History and the Disciplining of Plagiarism
I begin this essay with a story. It comes from a meeting of the Board of Editors of the American Historical Review (AHR) during my years as editor of the journal. The board, which consists of twelve prominent historians from around the country, sets policy for the journal. Like other editors of peer-reviewed journals, I wanted to speed up the publication process and thought I could do so by sending article manuscripts to reviewers electronically. When I proposed doing that, I expected resistance but not the kind I got. I thought I would have to deal with technophobia; instead I met the fear of plagiarism. Board members worried that if readers received manuscripts electronically, they would not be able to resist the temptation to lift information and ideas from them; conversely, they thought that established customary practices inhibited readers from plagiarizing print manuscripts. My proposal gave them an occasion to express their anxieties about the disciplining of plagiarism. As a result I had to scuttle the plan.
The AHR editorial board response suggests that plagiarism is understood by many academics to be a growing problem aided and abetted by technological change, declining ethical standards, and dwindling faith in disciplinary controls. As the story suggests, these worries have combined to make uncertainty a dominant disciplinary response to plagiarism. And so as my contribution to this volume, I want to use experiences in the trenches of struggles over plagiarism as a history journal editor to discuss three prime sources of that uncertainty. I will focus on professional, not student, writing because I think it most directly raises the disciplining challenges surfacing in current debates about plagiarism (Grossberg).
Changing definitions are surely one source of uncertainty about the disciplining of plagiarism. Plagiarism has never been and is not now a stable term—it has and will continue to change. But there have been some consistent elements in our understanding and use of the concept. Historians, for example, have had a quite well developed definition of plagiarism with two critical components: organizational and experiential.
The most influential organizational definition of plagiarism has been promulgated by the major society of professional historians in the United States, the American Historical Association (AHA). Created in 1884, the AHA adopted a formal definition of plagiarism in 1987. As is often the case, a bitterly contested case identified a problem that compelled the search for a solution. In this instance, a tenure battle at Texas Tech University exposed the lack of clear standards for judging plagiarism among professional historians. Historian Jayme Sokolow stood accused of appropriating the work of another historian, Stephen Nissenbaum, in a book manuscript about early-nineteenth-century sexual and health reformers. Though the university denied Sokolow's bid for tenure, the difficulties that Nissenbaum and others faced in pursuing charges of plagiarism led the AHA to craft an official definition (Mallon 144–93; Weiner 195–200)
The resulting definition contains five central tenets. First, and most basically, it defined plagiarism as appropriating “the exact wording of another author without attribution.” Second, it broadened the ethical misdeed to include the appropriation without proper attribution of another person's concepts, theories, rhetorical strategies, and interpretations. Third, the AHA definition declared plagiarism to be the failure to acknowledge the work of another, regardless of intent or of monetary or other form of gain. Fourth, the definition also recognized that the appropriation of another's words or ideas without proper attribution constituted an ethical and professional but not a legal infraction unless it slid into copyright infringement. Finally, the AHA declared enforcement to be a collective responsibility:
All historians share responsibility for maintenance of the highest standards of intellectual integrity. When appraising manuscripts for publication, reviewing books, or evaluating peers for placement, promotion, and tenure, scholars must evaluate the honesty and reliability with which the historian uses primary and secondary source materials. Scholarship flourishes in an atmosphere of openness and candor, which should include the scrutiny and discussion of academic deception. (American Historical Association)
The AHA definition has become the most authoritative formal statement on plagiarism in my discipline.
