segunda-feira, 18 de junho de 2018

Imagem do Dia / OVOODOCORVO



Imagem do Dia / OVOODOCORVO
“O Presidente da República “desarmou o populismo, andando à frente do populismo”, afirmou Miguel Sousa Tavares … Um “bom” Populismo que neutraliza portanto o “mau” Populismo ?
Ou trata-se, aqui, de Exibicionismo Manipulativo ? Marcelo como o novo ‘Evito’, ou seja, versão mediatizada e actualizada da “Evita”…?
OVOODOCORVO

Competências da Direção de Obras passam para empresa presidida pelo vereador do Urbanismo



Competências da Direção de Obras passam para empresa presidida pelo vereador do Urbanismo

MARIANA LIMA CUNHA

Uma “empresa paralela”, “uma espécie de Parque Escolar”, são algumas das críticas de que a Câmara Municipal de Lisboa (CML) está a ser alvo por parte da oposição — CDS e PCP —, depois de o Executivo ter proposto a transferência de competências da Direção de Obras para a Sociedade de Reabilitação Urbana Lisboa Ocidental (SRU). A presidência da empresa municipal passa de uma técnica que estava há 14 anos no cargo para o vereador do Urbanismo, Manuel Salgado.

A CML mantém, assim, as funções de restauro e conservação de edifícios na Direção Municipal de Projetos e Obras, transferindo para a SRU “projetos de investimento” e empreitadas para o quadriénio 2018-2021. A autarquia justifica a decisão com o facto de “a capacidade de gestão e execução de obras” daquela direção municipal se encontrar “já próxima do seu limite”. A construção prevista nas Grandes Opções do Plano para a cidade nos próximos anos “obriga a um incremento da capacidade de resposta do município”, justifica o gabinete de Fernando Medina ao Expresso. Por ter executado projetos semelhantes no passado, a SRU é a empresa mais habilitada para assumir as responsabilidades. Para a Direção de Obras fica a “importantíssima tarefa de cuidar da cidade como um todo”. O vereador das Finanças, João Paulo Saraiva, dizia ao “Público” na semana passada que a construção de “toda a habitação nova” pela autarquia passaria para a SRU.

Além do acréscimo de competências, a SRU vai mudar a composição do seu conselho de administração. Saem dois técnicos e entram os vereadores Manuel Salgado, como presidente (sucedendo a Teresa do Passo), e João Paulo Saraiva, como vogal. Para a oposição, as mudanças na estrutura da empresa levantam questões de transparência. João Gonçalves Pereira, vereador do CDS, compara “esta nova SRU” a “uma espécie de Parque Escolar”: “Muitos milhões, sem fiscalização, com poderes próprios de aprovação e contratação.” A preocupação do centrista é que “as obras deixam de ter qualquer escrutínio”: “Salgado vereador quer passar para Salgado presidente da SRU as obras municipais. A SRU vai passar a ser a Sociedade do Regabofe Urbano...”

No PCP, o vereador Carlos Moura também aponta o facto de “a SRU praticamente absorver tudo o que era projetos e obras da CML”, passando a empresa a estar, na prática, nas mãos dos vereadores socialistas, o que “esvazia a Câmara, e passa a ser uma Câmara paralela que se exime ao controlo dos vereadores”. O problema é que as obras da SRU acabam por fugir ao escrutínio do executivo, sem “discussão na oposição”.

O vereador social-democrata João Pedro Costa explica ao Expresso que o PSD discorda do modelo a adotar para a SRU, uma vez que, com as alterações, “o que é trazido é uma empresa para fazer obras”, em vez de uma empresa que tenha “uma visão de conjunto. A visão fica no gabinete de Manuel Salgado”. Até porque, embora o PSD admita que “é legítimo que a CML tenha um mecanismo para dar orientações políticas às empresas municipais”, é preciso “dar-lhes autonomia” — tanto de gestão das suas atividades como “partidária”.

O Bloco de Esquerda, que com o PS forma maioria no executivo camarário, partilha de várias destas preocupações. Em respostas enviadas por escrito, fonte do gabinete do vereador Ricardo Robles afirma que “a nomeação de dois vereadores da CML para administradores não remunerados da SRU deve ser uma forma de aumentar o escrutínio sobre a atividade da mesma e também de responsabilização política”. Confrontada com as questões de transparência levantadas pelas várias forças políticas, a CML refere ao Expresso que “a legitimidade sai reforçada”, tendo em conta que Salgado é escolhido pelos eleitores, e lembra que no Porto existe esta acumulação de responsabilidades.

A EDP e a estratégia de Pequim



A EDP e a estratégia de Pequim
18-06-2018 por Bruno Faria Lopes

A OPA sobre a EDP, a concretizar-se, será uma das mais de 100 operações chinesas no sector da energia pelo mundo. A China tem uma estratégia muito ambiciosa para esta área, comercial e geopolítica, o que sugere que não deixará falhar o controlo da EDP - e que poderá vir a pagar mais.

Da compra de 25% da REN em Portugal ao investimento na rede de energia do Chile, passando por um acordo de exportação de energia para o Paquistão, a China vai executando com minúcia de relojoeiro a sua estratégia para a energia. O mapa abaixo, retirado de um excelente artigo no Financial Times (China eyes role as world's power supplier), espelha essa execução. A estratégia é impulsionada directamente pelo Presidente Xi Jinping e tem vários objectivos. A tentativa de controlo da EDP encaixa aí e por isso dificilmente vai falhar - também por isso a actual administração da EDP sabe que é agora que tem poder negocial para melhorar a oferta da China Three Gorges.

Empresas estatais como a Three Gorges e a gigantesca State Grid (a accionista da REN) são as pontas-de-lança de um movimento chinês para criar uma "rede global de interconexão" energética. Nesta rede seria usada a tecnologia de topo de transporte de energia que os chineses aperfeiçoaram para levar energia renovável do interior do País ao litoral. É uma espécie de Internet da energia, um projecto de enorme ambição técnica, comercial e, claro, geopolítica. Poria a China como principal operador energético no mundo. Podia implicar, por exemplo, exportar energia de um país africano para o mercado europeu a um custo mais baixo.
Para Pequim os ganhos não são só comerciais (embora estes sejam enormes: da exportação da energia da suas barragens à criação de um mercado para o seu equipamento eléctrico, passando pelos lucros dos "campeões nacionais"). Há prestígio internacional em jogo. E, mais importante, a expansão numa área tão estrutural como a energia significa também a expansão da influência chinesa em dezenas de países. Tudo isto corre em paralelo com estratégias para liderar nas renováveis e para melhorar a segurança energética. A China importa 60% do petróleo de que precisa e a construção de um pipeline ao longo da Nova Rota da Seda, pela Ásia Central, será um passo importante nesse sentido.

No artigo do FT uma fonte anónima chinesa ligada ao sector energético fala na pressão política de Xi para o sucesso da rede global de energia. A ambição é financiada pelos grandes bancos estatais que acompanham empresas como a Three Gorges e a State Grid. Uma vez compradas, as empresas passam a fazer parte de um projecto industrial diferente daquele que tinham, que obedece naturalmente às prioridades de Pequim.

Por isso percebe-se que a administração de António Mexia puxe pelo preço na OPA à EDP - o comprador pode ir mais longe dado o que está em jogo no grande plano chinês. E percebe-se que, por outro lado, pergunte agora, em nome dos accionistas que ficarem na EDP controlada pelos chineses, qual é o projecto industrial para a empresa - mesmo que estes só precisem de ler bons estudos académicos e a imprensa internacional especializada para terem uma boa ideia sobre o que vai mudar.

domingo, 17 de junho de 2018

Aprovação do Museu Judaico violou regras urbanísticas para Alfama



Aprovação do Museu Judaico violou regras urbanísticas para Alfama

Juízes que aceitaram providência cautelar contra o projecto dizem que as demolições não foram suficientemente justificadas, como impunham as normas da própria câmara.

João Pedro Pincha
JOÃO PEDRO PINCHA 15 de Junho de 2018, 21:36

O Tribunal Central Administrativo do Sul entende que a Câmara Municipal de Lisboa violou o Plano de Urbanização do Núcleo Histórico de Alfama e da Colina do Castelo (PUNHACC) ao autorizar a demolição de casas no Largo de São Miguel para a construção do Museu Judaico.

No acórdão que determinou a suspensão das obras e condenou a autarquia a pagar as custas judiciais de duas instâncias, os juízes dizem que “não podia ter sido autorizada a demolição do edificado”, uma vez que a mesma “só podia ser autorizada se, através de uma vistoria municipal, fosse reconhecido o preenchimento de alguma das condições” previstas no artigo 10º do PUNHACC, que se refere às demolições. Ora, não só não houve qualquer vistoria municipal, como nenhuma das condições do plano se verificava.

