Book Review: Kwasi Kwarteng- Ghosts of Empire.

Historians have long argued about the purpose and character of the British Empire. Was it purely a commercial vehicle, or did it ultimately export democratic ideals? Were native populations exploited and grossly maltreated or did they benefit from an influx of foreign capital and commercial nous? In Ghosts of Empire, Kwasi Kwarteng, historian and Conservative MP, treads a different path; rather than offer a judgement on the Empire’s merits, he focuses on its results; on the policies pursued and their ramifications. 

This leads Kwarteng to contend that the much discussed ‘imperial project’ “was nothing more than a series of improvisations conducted by men who shared a common culture, but who often had very different ideas about government and administration.” In other words, “there simply was no master plan”.

Via six case studies — which range from Iraq to Hong Kong — Ghosts of Empire seeks to underline the quite varied nature of the imperial experience. Policy, Kwarteng argues, was the preserve not of the Foreign Office, nor its Colonial counterpart, but of the men (they were nearly always men) on the ground. 

Such “anarchic individualism” led to several missteps. In Kashmir, for instance, the British cultivated the rise of Hari Singh, which put a Hindu in charge of a Muslim majority nation. The legacy of this decision was felt a generation later when Kashmir’s rulers refused to join Pakistan, even though there was a strong ethnic case for doing so. And, as any student of international relations knows, tensions over Kashmir still persist to this day.

The ghosts in question then, are a serious of long-running political and cultural disputes which can be traced back to the poor decisions of individual colonial administrators. This, of course, is a damming indictment of London’s ability to properly govern the territory which it greedily sought to acquire. Indeed, after reading Kwarteng’s generally excellent book, no one needs to be convinced about how vital a role competent civil servants play.

One element, however, that I found to be lacking was any discussion of local agency. Sure, the Brits made bad, chaotic policy, but their failures have surely been compounded by post-colonial governments. To return to Kashmir, although many of the resulting problems can be traced back to the ill judged decisions of the Empire, succeeding Indian and Pakistani officials should not be absolved of responsibility. 

Putting this to one side, for the reader, Kwarteng’s position has a major advantage: by arguing that the Empire was run by individuals the historian is required to profile them. Kwarteng pursues this task with glee, and inevitably some of the characters he encounters practically leap off the page. 

Many, indeed most, shared a common educational background: public school of repute, Oxford or Cambridge. This is not to say all colonial officials were upper class, -- the majority, in fact, belonged to the middle — but it is indicative of the type of rule they imposed. The Empire notes Kwarteng, was “governed more by notions of intellectual and social elitism...than by any abstract ideal of democracy or political liberalism”. In this sense Britain’s overseas territories were far more hierarchical than society back at home. Ramsay MacDonald, the author notes, would never have made it as a Colonial administrator. 

Would a socially varied staff have pursued more effective policies? It’s difficult, impossible to say. Kwarteng doesn’t even try—a recurring feature in a book which prompts many questions but offers precious few answers. Certainly, it makes me wonder about the soon to be emerging global elite—politicians and thinkers (including those from the emergent Asian nations) who have been schooled together at Harvard, Yale, Oxford, Cambridge and Princeton. 

Ghosts of Empire has been widely praised and it’s easy to see why. Kwarteng manages to sidestep the old, “stale” debates by stating something quite new: that the Empire stood for nothing much at all.

Book Review: Nate Silver- The Signal and the Noise

‘Our bias’ argues Nate Silver author of the New York Times blog FiveThirtyEight and now minor American celebrity-nerd ‘is to think that we are better at prediction than we really are’. Thus across a range of fields humans tend to confuse noise for signal; we misinterpret data and produce faulty, if plausible-sounding, forecasts. 
 

The consequences can be grim. An unrealistic model, such as that which grossly underestimated the risk of default on AAA rated securities, can permeate far beyond its intended boundaries, impacting upon society as a whole. There is, therefore, a need to favour accuracy over complexity. Predictions must be put forward with honesty; in other words, they should be presented as estimates ripe for revision, not certainties destined to pass. 

In the first part of the book Silver attempts to illustrate the problem by offering the layman (myself very much included) several handy case-studies. He waltzes from poker to baseball to weather forecasting, explaining how prediction operates in each and how it can both help and hinder. 

These initial chapters also mix in a heavy dollop of autobiography. Silver, before he shot to political polling fame, worked for KPMG and then invented a baseball modelling programme (think Moneyball). These diversions are pleasant enough, and it should be noted that Silver comes across as a likeable, modest character. (What geek doesn’t?) 

