The Use/Less Citations in Feminist Research

ABSTRACT

This article points to the paradox in feminist citation practices. It provides a brief overview of the key issues at stake in feminist citational practices. By highlighting the ways in which the logic of territoriality, authority and property continues to inform the mood and mode of moralistic repair, it cautions again the reification of certain racialised and gendered bodies as the remedy, ground and supplement for feminist research ethics. Thinking through the figure of the (bio)degradable, this article asks whether it is possible to consider feminist citation as use/less.

KEYWORDS:

• Feminist theory‌
• citation practices
• ‌the logic of property
• (bio)degradable‌
• feminist research ethics

‘Why Don't You Cite Any Decolonial Scholars?'

During the Q&A session after my presentation at a symposium in Finland, which concerned the issue of air pollution in China, I received the following question: ‘Why don't you cite any decolonial scholars?'. The aim of the symposium was to engage with decolonial theory and to rethink the practices of feminist knowledge production. It did so not only by inviting keynote speakers whose work is located in the field of decolonial studies, that draw on the ‘work of diasporic scholars from South America' (Bhambra 2014, 115), but also through seating arrangements that encouraged a collective mode of knowledge production. For example, the organisers placed round tables in the conference room, so that participants could sit in circles facing each other. The organisers also placed a big sheet of paper on each table and encouraged participants to take notes on the paper. The sheets of paper were kept on the tables throughout the symposium so that participants could walk around the room and read others' notes. This symposium seating arrangement materialised a decolonial approach to knowledge production which challenges the logic of coloniality that undergirds the notion of knowledge as ‘located in the individual, the “knowing subject” in front of a detached object (society, nature, the cosmos, other persons), isolated from the community of knowers (Mignolo and Walsh 2018, 200; emphasis in original).

In contrast to the typical forms of notes that are written within the confines of a notebook and/or a screen that is a property of an individual, the note-taking practice at the symposium was open, messy and collective. Each sheet of paper was covered with words and scribbles, whose contents might be coherent, overlapping or difficult to interpret. There were not any signatures identifying the author(s) of the notes. And since participants sat in different places during the symposium, it was impossible to tell who wrote which words, draw which lines or mark which sections. The uncoordinated note-taking practice also made felt the sociality of writing and knowledge production. As Fred Moten writes, to say the text is a social space ‘is to say that stuff is going on: people, things, are meeting there and interacting, rubbing off one another, brushing against one another' (2013, 108). I not only saw the visually different handwritings – different colours and shapes, but I also heard and bodily felt the frictions between the tips of the marker pens and the surface of the paper, with different speed, weight and intensity. Such an open, messy and collective form of knowledge production made visible and challenged the sense of privacy and ownership of the typical note-taking practice.

Interestingly, this invitation to participate in the collective social space of knowledge production that called into question the logic of ownership and property was contradicted by the demand of citing decolonial scholars, which in many ways should also be considered as a decolonising practice. My presentation drew on Gayatri C. Spivak's observation of the ‘denegation of the natural and rational inscription of the possibility of surplus-value' (1993, 121) to make an argument that humanism cannot be simply abandoned but must be incessantly negotiated with. I also took inspiration from Trinh’s (2016) theorisation of lovecidal to rethink the discourse of war on smog in China. Spivak and Trinh have engaged with various modes of coloniality in their respective work and have contributed to feminist research on questions of difference and otherness. However, the question ‘why don't you cite any decolonial scholars' suggests that neither Spivak's nor Trinh's work falls in the category of decolonial scholarship. The question was posed by the keynote speaker, who noted that I only cited postcolonial scholars located in the Anglo-American context in my presentation. While a detailed account on the relation between postcolonial and decolonial studies is beyond the scope of this text (see, for example, Mendoza 2016; Bhambra 2014), it is important to briefly explain their received difference to contextualise the comment I received.

According to Madina Tlostanova, postcolonial studies ‘tend to interpret the other through the concepts of the same and seldom the other way round, and in this fundamental sense they remain loyal to and inadvertently reproduce the coloniality of knowledge' (2010, 25). In contrast, the decolonial turn starts ‘not from Lacan but from Gloria Anzaldúa or from the Zapatistas, from Caucasus cosmology or from Sufism' (2010, 25), and in so doing calling into question ‘the essence, logic, and methodology of the existing system of knowledge and disciplinary spheres' (2010, 24). Along these lines, despite their critique of modes of colonialism, Spivak’s and Trinh's works are not radical and decolonialising enough, as they are mired within the epistemic structure of modernity.