I think the AHA definition of plagiarism is very compelling and useful. However, its meaning comes not simply from the wording in the statement itself but also from a complementary set of shared experiential definitions of plagiarism. Despite disclaimers like those in the AHA definition, the language and labels of criminal violation permeate all discussions of plagiarism and define it in most people's minds. It is considered theft, the act of stealing another's words or ideas and therefore one of the most serious of all academic crimes. It thus incurs a proportionate condemnation, activating what, in another context, sociolegal scholar Mona Lynch calls the “discourse of disgust” (530). By that she means words that aim to shame, ostracize, and condemn violators with labels like thief and fraud. Such shaming epithets pervade cases of plagiarism. Equally critical to an experiential definition of plagiarism is an understanding of it as professional victimization. Anger and a sense of powerlessness boil up when we see our ideas and research appropriated by someone else and presented as his own without acknowledging his source. I have tried to capture this feeling by suggesting that like the characters in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, our books and articles constitute our intellectual personas in very fundamental ways. They are elemental parts of our self-definition as scholars and thus we feel their misappropriation as a personal violation (Grossberg, “Plagiarism,” 1334).
As a journal editor, I also realized something of the Dreyfus-like experience that faces those charged with plagiarism. Like the French Jew falsely accused of treason by a virulently anti-Semitic military, those who think that they have been unfairly indicted with stealing someone else's words or ideas suffer an acute sense of anguish and unfairness that is also a critical part of the experiential definition of plagiarism. As I have learned in messages from those in the plagiarism dock, they fear dishonor and a blighted career and seek a means of vindication and redemption. These fears are well founded, as widely published author and federal judge Richard Posner makes clear: “The label ‘plagiarist’ can ruin a writer, destroy a scholarly career, blast a politician's chances for election, and cause the expulsion of a student from a college or university.” Thus the ways we experience plagiarism create a complicated sense of victimization and vulnerability that are also critical to definitions of plagiarism.
Historian's definitions of plagiarism express beliefs and practices common to the humanities. They reveal the power of and dependence on the written word in our disciplines and thus our commensurate fear about its misappropriation. Yet, to return to my opening story, the existence of clear organizational and experiential definitions did not quell the concerns of AHR board members. It did not, in part, because my colleagues understood quite clearly that neither component of the definition has been static or stable. And the sense that we are in a period of changing definitions is one of the key sources of uncertainty today about plagiarism. For instance, though the basic elements of the AHA definition have remained in place for almost two decades, it has been revised a number of times as controversial cases exposed it limitations. Changes were made in 1990, 1993, 1995, and 2002. Further revisions seem inevitable, and that knowledge breeds uncertainty.
We are obviously in a time of heightened concern about plagiarism. Indeed, this volume and the conference that spawned it are examples of our current apprehension about the misappropriation of words and ideas. As a historian, my response to the emergence of such widespread anxiety about a particular problem is to ask questions about periodization: What is distinctive about this moment of time that makes us so concerned about plagiarism?
One answer, perhaps tautologically, is simply to say that right now plagiarism is a very visible problem (“Professor Copycat”). There has been a series of outing of historian plagiarists, most notably Doris Kearns Goodwin and the late Stephen Ambrose. Panels on the subject have been staged at meetings of several historical associations. Three books by historians on plagiarism and related scandals have been published over the last couple of years; their titles are evocative: Ron Robin, Scandals and Scoundrels: Seven Cases That Shook the Academy; Peter Charles Hoffer, Past Imperfect: Facts, Fictions, Fraud; American History from Bancroft and Parkman to Ambrose, Bellesiles, Ellis, and Goodwin; and Jon Weiner, Historians in Trouble: Plagiarism, Fraud, and Politics in the Ivory Tower. The editor of the History News Network, an online newsletter, reported that he had received so many tips about purported plagiarism that he only investigates well-known scholars. Another historian created a website, “Famous Plagiarists,” that included a special section on history and a rogues' gallery of famous historian plagiarists. Finally, when Public Broadcasting Service's Newshour host Jim Lehrer decided to write a murder mystery about plagiarism, of course he peopled it with historians, in this case biographers of the nation's founders (Robin; Hoffer, Past Imperfect; Weiner; “Famous Plagiarists”; Lehrer).
