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Sunday, 5 June 2022

THE PERFORMATIVE POLITICIAN



Nadeem F Paracha in The Dawn

Illustration by Abro



Populism is a way of framing political ideas that can be filled with a verity of ideologies (C. Mudde in Current History, 2014). These ideologies can come from the left or the right. Populism in itself is not a distinct ideology. It is a performative political style.

No matter where it’s coming from, it is manifested through a particular set of animated gestures, images, tones and symbols (B. Moffitt, The Global Rise of Populism, 2016). At the core of it is a narrative containing two main ‘villains’: The ‘elites’ and ‘the other’. Elites are described as being corrupt. And ‘the other’ is demonised as being a threat to the beliefs and values of the ‘majority’.

Populists begin by glorifying the ‘besieged’ polity as noble. They then begin to frame the polity’s civilisation as ‘sacred’. Therefore, the mission to eradicate threats, in this context, becomes a sacred cause. The far-right parties in Europe want to protect Europe’s Christian identity from Muslim intruders. They see Muslim immigration to European countries as an invasion.

Yet, these far-right groups are largely secular. They do not propose the creation of a Christian theocracy. Instead, they understand modern European civilisation as the outcome of its illustrious Christian past. They frame the Muslim immigrant as ‘the other’ who has arrived from a lesser civilisation. So, according to far-right populists in Europe, the Muslim other — tolerated and facilitated by a political elite — starts to undermine the Christian values that aided European civilisations to become ‘great’.

Ironically, most far-right outfits in Europe that espouse such notions are largely critical of conventional Christian institutions. They see them as being too conservative towards modern European values. Far-right outfits are not overtly religious at all — even though their fiery populist rhetoric frames their cause as a sacred undertaking to protect the civilisational role of Christianity in shaping European societies.

Thus, European far-right populists adopt Christianity not as a theocratic-political doctrine, but as an identity marker to differentiate themselves from Muslims (Saving The People, ed. O. Roy, 2016). It is therefore naive to understand issues such as Islamophobia as a tussle between Christianity and Islam. Neither is it a clash between modernity and anti-modernity, as such.

The actions of some Islamist extremists, and the manner in which these were framed by popular media, made Muslim migrants in the West a community that could be easily moulded into a feared ‘other’ by populists. If one takes out the Muslim migrants from the equation, the core narrative of far-right populists will lose its sting.

Muslims in this regard have become ‘the other’ in India as well. Hindu nationalism is challenging the old, ‘secular’ political elite by claiming that this elite was serving Muslim interests to maintain its political hegemony, and that it was repressing values, beliefs and memories of a Hindu civilisation that was thriving before being invaded and dismantled by Muslim invaders.

Here too, the populist Hindu nationalists are not necessarily devout and pious. And when they are, then the actions in this respect are largely performative rather than doctrinal. That’s why, today, a harmless Hindu ritual and the act of emotionally or physically assaulting a Muslim, may carry similar performative connotations. For example, a militant Hindu nationalist mob attacking a Muslim can be conceived by the attackers as a sacred ritual.

Same is the case in Pakistan. The researcher Muhammad Amir Rana has conducted several interviews of young Islamist militants who were arrested and put in rehabilitation programmes. Almost all of them were told by their ‘handlers’ that self-sacrifice was a means to create an Islamic state/caliphate that would wipe out poverty, corruption and immorality, and provide justice. This idea was programmed into them to create a ‘self’ in relation to an opposite or ‘the other’. The other in this respect were heretics and infidels who were conspiring to destroy Islam.

When an Islamist suicide bomber explodes him/herself in public, or when extremists desecrate Ahmadiyya graves, or a mob attacks an alleged blasphemer, each one of these believe they are undertaking a sacred ritual that is not that different from the harmless ones. But Islamist militants are not populists. They have dogmatic doctrines or are deeply indoctrinated.

