Mae

19 august

We use to eye each other, never really knowing when who would do what. We meet in congresses of our field, and after a few years of seeing each other around we started exchanging nods. We knew about each other, our research being on similar questions. I read his work when published, surely he read mine. We should not be described as enemies, but surely as opponents. The sum of our work would contribute to the same, but we would want our individual contribution be better than the other’s. 

Given the years that it took to happen, our one fight was surprisingly swift. He was presenting a piece of his research, and the abstract in the proceedings of the congress promised results clearly opposed to the ones that I had been publishing in the last years. He started talking, and then saw me in the public. At that point I would have been satisfied with a short explanation, perhaps context that could explain the obvious differences between his results and my published ones. We locked eyes for a moment, but he smiled, and went on. He was not going to stop, so I had to. I interrupted his build up and went for the head of his presentation. “How could you guarantee the representativity of your results? The design used for your study is known to show pseudoreplication: have you adressed this issue?” It was a question I posed, but it weakened his stance. 

There are moments in which all what we know coalesce with a sharpness that we seldom experience. At stating my question, I understood that there was no return. To stop would have weakened the two of us. I needed to end this right here and right now. So I barely waited after my question, and went on. “Pseudoreplication makes the researcher believe that he measures diferent things, that are actually very similar”. I saw that the people in the hall, and he himself, recognized the idea, so I delivered the blow “Your sample is biased, so you have underestimated the variation of your system, and that is why you believe that your study represents more than what it actually does”. I took care not to hesitate between the build up and the conclusion. It could be said that I had no mercy, but it is also true that a clean cut heals better than an indecisive strike. 

A bit to my surprise, I felt his defeat as it would have been mine. I could have been him, I realized, his line of thought could have been mine. It was today that I exposed his flawed work, but tomorrow? Perhaps other person would expose my own weakness. Yet all what I could do was to really end what was done. I waited for a retort or a defense, but it wasn’t coming. I did clean the argument, to round the end, repeating the logic one last time, slowly and purposely: “We all need to read more on sampling designs and reliable estimation of diversity” I said. I waited for an answer again, and looked at him intently… but no answer was to come. So that was it. 

Now I realize that the two of us were preparing for this encounter for many years, even if it took few minutes of our lives. There was a victor, and a defeated. And then again, I believe that the two of us walked away better off. A true encounter shed light on both opponents, and whoever wins or looses, is irrelevant.

Nota Bene

This short imaginary tale is one possible representation of the first exercise (kata) that I practice as an apprentice of Iaido, a form of Japanese fencing. Kata’s are prescribed sets of movements and cuts, designed as a possible answer to a fight scenario. The exercise that I describe here is called Mae. All in all there are 12 kata’s that I practice, and in the coming times I’ll writing about each of them as I did with the first here. 

If you want to see Mae performed by a master, take a look here: