Arguing on Facebook : JK Rowling, Science, and Humanity

Perusing through my Facebook feed during an uneventful lunch, I came upon an article about the recent denouncement of J.K. Rowling by former Hermione actress Emma Watson. The article dealt with the writer’s transphobic tweets, and the actor’s support of the trans community. I wasn’t very familiar with J.K. Rowling’s remarks in particular, but I eagerly scrolled to the comment section, ever curious as to what kind of vitriol was being thrown in which direction. 

I read a comment by a man named Brent, who said: “The left loves to say listen to the scientist [sic] on one thing, but then ignores the science on other things!”

I chuckled, and shook my head in exasperation. As a genetics researcher at Mount Sinai Hospital with a biology degree from Brown University, I know this argument is not the clincher this man thinks it is. Yet I’m used to seeing a similar argument plastered across the news and parroted by the masses. I’m used to seeing biology employed in arguments that invalidate the lived experiences of transgender people.

I’m frustrated with Brent, because I see a man who is interested in science, but who, perhaps, hasn’t been presented with the data he needs to understand the nuance of gender. I know how many people have been misguided, and rely solely on old data and old scientific beliefs that do not take into account the reality of new facts, never stopping to question whether the beliefs and data they read about are up-to-date. They might not have learned, for example, how biological dogma used to state that maggots were born spontaneously out of non-living meat, before Francisco Redi came along in the 17th century to prove they were planted by their fly parents. Likewise, they might not draw parallels with how astronomers used to assure us that the sun revolved around the earth, and were sure of this fact, for a thousand years, before Copernicus and Galileo came along. Indeed, if we simply followed in these great scientists’ footsteps, then we would know to always ask ourselves the same question: how will people laugh at our own ignorance a hundred years down the line?

As we find ourselves still in the dawn of genetic thought, only 70 years after the discovery of DNA’s double helix, it is easy to look at the simplistic distinction between an XX and an XY chromosome pairing, corresponding with female and male traits respectively, and consider the point settled: there are two sexes and two genders, and those genders are determined by chromosomes alone.

However, as I and my fellow scientists began explaining to Brent in the comment section, new science injects incredible nuance into such a model. If Brent is truly concerned with the scientific facts, as he claimed in his post, perhaps he might be interested to hear about the existence of alternate chromosomal variations, such as the rare XXY, or Turner’s Syndrome, which is known to correlate with androgynous sexual expression in some of the individuals who have it. Beyond the chromosomes themselves, perhaps he might be interested in hearing about the existence of the SRY gene, located on the Y chromosome, that is responsible for a good portion of male sexual development, and which has been recently found to express itself at various levels, levels that may explain a whole spectrum of gender and sex characteristics. 

Indeed, the presence of variable gene expression, as well as epigenetic cues that overlay, interact with and regulate the expression of genes, are well-defined in the modern era of genetics. Many genes determine sex, and influence gender, and many elements can turn those genes on and off, up and down. This is beside the point that gender itself (having to do with mentality), is separate from sex (having to do with the body), and is often more influenced by cultural expectation than by genotype. With all this in mind, XX and XY are clearly not the end-all be-all. I explained this to Brent. I explained that gene expression help explain the variety of ways that both gender and sex can present, whether in the chemistry of the brain, the structure of the body, or even in the genitalia themselves, allowing for a whole diversity of people with genders and sexes along a spectrum between “100% male” and “100% female.” The definitions are not, I told my new Facebook acquaintance, as absolute as many think. If he is a scientist, amateur or professional, he should recognize how a growing body of science has rejected the idea of an unbridgeable gap between male and female, and has shed doubt on the idea of two genders.

I imagined that my argument, assisted by multiple participants in the comment thread with articles to share, facts to present, and degrees under their belts, might sway Brent. After all, I had done everything I could to present my argument in an Aristotelian light. I presented my ethos: my degree, my profession as a geneticist, and I presented my logos: the facts and the data, the strings that tie them into a completely logical bow. 

“This is a load of bullshit!” Brent replied. “There are only two genders. It’s biology.” To my dismay, Brent explained to me that “using the term ‘expression of different genes’ is unscientific and only proves my point.”

Clearly, Brent was a different beast from what I had at first imagined. His philosophy might not align with the constant discovery and progress occurring each day in the field of science. Perhaps, instead, he was a man set in his ways, unable to look past the comfortable, easily-parsed worldview he has never had to question. 

But I couldn’t accept that yet. After all, Brent claimed to be a man of “true science.” As a scientist myself, I felt called to educate him. Brent was even able to agree with many of the presented facts by themselves. He wrote that he could concede there might be “percentages of chemicals” that might affect people’s perceived genders. Still, he put his foot down on whether that meant such genders were real. 

I was quick to point out, of course that the gender Brent perceived in his own mind was also defined by a percentage of chemicals.

Brent didn’t take that well. He fell back on his old argument, declaring “I’m talking about real science, not theoretical science!” (I let this one slide at the time, but let the record show that all science is theoretical science). From there, Brent lamented that while he would like to “believe in magic,” he simply cannot. 