The second half is mainly devoted to advocating the merits of the Bayesian model of prediction. I know what you’re thinking, finally! But it is a testament to Silver’s crisp, engaging style that what could be a rather dull topic keeps the readers’ interest throughout. Basically, and I will be very basic, the Bayesian approach factors in new information without sacrificing past actions/trends in order to create a new, updated estimate.

Thankfully, Slver’s explanation is far more elegant and is illustrated via several accessible examples. I won’t dwell on them here though (that’s the job of the book), rather I’ll look at the wider point: that in order to be more accurate (or, depending on your preference, less wrong) predictions need to be flexible; they must adapt to, and incorporate, new information. 

In essence then, Silver is making the case for humility. He is championing not just pragmatism but a mind-set that recognises human frailties and prices them into the predictions which we make. 

By extension he takes issue with those prone to bold statements and those who interpret events as confirmation of their own world view. Such certainty, in Silver’s mind, is evidence of intellectual weakness. Thus, rather belligerent political pundits and market-traders of a certain ilk are both criticised for lacking flexibility.

It seems no coincidence that both strident, ideological politics and brash, swaggering economics figured prominently during the early years of the new millennium. Pushing further (perhaps too far), it is possible to link both these traits to the administration and over-riding philosophy of George W. Bush. 

From this perspective then, The Signal and The Noise champions not just a branch of statistics but also a way of thinking. It celebrates pragmatism, flexibility and a realistic appreciation of what is likely to occur. And given this, I guess it is no wonder that Mr Silver was so sure of President Obama’s re-election.

Book Review: Edward Lucas- Deception

“With her sultry looks and alluring long red hair, Anna Chapman seemed to typify the image of the female Russian spy - or at least the one imagined by every James Bond fan” panted the Daily Express last autumn. Indeed in this country (and more specifically in this country’s right wing press) Ms Chapman has become a familiar figure—the public face of Russian espionage. 

This, of course, is rather unfortunate. Ms Chapman may very well be “the perfect image of the female Russian spy”, but she is also a caricature. Her willingness to pose for the camera (and the demand for the resulting snaps) tells us an awful lot about our own society, but little about modern Russia. 

Edward Lucas, journalist and former Moscow bureau chief for the Economist, is very much alive to this danger, and in Deception he argues that we, the ‘West’, dismiss Russian espionage at our peril.  

His thesis can be summarised as follows: spying did not die with the Soviet Union. Indeed the modern Kremlin, characterised as it as by the close links between the state, the security services and organised crime, may well place an even greater emphasis on intelligence gathering than it did during the Cold War. As a consequence, ‘western' nations--particularly the former Soviet states-- have to better protect themselves against Russian operatives. 

This, of course, is an extremely hawkish analysis. Lucas castigates the Russian ruling class and the ‘neo-feudal’ system that they have imposed. By devoting his first chapter to the harrowing and tragic tale of Sergei Magnitsky, he sets the tone for what is searing critique of Putin’s Russia. 

But in truth, while a lively read, Deception comes on rather strong. Lucas’ central argument is not just that Russia constitutes a clear and present threat, but that Russian espionage is a particularly deadly menace. Unfortunately, for both the author and his readers, the workings of the security services are uniquely difficult acts to document, and thus even a journalist of Lucas’ undoubted expertise struggles to construct a truly compelling case.

As such the book’s credibility rests upon just two examples: the long-term project of which Ms Chapman was a part, and the story of Hector Simm — a Russian agent who rose to the top of Estonia’s national security establishment. Both case studies are excellently researched and presented with some style—but the shortcomings to this approach are obvious.  

However, the strangest element of Deception is its turn towards history. This occurs right at the heart of the book and takes the reader somewhat by surprise. Although rather hurried (nearly a century’s worth of action is crammed into less than a hundred pages), Lucas’ diversion into the long and troubling record of the Western security services in Eastern Europe reads well enough. And yet, and this is a key point, these historical chapters fail to advance his central argument which is rooted very much in the present. 

Deception is, therefore, a rather curious read. It is at once excellently researched, fluently written, fascinating and entirely unconvincing. While I have as many qualms about Putin’s Russia as anyone else, I simply don’t buy Lucas’ line that Russian espionage represents a clear, particularly dangerous threat to national security. Or to put it differently: I don’t accept that Russian espionage is any more dangerous, any more threatening, than that of the Chinese. 

I am unsure as to why exactly the book fails to convince. Perhaps it is because Lucas fails to stick tightly to his script, or because his supporting examples are few and far apart. Perhaps it is just because the Cold War now feels very far away. Whatever is the case, I do know that for all its merits Deception tries just too hard, and that, I’m afraid, isn’t an endearing quality.