Coping with Loss in a Democracy

Today Obama released his long-form birth certificate in an attempt to finally get the birthers to shut up. "We do not have time for this kind of silliness...I've got better stuff to do," he said.

Amen to that. I'm really worried at how lunatic-y this country is becoming.

But at the same time I'm wondering if the sentiment that's behind these allegations has actually become a constant part of U.S. democracy. Every time we've had an election in recent years, the losing side has always cried foul.

I remember three elections in my lifetime—2000, 2004, and 2008—and in all three cases, the losing side hasn't taken it lightly. If you google "bush 2000 election cheating" you get 23 million results, plus this Michael Moore video:

Similarly, if you google "bush 2004 election cheating" you get 21.4 million results—slightly less, but after all it was a less controversial election. The point is, a lot of people out there are convinced that there's no way Bush won fairly. One website, dedicated to exposing the myth that Bush won 2004 fairly, maintains,

Republicans can’t win straight up on the issues, because their policies are inimical to the best interests of 99% of Americans. To win, they have to cheat.

Sounds like the birthers know just how these people feel.

Losing in a democracy is paradoxical. The whole purpose and intent of the system is to make the rulers legitimate in the eyes of the citizens. But at the same time, each voter is asked for his opinion on who she thinks is right. If you're on the losing side, then you're forced to accept as legitimate a candidate that you don't think is right. But how legitimacy be separate from correctness?

To the extent that your belief in democracy depends on whether you think it gives the "right" results, it's uncomfortable to believe both that your candidate was the right choice and that he lost fair and square. One way of reconciling the conflict, as Rousseau did, is to drop the former assumption and stick with the latter—that is, to say that if I'm on the losing side, then I must be in the wrong:

Each man, in giving his vote, states his opinion on that point; and the general will is found by counting votes. When therefore the opinion that is contrary to my own prevails, this proves neither more nor less than that I was mistaken, and that what I thought to be the general will was not so. (On the Social Contract, Book IV)

But we're not inclined to think this way. Instead, most people would instead believe they're right (to the death perhaps; there's research that shows that incompetent people overstate their competence) and assume that the procedure was gimmicked in some way. The birthers, though they say they're just asking for evidence, really probably don't want it. As Prof. Redlawk put it,

It’s not the evidence that matters. Feelings come first, and evidence is used mostly in service of those feelings. Evidence that supports what is already believed is accepted, that which contradicts it is not. [link]

The Bush-deniers are, of course, not really as crazy as the birthers: they weren't nearly as distracting, and they're probably more justified. But both groups are strikingly similar in the way that they channel their resentment of the president by questioning his legitimacy. In a stable democracy like the U.S., where there's no hope of overthrowing the president, this is their way of coping with the loss.

As far as I know, this kind of denialism in the face of electoral defeats is a relatively recent phenomenon. If that's true, it seems to reflect one consequence of the undeniable growing polarization of U.S. politics. When people aren't so polarized, they're not so upset if their man doesn't win. But now it's become a matter of basic psychological integrity—and it's manifesting itself in bizarre ways.

Where Liberals and Conservatives Are Born

Liberal vs. Conservative in Abstract

For the past couple months I've been applying for various summer internships and other research opportunities. With applications on my mind, I've had a lot of time to think about how we allocate scarce opportunities.

Obviously, any allocation scheme has to have some criteria for picking candidates. Do we focus only on the applicant's recent work, or do we weight all of it equally? Do we focus on tests/scores/proven results, or do we look for potential?

Once we come up with certain criteria/weights for considering the application, then we automatically favor certain applicants and disfavor others. Some people will have a natural ability in the chosen criteria, so their application will be favored; meanwhile, other applicants will have natural abilities in other aspects, which they will likely to consider also important and relevant, but they will be disfavored. (To put this in concrete terms: colleges favor strong extracurriculars in the undergraduate admissions process, which advantages extroverts and suck-ups, and disadvantages introverts.)

So it doesn't seem possible to come up with a system which doesn't disfavor anyone. Someone has to lose out—and when they do, it's likely that they'll feel that the process was unfair, that they were structurally disadvantaged. But when things go well for them, then they're likely to think the system works just fine, and that they deserve the rewards they get in some way.

I say that because that because that's been my own experience. In and through this application game, I've found my attitude towards the process shifting between these two extremes, depending on whether things worked in my favor or not. When I get the opportunities I apply for, then I see myself as the deserving recipient of it. But when I lose, and especially when I lose consistently, then I start to feel maligned and cheated. I start to think the whole selection process is arbitrary and meaningless, and the person who got selected as just lucky.

