Indistinguishable from magic

You might be familiar with Arthur C. Clarke’s Third Law, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Clarke tucked this away in a footnote without explanation, but it fits in with the discussion of magic in Chapter III of James Frazer’s magnum opus The Golden Bough. These two works have shaped a lot of my thoughts about science, technology and the way we interact with our world.

Frazer lays out two broad categories of magic, homeopathic magic and contagious magic. Homeopathic magic follows the Law of Similarity, and involves things like creating effigies of people in order to hurt them, and keeping red birds to cure fever. Contagious magic follows the Law of Contact, and involves things like throwing a child’s umbilical cord into water to improve the child’s swimming abilities later in life, or a young woman planting a marigold into dirt taken from a man’s footprint to help his love for her grow.

Frazer is careful to observe that the Laws of Similarity and Contact are widespread cognitive patterns that people use to understand their environments. In semantics we know them as the foundation of the processes of metaphor and metonymy, respectively. He notes that sympathetic magic’s “fundamental conception is identical with that of modern science: underlying the whole system is a faith, implicit but real and firm, in the order and uniformity of nature.”

In this both science and magic stand in contrast to religion: “if religion involves, first, a belief in superhuman beings who rule the world, and second, an attempt to win their favour, it clearly assumes that the course of nature is to some extent elastic or variable, and that we can persuade or induce the mighty beings who control it to deflect, for our benefit, the current of events from the channel in which they would otherwise flow.” After this Frazer engages in some sloppy thinking, concluding that because religion seems to have arisen after magic it must be an improvement over what the “savages” do. He also fails to complete the fourth quadrant of his taxonomy: that as science is to magic, social sciences are to religion.

The key difference between magic and science (and between religion and social science) is the element of faith. The potion brewer doesn’t check to see that there is a logical explanation for the inclusion of certain ingredients. If the potion fails, she must have gotten impure ingredients, or misread the incantation. A scientist looks for explanations as to why a medicine works when it works, and why it fails when it fails.

Some of you may be thinking that Clarke’s quote was about technology, not science. I first learned of technology as “applied science,” which should mean that it’s no more faith-based than science itself. In practice, it is not possible to understand every tool we use. In fact, it’s not even possible for a human to completely understand a single tool, in all its complexity.

My stepfather was a carpenter. When I was first taught to hammer a nail, I started out by picking the hammer up and putting it down on the nail, vertically. I had to be shown how to swing the hammer to take advantage of the angular momentum of the hammer head. It took another layer of learning to know that I could swing from my wrist, elbow or shoulder to customize the force of the hammer blow to the task at hand, and then another to get a sense of the various types of hammers available, not to mention the various types of nails. In a home improvement project several years ago I discovered that, as electric screwdrivers have gotten smaller and lighter, practices have changed and people use screws in situations where nails used to be more common.

My stepfather might at some point have explained to me why his hammer heads were steel and not iron, and the handles were hardwood and not softwood, metal or fiberglass, but his explanations did not go to the molecular level, much less the atomic or quantum levels. To be honest, all I needed to know was “steel is solid, heavy and doesn’t rust” and “hardwood is solid but absorbs some of the impact.” The chance that the molecular or subatomic structure of the hammers would affect our work beyond that was so small that it wasn’t worth spending time on.

At the beginning I didn’t even need to know that much. All I needed to know was that my stepfather had handed me this hammer and these nails, and told me to nail those two boards together at that angle. I had to trust his expertise. As I began to get comfortable, I started asking him questions and trying things slightly different ways. Eventually people get to the point of saying, “Why not a fiberglass handle?” and even “Why not an electric screwdriver?” But at first it’s 99 percent faith-based.

That’s how the technology of hammers and nails and houses works, but the same principles apply to technologies that many people take for granted, like pencils (we know how to sharpen them, but how many of us know how to mine graphite?) and clothing (some of us can darn a sock, and some of us can knit a scarf, but how many of us have even seen any of the machines that produce shoelaces, or Spanx?). We take it on faith that the pencils will write like they’re supposed to, and that socks will keep our feet warm.