Escrevem os juízes: “O edificado existente no local previsto para a construção do Museu Judaico – e do edifício de apoio – não se encontra em ruína iminente, nem existe uma impossibilidade técnica de recuperação ou reabilitação do mesmo, nem uma inviabilidade técnica ou económica de reabilitação do mesmo, por motivo de ruína parcial ou deficiência grave a nível estrutural ou funcional.” Pelo menos uma destas condições teria de se verificar para a demolição ser legal.

A inexistência de uma vistoria dos serviços da câmara é reconhecida pela própria autarquia. Numa informação elaborada pelo Departamento de Projectos Estruturantes a 22 de Setembro de 2016 (um dia depois de o museu ser anunciado publicamente), lê-se a dado ponto que “quanto à viabilidade de demolição das construções existentes, não foi apresentada uma justificação suficiente, designadamente um relatório detalhado do estado de conservação dos edifícios”. A técnica que assina o documento submete “à consideração superior aceitar a demolição” sem mais análise aos edifícios. O processo é despachado favoravelmente pelas várias chefias.

Os juízes lembram que o facto de a Direcção-Geral do Património Cultural (DGPC) ter dado consentimento ao projecto do museu não bastava, por si só, para licenciá-lo. Dizem mesmo que a DGPC “apenas” foi chamada a pronunciar-se porque a obra estava prevista para um local abrangido pelas zonas de protecção do Castelo de São Jorge (Monumento Nacional) e da Igreja de São Miguel (Imóvel de Interesse Público). “Face a tal parecer favorável, cumpria ao município de Lisboa determinar se as restantes normas aplicáveis aos pedidos de licenciamento ora em causa eram (ou não) respeitadas, pois caso não fossem não podia aprovar tais pedidos”, lê-se no acórdão.

Os edifícios a ser demolidos para a construção do museu foram comprados pela câmara e os inquilinos que neles havia foram despejados. Depois, a câmara fez um direito de superfície a favor da Associação de Turismo de Lisboa (ATL) para que esta construísse e explorasse o museu. Posteriormente, a ATL apresentou o projecto à câmara, que o deferiu. É esse processo que agora está suspenso, por ordem judicial.

A câmara ainda está a avaliar quais os passos que vai tomar de seguida. Já a Associação do Património e População de Alfama (APPA), que pôs a providência cautelar, mostrou agrado pela decisão agora conhecida, mas diz estar consciente de que esta história ainda não acabou. Ainda está a ser analisada uma acção popular, promovida pela mesma associação, que visa anular todo o processo.

Doubted at home, bypassed abroad: is Merkel’s reign nearing a frustrated end?



Doubted at home, bypassed abroad: is Merkel’s reign nearing a frustrated end?

As the row in her coalition deepens over migration, a once dominant figure is starting to look forlorn

Simon Tisdall
Sun 17 Jun 2018 06.00 BST

For nearly 14 years as Germany’s chancellor, Angela Merkel has defined and personified Europe’s middle ground: pragmatic, consensual, mercantilist, petit-bourgeois, above all stable. It is little wonder the leader of Mitteleuropa’s major economic power has dominated the political centre for so long.

But what if Merkel falls? Can the centre hold? These are increasingly urgent questions as the once unassailable “Mutti” struggles to hold together a fractious coalition. The immediate issue, which is likely to come to a head on Monday, is a furious row over EU immigration policy. But other problems are piling up, with unpredictable consequences for Europe’s future cohesion.

Merkel’s political obituary has been written many times, but now the final draft is nearing completion. She is under fire from the hard-right, anti-immigrant Alternative für Deutschland (AfD), which stormed into the Bundestag last autumn. She has problems with the failing, unpopular Social Democrats on her left, on whom she depends for support.

More seriously, though, Merkel is being challenged from within by her interior minister, Horst Seehofer, former chairman of Bavaria’s rightwing CSU, which is allied to Merkel’s Christian Democrats. In sum, Seehofer is demanding Germany no longer admit migrants who have first entered the EU via other member states – which is nearly all of them. In Merkel’s view, such a bar would be illegal and would wreck her efforts – ongoing since the 2015 Syrian refugee crisis, when Germany accepted 1 million migrants – to create a balanced, EU-wide policy of voluntary migrant quotas. She says Seehofer should wait for this month’s EU summit to come up with a joint plan.

The problem with that approach is twofold. Seehofer’s CSU, which faces a critical electoral clash with the AfD in October, complains that the EU has been trying and failing to agree this for years. Another objection, as her critics see it, is that most Germans, recalling her 2015 “open door” policy, do not trust Merkel on this issue. Polls indicate 65% back tighter border controls.

Last week’s row between France and Italy, sparked by Rome’s decision to refuse entry to a ship, the Aquarius, carrying 629 migrants rescued off Libya, showed how improbable is the prospect of agreement at the Brussels summit. Italy’s new populist leadership, in common with an emerging axis of nationalist-minded governments in Austria, Hungary and Poland, believes it has a mandate to halt the migrant flow. Meanwhile, so-called “frontline states” such as Greece, Spain and Italy accuse “destination states” such as Germany, France and the UK of failing to accept a fair share of migrants.

 Trump appears to be conducting a vendetta with Germany. Is there a misogynist tinge to his behaviour? Probably.
Divisions have been exacerbated by the failure, so far, of a key Merkel-backed initiative, the multibillion-euro EU Emergency Trust Fund for Africa, to reduce migration by addressing “root causes” in places such as Nigeria, Eritrea and Somalia. Reported scandals over the mistreatment of migrants, and inflammatory publicity given to crimes carried out by asylum seekers, stoke the tensions.

Merkel’s difficulties extend beyond one rebellious senior minister. In the view of many analysts, she has not re-established her domestic authority since the CDU lost seats in last September’s federal elections and she scrabbled for months to form a coalition. On international issues, Merkel also appears jaded and discouraged, according to close observers.

Der Spiegel paints a picture of a leader whose cherished worldview of a rules-based international order has been severely shaken by the apparent impunity enjoyed by authoritarian regimes such as Vladimir Putin’s Russia and Xi Jinping’s China. The advent of Donald Trump, the “disrupter-in-chief”, and his America First ideology has proved even more damaging than Merkel feared, Der Spiegel said.

“If Hillary Clinton had won the US election, Merkel would not have run again [in 2017],” it reported, citing a close confidant. “But that didn’t happen. In his new book about his years in the West Wing, former Barack Obama adviser Ben Rhodes writes that Merkel felt obligated to defend the free world order in the wake of Trump’s victory.”

Maybe that struggle is proving too burdensome. The immediate post-Obama days, when Merkel was hailed as western democracy’s lone saviour, are long gone, too. Trump appears to be conducting a vendetta with Germany over what he sees as unfair export practices and unequal defence spending. Is there a competitive, misogynist tinge to his behaviour? Probably.

In any event, Berlin has more to lose than most if promised retaliatory EU tariffs, which Merkel failed to water down, provoke a full-blown trade war with Washington. Meanwhile, Trump’s loud-mouthed ambassador to Germany, Richard Grenell, openly conspires with her conservative rivals.

Yet it is Europe, where the Merkel brand has been pre-eminent for so long, which may prove her biggest end-of-career disappointment. Merkel has been outflanked by the reform agenda espoused by Emmanuel Macron. France’s brash new president seeks greater European integration in financial matters, eurozone policy, development and defence. Another, separate bust-up looms over funding the EU’s first post-Brexit budget shortfall.

Many in Germany suspect Macron wants Berlin to foot the bill for his grand plan. Smaller EU states are suspicious, too. Popular pressure is for less Brussels, not more – witness the Eurosceptic mood in Italy and Greece. Rather than build a more united Europe, Macron’s ideas could tear it asunder.

Merkel’s response has been characteristically cautious. But the sense that she has lost the initiative, and is no longer the leading lady holding things together, is palpable. And, behind her back, Germany’s nationalists and populists skulk like thieves in the night, with knives drawn.

Sylvia Nasar on Grand Pursuit: The Story of Economic Genius


Liberalism Some thoughts on the crisis of liberalism—and how to fix it



Liberalism
Some thoughts on the crisis of liberalism—and how to fix it

Liberalism needs nothing less than a great rebalancing if it is to regain its intellectual and political vitality


Bagehot's notebook
Jun 12th 2018 by BAGEHOT

BREXIT is such an all-consuming process for the British—at once a drama, a muddle and a mess—that it is easy to forget that it is part of something bigger: a crisis of liberalism in the west. A growing number of countries have had their own equivalents of Brexit: Donald Trump’s victory over Hillary Clinton in the 2016 presidential election; the election of a populist government in Italy; the Catalan revolt in Spain; the rise of populist authoritarians in Russia, Hungary, Poland and, to some extent, India; the simmering rage against what Viktor Orban calls “liberal blah blah” in the intellectual dark-web. The list will be a lot longer by the time Brexit has been completed.