Another reason for our present concern with plagiarism is a feeling that it may be on the increase. For example, Daniel Callahan has written about growth of what he terms a cheating culture, presenting a rise in plagiarism as a prime illustration (see his book The Cheating Culture and the associated website). Others, though, argue that the significant change has been in our ability to detect plagiarism. The debate reminds me of disputes in my own realm of scholarship, family history and policy, about whether or not child abuse has increased, decreased, or stayed the same over time. In both cases, it is likely impossible to find a definitive answer. And thus I think the more compelling question to ask is why are we so concerned with plagiarism right now?
As my AHR editorial board story suggests, technology has played a critical role in making plagiarism so important to us today. Computers and the Internet have vastly increased the amount of information we can obtain and created new skills in cutting and pasting that heighten our sense of vulnerability to plagiarism. Blogs, personal websites, library repositories, pre-print services, and search engines like Google have altered scholarship in ways that may well challenge a shared meaning of plagiarism, especially by encouraging the idea of information as common property available for use by all of us (Robin 55–56). At the same time, technology has created powerful new devices for tracking down plagiarism. Students have been the initial target of these software tools; Turnitin.com, for example, is now mandatory in many secondary schools. But technological policing is being applied to professionals as well. Indeed the creator of another program, Copyguard, contends that it would have caught the disputed passages in the books by Goodwin and Ambrose (Ralli). In fact a Google search did catch historian Brian Le Beau, then dean of arts and sciences at the University of Missouri, Kansas City, after he posted a speech on a dean's listserve. A reader looking for a particular phrase discovered that Le Beau had appropriated the work of African-American scholar Cornel West without proper attribution (Bartlett, “Missouri Dean”; Carnevale). So one of the reasons for the distinctiveness of this moment is that technology has increased our sense of both vulnerability and accountability.
Another source of our present concern about plagiarism is the impact of the law on all discussions of the misappropriation of words and ideas. Though plagiarism is not a legal violation, libel certainly is a legal matter (Stearns). Fear of libel suits and other forms of litigation hovers over the entire subject of plagiarism because the calamitous consequences of calling someone a plagiarist can send disputants to lawyers and perhaps courtrooms. The University of Dayton, to cite one example, successfully defended its decision to fire a faculty member for plagiarism; but winning the lawsuit cost the school almost two hundred thousand dollars in legal fees and administrative time (Glenn). Incidents like this intimidate scholars, universities, professional organizations, and publishers. As a result, every discussion about the issue turns to questions about the legal consequences of filing or defending charges of plagiarism.
I have tried to capture the ordering power of law by drawing on a metaphor crafted by the famous nineteenth-century French chronicler of American mores, Alexis de Tocqueville: the shadow of the law. He used it to describe the power of the formal agencies of law to influence the ideas and actions of people even if they never enter a law office or courtroom. The law creates a sense of expectations, entitlement, and penalties that govern us as we bargain in its shadow. Specific accusations of plagiarism pull accused, accuser, and others like editors, publishers, and universities into this shaded space. In terms of plagiarism, it is right now a frightening place where fears of litigation stifle needed disciplinary debate and action and thus condition our response not only to the act of misappropriation itself but also to technological changes that increase our ability to identify plagiarism (Grossberg, Judgment, 2–3, 34–35, 238–39; Grossberg, “Plagiarism,” 1338).
Uncertainty about the nature and meaning of authorship is yet another reason for the distinctiveness of this moment. Studies in the history of the book and scholarship in literary criticism have compelled us to reexamine our foundational belief in the author as an original thinker. This has also led us to reconsider whether an author has or should have a property claim to words, ideas, and evidence clashes, and also whether such claims clash with an equally vital commitment to the free flow of information. Plagiarism emerged in early modern Europe from the confluence of technological, intellectual, and legal change that promoted exclusive and exclusionary authorial rights. In our time, postmodern claims about the cultural contingency of all social constructions have fostered uncertainty about the link between textual construction and ownership that challenge that understanding of plagiarism. Writing theorist Susan H. McLeod warns us, “We ignore the recent, local cultural history of copyright and plagiarism at our peril. The notion of stealing ideas or words is not only modern, it is also profoundly Western. Students from Middle Eastern, Asian, and African cultures are baffled by the notion that one can ‘own’ ideas” (Swearingen 21). Students from this country may be baffled as well. The culture of media sharing promoted by the Internet may well be teaching students an idea of information as an “intellectual commons” open to all uses that is at odds with the beliefs of most of the faculty and most definitions of plagiarism, including the one I cited from the AHA (Creative Commons).
These uncertainties about the property claims of authors are reinforced in a discipline like mine by an understanding of scholarship not simply as the product of individual insight but as accumulating and cumulative knowledge that is shared within and between generations; what historian William Cronon calls “a continuum of intellectual indebtedness” (Hoffer, “Reflections”). Thus New Yorker writer Malcolm Gladwell derides what he calls plagiarism fundamentalists, who, he says, “encourage us to pretend that these chains of influence and evolution do not exist and that a writer's words have a virgin birth and should have an eternal life” (48). Complaints like his suggest that property rights claims to scholarship based on assertions of authorial originality ignore the interdependence of scholars and undermine scholarly communication in history and all disciplines. Such contentions complicate our understanding of plagiarism. They make us worry that a restrictive definition of plagiarism and activist plagiarism policing will stifle needed disciplinary debates.
I think the market is the final major source of our plagiarism anxieties. Again my discipline is a revealing example in a couple of ways. First, persistent worries about declining monograph sales have increased pressure for academics and university presses to abandon the narrow monograph for broader analyses that appeal to larger groups of readers. The effort to write for a more inclusive audience is a very useful development in many ways, but the resulting rise in synthetic writing also heightens the need to rely on the work of others. And a greater use of secondary sources raises questions about plagiarism and the legitimate limits of paraphrasing. Just how much tinkering turns someone else's words and ideas into your own is a particularly gray area in any effort to define and police plagiarism, as both Goodwin and Ambrose discovered. It challenges all of those who write synthetic work (Hoffer, Past Imperfect, 180–201). Second, and I think more consequential, has been the impact of an expanding market for popular history evident in the large audiences for Ken Burns's documentaries and the huge readership of David McCullough's best-selling books. Successes like theirs have led to the rise of a cadre of historical popularizers, historians who write about the past as a popular, public, and often very profitable enterprise with sales not only to readers but to book-of-the-month clubs, cable channel producers, and Hollywood moviemakers. Most popularizers are not formal academics; they are, however, the prize catches in plagiarism hunts because of their notoriety (Robin 7, 31–32).
Historical popularizing is not a new endeavor, though it may well be garnering greater influence and rewards than in the past. What is new is an attempt to carve out a special ethical place for popularizers in the discipline. Judge Posner argued for such a policy during a panel discussion at the 2003 annual meeting of the American Historical Association. He contended that since the job of a historian writing for a popular audience is the dissemination of ideas by telling a good yarn rather than developing a discipline through original research, plagiarism by popularizers is simply not as significant an ethical violation as it is when done by an academic historian. Posner contended that plagiarism by popularizers simply did less serious damage to the discipline than the misappropriation of words and ideas by academic historians. Thus, he concluded, the penalties should be less as well (Postel). Posner's assertion is reinforced by policies at journals like the one I edited. The AHR's definition of reviewable books excluded many of those published by popularizers because it gave pride of place to works of original scholarship. Consequently, none of Ambrose's recent books have been reviewed in the AHR. Such a policy exempts his books and many others from the disciplining that comes in scholarly book reviews (“Book Reviewing”). Posner's proposal and the AHR policy suggest the existence of differential standards for plagiarism in history writing that is another source of the uncertainty of this moment.
What to Do?
Crafting appropriate responses to our heightened concern about plagiarism has become a major challenge for all of those involved in academic writing. It requires individuals and organizations willing to tackle the problem and able to construct procedures that can effectively resolve the varied contemporary problems raised by plagiarism. Limited success in both endeavors is a final source of the uncertainty at this moment.
Until recently, the AHA had a settled procedure for resolving plagiarism accusations. It was one of the few professional organizations willing to police itself in this manner. In 1974 the AHA established a Professional Division and charged it with monitoring ethical issues in the discipline. The committee was staffed by representatives elected by the association's members. In 1987 the AHA published its first “Statement on Standards of Professional Conduct”; it defined various forms of professional misconduct—including plagiarism—and charged the Professional Division with enforcing the new guidelines. The division had an adjudication procedure to police historians' ethical misdeeds: aggrieved individuals could file charges against another historian and the division would then notify the accused of the charge, investigate the accusation, and inform the parties of its finding. Notification of a finding of misconduct was the primary sanction. The entire process was confidential, though the AHA asserted a discretionary power to publicize a judgment if the situation warranted. The process operated in Tocqueville's shadow of the law, consistently dominated by concerns about lawsuits.
Questions about its effectiveness and legitimacy plagued the AHA disciplining process from the start. The most searching and publicized complaints emerged out of an investigation of plagiarism charges against historian Stephen B. Oates filed in 1990. Oates had written widely read biographies of Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King. He denied the accusation and won the support of many of his fellow historians. He also refused to participate in the investigation. The process dragged on for over two years and in the end members of the Professional Division found that Oates had been careless in his use of other scholars' work, but they did not issue a specific finding of plagiarism. Oates challenged the legitimacy of the AHA procedure, which he likened to the Star Chamber, and threatened to sue the organization. He argued that since he was not a member of the AHA it had no jurisdiction over him; and he rejected the association's definition of plagiarism as overly broad. The battle continued into the new century and exposed many of the investigatory and enforcement problems of the system (Mallon 189–93; Hoffer, Past Imperfect, 135–39; Robin 36–45).
Critics argued that the rule of confidentiality underscored the timidity and ineffectiveness of the AHA's efforts to police professional misconduct. Because it refused to publicize findings of misconduct, no one but the parties involved knew if a historian had been accused or found guilty of plagiarizing. Ohio State historian Judy Tzu-Chun Wu learned that lesson in 2002 when she charged Wichita State historian Benson Tong with plagiarism. She later reported that the Professional Division agreed with her that Tong has appropriated words and ideas from her dissertation and published them as his own in a book. Nevertheless, since only she and Tong knew the result, she resorted to self-policing for redress. Wu informed his department and publisher of the finding. Though Tong lost his bid for tenure, he found another job and his book remains in print. Following its procedures, the AHA refused to say whether it had even handled the case (Bartlett and Smallwood).
Incidents like the Oates and Wu cases generated uncertainties about the AHA process. Critics repeatedly argued that the procedure offered individuals a very limited remedy and, because of the commitment to confidentiality, the decisions rarely had a significant impact on the larger discipline or served to educate historians about plagiarism or other forms of misconduct. On the other hand, they acknowledged, the AHA remained one of the few professional associations that even attempted to police the ethics of its members. And its procedure did offer aggrieved individuals a place to seek redress. Nevertheless, the concerns mounted and undermined the system. The AHA abandoned it in the fall of 2003. AHA staff members and elected officials concluded that the process had “proven to be ineffective for responding to misconduct in the historical profession.” In its place they proposed that the association should take the lead in educating the public and historians about “plagiarism, falsification of evidence, and other violations of scholarly integrity” (“AHA Announces”).
The demise of AHA's adjudication of professional misconduct charges illustrates the difficulties of devising effective ways to police plagiarism and thus is itself another source of the uncertainties of this moment. Now historians, like most academics, have no formally recognized mechanism for resolving charges of plagiarism. Three alternatives have been suggested; each is problematic in its own fashion (Glenn).