I have a hunch that this thought process is both natural and widespread. For one, it matches very well with the discourse that divides liberals and conservatives. On an issue like poverty, for example, conservatives will likely say that the poor can escape poverty if they just work harder; many conservatives have rags to riches stories (i.e. the system worked for them); and they likely feel deserving of their place in the social order. Liberals, meanwhile, will argue that certain people, no matter how hard they try, cannot better their position, and point to structural disadvantages of race, class, and gender. We're accustomed to thinking of these differences as purely ideological, but I think the source of these contentions is that people have a natural tendency to think their personal experience accounts for the way the whole world works. (Including myself, since, after all, I'm arguing this post based on my own experiences. What else do we have to go off of?)

If this is correct, what's remarkable about the story I've told is that it's impossible for a liberal/conservative split not to exist. It seems to be a product of the very act of choosing an allocation scheme, which inevitably favors some qualities and disfavors others. Obviously, the full story is more complicated than this (e.g. Asians, though they do well, tend to vote liberal), but it's a starting point, I think, for a potentially rich understanding of politics.

The Geopolitics of Google Maps

The Google Maps project started out innocently enough. When the company launched Google Maps, it made the following announcement on its official blog:

We think maps can be useful and fun, so we've designed Google Maps to simplify how to get from point A to point B. Say you're looking for "hotels near LAX." With Google Maps you'll see nearby hotels plotted right on a crisp new map (we use new rendering methods to make them easier to read). Click and drag the map to view the adjacent area dynamically - there's no wait for a new image to download...[read more].

But like with a lot of other things that Google does to simplify people's lives, this venture has also gotten the company embroiled in controversy: Google Maps, a project with purely geeky and cartographical intentions in mind, has become the latest frontier in boundary disputes.

Recently, this issue got a lot of attention with the Nicaraguan-Costa Rican flare up. When a Nicaraguan general was asked why his troops were stationed on the Costa Rican side of the border, he cited Google's erroneous version of the map, which showed his position to be on the Nicaraguan side. This led to the Costa Rican government to petition Google to change the map, while Nicaragua filed a counter-petition to keep it the same.

The incorrect Nicaragua-Costa Rica boundary

Even though the general's answer was completely disingenuous (it was just a pretense really—Nicaraguan troops stayed put even after the mistake become clear), it became an occassion to reopen this old controversy. The blog Ogle Earth, which is dedicated in fact to how "internet mapping tools like Google Earth affect science and society," has an excellent post that tries to get at the real historical motivation for the general's action.

The Google geopolitics problem is not just restricted to Nicaragua and Costa Rica. The Indian ministers have become savvy to what the media calls Google's "3-map policy" regarding the Indian border:

The problem is that Google shows three separate maps of India depending on which version you use. The Indian version shows India as Indians know it, but the Chinese version shows parts belonging to China, and the American version shows all those areas disputed. It seems, the reporter says dismissively, that Google is giving everyone what they want—which means a company like Google which tries to stay out of politics and keep everyone happy really can't win any which way.

I have a hunch that these controversies are only just starting. Border disputes have always been around, but now the stakes are much higher. Because Google Maps are the standard maps for most people around the world, border conflicts are no longer just about reconciling with the neighbors but also about protecting your national integrity and pride in front of the entire world. If Google's going to continue with its Maps project, than it should expect more angry phone calls, and should probably set up a Political Affairs department to handle them.

Comparative Advantage and Education Policy

In an earlier post I postulated that not all comparative advantages are equal, reasoning that since technology and inventions are more prized than other specializations, they consequently confer more power. Here's a consequence of this comparative advantage framework that I hadn't considered before:

You'll have noticed that politicians are always talking about expanding and improving math and science educations in K-12 schools. They argue that it's crucial for "staying competitive in the 21st century." In more direct words, I think that means: we need to constantly advance our math and science to maintain our dominion over the realm of inventions. I used to think that emphasizing math and science education was just about helping kids find jobs in their local markets. That's true, but at the same time the bigger picture is that inventions and technology are vital to tipping the balance of power in our favor. In the end, it's about ensuring continuing U.S. hegemony.

Thus, to expand on the conclusion of my earlier post, just as technology and inventions are about power, so are the academic disciplines that produce them. All knowledge is power, true, but math and science generate economic power, and that's the type of power we've deemed most important.

[As a side note, just take a stroll around your local university campus and notice how it's not a coincidence that the math and science buildings are the fanciest and the most well-maintained.]