Disinformation

Statistricks, part 5: the remainder

“Statistical thinking will one day be as necessary for efficient citizenship as the ability to read and write” – Samuel S Wilks, 1951

Authority figures can no longer be trusted to tell the truth. And since most of the news media is now in the hands of private owners with conspicuous agendas, and the few remaining outlets with a shred of integrity are running on fumes, journalists can no longer be relied upon to catch those authority figures out.

Which means there’s really only one gatekeeper left to protect you from disinformation: you.

The lies we’re most familiar with – and therefore the best at seeing through – are the verbal kind: sequences of words that bend, break or obfuscate the truth. But as I hope my last few posts have illustrated, those who wish to mislead us are just as adept at manipulating sequences of numbers, and it turns out we’re not half as good at spotting that.

This is a problem. And since these lies have real, measurable impact (if they didn’t, no one would bother lying), it’s your problem.

No one’s asking you to sign up for a master’s in statistics. You just need to know enough to be able to spot the red flags. So my last post on this subject will be a recap of my previous warnings on the subject, plus a wee list of other common examples of statistical chicanery.

Beware big numbers

We can all easily imagine what 10 items looks like. With a bit of effort, 100. And most of us can probably conjure a vague picture of 1,000 things. But when it comes to millions and billions and trillions, our mental gearboxes just seize up. This is what the propagandists are counting on.

The example I chose, because it is arguably one of the best known and certainly one of the most damaging, was the “£350m a week” claim by the Brexit campaign.

The Remainers were quick, ish, to point out the falsehood. But the battle was already lost. People were no less outraged by the true figure of £150m a week, because all that mattered was that it was a bafflingly large amount.

Big numbers in isolation are meaningless to the average person. To get an idea of their true significance, we need context: in this case, the cost of things of a comparable scale, like, say, the NHS budget (£2bn a week), or defence spending (£1bn a week). Most of all, we needs to know exactly what that money bought. Sure, EU membership cost a lot of money, but did it offer value for that money?

Since its wildly successful field test in the Brexit debate, this tactic is deployed on a daily basis. Whenever something within state competence is revealed as being even slightly less than ideal, the response from the state press officers is the same: trot out a big number.

“A spokesperson for the DfE said education was a top priority for the government, with an extra £2bn for schools for each of the next two years included in the autumn statement.”

Ooh, two billion! That’s a lot! Everything must be fine then.

But without the proper context, this means nothing. An extra £2bn on top of what? Was the annual increase in base funding, if it existed at all, in line with inflation? How does the total compare with the funding levels last year, or 10 years ago? How much is being spent per pupil, and how does this compare with other countries’ efforts? Most importantly of all, is this money enough to meet the current needs of the education system?

To sum up, don’t let your brain switch off when it sees big numbers. If anything, it should move to high alert.

Be on your guard against glitter

Advertisers have long made liberal use of “glitter” – words or phrases that make things sound superficially attractive, but are devoid of substance. Two of the more popular zingers are “more than” and “over”. I once saw a billboard ad for a breakfast cereal that proudly proclaimed: “Contains more than 12 vitamins!”

The reason this works (on the unwary, anyway) is the anchoring effect: the tendency of the human brain to evaluate everything with reference to the first value it encounters. In this case, the anchor value is 12, and “more than 12” signals the set of all numbers greater than 12 – loads! – when a moment’s reflection will tell us that the true figure is 13.

Now it seems politicians and journalists have learned a trick or two from copywriters, and no figure is deemed complete unless it comes with a side of comparatives or superlatives.

Recently, in the course of my subediting duties, I happened across an (unedited) article containing the line “the family were awarded over £8,129 11s 5d in reparation”. My God! Are you telling me those lucky sods received compensation of 8,129 pounds, 11 shillings and six pence?

Another word that sounds great but never survives scrutiny is “record”.

“That is why, despite facing challenging economic circumstances, we are investing a record amount in our schools and colleges.”

Well, Department for Education, I should hope you were investing a record amount every year, given that the population rises every year and that inflation is a thing.

One of the truth-twisters’ favourite buzzwords in the early days of Brexit was “fastest-growing”. Never mind those tired old European countries; we’re going to concentrate on trading with countries that actually have a future!

Here again, crucial context is missing, and the context is that these wonderful new trading partners are growing so fast because they’re starting from a much lower base. As even one prominent Brexit advocate once admitted (about a year before it became their favourite go-to gotcha), the real meaning of “fastest-growing” is “tiny”.

“Of course, if you start from nothing, it’s not hard to become the ‘fastest-growing’ campaign” – Isabel Oakeshott, 20/11/2015

Look at the IMF’s predictions for 2024.

The top five performers on this metric are Guyana (GDP $15bn), Macao ($24bn), Palau ($233m), Niger ($15bn) and Senegal ($28bn).

The GDP of the EU (even without the UK that it desperately needed to survive) is $17.2 TRILLION. That’s more than 200 times the GDP of those five countries combined. Not to mention that they’re all a lot closer and they make a lot more things that British people actually want to buy. Who is it more important to have barrier-free trade with?

Reporters and politicians are still making this same blunder today (“Next PM likely to inherit improved economy after UK growth revised up”).

If this were a sustained trend, it might tell us something significant. But the period over which the data was measured is three months. This is more likely just a course correction after a rough patch for the UK economy than a sign of sunlit uplands. At the very least, we should wait a while before leaping to any conclusions.

Be vigilant with visuals

Graphical representations of information – data visualisations, or datavis – are useful ways of communicating a lot of information quickly. And because creating them requires a modicum of expertise, they are often deployed as gotchas: “Quiver, mortal, as I blow your puny argument out of the water with my BAR CHART!”

The trouble is, in the wrong hands, datavis is as susceptible to abuse as any other mode of expression.

Be sceptical of surveys

Polling firms are businesses. Businesses serve the needs of customers. And customers have political, or commercial interests, which do not necessarily align with yours, or society’s. (Moreover, it seems an increasing number of polling firms have agendas of their own.)