In view of this, the question ‘why don't you cite decolonial scholars' could be read as a demand for citing certain bodies of/and work that are considered properly decolonial, and as a critique of the reproduction of the logic of coloniality that my presentation risks producing. Interestingly, although my presentation concerned the Chinese context, the lack of reference to Chinese scholars working on the issue of air pollution or the ‘ecological civilization' in China was not pointed out or criticised (see, for example, Chang 2019). The demand for better – more radical because properly decolonial – citations of the work that belongs to decolonial scholars contradicts the open, messy, collective and social process of knowledge production that the symposium tried to facilitate. Interestingly, both practices could be considered as following decolonial ethos. Whereas the note-taking practice could be considered as in line with the decolonial approach that rejects ‘the all-authoritative, definitive, and individualized property-related tenets of Western academic knowledge’ (Mignolo and Walsh 2018, 248), the citation of decolonial scholars contests the history of and ongoing silencing, appropriation and marginalisation of their intellectual labour. And yet, the demand for certain citational practices reinstalls the logic of proper(ty) and author(ity) at the centre of the decolonial project.

My point is not that one form of decolonialising practice should be privileged over the other. Rather, I am interested in the paradox in feminist citational practices that this opening scene is symptomatic of. In what follows, I first provide a brief review of the key issues that concern feminist citational practices, which is considered one of the most important components of feminist research ethics. Feminist research is a diverse field with various citational practices. Factors such as the specific institutional, disciplinary settings and the preferences of the journal communities – ‘editors, boards, peer reviewers, and responses to publishing conventions and expectations' (Hemmings 2011, 21) – shape whom and what is cited and how. My aim here is however not to reason nor to justify the citational choices of individual authors but to identify and foreground some of the repeated and shared patterns of (critiquing) citational practices across the field of feminist research. I take inspiration from Clare Hemmings' citation tactics that ‘shift priority away from who said what' (2011, 21) to focus on shared knowledge practices. I then zoom in on the logic of territoriality, authority and property. As I will show, this logic continues to inform the mood and mode of ‘moralistic repair' (Chow 2021), the form of suspicious critique and the reification of certain racialised and gendered bodies as the remedy, ground and supplement for feminist research ethics. Thinking through the figure of the (bio)degradable, I end this article by asking about the use/lessness of feminist citational practices.

‘Why Do You Cite Dead White Men?'

‘Why do you cite dead white men?', a professor asked me when reading the draft of my doctoral manuscript, which rethinks the question of race through engaging with Ferdinand de Saussure's theorisation of sign. The practices of citation – whom and how to cite – are central to feminist research ethics. A citation provides the material, evidence and support for an analysis or argumentation. It concerns the question of the subject of knowledge production – who speaks – that orients feminist ethical and political practices. Citations are performative in the sense that whom and what is cited and how constitute the ‘political grammar' (Hemmings 2011) of a particular feminist narrative. For example, as a contestation and refusal of the historical and continued exclusion of women from the subject position of knowledge, feminist archives centre on feminists, especially those that Robyn Wiegman calls ‘the namer' who become ‘both the referent and agency for the analytic tradition she is taken to inaugurate and represent' (2012, 244). As Wiegman writes,

Think here of Judith Butler's figural status in poststructuralist feminist theory or Gayatri Spivak's signatory representation of postcolonial deconstruction or Donna Haraway's canonical designation as the originator of cyborgian feminism or even Nancy Hartsock's textual centrality to feminist standpoint epistemologies. In these instances, the feminist archive has elaborated a conversation through ongoing argument, contestation, and critical dissection about the analytic capacities and political utilities of each author's work and the texts that found of extend the tradition they represent. (2012, 244–245; emphasis in original)

As words such as ‘figural', ‘signatory', ‘canonical' and ‘originator' indicate, the citation of the work of feminist thinkers positions them as the authors, authorities and originators of feminist theory. In so doing, feminist citational practices re-member the landscape and genealogy of knowledge by claiming the specificity of feminist knowledge production. As Sara Ahmed writes, ‘Citation is a feminist memory. Citation is how we acknowledge our debt to those who came before; those who helped us find our way when the way was obscured because we deviated from the paths we were told to follow' (2017, 15–16). In her book Living a Feminist Life, Ahmed states explicitly her citation policy, which is not citing any white men, is understood as the racialised and gendered structure of the academic institution. The insistence on citing feminist and anti-racist scholars is then a refusal to reproduce the institutional violence.