I continued my argument, mentioning that if Brent could only conceptualize the brain in terms of “magic” (neuroscience is still, after all, a burgeoning field), then perhaps he could look at the more visible existence of intersex people, those with genitalia and sexual presentation that physically differ from their chromosomal makeup. 

Surprisingly, Brent pointed out that his wife worked with “hermaphrodites.” He insisted that while this is an “unfortunate and confusing condition” it didn’t prove that there are more than two genders, just “those with parts of both genders.”

Brent didn’t realize that in this sentence he was agreeing with my main argument: that a person can have a gender identity that is partially male and partially female, and not one or the other. He also did not realize he was making this point while discussing sex, and not gender. However, at this point, I was no longer surprised by our many misunderstandings. Instead, what caught my eye was Brent’s next line: “I am not against those who want to live as they choose.” He said. “I am accepting of anyone and will only judge someone by how they treat me and others around me. I am just being honest and pragmatic.”

Despite all our bickering, I believed Brent. I believed he was being honest. I believed that he was going through life, and navigating his logic, the only way he knew how. I also believed he wanted to treat others the way they treated him, and I believed he wanted to love and be loved back. I believed Brent was just another person. A stubborn person, but a person. Just like me.

Perhaps I couldn’t be the one to convince Brent to be a skeptic toward his old beliefs. Perhaps I couldn’t convince him of the validity of new science. Nor could I convince him that the facts he’d learned through his sixty or so years were flawed. Too long I had considered fact as the great equalizer. I thought that with a logical enough argument, I could convince anyone of anything. The facts are there, aren’t they? And the facts can only mean one thing. I figured that a proper display of all the data could bring the world onto the same page. However, I didn’t stop to wonder what happens when two people look at the same facts, at the same logical explanation, and still come away with opposite views.

Human logic is complicated. We build on it through a lifetime of speculation, learning, and listening. More importantly, we build on it with the people we meet: the people we love and respect, who help define who we are and what we believe. We are not purely rational creatures, after all. We have emotional worlds swirling in our magic brains. We have histories and life stories. So now, faced with the worldview of a complete stranger, and locked in a logical loop, I was lost. What else could I do besides appeal to the person I knew was behind the screen?

In the modern era, we fear the presence of emotion in our arguments, and I was afraid to use it here. Emotion divides us, doesn’t it? Fear, hatred: they have split our country into two angry halves that scream at each other over a sea of foaming intolerance. We hear the cries of demagogues and fearmongers, and we clutch our purses. We skate warily past the dark and unknown alleyways where our scapegoats surely wait for us, ready to pop out like movie monsters, and, I imagine, buck us to death with their goat horns.

But even Aristotle, who wrote in his Rhetoric that “it is not right to pervert the judge by moving him to anger or envy or pity,” recognized there is a place for emotion in our speeches. He knew that, interwoven in any argument, together with ethos and logos, there must also be pathos.

Perhaps it comes down to the emotions I use. If I wanted to make a person afraid, I’d use fear. If I wanted a person to hurt, I’d use anger. What did I want in this moment, as I read over Brent’s replies?

Maybe I just wanted him to look at people, transgender or cisgender, binary or nonbinary, intersex or otherwise, and see them as people. I wanted him to show them the love and respect that I felt anyone should show anyone. I wanted him to empathize, and I knew that he could.

“I’m glad you accept people for who they are,” I started my final message. “That’s all I can really ask of another person.” 

In my last post, I restated what I felt the genetic data proved, and what Brent and his wife might have already known: that there are people with genders and sexes in the space outside of the traditional; people like the intersex children in his wife’s practice; people who don’t conform to male or female, man or woman. From here, I told Brent, we have two options: to accept these people, or to deny them; to allow them to live with whatever identity makes sense for them, or to force them to choose one of two genders and deny the other parts of who they are.

I assured Brent that this choice is not a trivial one. I told him how gender dysphoria, the feeling of being out of place in one’s body, forced into a gender presentation that doesn’t fit what you feel, can lead to mental anguish and even suicide. “A binary view of gender imposed upon these people can only hurt them.” I concluded. “Meanwhile, a more open understanding of gender in people like you and me can only lead to greater empathy. It won’t hurt us.”

Not long after I sent my final plea, and packed up my lunch, did I notice Brent deleted his original comment. Along with it, he deleted all its responses: all the articles, all the heartfelt and logical comments of a small bevy of scientists, and all the pushback from the man himself. All I have now are the screenshots I took. I look back on from time to time, like one might read and re-read a heated texting spur with one’s father, wondering what they could have said differently.

But I’m not this man’s relative. I’m not his friend. I’ll never know if Brent took what I said to heart. All I can hope is that he read my words, that he thought about them, and that he questioned for just a moment who his logic was really helping. I hope he has more conversations like these. I hope that the next time he meets a trans person, or an intersex person, he’ll accept them for who they are. He won’t relegate them to “magic” or “fake science.” He won’t pity their “unfortunate and confusing” condition. He’ll see them as people, people as complicated as he is. Another piece of this beautiful puzzle of human life.