Banning abortion and the strong family

I long ago learned that, when someone makes a claim about how everyone thinks or acts, pay attention to the logical implication. Socrates would have liked the syllogism:

Everyone is just out for themselves.
The person saying this is included in the category of “everyone.”
Therefore, this person is out for zirself.

It’s generally turned out to be true: people who say that “everyone lies when it’s useful,” “everyone is good at heart,” “everyone will screw you if they can” may not be making a claim that is factually true of “everyone,” but it’s true of them.

That observation was particularly interesting when homophobic groups argued that allowing gay marriage would end the human species (by ending human reproduction) and destroy families because, presumably, once gay marriage is an option, everyone will opt for it. That’s interesting. It isn’t true of everyone, but I’ll believe it’s true of the people making the claim.

That isn’t to say that every person who makes that argument is living in a plexiglass closet, in which they’re the only person from whom the truth is hidden, and that they are all barely resisting from gay relationships. But it is a silly argument—that isn’t what has happened anywhere gay marriage was legalized—and it is saying something really interesting about them. What it’s saying is that they believe that everyone is only, with great will, keeping themselves from SIN, and that all sins are the same. So, if they slip up and stop engaging in rigid self-control, it’s just a question of time till they’re giving a blowjob, while shooting up, gambling, aborting babies, molesting children, and voting Dem. They believe that sin is the consequence of lack of self-control, and if you loosen up on self-control, then you have no control at all. And you do ALL THE SINS.

I don’t think the kind of people who make that are argument are gay, but I do think they believe that they have to be incredibly rigid about their values, commitments, and policies, or else all hell breaks loose. They believe they could commit all the sins. That’s interesting.

That some people believe that, if the government allowed any sinful action they consider sinful, then everyone (including them) would instantly stop everything for some kind of very lame porny bacchanal is not actually minimally good policy argumentation. It’s a reason for them to get therapy. They don’t have political issues, but personal ones.

But, we’re in a world in which people like them believe that they should take their personal issues about sin to the larger political sphere.

They believe that something they consider a sin should be prohibited by the government.

And, to be blunt, everyone thinks that.

That’s how democracy works. It works when the things that we all think are sins get to be argued—when we engage in policy argumentation. A system that divides every issue into a zero-sum contest isn’t a culture engaged in democratic deliberation.

That is our world. We all think we are completely and obviously right, and that anyone who disagrees with us is either a dupe or a villain. That’s good. We should care about our politics.

Good political deliberation isn’t about being emotional or not; it isn’t about whether you do or don’t have evidence to support your claims; democratic deliberation is and should be about policy argumentation. And the ban abortion argument fails to make its case in terms of policy argumentation.

If you want to reduce abortions, and you have a rational argument, then you could make your case pretty clearly. Here is the ban abortion case (as far as I can figure):

There is a need:

It’s bad (women are killing babies)
It’s not going away (women have been legally allowed to kill babies since Roe v. Wade) [note the slippage between pre- and post Roe v . Wade]

Narrative of causality:
I have to admit that I can’t figure this one out. If you want to reduce abortion, the narrative of causality is empirically clear: increase access to accurate information about birth control.

So, what, exactly, is the “reduce abortion by enacting polices that don’t reduce abortion” argument?

Just to be clear: were the “reduce abortion” actually the most important value for people who want to ban abortion, then they would do anything that would reduce abortion. But they don’t.

There isn’t a zero-sum contest between people who think abortion is awful (and should therefore be banned) and people who think abortion should be legal. A lot of people who think abortion is awful think it shouldn’t be banned. They think banning is the wrong policy.

And that is the argument over which ban abortion people find themselves doing everything to avoid policy argumentation. Were abortion argued in terms of policy, the “ban abortion now” forces would lose. They can’t defend their position through policy argumentation.

Despite what “ban abortion now” rhetors say, no one is pro-abortion. Everyone wants to make sure that women rarely are even presented with the decision of abortion. The “abortion” argument isn’t about abortion: it’s about how you prevent women getting to the point of even thinking about getting an abortion.

And there are, loosely, two stances on that: one is grounded in empirical data about what actually reduces women finding themselves in a situation in which they might want an abortion; and the other rejects everything about policy argumentation in favor of a belief that if people beleeeeeve strongly enough then good things will happen.

The abortion argument isn’t about policies and outcome and data (nor is the climate change argument, or bathrooms bills).

Relatively recently, the topos  of “banning abortion strengthens the family” popped up. That was new. Once I fell down the rabbit hole of the “strengthening the family” argument, what I found was that there are two different ways that people try to make that connection—that banning abortions strengthens the family. One is the very old argument that [this policy] is good because we believe it is the policy God wants us to advocate. It doesn’t matter if the policy is practical—what matters is that we are enacting God’s will, and therefore God will reward us. Since strong families are good, then banning abortion will result in strong families.

The second one is that banning abortion will strengthen families because they believe that the only strong family is one that is controlled by a male who controls himself rigidly. One of the most important things for him to control is the sexuality of the females in the family. Legal access to abortion not only gives women autonomy regarding reproduction, but separates sex from the consequence of pregnancy. And, of course, the solution that actually reduces abortion—access to effective birth control—also increases women’s sexual autonomy. So, for people who believe that strong families require male control of women’s sexuality, this solution is just as bad as abortion.

It’s very clear what banning abortion does: it doesn’t reduce pregnancies that are the consequence of rape, that endanger women’s lives, that involve teens. It certainly doesn’t end abortions. When abortion was illegal in most states, rich women could always get an abortion by going to a state or country in which it was legal (and they did), and women without enough money could try back alley abortions.

My rabidly GOP father (if a person drove badly, he’d say, “Probably a Democrat”) had one point on which he rejected the Reagan and post-Reagan policy agenda: abortion. He was a pathologist, and, after the second autopsy of a woman who had died from a botched amateur abortion, he could not support making abortion illegal.

The people who want to ban abortion call the other side pro-abortion, but, if you oppose effective birth control and accurate sex education, you are pro-abortion—you are supporting the policies that contribute to abortion.

The abortion argument is a great example to show how public discourse about policies evades policy argumentation. If you think abortion is bad, and you want to reduce it, then you think abortion is an ill, and you should be willing to support policies that demonstrably reduce abortion. If you aren’t, then this all really isn’t about abortion. And this isn’t. It’s about women’s sexuality.

[Normally, I try to provide links, but I’m really uncomfortable giving these groups any clicks.]

Trump supporters/critics and policy argumentation

I spend a lot of time in public and expert realms of political dispute. And, one thing I’ve noticed in the last two years is that, in the public areas, supporters of Trump have stopped engaging in rational argumentation about him, but they used to. They’re not even engaging in argumentation at all. They’ll sometimes do a kind of argumentative driveby, popping into a thread that’s critical of Trump in order to drop in some talking point about how he’s a great President, and then leaving. Sometimes they give a reason for refusing to engage in argumentation, and it’s an odd reason (critics of him are biased). This is worrisome.

We’re in such a demagogic culture—in which people assume that the world is divided into fanatics of left v. right—that I have to say what should be unnecessary: not everyone who supports Trump is just repeating talking points. In fact, I can imagine lots of arguments for Trump’s policies that follow the rules of rational argumentation (and I’ve seen them, but not in the public realm).  I think Trump’s policies can be defended rationally. Apparently, his supporters don’t.

And that is what worries me.

What I’m saying is that there are people who do just repeat talking points (all over the rich and varied place that is the public sphere) and the kind of people who have always just repeated pro-Trump talking points used to be  following advice on how to engage in argumentation, and now they’re not. That kind of Trump supporter has stopped engaging in argumentation at all.

Just to be clear: I mean something fairly specific by the term “rational argumentation” (not how “rational” is used in popular culture, and argumentation, not argument—this will be explained below). While I’m not a supporter of Trump, I do think his policies can be defended through rational argumentation—that is, a person could argue for them while remaining within the rules described below. That means, oddly enough, that I don’t think Trump’s policies are indefensible, but his followers seem to think they are.

That’s worrisome.

I’ve spent a lot of time wandering around the digital public sphere, and thinking a lot about politics. And I’ve come to think that we are in a culture of demagoguery, in which every policy question is reduced (or shifted) to a zero-sum battle between “us” and “them.” That reduction is false and damaging. There are not two sides to any policy issue—there are far more. And our political culture is not a binary.

Personally, I think a useful map of our political culture would be, at least, three-dimensional, and even then you’d have to have different maps for different issues. But that’s a different post.

In my wandering, I’ve noticed that you can see talking points created by a powerful medium that are then repeated by people for whom that medium is an in-group authority. This isn’t a left v. right thing. (No issue is.)  The talking points on “get rich fast” shifted when James Arthur Ray killed some people; the same thing happened on the “get laid quick” sites after the Elliot Rodger shooting. The talking points on dog sites changed after a study about taurine came out. I know what Rachel Maddow said on her show without watching her show; the same is true of Rush Limbaugh.

The pro-Trump (like the pro-HRC or pro-Sanders or pro-Stein) talking points used to be a mix of what amounted to tips on what to say if you’re engaged in policy argumentation and what amount to statements of personal loyalty (“s/he is a good person because s/he did this good thing”).

And you could tell what the talking points were by what your loyal pro-Trump or pro-Stein (or pro-raw dog food) Facebook friend (or Facebook group) asserted.

What worries me about the driveby dropping of a pro-Trump talking point and refusal to engage policy argumentation is that it suggests that the pro-Trump sources of argumentative points have abandoned policy argumentation. These people aren’t even trying. That’s puzzling.

What makes arguing in some digital spaces interesting is that people are now often arguing with known entities—I’m watching someone make arguments about Trump whom I watched make arguments about Clinton or Obama.

What I’m seeing, in places that used to have rational-critical argumentation in favor of Trump, is that people aren’t even trying. (So, just to be clear, anyone saying that my argument can be dismissed because I’m not pro-Trump is showing that I’m right.)