Pollsters regularly use samples that are too small, fail to publish their methodology, and use daft or leading questions. Even broadly decent organisations like the WHO are not above such silliness.

One of the questions in the survey was “Have you ever tried alcohol?” 57% of 15-year-olds in the UK said they had. The WHO then quoted this answer, in the press release (which is all most time-strapped journalists ever read), under the heading “Alcohol use widespread”.

Suddenly, sipping a shandy once on a family visit to a pub garden is lumped in together with downing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s a day. Furthermore, we have no way of knowing whether these answers were completely honest. How many British 15-year-olds would be embarrassed to admit they’d never tried booze?

Polls can be tools to shape opinion as much as reflect it, first because they can influence government policies, and second because waverers in the general populace can be won over to what they perceive to be the majority view.

I could caution you to be wary of surveys that aren’t upfront about their methodology, surveys with a small sample size, surveys conducted by firms with murky political connections, or surveys whose funding is not declared. But to keep things simple: ignore polls.

Are those figures really significant?

Something else that should set the alarm bells ringing, along with big numbers, is long strings of numbers, as seen in this article.

“The data released on Monday, from the Chinese ministry of public security, showed the number of new birth registrations in 2020 was 10.035 million, compared with 11.8 million in 2019.”

The second figure in this sentence is expressed with three significant figures: 1, 1, 8. So why is the first given to five significant figures? Did data collection methods become a thousand times more reliable in a year?

Most sums bandied around in the public domain – especially those derived from polls, but also anything involving average values, like fuel prices, which are also estimated using samples– are only approximations to begin with. That is, the true value may deviate from the estimated value by 1% or more.

Say 78.5% of 1,000 people surveyed think Dominic Cummings is a giant Gollum-faced twat, and about a third of those want to punch him in his stupid Gollum face. A sizeable proportion of reporters these days would whip out their calculators and proudly conclude that 26.1666666% of all people want to assault Specsavers Boy. While that’s mathematically precise, it’s not accurate (it can’t be, unless there’s a fraction of a person out there somewhere who wants to lay Cummings out). To say anything beyond 26% is meaningless and misleading.

Similarly, if you’re performing an operation on a quantity that’s already been rounded, then it’s senseless to use more significant figures for the result.

“A slew of commercial and critical hits, including The Super Mario Bros Movie, which made $1.36bn (£1.094bn) at the global box office, has led to market experts comparing them to Marvel adaptations.”

Long strings of numbers are invariably a sign of false precision. If a politician, journalist or broadcaster is being hyper-precise with their figures in this way, they’re not necessarily consciously lying to you. But they are conveying an important truth: while they may know how to to type numbers on a keypad, and even use basic mathematical operations, they haven’t a clue how statistics works, and therefore can’t be trusted to properly understand, verify or convey the information they’ve been given.

On a related point, thanks to the uncertainty inherent in big data, running news stories about a “rise” or “fall” in something when the change is infinitesimal is just. Plain. Wrong.

In January 2018, the BBC published an article claiming that unemployment in the UK had fallen by 3,000 to 1.44 million.

That’s a whopping drop of 0.2%. But there’s no way there isn’t at least 0.5% room for error in these figures – so it may well be the case that unemployment has risen slightly. What you’re looking at here is not a news story; it’s a rubber-stamped government press release.

Why aggregates don’t add up

A few years ago, a newspaper I worked for (rightly) banned the practice of adding together jail sentences in the headlines of articles on court cases with multiple defendants. You know the sort of thing: “Members of Rochdale paedophile ring sentenced to total of 440 years”. The reasoning was that it was a) sensationalist and b) meaningless.

Because, uh, how many people were involved? (Sure, you could work it out by reading the article, but that’s an extravagance that fewer and fewer people seem to willing to stretch to.) Moreover, how do those numbers break down? If 48 people were involved, did four get put away for 55 years, and the other 44 for five? Or was the punishment more evenly spread, and they got just over nine years each?

Similar practices, however, still abound in other areas.

“UK homeowners face £19bn rise in mortgage costs as fixed-rate deals expire”

Wow, that’s going to put a dent in the holiday fund! Oh wait, they mean all UK mortgagors combined. But … context. How many people even have mortgages in the UK?

Recent figures suggest about 15.5 million homes in England and Wales are occupied by their owners, of which just under half are mortgaged. (There are separate figures for Scotland and Northern Ireland, but they’re relatively small and for our current purposes can be disregarded.) That means on average, mortgage payments would rise by about £2,600 per year per household, or £217 a month. Woop. That’s how much my rent just went up by.

A deeper dive into the figures reveals that fewer than a million households were facing monthly rises of £500 or more by 2026. Not half as sexy as the £19bn figure (and certainly not deserving of the lead slot on the front page of a global news provider), but twice as informative.

Unhappy mediums

People toss the word “average” around a lot, but as you may dimly recall from your schooldays, in the mathematical sphere, there are three distinct types: the mean, the median, and the mode. While they often give similar results, there’s sometimes significant divergence, and one kind of average is often more useful than another.

Take wages. Using the mean on a given group of people (adding up all the salaries and dividing that figure by the number of subjects) isn’t always terribly informative, because if the variance in wages is high, extreme figures skew the picture. Let’s say you have 10 people: two earn £10,000 a year, seven earn £20,000 a year, and one earns £200,000 a year. Calculating the mean would give you ((2 x £10,000) + (7 x £20,000) + (1 x £200,000))/10 = £36,000, which is a million miles from what any of the participants actually earn. The median, however – the figure in the middle if you line them up from smallest to largest – gives you £20,000, which is a much better reflection of the situation. (The mode – the figure that occurs most frequently – in this case gives the same result.)

So it’s vital to know, when someone is talking about averages, which kind they median.

Pushing your panic buttons

Barely a week goes by without the Daily Mail’s health pages shrieking about the latest thing that gives you cancer. They’re usually drawing on a “landmark report” – that is, a press release from a no-mark university – and they’re almost always lying with numbers.

