I have a master’s degree in psychological research, and agree with you that psychologists commit to fallacious methods. This is a great article that provides me with a better understanding of the problematics of IQ testing from a mathematical and logical perspective; I’ve sensed that something was very wrong with the statistical methods used in psychological research, but didn’t know how to put this sense into words. The best I’ve been able to come up with is the view that psychological research is circlejerkular, meaning that it is based in repeated exchanges of phallic pleasure between psychologists who cite and applaud for one another.

Psychologists go through great efforts to make their “soft science” “hard,” most of which are significantly inappopriate (p < .01). It’s not a coincidence that as Cohen’s D gets larger, the p-value gets smaller (“bigger the D, smaller the p”): psychological “science” is mostly phallic posturing that helps white men who aren’t good at math feel like scientists because they can collect data and play with SPSS. The defensive responses you receive from wounded psychologists can be thought of as an expression of castration anxiety, i.e., a fear of losing something that isn’t there to begin with— which, in this case, is a valid “objective measure” of intelligence, one that signifies white supremacy via its usage as a ground upon which white men base their presumed superiority over others.

The department chair of my department turned away from me mid-sentence when I told him that I conduct qualitative research, and the professor of “clinical science” folded her arms and poutingly protruded her lower-lip when I suggested that perhaps her stress intervention was more effective among Latino children because the therapists giving the intervention were also Latino. I see these same problems within this section of the ivory tower as you do, and will leave you with a poem I wrote about these issues called “The Ivory Tower”:

I’ve been inside the ivory tower these last few years,
but have had to take the stairs
because the elevator was full of sweating academics
arguing about what it takes to get to the top
and whose buttons to push to get there.

“I need to see the view from the top!”
screams one of the academics with broken eyeglasses.
“I’m afraid if we get there then we will drop!”
cries the second author with the surgically-tightened sphincter.
“I know how to measure your fear!”
clamors a psychologist with a god complex from behind a portable one-way mirror.
“It’s very crowded in here!”
writhes another social scientist.
“It’s hot beneath this collar and I thought my significance was clear!”

Their forgotten bodies are remembered only
when they obstruct the closing of the ivory tower’s elevator doors.
“What is this obstruction?” cries the elder with tenure.
“And from whence came this smear?”
“Descartes said he thought I was a mind and you all cheered!”
pouts another wounded rationalist, trembling at the rear.

“The subject of study was confounded by materiality!”
bursts the interdepartmental gimp whose gag fell momentarily from its most discursive hole.
“Shut the fuck up you pervert, the IRB does not approve of you speaking here!” roar the psychologists in unison, as their practice predicted re-gagging would be required.

I watch with amusement, for I am also a voyeur
(except that I admit it because I’m a fucking queer).
“Your research regards ghosts and individuality!”
I shout as they fall silent in fear.
“This tower is haunted by disembodied minds, and I am the Ouija board!”

They fold their arms together to tell me that I’m wrong
and then I am escorted to the men’s restroom to be where I belong.
The psychologists proscribe my treatment inside the bathroom stall:
“Release your filth from that container, make it disappear,
and after this conversion therapy you will be in the clear.”

Then they watch and I become translucent,
removing all my smears,
as the ivory tower’s elevator doors
slide closed on my career.