What I want to use as the standard for a “rational” argument is van Eemeren and Grootendorst’s ten rules for a rational-critical argument. They are:

    1. Freedom rule
      Parties must not prevent each other from advancing standpoints or from casting doubt on standpoints.
    2. Burden of proof rule
      A party that advances a standpoint is obliged to defend it if asked by the other party to do so.
    3. Standpoint rule
      A party’s attack on a standpoint must relate to the standpoint that has indeed been advanced by the other party.
    4. Relevance rule
      A party may defend a standpoint only by advancing argumentation relating to that standpoint.
    5. Unexpressed premise rule
      A party may not deny premise that he or she has left implicit or falsely present something as a premise that has been left unexpressed by the other party.
    6. Starting point rule
      A party may not falsely present a premise as an accepted starting point nor deny a premise representing an accepted starting point.
    7. Argument scheme rule
      A party may not regard a standpoint as conclusively defended if the defense does not take place by means of an appropriate argumentation scheme that is correctly applied.
    8. Validity rule
      A party may only use arguments in its argumentation that are logically valid or capable of being made logically valid by making explicit one or more unexpressed premises.
    9. Closure rule
      A failed defense of a standpoint must result in the party that put forward the standpoint retracting it and a conclusive defense of the standpoint must result in the other party retracting its doubt about the standpoint.
    10. Usage rule
      A party must not use formulations that are insufficiently clear or confusingly ambiguous and a party must interpret the other party’s formulations as carefully and accurately as possible.
      These are rules for rational-critical argumentation, so these rules aren’t ways that people have to engage in every conversation.

For instance, I’m not saying that people involved in a discussion can never say that some arguments are off the table, or that people can never refuse to engage with another party (although both of those moves would be violations of Rule 1). I’m saying that, when that rule is violated, the person whose views were dismissed and the person doing the dismissing are not engaged in rational argumentation with each other. They might still have a really good and interesting conversation, or a really fun fight, but it isn’t rational argumentation.

And what I’m saying is that in various places I hang out, supporters of Trump used to engage in argumentation to support their claims, but they’re doing it much less—in fact, not very often. If they don’t do a driveby (one post and out), they say that they won’t argue with anyone who disagrees with them because that person is biased.

Both of those moves—one post and out, and refusing to engage with counter-arguments because the very fact of their being counter-arguments makes them “biased”—is a violation of Rule 1. While they assert that criticizing Trump means a person is so biased that their views can be dismissed, that’s a thoroughly entangled and irrational argument (it’s even weirder when the accusation is “Trump Derangement Syndrome”–it’s weird because many of the people who fling around the accusation of Trump Derangement syndrome still suffer from Obama Derangement Syndrome).

That’s a misunderstanding of what “bias” means and how it functions in argumentation. Of course people are biased—that’s how cognition works—but, if a person is so biased that it’s distorting their argument, then their arguments will violate one of the ten rules. Dismissing a position because the person is biased is a violation of Rule 1. It’s a refusal to engage in rational argumentation.

More important, this move is a rejection of argumentation, and democracy. Rejecting criticism of Trump on the grounds that criticizing Trump shows that the critic is biased is not just an amazingly good example of a circular argument, but a move that makes it clear that the person doesn’t want to listen to anyone who disagrees. Argumentation and democracy share the premise that we benefit from taking seriously the viewpoints of people with whom we disagree.

We are in a culture of demagoguery, in which far too much public discourse, all over the political spectrum, is about how you shouldn’t listen to that person because s/he is biased. And the proof that they’re biased? That they disagree.

If a person is biased, and we are all biased, but their arguments can be defended in rational-critical argumentation, then their arguments are worth taking seriously, regardless of the bias of the person making the argument.

Jeremy Bentham, in the 18th century, identified the problem with dismissing an argument because you don’t like the person making it. Sometimes it’s called the genetic fallacy, and sometimes it’s motivism.

In any case, any person who supports Trump refusing to engage anyone who criticizes Trump on the grounds that that person is “biased” is engaged in the fallacy of motivism (so a violation of Rule 8), and violating Rule 1. (And, so is anyone refusing to engage a Trump supporter if it’s purely on the grounds of their being a Trump supporter.)

Dismissing a person’s position as irrational because they do or don’t support Trump is the admission of an inability to have a rational argument with that person. If I refuse to engage in argumentation with any Trump supporter, purely on the grounds that they support Trump, then we have to start wondering about whether my criticism of Trump can be rationally defended. And, while I see many people who make exactly that move—dismiss the person, not the claims, from even the possibility of rational arguments, because the person supports Trump—I do often see people trying to engage in argumentation with Trump supporters.

I’m not seeing Trump supporters willing to engage in argumentation. I see them willing to make claims, but not engage their opposition rationally. And, as I said, that’s new.

One of the ways of not engaging the other side that I see a lot of people (all over the political spectrum) use is to violate the third rule. That is, imagine that Chester says he really likes Trump’s 2018 missile strikes against Syria, and thinks those were an appropriate response, it’s unhappily likely that Hubert will respond by saying, “Oh, so you think children should be thrown into concentration camps?” Chester didn’t say he liked all of Trump’s policies, let alone his policies regarding families trying to enter the US.

