September 2020 - Patricia Roberts-Miller

Trump’s tax returns and his quiet supporters

Trump with bad spray tan — Photo from here: https://www.wsj.com/articles/trumps-unhappy-returns-11601333853

I wrote a bunch of posts called “Arguing with Trump supporters,” and decided to use the term “Trump supporters,” but “arguing” was really the distinguishing term. I was talking about the group of people who still try to defend Trump, either in person or on the internet. They’re mostly repeating pro-Trump media talking points, and they don’t even try to defend him through rational argumentation. I’m not sure they ever had reasons to support him, as much as passionate beliefs about him and government.

When James Arthur Ray—a self-help bozo who made his money telling people how to make money (when he made his money telling people how to make money)–was exposed as not only murderously irresponsible, but a person telling people how to be successful when he was underwater in terms of debt, there were blog posts (which have since disappeared) saying that the fact that he had more debts that profit wasn’t evidence that his advice was bad. It was, they said, a kind of success.

In other words, for them, that you have a lot of money to spend means that you’re successful, even if you have that money because you have unmanageable loans, fraudulent claims about your wealth, and skeezy ways of getting the money. They were admiring a con artist.

Trump’s base—his cult [1]—will love that he screwed over the government through fraud. They’re beyond reasoning with, since they have no reasons to support him, and they like that he’s a con artist. (It’s interesting that they don’t realize he’s conning them.) This post is about a different set of people.

That other set of people voted for Trump did give reasons, and did (in 2016 anyway) often engage in rational argumentation to advocate for voting for him.[2] These are the people who in 2016 expressed some ambivalence about voting for him, but who gave reasons for their voting that way, and almost none of those reasons now apply. I wonder about them.

Here were the reasons I heard:

1) they hated HRC;
2) he has no relevant experience, but he’d hire the best people (I heard this a lot);
3) he’s a buffoon, but the GOP will keep him in line;
4) he’d appoint justices who would overturn Roe v. Wade;
5) he’s a good business man, and we need a businessman’s perspective on how to run government;
6) they think Democrats will raise taxes on businesses and the very wealthy, either force businesses to fund ethical health benefits for workers or have substantial government-subsidized healthcare, enforce environmental regulations, promote non-partisan redistricting policies.

So, here’s their situation now.

1) HRC isn’t running.

2) He never hired the best people. As early as 2017 it became clear that the best people won’t work with him because he’s unpredictable, unreliable, and disloyal. (I assume that his inability to hire good lawyers is why Barr is trying to get the DOJ to take over Trump’s worst case.) His personal lawyer is Giuliani, whom no sensible person would hire to fight a parking ticket. In fact, like many narcissists, Trump deliberately hires underqualified people so that they are completely beholden to him. I can’t imagine any of the people who said in 2016 “He’ll hire the best people” looking at whom Trump has hired (and fired) and thinking those are people whom they would hire for anything that requires more intelligence than being a crash test dummy.

3) When people argued in 2016 that the GOP would keep him in line, others said (correctly), that’s exactly what the conservatives said about Hitler. Since, clearly (or not), Trump wasn’t Hitler, his supporters ignored that argument. It wasn’t a claim that Trump would kill all the Jews, but that narcissistic people on the edge of sociopathy can’t be controlled. The better argument (and the one I wish I’d made when arguing with people) was: when has that worked? When has someone as difficult to work with, as narcissistic, as mercurial as Trump ever been controlled by a political party? (The answer is: never.) He isn’t controlled. It’s important to note that people who worked with him have described him as a threat to the country.

4). If your only reason to vote for Trump was that he would appoint enough justices to overturn Roe v. Wade, that’s a done deal. So there’s no longer any reason to vote for him. (I wonder about this one a lot—I think it’s really a moment of truth for whether the people who made this argument actually were all that ambivalent about Trump’s racism, reckless rhetoric, and appalling character.)

5a) This argument–he’s a good businessman–is the only one that the taxes affect. Even his defenders aren’t disputing that Trump lost a lot of money, or that he owes a lot of money–their argument, as far as I can tell, is that The New York Times hasn’t proven fraud (see, for instance, this WSJ editorial— talk about a low bar). If they’re saying his taxes aren’t fraudulent, then they’re saying it’s clear that he made no money from his businesses; he’s wealthy because of his TV show. That’s the reasonable inference.

I have to point out that lots of people in 2016 said that Trump was not a business success, because a reasonable assessment of his assets (even with all his lying and evasion) would lead to that conclusion. In my experience, the people who defended him as a successful businessman when presented with that information had the same argument that defenders of James Arthur Ray had–so what if it was a con and he’s underwater in terms of debt? He’s got money to spend, and that’s success.

5b) It’s interesting that this was exactly the argument made for Bush Jr., which people conveniently forgot when Trump was running. There’s no evidence that businessmen (it’s always men) who go into government make government more efficient. And I always think that’s a weird argument because there are a lot of things one can say about massive corporations, but being efficient with their use of resources isn’t a claim that withstands any scrutiny. So, the notion that a successful businessman would be a great President is one of those things that some people believe but can’t defend rationally.

6) Don’t I wish.

Democrats don’t have a recent history of passing that level of social safety net—the last time was under LBJ. And, even if they did, those policies don’t lead to Stalinist socialism. That’s an empirical claim subject to disproof. Were that narrative right, then there would be countries where people slid slowly—through one democratic socialist policy after another—into Stalinism.

And that country would be?….

In fact, although countries have slid into increasingly authoritarian governments (such as Russia now), no government slid into communist socialism. Israel has been socialist for a long time, after all. So, just to be clear, the fear-mongering about what happens if we adopt universal health care, for instance, has literally no evidence to support the claim that we’ll end up as the USSR.

So, I’m curious what those people will do—will they vote for Trump again?

[1] That is, his base that neither wants nor admires democracy but openly wants an authoritarian government in which someone they feel represents them has unlimited powers. That’s called fascism, in case you’re wondering.

[2] Being able to engage in rational argumentation to support your position doesn’t mean your argument is true or right or ethical, let alone that I agree with it. It’s actually a fairly low bar, so it’s interesting that Trump supporters can’t meet it.

On arguing with Trump supporters V: it isn’t just Trump supporters

Tweet saying "Patricia Roberts-Miller should've let demagoguery die rather than try to explain it and bring it back."