It’s worth taking a break from the ins-and-outs of Brexit to look at the bigger picture, partly because the bigger picture helps us to understand Brexit better (NB: there’s more going on here than BBC bias or Russian gold) and partly because, if we are to bring the country back together once we leave the EU, we need to understand the causes of popular discontent. This post will try to address two questions—why is liberalism in such a mess? And how can it get out of it? But first a definition: what does this slippery word mean?

There are two misleading definitions of “liberalism”. The first (and most misleading) is the American idea that liberalism means left-wing progressivism. This definition was foisted on the American left by Republicans in the 1970s: the likes of Richard Nixon and George Bush senior liked to talk about “limousine liberals” who advocated “progressive” policies on crime and social integration so long as they could protect themselves from the consequences of those policies (eg, by sending their children to private schools and living in gated communities). Since then some progressives have worn the badge with pride. But American progressivism, particularly in its current iteration, with its growing obsession with group rights and group identities, is incompatible with liberalism as I’m going to use it in this blog. The second is the classical idea that liberalism means small-government libertarianism.

I’m going to use liberalism in the British sense: to mean a philosophy that began as small-government libertarianism but has acquired many new meanings over the years. Liberalism was inspired by the three great revolutions of the late 18th century—the American Revolution, the French Revolution and the Industrial Revolution. It began as a small-government philosophy—he governs best who governs least—but later made its peace with bigger government. Liberalism is a pragmatic philosophy that is constantly evolving. The central idea of liberalism is the primacy of the individual rather than the collective. But in his brilliant history, “Liberalism: the Life of an Idea”, Edmund Fawcett makes clear that liberalism involves four other ideas: (1) the inescapability of conflict, (2) distrust of power, (3) faith in progress, (4) civic respect.

Discussions of the crisis of liberalism usually emphasise practical things. The global financial crisis destroyed people’s faith in both the wisdom of technocrats and the fairness of the system. Liberal icons such as Tony Blair and Barack Obama over-reached—Mr Blair in Iraq and Mr Obama in the culture wars. A magic circle of companies and entrepreneurs piled up too much wealth. I want to suggest a more wide-ranging explanation that focuses on the life of the mind: liberalism as a philosophy has been captured by a technocratic-managerial-cosmopolitan elite. A creed that started off as a critique of the existing power structure—that, indeed, has suspicion of concentrations of power at the molten core of its philosophy—is being misused as a tool by one of the most powerful elites in history. Liberalism has, in effect, been turned on its head and become the opposite of what it was when it started out. It is time to put it back on its feet.

Liberalism at its best should preserve a delicate balance between four opposing sets of principles: (1) elitism and democracy, (2) top-down management and self-organisation, (3) globalism and localism, and (4) what might be termed, for simplicity’s sake, the hard and the soft. The global elites—that is the people who run the world’s biggest companies, NGOs, and trans-national organisations such as the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund and, of course, the European Union—have routinely emphasised the first of these two principles (elitism, top-down management, globalism and hard metrics). And in the process they have reduced one of the world’s richest philosophies into a desiccated hulk of its former self—a set of arid formulae that are united by the single fact that they advance the interests, psychological as well as material, of the world’s most powerful people.

The greatest danger facing liberalism at the moment is that it will double-down on this mistake. The paradox of populism is well-known: that the failure of populist policies fuels demand for yet more extreme populist policies as bad government creates more havoc and populist leaders blame that havoc not on their own foolishness but on the machinations of the global elite (as will surely be the case when Brexit fails to deliver that £350m a week for the National Health Service that Brexiteers promised during the referendum). But there is a liberal paradox as well. The more the people turn against liberalism the more liberals are tempted to build walls against the populist tide in order to push ahead their world-improving project: political walls that insulate elite projects from popular interference and intellectual walls that protect members of the elite from having to listen to “bigots”.

The dangerous irony is that liberalism’s retreat as a political force is being accompanied by its advance as an institutional force: look at trans-national institutions such as the World Bank, educational institutions such as universities or syllabus-setting bureaucracies or voluntary organisations, and you see the liberal elite in its pomp. Liberal administrators are not only entrenching their power, squeezing out conservative or populist points of view. They are moving to the left, powered by a furious indignation at the rise of the Trumpenproletariat and its equivalents around the world. The European Union’s response to growing popular discontent with its operations is to retreat still further into orthodoxy. We are thus seeing the development of a malign dialectic: the more populists seize control of the political system the more liberals entrench themselves in their chosen caves, and the more the liberals entrench themselves (often deliberately embracing unpopular causes) the more furious the populists get. This is not only bad for these institutions because it puts them at war with the wider society. It is bad for liberalism because it prevents it from addressing its biggest challenge: recreating a fruitful balance between democracy and technocracy, managerialism and self-determination, globalism and localism, and quality and quantity.

In order to change this it is necessary to look at how liberal thinkers have dealt with these dichotomies in the past.

Elitism versus democracy
Classical liberals were always surprisingly ambivalent about democracy, given their commitment to individual rights. Liberalism began as a revolt against the Old Regime with its hereditary ranks and fixed privileges. It was driven by a belief in open competition and equality of opportunity: remove all artificial restrictions on competition and you would produce the greatest happiness of the greatest number. Liberals were the first people to demand votes for workers, ethnic minorities (particularly Jews) and women.

But at the same time liberals were intensely worried about the uneducated masses with their habit of clinging on to irrational traditions, on the one hand, or demanding the redistribution of property, on the other. America’s Founding Fathers, particularly James Madison, believed that constitutional intricacy could solve the problem of the masses. They codified rights in a constitution. They divided ruling institutions into rival branches to create a system of checks and balances. They gave Supreme Court judges jobs for life and Senators six-year terms. They removed the Senate from the hurly-burly of politics by insisting that Senators were appointed by local grandees rather than directly elected. Alexander Hamilton even wanted to give presidents jobs for life, though better sense prevailed (why a man who was so suspicious of the masses and so enthusiastic about capitalism has become a left-wing icon is one of the mysteries of our time). Many British liberals believed that education was the only thing that could temper democracy. John Stuart Mill wanted to give additional votes to educated people. Robert Lowe supported mass education on the grounds that “we must now prevail on our future masters to learn their letters” (usually remembered as “we must educate our masters”).

Liberals eventually overcame their instinctive fear of the masses or “demophobia”. In America progressive liberals led the campaign for the democratic election of Senators and the introduction of open primaries. In Britain David Lloyd George brought the House of Lords to heel in order to pass welfare legislation. For much of its post-war history the British Liberal Party has been identified not with snobbery about the intellectual capacity of the masses but with trying to make “every vote count”, often by using highly intricate schemes. Even today Liberal Democratic conferences contain a remarkable number of people (mostly men; mostly bearded; mostly sandal-wearing) who will talk your hind leg off about various complicated voting systems such as single transferable votes (whereby your vote is allocated to your first choice and then re-allocated according to complicated formulae).

But more recently the anti-democratic strain of liberalism has reasserted itself. It is once again respectable in liberal circles to say that the people are too stupid (aka short-sighted, racist, sexist, transphobic, nationalistic, bigoted) to make sensible decisions, and that dispassionate experts need to be given additional powers.

The most powerful engine of elitism is the European Union. The EU was founded by people who wanted to make sure that Europe was never again torn apart by Fascism and war. This meant imprisoning the two great disruptive forces of nationalism and populism within an iron cage of rules. The Founding Fathers of Europe deliberately removed a great deal of decision-making from the hands of the (nation-bounded and short-sighted) public. They created a powerful European Court of Justice in order to safeguard individual rights. They concentrated decision-making power in the hands of a Platonic European Council and only added a parliament as a reluctant afterthought. Confronted with popular revolts against the rule of experts they have simply dug in their heels, most recently in Italy where the Italian president forbade the new government from choosing a Eurosceptic finance minister. For the EU, technocratic decision-making is not a bug but a feature.

The second engine of elitism is Anglo-Saxon neoliberalism: a school of thought that had its roots in the ideas of libertarian economists such as Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman, who argued that the freedom to buy and sell things in the market is much more important than the freedom to exercise your vote every five years. This has now been systematised in global institutions such as the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund and various central banks. Anglo-Saxon liberals argued that the best way to create mass prosperity is to create a stable system of economic policy-making: take decisions about monetary policy out of the hands of politicians (who will always be tempted to buy votes by debasing the currency) and give them to central bankers; take decisions about trade out of the hands of national governments (who will always be tempted to make trade-distorting deals) and sub-contract it to trans-national bodies such as the World Trade Organisation.

There are lots of arguments in favour of technocratic liberalism. Giving central banks independence from political interference has helped us to slay the dragon of inflation. Creating rules-based trading systems has unleashed growth in the emerging world and flooded the rich world with cheap goods. The neo-conservative bid to spread democracy at the point of a gun in the Middle East turned out to be a disaster. The West’s support for democratisation in Egypt also proved to be misguided. Democracy is the fruit rather than the cause of economic and constitutional development: introduce democracy before you have a liberal political regime, based on robust institutions and a notion of the “loyal opposition”, and you are likely to introduce elective dictatorship followed by non-elective dictatorship or chaos also followed by non-elective dictatorship. Who can blame Europe’s Founding Fathers for fearing a resurgence of fascism? And who, in retrospect, can fault the European powers for their scepticism about George Bush’s democratisation project in the Middle East?