The positioning of feminist thinkers as the originators and signatories of knowledge has effectively challenged the routine exclusion and denigration of women as object, rather than subject, of knowledge. Nevertheless, critics have called into question the construction of feminist archive through citing and centring the work of white feminists located within West-European and Anglo-American contexts, which is seen to reproduce the whiteness of academic feminism. For example, Terese Jonsson observes the techniques that construct ‘British feminism as a story that belongs to white women' that include ‘(1) the erasure of the work of British feminists of colour; (2) white feminist co-option of work by feminists of colour; and (3) the narration of feminist theory and politics as having “moved on” from racism' (2016, 50).

In an attempt to make visible and challenge the whiteness of academic feminism, feminist researchers have urged more inclusive citational practices. For example, Eve Tuck, K. Wayne Yang and Rubén Gaztambide-Fernández initiated the ‘Citation Practices Challenge' (2015). As they write ‘We often cite those who are more famous, even if their contributions appropriate subaltern ways of knowing. We also often cite those who frame problems in ways that speak against us. … We aim to stop erasing Indigenous, Black, brown, trans*, disabled POC, QT*POC, feminist, activist, and disability/crip contributions from our intellectual genealogies'. Similarly, the continued absence of Sámi and Inuit contributions in the Nordic feminist archive (see, for example, Svendsen 2021; Dankersten 2021) has been criticised as attesting to the ‘epistemic ignorance' (Kuokkanen 2007) in the Nordic region. As Rauna Kuokkanen notes, in a response to the question of whether there is any resistance within feminist academia to Sámi perspectives, ‘I think the dismissiveness of white liberal feminism takes shape in the form of non-recognition, indifference, or plain ignorance. Nordic feminists don't openly resist Sámi perspectives on feminism, but they don't engage with them either. In fact, I am not sure if they even know that such things may exist' (Knobblock and Kuokkanen 2015, 278).

In view of this, the citation of the work of the marginalised is an important feminist ethical and critical practice that challenges the whiteness of feminist knowledge production. And yet, the inclusive citation practice may result in forms of appropriation and reification that re-centres whiteness, despite ‘good intentions'.¹ For example, Ulrika Dahl shows the ways in which the displacement and absorption of the concept and analytical framework of intersectionality function to reproduce the whiteness of ‘(hegemonic) Nordic Academic feminism' (2021, 118). According to Dahl, the rhetorical movements include, for example, the broadening of intersectionality's genealogy that displaces its origin from black feminism (see also Bilge 2013). In other words, instead of conferring on the namer, the citational status and the original and authoritative signature of the theory as is often the case in feminist citational practices, Kimberle Crenshaw's theorisation of intersectionality is considered internal to and inheriting/extending from feminist collective and political endeavour to critically engage with the problem of difference. For example, it is argued that in so far Marxist feminism and queer theory concerns more than one categorical difference, they are performing ‘intersectionality',² without using the term as such. The significance and specificity of intersectionality, and relatedly black feminist intellectual work, are thus flattened out.

Moreover, intersectionality, along with black feminism and postcolonial theory, is seen as ‘useful additions' and elements of diversity to be included in the Nordic Academic feminism. More specifically, as Dahl makes clear, the usefulness of intersectionality is said to lie not so much in its attention to categorical differences and multiple forms of marginalisation, as in its foundation in questions of race and racism. In other words, intersectionality introduces the problem of race and whiteness that supplements and, hence, remains secondary concerns of the scholarly field of Nordic feminism whose primary concerns are questions of gender equality and sexual rights, and whose whiteness remains hegemonic and invisible.