This, then, is what Clarke meant when he talked about technology being indistinguishable from magic. Yes, Sprague de Camp portrayed ancient Romans mistaking explosives for magic in his 1939 novel Lest Darkness Fall (which explicitly invokes the sympathetic and contagious forms of magic described by Frazer). And the magically moving photographs described by J.K. Rowling in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone have become real technology just twenty years later, omnipresent in the UK and the United States.

But beyond the simple resemblance between technology and magic, if someone is not inclined to be critical or scientific, their relationship to technology is functionally the same as it would be to magic. If the technology is sufficiently advanced, people can do the same things they’ve always done. They don’t need to “get under the hood” (now there’s an example of non-magical technology!) because it seems to work most of the time,

On the other hand, our faith is not blind. I had faith in my stepfather to teach me carpentry because my mother and I had lived with him and trusted him, and seen his work. I also learned to have faith in cars to get me places safely, but as I learned more about kinematics and human attention, and as I was confronted with more evidence of the dangers of this technology, I realized that my faith was misplaced and revised my habits.

Our faith in these technologies is based on a web of trust: I trusted my stepfather when he told me that if I hit the nails this way they would securely fasten the pieces of this house together and if properly maintained, it wouldn’t fall down on us. He in turn trusted his training from other carpenters and recommendations from other professionals in related fields, which were then corroborated, revised and extended by his experiences.

I want to stress here that these methods were also supported by scientific studies of materials and manufacturing. Over the millennia, carpenters, architects and other craftspeople have tried using different materials, different structures, different techniques. Some worked better, some didn’t work so well. They’ve taken the materials apart to figure out what makes them strong in some ways and flexible in other ways. This is an ongoing process: vinyl siding may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but it can pollute if burned or discarded.

That is how you tell the difference between technology and magic: every aspect of the technology is open to question and revision. With magic, you may be able to try new things or test the existing methods, but beyond a certain point there is no more trying or testing, there is only faith.

Why do people make ASL translations of written documents?

My friend Josh was puzzled to see that the City of New York offers videos of some of its documents, translated from the original English into American Sign Language, on YouTube. I didn’t know of a good, short explainer online, and nobody responded when I asked for one on Twitter, so I figured I’d write one up.

The short answer is that ASL and English are completely different language, and knowing one is not that much help learning the other. It’s true that some deaf people are able to lipread, speak and write fluent English, this is generally because they have some combination of residual hearing, talent, privilege and interest in language. Many deaf people need to sign for daily conversation, even if they grew up with hearing parents.

It is incredibly difficult to learn to read and write a language that you can’t speak, hear, sign or see. As part of my training in sign linguistics I spent time with two deaf fifth grade students in an elementary school in Albuquerque. These were bright, curious children, and they spent hours every day practicing reading, writing, speaking and even listening – they both had cochlear implants.

After visiting these kids several times, talking with them in ASL and observing their reading and writing, I realized that at the age of eleven they did not understand how writing is used to communicate. I asked them to simply pass notes to each other, the way that hearing kids did well before fifth grade. They did each write things on paper that made the other laugh, but when I tried giving them specific messages and asking them to pass those messages on in writing, they had no idea what I was asking for.

These kids are in their thirties now, and they may well be able to read and write English fluently. At least one had a college-educated parent who was fluent in both English and ASL, which helps a lot. Other factors that help are the family’s income level and a general skill with languages. Many deaf people have none of these advantages, and consequently never develop much skill with English.

The City could even print some of these documents in ASL. Several writing systems have been created for sign languages, some of them less complete than others. For a variety of reasons, they haven’t caught on in Deaf communities, so using one of those would not help the City get the word out about school closures.