I mentioned elsewhere that I’ve spent a lot of time wandering around the digitally-connected world arguing with assholes, and so I think some people have been surprised when I’ve said that the best response to someone who supports Trump is to refuse to argue with them. I’ve also said the same thing about people who get all their information from the pro-Trump propaganda feedback loop. And each time I’ve tried to be clear that I’m not talking about “conservatives” or all Republicans. I think our tendency to divide everything into left v. right is gerfucked.

I think it’s better to think about politics as something like a color wheel, with both tone and saturation. And there are people all over that spectrum who refuse to look at any information that might contradictor or complicate their beliefs, mistake personal conviction for proof, and are poster children for confirmation bias. In fact, I think we’re all that way on some issues and under some circumstances. So, not everyone who makes the mistakes I’ve talked about in this set of posts is a Trump supporter.

And I doubt every Trump supporter makes all those mistakes, but it does seem to me that everyone arguing for Trump does. Perhaps I’ve missed the good arguments, but I don’t think so.

I’ve focused on Trump supporters because they exemplify (not prove) what happens when in-group loyalty trumps rational argumentation–something we all do.

I mentioned the tendency to think that proving They are bad means that We are good, and it doesn’t. That Trump supporters argue badly is no guarantee that everyone else argues well. That their position is, they performatively admit, indefensible through rational argumentation is not proof that all other positions are grounded in rational argumentation.

Right now, all that seems to hold the pro-GOP coalition together is the ethical theater of abortion and feeling superior to the libs. Seeing that Trump supporters argue badly shouldn’t be part of forming an anti-Trump coalition in which we feel good about who we are because we’re better than they; it should be part of our seeing how we argue badly. And that’s what I hope people take away from this series. It isn’t just them.

Why I wish we would stop talking about left v. right in American politics

Showing that politics is not a continuum, but more like a scattershot

Discussions of American politics typically describe either a binary or continuum of left v. right, a model that is both false and damaging.

First, the false part. The model comes from the French Assembly, when one issue was at stake—what should happen with the monarchy, and so it was possible to describe the various people involved as on a continuum. The positions of participants ranged from wanting a strong monarchy, to constitutional monarchy, to no monarchy or aristocracy at all. They sat in a way that put those in favor of retaining a monarchy on the right, and those in favor of abolishing it on the left. So, it made sense in that moment.

It makes less sense when we’re talking about a variety of policy options, as we are when we’re talking about current politics. It seems to makes sense if the topic is voting patterns for Federal elections, in which case it’s pretty useful to say that there are people who
• will only vote socialist or Green;
• are varying degrees of likely to vote socialist/Green v. Dem;
• will only vote Dem;
• are varying degrees of likely to vote Dem or vote GOP;
• will only vote GOP;
• are varying degrees of likely to vote Libertarian v. GOP;
• will only vote Libertarian.
Notice, though, that it isn’t a binary, and that it’s more of a spectrum of colors going from green through turquoise, blue, lavender, red, orange, yellow. Notice also that it doesn’t make sense to talk about the points at either end as more “extreme.” If you pay attention to actual policy agenda and voting patterns, then it’s clear that Libertarians aren’t more extreme versions of Republicans—they have a different policy agenda–, and it’s the same with Green Party and Democrats.

It isn’t an accurate description of where people stand on particular issues, even polarizing issues like abortion, gun control, civil rights, or immigration. [1] When people are talking about policies, there can be coalitions for particular kinds of changes that draw from all over that spectrum (such as regarding prison reform, decriminalizing drug use, bail reform).

There are two other axes that are important for thinking about American politics. One is domestic v. foreign policy issues, mapped above. There are people who vote consistently Dem in regard to domestic policy, but are supportive of military intervention (generally for humanitarian reasons). There are people who vote GOP consistently in regard to domestic policy, but are opposed to military intervention (essentially isolationist).[2]

The other important axis is degree of commitment to one’s place on the spectrum—that is, the extent to which one believes that other positions are legitimate and should exist. There’s a sense in which this is one’s commitment to the process of democratic deliberation. Republicans will sometimes argue that we aren’t a democracy, but a republic. I think that’s a tough argument to make past the Jacksonian opening of citizenship rights, but it sort of doesn’t matter. We can call our sort of government a democratic republic, representative democracy, liberal democracy (not in the American sense of “liberal”). Regardless of which terms one uses, the point is that our country was founded on the notion that disagreement is beneficial, that a community thrives when there are multiple perspectives, that determining the best policy is challenging.

There are people all over the political spectrum who reject that premise, who believe that their (and only their) position is entitled to power and that all other positions should be silenced, or at least marginalized.[3] Those people should be described as extremists. A Libertarian or socialist who is a passionate supporter of their party is not necessarily any more of an extremist than someone who only votes moderate Democrat. I think we should reserve the word “extremist” for someone who wants the political sphere purified of everyone other than them.

Very few people (maybe zero?) care about every policy issue, but most of us have one or two about which we care passionately. When we talk about those one or two policy issues, commitment to parties weaken, since it’s unlikely that a party is going to promote the one policy we want exactly as we want it. For instance, global warming might be the biggest issue for both of you and me, but that doesn’t mean we’re in perfect agreement as to what we should do. I might think the Kyoto Accords are great, too weak, too strong, the wrong route, and you might take one of the other positions. Or, let’s say that we both strongly believe in strict limits on immigration—we’re extremely likely to disagree about the details (especially when it comes to enforcement). To get the votes, a political party is going to have to form a coalition of people who disagree—that’s easier if we don’t know we disagree. And that is easier if we keep the discussion to vague assertions of policy goals (the vaguer the better)[4]. It’s even easier if we don’t run for our policy agenda at all, but run against Them. And that’s what Outrage Media is all about—it’s about getting clicks, links, shares, views, and commitment by ginning up outrage about how awful They are (for more on this, I think The Outrage Industry is really useful, but so is Network Propaganda).

Just to be clear, sometimes there is a group that is awful. What the Outrage Media does, though, is group all of our opponents into that one category. For instance, a lot of media talks about how awful “conservatives” are, putting Libertarians, fundagelicals, neo-conservatives, Trump supporters, and GOP loyalists all into one group. Those are fairly different groups. For instance, Libertarians and the GOP both claim to value neoliberalism, but Libertarians have a stronger commitment to it (the GOP is very supportive of government intervention in the market despite claims otherwise). So, some people try to claim that Libertarians are just a more extreme version of Republicans.