As in most disciplines, history journals are now the front line of plagiarism struggles. Few are prepared to assume this responsibility; most have no established guidelines or procedures for dealing with claims by authors that a book or an article contains misappropriated words or ideas. I made that discovery at the AHR. The customary practice had been to refer accusers to the AHA and thus rely on its process to police plagiarism. When that system collapsed, the journal staff decided to revise the AHR book review guidelines and accept the responsibility for publishing charges of plagiarism. The new guidelines relied on the AHA definition of plagiarism and used the publication of parallel passages from the disputed texts as the prime method of exposure (Grossberg, “Plagiarism,” 1338–39). A few other history journals also created new policies; most of these have adopted an approach much like the adjudicatory system formerly used by the AHA (Journal of the Gilded Age; Society for French Historical Studies). Even in these cases, however, the role of journals has raised as many questions as it has resolved: How can journals justify the power to investigate charges of plagiarism? What responsibility do journals have to notify the publishers of plagiarized books or other journals when plagiarism charges are filed? Should journals share their findings with each other? With history departments and organizations and with publishers? What is the liability of a journal, publisher, and individual editor in plagiarism cases? These and many other questions suggest the uncertainties of making journals the primary plagiarism police (Kahl).
The other prime candidate to handle accusations of plagiarism is the university. In this case, an aggrieved individual could lodge a charge of plagiarism against a faculty member with the accused academic's home institution. The appeal of university responsibility for policing plagiarism is that these institutions have established procedures for dealing with faculty misconduct, the power to compel participation and information gathering, the resources to support such investigations, and the ability to apply effective sanctions. Some universities have assumed this responsibility. For instance, in 2003 the United States Naval Academy investigated charges of plagiarism leveled against historian Brian VanDeMark. A committee substantiated accusations that his book on the development of the atomic bomb, Pandora's Keeper: Nine Men and the Atomic Bomb, contained plagiarized material. The Naval Academy stripped him of tenure, demoted him from associate to assistant professor, and cut his salary (Bartlett, “Naval Academy”; Steinberg; HNN Staff). Yet there are not many examples of similar actions by other universities. And thus turning to the university to resolve the problem of plagiarism also raises uncertainties. As former University of Nebraska vice chancellor Richard C. Edwards declared: “I find that all of the possible candidates for policing plagiarism (among faculty)—the ‘own’ university of someone accused of plagiarism, the professional journals, or the professional societies—are deeply flawed and likely to be very timid, with a different politics playing out in each. The own university is likely to have many personal connections and other pressures that may work to limit the appetite for calling it plagiarism.”
Finally, another solution has emerged in the last few years. Historian Ron Robin has championed the policing of professional misconduct by the new interpretive communities being constructed through the mediums like the Internet and reviewing mechanisms like those on Amazon.com. He argues that since the professional association, scholarly journal, and university have been unable to enforce ethical standards, we must rely on such communities and on public exposure as the most effective way to control plagiarism:
To be sure, public scandals may occur more frequently, but they do not necessarily represent either disciplinary turmoil or the wholesale jettisoning of standards. In a somewhat counterintuitive manner, the modern-day version of vox populi is decidedly averse to revisionism and intolerant of deviancy . . . the participation of amateur scholars, graduate students, and laypersons in Internet forums and other modes of discussion suggest widespread rejection of those who seek to experiment with the canon, retool scholarly guidelines, or transgress conventional rules or regulation. The public scandal is, then, border control by other means. (Robin 232)
However, it is not clear if public monitoring can discipline professional misconduct, including plagiarism, any more effectively than the alternatives I have mentioned. For example, historian Peter Hoffer surveyed reviews of popular history books on Amazon.com and found that accusations of misconduct against authors like Ambrose and Goodwin made little difference to ordinary readers. Their books continued to sell quite well despite the charges. He concluded that for many people reading is entertainment, not a critical intellectual act that should be policed for violations like plagiarism (Hoffer, Past Imperfect, 2005–7). Even so, communal monitoring is developing and warrants our attention.