The reasons that the City government provides videos in ASL are thus that ASL is a completely different language from English, many deaf people do not have the exceptional language skills necessary to read a language they don’t really speak, and the vast majority of deaf people don’t read ASL.

On this day in Parisian theater

Since I first encountered The Parisian Stage, I’ve been impressed by the completeness of Beaumont Wicks’s life’s work: from 1950 through 1979 he compiled a list of every play performed in the theaters of Paris between 1800 and 1899. I’ve used it as the basis for my Digital Parisian Stage corpus, currently a one percent sample of the first volume (Wicks 1950), available in full text on GitHub.

Last week I had an idea for another project. Science requires both qualitative and quantitative research, and I’ve admired Neil Freeman’s @everylotnyc Twitter bot as a project that conveys the diversity of the underlying data and invites deep, qualitative exploration.

In 2016, with Timm Dapper, Elber Carneiro and Laura Silver I forked Freeman’s everylotbot code to create @everytreenyc, a random walk through the New York City Parks Department’s 2015 street tree census. Every three hours during normal New York active time, the bot tweets information about a tree from the database, in a template written by Laura that may also include topical, whimsical sayings.

Recently I’ve encountered a lot of anniversaries. A lot of it is connected to the centenary of the First World War I, but some is more random: I just listened to an episode of la Fabrique de l’histoire about François Mitterrand’s letters to his mistress that was promoted with the fact that he was born in 1916, one hundred years before that episode aired, even though he did not start writing those letters until 1962.

There are lots of “On this day” blogs and Twitter feeds, such as the History Channel and the New York Times, and even specialized feeds like @ThisDayInMETAL. There are #OnThisDay and #otd hashtags, and in French #CeJourLà. The “On this day” feeds have two things in common: they tend to be hand-curated, and they jump around from year to year. For April 13, 2014, the @CeJourLa feed tweeted events from 1849, 1997, 1695 and 1941, in that order.

Two weeks ago I was at the Annual Convention of the Modern Language Association, describing my Digital Parisian Stage corpus, and I realized that in the Parisian Stage there were plays being produced exactly two hundred years ago. I thought of the #OnThisDay feeds and @everytreenyc, and realized that I could create a Twitter bot to pull information about plays from the database and tweet them out. A week later, @spectacles_xix sent out its first automated tweet, about the play la Réconciliation par ruse.

@spectacles_xix runs on Pythonanywhere in Python 3.6, and accesses a MySQL database. It uses Mike Verdone’s Twitter API client. The source is open on GitHub.

Unlike other feeds, including this one from the French Ministry of Culture that just tweeted about the anniversary of the première of Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac, this one will not be curated, and it will not jump around from year to year. It will tweet every play that premièred in 1818, in order, until the end of the year, and then go on to 1819. If there is a day when no plays premièred, like January 16, @spectacles_xix will not tweet.
I have a couple of ideas about more features to add, so stay tuned!

Remembering Alan Hudson

On Saturday I found out that Alan Hudson died. Alan was my doctoral advisor at the University of New Mexico until his retirement in 2005, and a source of support after that.

I first met Alan when I visited the UNM Linguistics Department in 1997. Alan welcomed me into his office with a broad smile, and asked, “So Angus, have you made up your mind about whether you want to come here?”

“Well…” I said. I had been accepted into the PhD program, but had just come from a very discouraging encounter with another professor, and was ready to give up and go home. Before I could continue, Alan said, “Is there anything I can say to convince you?” I replied, “Well, I guess you just did.”

Alan was not a big name in linguistics; he never published a book. I regularly had to tell people that my advisor was not Dick Hudson. But Alan had a profound insight about the sociology of language that changed my career trajectory and my thinking about language and social justice.