But the Strict Father Morality of the GOP is more important to its policy agenda than neoliberalism (as is shown by how GOP political figures behave when the two values are in conflict, such as in the case of bailouts, corporate subsidies, military intervention, laws regarding drug use). And it’s in that regard—the one more consistent in GOP policy commitments–that Libertarians are not more extreme than the GOP.

In other words, thinking that the binary/continuum accurately represents political ideology (at least if we think that political ideology is representative of policy agenda) is inaccurate. It’s damaging because it’s nutpicking—we allow the Outrage Media to persuade us that the outliers of the outgroup(s) represent everyone who disagrees with us. We therefore not only fail to see possible shared policy options, but demonize compromise itself (it’s trucking with the devil). We aren’t even open to thinking about what might be wrong with our policy agenda because we dismiss everyone who disagrees with us. We are on the road to mutual extermination.

[1] There are people who consistently vote Democratic who are opposed to legal abortion and gay rights, for instance. Many self-identifying Republicans support far more control (and they support it far more) than the NRA or GOP would have you believe. Everyone is in favor of immigration, and very few people are in favor of unlimited immigration—the question is how much, and what to do about illegal immigration.

[2] You may have noticed I’m up to four axes (or at least three). In other words, we should either stop trying to create one map for everyone (and think and talk in terms of policies rather than identities) or else just try to map where people stand on specific issues. I think we’d discover a lot of common ground.

[3] There are, for instance, people who believe that we should purify the Democratic Party of all but the centrists—that’s just as much a politics of purity as people who believe the party should become purely progressive. People who argued for the political extermination of anyone who advocated integration claimed to have the moderate position, and may have sincerely believed they did. I intermittently run across supporters of the GOP who want the Democratic Party political exterminated, and they seem to see themselves, quite sincerely, as thereby eliminating “extremism”—but they’re advocating an extreme position. Their extreme commitment to their position is extremist.

[4] There’s some research that says that people likely to vote Dem are more likely to be policy wonks, and really want to hear and debate the details of policy. Thus, people trying to mobilize Democrats are in a double-bind, of needing enough policy talk to get the votes of the wonks like me, but not so much as to alienate potential voters.

Arguing with Trump supporters IV: data isn’t necessarily evidence, let alone proof

Gohmert yelling — From https://www.businessinsider.com/gop-rep-louie-gohmert-screams-at-mueller-you-perpetuated-injustice-2019-7

At this point, it should be more clear why I’m saying that Trump supporters have stopped trying to defend him through argumentation—they deflect away from defending their own claims in the attempt to get their critics to accept the burden of proof, mistake their own refusal to accept an affirmative case as proof of their affirmative case, and fallaciously assume that an argument is rational if it has certain surface features. In this post, I want to point out another common strategy: mistaking data for proof (which is closely associated with believing that believing is thinking).

One of the mistakes that people make when criticizing Trump supporters is to say that their position ignores facts and logic. That’s the wrong tack to take because, I think, they sincerely believe that their position is the one grounded in logic and facts. In a previous post, I talked about their thinking their position is logical because they think they are logical people. That is, they think that the logic of a position can be inferred from whether the person making the argument is a logical person. That’s illogical.

There are two other mistakes they make: they think that a rational argument has a lot of data to support it, and a rational argument is true. So, if they have evidence to support their position, it’s both rational and true. And that way of thinking about argumentation is neither rational nor true.

Data isn’t necessarily evidence, let alone proof

I want to talk about data and not “facts” because people use the term “fact” to mean “a claim I believe is true.” “Data” is a neutral term, and I think people understand that a datum might be true and yet not prove anything. Data don’t have necessary consequences.[1]

If you’re arguing with Rando, one thing you’ll notice is that he has a lot of data: claims about reality, many of which are true. But, even when true, they’re almost always unsourced (or their source doesn’t provide sources), frequently irrelevant, and aren’t logically connected to the main claim he’s making (“Bunnies are fluffy because they’re mammals”). The temptation is to argue with him about those claims. I’ve found that is hard to do (because the claims are unsourced or badly-sourced, it’s a lot of work to find the original source) and doesn’t change his mind.

To take an older example, in 2016 a lot of Trump supporters would say, “I’m voting for Trump because Benghazi.”

That’s an enthymeme: a compressed syllogism. They have given a claim supported by another one, and so it looks as though they’re saying “Benghazi” is the reason they have the position they do. Were it a reason, then if that claim (“Benghazi”) turned out to be false, they would change their mind. But it isn’t a reason; it’s an example of why they have the position they do. (We’ll come back to that—it’s what makes the Trump supporting arguments irrational—they don’t have reasons, but a lot of examples.)

I used to ask sometimes, “What do you think happened at Benghazi?” The most common response was “People died because of Clinton.” And I’d ask exactly how, and then things got vague—most didn’t know. Some said that she responded too slowly to the threat, and I’d point out the pages in the Republican-dominated committee that said that wasn’t true. They’d refuse to look. I’d ask if they could provide a source to support what they were saying. They’d stop arguing with me.[2]. (There was another answer I’d sometimes see that I’ll get to in a bit.)

Those are the two moves that generally end an argument with a Trump supporter—ask them to read counterarguments, and ask them to provide sources. And that’s why their position is irrational.

What I’ve found is that, if you ask them to look at counterarguments, they’ll most commonly refuse to look at anything on the grounds that those sources are “biased”—that is, as mentioned in an earlier post, they’re admitting that they refuse to consider counterarguments (so their position is irrational). Sometimes they’ll sealion. They want you to summarize a complicated argument in a sentence or two, and that’s fascinating. I’m not entirely sure why they make that move, and I’ve never seen any studies on it, but I have some crank theories.[3]

The most important of those crank theories is that they don’t really believe that it matters how an argument is made—all that matters is whether the argument is “true,” and they think they can assess the truth of an argument on the basis of a one- or two-sentence summary of it. They don’t see understanding an issue or coming to a position as a process. I think that’s connected to why they see data as exemplifying a point, rather than as reasons (that, if false, suggest we should be open to reconsider the claim we say we believe for that reason).[4]

In any case, if you do want to dispute their data, my advice is not to try to figure out where they got their information (unless they can tell you). Find in-group sources that show their claims are false or misleading (and it’s generally pretty easy). At this point, Trump supporters are wildly mis- and under-informed, so it’s often straightforward to find articles in Wall Street Journal, The Economist, or even primary documents that show they’re wrong or missing important information. The question, of course, is whether they’ll care that they’re mis- and under-informed, and my experience says they don’t. (This is something that has changed since 2016.)

