Anger is deadly to moderate politicians

THERE is still time for the cheerful and the gloomy to disagree, sincerely, about the net impact on employment from automation and artificial intelligence. Perhaps AI will unleash a job-creating economic boom for the ages, as boosters maintain. Maybe on balance the doom-mongers are right, and grim legions of algorithm-guided bots and robots will conquer one industry (and profession) after another.

One outcome is not up for debate. Across the industrialised world, wise politicians are braced for soaring public anxiety about change. Whether AI’s long-run effects are benign or cruel, many citizens are about to find once-valued skills and credentials surplus to the requirements of the economy. Even as new jobs are created, some flesh-and-blood workers may lack autonomy, or indeed dignity, if they feel they are serving AI masters.

The Telegram has heard smart government strategists, notably in Asia, predict that in these jarring times, the management of humiliation will become a central task for successful states. Among economic giants, China is praised for its efficient handling of disruptive change. In the judgment of admirers, Chinese authorities are well-placed because they treat the decline of this sector or that as a signal to adjust policies, not as a cue for soul-searching. Nor is finger pointing encouraged. In China the question—who allowed this to happen?—would point fingers towards the ultimate decider of all things, the Communist Party, and that would not do. China’s management of transformation is not a gentle process. If an industry no longer serves national needs, it is closed down. Surplus workers are expected to migrate within China or otherwise reinvent themselves. When feelings of public frustration do emerge, they are swiftly contained by tools of propaganda and repression.

Party boosterism about change is effective. An opinion poll conducted last year by Edelman, a consultancy, found Chinese respondents far readier to embrace AI and less worried about its impact on jobs, when compared with Americans, Brazilians, Britons and Germans. Some of that reflects China’s relentless promotion of technology as a source of national pride, bombarding citizens with images of dancing robots, crime-fighting smart cameras and automated factories. It matters that over three decades Chinese towns and cities have become cleaner, more prosperous and safer. To many in China, technology and a better life march in lockstep.

None of this is to suggest that Chinese workers are somehow ant-like and culturally inured to suffering. Every day, Chinese cities are thronged with electric scooters ridden at reckless speeds by delivery riders, rushing to obey unseen algorithms pinging commands to their smartphones. Chinese consumers love the convenience of these services. Lots fret about the costs to those who provide them. Hu Anyan, a real-life delivery worker, wrote a book about his experiences, “I Deliver Parcels in Beijing”. His cynical account became a bestseller. Chinese economists openly debate how to make AI good for workers as well as for the overall economy. To date, social engineering has bottled up public anxieties as China undergoes astonishing changes. But if pressures build too far, even the toughest pipework can burst.

Western democracies are more humane, because politicians and media outlets are free to acknowledge the anger and humiliation that follow economic dislocations. In America and other Western economies, it is permitted to ask hard questions about whether the closure of a factory or the decline of a city was inevitable, or was a choice by someone in power. Openness has many virtues. For all that, many Western governments struggle when they try to defuse economic anger safely.

Centrist parties in Western democracies promise to shield voters from humiliating losses. They pledge that they can regulate AI to make it people-friendly. They craft plans to retrain workers supplanted by robots. Welfare states offer to protect those who cannot learn new skills. Such promises are not foolish. But they are a bet that the techno-optimists are correct, and that economic changes driven by AI and robots will emerge at a manageable rate. If they are wrong, the resources of cash-strapped democratic governments will be swiftly overwhelmed.

Populists such as President Donald Trump do not even try to defuse public anger. Faced with voters who have lost jobs or economic status, populists seek to weaponise that humiliation. Whether politicians hail from MAGA in America or from European parties of the populist right and populist left, the claims are similar: greedy elites or scheming foreigners have betrayed the good people and destroyed their jobs, a narrative that predates anxiety about AI. Decline is presented as an act of theft. Populists may not have a credible plan to bring old jobs back, let alone to help those laid off in the future. But stoking anger is a win. Populists show supporters whose side they are on. They can promise vengeance, by slapping tariffs on foreign countries, or by imposing humiliation on immigrants, political opponents and other villains who—in their telling—have chosen to hurt their supporters.

Even before AI transforms the world, the desire of centrist leaders to defuse public anger carries risks. It is easily mistaken for disapproval of voters for being angry. In contrast, populists welcome and endorse their supporters’ darkest emotions. In America Mr Trump loves the angriest members of his base as a barman loves customers for drinking to excess. All too often, his centrist critics resemble a Salvation Army band, playing temperance hymns on the pavement outside. That is bad politics, even in normal times.

In this abnormal age all governments find themselves trying to manage the politics of loss, dislocation and humiliation. None has an ideal solution. Leaders do not have long to find one. ■