There are two very different arguments that Chester might be making: “Trump is a good President as is shown by his good judgment regarding the Syrian missile strikes” or “Trump’s missile strikes against Syria were wise policy.” Trump’s immigration policy might be relevant for the first argument, but not the second. An even more troubling way of violating the third rule is for Hubert to decide that all Trump supporters are the same, and, therefore, since some Trump supporters deny evolution, and Chester is supporting a particular policy of Trump’s, to attribute evolution denial to Chester. Interlocutors make that (fallacious) move because they believe that the world is divided into two groups, and that the opposition is a homogeneous group—you can condemn any individual out-group member by pointing out a bad argument made by any other out-group member.

[This is another move that people all over the political spectrum make, and it makes me want to scream.]

Right now, one of the pro-Trump talking points is that the economy is strong, and that shows Trump is a great President. People drop this into arguments about issues that have nothing to do with the economy. Even more troubling is that it seems to me that the people making the argument don’t defend it—it’s often one of the argumentative drivebys—but, more important, it’s often irrelevant.

Most recently, I saw it in a thread where someone had made a comparison between Hitler and Trump, about the comparable chaos in the two administrations. And dropping into that argument was a kind of horrible example of why that move—criticism of Trump on X point is false because the economy is good– was a perfect example of violating the fourth rule (about relevance). Whether Trump has improved the economy doesn’t invalidate the claims about how the chaotic administrations are comparable.

That argument also violated Rule 5, in that the unexpressed premise of that argument is that a political leader who improves the economy is good. And Hitler greatly improved Germany’s economy—for a while. So it was a particularly bungled attempt to disprove a point.

I’m seeing that talking point a lot, made by people who would not give Obama credit for improving the economy—saying that Obama simply benefitted from what the Bush Administration had done. So, when the economy is strong, and it’s a President they like, they attribute the economy to the President; when they don’t like the President, they don’t (this, too, is far from unique to Trump supporters).

That’s a violation of the eighth rule—the argument that “Trump is a good President because the economy is strong” has the unexpressed premise of a strong economy meaning that the current President is good. The people who make that argument for Trump but not Obama (or vice versa) reject the validity of their own premise.

For instance, I’m now seeing people who believed any horrible thing about Obama, who worked themselves into frenzies about Michelle Obama’s sleeveless dress, Obama’s golfing, his vacations, the cost to the US of his vacations, the Clinton’s possibly having financially benefitted from their time in the White House, Bill Clinton’s groping, HRC’s problematic security practices regarding classified information defend a President who has done worse on every single count.

They are not reasoning about what makes a good President grounded in claims that apply across all groups.

This is rabid factionalism. This is being foaming-at-the-mouth loyal to your in-group, and then finding reasons to support that loyalty (such as the one free grope argument).

People who are loyal to their in-group engage in motivated reasoning. And, let’s be honest, we all want to be loyal to our in-group. In motivated reasoning, there is a conclusion the person wants to protect, and they scramble around and find evidence to support it—they are motivated to use reason to support something they really want to believe. That isn’t rational, and it leads to arguments that can’t be rationally defended because a person trying to make a case that way has unexpressed premises in one set of claims that are contradicted by the unexpressed premises in another set of claims.

When it’s pointed out to someone that they can’t rationally defend their claims about Trump, I often see them respond, “Well, [example of a Democrat being irrational or having made an irrational argument].”

This is a fairly common kind of response, as though any bad behavior on the part of anyone on “the other side” cleans the slate of any in-group behavior. This fallacious move (a violation of Rule 7) relies on the false premise that any political issue is really a zero-sum contest of goodness between the “two sides.” Since it’s a zero-sum (as though there is a balloon of goodness, and if you squeeze one side, then there is more on the other), then any showing “badness” on the “other” side squeezes more air into yours.

A Trump critic making an irrational argument doesn’t magically transform an irrational pro-Trump argument into a rational one. Now they’re both irrational. It isn’t as though there is a zero-sum of rationality between the “two sides.” (For one thing, there aren’t two sides.)

This is really concerning in a democracy. Ideally, people should be arguing for policies rationally–which isn’t to say unemotionally—notice that none of these ten rules prohibits emotional appeals. The eighth rule, about logical validity, and fourth, about relevance, imply prohibition of argumentum ad misercordiam—which is not the fallacy of an emotional appeal, but the fallacy of irrelevant emotional appeal.

I’m not concerned that there are people who support Trump; I’m not concerned that there are Trump supporters who are clearly repeating talking points from their media; I’m concerned that those talking points are clearly not intended to be used in policy argumentation; I’m concerned that support of Trump is not even trying to fall within the realm of rational argumentation.
Unhappily, critics of Trump, it seems to me, are also arguing about his identity, and not the rationality of his policies.

Trump has policies. If they’re good policies, they can be defended through rational argumentation. If they can’t, they’re bad policies.