The reason I think it’s generally not useful to dispute the data is that they don’t believe what they believe because of that data—as I said, it’s an example, not a reason—so showing them that data is wrong won’t get them to change their position. They’ll just find different data.

Perhaps more important, the data—even for them—has no logical relationship to their main claim, or, at least, they don’t think so. The other argument I sometimes heard was, “Clinton was Secretary of State, and therefore she had ultimate responsibility for security at the embassy.” Okay, that’s an argument. But is it one the person believed? Sort of, but not really. They only agree with the logic of that argument if it’s useful for whacking the Dems, not if it applies to Republicans. Do they hold Trump responsible for everything that happens under him? (Only the good stuff.) Do they hold Republican Secretaries of State responsible for attacks on embassies? Nope.

So, the logic of their argument appeals to something they don’t believe. It looks as though they’re appealing to a principle–people in charge are responsible for what happens under them–but their application of that principle is purely partisan. And that is why it’s so frustrating to argue with them—because they aren’t engaged in rational argumentation.

They aren’t being hypocrites—I don’t think that’s the right term. They really believe that Clinton is bad, and they really believe that Benghazi exemplifies what’s wrong with her. Attacks on embassies under Republicans don’t prove anything, though. The principle that a Secretary of State is responsible for the safety of all embassy employees only applies in support of an argument they believe is true—that Democrats are bad.

In other words, Trump supporters begin with certain beliefs that are beyond question: Trump is great, Democrats are evil, any data that confirms those beliefs is true, any that doesn’t is false (or biased). They didn’t get to those beliefs through rational argumentation, and therefore those beliefs can’t be weakened through rational argumentation.

We don’t disagree about Trump because of Trump; we disagree about what it means to think. We disagree about whether believing is a substitute for thinking.

I began this set of posts by saying that Trump supporters make three mistakes about rational argumentation (a rational argument has a calm tone, lots of data, and it rings true). Now I’m saying it’s that third one that drives everything. A rational argument, they believe, is one that they believe, and for which they can find support. That isn’t a rational argument.

That’s why I keep saying that it’s perfectly fine, and perhaps even healthy, to begin a conversation with someone who wants to argue about Trump by asking if they’re open to persuasion on it, if they’re willing to read things that criticize him, and if they’re willing to cite their sources. And if they say they aren’t (or, as usually happens, they’ll try to deflect on you, and insist that you first identify what you’d need and so on), then say you only argue with people whose positions are grounded in rational argumentation, so you aren’t having this argument.

Trump will come and go, but if he goes and people still believe that belief is all you need, another Trump will come along. And then democracy will go.

[1] Were I Queen of the Universe, one of the things that people would have to learn to graduate from high school (in addition to understanding the distinction between correlation and causation) would be what it means for something to have necessary consequences (that would also help people understand what it means for something to be “necessary but not sufficient”). I think we could begin to get away from monocausal narratives, and that would be nice.

[2] I’d sometimes see the argument that she was Secretary of State, and there was inadequate protection for the embassy workers in Benghazi. Both of those claims are true, but the logical connection is wobbly.

[2] Here are a few of my crank theories. First, they prefer arguing with people. The whole point of arguing, for them, is to dominate someone else, and they feel confident about being able to do that with interpersonal moves, but they don’t think they can do it with a text—it’s no fun to argue with a text. Second, in my experience, the kind of people who are still supporting Trump are epistemological populists—they think the truth can always be stated simply and clearly in a sentence of two and reasonable people will instantly understand and recognize the truth. That crank theory is supported by research, although most of it is about “conservatives” and not Trump supporters specifically. They’re drawn to certainty, dislike complexity and nuance, and believe in a world in which everything we need to know is on the surface. In other words, they think they don’t need to read a complicated argument with lots of data because, if what that document says is true, they’ll recognize it instantly. Third, they’re afraid they’d lose and have to reconsider their belief—that is, they’re afraid of well-sourced counter arguments. Fourth (and connected to the epistemological populism), I’ve noticed that some of them have strong preferences for oral/visual arguments. That is, they themselves don’t read very much, but get their information from TV, youtube, or radio. So, if they do offer sources, it’ll be a two-hour youtube video. Those media—TV, youtube, radio—are all unsourced sources. They provide a lot of data that it’s almost impossible (or extremely time-consuming) to check.

[4] Obviously, I’m not saying that we have to abandon a position every single time we turn out to have bad data. But we should be able name what the data is that would make us change our minds. And, equally important, if we keep finding ourselves turning out to be wrong in our data, we need new sources of information.

Arguing with Trump supporters III: tone isn’t rationality

Kavanaugh yelling — https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2018/09/kavanaugh-opening-statement-angry/571564/

Just to recap: Trump supporters avoid taking on the responsibilities of rational argumentation by taking the position of a negative case even when they’re making an affirmative claim. They do so this through shifting the issue from Trump to various distractions: your emotionality (“Why are you so upset?”), your sense of humor (“You just can’t take a joke”), your supposed biases (“Snopes is a liberal site”), your identity (“Typical Social Justice Warrior bullshit”), whatever the latest fear-mongering distraction-of-the-moment whaddaboutism is that pro-Trump propaganda is promoting (her emails, Benghazeeeeee, abortion, socialism, immigration, a prayer blanket found in the desert, the caravan, ISIS, Biden will kick in your door and take your guns), and by what amounts to a version of sealioning (setting themselves as the arbiter of truth).

Sometimes, they make claims, but they rarely engage in argumentation—at this point, they even rarely engage in pseudo-rational argumentation. Since maybe they still are, and just not in places I hang out, I’ll go ahead and explain how it works and why it’s hard to argue with. Pseudo-rational argumentation is neither rational, nor argumentation, but it has surface features that people (fallaciously) associate with rational argumentation, so it can look like it’s rational.

We too often characterize rational argumentation by surface features and, paradoxically, our visceral response. As far as the surface features, we’re tempted to call something a rational argument if it has: a calm (or “matter of fact”) tone, what are sometimes called “rationality markers” (words like “because,” “therefore,” “it necessarily follows”), appeals to external knowledge (“everyone knows,” “everyone agrees,” “obviously,” “clearly”), data, appeals to expert opinion (citing reliable experts, or people with apparently expert information). Finally, a lot of people think (because they have been taught) that a “rational” argument will “make sense”—it resonates. That’s the visceral response part. Let’s call an argument that fulfills these criteria but not the criteria of rational argumentation pseudo-rational argumentation.