But there is also a big problem with elite liberalism: by insulating technocratic elites from the pressure of popular opinion—by putting them in a comfortable cocoon of like-minded elites—it encourages over-reach. Britain was the perfect example of this. During the Blair-Brown-Cameron years Britain was dominated by a class of politicians who went to the same universities, followed the same career path of a spell as a special advisor followed by a safe seat (usually in an area of the country they had no connection with) followed by a fast-track to a ministerial post. The Labour Party lost its links to the old working class of trade unions and never established any links with the new working class of casual workers. The Conservative Party lost its links with provincial England. In this sense the Brexit referendum was a just punishment: the result of the referendum took everybody in the political elite by surprise, from David Cameron who called the thing, to the commentators who predicted an easy win for “Remain”, because they live in a self-contained world.

The most dangerous example of this over-reach in Europe is the EU’s insistence that free movement of labour should be ranked as one of the non-negotiable “four freedoms”. This played a major part in persuading Britons to vote to leave partly because, as an  English-speaking country with a relatively liberal economy, Britain is always a chosen destination for immigrants and partly because the British instinctively feel that there is a distinction between free-trade in goods and services and free movement of people (NAFTA, for instance, does not confer free movement of people across North America). This, more than anything else, will fuel European populism in the future, as immigrants flow into Europe from the Middle East and Africa and then, once established, flow across various borders.

The technocratic elite compounded the problem of over-reach with incompetence. The great liberal project of the past 40 years—globalisation—depended on a bargain between the elites and the masses: the elites promised that globalisation would produce higher living standards for broad swathes of the population. They also promised that they could make globalisation as smooth as possible by judicious intervention. Globalisation might exact a price in terms of democracy: decisions that had once rested with local governments would be taken by politically insulated technicians. It might exact a price in terms of local shocks: some groups of workers (particularly blue-collar workers) would suffer. But it would produce a higher over-all standard of living. The technocrats broke the contract. They not only failed to deliver macro-economic stability. They failed to deliver the boost in living standards in the West. They forgot about basic social justice: while blue-collar workers were crushed under history’s progressive chariot, bankers were saved from the consequences of a crisis that had been created by their greed and incompetence. In Britain average incomes have been stagnant since the financial crisis and are unlikely to resume their pre-crisis growth until the middle of the next decade. Across Europe and America old industrial centres have been reduced to metaphorical rubble. No wonder so many people feel that they have sold their democratic rights for a mess of pottage. No wonder the cry of “taking back control” resonates.

The best way to restore a better balance between elitism and democracy is to prevent the elites from engaging in over-reach. The obvious way to start this is to remove freedom of movement from the four freedoms. This would do more than anything else to guarantee the future of the EU. Technocratic policy-makers also need to be reconnected with the people they are supposed to serve. It is a mystery why World Bank employees should be exempted from taxes and provided with their own country club, the delightfully named Bretton Woods. It is a mystery why European officials should have such long tenures so that prime ministers come and go but Jean-Claude Juncker goes on forever. Privileges need to be reined in and tenures shortened.

We also need to find ways of strengthening democracy rather than constantly diluting it. The dominant pattern of the past few years has been technocratic advance punctuated by periodic revolts (such as the Brexit referendum or the recent Italian election). How about giving democracy a few short-term wins so that voters don’t have to rely on sudden explosions of rage? My favoured solution is to give more power to local governments: while centralising certain decisions in the administrative state (most notably over taxes and entitlements) we need to create a counter-balancing pressure by handing other decisions to locally elected politicians. But there might be other clever ways of advancing democracy. Why not elect some members of global bodies such as the European Commission or the WTO? Or why not at least elect them at one remove—for example by giving a role to locally elected mayors in global bodies? A global council of mayors might do a good deal to solve this problem: they could meet once a year and send representatives to various other global bodies. Unwieldy perhaps, but it would at least have the effect of linking the global sphere with the local: mayors are, for the most part, accountable for their actions to the electorate, and might act as the voices of ordinary people on the global stage.

Globalism versus localism
Liberalism was born global. As a philosophy, it was inspired by an audacious claim: that in a state of nature men are endowed with certain essential rights that apply regardless of time and place (conservatism, by contrast, regards natural man as a fiction and human nature as a product of time and place). As a political movement, it began as a revolt against restrictions on free trade. William Cobden and James Bright argued that people should be allowed to trade freely, not merely because free trade produced economic growth, but also because there was no reason to prefer the interests of a Hampshire land-owner to a Pomeranian peasant. Classical British liberals supported the idea of creating a “parliament of man” and using hegemonic powers (first Britain and then America) to create universal rulers that could enforce universal rights.

That tradition was given a new lease of life by two world wars and by the advent of globalisation. The two world wars revealed the diabolical side of nationalism. Globalisation promised to deliver the liberal miracle: sustained economic growth produced by free trade in goods and the promiscuous intermingling of peoples and cultures. Today’s liberal intellectuals instinctively associate nationalism with barbarism—with bloody wars and broken psyches. Karl Popper, a philosopher who is too little read at the moment,  packed the standard critique into a single sentence: “Nationalism appeals to our tribal instincts, to passions and to prejudice, and to our nostalgic desire to be relieved from the strain of individual responsibility.” The term nationalism seldom appears in sophisticated publications such as the New York (or London) Review of Books without being accompanied by words such as “barbaric”, “racist”, “xenophobic” or “backward-looking”.

But there was also another liberal tradition that was highly sympathetic to nationalism and localism: that is to collective roots rather than universal rights. The nationalist revolutions that swept through Europe in the 19th century were, for the most part, liberal revolutions. They were inspired by the idea that nationalism provided the most compelling answer to the great question of how to address problems of identity and connectedness in a newly fluid world. “I am convinced”, wrote Alexis De Tocqueville “that the interests of the human race are better served by giving every man a particular fatherland than by trying to inflame his passions for the whole of humanity”.

Liberals railed against trans-national empires such as the Ottoman Empire in the east and the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the heart of Europe. Theodore Roosevelt singled out the Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires for his energetic fury: “Neither democracy nor civilisation is safe while these two states exist in their present form.” Liberals laid down their lives for the right of self-determination for imprisoned peoples such as the Greeks. William Gladstone divided the Liberal Party over his support for Irish Home Rule. Woodrow Wilson founded his foreign policy on the principle of national self-determination.

Some of the most interesting liberals looked beneath the national to the local level. J.S. Mill sang the praises of “experiments in living”: the more the merrier. The British Liberal Party was as much a party of localism as free trade: rooted in particular areas of the country such as the West Country and Wales, it celebrated local traditions and acted as a counter-balance to the power of the London elite. This continues to this day. Sir Nick Clegg is distrusted by his party—and reviled by its younger elements—because he was more interested in joining the national, and indeed, the global elite than in cultivating local routes. (Sir Nick is perhaps the paradigmatic example of a politician who tries to represent the government to the people rather than the people to the government.) The modern Liberal Party pantheon consists of people who had strong local roots: Joe Grimond (Scotland), Paddy Ashdown (the West Country), Lloyd George (Wales).

So the second great task facing liberalism alongside reigning in over-mighty elites is reviving the national-localist tradition. As long as liberalism is synonymous with globalisation—with global elites cocooned in global institutions and global multinationals reaping economies of scale across a global market—it will be destined to wither. It will wither politically because populist parties will be able to claim a monopoly of communal loyalties. And it will wither intellectually because it fails to draw on the mighty tradition of liberal thinking about the importance of local roots and the complexities of personal identity.

Liberal elites need to begin to champion localism with the same vigour that they have championed globalisation for the past 40 years. For a start they need to check their habit of demonising nationalism as nothing more than an excuse for racism and bigotry—and localism as an excuse for parish-pump myopia. Most people live their lives at the local and national level rather than in international airport lounges. And most people also resent being lumped together with fascists. Populism is as much a protest against being insulted as it is a protest against stalled economic growth.

They need to do as much as possible to promote local self-government. Britain stands in particular need of this. In the golden age of 19th-century laissez-faire, Britain was one of the most diversified and decentralised countries in the world: London was just one great city among many. Birmingham and Liverpool were two of the greatest jewels in the British Empire. But the age of neo-liberal triumphalism coincided with the age of concentration of power in London. London-based government has sidelined local government. The London economy has thrived while the regional economies have withered. The Brexit revolt was as much a revolt of the provinces against the city—and thereby of conservative-minded Country against the cosmopolitan Court—as it was a revolt against Europe.

Rebalancing the country will be the work of a generation. But a sensible start has already been made with the creation of locally elected mayors in six authorities, including the two great Victorian conurbations of Manchester and Birmingham. We need to make sure that London-based government doesn’t neuter these mayors. We need to roll the revolution further to new cities. We need to encourage those cities to demand their fair share of the London-based pie: a fair share of the nation’s treasures for local museums, a fair share of the licence-payers’ largesse for local broadcasting.