One of the most troubling aspects of the now dominant pro-Trump rhetoric is that it depends on an argument about his “success” as a businessman that is similar to the argument made about the “success” of his proposals. As it has come out that his businesses lost money hand over fist, people are arguing that he was a successful businessman because he personally succeeded financially. This isn’t an unusual argument—I was surprised when I saw it for a motivational speaker whose claims of personal wealth were exposed as completely false. The argument was, if you can rack up that much debt, that’s a kind of success. In other words, it’s saying that, as long as the method is working, it’s a good method.

That’s a little bit like describing falling out of a plane as successful flying—right up to the moment of contact with pavement.

That we are now getting a good outcome is not rational policy argumentation. Nor is that Trump is or is not a good person.

Trump shouldn’t be defended or attacked as a person, and his policies should be attacked or defended regardless of his person. Neither defending nor attacking his policies should be a reason to dismiss the argument being made. We need to argue policies.

Plagiarism-Detection Software and Slow Children at Play

Because I direct the University Writing Center, and teach and write about the teaching of writing, people assume, correctly, that I care a lot about plagiarism. Because I care a lot about plagiarism, a lot of people assume that I advocate the use of plagiarism-detection software. I don’t.

Plagiarism-detection software is so attractive because it appeals to several misconceptions about plagiarism, what it is, why students engage in it, and how to prevent it. Plagiarism is the consequence of incorrect citation, but not all instances of incorrect citation are plagiarism. There are a lot of ways of citing that, at least by some disciplines, are incorrect, including submitting work that

    • appropriates someone else’s citations;
    • was entirely written by someone else;
    • has large uncited portions from another source in which words are changed here and there;
    • paraphrases source material but doesn’t cite it;
    • has a substantial portion verbatim from an uncited source;
    • cites the sources of material, but not in the correct format;
    • uses ideas, but not language, from an un-cited source;
    • fails to punctuate correctly (so that quoted material is presented as though it’s paraphrased).

These examples are incorrect (although not in all disciplines—in some fields, such as law, appropriating a set of citations is common), but not everyone would call all of them plagiarism (and that third one is often taught as not plagiarism, although most colleges consider it so).

Since there are disciplinary differences, and since it’s not useful to collapse very different practices into one term, teachers need to tell their students what plagiarism is, and what the penalties are. Those penalties vary from class to class, as they should.

Thus, one problem with plagiarism-detection software is that it is often marketed as though it makes the determination of plagiarism for the teacher. It shouldn’t. It can’t.

A lot of faculty assume that college students know what plagiarism is, and they therefore assume that plagiarism is always deliberate. But not all students do know what plagiarism is, because, for instance, not all college teachers use the term to mean the same thing. Some only use plagiarism for instances in which there is no citation at all, whereas some include bungled citation. Unfortunately, there are still many students who have been told (perhaps by teachers, perhaps by parents or friends) that changing every third word makes it not plagiarism. College faculty often assume that this myth was dispelled in college first year composition classes, but many students don’t take first-year composition in a college.

Loosely, there are four different ways that students end up with material that fits the highest standards of plagiarism. There are students who know that they are plagiarizing and choose to do it in ways that they believe will be hard to trace—such as by buying a paper from a paper mill, paying someone else to write an original paper, or turning in a paper that another student has given them. There are students who deliberately cut and paste material from sources, spending their time tweaking the material to make it passable. They know they are plagiarizing, and hope to make it undetectable. These two kinds of plagiarists are deliberate and, let’s be blunt, malevolent. They think that the rules about plagiarism don’t apply to them. They are narcissistic jerks.

There are students who have poor research strategies, such as cutting and pasting into their paper file material from the sources they want to use. Under such circumstances, it’s easy to lose track of what was direct quotation, so these students may not realize they’ve plagiarized. They may think they haven’t. The fourth is what Rebecca Moore Howard calls “patchwriting,” in which authors take phrases from various sources, perhaps even following the original syntax. Patchwriting happens for various reasons, ranging from bad time management (not enough time to digest the source material) to unfamiliarity with the content (if we are writing about a topic we don’t understand, we might not be able to find synonyms, and so take phrases from the original), or even thinking that changing a word here and there is sufficient (that is, the myth of changing every third word).

As a teacher, I am most interested in what students’ plagiarism means for my teaching. If I’m doing a good job of writing assignments, students shouldn’t be able to get a passing grade doing that first kind of plagiarism. If I have students who are doing the second, I need to give them a poor grade, make them rewrite the paper, or otherwise recognize the problem. If they’re doing the third, I need to work on teaching writing processes. If they’re doing the fourth, I’ve done a lousy job teaching content, or a lousy job teaching about citation practices.

Does plagiarism-detection software help me learn from students’ plagiarism?

There is a world in which it might—I’ll get to that at the end—but this is not that world. Instead, it is a world in which plagiarism-detection software helps malevolent plagiarism. It does so because it tells teachers that plagiarism-detection software can teach students how to keep from plagiarizing. It tells teachers they won’t have to teach about plagiarism or think about it as they grade papers. We still have to do both, even with the best plagiarism-detection software.

Students who are plagiarizing, and know they are, find plagiarism-detection software very helpful. They can submit and resubmit a paper, tweaking their language, until they can find a version that makes the software happy. Plagiarism-detection software is a kind gift to students who are deliberately plagiarizing.

Plagiarism-detection software sometimes does (but usually doesn’t) catch the third and fourth kind of plagiarism, the kind that is an opportunity for a useful intervention on my part. I can only notice those sorts of plagiarism if I know the source material the students are using for their papers, and I’m familiar with the content. (This is one of many reasons I avoid “open” assignments.)

Plagiarism-detection software marketing claims that teachers can essentially delegate the question of plagiarism to them. It can’t. It’s best at that third sort of plagiarism, and second best (but not great) at the fourth.

The problem is that it not only helps students who are deliberately engaged in plagiarism, but that the marketing is that teachers can rely on plagiarism to make teaching decisions for them, when it actually can’t.

I lived in a neighborhood that had no sidewalks, and was a relatively recent development, so there were a lot of people walking on the road with dogs and strollers, and jerks who drove much too fast. We needed to get people to drive more carefully and more slowly. We had a community meeting with some police officers at which a lot of residents argued that we should put up “Slow Children At Play” signs.

They thought that telling people they should do something was the same as making them do it.

[This is the dominant model of communication—with disastrous effects in terms of political deliberation and education reforms, but that’s a subject for different posts.]

Guess what. People who drive too fast do not, in fact, suddenly drive more carefully when they are informed there are children. The worst drivers in our neighborhood lived there. They had children. They could see children on the road. They thought they were such good drivers that they could drive as fast as they wanted and still be responsible drivers. They were narcissist jerks who thought the rules didn’t apply to them.

So, putting up those signs didn’t change those actually irresponsible drivers who slid into the bike line, drove too fast, multi-tasked. It didn’t make them any more responsible. They continued to drive like narcissist jerks to whom rules didn’t really apply.

But, as the police officers said, when there were “Slow Children At Play” signs in a neighborhood, then parents assumed that people would drive well, and therefore weren’t as careful as they needed to be given the narcissist jerks in the neighborhood. “Slow Children At Play” signage makes parents less careful, while not changing the behavior of dangerous drivers.

My main problem with plagiarism-detection software is that it is like putting up “Slow Children At Play” signs. It doesn’t really stop the troubling behavior, but it makes teachers think it has. Narcissist jerks can plagiarize even better, and teachers teach less well.

Universities are, and should be, about teaching people to write in complicated ways about complicated situations. That isn’t done on the cheap. It’s done by having students interact directly, and personally, with a content-knowledgeable person who reads and thinks about their work. Plagiarism-detection software could be used by teachers as one way of alerting them to two kinds of citation issues, but it can’t replace careful grading. Plagiarism software-detection software is attractive because it appears to take a time-intensive aspect of teaching writing—determining if students are using their sources responsibly—and solving it technologically.

It doesn’t.

How People Think About Voting (Hint: a centrist v. progressive model won’t help Dems)

A lot of people who don’t want to see Trump reelected are arguing about what we should do, and that’s great. It’s a complicated situation, and we should argue.

There are, however, three big problems with how those arguments are going right now. First, there is the assumption that the answer is, and always has been, obvious, and the Dems have been ignoring the obvious answer out of a combination of cupidity and stupidity. Second, there is the entirely false dominant model of politics being a zero-sum between two points on a continuum (extreme left v. extreme right), so that any move is toward the center (and away from an extreme) or vice versa. We need to stop talking and thinking about politics that way.

The third problem is, I think, that many (most?) of the arguments aren’t grounded in the really interesting empirical research out there about voting practices—people have a tendency to assume that everyone thinks about citizenship in the same way they do. So, for instance, if they tend to vote on the basis of policy, they think that everyone else does too. But, what if not everyone does vote on the basis of policy? Then we can’t get people to vote differently by putting forward different policies.

Many people do vote on the basis of policy. But not everyone; in fact, not most people. There is no one way that people vote, and so there is no one obvious solution. Figuring out what to do to get people to vote differently means being as accurate as possible as to how people decide to vote. And they don’t vote in a way that is easily mapped onto the left/right binary (or continuum).

The problem is that people don’t just vote for different people or parties—people think about how to vote in wildly different ways. There are, loosely, eight factors in how people vote, with those factors mattering more or less for different people, different elections, and different candidates. The factors are:

  • sheer in-group loyalty;
  • charismatic leadership (identification–they believe a political leader is like them or really gets them);
  • their immediate well-being (so they vote against the President if things are going badly for them and with the President if things are going well);
  • last minute information;
  • a “throw the bums out” mentality (aka “protest” vote);
  • voting against the out-group;
  • policy.

The empirical research doesn’t show a neat and simple picture, and so I can’t give a short summary of it or a simple statement of what our true solution is. I’d just be repeating the first error above.