As I see it, the inclusive citation practice performs and is shaped by the logic of remedy, and relatedly, the politics of completion, which inform the citation of intersectionality, and the work of feminists of colour have also been observed in the US context. For example, as Jennifer Nash notes, intersectionality is called upon to ‘remedy feminism's histories of racism and exclusion … and imagined as the flip side of “white feminism,” the kind of ethical, inclusive, and complex feminism required for feminists to revive – and to complete – their political project' (2018, 13). Citation as a form of remedial inclusion reifies the figure of black woman (and other feminists of colour) as ‘the literal and epistemological bodies' that come to stand in and as race, on the one hand, and the figure of (hegemonic) feminism whose primary focus on gender excludes concerns of race, on the other hand. It is as if race can be simply present or absent – included or excluded – from feminist research. For Rey Chow, the remedial logic needs to be understood in its embeddedness in the ‘corporate university milieu' (2021, 19). As Chow makes explicit,

Contrary to the basis of disinterestedness that underpins classical humanistic inquiry, area-based and identity-based knowledge (and their representatives) are, within the corporate university milieu, thus aligned with an implicit solution to the problems that supposedly beset the conventional pursuits of Western knowledge. This problem-solving and, I would add, reparative logic whereby some kinds of knowledge carry the service function of delivering (or at least bringing us closet to) social justice and whose presence supposedly attests to a neoliberal academy's compassion, atonement, and capacity for ‘self-culpabilization’ mean that a certain kind of purpose … is systematically yoked to a part of humanistic inquiry in an attempt to rescue all of it. (2021, 19; emphasis in original)

It follows then that the remedial logic does not reconfigure relations of power in the process of knowledge production. Instead, it reinforces the predetermined relation between the norm, the hegemonic and its ‘outside’ that is filled by the bodies and/of knowledge of its geopolitical, disciplinary and identitarian other. And yet, this logic of remedy precisely necessitates the separation of different realms of knowledge and the continued subordination and marginalisation of the other/ed bodies and/of knowledge, for it is this predetermined difference – lack and excess – that carries the promise of progress and completion (see, for example, Hemmings 2011). This predetermined separation and hierarchical differentiation between forms of knowledge that are often seen to belong to certain bodies give rise to the following inter-related issues.

First, given that the visibility and recognition of marginalised others' intellectual labour often hinge on and produce a certain other/ed identity, the demand for inclusive citation goes hand in hand with forms of territorialisation and exclusion (through, for example, the absence of citation) of feminist work that is deemed difference epistemologically and politically. This investment in the ownership of knowledge is tellingly manifested in the demand for not simply citing, but correct citation – circulation – of intersectionality (by, for example, telling its correct origin story), and the rejection of its integration into the genealogy of hegemonic feminist thought (understood as white and indifferent to questions of race). By the same token, it informs the critique of the absence of reference to decolonial scholarly work in my presentation, which is considered distinct from postcolonial feminist theorisation. In other words, to do decolonial work requires a singular correct form of citing the decolonial text and their truthful and rightful owners.³

The simultaneous demand for inclusion and claim of ownership are often felt as defensiveness, which, as Nash asserts, in the context of debates on intersectionality, should be interpreted as an affective response to histories of institutional violence that has and, in many cases, continues to devalue and extract from black women's intellectual labour. Nevertheless, Nash is critical of the assertion of ownership over intersectionality, for it recuperates the logic of captivity and property. As Nash notes, this is ironic, for black feminist theory has been committed to reveal and challenge ‘the racialized and gendered underpinnings of property – from theorizing “whiteness as property” to radically exposing how conceptions of property make possible forms of racially violent vigilantism' (2018, 136). Moreover, in so far as the citation of concepts such as intersectionality and decoloniality across various boarders – linguistic, disciplinary, geopolitical and epistemic – often results in their re-interpretation and translation, it is unclear how to draw the line between circulation and appropriation, or how to guard the identifying outline of these concepts against corruption and erosion by processes of interpretation and translation.

Second, the logic of property, ownership and territoriality that undergird the predetermined differentiation and separation of bodies and/of knowledge also informs the antagonism and suspicion which are the dominant modes and moods of critique in feminist research. This is not only manifested in the policing of citational practices and the demarcation between various forms of feminist knowledge, but also in the unequal distribution of critical attention on research objects, or what Chow observes as an implicit selection process. As Chow notes, one example is that ‘a text by a white author is subject to dispute because it is, by default, considered symptomatic of Western imperialism and exploitation' (2021, 22). In contrast, ‘the non-Western X is often preassigned a politicized status and fixed in an externally imposed role – as the witting or unwitting harbinger of repair and purification' (Chow 2021, 22). Although not new, this form of suspicious and antagonistic critique is currently encountered with heightened tension, anxiety and fatigue in the field of feminist studies, in particular, and in the globalised and corporatised university in general.