I want to conclude by returning to the opposition of the AHR Board of Editors to digital manuscript reviews for fear of plagiarism. We cannot follow that example and respond to our fears about plagiarism with distrust and resistance to change. Instead I think we have to seize this moment of intense concern to craft new understandings of plagiarism and new ways to discipline the misappropriation of other people's words and ideas. And that can only be done by raising these issues at every opportunity and in every relevant forum from journal pages and graduate seminars to conference panels and Internet discussion forums.
“AHA Announces Changes in Efforts Relating to Professional Misconduct.” Press release, May 3, 2003. http://www.historians.org/press/PR_Adjudication.htm, consulted July 4, 2007.
American Historical Association. “Statement on Standards of Professional Conduct.” Adopted January 6, 2005. http://www.historians.org/pubs/Free/ProfessionalStandards.cfm#Plagiarism, consulted July 4, 2007.
Bartlett, Thomas. “Missouri Dean Appears to Have Plagiarized a Speech by Cornel West.” Chronicle of Higher Education, June 24, 2005. http://chronicle.com/weekly/v51/i42/42a01301.htm, consulted July 4, 2007.
Bartlett, Thomas. “Naval Academy Demotes Professor Accused of Plagiarism in a Book on the A-Bomb.” Chronicle of Higher Education, November 7, 2003. http://chronicle.com/weekly/v50/i11/11a01201.htm, consulted July 4, 2007.
Bartlett, Thomas, and Scott Smallwood. “Four Academic Plagiarists You've Never Heard Of: How Many More Are Out There?” Chronicle of Higher Education, December 17, 2004. http://chronicle.com/free/v51/i17/17a00802.htm, consulted July 4, 2007.
“Book Reviewing in the AHR.” http://www.historycooperative.org/ahr/guidebkrv.html, consulted July 4, 2007.
Callahan, Daniel. The Cheating Culture: Why More Americans Are Doing Wrong to Get Ahead. Orlando: Harcourt, 2004.
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Creative Commons. http://creativecommons.org, consulted July 4, 2007.
Edwards, Richard. Letter to author. March 22, 2004.
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Lynch, Mona. “Pedophiles and Cyber-Predators as Contaminating Forces: The Language of Disgust, Pollution, and Boundary Invasions in Federal Debates on Sex Offender Legislation.” Law and Social Inquiry 27 (2002): 529–66.
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Postel, Danny. “In Wake of Controversies, Historians Debate Causes and Prevalence of Plagiarism.” Chronicle of Higher Education, January 6, 2003. http://chronicle.com/daily/2003/01/2003010603n.htm, consulted July 4, 2007.
“Professor Copycat.” Chronicle of Higher Education, December 17, 2004. http://chronicle.com/weekly/v51/i17/17a00801.htm, consulted July 4, 2007.
Ralli, Tania. “Software Strives to Spot Plagiarism before Publication.” New York Times, September 5, 2005. http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/05/technology/05plagiarism.html?ex=1283572800&en=35522b480d567b03&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss, consulted July 4, 2007.
Robin, Ron. Scandals and Scoundrels: Seven Cases That Shook the Academy. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2004.
Society for French Historical Studies. “H-France Bylaws, Guidelines, and Policies.” Revised April 1, 2005. http://www.h-france.net/policies.html#policies, consulted July 4, 2007.
Steinberg, Jacques. “New Book Includes Passages from Others.” New York Times, May 31, 2003, B9.
Stearns, Laurie. “Copy Wrong: Plagiarism, Process, Property, and the Law.” In Perspectives on Plagiarism and Intellectual Property in a Postmodern World, ed. Lise Buranen and Alice N. Roy, 5–18. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999.
Swearingen, C. Jan. “Originality, Authenticity, Imitation, and Plagiarism: Augustine's Chinese Cousins.” In Perspectives on Plagiarism and Intellectual Property in a Postmodern World, ed. Lise Buranen and Alice N. Roy, 19–30. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999.
Weiner, Jon. Historians in Trouble: Plagiarism, Fraud, and Politics in the Ivory Tower. New York: New Press, 2005.