nor other entities should tell people what the good life is. Fair enough. Yet, just as he insists that there are multiple conceptions, as many as there are people, he seems to privilege a very specific, very “British” pastoral conception of the good life. On occasion Milburn does openly acknowledge his partiality, yet he does not otherwise historically situate the kinds of images and values that he not only evokes but implicitly universalizes.

Moreover, as Milburn himself explains, foods with no cultural associations in a given place can become popular seemingly overnight. In other words, cultures and conceptions of the good life are constantly shifting. He points to sushi’s almost instantaneous popularity in Britain as an example (FJA, 69). Why could plant-based foods not become just as popular? Why cling to turkey or foie gras or octopus when, even if they could be sourced without the cruelty involved now, it would still require a degree of exploitation to produce them? There are logistical problems as well: one wonders how it will ever be possible to produce an entire turkey via cultivated meat processes that can be roasted whole and carved up on the Christmas dinner table. It is not just turkey flesh itself, but the ritual that is apparently meaningful to so many people.

Milburn devotes an entire chapter to outlining the virtues of “plant-based meat” and does an excellent job of responding to its critics, both vegan and non-vegan. But he does not push this further to imagine how plant-based agriculture could be systematized. Instead, he conveys his certainty that depriving people of meat and animal products means depriving them of the good life, and therefore a solution must be found.

Elsewhere, Milburn claims that “the practice of meat-eating is not itself rights-violating — even if (almost) all the ways that we currently acquire meat are rights-violating” (FJA, 3). We are uncomfortable with this assertion. There are many reasons to assume that as long as animal flesh is being consumed, nonhuman animals will be regarded as sources of flesh rather than subjects or individuals in their own right. It is reasonable to assume that “plant-based meats” that do not contain any animal flesh but are entirely of vegetable origin do not objectify and commodify animals in any way, as Milburn maintains. But a burger made of pea protein is quite a different thing and has very different connotations than a burger made of cow flesh, no matter how the flesh was procured. Milburn does not adequately distinguish between, or critically examine, the implications of these two very different kinds of “meat” but assumes they are on a par, somehow.

We also find it odd that Milburn presents his analysis as a work of “ideal theory”, that is, an exploration of a desirable future. Ideal theory is not to be confused with utopianism, which Milburn dismisses as “head-in-the-cloud theorizing” (FJA, 15), but is to be distinguished from non-ideal theory, which is concerned with immediate reforms and policy changes. It is one thing to admit that veganism might be difficult to systematize, let alone universalize, but it is quite another to establish a non-vegan food system and the consumption of animal products as the goal — indeed as the ideal — itself. Certainly, as we try to replace the rapaciously destructive animal-based food system in place with a sustainable plant-based one, it might be necessary to make concessions along the way (in the form of reformist or welfarist changes, for example), but to aspire to a new form of animal agriculture strikes us as misguided, especially from an animal rights perspective.

Indeed, Milburn is very clear that he is making principled rather than practical arguments for non-vegan food systems. If he were advocating for cellular agriculture and cultivated meat, both of which he claims will enable the continuation of the non-rights-violating production of meat and other animal products, as potentially viable transitional technologies to enable a universal shift to plant-based agriculture, we might be somewhat more sympathetic to his project (although we are extremely wary of these technologies, even as “stop-gaps”, for many reasons). But, as a form of ideal theory, that is as a proposal for what could and, he frequently insists, should be, we find his suggested food system to be wanting. Overall, what Milburn is offering is more in line with a non-ideal theory that works within the existing structures as a means of inching its way towards justice, rather than a theory of what a properly just society should look like.

Another concern is that Milburn relies heavily on a false binary between “old” animal rights represented principally by Tom Regan and Gary Francione, and “new” animal rights in which “veganism ceases to be a moral baseline” (FJA, 13). There certainly are important differences between what we prefer to call traditional and contemporary animal rights, especially in light of the political turn. Not all contemporary political theorists of animal rights will necessarily advocate a vegan future, but this does not mean that others do not or will not. In our view, the distinguishing feature between moral and political approaches to animal rights is not whether veganism is a necessary foundation for a peaceable future with other animals, but whether veganism (or animal rights more generally) is a moral and/or a political issue.