In a seminar on Societal Bilingualism the next year, Alan led us through the case studies laid out by Joshua Fishman, his own advisor, in his book Reversing Language Shift. Fishman’s book is of interest to anyone concerned with language “death” (a problematic metaphor unless the language users themselves are being killed). As a Dubliner who had become fluent in Irish through compulsory government schooling, Alan cared deeply about his national language, but he did not have high hopes for it recovering its status as the primary language of Ireland.

Fishman argues that we can prevent large numbers of people abandoning a language by establishing “diglossia” – arrangements where language H is used for some functions and language L is used for others. Charles Ferguson had shown in 1949 that diglossic arrangements tend to be stable over time. Fishman believed that if language users can establish similar functional separations, they can stop language shift.

Drawing in part on his own research in Ireland and Switzerland, Alan observed that the cases Fishman categorized as diglossia did not fit with Ferguson’s examples. The key factor in Ferguson’s cases was that there were no children in the speech community who are native speakers of H: no child speakers of High German in Switzerland, no child speakers of Metropolitan French in Haiti, etc. In Ireland, by contrast, there are millions of English-speaking children, and in the Netherlands Frisian-speaking children go to school with Dutch-speaking peers.

The result of this contact is that most of these children eventually shift to the higher-prestige, better-paying language, and will not pass their native languages on to their children. There are only two ways to stop it: reverse the power dynamic (as happened in Finland when Russia conquered it from Sweden, I discovered in a term paper that semester) or isolate the children (as Kamal Sridhar observed in her Thanjavur Marathi community).

This was an important insight, with major implications for linguistics. None of us in the course were interested in segregating language groups from each other, and as linguists we were not positioned to shift the socioeconomic power differentials between groups. If the prescription for reversing language shift can be captured in a single sentence, that leaves no ongoing role for linguists.

Since then I have not been terribly surprised that Alan’s insight has not been enthusiastically embraced by other linguists. As Upton Sinclair said, “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends upon his not understanding it!” Alan published two articles describing his definition of diglossia, but framed it in theoretical terms, downplaying the implications for efforts at language maintenance and revitalization.

Alan Hudson supervised my studies and my comprehensive exams, but retired before I was ready to begin my dissertation. He continued to provide valuable advice, and attended my dissertation defense. He will be remembered as an insightful linguist and a supportive teacher.

Data science and data technology

The big buzz over the past few years has been Data Science. Corporations are opening Data Science departments and staffing them with PhDs, and universities have started Data Science programs to sell credentials for these jobs. As a linguist I’m particularly interested in this new field, because it includes research practices that I’ve been using for years, like corpus linguistics and natural language processing.

As a scientist I’m a bit skeptical of this field, because frankly I don’t see much science. Sure, the practitioners have labs and cool gadgets. But I rarely see anyone asking hard questions, doing careful observations, creating theories, formulating hypotheses, testing the hypotheses and examining the results.

The lack of careful observation and skeptical questioning is what really bothers me, because that’s what’s at the core of science. Don’t get me wrong: there are plenty of people in Data Science doing both. But these practices should permeate a field with this name, and they don’t.

If there’s so little science, why do we call it “science”? A glance through some of the uses of the term in the Google Books archive suggests that it was first used in the late twentieth century it did include hypothesis testing. In the early 2000s people began to use it as a synonym for “big data,” and I can understand why. “Big data” was a well-known buzzword associated with Silicon Valley tech hype.

I totally get why people replaced “big data” with “data science.” I’ve spent years doing science (with observations, theories, hypothesis testing, etc.). Occasionally I’ve been paid for doing science or teaching it, but only part time. Even after getting a PhD I had to conclude that science jobs that pay a living wage are scarce and in high demand, and I was probably not going to get one.

It was kind of exciting when I got a job with Scientist in the title. It helped to impress people at parties. At first it felt like a validation of all the time I spent learning how to do science. So I completely understand why people prefer to say they’re doing “data science” instead of “big data.”