The headline “Eating bacon increases your chances of getting cancer by 18%” is quite alarming, but remember, this is a relative risk, compared with the chances of someone who doesn’t eat bacon. It turns out that the absolute probability of succumbing to cancer among non-bacon eaters is pretty low – about six in 100 will get bowel cancer in their lifetimes – so an 18% increase on that doesn’t actually represent that big a jump. The unimaginable will strike only seven in 100 bacon eaters.

(There’s a fab and doubtless far from complete list of everything the Daily Mail says can give you cancer here, although the links are a bit screwy.)

Proportional misrepresentation

Some news organisations have improved their efforts in this department lately, but it’s a pit they still fall into depressingly often.

Before it was spotted and corrected, an article published in 2021 about the impact of Covid on education said: “While there was an across-the-board fall of a fifth in the proportion of children working at a level consistent with their age, those pupils in year 1 in 2019-20 appear to have suffered the most significant losses … 81% of year 1 pupils achieved age-related expectations in March 2020 … by the summer of 2020, this had dropped to 60%.”

The reporter is starting from the wrong baseline. The actual numbers are irrelevant, but for the sake of argument, let’s say there were 100 kids. If 81% of them (ie 81 kids) met the requirements in March and only 60% in June, that’s a fall of 21 percentage points, not 21 per cent. Comparing the new figure with the baseline, 81, gives a drop of a quarter rather than a fifth.

If you lack confidence in your ability to check percentages, use an online percentage checker, like this one: https://percentagecalculator.net/

Unusual? Suspect

I’m singling out the Mirror here, but virtually all the major news outlets reported this story in the same uncritical fashion. “The Royal National Lifeboat Institution has raised more than £200,000 in a single day … Its donations had increased by 2,000% from Tuesday, when it raised just £100.”

The alpha numerics among you will notice that the Mirror – and most other news providers – got their basic maths wrong here: £200,000 is an increase of not 2,000%, but almost two hundred thousand per cent on £100. But that’s not my main gripe.

The Mirror reporters (or should I say, the writers of the RNLI’s press release) have compared the latest figure with the figure from the day before – which ordinarily would not be a problem. However, we’re dealing here with not one, but two highly unusual days. Later in the piece, we discover that the average daily donation to the RNLI is not £100 (a very low outlier for the lifeboat folk), but £7,000 – a much more instructive figure against which to stand today’s total.

The most useful way to present the information would be “£200,000, around 30 times the average daily donations that RNLI receives”– but once again, the drive for a sexy headline has trumped all considerations of sense.

Finktanks

It doesn’t matter if it’s a study, a survey, a graph or a sweetie. Show nothing but scorn to anything that comes from a self-declared “thinktank” that refuses to declare its funding. The list currently includes, but is by no means limited to, the TaxPayers’ Alliance, the Adam Smith Institute, Civitas, Policy Exchange, the Centre for Policy Studies and the Institute for Economic Affairs. All, front organisations set up to advance the cause of neoliberal economics by whatever means necessary, are proven experts in weasel words, sharp practice and low-quality “studies”.

Things that should make you go “Hmm”

If you’re baffled as to why I’ve spent so much time droning on about this tedious statistics malarkey, it’s because it’s really fucking important to know when people are lying to you with numbers.

An awful lot of what’s wrong with the UK today – high prices, low pay, crumbling services, the erosion of workers’ rights, medicine shortages, rivers full of shit – has come about at least in part because people have failed to robustly challenge the falsehoods and of politicians, thinktanks and the media.

Some will shrug and say, “Meh, politicians have always lied, and things have always worked out OK.”

But disinformation is now being pumped out on a scale beyond anything we’ve ever seen. Whereas just a few years ago, politicians would do the honourable thing and resign if they were caught lying, now they’re happy to do so repeatedly, on TV, on social media, in parliament.

Campaign organisations and rogue nations are pouring unprecedented resources into their propaganda ops, much of it targeting people directly through social media and thus bypassing all scrutiny. Soon AI will be churning this stuff out faster than checkers can find it, never mind check it. All at a time when our traditional defences against disinformation are collapsing.

And because of our lack of confidence with numbers, it’s the statistical lies that are most likely to slip through.

If that sounds scary … well, good. You should be scared. But don’t panic. What I’ve been trying to communicate with these posts is that spotting this sort of deviousness isn’t as hard as you think.

Just bear the above points in mind. Don’t assume that something’s true just because a source you personally approve of published or repeated it. Is the source reliable? Does this claim tally with what others say? Do these numbers support a particular political agenda rather too neatly?

Or to boil it down to one rule of thumb: if a number seems too good or too interesting to be true, it almost certainly is.

Statistricks, part 4: how they lie to you with graphs

Was the United Kingdom the fastest-growing economy in the G7, as Boris Johnson claimed? Of course it wasn’t. It was a Boris Johnson claim

• Part 1: ‘Trade with the EU is declining’ (no, it isn’t)
• Part 2: ‘We send the EU £350m a week’ (no, we don’t)
• Part 3: Why are all polling companies run by Tories?

On February 5 2021, Andrew Neil, once respected political interviewer, pundit and chair of the Spectator Magazine Group, posted this tweet:

The Spectator’s remarkable subscriptions growth over the last 5 years is bucking the trend in a declining industry. Try a month for free today and find out why. You might also be our 100,000th subscriber and win a prize worth £5,000. https://t.co/BtiecikZc1 pic.twitter.com/ANQZDlHMRS
— Andrew Neil (@afneil) February 5, 2021

At a glance – which is all Neil is counting on you throwing at it – it really looks as though the Spectator is upping its game. Further examination, however, reveals that, as has become depressingly normal among those on the right, Neil is lying to you with statistics.

Check out the y-axes on those images. (For those you’ve forgotten their year-five maths, the x-axis is the horizontal line and the y-axis the vertical.) Notice anything odd? For one thing, they start at different values. Second, they’re plotted on different scales (the values for the Spectator are further apart). Why might that be?