Elite liberals also need to think more seriously about local solutions to economic problems. Over the past 40 years liberals have focused on the ways in which the logic of globalisation can produce economic growth. They need to focus much more on how the logic of place can both harness and promote such growth. How can local governments make the most of their economic resources? And how can they harness global forces to help their most disadvantaged citizens as well as their most advantaged?

The possibilities are huge. But once again elite liberals seem to be determined to choose the dumbest option: doubling down on globalisation rather than recalibrating their core philosophy. The reaction to Brexit and other populist uprisings is one example of this. Elite liberals almost luxuriate in their rage against nationalism and the yokel masses who support it. In Britain the 48% who voted Remain are more preoccupied with the stupidity of the masses than they are about the over-reach of the European elite that made “take back control” such a potent slogan.

Xi Jinping, China’s president, unwittingly got to the heart of liberalism’s current dilemma in his speech to the World Economic Forum at Davos on January 17th 2017. Mr Xi presented himself as the champion of globalisation—the man who would save this wonderful process from the pitchforks of the Trumpenproletariat. He proclaimed globalisation inevitable (“Whether you like it or not…any attempt to cut off the flow of capital, technologies, products, industries and people between economies…is simply not possible”) and declared his faith in multilateralism (“We should adhere to multilateralism to uphold the authority and efficacy of multilateral institutions. We should honour promises and abide by rules”). A striking number of the CEOs and opinion formers in the crowd praised him as the last best hope of corporate man. But if the leading champion of liberalism’s central project for the past 40 years—globalisation—is a Chinese dictator who has awarded himself a job for life and happily imprisons people for criticising the state then we have to recognise that something has gone desperately wrong with the liberal project.

Scientific management versus self-government
The essence of liberalism is self-government: liberalism is at once a philosophical critique of the conservative notion that people owe their identities to their social stations and a practical protest against the idea that people are bound by certain social obligations to their superiors (or, if they are lucky, their inferiors). The basic liberal philosophical construct is the idea of the social contract: individual rights precede (and therefore trump) social arrangements. And the basic liberal moral position is self-reliance. We should be able to rise as high as our talents take us. And we should be able to deliver a single pungent message to even the most paternalistic landowner or employer: take your job and shove it. Liberalism is the philosophy of free movement of citizens within the nation-state (particularly from the land, where they were bound by traditional social relations, to the city, where they could find their own level) and free competition in talent.

But liberalism has also offered a home to managerialism. Free competition inevitably leads to winners and losers: successful companies can use economies of scale to destroy smaller companies. Take-your-job-and-shove it leads to the destruction of traditional ways of life that tolerate muddle and inefficiency. The second half of the 19th century saw liberalism transforming itself from a philosophy of small companies (or indeed tiny workshops) and small towns into a philosophy of big companies and urban bureaucracies. Giant companies such as US Steel and Standard Oil first summoned up tens of thousands of employees (when it was formed in 1901 US Steel had 250,000 employees) and then turned those thousands into disciplined armies with steep hierarchies and precisely defined roles. Liberal bureaucrats created national and city bureaucracies in order to wipe out the scourges of raw sewage, pollution and general anarchy. If the great creed of liberals in the mid-19th century was laissez-faire, the great creed of liberals in the late-19th and early-20th centuries was national efficiency.

This obsessive predilection for managerialism has become more pronounced in recent decades. Elite liberalism is the liberalism of management consultancies such as McKinsey’s, rather than great philosophers such as J.S. Mill. The great justification of managerial liberalism is its focus on productivity: it is only by boosting productivity that we can create the surplus that makes for civilised life. But the means to that end are often wrong. Managerial liberalism treats people as tools rather than as ends in themselves. It assumes that managerial wisdom lies in the heads of managers rather than in the practical wisdom of workers. And it makes a fetish of measurement—that is not only measuring people’s performance against various metrics, but also giving people rewards on the basis of whether they fit various goals.

There is ample evidence that treating people as nothing more than cogs in a productivity-boosting machine is bad for productivity as well as morale. The Toyota system (which divided workers into self-governing teams and gave them responsibility for a wide range of tasks) outperformed the Taylorist mass-production system (which treated workers as widgets) because it allowed companies to combine quality and variety with quantity and predictability. During the height of the competition between the two systems in the 1970s Japanese car factories had much lower levels of wastage than American car factories.

There is also ample evidence, expertly summarised in Jerry Muller’s recent book, “The Tyranny of Metrics”, that metrics can be counter-productive. They can distort results: for example police forces have repeatedly responded to the introduction of measurement by “juking the stats”, focusing on easy crimes (such as driving at 35 miles an hour in 30-mile-an-hour areas) rather than hard crimes (such as breaking and entering). They can destroy morale: people who are in the bottom quartile of performers are probably more likely to give up than to redouble their efforts. They can sometimes go even further than this: applied to self-regulating professions such as academia, metrics can crush the very spirit that animated those professions and transform them into something that is much less than their former selves. Today’s universities are in danger of being turned from temples of learning, where scholars introduced their young disciples into the mysteries of their calling, into teaching factories run by number-obsessed managers and divided into two classes: brand-name academics who are always on some junket and part-time teachers who are desperately trying to finish their PhDs while making enough money teaching to keep body and soul together.

This is not to say that we should get rid of metrics entirely: it’s important to be able to identify bad performers and encourage them to improve. But we should focus on using metrics for diagnosis and encouragement rather than labelling and disparagement. And we should be careful to bear in mind the high-incidence of mismeasurement. Too many examples of using measurement (particularly in the public sector) bring to mind an incident in “Gulliver’s Travels”. Noticing how badly Gulliver is dressed the king orders a tailor to take his measurements for a suit of clothes. The tailor takes his “altitude” with a quadrant and the dimensions of the rest of his body with a “rule and compasses” and then, six days later, produces a suit of clothes “very ill made, and quite out of shape”.

The biggest problem with managerialism, however, is not that it is inefficient but that it divides humanity into two classes of people: the rulers and the ruled, the doers and the done to, the thinkers and the hod-carriers. It recreates the very division that liberals, in their salad days, set out to destroy—though this time the people at the top are a global elite of educated citizens, wearing their MBAs like modern coats of arms, and the people at the bottom are the uneducated masses, condemned to spend their lives on the receiving end of orders.

Hard versus soft
The final relationship that is off-kilter is the relationship between the hard and the soft. Elite liberalism prefers data to anecdote, measurement to impressionism. It favours hard sciences such as economics over soft ones such as sociology and history. It is much more interested in the quantity of stuff that people have to the quality of the life that they lead. Leading liberal thinkers have opined at length on issues such as productivity (eg. globalisation raises overall productivity even if it causes local disruption). But they have been reluctant to say very much about the quality of life—about the beauty of buildings or the cohesiveness of society. To put it bluntly: liberals have started seeing the world like a disembodied elite rather than like fellow citizens.

This is a potential disaster for liberalism for two reasons: firstly because interesting ideas seldom come from entrenched ruling elites and, secondly, because the most interesting problems facing policy-makers in the next few years are likely to be “soft” rather than “hard”.  How can you satisfy people’s demand for a country that feels like a home rather than a hotel? How do you build new houses that are beautiful as well as functional—and thereby reduce the pressure for Nimbyism? How can you prove that growth is compatible with human scale?

There has always been a “hard” tradition in liberalism, particularly in its Anglo-Saxon variety. Jeremy Bentham famously said that there is no difference between poetry and pushpin (pushpin being an early 19th-century equivalent of pinball). Following his father’s example J.S. Mill built Bentham’s crude calculus into the heart of his economics. This attitude was reinforced by self-interest: liberals gravitated to the imperial civil service and to local government, areas which encouraged them to treat people as figures in a felicific calculus rather than as ends in themselves. Many of the most interesting critiques of liberalism focused on what F.R. Leavis dubbed “techno-Benthamism”: think of Charles Dickens’s horrific character, Mr Gradgrind, and his determination to weigh human flesh by the pound.

But again liberalism has also contained another tradition that is much more sensitive to the importance of “soft” issues. The greatest exponent of this tradition is Alexis de Tocqueville. If early English liberals focused on the evils of the Old Regime, with its unearned privileges and higgledy-piggedly corruptions, Tocqueville focused on the evils of the bureaucratic state, with its addiction to rational arrangements and indifference to human variety. His book, “Democracy in America”, is a hymn as much as anything to small-town America: the America of local town meetings where everybody was given a chance to express their opinions and shape local politics. Tocqueville was also obsessed by the homogenising potential of mass society. He worried that a world bereft of a taste-making aristocracy and dedicated to the theoretical proposition of human equality would reduce people to the level of undifferentiated atoms: mediocre narcissists who, in their determination to exercise their rights, reduced themselves to the level of equal dependency on an all-powerful state.

