Shashi Warrier | One Winning Formula in Social Media and Politics

My ex-professor friend Raghavan had a professional event to celebrate late in May. It turned out that he’d designed a digital customer response mechanism for his client that had got really good ratings, and that had led to a lucrative contract. He called up inviting Prita and myself to dinner at one of this city’s best restaurants. “I’ll reserve a table for 8 pm Monday,” he said. “I know you don’t like to drive at night, so I’ll pick you up at a quarter-past-seven.”

Prita had been complaining lately of how rarely we go out, so I agreed readily. “I’ve also invited Murthy,” he said.

“Very good!” I said. “He’s as much a part of our group as you are.”

Raghavan was on time, and we arrived a few minutes early at the restaurant. Murthy was already there when the steward showed us to our table, and he had a drink in front of him. “Sorry about this,” he said, pointing to his drink. “I just finished off something I had to do on my social media group and felt like a drink.”

“Of course,” said Raghavan. There was a pause while we ordered drinks and starters, and then he continued, “I’m like you. Using social media platforms makes me feel like a drink.”

Murthy took a long sip and smiled.

“How so?” he asked.

“I was thinking about my new client,” Raghavan said.

“And what were you thinking about them?” asked Prita.

“We did something for an old client that measures how people rate their product vis-a-vis the competition,” he replied. “And they felt that our system tells you that pretty well, so they recommended us to this new outfit.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.

Table service was fast as both Murthy and Raghavan were regulars. Raghavan took a large slug before replying.

“I have my doubts,” he said darkly. “This new client… I’m not so sure of the management.”

“Meaning?” Prita asked.

“They make cosmetics,” Raghavan said. “They’re hiring a social media influencer to help sell their products, and they’re going to use our system to figure out customer ratings.”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Prita.

“The easiest way to improve customer ratings,” replied Raghavan, “is to fix what’s easiest and fastest to fix, at the expense of real underlying problems. What makes it worse is that technicians and engineers and scientists rarely stay at their jobs for very long these days...”

“But the product improves, doesn’t it?” asked Prita.

“Imagine someone gets a cancer,” replied Raghavan, “and they get a fungus infection as well, something like ringworm. You go to a doctor who’s going to be responsible for you for three months. He fixes what he can deal with, which is the ringworm. So, you get better, but the cancer’s still there and it’s going to kill you. That combination of looking at ratings alone, high staff turnover, and short-term profits: that’s dangerous.”

Murthy, who had been following closely, contributed to this discussion for the first time.

“You’ve not got that analogy right,” he said.

“Why not?” asked Raghavan.

“Because the doctor in your case knows that there’s a cancer,” said Murthy. “Your clients don’t know what the trouble is with their products, or how to fix it, or whether it can be fixed at all, or even whether it needs fixing! Because customers only tell you what they think is wrong, and that’s almost always superficial.”

“Exactly!” said Raghavan. “Customer ratings are no way for a company to decide its product line!”

“But that’s the way the country is run,” said Murthy. “What do you think electoral democracy is? The government looks for votes from the electorate. There’s little about governance and economic policy in how voters choose. An economic policy that’ll deliver results after a decade is a sure way to lose an election even if that’s what the country requires. That’s what your client understands.”

“Do you mean a social media influencer works like a politician?” asked Raghavan.

“Yes,” said Murthy. “It’s just that the two use different forms of persuasion. Social influencers use style, eye-catching stuff. Political parties bribe groups of voters with cash, cheap liquor, and plates of biriyani. Voters, knowing that this is all they’re likely to get, vote for the biriyani, not policies. Just like social media followers follow style, not content.”

“That must have changed for voters,” said Raghavan, “what with the social media explosion and everything!”

“The bribes have become a little less crude,” said Murthy, “and they’re legal. That’s all.”

“How can bribes be legal?” I asked. I don’t understand politics very well.

“Money paid into the accounts of poor people,” said Murthy, giving me a pitying look, “free laptops for students, free bus travel, free electricity for homes... Those are bribes in the sense that they take your attention away from what the country needs.”

“But what can we do about it?” asked Prita. “We have an energy crisis, a foreign exchange crisis, a citizenship crisis, a weather crisis, maybe a war coming up… How can we make sure there’s a competent government in power?”

“You can’t!” said Murthy. “There are all kinds of governments running countries. There are democracies going under, dictatorships stable or rising, kleptocracies doing well, theocracies doing well or being destroyed… No way to tell that any one works better than any other. If you ask me, it’s just a matter of luck.”

“But how do we get out of this mess?” asked Prita.

“I have no idea,” replied Murthy. “I don’t think anyone does.”

He emptied his glass and signalled the waiter to bring another.

“So welcome to the circus. Enjoy it while it lasts.”