Because if you plot them all on the same scale, the results paint a rather less flattering picture of the magazine’s fortunes:

At the end of the day, though, this is hardly novichokking a kindergarten, is it? It’s just rascally old Uncle Andy, cheekily tweaking the data to make his grubby little publication look a bit more appealing to prospective readers and advertisers.

But if that was all people were using these tricks for, I wouldn’t be writing this.

I started this series of posts because while people aren’t too bad at working out when they’re being lied to with words, our numbers game is a little less surefooted. And that seems to go double (= two times as much) for data presented in visual form: graphs, charts and tables, collectively known as graphics, or data vis.

Pictures and graphs lend an authority to data that words cannot. Our internal logic goes something like this: “Surely, if someone’s taken the trouble of researching, compiling and publishing a graph or a chart, they must know their stuff – and they must be telling the truth!”

Here’s the rebuttal to the first part of your thesis, internal logic:

As for the second part: truth doesn’t pay the bills (case in point: this blog). When people take great pains over something, there’s a distinct possibility that murkier motives are in play. Below are some examples to show you what I mean.

Quarter pounders

Until recently, you couldn’t move online for Tories excitedly parroting the news that the UK was the “fastest-growing economy in the G7”. (You’ll notice that not many of them are still flogging that particular horse. We’re about to see why.) But few of them bothered to include the data on which they were basing their claim.

The main problem with data visualisation is that it’s rarely possible to fit all the relevant data into your visualisation. Presenting numerical information inevitably involves making choices about what to include and what to leave out. If you want to illustrate the performance of the top 100 companies on the Financial Times Share Index in your newspaper, for example, you physically can’t represent every data point going back to its inception in 1984 without some sort of gatefold. So you go back as far as space will allow, and present what you hope is enough data to paint a meaningful picture. For share prices, such cherry-picking doesn’t matter so much. GDP figures are a different story.

Below is the data on which the Tories were basing their uplifting, Brexit’s-so-brilliant claim. And sure, in itself, it’s quite correct. A bigger gradient means a higher rate of growth, and on that metric, the UK really was leading the world.

But there are two problems with extrapolating this conclusion from this data. First, look at the actual values of those lines. The UK is bottom of the heap, both at the beginning and the end of the period. What this means is that the UK economy was faring worse, relative to its performance in 2017, than all its rivals (the widely accepted explanation for this is that the UK was hit the hardest economically by the pandemic, and was therefore recovering from a lower base. It was bound to be “fastest growing” at some point).

The second issue is that this is the smallest possible range of data. It shows us how the UK fared economically against comparable countries over a single quarter. Zooming out a bit, the picture looks rather different:

On the longer-term trend – which is the only trend that matters here – the UK’s performance is woeful. And why wouldn’t it be, with all those lovely trade barriers it’s thrown up with its nearest neighbours and biggest trading partners?

To interpret this graph as “the UK is the fastest-growing economy in the G7” is cherry-picking of the most outrageous order – straight up lying with figures – and yet practically no one ever calls it out.

Information dumped

In the next example, which was also shared with great enthusiasm by Tories in March 2022, once again, it’s not what the visual data is telling you, but what it isn’t, that’s significant.

Some in the UK seem desperate to see the worst in the UK…frantically tweeting nonsense about UK ‘inaction’ on Russia.
It is the opposite of the truth. Ukraine knows how solid our support has been & for how long. I’ve seen that for myself meeting Ukrainian reps at UNEP this week https://t.co/LyQlCxEdX1 pic.twitter.com/FgjwUSofkL
— Zac Goldsmith (@ZacGoldsmith) March 5, 2022

Where’s that smell of roses coming from? Oh! Quelle surprise, it’s the UK again! What a world-beating nation it is!

The first thing that should set your Spidey sense tingling is the lack of any source on the graphic. (Turns out it was the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office, who posted this tweet, but when challenged, they declined to reveal their workings. The write-up of their exchange is worth a read.)

But once again, the most urgent problem is that we are missing crucial information. We have no idea what these figures represent as a percentage of the total Russian assets invested in those territories. If £1tn of Russian assets are invested in the UK economy, and only £40bn in the EU, then who is doing the better job on sanctions? (Definitive figures on the amount of Russian capital sloshing around the world are hard to come by, but the UK has long been oligarchs’ favourite spot to invest in property, and the bulk of Russian financial assets will inevitably have been parked in or near the City of London, the world’s leading financial centre.)

If you made a chart comparing how well-travelled Jason and Arthur are, showing that Jason has only been to France and Arthur has been to 50-plus countries, surely you’d think it apposite to mention that Jason is 14 and Arthur is 62?

Y, MIA

Once you’ve checked the bottom of a graphic for a source, and ascertained whether the x-axis is really as wide as it should be, the next place to look is at the y-axis. Does it start at zero? Why not?

If you tinker with the scale by selecting a narrow range of values, you can make differences appear as big or as small as you like.

Rotten Apple

In 2013, Apple CEO Tim Cook used the following graph as part of his presentation to mark the launch of the latest iPhone:

We’ve already seen that the omission of any units on an y-axis is a cardinal statistical sin. But that’s not all that’s off kilter here. Usually, when illustrating a company’s sales, you show the units sold in each time period. But this is a depiction of cumulative sales. Short of a mass product recall, cumulative sales never go down! Anyone armed with a jot of mathematical nous should spot that that decrease in gradient at the top right of the graph means sales are falling.

Chartjunk

Be wary of tables tarted up with bright colours, flashy fonts and pictorial elements. Yes, it might look more arresting, but it can also be harder to make sense of. The statistician, designer and artist Edward Tufte, one of the fathers of modern data visualisation, coined the term “data-ink ratio” to describe the proportion of a graphic that is essential to the communication of data. In his view, this should always be as close as possible to 1. The more bells and whistles a graphic has, the more sceptical you should be.