Many avowedly liberal thinkers have emphasised the importance of quality rather than quantity. John Maynard Keynes made it clear that he regarded economics as nothing more than a means to an end, that end being civilised life. He looked forward to a world in which the economy was so productive that people would only have to work for four hours a day. The rest of their time would be devoted to cultivating the mind. E.F Schumacher sounded a clarion call in “Small is Beautiful: A Study of Economics As if People Mattered”.

The hard tradition has been dominant for the past 40 years as liberals have occupied the commanding heights of the global economy. It is time to give “small is beautiful” another chance.

The John Stuart Mill solution
Which brings us to John Stuart Mill. Mill is rightly regarded as one of the great founders of liberalism. He was also one of the great re-founders of liberalism. The first great rebalancing took place within Mill’s capacious cranium.

Mill started off as a crude utilitarian. His father, James Mill, was the “most faithful and fervent disciple” of Jeremy Bentham, the inventor of the felicific calculus. He not only force-fed his son on Bentham’s ideas, along with Greek, Latin and history, he set him at work preparing his sprawling texts for the press. Mill’s early work bears all the signs of this immersion in the utilitarian belief that the ultimate measure of a good society is its ability to promote the greatest happiness of the greatest number (with no distinction being made between the higher and lower pleasures). He conceived of individuals as pleasure-maximising machines. He argued that society only had a right to limit people’s freedom if that freedom was likely to harm other people. He turned himself into a high-priest of laissez-faire economics.

But as Mill matured he developed a more sophisticated philosophy. He recognised that his father’s extraordinary educational programme had robbed him not only of the whole of his childhood but also of a portion of his humanity (he confessed in his brilliant autobiography that he was “never a boy” and grew up “in the absence of love and presence of fear”) and that seeing the world as nothing more than a giant calculating machine misses half the point of life. He was heavily influenced by both S.T. Coleridge, Britain’s greatest critic of Enlightenment rationalism, and Tocqueville, France’s greatest critic of liberal individualism. He consequently set about producing a more humane doctrine than the austere doctrine of his father.

This involved an intriguing manoeuvre—in crudely political terms Mill moved both to the right and to the left. He learned from Tocqueville that mass society can advance at the expense of freedom and pluralism. “Apelike imitation” and “intrusive piety” are just two of the phrases he used to describe the threats that lurked under the carapace of progress. He learned from Coleridge why it is vital to make a distinction between the lower and the higher pleasures. At the same time he learned from his soulmate, Harriet Taylor, that women had been systematically marginalised.

Mill’s move to the left is the most eye-catching: he moderated his enthusiasm for free markets to make more room for trade-union rights and state activism. Employers were simply too powerful to preserve a safe social balance, he argued. He became one of the earliest advocates of votes for women, arguing that preventing women from voting made as much sense, morally, as excluding red-haired men. At the same time many of his criticisms of techno-Benthamism are marinated in conservative insights about the importance of inter-generational ties.

Modern liberalism needs to go through its own Millian moment (with, perhaps, the global financial crisis playing the role of Mill’s nervous breakdown in promoting new thinking). Liberalism needs to engage with critics—particularly its Marxist and populist critics—rather than arrogantly marginalising them. It needs to regain its humanity by addressing the problems of utilitarian cost-benefit analysis in general, and the problems of managerialism and measurement in particular. It needs to move simultaneously to both the left and the right. From the traditional right it needs to learn about the importance of institutions and culture. From the populist right it needs to learn to look at “progress” from the bottom up—from the perspective of shuttered plants in Manchester and Milwaukee rather than IMF offices or university lounges. And from the progressive left it needs to learn about the importance of structural inequality. Equality of opportunity means something very different to the descendant of a slave than for the descendant of a slave-owner.

In rebalancing itself it also needs to avoid two big temptations.

The first is the temptation is simply to add a hefty helping of identity politics to elite liberalism: introducing transgender lavatories (or making all lavatories unisex); celebrating diversity at the drop of a hat; seeking out the next oppressed minority.

There may be good cases for doing all these things: avoiding discrimination on the basis of race or class is the essence of liberalism. But far from addressing liberalism’s elitist problem, this strategy will actually make it worse. Identity politics is a creature of the campuses rather than the workplace. It fails to address (and indeed often contemptuously ignores) the problems of working-class people who have seen their incomes stagnate and their jobs removed. Many elite liberals are happy with this strategy precisely because it doesn’t really challenge them very much: it panders to their vanity without forcing them to step outside their comfortable cocoons.

In the end identity politics is not only incompatible with liberalism but positively repugnant to it. The essence of liberalism lies in individualism: liberals believe, along with Benjamin Constant, that “there is a part of human existence that remains of necessity individual and independent, and which lies of right utterly beyond the range of society”. Liberals certainly need to do more to address structural constraints on individual self-fulfilment. But they need to address these constraints as a means to an individualist rather than a collectivist end. By contrast identity politics is obsessed with the collective. It makes a fetish of biological characteristics such as gender, race or sexuality. It encourages people to identify with groups rather than stand out from the crowd. It submerges individuality into some broader sense of identity. It also encourages people to argue that rational arguments are subordinate to questions of identity: white men are asked to “check their privilege” while non-white men frequently invoke their race or gender (“speaking as a black woman) as a way of winning arguments. The price of wokeness is the re-racialisation and re-biologisation of public discourse.

Liberals also put a premium on tolerance: partly because they regard individual rights as pre-eminent and partly because they understand that, particularly in the world of human affairs, people seldom know enough to be absolutely certain of their judgements. They are averse to orthodoxies. But identity politics is an ascendant orthodoxy: its votaries habitually deny people with alternative views the right to speak, using the methods of the people they say they oppose in order to get heretics sacked, and books and arguments censored. And they do so not just because they get carried away but because they think that it is the right thing to do. Hurt feelings trump freedom of speech. A history of oppression trumps open debate. Identity politics is thus the biggest challenge to liberalism’s commitment to free speech and diversity of opinion since the red scare of the 1950s.

The other big temptation is to surrender to the populism. I know several classical liberals who are so furious with the global oligarchy (the people who run the global companies and dominate global institutions) and the damage they have done to liberalism that they have embraced either Trump or Brexit. But this is a dangerous way to go. Liberals certainly need to do more to listen to the will of the people: the Brexit mess would never have happened if Brussels had paid more attention to the rising cries of discontent across Europe and moderated its ambitions accordingly. But we should nevertheless recognise the limits of populism. It tends to ride roughshod over the rights of minorities. It thrives on demonising elites while celebrating the wisdom of the masses. It invariably damages the economy (thereby whipping up the discontent upon which it thrives). It is prone to making foolish economic decisions: witness the history of Argentina under the Peróns. Liberals need to preserve their defences against the unwisdom of crowds in the form of bills of rights, second chambers in parliament, independent courts and other barriers against elective dictatorship. But at the same time they need to reduce the need for these filters by moderating their ambitions and reacting more quickly to popular discontent.

Back to Brexit
Which brings us back to where we started—to Brexit. It is increasingly looking as if Brexit was one of the most expensive mistakes in British history. Brexit has consumed British politics for more than two years (and distracted attention from pressing subjects such as homelessness and housing). It has cost untold billions in direct and indirect spending: a report from the worthy Institute for Government published on June 11th notes that Britain has allocated more than £2 billion to extricating itself from the EU and created 10,000 new civil-service posts. And for what? It looks as if Britain will have little choice but to remain a member of the single market if it is to get smooth access to the EU market and prevent a meltdown on the Irish border. The result will be that a country that once enjoyed an ideal relationship with the EU (inside the EU but not in the euro) will soon have the worst possible relationship: Britain will have to accept European rules without having any representation in Brussels.

Can anything be salvaged from this mess? Perhaps a little if the British and European establishment can be persuaded to listen to the EU vote and adjust their policies in consequence. The British establishment needs to recognise that the Leave vote was as much a revolt against the British establishment as the EU establishment (a fact that is underlined by the rise of Corbynism). The British needs to give more power to the provinces and reduce the power of London in its economy and polity. It also needs to address the concerns of the left-behind as a matter of priority rather than luxuriating in the peccadilloes of the cosmopolitan elite. And it needs to temper the technocratic approach to politics with more concern for the quality of life. But the EU needs to change even more: it is easy to forget, given the passions that have been revealed by Brexit and the ministerial incompetence that has been revealed, that Brexit might never have happened (just as the recent Italian debacle need never have happened) if the European Union had taken a more statesmanlike approach to its business. The EU needs to rethink some of the more dogmatic commitments in its credo such as free movement of people. It needs to temper legalism with political wisdom.

It needs to recognise, above all, that liberalism is a pragmatic philosophy that constantly adjusts itself in order to preserve what really matters.

Rise of the machines: has technology evolved beyond our control?



Rise of the machines: has technology evolved beyond our control?