Despite their challenge to essentialist conceptions of difference, these modes of critique are often informed by the conflation of ‘bodies of knowledge and the racially marked bodies of the scholars' (Nash 2018, 14). This predetermined fixation of the subject and its object of knowledge also takes form in the various policing of who can cite as and for whom. For example, in her response to Barbara Tomlinson's (2013) critique of the appropriation of intersectionality by European intersectionality scholars, Kathy Davis writes, ‘Tomlinson makes no reference to her own racialised position as a white woman who, wittingly or not, is invariably complicit in the histories of racism and imperialism of her own country. She neither acknowledges her own location as a tenured academic in the neoliberal university might shape the way she frames her arguments … Rather she unreflexively situates herself, along with other “true” US intersectionality scholars, as gatekeepers in need of protecting “their” (whose*) theory from “unauthorized” interlopers' (2020, 120).

Here, the predetermined ownership and property that fixes the relation between the subject and object of knowledge, in the sense that each defines and identifies the other, informs both the critique of appropriation and its counter-argument. For Davis, Tomlinson's argument is itself appropriating in so far as she cannot speak as, but for, ‘“ruue” US intersectionality scholars'. This is because Tomlinson is privileged both as a ‘white woman' and as a ‘tenured academic in a neoliberal university'. It seems then that reification and separation of different bodies of/and knowledge, and their social relations conceived of as defined by indebtedness, trespassing and appropriation, function as the starting point and conclusion of feminist ethics of citation and its critique. The question that remains is how the demand for correct and inclusive citation sits together with feminist commitment against the logic of coloniality and essentialised notions of hierarchical differences.

The Use/Less Citation

Citation is useful. As the foregoing discussion has hopefully shown, to cite a particular body and/of work can be used to distinguish the different strands of feminist thoughts and to perform a specific feminist narrative. For example, the citation of decolonial scholarship, rather than feminist postcolonial theories, signals the promise of transcending the limit of postcolonial thinking (its embeddedness in and loyalty to the epistemic system of modernity). Citation is also useful, as it can be a confirmation and reproduction of the authority of the namer. For example, the repeated citation of certain feminist scholars as originators of feminist thoughts, often abstracted from the collective intellectual labour that informs them, supports the claim on the legitimacy and specificity of feminist knowledge. Citing certain bodies and/of knowledge that are considered valuable can also affirm the value of the citation, and the work that the citation is part of.

Citation is also a technique that promotes diversity and inclusivity. The citation of the work by subjects whose voice and intellectual labour have been erased and appropriated is an important technique for making them visible and recognised. And yet, it could also be the case that the citation of the other/ed work functions as a non-performative apology that signals the overcoming of the limits of the field without actually critically engaging with the other/ed work in a way that would radically reconfigure the relations of power in the process of research and knowledge production. In this sense, citation functions to solicit the other, whose existence is supplementary, and hence disposable, to provide the service of remedy and repair. Citation could also be used as an affective resistance to being incorporated and appropriated. For example, the insistence on correct citation of intersectionality as black feminist property can be read as a refusal of double erasure – black women are reduced to object rather than the subject of knowledge, and their intellectual labour is appropriated in being subsumed in the genealogy of white feminism.

In view of this, it could be said the use of citation centres on the logic of ownership and its corollary assumptions about property and debt. My point here is not to announce citation's uselessness and suggest its abandonment so as to radically destabilise the hold of – affective attachment in – the logic of ownership. To do this would be to project, and rush to fill in, an outside of citation and the form of feminist knowledge it produces, that promises to amend its ills, transcend its limits, as if the demarcation between inside and outside, and the narrative of overcoming, are not themselves forms of territoriality. Moreover, to refuse to cite might conveniently erase the voice of those who have struggled and are struggling to be listened to and engaged with. I contend that the problem is not so much citation itself, but how it is used, or how certain rather than other uses become valued.