A common form of “chartjunk” is the use of images to illustrate the quantities involved.

According to the data in this graph, the amount of stupidity in Britain has doubled since 2015. To reflect this, the graphic designer (me) has made Daniel Hannan’s stupid head twice as tall at 2022 as it is at 2015. However, because images are two-dimensional, the second Hannan is actually four times as large as the first. The use of images here has created a misleading impression.

Porky pies

Even the humble pie chart is routinely mishandled. Here’s Fox News up to its perennial tricks:

Presumably, even some MAGA types are aware that the segments of a pie chart should add up to 100%. What Fox have probably done is ask a question and permitted multiple answers. The results of such questions should never be represented in pie-chart form; a bar chart would be more appropriate.

Some of the more ostentatious data designers like to show off their Photoshop skills with 3D pie charts that seem to leap out of the page. But while they’re more visually arresting than their 2D counterparts, they’re less useful for displaying information, because the perspective distorts the respective quantities, making the slices at the “front” appear bigger than they in fact are, and the slices at the “back” smaller.

Pretty patterns

Finally, just because two things are sitting together on a graph or chart, it doesn’t mean there is any relationship between them. You can plot anything against anything. Here’s just one example of researchers finding a correlation between two completely independent phenomena.

Even when there is a relationship, it doesn’t mean one thing is directly causing the other. Sometimes, a third, unmentioned force – known as a “confounding variable” – is at work.

It’s hard to see what role ice-cream consumption could play in the rate at which people drown, or vice versa. The true explanation for the relationship, of course, is the confounding variable of temperature. When it’s hot, people eat more ice-cream, and go swimming more often.

Similarly, a US study in the 1950s revealed that far more people were killed on the roads at 7pm than at 7am. “Goodness,” some wondered. “Why are there so many more bad drivers around in the evening than first thing in the morning?”

And the answer is: there are more drivers around in the evening than in the morning. The confounding variable here was simply the number of people on the road.

Apples and oranges

In the early 20^th century, the US Navy launched a recruitment campaign based on the premise that serving in the navy was safer than being a civilian. And their statistics were sound: the death rate among serving naval officers was indeed lower than in the general populace.

The stumbling block in this case was that they were not comparing like with like. Sailors, almost without exception, are young and fit. The general populace, meanwhile, includes infants, old people and long-term sick people, all of whom (at least at that time) were far more likely to die than the average able seaman.

Graphic non-fiction v graphic novels

The watchwords for visual data, then, are pretty much the same as for verbal information: transparency, clarity, simplicity.

When deciding whether or not to trust visual data, your checklist should be as follows:

Source
Units
y-axis
Large range of values
Context: is there any other information, omitted from this visual element, that would be useful for a fuller understanding of the subject?

I’ll conclude this series soon with a round-up of all the other potential abuses of stats.

Wokeness: the far right’s last scapegoat

“Do-gooders” are no longer just a nuisance – their “decadence”, according to populist demagogues, is now an existential threat to civilisation

“Right on”. “Politically correct”. “PC”. “Social justice warriors”. “Virtue signallers”. Now “woke”. Rightwingers and authoritarians of all stripes have been sneering at liberals, leftwingers and anyone with a conscience for at least 50 years, and the onslaught has intensified in step with social media’s dominance of the infosphere.

But recently, there’s been a noticeable increase in stridency – and a worrying raising of the stakes.

Whereas not so long ago, people who discussed pronouns, chucked statues into rivers and sat on roads were merely a nuisance, of late they have evolved, if we are to believe some commentators, into a clear and present danger to our way of life. It turns out they’re not just a symptom of the collapse of democracy in the western world, but a root cause.

Current Tory party chair and former anti-culture culture secretary Oliver Dowden, in a speech to the Heritage Foundation in February, talked of the west being “in the clutches of a painful woke psychodrama”, afflicted by a “dangerous form of decadence”; Sherelle Jacobs delivered a pale imitation of his pale speech in the Telegraph; while Matthew Syed in the Times bewailed the “poison introduced into the vitals of the system” (paywall). As usual, these talking points have been taken up and repeated, usually verbatim, across the political right.

But unlike the hordes of reflexive retweeters, I have questions.

1. What do they mean by decadence exactly? What form is this terrifying descent into depravity supposed to be taking, and how is it unfolding?

Decadence comes from the same root as the word decay, and as I used to understand it, means something not dissimilar: a marked deterioration in standards, of art, for example, or of the values of a nation.

And indeed, such matters have been the bugbear of small- and capital-C conservatives since time immemorial: think the original Cancel Queen, Mary Whitehouse, having an embolism over Chuck Berry’s My Ding-a-Ling (before presenting Jimmy Savile with an award for “wholesome family entertainment”), or Catholics soiling their cassocks over a collectible card game.

It has also, we should remember, been an obsession for some of the west’s bitterest enemies. Adolf Hitler outlawed all “degenerate” art as “cultural Bolshevism” (in his view, cultural degeneracy went hand in hand with physical degeneracy); Osama bin Laden demanded that the west “reject the immoral acts of fornication, homosexuality, intoxicants, gambling, and trading with interest”; while Josef Stalin kept the peasants on side partly by issuing endless direful warnings about the decadence and cruelty of the west.

But it doesn’t seem to be that sense of decadence that Dowden, Jacobs and Syed are fretting about. Their diatribes make no mention of fornication, slovenliness or drug-taking, of violent computer games or the corruptive influence of the Teletubbies. In fact, you have to go through all three jeremiads with a fine toothcomb to find any examples of the hell-in-a-handbasket horrors they’re deploring.

Syed’s piece contains a throwaway line about the “infiltration of the universities” (for which he fails to provide any evidence, or indeed any hint as to what shadowy cabal might be masterminding it), but it’s mostly an attack on “me first” society, global finance and British foreign policy of the last 30 years. Can the blame for any of that really be laid at the door of human rights lawyers or Just Stop Oil, whose byword is “me last” and who are generally bitterly opposed to the financial and petrochemical giants and the concept of war?