The problem with being called a Scientist in that job was that I wasn’t working on experiments. I was just helping people optimize their tools. Those tools could possibly be used for science, but that was not why we were being paid to develop them. We have a word for a practice involving labs and gadgets, without requiring any observation or skepticism. That word is not science, it’s technology.

Technology is perfectly respectable; it’s what I do all day. For many years I’ve been well paid to maintain and expand the technology that sustains banks, lawyers, real estate agents, bakeries and universities. I’m currently building tools that help instructors at Columbia University with things like memorizing the names of their students and sending them emails. It’s okay to do technology. People love it.

If you really want to do science and you’re not one of the lucky ones, you can do what I do: I found a technology job that doesn’t demand all my time. Once in a while they need me to stay late or work on a weekend, but the vast majority of my time outside of 9-5 is mine. I spend a lot of that time taking care of my family and myself, and relaxing with friends. But I have time to do science.

Teaching with accent tags in the face-to-face classroom

In September I wrote about how I used accent tag videos to teach phonetic transcription in my online linguistics classes. Since I could not be there in person, the videos provided a stable reference that we could all refer to from our computers around the country. Having two pronunciations to compare drew the students’ attention to the differences between them – one of the major reasons phonetic transcription was invented – and the most natural level of detail to include in the answer.

In the Fall of 2015 I was back in the classroom teaching Introduction to Phonology, and I realized that those features – a stable reference and multiple pronunciations of the same word with small differences – were also valuable when we were all in the same room. I used accent tag clips in exercises on transcription and other skills, such as identifying phonetic traits like tongue height and frication.

One of my students, Alice Nkanga, pointed out a feature of YouTube that I wasn’t aware of before: you can adjust the speed of playback down to one-quarter speed, and it auto-corrects the pitch, which can help with transcription.

After reading my previous post another linguist, Jessi Grieser, said that she liked the idea, so I shared some of my clips with her. She used them in her class, including a clip I made contrasting two African American women – one from Chicago and one from New York – saying the word “oil.”

Grieser reported, “this went excellently! It really helped hammer home the idea that there isn’t a ‘right’ way to transcribe a word based on its orthography–that what we’re really looking for is a transcription which captures what the speaker did. They really had fun with ‘oil’ since many of them are /AHL/ or /UHL/ speakers themselves. It was a really great discussion starter for our second day of transcription. This is a genius idea.”

It makes me really happy to know that other people find this technique useful in their classrooms, because I was so excited when I came up with it. I would make the clips available to the public, even at no charge, but I’m not sure about the rights because I did not make the original accent tag videos. I hope you’ll all make your own, though – it’s not that hard!

How Google’s Pixel Buds will change the world!

Scene: a quietly bustling bistro in Paris’s 14th Arrondissement.

SERVER: Oui, vous désirez?
PIXELBUDS: Yes, you desire?
TOURIST: Um, yeah, I’ll have the steak frites.
SERVER: Que les frites?
PIXELBUDS: Than fries?
TOURIST: No, at the same time.
SERVER: Alors, vous voulez le steak aussi?
PIXELBUDS: You want the steak too?
TOURIST: Yeah, I just ordered the steak.
SERVER: Okay, du steak, et des frites, en même temps.
PIXELBUDS: Okay, steak, and fries at the same time.
TOURIST: You got it.

(All translations by Google Translate. Photo: Alain Bachelier / Flickr.)

Teaching phonetic transcription online

When I was teaching introductory linguistics, I had a problem with the phonetic transcription exercises in the textbooks I was using: they asked students to transcribe “the pronunciation” of individual words – implying that there is a single correct pronunciation with a single correct transcription. I worked around it in face-to-face classes by hearing the students’ accents and asking them to pronounce any words if their transcriptions differed from what I expected. I was also able to illustrate the pronunciation of various IPA symbols by pronouncing the sounds in class.