Here are some things I’ve been reading that have deeply changed my understanding of voting habits in the US—that caused me to stop thinking that our problems could be solved through nominating fewer or more people anywhere on the false continuum (we need to stop arguing about whether to elect progressives or centrists—that assumes that people care about policies, and not enough people do) or that we need to have a more coherent policy agenda (same problem as the previous). I think that arguments about what to do should be more informed by readings like these (I’ve tried to find short summaries of each of the arguments—hence the links):

Cyberwar: How Russian Hackers and Trolls Helped Elect a President, Kathleen Hall Jamieson

Jamieson cites studies, Mueller’s indictments, and a multitude of sources to show that the Russians did engage in considerable hacking, trolling, sock-puppeting, and generally gaming of social media in order to mislead, misinform, and distract voters with the ultimate goal of ensuring that last-minute voters and potential Dem voters mistrusted HRC.

Extremism, J.M. Berger

This non-partisan book builds on notions of in- and out-group mobilization to distinguish between normal and extreme versions of a political philosophy. I intend to use it in my rhetoric and racism class.

How Democracies Die, Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt

Two political scientists argue that Trump is following the playbook for how authoritarians displace democracy.

How Partisan Media Polarize America, Matthew Levendusky

This book is an empirical study of partisan media, comparing Keith Olbermann and Bill O’Reilly, showing that both rely on fear- and hate-mongering about the out-group more than they promote in-group policies (or even political figures). While not a “both sides are just as bad” argument, it does have good data and analysis that makes it non-partisan. This is the book, I think, that shows how the vexed and entangled political lives that people actually live get reduced into us v. them.

Ideology in America, Christopher Ellis and James Stimson

Like the Mason book (below), it argues that policy arguments get trumped by identification. It points out how very rich and complicated our actual political beliefs are, with emphasis on the behavior of voters who cut across conventional groupings. They show various things that are important, such as that people who are unhappy with how “the government” behaves vote GOP, even if the policies they dislike were promoted and voted in by the GOP.

The Rationalizing Voter, Milton Lodge and Charles Taber

This is the book with all the data about how people actually reason about politics (at least in the short term). They show that it isn’t emotional v. logical (the conventional understanding of rational/irrational) but what other people in cognitive science call System I (intuition) versus System II (metacognition). They are fatalistic about political reasoning of voters, but I think their data doesn’t merit that fatalism.

Stealth Democracy: Americans’ Beliefs About How Government Should Work, John Hibbing and Elizabeth Theiss-Morse

They are completely persuasive that many Americans reject the basic premises of democracy–that finding the correct solution is complicated, that people have legitimately different interests, that good solutions are never ideal–that people hold the President responsible for things like weather, sharks, and the current situation of the economy. They’re pretty fatalistic about voting, moreso than I think their data merits.

Uncivil Agreement: How Politics Became Our Identity, Lilliana Mason

Another empirically-grounded description of how the mosaic of political beliefs became a false binary of identity.

On bias and projection

For complicated reasons, my book was given to a very conservative FOAF, who dismissed it on the grounds that I picked a conservative as my exemplar of a demagogue. The funny thing is: I didn’t. I picked a progressive. The sad thing is: he has been well-inoculated by his media.

This is someone I admire, because I know that he is a loving, supportive, compassionate, and smart father and husband. This is a good person, a kind person, and also very, very smart. And dead wrong. That person was engaged in projection. I didn’t pick a conservative; I picked a hero.

Earl Warren was Republican, yes. And I have rarely, but not never, voted Republican (and I haven’t always voted Dem or GOP). But Warren was a progressive Republican, who did a tremendous amount to clean up politics in California at a time when the California Democrat Party was often pretty awful. Had I been a California voter at the time, I would have voted for progressive Republicans.

Warren’s behavior on the Supreme Court was a bright spot in our nasty history about SCOTUS rulings; he overturned Plessy v. Ferguson; he got a unanimous decision. He changed American history for the better.

My point was that even really good people can find themselves in demagoguery. And so I picked an in-group rhetor—one of my heroes–as an example of demagoguery.

But this smart and good person (let’s call him John) dismissed my entire argument because he thought he had caught me out on secretly picking an out-group example. And I hadn’t. Compressed in that unhappy conclusion is what is wrong with our current political situation. John thinks that engaging in political discourse is not listening to the evidence of people who might disagree with you, but refusing to listen to anyone who might disagree, which he thinks is their being “biased.”

He rejected my argument about demagoguery on the grounds that it must be wrong because he believes I am a liberal, and therefore biased, and therefore my argument about demagoguery is biased. And I mean the term “rejected”—my sense is that he wasn’t even willing to consider it. I don’t care that he disagreed with me; I care that he believes he should not listen to anyone who disagrees with him. But I don’t really disagree with him. He just assumed I did because I’m not in-group. In other words, and this is important, he was biased not to listen to me. And so he didn’t.

My argument is that we all engage in demagoguery, and we are all drawn to engaging in demagoguery instead of engaging in the harder work of arguing about policy. That isn’t an argument he needed to dismiss. He never tried to understand my argument—he assumed that my argument was somehow an argument for my in-group. That was projection on his part.