Ordinarily, I’d presume that Syed was ordered to shoehorn in the anti-woke lines by his editor at the Times, but the writer himself chose to promote it on Twitter with the following quote:

While Xi Jinping was resetting the world order through his Belt and Road initiative and Vladimir Putin was recreating the Russian empire by annexing Georgia and Crimea, we were arguing over gender-neutral toilets
Matthew Syed, Twitter, 6/3/22

It’s certainly clickbaity, and, as was undoubtedly intended, duly generated its fair share of pop-eyed “debate” on everyone’s favourite social media battlefield. But as with most clickbait, it’s a bunch of shit.

For one thing, as a comparison, it’s up there with the far right’s very worst for sheer asininity. Are we really supposed to accept that the geopolitical policy decisions of the unassailable ruler of a major world power are equivalent to the bickerings of a handful of 19-year-old Durham University students? Mightn’t those worthy woke warriors be setting their sights a little higher than questions of bathroom access if they had the economic, cultural and military might of a nation of 1.3 billion people behind them?

Syed is also guilty of the same fallacy as the commentators who burst a blood vessel whenever they chance upon a new “woke” initiative in the police force: “Perhaps the police should spend less time filling in forms and more time solving murders!”

The latter point relies on the bizarre assumption that the police force is some sort of monolithic entity that can focus only on one activity at a time, rather than a heterogeneous organisation made up of multiple forces consisting of hundreds of thousands of individuals with different skills, responsibilities and specialisms. Syed’s zinger is predicated on the similar idea that the entirety of the United Kingdom is permanently engaged in trivial squabbles while all of China is Greatly Leaping Forward, when in truth the only people devoting more than a few seconds a year to these culture war issues are a small crowd of earnest lefties and the far-right commentators who’d be hunting down Jack Monroe recipes without them.

Dowden’s Heritage Foundation homily is equally free of substance, consisting mostly of 40-watt fire and brimstone about free speech, privilege, “cancelling”, “fashionable nostrums”, “policies inimicable to freedoms”, and people “seeking to expunge large parts of our past”.

In 2,300 words of hufflepuff, the only real-world instances of “dangerous decadence” that he drops in are the defacement of Winston Churchill’s statue during the Black Lives Matter protest in June 2020 (someone spray-painted the words “was a racist” under his name; truly, democracy is finished), “obsessing over pronouns” (another surefire omen of doom) and “seeking to decolonise mathematics”.

I literally work in the news, and this last horseman of the apocalypse was news to me. After a more demanding than usual Google search, I’ve concluded that it refers to a minor kerfuffle in early 2021 over a paper by Californian academics suggesting adding an anti-racist element to the teaching of maths.

Maybe it was a bigger deal in the States. Even so, it didn’t seem to dominate the agenda of vast swathes of the US population for long, much less of anyone further afield.

Let’s be charitable for the moment and assume that these demagogues have simply chosen poor examples to illustrate their point. A second question still needs addressing:

2. If western citizens are misdirecting their energies, what should they be doing instead?

Because if re-examining history, or hanging banners from Marble Arch imploring people to use less fossil fuel, constitutes “dangerous decadence”, if conversations about pronouns are a waste of time, then the implication is that individuals thus occupied should be channelling their efforts into more productive endeavours. Exactly what endeavours, our friends on the right are again reluctant to spell out (unless they’re seriously suggesting we should be spending our days planning multi-trillion-dollar global infrastructure projects and invading France).

My best guess is that what they want us to do is devote 100% of our time and energy to the betterment of the nation (and by nation, of course, what the far-right elites generally mean is them). We should be good little serfs, tilling the fields in the service of our masters, paying our tithes and dying young so as not to be a burden on the state.

And if there is any time left at day’s end after we’ve completed our designated duties, we should devote it to wholesome, morally improving activities, like athletics and shooting and unprotected sex (take that, Great Replacement!). None of this culture rubbish. Culture leads to reflection, and reflection leads to scrutiny.

The underlying message coming through to me, at least, is that we should shut the fuck up, and cease daring to question the status quo that is so endlessly lucrative for them and increasingly harmful to the rest of us.

But such a vast, sustained and coordinated anti-woke operation – even if its thesis is as weak as Dowden’s handshake – seems like overkill if all they are trying to do is silence a few plebs. Which leads me to my final question:

3. What’s really going on?

The irony here is that the narrative these prophets are trying to foist on us comes within shouting distance of the truth. Because there is some consensus among historians that decadence was indeed a factor in the erosion or implosion of many of Earth’s great empires (most of the commentators seem to have at least skim-read the Wikipedia entry on Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire).

But it wasn’t the corruption of everyday folk that was the problem. In Rome, in the Mongol empire, in the Byzantine and the Ottoman, the rot started at the top. Think Caligula building a marble stable for his horse; the petty theological infighting that led to the downfall of the Byzantines; Kublai Khan’s extravagant spending; Suleyman shunning his official duties to spend more time in his harem.

Rome fell not because ordinary citizens were frittering away their days bickering about minor tweaks to the human rights framework, but because their rulers were spending too much time and money feasting, fucking and erecting ever bigger monuments to themselves to run their territories properly; and because, with inequality skyrocketing, the common folk, increasingly vexed at working for peanuts while their overlords bathed in asses’ milk and risking their lives on the battlefield for leaders who kept the lion’s share of the spoils, were less and less inclined to give their all in service of the “greater good”.

Remind you of anything?

If I asked you to point to anyone in the western world in the first quarter of the 21^st century who could be said to be charging head first into the abyss of turpitude, where else could you begin but with our leaders? When it comes to lax morals, low standards and all-round malevolence, no student, judge or “wokester” can hold a candle to Oliver Dowden’s Tories and the corporations they serve.