Technology is starting to behave in intelligent and unpredictable ways that even its creators don’t understand. As machines increasingly shape global events, how can we regain control?

by James Bridle
               Fri 15 Jun 2018 12.00 BST Last modified on Sat 16 Jun 2018 00.10 BST

The voice-activated gadget in the corner of your bedroom suddenly laughs maniacally, and sends a recording of your pillow talk to a colleague. The clip of Peppa Pig your toddler is watching on YouTube unexpectedly descends into bloodletting and death. The social network you use to keep in touch with old school friends turns out to be influencing elections and fomenting coups.

Something strange has happened to our way of thinking – and as a result, even stranger things are happening to the world. We have come to believe that everything is computable and can be resolved by the application of new technologies. But these technologies are not neutral facilitators: they embody our politics and biases, they extend beyond the boundaries of nations and legal jurisdictions and increasingly exceed the understanding of even their creators. As a result, we understand less and less about the world as these powerful technologies assume more control over our everyday lives.

Across the sciences and society, in politics and education, in warfare and commerce, new technologies are not merely augmenting our abilities, they are actively shaping and directing them, for better and for worse. If we do not understand how complex technologies function then their potential is more easily captured by selfish elites and corporations. The results of this can be seen all around us. There is a causal relationship between the complex opacity of the systems we encounter every day and global issues of inequality, violence, populism and fundamentalism.

Instead of a utopian future in which technological advancement casts a dazzling, emancipatory light on the world, we seem to be entering a new dark age characterised by ever more bizarre and unforeseen events. The Enlightenment ideal of distributing more information ever more widely has not led us to greater understanding and growing peace, but instead seems to be fostering social divisions, distrust, conspiracy theories and post-factual politics. To understand what is happening, it’s necessary to understand how our technologies have come to be, and how we have come to place so much faith in them.

 The cloud is the central metaphor of the int­ernet: a global system of great power that is almost impossible to grasp
In the 1950s, a new symbol began to creep into the diagrams drawn by electrical engineers to describe the systems they built: a fuzzy circle, or a puffball, or a thought bubble. Eventually, its form settled into the shape of a cloud. Whatever the engineer was working on, it could connect to this cloud, and that’s all you needed to know. The other cloud could be a power system, or a data exchange, or another network of computers. Whatever. It didn’t matter. The cloud was a way of reducing complexity, it allowed you to focus on the issues at hand. Over time, as networks grew larger and more interconnected, the cloud became more important. It became a business buzzword and a selling point. It became more than engineering shorthand; it became a metaphor.

Today the cloud is the central metaphor of the internet: a global system of great power and energy that nevertheless retains the aura of something numinous, almost impossible to grasp. We work in it; we store and retrieve stuff from it; it is something we experience all the time without really understanding what it is. But there’s a problem with this metaphor: the cloud is not some magical faraway place, made of water vapour and radio waves, where everything just works. It is a physical infrastructure consisting of phone lines, fibre optics, satellites, cables on the ocean floor, and vast warehouses filled with computers, which consume huge amounts of water and energy. Absorbed into the cloud are many of the previously weighty edifices of the civic sphere: the places where we shop, bank, socialise, borrow books and vote. Thus obscured, they are rendered less visible and less amenable to critique, investigation, preservation and regulation.

                 Over the last few decades, trading floors around the world have fallen silent, as people are replaced by banks of computers that trade automatically. Digitisation meant that trades within, as well as between, stock exchangescould happen faster and faster. As trading passed into the hands of machines, it became possible to react almost instantaneously. High-Frequency Trading (HFT) algorithms, designed by former physics PhD students to take advantage of millisecond advantages, entered the market, and traders gave them names such as The Knife. These algorithms were capable of eking out fractions of a cent on every trade, and they could do it millions of times a day.

Something deeply weird is occurring within these massively accelerated, opaque markets. On 6 May 2010, the Dow Jones opened lower than the previous day, falling slowly over the next few hours in response to the debt crisis in Greece. But at 2.42pm, the index started to fall rapidly. In less than five minutes, more than 600 points were wiped off the market. At its lowest point, the index was nearly 1,000 points below the previous day’s average, a difference of almost 10% of its total value, and the biggest single-day fall in the market’s history. By 3.07pm, in just 25 minutes, it recovered almost all of those 600 points, in the largest and fastest swing ever.

In the chaos of those 25 minutes, 2bn shares, worth $56bn, changed hands. Even more worryingly, many orders were executed at what the Securities Exchange Commission called “irrational prices”: as low as a penny, or as high as $100,000. The event became known as the “flash crash”, and it is still being investigated and argued over years later.

 While traders might have played a longer game, the machines, faced with uncertainty, got out as quickly as possible
One report by regulators found that high-frequency traders exacerbated the price swings. Among the various HFT programs, many had hard-coded sell points: prices at which they were programmed to sell their stocks immediately. As prices started to fall, groups of programs were triggered to sell at the same time. As each waypoint was passed, the subsequent price fall triggered another set of algorithms to automatically sell their stocks, producing a feedback effect. As a result, prices fell faster than any human trader could react to. While experienced market players might have been able to stabilise the crash by playing a longer game, the machines, faced with uncertainty, got out as quickly as possible.

Other theories blame the algorithms for initiating the crisis. One technique that was identified in the data was HFT programmes sending large numbers of “non-executable” orders to the exchanges – that is, orders to buy or sell stocks so far outside of their usual prices that they would be ignored. The purpose of such orders is not to actually communicate or make money, but to deliberately cloud the system, so that other, more valuable trades can be executed in the confusion. Many orders that were never intended to be executed were actually fulfilled, causing wild volatility.

Flash crashes are now a recognised feature of augmented markets, but are still poorly understood. In October 2016, algorithms reacted to negative news headlines about Brexit negotiations by sending the pound down 6% against the dollar in under two minutes, before recovering almost immediately. Knowing which particular headline, or which particular algorithm, caused the crash is next to impossible. When one haywire algorithm started placing and cancelling orders that ate up 4% of all traffic in US stocks in October 2012, one commentator was moved to comment wryly that “the motive of the algorithm is still unclear”.

At 1.07pm on 23 April 2013 Associated Press sent a tweet to its 2 million followers: “Breaking: Two Explosions in the White House and Barack Obama is injured.” The message was the result of a hack later claimed by the Syrian Electronic Army, a group affiliated to Syrian president Bashar al-Assad. AP and other journalists quickly flooded the site with alerts that the message was false. The algorithms following breaking news stories had no such discernment, however. At 1.08pm, the Dow Jones went into a nosedive. Before most human viewers had even seen the tweet, the index had fallen 150 points in under two minutes, and bounced back to its earlier value. In that time, it erased $136bn in equity market value.

Computation is increasingly layered across, and hidden within, every object in our lives, and with its expansion comes an increase in opacity and unpredictability. One of the touted benefits of Samsung’s line of “smart fridges” in 2015 was their integration with Google’s calendar services, allowing owners to schedule grocery deliveries from the kitchen. It also meant that hackers who gained access to the then inadequately secured machines could read their owner’s Gmail passwords. Researchers in Germany discovered a way to insert malicious code into Philips’s wifi-enabled Hue lightbulbs, which could spread from fixture to fixture throughout a building or even a city, turning the lights rapidly on and off and – in one possible scenario – triggering photosensitive epilepsy. This is the approach favoured by Byron the Bulb in Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow, an act of grand revolt by the little machines against the tyranny of their makers. Once-fictional possibilities for technological violence are being realised by the Internet of Things.

In Kim Stanley Robinson’s novel Aurora, an intelligent spacecraft carries a human crew from Earth to a distant star. The journey will take multiple lifetimes, so one of the ship’s jobs is to ensure that the humans look after themselves. When their fragile society breaks down, threatening the mission, the ship deploys safety systems as a means of control: it is able to see everywhere through sensors, open or seal doors at will, speak so loudly through its communications equipment that it causes physical pain, and use fire suppression systems to draw down the level of oxygen in a particular space.

              This is roughly the same suite of operations available now from Google Home and its partners: a network of internet-connected cameras for home security, smart locks on doors, a thermostat capable of raising and lowering the temperature in individual rooms, and a fire and intruder detection system that emits a piercing emergency alarm. Any successful hacker would have the same powers as the Aurora does over its crew, or Byron over his hated masters.

Before dismissing such scenarios as the fever dreams of science fiction writers, consider again the rogue algorithms in the stock exchanges. These are not isolated events, but everyday occurrences within complex systems. The question then becomes, what would a rogue algorithm or a flash crash look like in the wider reality?

Would it look, for example, like Mirai, a piece of software that brought down large portions of the internet for several hours on 21 October 2016? When researchers dug into Mirai, they discovered it targets poorly secured internet connected devices – from security cameras to digital video recorders – and turns them into an army of bots. In just a few weeks, Mirai infected half a million devices, and it needed just 10% of that capacity to cripple major networks for hours.

