It is Saturday evening and snowing in
New York. I have nowhere to go, I do have things to do (my book!) but my memories
take over.
Like for example, the simple question of how is the world
ruled. I think that lots of misunderstanding among people in the world comes
from inability to visualize how organizations and countries are managed: people
either overestimate their singularity of purpose and scheming, or try to convince
themselves that there is a full freedom of action and that things are decided
on merit. Neither is true. The truth is complex, elusive and lies somewhere (somewhere!)
in the middle: it is what Nirad Chaudhury called in a broader context
of human history “Libertas in imperio”.
I can describe it, I am afraid, best
using the examples that I know well, from my life and long association with the
World Bank.
Proposition 1. The world is ruled by
a cabal.
Around 1989 when Yugoslavia was in
its death-throes (which were not obvious to the naïve types like myself) when on
vacation there I wrote an article for an economics and politics weekly in
Belgrade that argued that the best privatization strategy, under the last (sensible
and brilliant) Yugoslav PM, Ante Markovic, should be such that vouchers be distributed to all citizens of the country
and citizens be allowed to buy shares in enterprises in whatever part of the
country they wished. It was an utterly quixotic proposals because the national
nomenklaturas were precisely then working on the break-up of the country and the
last thing they wanted was to cooperate with each other which they would have
to do if their citizens owned shares in companies in the other republics. So,
the proposal was dead on arrival.
But one afternoon, in the weekly’s
nice boarding room, I explained the proposal in detail to one of weekly’s main writers
on social issues. The writer was a
Serbian fascist (I am using the term not in a derogatory but strictly political
sense) enamored with Italian fascism. (German was I think a bit too heavy for his
taste.) He was a painter, who studied and lived in Italy, was proud of his
relationship with MSI leadership, admirer of Mussolini. He also looked the
part: could have been on any of the bas-reliefs that adorn Euro city near
Rome: tall, well-built, square-jawed, straight posture, walking always straight
with head held high. A real bell’uomo.
In Rome in 1934, he would have been Mussolini’s favorite barbarian painter.
But he was, when at home, a Serbian nationalist.
So after carefully listening to me and basically
nodding his head during most of the conversation, a couple of days later he
came with a stinging two-page attack on my proposal titled “The World Bank sends
its CIA spy to sell Serbian enterprises to foreigners”.
Now, was he mad? Not at all. He was,
I am convinced, a smart guy, but he saw the world and organizations in it as an
immense plot within which everything was strictly hierarchical: ordinary people had no ideas or will of their
own. So if I was then in Belgrade arguing
X, it must have been not only cleared by my superiors, but ordered by them. And by superiors’ superiors and so forth all the
way to the US Secretary of the Treasury, and perhaps Wall Street and perhaps
the Jews.
The truth was that I was even risking
reprimand from the World Bank because I had no business doing anything with Yugoslavia,
publishing articles or creating trouble while on vacation.
But what was the reverse of this
view?
Proposition 2. The world is ruled on
merit.
This is the view that many people hold
about their own involvements and that of institutions they work for. (Academia
is a bit different, so I will leave it out). But this view of moral and intellectual rectitude is widely shared in think-tanks (and I worked in one in Washington), international organizations
and probably many others (like Oxfam, Medecins
sans frontiÄ—res, Open Society etc.).
But is it true? Here I could ply the
readers with numerous examples, but I will choose the one that, like the Belgrade
story, sticks in my mind.
I was in the Research Department, and
thus fairly independent from World Bank’s hierarchy, but it was desirable that I
spend a given number of weeks annually working on concrete “operational"
issues. It happened that the offer that I got involved a study of how heating and
transportation subsidies in a Central Asian country affected its income distribution.
It was easy to do and I promptly came back with the conclusion that they were
pro-poor and should be kept.
But this was not the policy of the
World Bank. The year was 1994 or 1995 and everybody believed in Fukuyama and
Larry Summers. So the decision or rather the diffuse feeling (because you do not
need a formal decision on matters like these to know what the “correct” answer is)
was made before the report was even started that the subsidies should be eliminated.
The leader of the group, not the most brilliant person, was smart enough to
know what the desired conclusion was and that his/her career would be helped if
the empirical analysis supported it.
So when it did not, he/she totally ignored
it, and after several endless meetings where I was supposed to be somehow
convinced that the data must surely be wrong, that part of the report was either
not included or totally ignored. (I cannot remember what happened.) Because I
was not brave or stubborn enough, I gave up a (hopeless) struggle after a
couple of attempts and went back to my numbers and equations.
I was outside that particular hierarchy;
so I was relatively free. But I then thought: let’s suppose that I was hierarchically
under the project leader and that I was courageous enough to stick to my guns.
What would have happened? My arguments would have been ignored; I would not
have been demoted or fired. But in my next annual review, I would have been given
the lowest possible grade, salary increase would be nil, my promotion prospect
would be zero, and the explanation would never address the substantive issue:
it would be that I was not collegial, failed to work in a team spirit etc. It
could be even that I would have been asked to attend “team building” seminars
like the Soviet dissidents were sent to psychiatric asylums.
The problem would never even be mentioned
to have consisted in a disagreement on substance. Rather it would have been treated
as some maladjustment problem on my part;
perhaps I was harassed when young or had a difficult childhood. Because, of
course, the institution is not closed to different viewpoints and welcomes
diverse opinions and “vibrant” or “robust” (these are the preferred terms)
dialogue.
This is how the weeding out of undesirable
views would have proceeded.
So who was right: the Mussolini’s
admirer or the Washington consensus believer? Or nobody. Your call.