[Some of] These People Are Animals

[From this article]

From Understanding Genocide

“We cannot expect bystanders to sacrifice their lives for others. But we can expect individuals, groups, and nations to act early along a continuum of destruction, when the danger to themselves is limited, and the potential exists for inhibiting the evolution of increasing destructiveness. This will only happen if people–children, adults, whole societies–develop an awareness of their common humanity with other people, as well as of the psychological processes in themselves that turn them against others. Institutions and modes of functioning can develop that embody a shared humanity and make exclusion from the moral realm more difficult.” (Staub 35)

“Similarly, the philosopher Beryl Land has written about how very often, before the Nazis exterminated Jews, they first reduced them to a ‘subhuman state’ through ‘systematic brutality and degradation.’ This, he argued, made killing them more ‘palatable,’ because it is easier to kill a person once he or she no longer resembles a human being. [….] [P]erpetrators could have focused on the degraded and pathetic state of their victims as justification for both their past and future victimization, even though the perpetrators were actually responsible for their wretched state.” (Newman 59)

I know that people defending our President’s characterizing people trying to come to America as “animals” by saying that he just meant some Mexicans–members of a dangerous gang. And that’s a common move. He didn’t mean everyone; he only meant one part of that group, and it is a justifiable and accurate way to characterize that one part. Thus, Trump’s use of the term “animals” for some people trying to come into the country is nothing like Nazi rhetoric.

Nope, that makes it exactly like Nazi rhetoric about Jews. It’s also exactly like pro-internment rhetoric about Japanese Americans, anti-immigration rhetoric directed at Italians, eastern Europeans, the Irish, the Germans, Muslims, red-baiting, and, well, every argument for disenfranchising, expelling, or exterminating some group.

Nazis regularly acknowledged that not all Jews were bad. What they argued is that some part of that group was so dangerous that none of them should be treated as full citizens (the same argument about all the groups mentioned above), and all should be treated with extreme suspicion.

That kind of move–allowing the worst members to stand for the entire group–is only something that happens with an out-group. But it does happen. And Trump’s rhetoric is vague; he does seem to be talking about all Mexicans, and he is heard as doing exactly that.

Trump’s rhetoric won’t necessarily hurt his chances with Latinx–it’s fairly common for recent immigrants to band together against this set of immigrants (my own family history demonstrates that), and so they are likely to hear him as criticizing some immigrants. It’s easy for people to acknowledge exceptions within the in-group. But non-Latinx aren’t.

But Trump’s way of talking about parts of some immigrant group is vague. A friendly reading says he’s talking about a small group and just failing to make clear that he doesn’t think that subset represents the whole group. A less friendly reading wonders why he keeps making that mistake.

Another friendly reading says he doesn’t make the group/sub-group distinction because the sub-group is a synecdoche for the group as a whole. After all, that’s how thinking about the out-group works–any member can be taken as representative of the whole. And, clearly, that is how many supporters of Trump hear him, especially the non-trivial number of his supporters whose racism motivated their support for him.

More important, that is how exclusionary rhetoric works, including Hitler’s, by allowing or encouraging the public to think that a group is dangerous because its representative members are. What Trump is doing, and has been doing for a long time, is encouraging people to fear immigrants because some of them might be bad. And it’s working.

On the issue of bias and the genetic fallacy

One thing that has bothered me about composition textbooks for years is how many of them endorse the genetic fallacy (and motivism). A lot of research advice tells students to find “objective” sources, and then proceed to a muddled definition of “objective” (usually meaning true, non-controversial, expert, universally-accepted, and from a non-perspectival epistemological position—so conflating ontology, audience reaction, and an indefensible epistemology).

Humans have biases. All humans. All sources. It isn’t possible to be unbiased. There are two thoroughly useless ways to respond to that fact: declare that every in-group source (that tells you what you already believe to be true is true) is unbiased and everyone else is biased (so you can dismiss disconfirming evidence on the grounds that it is disconfirming); decide everyone is biased and so everyone can believe whatever they want.

The first of those is the common response of dismissing every piece of uncomfortable information on the grounds that it’s from a biased source. It’s often a consequence of inoculation, and it means you only trust information that confirms what you believe. It’s toxic. It means you shouldn’t listen to anyone who might tell you that your in-group sources of information are wrong.[1]

The second is also toxic to democratic deliberation since it means that there is no need to listen to anyone who disagrees. If everyone’s position is irrational, then there’s no reason to worry about whether yours is.

There are two useful ways to respond: 1) admit your own biases, and try to account for them (if you’re biased in favor of thinking guns are evil, try to look more fairly at arguments for gun ownership); 2) try to find really smart sources of out-group arguments.

Inoculation works by telling people that they are being presented both sides (but they aren’t being presented the smartest version of other positions).

A source being “biased” isn’t a reason to dismiss it.

Good sources give their sources, represent the oppositions fairly, and are internally logically consistent. A “biased” argument that did all those things is still a good source—it’s a good argument for what that group believes.

As teachers of argument, we need to stop talking as though being biased and being bad arguments are the same. They aren’t.

We need to teach about citing sources, representing the opposition fairly, and having internally consistent arguments.

This isn’t a new argument. Dismissing an argument because it has bad origins is known as the genetic fallacy. And assuming that an argument can be dismissed because it’s presented by an out-group rhetor (and therefore on the part of someone with bad motives) is the fallacy of motivism.

Refusing to look at disconfirming information because the source is biased is fallacious. But that doesn’t mean all sources are equally valid, nor that you should never give up on a source.

I gave up on Mother Jones, Blue State, and DailyKos (unless I’m willing to click on all the links) because too often I found them to have misrepresented data and/or their opposition. Giving up on a source because it doesn’t give sources, misrepresents its opposition, and/or is internally inconsistent is perfectly reasonable, but that judgment isn’t about the “bias” of the source—it’s about that source being shitty at argument.

[1] Really cunning media engage in a kind of double inoculation by appearing to present criticism of an in-group political figure—but it’s trivial, or stupid. Thus, consumers of that media think they’ve been given “both” sides since they heard something “negative” about the in-group. They’ve been presented weak versions of the opposition, and that’s what makes it inoculation. Yet, at the same time, they sincerely believe they’ve listened to both sides, and so aren’t in a bubble.