Such arguments appear to be rational, as long as we judge on the basis of superficial traits of the argument and the person making the argument (and how we’re cued to judge the argument and person).

Tone is not an indication of the ir/rationality of an argument
Pseudo-rationalism plays on the common misunderstanding of rationalism as not emotionalism (a relatively recent want to think about emotions v. reason). In this world, a person is rational if they are not emotional, and an emotional person is not rational. In fact, that someone appears unemotional might mean all sorts of things, such as that they’re just good at suppressing their expression of emotions, they’re not an empathetic person, they don’t understand the situation, the person judging whether someone is emotional is a bad judge of emotionality (this last is pretty common, I think).

Being emotional doesn’t necessarily mean that one has an irrational argument. One of the things Rando might do (especially if Chester is female) is first deliberately outrage Chester, and then accuse Chester of having an invalid argument (or being unable to argue) because they are emotional. (This is a classic strategy of abusers). What this does is shift the stasis (that is, the thing about which we’re arguing) from Chester’s argument to Chester’s emotional state.[1]

This is one instance of Rando’s (the nickname of Random Internetasshole, the hypothetical interlocutor of Chester’s) favorite strategy—throw the burden of proof onto Chester, and, ideally, to things Chester can’t prove. (How do you prove you’re not emotional? That’s proving a the presence of an absence, and it’s notoriously hard to do.) And it doesn’t matter. That Chester is now emotional doesn’t mean their argument is irrational. (The “you have no sense of humor” accusation is another instance of this strategy—trying to make the argument about your feelings).

We have a tendency to think about arguments in terms of identity—a good person makes a good argument; a rational person makes a rational argument; an expert makes an expert argument. Good people do not necessarily make good arguments. (By the way, I’m often misunderstood as rejecting the notion of identity politics—I’m not.) Identity politics is an acceptance that different policies have different impacts on various identities—that we are not the same. Good v. bad people is not a useful way to think about identity, especially since neither guarantees the ir/rationality of the argument a good or bad person makes.

A slight variation on this muddle about rationality is the notion that a rational person is in control (of their emotions, themselves). It was this sense of rationality and control being connected that meant that women and non-whites were prohibited from rationality—they (we) weren’t allowed to control anyone. Thus, for someone who believes in this pseudo-rationality, a woman or POC can’t argue because we’re too emotional; if we appear not to be emotional, we’re hiding it, or—worse yet—we’re trying to control them. Then, oddly enough, it’s okay for them to get angry.

Later, I’ll get back to how to respond to these moves in pseudo-rationality (all of which you can see in Trump supporters). Here the point is simply that a person appearing to argue calmly is not necessarily someone making a rational argument.

To judge the rationality of the argument, we have to look at the argument. Pseudo-rationality tries to pretend that we can infer the rationality of the argument from the tone of the arguer. We can’t.

Something else that I’ve noticed tricks people into thinking an associative argument is rational argumentation is the use of what linguists call “metadiscourse” (especially “rationality markers” and “appeals to external knowledge”). “Metadiscourse” is the term used for the language that tells the reader about what you’re telling them. That’s a weird sentence, but it’s a useful concept. Imagine the claim, “Bunnies are fluffy.”

I might say, “Unfortunately, bunnies are fluffy,” “Thankfully, bunnies are fluffy,” “Obviously, bunnies are fluffy,” “It’s well known that bunnies are fluffy,” “Bunnies are generally fluffy,” or “I think bunnies are fluffy”—those are all sentences with that same predicate (“bunnies are fluffy”), but with metadiscourse that tell you how I want you to consider the claim.The first two tell you how I feel about bunnies being fluffy. The third and fourth are “appeals to external knowledge”—they’re saying that this claim about bunnies isn’t just my opinion, (and the “obviously” is what is called a “booster” in that it boosts the strength of the claim). The fifth and sixth have “hedging” in which I’m restricting the claim (the opposite of boosting). “Rationality markers” are words we use to signal that it’s a rational argument—often words like: because, therefore, thus, in conclusion.

The tendency to infer that the presence of a lot of those sorts of words and phrases means the argument is rational is connected to our tendency to think associatively. As I’ll explain when I get to the issue of data, “Bunnies are fluffy because 1 + 1 =2” is not a rational argument. It doesn’t matter how much metadiscourse I add, or how calmly I say it. It’s a sentence that has two logically disconnected claims. “Bunnies are fluffy because bunnies are mammals” has two claims that are more associated (they’re both about bunnies) but they’re still logically disconnected. People are likely to read them as logically connected simply because of the word “because.” We’re particularly likely to make this mistake if we believe both claims to be true.

Boosters and appeals to external knowledge are likely to persuade some people of the truth of the claims (even though they aren’t evidence, let alone proof) because we too often conflate certainty and credibility. That is, a lot of people assume that decisiveness, rhetorical clarity, and certainty are signs that someone has a perfect and complete understanding of a situation. They aren’t.

The calm tone, rationality markers, and signs of certainty are all surface qualities of a text that persuade people who mistakenly believe that those surface features are indications about the rhetor being a reliable person—rational and knowledgeable. Instead, we have to look at the argument they’re making.

[1] Since this is my blog, I get to put forward some of my crank theories. One of them is that a lot of people who say they are opposed to valuing rational argumentation have been traumatized by people in their lives who use pseudo-rational argumentation as a weapon to abuse and often gaslight them (particularly the move of deliberately upsetting someone and then condemning that person for being “emotional”). I think their experience of pseudo-rational argumentation as a kind of abuse is important to keep in mind.

Arguing with Trump supporters II: an unpersuasive negative case isn’t proof of the opposite claim

Arguing with Trump supporters is frustrating because they can look like they’re engaged in argumentation, but they aren’t. They’re using a very old trick of doing everything possible to avoid the burden of proof—that is, the rhetorical responsibility of supporting your claims. They’ll engage in sham outrage if their interlocutor won’t support their claims (or engages in fallacies like ad hominem), and that’s interesting. It’s striking how often a Trump supporter blasts into an argument with insults and then is on the ground crying and screaming if someone insults them. They’re very fragile.

I think there’s something else going on. They really can’t win an argument on an even playing field—one on which everyone is held to the same standards of argumentation—and so they do everything they can to make sure it isn’t level. They evade the responsibilities of argument as though they’re running from a vindictive ex, through sham outrage, motivism, deflection, distraction, and, most of all, trying to position themselves as making the negative case.

