Maybe Big Data Should Play Smaller Role in Our Politics
By Jonah Goldberg
TownHall.com
"To everyone who voted," President Obama said in
his press conference on Wednesday, "I hear you. To
the two-thirds of voters who chose not to
participate yesterday, I hear you, too."
Let me begin with a bit of a rant.
In a sense, this is the last piece of the puzzle to
click into place for the president's Nixonian
transformation.
Spy on reporters? Check. Bomb a country (or two)
without authorization from Congress? Check. Issue
dubious claims of executive privilege to conceal
embarrassments or prevent scandals? Check. Withdraw
from -- and lose -- an unpopular war he didn't
start? Check. Corrupt IRS? Check. Imperial
presidency? Check.
One of the last things on the list was to insist
that the silent majority of Americans is really on
his side. Of course, Nixon's "silent majority"
actually voted. Obama's, not so much. Nixon's silent
majority was also actually on his side. Obama's
silent majority isn't, at least according to polls.
If the majority of Americans agreed with him, a
majority of Americans wouldn't disapprove of him.
OK, rant over.
Still, in a way, Obama is right, though not in
the way he intends. He can hear from non-voters.
Thanks to the Big Data revolution, we no longer
analyze public attitudes, we digitize them. Big
corporations don't merely know what consumers want,
they know what Bud Gretnick at 123 Sycamore Road,
Everywhere USA, wants.
The New York Times famously reported on one instance
where a father of a teenage girl was furious that
Target was mailing his daughter coupons for baby
furniture and maternity clothes.
"My daughter got this in the mail!" the outraged
father yelled at a Minnesota store manager. "She's
still in high school, and you're sending her coupons
for baby clothes and cribs? Are you trying to
encourage her to get pregnant?"
It turns out the store knew she was pregnant before
the dad did.
Meanwhile, we've been debating for several years how
much data-mining the government should be allowed to
do in the name of national security. It's a serious
debate with solid arguments on both sides. Should
the government monitor which websites we go to?
Should it keep tabs on who we are emailing? Etc.
Reasonable people can disagree about the pros and
cons of all this stuff. What I find remarkable,
however, is that we don't seem to care that
politicians are in on this game, too.
In the run-up to the midterms, the Democrats sent
out letters to presumed Democratic voters in an
effort to shame them into voting. "Who you vote for
is your secret," read a letter sent out by the New
York State Democratic Committee. "But whether or not
you vote is public record."
"We will be reviewing voting records ... to
determine whether you joined your neighbors who
voted in 2014." The letter ends with a creepy, if
not outright threatening, warning: "If you do not
vote this year, we will be interested to hear why
not."
Am I the only one thinks it's bizarre that we spend
so much time fretting over how much government
agencies can know about us, but we don't seem to
care a bit about how much the politicians who run
those agencies know about us?
Big Data is in its infancy, but focus groups,
polling and other kinds of market research have been
staple tools of political consultants for decades.
Pop quiz: Have these techniques yielded better, more
responsive or more representative politicians and
public policies?
Maybe we're doing it wrong? The dirty secret behind
gridlock is that all of these seemingly constipated
politicians are doing exactly what the market
research tells them their customers -- i.e., the
voters -- want them to do.
What if politicians didn't have access to focus
groups and ZIP code analysis? What if we had no exit
polls telling us what the chief concern of married
Asian-American males in Portland is?
What if politicians were expected to make decisions
based on what they think is right, informed by their
principles, their analysis of the issues and from
actually talking to constituents -- and not from an
analysis of what a dozen people say in a dimly lit
room in a shopping mall with men in suits taking
notes behind a two-way mirror?
The Founding Fathers didn't take a poll. Nor did
Abraham Lincoln. Modern -- though still rudimentary
-- polling began in the 1930s. Have our politics
really gotten better as a result of ever more
sophisticated poll-assisted pandering?
People say the only poll that matters in on Election Day, but it's not true anymore. Maybe it should be again.