Not so, the populists. Populists are great hijackers of ideas. There’s nothing original or deep about them. Everything remains on the surface. Take, for instance, the recently ousted Pakistani PM Imran Khan. He unabashedly steals ideas from the left and the right. His core constituency, which is not so attuned to history, perceives these ideas as being entirely new. Everything he says or claims to have done, becomes ‘for the first time in the history of Pakistan.’

But being a populist, it wasn’t enough for Khan to frame his ‘struggle’ (against ‘corrupt elites’) as a noble cause. It needed to be manifested as a sacred conviction. So, from 2014 onwards, he increasingly began to lace his speeches with allusions of him fighting for justice and morality by treading a path laid out by Islam’s sacred texts and personalities. He then began to explain this undertaking as a ‘jihad’.

These were/are pure populist manoeuvres and entirely performative. Once the cause transformed into becoming a ‘jihad’, it not only required rhetoric culled from Islamist evangelists and then put in the context of a ‘political struggle’, but it also needed performed piety — carrying prayer beads, being constantly photographed while saying obligatory Muslim prayers, embracing famous preachers, etc.

And since ‘jihad’ in the popular imagination is often perceived to be something aggressive and manly, Khan poses as an outspoken and fearless saviour of not only the people of Pakistan, but also of the ‘ummah’.

Yet, by all accounts, he is not very religious. He’s not secular either. But this is how populists are. They are basically nothing. They are great performers who can draw devotion from a great many people — especially those who are struggling to formulate a political identity for themselves. There are no shortcuts to this. But populists provide them shortcuts.

Khan is a curious mixture of an Islamist and a brawler. But both of these attributes mainly reside on the surface and in his rhetoric. The only aim one can say that is lingering underneath the surface is an inexhaustible ambition to be constantly admired and, of course, rule as a North Korean premier does. Conjuring lots of adulation, but zero opposition.

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Monday, 30 May 2022

On Fact, Opinion and Belief

 Annie Duke in 'Thinking in Bets'


What exactly is the difference between fact, opinion and belief?” .

Fact: (noun): A piece of information that can be backed up by evidence.

Belief: (noun): A state or habit of mind, in which trust or confidence is placed, in some person or thing. Something accepted or considered to be true.

Opinion: (noun): a view, judgement or appraisal formed in the mind about a particular matter.

The main difference here is that we can verify facts, but opinions and beliefs are not verifiable. Until relatively recently, most people would call facts things like numbers, dates, photographic accounts that we can all agree upon.

More recently, it has become commonplace to question even the most mundane objective sources of fact, like eyewitness accounts, and credible peer-reviewed science, but that is a topic for another day.

 How we think we form our beliefs:

  1. We hear something;

  2. We think about it and vet it, determining whether it is true or false; only after that

  3. We form our belief

Actually, we form our beliefs:

  1. We hear something;

  2. We believe it to be true;

  3. Only sometimes, later, if we have the time or the inclination, we think about it and vet it, determining whether it is, in fact, true or false.


Psychology professor Daniel Gilbert, “People are credulous creatures who find it very easy to believe and very difficult to doubt”. 


Our default is to believe that what we hear and read is true. Even when that information is clearly presented as being false, we are still likely to process it as true.

For example, some people believe that we use only 10% of our brains. If you hold that belief, did you ever research it for yourself?

People usually say it is something they heard but they have no idea where or from whom. Yet they are confident that this is true. That should be proof enough that the way we form beliefs is foolish. And, we actually use all parts of our brain.

Our beliefs drive the way we process information. We form beliefs without vetting/testing most of them and we even maintain them even after receiving clear, corrective information.

Once a belief is lodged, it becomes difficult to dislodge it from our thinking. It takes a life of its own, leading us to notice and seek out evidence confirming our belief. We rarely challenge the validity of confirming evidence and ignore or work hard to actively discredit information contradicting the belief.  This irrational, circular information-processing pattern is called motivated reasoning.

Truth Seeking, the desire to know the truth regardless of whether the truth aligns with the beliefs we currently hold, is not naturally supported by the way we process information.

Instead of altering our beliefs to fit new information, we do the opposite, altering our interpretation of that information to fit our beliefs.