Argumentation has two cases—proposing a solution or case, and critiquing the case someone else has made. That is, affirmative (making a case) or negative (saying they haven’t made their case). People get confused as to what a “negative” case is—it isn’t a case saying something is bad; it’s saying that something hasn’t happened. And here’s what people have a lot of trouble understanding: the success of a negative case is not the proof of an affirmative claim. If I fail to prove to your satisfaction that Chester is a bunny, it’s fallacious for you to conclude that Chester is a duck. He might be neither; he might be a bunny, and I put forward a bad case; he might be a bunny, and I put forward a great case, and you aren’t open to persuasion. A successful negative case just that shows that this argument is inadequate.

If Chester says that Trump is a bad President, and Rando destroys that argument, Rando hasn’t shown that Trump is a good President.

“Trump is a good President” is an affirmative case—that’s the case his supporters have completely stopped defending through rational argumentation. Defending that case through rational argumentation would mean that his supporters engage the smartest critics of him while following these rules.

If any Trump supporters read this post, they’ll respond by listing what he’s done that they like (which he may or may not have actually done—they’re strategically misinformed), motivism, straw man, and nutpicking. Not through rational argumentation. That would be proving my point.

In my experience, Trump supporters often make one or more of four moves. First, as I’ve been saying, they can’t rationally defend “Trump is a good President,” so they don’t try—they insist that his critics take on the burden of proof, and they take the stance of a negative case. (And his critics tend to take on that burden, for really interesting reasons—that’s a later post, and if anyone is that interested, and I forget to write it, nag me.)

Second, they often set their own persuasion as the standard of a good argument. I have to say that every person who has done this latter move to me is a white male. Can we cay privilege? [1]

Third, having declared the opposition argument inadequate (because they are unpersuaded), they declare an affirmative victory. They never made an affirmative case, so they can’t have won it.

The fourth move isn’t necessarily the last one (sometimes it’s the first one they make, and they don’t make the others)—it’s to say that the Democrats are bad (you get to abortion and socialism on this road very fast). But Democrats being bad doesn’t mean he’s a good President. He might also be bad.[2] After all, if A is bad, that doesn’t mean not-A is good (that a gorilla is a bad pet doesn’t mean that a lion is a good one). But I think a lot of people really have trouble understanding that absence of proof for one affirmative case is not proof for the opposition affirmative case. Logic is not zero-sum.

Supporting Trump is sloppy Machiavellianism—anything, any argument or any action, that supports him is assumed to be good because their goals are supposedly good. Neither are good, and neither are rationally defensible.

[1] Speaking of privilege, being an actual Professor of Rhetoric, with a specialty in argumentation, means I have some cred when I say that whether a person is or is not making a good argument is something I am better qualified to determine than they are. But, arguing in my actual identity means making it clear that I’m a woman, and I can tell you that white males with no more research than asking their own brains what they think often feel fully qualified to tell me that I am wrong about rhetoric and argumentation.

And here we get back to whether the rules are applied equally. If Rando not being persuaded means the argument is bad, does my not being persuaded by his argument mean his argument is bad?

It doesn’t, of course. But if you ask him that, the two neurons he can get to fire short out. It’s kind of entertaining to see the response. Here again, if Rando is claiming to be Christian, it’s useful to point out that he is failing to do unto others as he would have do unto him.

[2] “He’s a bad President but he’s better than Biden” is not the same claim as “he’s a good President,” nor is it even evidence for that second claim.

Arguing with Trump supporters: when Machiavellianism tries to pretend it’s grounded in principles

gaetz shouting — Image from: https://www.cnn.com/2019/12/10/politics/donald-trump-impeachment/index.html

I mentioned elsewhere that it’s hard to argue with Trump supporters[1] because many of them have openly embraced having a political position that is rationally indefensible, and they are proud of it. Supporting Trump was rarely the consequence of rational argumentation (as far as I can tell they stopped trying to support him through rational argumentation over a year ago) but it now seems that openly admitting their commitment to blinkered loyalty is considered a virtue. I said, for those reasons, it’s a reasonable strategy to refuse to argue with them at all. But, someone asked me, what if you want to?

I think it’s useful to start with explaining why it’s so hard to argue with them. In my experience, at least for the last two years, Trump supporters have simply been repeating talking points they’re hearing in various places (which is why they sound so much alike). There are two different kinds: the “haha we’re winning” response (which is more or less an admission that they have no rational argument for supporting him); talking points that look like rational argumentation but are neither rational nor argumentation. I think a lot of those talking points have been created by people who are consciously designing talking points that feel good to repeat, and that confound the libs. And it’s true that a lot of the arguments are hard to refute, but that’s just because they don’t actually make any sense.

It’s as though we are playing chess at your house, and I beat all the pieces into little bits with a hammer, set your house on fire, and then declare myself the winner. While it’s sort of true that you can’t respond to what I’ve done with a chess move, that doesn’t mean I won the chess match.

And what does it mean to “win” a political argument by refusing to engage in argumentation? Perhaps a more apt analogy would be if we were disagreeing about whether a building was fire safe, and I denied there was such a thing as fires, said you’re responsible for all the fires anyway so the solution is to ignore you, and insisted that fire hoses just transport water and so do straws and therefore we can prevent fires by throwing straws all over the place. You would have a very difficult time proving me “wrong” (especially about whether you’re really responsible for fires), not because my arguments are so good, but because they’re so bad.

I think they’re deliberately bad because it’s actually harder to refute really bad arguments–you end up having to explain how argument is supposed to work.

That will take me several posts to explain, and it’s easier to explain if I give examples, so let’s imagine Random Internetasshole (call him Rando) and Chester are arguing about something. In general, Rando’s strategy is to make a bunch of absurd and unsourced assertions and then, when pushed to defend them (or even make them coherent), he deflects. Rando’s whole strategy is to keep the disagreement away from his argument—to try to make Chester support claims, provide sources, and generally behave like the adult in the room. Rando has to keep attention away from his argument because he’s trying to pretend it’s a good one, and it’s actually a big hot stinking pile of shit. Rando has to keep attention off of how bad his argument is by shifting to Chester the burden of showing it’s a bad argument rather than Rando’s taking on the responsibility of showing it’s a good argument. That’s how Trump supporters argue.