Perhaps the most troubling issue with the book’s framing is that its underlying motivation is to find a way for humans to “have our cow and eat her too” (FJA, 2; 29; 193). Milburn repeatedly invokes this phrase to demonstrate that his proposed non-vegan food system could satisfy everyone, from animal rights theorists and activists to ardent meat-eaters. A true “win-win” scenario! But relying on this phrase and what it represents (including the very neoliberal “win-win” logic) is a major misstep and signals a lack of awareness about the intricacies of the system of domination Milburn is trying to challenge. The original adage, “You can’t have your cake and eat it too”, suggest that one should not seek to have more than what is reasonable: we should curtail our hubris, or the consequences will be dire — a meaning that Milburn does not unpack. Asserting that we can have our cake (or cow) and eat it (or her) too, as Milburn does, reinforces the very hubris the phrase is meant to warn against. Indeed, it reinscribes the rapacious attitude born of the marriage of human supremacism and capitalism that removes all limitations, or moderations, on human behaviour and seeks boundless satisfaction of all human desires regardless of how superficial or destructive. Ultimately, the fulfilment of human needs is paramount: this, he argues, “is a book about how we can have the best of both worlds; how we can have respect for animals, and access to the positive things that animal agriculture gives us: Good food, good jobs, and more” (FJA, 20).

The phrase is also very troubling from a feminist perspective. “Having our cow and eating her too” recalls what Carol J. Adams refers to as the “cycle of objectification, fragmentation, and consumption, which links butchering and sexual violence”.¹ Surely, a book devoted to presenting an “ideal” vision of a just future for humans and other animals should condemn, not celebrate, the ownership and consumption of female animals (or any animals at all). Given how frequently the phrase comes up in the book, it seems that Milburn did not think through its implications or, if he did, was not bothered by them.

For Milburn, having our cow and eating her too means we can have her flesh without causing her harm. As noted, he claims that in the kinds of farms he imagines, animals would not be at risk of harm, let alone cruelty, because they would be considered “workers” rather than property. As rights-bearing members of the political and social community, their labour would have to be properly remunerated. They would be ensured healthcare, retirement benefits, and ideally be members of strong animal labour unions. As for the practicalities, the animals would live their lives in peace apart from the necessary gathering of cells, which would be as non-invasive as possible. For chickens and other poultry, biopsies would not be necessary because “the sourcing of the eggs […] would, in principle, be acceptable. Similar is true of feathers” (FJA, 125). Mammal cells could be extracted by way of “needle biopsies” and “incision biopsies” with “the use pain relief” if necessary. Ideally, stem cells could be sourced “without interfering with animals’ bodies” using umbilical cords (FJA, 126). The animals would otherwise go about their lives as normal with minimal interference. Farmers, he says, could “take biopsies as part of routine human–animal contact. Or farmers could encourage animals to participate in their own time, at their own speed, perhaps in exchange for a favoured food (or similar)” (FJA, 126).

Even if this were possible, there are a host of problems that arise when considering using nonhuman animals in this way. Populations would have to be controlled in order to meet production needs. Reproductive interventions would take place, which are the source of so many injustices. Certainly, animals would continue to be bred to provide the cells for certain kinds of flesh. They would possibly be segregated by species or sex for monitoring purposes, ruining the possibility of multispecies community-building, which is surely the defining feature of a zoopolis.

These are but some of the practical ethical issues that Milburn’s proposal raises. Others concern the dynamics at play. The farmer would still be in a relationship of domination with the animals, who would exist primarily as sources of profit. And the possibility of slippage into more egregious forms of exploitation would always remain in place. Calling the animals “workers” may alleviate some of the concerns, but not necessarily all of them. The animals could very easily be recategorized as products again and be subject to familiar forms of exploitation. This all amounts to what for us is the main problem of this approach: it doesn’t make conceptual sense to see animals as both workers and products at the same time, which is what they would be in Milburn’s system. These two categories seem to be mutually exclusive, and the attempt to reconcile them a quite traditional form of “washing” to cover the persistence of exploitation.

Finally, one must ask: is a forced biopsy labour or abuse? Even if one doesn’t care about the animals, would the farmers themselves consider taking biopsies “good work” as Milburn claims? Why would planting carrots or lettuce not be equally “good” if not better work? What makes animal agriculture a form of good work for farmers, actually? Milburn never explains. Most farm labour is very difficult, gruelling even. For those who enjoy this kind of work, they could find plenty of opportunities for it on sanctuaries, where they would have opportunities to form meaningful relationships with animals as individuals and not, let’s face it, as commodities.

The same problems arise with Milburn’s proposal for raising hens in order to sell their eggs. Milburn paints a bucolic image of an imaginary farm, FairEggs, where hens comfortably and peacefully engage in their “natural” activities but still produce eggs for humans (FJA, 146). The image he presents sounds lovely, but what’s missing? Other animals, for a start. Why segregate animals by species, except for purposes of exploitation, when so many enthusiastically otherwise seek out friendships with animals? The name of the farm also belies its benevolence. This is a place where eggs are produced, first and foremost, not a place where hens live. This says a lot in itself. This is a farm, not a community. The hens would have workers’ rights, but they would still be like captive workers, valued primarily for their output.