Mirai, in fact, looks like nothing so much as Stuxnet, another virus discovered within the industrial control systems of hydroelectric plants and factory assembly lines in 2010. Stuxnet was a military-grade cyberweapon; when dissected, it was found to be aimed specifically at Siemens centrifuges, and designed to go off when it encountered a facility that possessed a particular number of such machines. That number corresponded with one particular facility: the Natanz nuclear facility in Iran. When activated, the program would quietly degrade crucial components of the centrifuges, causing them to break down and disrupt the Iranian enrichment programme.

The attack was apparently partially successful, but the effect on other infected facilities is unknown. To this day, despite obvious suspicions, nobody knows where Stuxnet came from, or who made it. Nobody knows for certain who developed Mirai, either, or where its next iteration might come from, but it might be there, right now, breeding in the CCTV camera in your office, or the wifi-enabled kettle in the corner of your kitchen.

Or perhaps the crash will look like a string of blockbuster movies pandering to rightwing conspiracies and survivalist fantasies, from quasi-fascist superheroes (Captain America and the Batman series) to justifications of torture and assassination (Zero Dark Thirty, American Sniper). In Hollywood, studios run their scripts through the neural networks of a company called Epagogix, a system trained on the unstated preferences of millions of moviegoers developed over decades in order to predict which lines will push the right – meaning the most lucrative – emotional buttons. Algorithmic engines enhanced with data from Netflix, Hulu, YouTube and others, with access to the minute-by-minute preferences of millions of video watchers acquire a level of cognitive insight undreamed of by previous regimes. Feeding directly on the frazzled, binge-watching desires of news-saturated consumers, the network turns on itself, reflecting, reinforcing and heightening the paranoia inherent in the system.

Game developers enter endless cycles of updates and in-app purchases directed by A/B testing interfaces and real-time monitoring of players’ behaviours. They have such a fine-grained grasp of dopamine-producing neural pathways that teenagers die of exhaustion in front of their computers, unable to tear themselves away.

Or perhaps the flash crash will look like literal nightmares broadcast across the network for all to see? In the summer of 2015, the sleep disorders clinic of an Athens hospital was busier than it had ever been: the country’s debt crisis was in its most turbulent period. Among the patients were top politicians and civil servants, but the machines they spent the nights hooked up to, monitoring their breathing, their movements, even the things they said out loud in their sleep, were sending that information, together with their personal medical details, back to the manufacturers’ diagnostic data farms in northern Europe. What whispers might escape from such facilities?

 Users are encouraged to keep their phones in their beds, to record their sleep patterns. Where does all this data go?
We are able to record every aspect of our daily lives by attaching technology to the surface of our bodies, persuading us that we too can be optimised and upgraded like our devices. Smart bracelets and smartphone apps with integrated step counters and galvanic skin response monitors track not only our location, but every breath and heartbeat, even the patterns of our brainwaves. Users are encouraged to lay their phones beside them on their beds at night, so that their sleep patterns can be recorded. Where does all this data go, who owns it, and when might it come out? Data on our dreams, our night terrors and early morning sweating jags, the very substance of our unconscious selves, turn into more fuel for systems both pitiless and inscrutable.

Or perhaps the flash crash in reality looks exactly like everything we are experiencing right now: rising economic inequality, the breakdown of the nation-state and the militarisation of borders, totalising global surveillance and the curtailment of individual freedoms, the triumph of transnational corporations and neurocognitive capitalism, the rise of far-right groups and nativist ideologies, and the degradation of the natural environment. None of these are the direct result of novel technologies, but all of them are the product of a general inability to perceive the wider, networked effects of individual and corporate actions accelerated by opaque, technologically augmented complexity.

In New York in 1997, world chess champion Garry Kasparov faced off for the second time against Deep Blue, a computer specially designed by IBM to beat him. When he lost, he claimed some of Deep Blue’s moves were so intelligent and creative that they must have been the result of human intervention. But we understand why Deep Blue made those moves: its process for selecting them was ultimately one of brute force, a massively parallel architecture of 14,000 custom-designed chess chips, capable of analysing 200m board positions per second. Kasparov was not outthought, merely outgunned.

By the time the Google Brain–powered AlphaGo software took on the Korean professional Go player Lee Sedol in 2016, something had changed. In the second of five games, AlphaGo played a move that stunned Sedol, placing one of its stones on the far side of the board. “That’s a very strange move,” said one commentator. “I thought it was a mistake,” said another. Fan Hui, a seasoned Go player who had been the first professional to lose to the machine six months earlier, said: “It’s not a human move. I’ve never seen a human play this move.”

AlphaGo went on to win the game, and the series. AlphaGo’s engineers developed its software by feeding a neural network millions of moves by expert Go players, and then getting it to play itself millions of times more, developing strategies that outstripped those of human players. But its own representation of those strategies is illegible: we can see the moves it made, but not how it decided to make them.

The late Iain M Banks called the place where these moves occurred “Infinite Fun Space”. In Banks’s SF novels, his Culture civilisation is administered by benevolent, superintelligent AIs called simply Minds. While the Minds were originally created by humans, they have long since redesigned and rebuilt themselves and become all-powerful. Between controlling ships and planets, directing wars and caring for billions of humans, the Minds also take up their own pleasures. Capable of simulating entire universes within their imaginations, some Minds retreat for ever into Infinite Fun Space, a realm of meta-mathematical possibility, accessible only to superhuman artificial intelligences.

Many of us are familiar with Google Translate, which was launched in 2006, using a technique called statistical language inference. Rather than trying to understand how languages actually worked, the system imbibed vast corpora of existing translations: parallel texts with the same content in different languages. By simply mapping words on to one another, it removed human understanding from the equation and replaced it with data-driven correlation.

Translate was known for its humorous errors, but in 2016, the system started using a neural network developed by Google Brain, and its abilities improved exponentially. Rather than simply cross-referencing heaps of texts, the network builds its own model of the world, and the result is not a set of two-dimensional connections between words, but a map of the entire territory. In this new architecture, words are encoded by their distance from one another in a mesh of meaning – a mesh only a computer could comprehend.

While a human can draw a line between the words “tank” and “water” easily enough, it quickly becomes impossible to draw on a single map the lines between “tank” and “revolution”, between “water” and “liquidity”, and all of the emotions and inferences that cascade from those connections. The map is thus multidimensional, extending in more directions than the human mind can hold. As one Google engineer commented, when pursued by a journalist for an image of such a system: “I do not generally like trying to visualise thousand-dimensional vectors in three-dimensional space.” This is the unseeable space in which machine learning makes its meaning. Beyond that which we are incapable of visualising is that which we are incapable of even understanding.

In the same year, other researchers at Google Brain set up three networks called Alice, Bob and Eve. Their task was to learn how to encrypt information. Alice and Bob both knew a number – a key, in cryptographic terms – that was unknown to Eve. Alice would perform some operation on a string of text, and then send it to Bob and Eve. If Bob could decode the message, Alice’s score increased; but if Eve could, Alice’s score decreased.

Over thousands of iterations, Alice and Bob learned to communicate without Eve breaking their code: they developed a private form of encryption like that used in private emails today. But crucially, we don’t understand how this encryption works. Its operation is occluded by the deep layers of the network. What is hidden from Eve is also hidden from us. The machines are learning to keep their secrets.

How we understand and think of our place in the world, and our relation to one another and to machines, will ultimately decide where our technologies will take us. We cannot unthink the network; we can only think through and within it. The technologies that inform and shape our present perceptions of reality are not going to go away, and in many cases we should not wish them to. Our current life support systems on a planet of 7.5 billion people and rising depend on them. Our understanding of those systems, and of the conscious choices we make in their design, remain entirely within our capabilities. We are not powerless, not without agency. We only have to think, and think again, and keep thinking. The network – us and our machines and the things we think and discover together – demands it.

Computational systems, as tools, emphasise one of the most powerful aspects of humanity: our ability to act effectively in the world and shape it to our desires. But uncovering and articulating those desires, and ensuring that they do not degrade, overrule, efface, or erase the desires of others, remains our prerogative.

When Kasparov was defeated back in 1997, he didn’t give up the game. A year later, he returned to competitive play with a new format: advanced, or centaur, chess. In advanced chess, humans partner, rather than compete, with machines. And it rapidly became clear that something very interesting resulted from this approach. While even a mid-level chess computer can today wipe the floor with most grandmasters, an average player paired with an average computer is capable of beating the most sophisticated supercomputer – and the play that results from this combination of ways of thinking has revolutionised the game. It remains to be seen whether cooperation is possible – or will be permitted – with the kinds of complex machines and systems of governance now being developed, but understanding and thinking together offer a more hopeful path forward than obfuscation and dominance.

Our technologies are extensions of ourselves, codified in machines and infrastructures, in frameworks of knowledge and action. Computers are not here to give us all the answers, but to allow us to put new questions, in new ways, to the universe •

James Bridle’s New Dark Age: Technology and the End of the Future is published by Verso. To order a copy for £14.44, go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders min. p&p of £1.99.