In the summer of 2013 I taught linguistics online for the first time, and it was much more difficult to give students a sense of the sounds I expected them to produce, and to get a sense of the sounds they associated with particular symbols. On top of that I discovered I had another challenge: I couldn’t trust these students to do the work if the answers were available anywhere online. Some of them would google the questions, find the answers, copy and paste. Homework done!

Summer courses move so fast that I wasn’t able to change the exercises until it was too late. In the fall of 2014 I taught the course again, and created several new exercises. I realized that there was now a huge wealth of speech data available online, in the form of streaming and downloadable audio, created for entertainment, education and archives. I chose a podcast episode that seemed relatively interesting and asked my students to transcribe specific words and phrases.

It immediately became clear to me that instead of listening to the sounds and using Richard Ishida’s IPA Picker or another tool to transcribe what they heard, the students were listening to the words, looking them up one by one in the dictionary, and copying and pasting word transcriptions. In some cases Roman Mars’s pronunciations were different from the dictionary transcriptions, but they were close enough that my low grades felt like quibbling to them.

I tried a different strategy: I noticed that another reporter on the podcast, Joel Werner, spoke with an Australian accent, so I asked the students to transcribe his speech. They began to understand: “Professor, do we still have to transcribe the entire word even though a letter from the word may not be pronounced due to an accent?” asked one student. Others noticed that the long vowels were shifted relative to American pronunciations.

For tests and quizzes, I found that I could make excerpts of sound and video files using editing software like Audacity and Microsoft Movie Maker. That allowed me to isolate particular words or groups of words so that the students didn’t waste time locating content in a three-minute video, or a twenty-minute podcast.

This still left a problem: how much detail were the students expected to include, and how could I specify that for them in the instructions? Back in 2013, in a unit on language variation, I had used accent tag videos to replace the hierarchy implied in most discussions of accents with a more explicit, less judgmental contrast between “sounds like me” and “sounds different.” I realized that the accent tags were also good for transcription practice, because they contained multiple pronunciations of words that differed in socially meaningful ways – in fact, the very purpose that phonetic transcription was invented for. Phonetic transcription is a tool for talking about differences in pronunciation.

The following semester, Spring 2015, I created a “Comparing Accents” assignment, where I gave the students links to excerpts of two accent tag videos, containing the word list segment of the accent tag task. I then asked them to find pairs of words that the two speakers pronounced differently and transcribe them in ways that highlighted the differences. To give them practice reading IPA notation, I gave them transcriptions and asked them to upload recordings of themselves pronouncing the transcriptions.

I was pleased to find that I actually could teach phonetic transcription online, and even write tests that assessed the students’ abilities to transcribe, thanks to accent tag videos and the principle that transcription is about communicating differences.

I found these techniques to be useful for teaching other aspects of linguistics. I’ll talk about that in future posts.

Othering, dehumanization and abuse

In a comment, Candy asked:

Can we also please talk about how “cis” is used as a term of abuse against feminists? As in, “shut up privileged cis bitches”? It’s the bit where trans activism begins to overlap with Men Rights Activism.

The use of “shut up” and “bitches” in Candy’s (unattested) example is definitely abuse, but in this dismissive context, “cis” is not functioning as abuse but othering. It positions the referent as an outsider who has no standing in the group, and possibly a threat. Othering can hurt, and it can often be done with malicious intent, but it is not the same as abuse, and responding to it as though it were abuse is generally not effective.

We can distinguish othering from abuse by removing the abusive terms and imagining a different context. Imagine that you have a group of army officers discussing how to attack a fort. Someone with no expertise is walking by and says, “Hey guys, you should just hit the tower with a bazooka!” The officers would be justified in saying, “Are you an army officer? What do you know?” or just “Get this civilian out of here!” “Civilian” isn’t a term of abuse here. It’s othering, but without malicious intent.