Rethinking citation thus requires reconsidering its use. To cite also means to ‘set in motion, to call, invite, to move to and fro'.⁴ Citation then is inter-subjective. It produces the addressed and the solicitor. It is also the irreducible movement that is their dynamic relationality. It follows then that citation not simply concerns who cites whom, what and how, but also whom is invited/solicited/cited to cite, and what structures of circulation – the motion of to and fro – that conditions this specific relationality of citation. I think here of the figure of (bio)degradable that Jacques Derrida contemplated in the essay ‘Biodegradables Seven Diary Fragments', in which Derrida responded to the critique of Paul de Man as well as deconstruction by insisting on the need to read and engage. The history of Paul de Man’s war is beyond the scope of this article. What interests me is the ways in which the figure of (bio)degradable assists a rethinking of citation and its use/lessness. As Derrida mulls,

[A] text must be da(bio)degradable' in order to nourish the ‘living' culture, memory, tradition. To the extent to which it has some sense, make sense, then its ‘content' irrigates the milieu of this tradition and its ‘formal' identity is dissolved. And by formal identity, one may understand here all the ‘signifiers,’ including the title and the name of one or more presumed signatories. And yet, to enrich the ‘organic' soil of the said culture, it must also resist it, contest it, question and criticize it enough … and thus it must not be assimilable ([bio]degradable, if you like). (1989, 845)

The figure of the (bio)degradable for Derrida sheds light on the strange kinship between waste, which is dissolved, assimilated, circulated and whose identity is broken open and apart, and the masterpiece, which precisely resists the process of assimilation and decomposition. Interestingly, the use of the text – its contribution to the culture/memory/tradition that also conditions its intelligibility and significance – necessitates its dissolvement and assimilation. However, in order to nourish the culture, to animate its metabolic process, the immediate assimilation and disappearance must be resisted through forms of engagement – ‘contest it, question and criticize it enough'. The use of text – its citation and circulation – is thus displaced from the logic of ownership to the dynamic ecological relationality, the to and fro of assimilation and resistance.

What resists? In her recent book What's the use: On the use of use, Ahmed reflects on her own citation practices:

In living a feminist Life (2017), I had a rather blunt citation policy, which was not to cite any white men. In this book, I have not been able to have such a policy: following use has meant engaging with the history of utilitarianism, which is a history of books written mainly by white men. Even if I have been critical of this history, use as reuse, I kept it alive. A reuse is still a use, damn it! If I have their names, I am not writing to them, or for them. I write to, for, those who are missing, whose names are not known, whose names cannot be used: those who are faint, becoming faint, fainter still. (2019, 213; emphasis in original)

Ahmed's reflection alludes to the possibility of use/less citation. Despite the citation of the work by white men, the cited – the reader, the cited names that are not known and that are not visibly cited, the solicitor herself – is read, heard and felt as a resistance that disrupts the logic of ownership that undergirds the authoritative designation of the namer. Rather than focusing on who cites, whom, what and how, I suggest shifting attention to the to and fro movement that is the use/less citation of feminist research.

Disclosure Statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Xin Liu

Xin Liu is a Core Fellow at the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies, University of Helsinki. She has published articles in journals such as Parallax, Catalyst: Feminism, Theory, Technoscience, Australian Feminist Studies, MAI: Feminism & Visual Culture and Feminist Review. Her research projects are located in the intersection of environmental humanities, critical race studies, science and technology studies, social theory, digital media research and feminist theory.

Notes

1 Dahl associates whiteness as an epistemic habit with ‘innocence’ and ‘good intentions’ (2021, 118).

2 As Dahl writes, ‘Marxist feminism is an “intersection” of class and gender, and “queer theory” of gender and sexuality. A range of texts addressing the subject of feminism, from the sexual difference theory of Rosi Braidotti and Luce Irigaray to Trinh T. Minh-ha’s and Donna Haraway’s in/appropriated other(s) are thus presented as examples of intersectionality and of “difference”’ (2021, 119).

3 It is important to note that Mignolo has warned against the commodification of decoloniality as property. As Mignolo cautions, ‘Another danger is the commodification of decoloniality as the property of a group of individuals (i.e., the modernity/[de]coloniality project) and as a new canon of sorts, both of which erase and shroud decoloniality’s terrain of political project, praxis, and struggle.’ (2018, 82; emphasis in original).

4 Accessed 5 March 2021. https://www.etymonline.com/word/cite.