So, if you want the short version of these many posts, the best strategy is to keep the burden of proof on Rando. Insist he show he has a good argument. He’ll resist like a cat being put into a bath because he doesn’t have a good argument, and he doesn’t know how to defend the claims he’s loyally repeating—his talking points didn’t include that page. He’ll deflect.

I’ve often wondered (when arguing with some people) why they’re trying to engage in argument at all, since they’re just making themselves look stupid to people who understand how argument works. I think the argument about replacing RBG is going to bring out the worst aspects of their already bad ways of arguing because it’s pure Machiavellianism (any and all means are good if they lead to the success of the Trump Administration). Machiavellianism is, by its nature, never rational argumentation. Rational argumentation says that there are standards that apply equally to all interlocutors. Machiavellianism says that no standards apply to us.

The rhetorical problem for Trump supporters is that a lot of them don’t like thinking of themselves as irrationally supporting a Machiavellian Administration. So, they talk as though their political agenda is grounded in consistent principles and can be defended through rational argumentation, but neither is true. That contradiction (an unprincipled policy agenda indefensible through rational argumentation) is the handful of steaming shit from which the talking points are supposed to distract us.

Briefly, here’s how the current pro-Trump talking points work (or don’t):

• they claim that each political action is driven by a principle that would appear to transcend faction, but they appeal to contradictory principles (for instance, elections that the GOP wins are mandates from the people about how Congress should behave, but elections they lose aren’t—so there isn’t really a principle about elections being mandates).
• they justify this Machiavellianism by saying that they are committed to a higher principle, but it gets weird when they try to articulate that “higher principle”—they aren’t committed to small government, anti-corruption, law and order on principle (they’re fine with big government if it’s surveillance of Trump critics, Trump’s grifting the government, police forces above the law). So, they like to think of themselves as “principled” but what they mean by that is inflexible loyalty to the group.
• because, I think, even they feel some cognitive dissonance (many of them claim to follow someone who said, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” after all), they have invented the hobgoblin of abortion in the hopes of making it the principle to which they are committed. Criminalizing abortion is not a rational strategy for ending abortions (oddly enough, many of these same people believe that criminalizing activity doesn’t reduce it when it comes to gun violence—they advocate praying away gun violence, but they want to ban abortion), and they refuse to do the things that would reduce abortion. It doesn’t end abortion—it just ends safe ones —and it isn’t the most effective strategy for reducing them. [2]
• they believe that criminalizing abortion makes them good people, and therefore anything they do is justified. In other words, they’re Machiavellian. (Thus, every argument, if it goes on, will have them say at some point, “Well, Dems are pro-abortion” when Dems have a better plan for reducing abortion than they do).
• except they aren’t principled (see the first).
• in other words, they are proud that they will make any argument or use any tactic to get their way because they are rigidly committed to what they think of as a principle (they want to criminalize abortion), and yet they want the legitimacy of making a rational argument in support. (And just to be clear, they don’t even have a rational argument when it comes to abortion—it’s all ethical theatre.)
• or they reject argumentation entirely and just want to win, and they think they are.

The final point I’ll make is that this is all profoundly anti-democratic. Many of his supporters openly want a democracy of the believers—that is, a “democracy” in name only, in which only people who agree with them get to hold power, influence decisions, or vote.[3]

Again, since none of this adds up to a rational argument, and Trump supporters have abandoned rational argumentation, a lot of people choose not to argue with them, and that’s fine. But someone asked, and so I wanted to write something about what to do if you do choose to argue with them. It’s turned into a long analysis of pseudo-rational argumentation (which is far from unique to Trump supporters), so that will be a series of posts much of which will repeat things lots of people have said (including me on this blog).

[1] I’m saying Trump supporters, and not Republicans or conservatives, because I think there is an odd (and even disturbing) conformity in Trump supporters’ arguments specifically—in my experience, they’re largely repeating the same arguments. I don’t see the same level of conformity among people who self-identify as conservative or Republican and aren’t especially supportive of Trump. (I don’t just mean Lincoln Project–some of whose arguments are non-rational at best–but a kind of person who isn’t in the Trump cult. What I haven’t watched enough is whether people in the Trump cult can make good arguments when they’re on topics other than Trump–that would be interesting to see.

[2] I think many political strategists don’t want to solve abortion because, if they did, they wouldn’t have it as a political rallying point. If they overturn Roe v Wade, they’ll have to find something else—a war on illegal abortions or attacks on birth control. Either of those will have unfortunate political consequences, since a lot of people do want access to birth control, and do want abortions for them and people like them.

[3] You find people like this all over the political spectrum—people who are eliminationist in their politics. I think it’s interesting that so many of these people are obsessed with sharia law–it’s clearly projection.

Outrage, inside dealing, and pissing in public; aka, how hating on “government” enables corruption

books about demagoguery

At one point, when I was living in an overwhelmingly Republican area (there were often no Democrats on the ballot for many of the offices), there was a scandal, and the community was outraged, and a public official was removed from office. There was another event around the same time that the media tried to make a scandal, but the community (and my neighbors) treated it as a trivial event that happens because people are people. In both scandals, as far as I can tell, everyone involved was Republican, so this wasn’t a question of partisan irrationality.

Here were the two issues. One: there was a plan for a new events center, and someone connected to the board (or perhaps even on the board) bought, in one of those complicated short-term ownership agreements, land that insider information let them know was going to be bought by for that center, and made a killing. There were articles in the local paper about how dodgy all this was.

Two: there was a sheriff had too much to drink at a wedding, and so walked home. On the way, he stopped to piss by the side of the road. He was arrested (that’s a sex crime in Texas).

It seemed to me that the self-dealing was a bigger deal than pissing in public. Pissing on the side of the road hurts literally no one. The self-dealing is corruption at its most obvious. My die-hard Republican neighbors had no opinion about the events center issue, dismissing it as “politics as usual,” but they were outraged about the sheriff.

And that’s when I understood how some people think about political decisions and corruption. They are so “anti-government” that they think it’s great if someone profits off government decisions–because profit is good.

My neighbors claimed that they were concerned with fiscal responsibility in government, but they must have known that the land deal meant that the county paid a lot more money for that land than it would have if there hadn’t been that inside deal. What they valued more than fiscal responsibility was somebody getting money out of the government. What they saw was someone using their position of power to maximize their personal profit, and that is what they valued–that’s what they thought power was for.

The government corruption generated profit. And my neighbors admired anyone who generated profit. And they didn’t admire someone who pissed in public. (The sheriff was also accused of sexual harassment, but that wasn’t something that outraged my neighbors.)