Because in case you hadn’t noticed, the party presently running the UK is now packed to the rafters with councillors, MPs, aides, ministers and peers guilty of deporting longtime legal residents of the UK, plotting to drown and exile asylum seekers, slashing international aid, illegal lobbying, cronyism, filing false expenses claims, tax avoidance, lying, cheating, illegally carousing in a pandemic, excessive drinking, drug-taking, Muslim-bashing, gay-bashing, bishop-bashing, bullying, sexual harassment, sexual assault, rape, treason and murder. These are people, for crying out loud, who have actually tried to depict “do-gooders” as the bad guys and have now described the head of the Church of England as a virtue-signaller.

(Another reason cited by Gibbon for the collapse of Rome – one the faux Christians on the libertarian right oddly seem to skip over – was the rise of fundamentalist Christianity. The devoutly anti-intellectual stance of the church, itself perpetually riven by theological disputes that really did weaken the state and distract people from external threats, stripped away the foundations of culture, philosophy and technological superiority on which the empire had been built. In other words, they’d had enough of experts.)

Ultimately, then, the war on woke seems to be just another deflection tactic.

Authoritarian governments have long invoked bogeymen to frighten the unwary into voting for them, and to give them someone other than the government to blame. But the current bunch are running out of scapegoats.

They can’t blame Labour for the precipitous national decline any more, because Labour hasn’t been in power for 12 years. Nor can they point the finger at the EU, because the UK is free of its “shackles” – not that they’re having much luck finding EU rules they want to scrap anyway. And while the smear campaign against immigrants shows no sign of abating, people are slowly waking up to the overwhelmingly positive net contribution they make to society, largely thanks to the catastrophic labour shortages caused by the exodus of EU workers.

So having exhausted the enemies without, they’re turning their fire on enemies within: charities, judges, lawyers, teachers, students, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and anyone else who has enough time at the end of their day to read a book or the temerity to ask a question. But it should be glaringly obvious to all but the most loyal Daily Mail reader that it’s not Greta Thunberg who’s plotting to usher in the Dark Ages 2.0. The self-appointed harbingers of doom are bringing it themselves.

Statistricks, part 3: how they lie to you with polls

Opinion polls are way off with their predictions too often to be of any use. So why are they such big business?

Are you diving into the data, or is the data diving into you?

• Part 1: ‘Trade with the EU is declining’ (no, it isn’t)
• Part 2: ‘We send the EU £350m a week’ (no, we don’t)
• Part 4: ‘The UK is the fastest-growing economy in the G7’ (no, it isn’t)

Not so long ago, you could go years without coming across a survey. A few folks were dimly aware of a company called Gallup, thanks to Top of the Pops, for which they compiled the charts, but otherwise polling companies were shy little leprechauns that only popped out once every four years to sound out the populace before each general election.

Now you’re lucky if you can go four minutes without seeing a snapshot of public opinion. Twitter polls, website polls, newspaper polls, polls by phone and email and WhatsApp; polls on everything from support for the death penalty to your preferred shade of toast.

What’s my tribe?

The appeal to us plebs is obvious. We can’t get enough of other people’s opinions, whether our response is to nod sagaciously or spit out our tea.

Interestingly, our egos are so devious, it doesn’t much matter whether most people agree with us or not. Because if, according to any given poll, ours is the majority view, we tend to sit back and smirk: “Well, naturally my opinion is the right opinion.” If, on the other hand, we’re in the minority, our response is usually “Gosh, I’m so clever, unlike all these sheep!”

Either way, polls are reassuring because they reinforce our place in the world. Our tribal, hierarchical nature, our teat-seeking need to belong, compels us to constantly reaffirm our sense of identity, and polls give us that in a neat package.

Views as news gets views

If polls are a novelty gift for the hoi polloi, they’re a godsend for newspapers, struggling as they are with dwindling resources, and for rolling news channels with endless airtime to fill. No time-consuming investigation, photography, writing or planning required – the pollsters take care of it all for free, right down to the covering press release with its own ready-made headline finding. And the public lap it up.

The pollsters, of course, are laughing all the way to the bank. Their services are in greater demand than ever before; the polling industry in the UK currently employs 42,500 people – four times as many as fishing.

So, surveys are win, win, win, right? People get entertainment, journos get clicks, pollsters get rich. What’s the problem? Because there’s always a problem with you, isn’t there, Bodle?

Blunt tools

As a matter of fact, there are two. The first is that polls are low-quality information.

Despite having been around for almost 200 years, and despite huge advances in methodology and technology, gauging popular opinion is still an inexact science. For proof, look no further than the wild differences between any two surveys carried out at the same time on the same issue.

In the week prior to the 2017 UK general election, for example, Scotland’s Herald newspaper had the Tories winning by 13%, while Wired predicted a 2% win for Labour. (In the event, May’s lot won by 2.5%; picking a figure somewhere in the middle of the outliers is usually a safeish bet.)

The main headache for canvassers has always been choosing the right people to canvas. If you conducted a poll about general election voting intentions solely in Liverpool Walton, or took a snapshot of views on the likely longevity of the EU from 4,000 Daily Express readers (which the Express continues to do on a regular basis), then presented the results as a reflection of the national picture, you would rightly be laughed out of Pollville.

The key to a meaningful survey is to find a sample of people that is representative of the whole population. Your best hope of this is to make the sample as large as possible and as random as possible, for example by diversifying the means by which the poll is conducted (because market researchers wielding clipboards on the high street aren’t going to capture the sentiment of many office workers or the housebound, while online polls overlook the views of everyone without broadband), and sourcing participants from a wide area.

Even then, you have to legislate for the fact that pollees are, to a large degree, self-selecting. For one thing, people who are approached by pollsters must, ipso facto, be people who are easily contactable, whether in the flesh, by phone or online, which rules out a swathe of potentials; and for another, they’re likely to have more free time and less money (many polls still offer a fee).

Tories, trolls and tergiversators

Even if you do somehow manage to round up the perfect microcosm of humanity, there are further obstacles.