Fake news works because people who already hold beliefs consistent with the story generally won’t question the evidence. The potency of fake news is that it entrenches beliefs its intended audience already has, and then amplifies them. Social media is a playground for motivated reasoning. It provides the promise of access to a greater diversity of information sources and opinions than we’ve ever had available. Yet, we gravitate towards sources that confirm our beliefs, that agree with us. Every flavour is out there, but we tend to stick with our favourite. 

Even when directly confronted with facts that disconfirm our beliefs, we don’t let facts get in the way of our opinions.


Being Smart Makes It Worse


The popular wisdom is that the smarter you are, the less susceptible you are to fake news or disinformation. After all, smart people are more likely to analyze and effectively evaluate where the information is coming from, right? Part of being ‘smart’ is being good at processing information, parsing the quality of an argument and the credibility of the source.


Surprisingly, being smart can actually make bias worse. The smarter you are, the better you are at constructing a narrative that supports your beliefs, rationalising and framing the data to fit your argument or point of view.


Unfortunately, this is just the way evolution built us. We are wired to protect our beliefs even when our goal is to truthseek. This is one of the instances where being smart and aware of our capacity for irrationality alone doesn’t help us refrain from biased reasoning. As with visual illusions, we can’t make our minds work differently than they do no matter how smart we are. Just as we can’t unsee an illusion, intellect or will power alone can’t make us resist motivated reasoning.


Wanna Bet?


Imagine taking part in a conversation with a friend about the movie Citizen Kane. BEst film of all time, introduced a bunch of new techniques by which directors could contribute to storytelling. “Obviously, it won the best picture Oscar,” you gush, as part of a list of superlatives the film unquestionably deserves.


Then your friend says,”Wanna bet?”


Suddenly, you’re not so sure. That challenge puts you on your heels, causing you to back off your declaration and question the belief that you just declared with such assurance.


When someone challenges us to bet on a belief, signalling their confidence that our belief is inaccurate in some way, ideally it triggers us to vet the belief, taking an inventory of the evidence that informed us.


  • How do I know this?

  • Where did I get this information?

  • Who did I get it from?

  • What is the quality of my sources?

  • How much do I trust them?

  • How up to date is my information?

  • How much information do I have that is relevant to the belief?

  • What other things like this have I been confident about that turned out not to be true?

  • What are the other plausible alternatives?

  • What do I know about the person challenging my belief?

  • What is their view of how credible my opinion is?

  • What do they know that I don’t know?

  • What is their level of expertise?

  • What am I missing?


Remember the order in which we form our beliefs:


  1. We hear something;

  2. We believe it to be true;

  3. Only sometimes, later, if we have the time or the inclination, we think about it and vet it, determining whether it is, in fact, true or false.


“Wanna bet?” triggers us to engage in that third step that we only sometimes get to. Being asked if we are willing to bet money on it makes it much more likely that we will examine our information in a less biased way, be more honest with ourselves about how sure we are of our beliefs, and be more open to updating and calibrating our beliefs.


A lot of good can result from someone saying, “Wanna bet?” Offering a wager brings the risk out in the open, making explicit what is implicit (and frequently overlooked). The more we recognise that we are betting on our beliefs (with our happiness, attention, health, money time or some other limited resource), the more we are likely to temper our statements, getting closer to the truth as we acknowledge the risk inherent in what we believe.


Once we start doing this (at the risk of losing friends), we are more likely to recognise that there is always a degree of uncertainty, that we are generally less sure than we thought we were, that practically nothing is black and white 0% or 100%. And that's a pretty good philosophy for living.

Monday, 23 May 2022

India’s once-vaunted statistical infrastructure is crumbling

 The reasons are worryingly familiar writes The Economist



The modern Indian state has a proud statistical heritage. Soon after the country gained independence in 1947, the government resolved to achieve its development through comprehensive five-year plans. The strategy, though economically inadvisable, nonetheless required the creation of a robust data-gathering apparatus. In 1950 PC Mahalanobis, the leading light of Indian statistics, designed the National Sample Survey, which sent staff to the far corners of the vast country to jot down data regarding its mostly illiterate citizens. The survey’s complexity and scope seemed “beyond the bounds of possibility”, reckoned one American statistician.