I’ve seen this a lot in people who describe themselves as “conservative.”[1] They are outraged about government bloat except when an individual profits tremendously through grift, graft, and self-dealing. As I said, that’s what they think power is for–to help yourself and your friends and hurt your enemies. And that’s one reason that so many people openly admire that Trump is using the government as his personal checking account.

The (conservative) author Jonathan Haidt has said that people who self-identify as conservative value loyalty to their ingroup whereas people who self-identify as liberal don’t. Haidt tries to make that valuing loyalty an admirable and simultaneously morally neutral quality, but it is neither.

It isn’t that my neighbors valued loyalty as a principle (in which case they would admire loyalty in Democrats); it’s that they value loyalty to their group. Had the people involved in that shady land deal been Democrats, my neighbors would have been outraged.

The GOP outrage machine (one of these days I’ll post about various other outrage machines) has for some time been engaged in a logically vexed anti-government demagoguery in which “government” is liberal.[2] They have also been promoting political success as nothing more than “stigginit to the liberals” and upsetting media. Once you’re drinking that demagogic Flavoraid, then there is no such thing as Republicans grifting the taxpayers.[3]

Republicans should care that Trump is grifting the government. But they don’t really care about fiscal responsibility; that’s just a phrase to make them feel better about their own corruption. The government does have bloat (every big institution does) and the government doesn’t do things in the way that makes the most sense to me (no big institution does). As I said in another (much too long) post, big institutions make bad decisions. But they also make decisions that aren’t bad–they’re the best decisions within the various constraints, or good enough decisions within the constraints. If we spend our lives outraged that the university, or city, or government isn’t enacting the policies we believe to be right, then we’re spending our lives in the pleasurable orgy of outrage. We aren’t doing good political work. Knee-jerk anti-government outrage enables the kind of grifting my neighbors admired.

[1] They aren’t conservative. They’re Randian neo-liberals.

[2] By its very nature, government is always conservative, but that’s a different post. And the GOP outrage machine isn’t about conservatism–Trump isn’t conservative–but about supporting whatever the political agenda of the GOP candidate for President happens to be at this moment.

[3] It isn’t just conservatives who have an irrational and knee-jerk hostility to the government. But, regardless of the voting pattern of the person engaged in trashing government, that position helps neo-conservative/neoliberals dismantle necessary services.

“Trump is going to win in a landslide”: Supporting Trump is now openly irrational

Recently, I’ve noticed that, when people post something critical of Trump, Trump supporters don’t even try to argue with the criticism. More and more, I’m seeing Trump supporters say, “Trump is going to win in a landslide.”

In other words, Trump supporters are admitting three things, any one of which makes them look really bad: 1) they don’t care whether their candidate is corrupt, dishonest, incompetent, destructive, as long as he’s winning (that is, if his setting them on fire makes “libruls” too hot, they’re happy); 2) that it’s impossible to defend him through anything within three city blocks of rational argumentation; 3) that they repeat the talking points they’re given without thinking them through at all. As I said a year ago, Trump supporters have given up arguing for him or his policies.

I don’t think the left v. right binary (or continuum) is a useful way to describe our political landscape. It’s used because it’s more profitable for media to present things in simplistic and proto-demagogic ways. And so I think it’s fueling demagoguery to characterize the GOP (let alone Trump supporters) as “conservative.” They aren’t. The GOP hasn’t been conservative since Eisenhower. From the moment of FDR’s success, the GOP has been reactionary—its whole identity has been not-Democratic. There are slogans—small government, low taxes, freedom—but they’re ignored or abandoned at any given moment for an election. Even the two rallying cries (abortion and immigration) are deliberately not actually solved. If the GOP were to solve either of those issues (and they could) those buttons would no longer be hot. So, the GOP has policies that will definitely not solve them.

Granted, every political party will make exceptions on its principles, but as Tim Alberta recently put it, for the GOP, these principles “have in recent years gone from elastic to expendable.” As Alberta says, “If it agitates the base, if it lights up a Fox News chyron, if it serves to alienate sturdy real Americans from delicate coastal elites, then it’s got a place in the Grand Old Party.” In that same article, Alberta quotes the GOP consultant Brendan Buck as saying that the GOP is now all and only about “owning the libs and pissing off the media.” The response I mentioned above, “He will win in a landslide” is exactly that way of thinking about politics.

In 2016, there were arguments for Trump. He would hire the best people, as a successful businessman he would negotiate effectively, as a Washington outsider he would break the low-level nepotism and corruption of government politics. I’m not saying whether or not those arguments were true—I’m saying that his supporters aren’t even making them any more. That’s interesting. It’s as though even they are acknowledging that supporting him is rationally indefensible. They’re not even trying.

They also aren’t willing to look at anything critical of him, and that’s significant too. They’re like little kids pretending they aren’t afraid of what’s under the bed, and that’s why they take a running jump to get into bed. They aren’t getting near that thing they aren’t afraid of.

This kind of fearful blustery partisanship is hard for a lot of critics of Trump to respond to, since many people who are interested in politics care about policies and arguments—and those are both off the table. Our impulse is to go to the data about him, but there are two problems with that approach. First, their attachment to Trump isn’t vulnerable to data because they won’t look at information that disconfirms their beliefs (they reject it as “biased,” showing they don’t understand what that word means, or how bias works). Second, and related, since they only get information from “trusted” media (that is, sources biased toward Trump), they have a lot of data to support their notion that he’s doing a great job and is not responsible for anything. (The research suggests they’ll only change their mind if they know someone personally who gets sick. )

So, what do you do about someone in your world who says, in response to your post critical of Trump, “He will win in a landslide!”?

I think you don’t argue with them, unless you just want to see exactly how far they’ll go with their nonsense (in other words, if you’re the sort of person who touches paint if there is a “wet paint” sign and pokes fire ant nests, just to see what happens). But I think it can be useful to point out that “He will win in a landslide” isn’t an argument, and that they’re admitting they don’t have an argument. I think it can be helpful to refuse to argue, while making a point that the person isn’t worth arguing with.

Pro-Trump rhetoric has long been all about projection, and it’s worth remembering that his major projection is how “sad” or “pathetic” someone is. I think that’s significant—they’re afraid that they’re sad and pathetic. And whether they are is something I don’t know, but their defenses of him are very sad and very pathetic. And they know it. Sort of.