My argument is that politics should be arguments about policy instead of some bizarre world in which there are only two options, and those two options are identities. Why would he dismiss that argument?

There are two possibilities: either he believes that his group has policies so weak that they can’t be defended through the reasonable standards of policy argumentation; or, he believes that “bias” makes a person’s entire argument dismissible.

He believes that, once you have determined someone to be “biased,” you don’t need to consider their argument. And, while that is what his media tells him, and what he might have learned in college classes on argumentation, that is a really flawed model of bias.

Again, this is a smart and good man, and, had he not been primed to reject any “out-group” information as “biased” and to assume that everyone only praises in-group and only condemns out-group, he might have read my argument differently. That assumption, that you would never criticize an in-group member, was projection.

But he was primed (or inoculated, to use the technical term) to reject any “out-group” arguments, as soon as he could find a way to see me as out-group. And that inoculation happened in two ways: first, he was repeatedly told that his policy agenda was the true body politic (his perception of the situation was objective); second, he was persuaded that the health of the body politic relied on one group being in control, and that anyone who disagreed with his political agenda was a kind of virus, so he shouldn’t even let their (my) ideas into his head.

He was persuaded that we are not in a democracy (in which, as the Federalist Papers, and various other documents argue, we benefit from disagreement) but a situation in which there is only one right policy agenda, and anyone who disagrees with that agenda should be crushed in any way necessary.

That’s really awful. It’s untrue, but I have to say that, crawling around the world of public argumentation, it’s the one thing on which far too many people agree (all over the rich world of non-binary political ideologies): we are in a moment of existential crisis, in which our group—the only good and true group—is threatened with extermination, and therefore anything we do to crush Them is justified; if we cannot win, we should at least make them lose.

We do not have a political world in which our options as a country are in zero-sum between two groups. We have never been there. We never will be there. For instance, many Libertarians, progressive Christians, conservative Christians, fiscal conservatives, and Progressives can agree that rehabilitation is a better choice than prison for first- and second-time drug offenders. If we stop thinking about politics as a binary, then we might also see that there are places of agreement as far as needing better health care.

Had Romney won, would Romneycare (aka Obamacare) have been the law of the land? Would John have supported Romneycare for the country had President Romney advocated it?

I think he would have.

Would many Dems have supported Romneycare had President Romney supported it? Probably not.

And that is what is wrong with our current political discourse.

Would I have voted for Romney? No. I didn’t. Would I have voted for Romneycare for the US. Hell, yes.

Can John say the same?

Does he put policy above party?

Here is the problem with that question: we are in a culture of demagoguery, in which every decision is crunched into a binary and then we can have a zero-sum WWE fight about the two options. We are in a world in which decisions are made badly.

My argument is that, when it comes to politics, John and all the very many other Johns all over the maps of political positions think politics is a zero-sum WWE fight between Dems and [whatever the GOP is currently putting forward as Republican policy]. In other words, I’m saying that John [and all the other Johns, who think that policy follows from identity, and our world is a binary between good and bad people] believe that politics is a question of identity. People in his in-group have good policies, and so should be supported, and people who aren’t in that group should be rejected without considering their arguments.

As it happens, reasoning that way—reduce the choices to two, make the decision on the basis of affective identification—is the basis of a lot of scams. It’s never the basis of good decision-making. But it’s always the basis of profitable media coverage.

So, what if John decided to reason, not by party, but by policy? What if John decided to argue about policies, and not identity? What if John decided that he would ignore party, and instead hold all people and parties to the same standard? What if John decided that he really valued this guy who said, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”?

He would stop getting his information from rabidly partisan sources.

He would work to get information from various points of view. He would try to understand why people disagree with his policies. He would treat political issues the same way he would treat other questions.

Imagine, for instance, that there is an argument about how to manage sewage for a large-ish house in an area with clay soil. Would John only listen to experts of his in-group? If so, I have some shares in the Brooklyn Bridge I’d like to sell.

No, he wouldn’t. And he hasn’t.

We are in a world in which media tell us that all issues are questions of good v. bad people. I disagree with John about many things, and I know he is a good person.

I could have done this same post with people on other places on the political spectrum (not binary, or continuum), but I really admire John. He is good people. And I think his policy concerns are legitimate (which isn’t to say I agree with them—I don’t, but I might be wrong, and he might be right). It isn’t that I think his arguments are wrong; I think his way of thinking about politics is wrong—as a zero-sum battle between two identities.

That way is unhappily common all over the digital world, as I unfortunately know.

I won’t say that “both sides” do that, because that’s still accepting the media-convenient but always-demagogic premise of there being two sides.

People have beliefs; people have values. Countries have policies. Let’s argue about them. That someone disagrees with you—which, in our demagogized culture, is reason not to listen to them—is a reason to listen, not reject.

John only criticizes out-group and only praises in-group, and he projected that on to me.

I think we all need to criticize in-group. Warren was a good man. So is John. I think Warren was wrong to support race-based mass imprisonment, and I think John is wrong to support Trump. But I think they are both good people.