Of late, however, admiration has been replaced by alarm. India’s statistical services are in a bad way. Across some measures, figures are simply not gathered; for others, the data are often dodgy, unrepresentative, untimely, or just wrong. The country’s tracking of covid-19 provides a grim example. As the pandemic raged across India, officials struggled to keep tabs on its toll. Officially, covid has claimed more than half a million lives in India; The Economist’s excess-deaths tracker puts the figure far higher, between 2m and 9.4m. India’s government has also hampered efforts to assess the pandemic’s global impact, refusing at first to share data with the World Health Organisation (who), and criticising its methods.

The preference for flattering but flawed figures is pervasive. In education, state governments regularly ignore data showing that Indian children are performing woefully in school and instead cite their own administrative numbers, which are often wrong. In Madhya Pradesh, a state in central India, an official assessment showed that all pupils had scored more than 60% in a maths test; an independent assessment revealed that none of them had. Similarly, in sanitation, the central government says that India is now free of open defecation, meaning that people both have access to a toilet and consistently use it. Anyone who takes a train out of Delhi at dawn and looks out of the window, however, might question the claim.

When it comes to poverty, arguably India’s biggest problem, timely figures are not available. Official estimates are based on a poverty line derived from consumption data in 2011-12, despite the fact that more recent but as yet unpublished numbers exist for 2017-18. By contrast, Indonesia calculates its poverty rate twice a year. India’s government explains its approach by pointing to discrepancies between recently gathered data and national accounts statistics—but many suspect the true reason is that newer data would probably show an increase in poverty.

In some cases, flawed data seem more a problem of methodology than malign intent. India’s gdp estimates, for instance, have been mired in controversy ever since the statistics ministry introduced a new series in 2015 (a change that was in the works before the current government entered office). Arvind Subramanian, a former government adviser, calculated that the new methodology overestimated average annual growth by as much as three to four percentage points between 2011-12 and 2016-17. Although current advisers insist that the official methodology is in line with global standards, other studies have also found problems with the calculations.

The erosion of India’s statistical infrastructure predates the current government, but seems to have grown worse in recent years. Narendra Modi, the prime minister, has previously bristled at technocratic expertise and number-crunching. (“Hard work is more powerful than Harvard,” he said in 2017.)

India’s data woes are also troubling for what they suggest about the ability of the state to provide the essential public services needed to foster long-run growth. The statistics ministry, short of staff and resources, is emblematic of the civil service. Data-gathering has become excessively centralised and over-politicised. A National Statistical Commission was set up in 2005 and tasked with fixing India’s data infrastructure. But its work has been complicated by turf wars and internal politics; it is widely considered toothless, including by former members.

Who’s counting

The situation is not hopeless, perhaps because of statisticians’ past efforts. According to the World Bank, the quality of Indian data is still in line with that of other developing countries, even after years of neglect. India’s new goods-and-services tax and digital-welfare infrastructure are yielding troves of data. Leading Indian statisticians argue that an empowered regulator could fix existing problems.

State governments and departments are also doing their bit. Telangana, a southern state, is investing in its own household surveys, for example. India’s rural-development ministry recently released a dataset covering 770,000 rural public facilities, such as schools and hospitals, inviting data whizzes to peruse the figures and suggest improvements. Civil society is also responding. During the pandemic, dozens of volunteers co-operated to produce granular, timely estimates of covid cases. New technologies could help gather data quickly and cheaply, over phones and tablets.

Yet in a modern economy there is no substitute for high-quality national data-gathering. The sunlight provided by accurate figures is often unwelcome for an increasingly autocratic government: transparency invites accountability. But neglect of the statistical services also leaves Indian policymakers flailing in the dark, unable to quickly spot and respond to brewing economic and social problems.