Othering is close to dehumanizing, which is a process where categories of people are reframed as enemies unworthy of common decency. This is a well-documented response to trauma, but it can also be done without trauma, when one group is framed as an existential threat to another. This framing can be done quite cynically, as Bosnian Serb leader Radovan Karadži? did with Muslims and later with NATO troops. As I’ve discussed on my trans blog, much of the hatred against gay men, lesbians, trans people, and women who don’t obey men is often in response to a framing that portrays them as unwilling to cooperate in increasing the birth rate of the group. I’m sure any of you can think of several more examples.

Othering is connected with abuse because dehumanizing is an invitation to abuse. If someone is really The Enemy, and unworthy of common decency, then any attacks on them are allowed. Restrictions demarcating acceptable conduct like forum rules and rules against torture are seen as an inconvenience at best, and at worst a dangerous vulnerability at times when “we” can least afford it.

Othering and dehumanizing are forms of category profiling: substituting a category of people for the feature that is required. The army officers have training and experience attacking forts, and in theory they’ve been promoted because they’ve demonstrated some skill. There’s no evidence that this civilian has training, experience or skill. Similarly, German soldiers on the Western Front in World War I were under genuine mortal threat from French and British soldiers who had been ordered to kill them, but there was no evidence that, say, Mexican soldiers were a threat to them at that time.

Of course, category profiling can go wrong in decision-making. There are many examples of experts failing spectacularly, and of outsiders succeeding where the experts don’t. There’s a whole genre of stories about these, like the film Working Girl, where our heroine’s financial expertise is dismissed because she’s categorized as a secretary. When she changes her clothes and hairstyle, people classify her as a financial executive, take her recommendations seriously, and make money.

Profiling has a notorious record in connection with dehumanization. The way that the US treated Russians and Communists when I was a kid, and Arabs and Muslims now, is far out of proportion to any threat. Profiling almost invariably misses some threats, and innocent people are always caught up in the mess.

Now let’s bring in the principle of “nothing for us without us,” which is a foundation of both representative government and identity politics. The idea is that people are experts in the issues that affect them, and the best people to discuss issues affecting a category of people are members of that category. It is very common in activist movements to insist on centering members of a particular category and excluding non-members – either from participating at all, or from taking part in the discussion. This is why othering statements like Candy’s constructed example are common in activist contexts.

When the “nothing for us without us” interacts with dehumanization, it leads to fear that They are pretending to be Us, derailing our discussions within the group and misrepresenting our goals to the wider public. This is not some paranoid fantasy: there is a long history of people infiltrating enemy movements with the goal of spying and disrupting. Recent examples from the FBI include the COINTELPRO infiltration of anti-racist groups in the 1960s and 1970s, and ongoing infiltration of Islamic groups. Our interactions increasingly take place online, where it can be even more difficult to judge people’s affiliations and motives.

Of course, the idea of representation immediately bumps square up against the profiling problem. The fact that someone is affected by an issue is no guarantee that they understand that issue, or have any ability to communicate it or resolve it. It is also no guarantee that they are sane or ethical. It can also be difficult to pin down the specific category affected and center just the members of that category. For example, low-income female-presenting nonwhite transgender people working in sex industries are targets of violence and discrimination, but even if trans people are given voice to talk about it they are often white, relatively affluent, not sex workers and even male-presenting. And because categories can be messy, it is sometimes possible for people to be simultaneously (or intermittently) part of one category that needs representation and another category that some in the first see as a threat.

Several people, including myself and Third Way Trans, have observed that it is common for trans people to have a history of trauma. This leads many trans people to take an us-and-them view of the world, where all trans people are good and innocent, and all “cis” people are evil abusers – despite the fact that trans people are just as likely to be abusive as anyone else. Their trauma leads to othering and dehumanization, and that invites abuse.

So that’s the answer to Candy’s question: “cis” in this context is not used as a term of abuse. It is used for othering, and in combination with the dehumanization that many trans people practice, that justifies the abuse. I don’t see any direct connection to “Men’s Rights Activism.” Thanks for your question, Candy; I hope this helps!