The problems do not end with how Milburn views the role of farmed animals (to remain farmed animals). He is also very quick to determine which animals are “fair game” for farming, harvesting, and consumption. As noted, the term “fair game” is, in our view, callous, deriving from discourses of hunting that go unquestioned. That aside, the species whom Milburn considers “fair game” include, most notably, jellyfish, oysters, and some insects. These creatures may fall under the taxon animal, Milburn says, but they do not have the degree of sentience required to be deserving of rights. Without delving into the debate around degrees of sentience, or likelihood of sentience, corresponding rights, and our related obligations, suffice it to say that we are troubled by Milburn’s assumption that certain animals do not warrant the same protections as others, and that he actively advocates for their exploitation and consumption. Should an “ideal theory” not aim to reduce and ultimately eliminate our use and exploitation of other animals for food and other products, as opposed to finding new ways to justify the exploitation of this and not that species? Shouldn’t it simply draw the line at “animals” and call it a day?

Milburn is concerned that plant-based agriculture would not meet the protein needs of the food insecure around the world. “Indeed,” he writes, “meat can be an important source of nutrition for food insecure people, or people with certain health conditions” (FJA, 78). This is a surprising claim given that so much food insecurity is caused by animal agriculture, and that there are multiple non-animal-derived sources of protein that could be much more easily produced and distributed than by relying on cellular agriculture and egg production.

Milburn frequently raises the issue of finding an appropriate “place” for animals to reside if animal agriculture is eliminated. He seems to echo nonvegans’ anxiety about “where all the animals would go” if farms were shut down. We are surprised at this preoccupation with “place”. As Milburn himself admits, most animal rights advocates suggest turning farms into sanctuaries. This appears to be a feasible and desirable option, both materially and symbolically. Any remaining anxiety about “place” is unwarranted. As soon as animals are no longer bred in the billions for agricultural purposes, their numbers would drop dramatically and much less “place” would be needed. If society withdraws from and rewilds natural spaces, curbing urbanization and industrialization, there would be even more “place” for other animals to reside. Yet, Milburn remains preoccupied with and uses the question of place as a justification for creating (more?) farms rather than transforming existing ones into sanctuaries.

Apparently, Milburn’s main concern is how the disappearance of farms will negatively impact people who enjoy watching animals grazing in the countryside. Who is to say that they wouldn’t enjoy watching the same animals grazing but in a space that is now a sanctuary and not a farm? And more importantly, who is to say that so many people would miss that pastoral image he describes, and even if they did, that it really matters? Some people might be disappointed by the loss of farms and their replacement with sanctuaries or transformation into other ecological projects. But their disappointment ought not to be the foundation for major ethical and political choices that impact the lives (and deaths) of other animals.

Milburn therefore misses an opportunity to explore the possibilities that sanctuaries offer for transforming both the landscape and, crucially, the nature of human–animal relations. The fact that animals on sanctuaries are not required to produce anything, intentionally or not, is itself incredibly meaningful. The total elimination of instrumentality or exploitation is a radical intervention in the historical relationship between humans and other animals. It could be something that the wider public accepted and embraced.

Finally, Milburn’s books suffer from a major lacuna: an examination of the role of capitalism in perpetuating massive injustice in food systems around the world. It is bizarre that an author exploring food justice would not even acknowledge, let alone address in any meaningful way, the injustices for which capitalism is responsible when it comes to food production and consumption (never mind in other areas). Capitalism is by far the primary cause of injustice to humans and nonhumans in the existing food system. To ignore its role in perpetuating the food insecurity and denial of food sovereignty, the unequal distribution of protein and nutritional foods, and other ills is to do an injustice to the question of food justice. Milburn proceeds throughout his analysis as though capitalism didn’t exist or as though it didn’t matter to questions of food justice. The failure to engage with this central issue unfortunately undermines Milburn’s analysis from the beginning.

Indeed, Milburn’s zoopolis is — implicitly but very clearly — a capitalist polis, and it is the uncritical acceptance of capitalism as the de facto system that frames the whole philosophical project, infusing it with the illusion of a “win-win” outcome — a capitalist dream if ever there was one. It is this acceptance that produces the logic of “having one’s cow and eating her too”, that is, the illusion that humans don’t have to renounce their exploitative relationships with nature and the other animals and, while radically changing the workings of the system, everything — that is, its underlying economic logic — can remain the same. Despite his many courageous and inventive analyses and proposals, we feel that this logic ultimately prevents Milburn from envisioning a truly, systemically, just zoopolis.

In the end, although we disagree on many points, both books have given us much food for thought. We admire Milburn’s courage in taking on difficult issues and applaud his rigorous reasoning and imaginative vision of (food) justice for humans and other animals. Milburn has certainly started an important conversation — or taken an existing conversation to a much more advanced stage — and opened up the floor for a lively and constructive debate.