For one thing, people are unreliable. The “shy Tory factor” is well documented; people don’t always answer truthfully if they think their choice might be socially unacceptable. You can mitigate this problem somewhat by conducting your survey anonymously, which most pollsters now do.

Anonymity, however, only exacerbates a different problem. As anyone who has spent five minutes on social media will know, there are plenty of people around who just lie for kicks (or money). And if the questions aren’t being put to you in person, and your name isn’t at the top of the questionnaire, there’s even less pressure on you to tell the truth.

Furthermore, people don’t always know their own minds. If you’re faced with difficult questions in an area where your knowledge is sketchy, like trans rights or Northern Ireland, your honest answer to most questions would be “Don’t know”. But you’d feel dumb if you ticked “Don’t know” every time. Isn’t there a temptation to fake a little conviction?

And (Brexiters and Remainers notwithstanding), people’s opinions are not set in stone. Someone may genuinely be planning to vote Green when surveyed, then change their mind on the day.

Then there’s the issue of framing. Every facet of a survey, from its title to the introductory text, from the phrasing of the questions to the range of available answers, can unwittingly steer waverers towards certain choices.

Let’s say you want to study views on asylum seekers. If you ask 2,000 people “Do you agree that Britain should help families fleeing war and famine?”, you’re likely to get significantly different results than if you ask them, “Do you think Britain should allow in and pay for the upkeep of thousands of mostly young, mostly male, mostly Middle Eastern and African migrants?” (If this seems like an extreme example, I’ve seen some equally awful leading questions.)

Sometimes the questions don’t legislate for the full spectrum of possibilities. If no “don’t know” option is included, for example, people may be forced into expressing a preference that they don’t have.

Finally, the presentation of a poll’s results can make a huge difference. Few people have the patience to read through polls in their entirety, so what happens? Pollsters create a press release featuring the edited highlights – the highlights according to them.

When you consider all these pitfalls, suddenly it’s not so hard to see why pollsters’ predictions often fly so wide of the mark. But … so what if polls are inaccurate? They’re just a bit of fun!

This brings us to my second, more serious concern.

Market intelligence

While they’re passable diversions for punters and convenient space-fillers for papers and news channels, no one ever went on hunger strike to demand more polls. This constant drizzle of percentages and pie charts has not been delivered by popular demand. It’s a supply-side increase, driven by the people who really benefit from it.

Businesses live or die by their market research: the information they gather from the general populace. If you’re a food manufacturer launching a new bollock-shaped savoury snack, for example, it helps to know how many consumers are likely to buy it. But firms are also greatly dependent on their marketing – the information they send back into the community. And one of the best things they can do to promote their product is to generate the impression that by golly, people love Cheesicles!

We simply don’t have the time to do all the research required to formulate our own independent view on every imaginable issue. So what do we do? We take our cue from others: friends, or experts, or people we otherwise trust.

Hence the myriad adverts featuring glowing testimonials from chuffed customers. Hence celebrities being paid astronomical fees for sponsorship deals. Hence the very existence of “influencers”. Like it or not, our opinions are based, in large part, on other people’s opinions.

The only thing more likely to cause a stampede for Cheesicles than the endorsement of a random punter or celebrity is the endorsement of everyone. Why else would a certain pet food manufacturer spend 20-odd years telling everyone that eight out of 10 cats preferred it (until they were forced to water down their claim)? Aren’t you more tempted to give Squid Game a chance because everyone’s raving about it?

Even though some people quite like being classed among the minority – the brave rebels, the “counterculture” – those people are, ironically, in a minority. Most of us still feel safer sticking with the herd. So it’s in manufacturers’ interests to publish information that suggests their product is de rigueur.

(If you’re in doubt about the susceptibility of some people to third-party influence, look up the Solomon Asch line length test. As part of an experiment in 1951, test subjects – along with a number of paid plants – were shown visual diagrams of lines of different lengths and told to identify the longest one. The correct answer in each image was clear, but the stooges were briefed to vocally pick, and justify, the (same) wrong answer – and a surprisingly high proportion of the subjects changed their decision to match the wrong answer given by their peers. Later variations on the same study furnished less clear-cut results, but the phenomenon is real.)

And this is where all those flaws in polling methodology suddenly become friends. Polls can be inaccurate and misleading by accident – but they can also be misleading by design.

When businesses conduct a poll, they can (and have, and still do) use all the above loopholes to nudge the results in the “right” direction. They can select a skewed sample of people. They can select a meaninglessly small sample of people (still the most common tactic). They can ask leading questions, leave out inconvenient answers, present the results in a flattering way – or just conduct poll after poll after poll, discard the inconvenient results, and publish only those in which Cheesicles emerge triumphant.

Woop-de-doo, so businesses tell statistical white lies! Hardly front-page news, or the end of the world. If I’m duped into shelling out 75p for one bag of minging gorgonzola-flavoured corn gonads, well, I just won’t repeat my mistake.

True. But it’s a different story when the other main commissioners of polls play the same tricks.

Offices of state

It cannot have escaped your notice that the worlds of business and politics have been growing ever more closely intertwined. There’s now so much overlap of personnel between Downing Street, big business and the City (the incumbent chancellor, who arrived via Goldman Sachs and hedge funds, is just one of dozens of MPs and ministers with a background in finance), such astronomical sums pouring into the Tory party from industry barons, and so many Tories moonlighting as business consultants, that you might be forgiven for thinking that the two spheres had merged.

And as the association has deepened, so politicians (and other political operators like thinktanks and lobbying groups) have borrowed more tactics from their corporate pals. Public services are run like private enterprises; short-term profits and savings for the few are constantly prioritised over the long-term interests of the many; government communications departments have been transformed into slick, sleazy PR outfits. And one of the tools they’ve most warmly embraced is the poll.

While businesses carry out market research to gauge the viability of their products and services, political parties do so (largely through focus groups) to find out which policies and slogans will go down well. But whereas businesses only publicise polls to create the illusion of popularity, the practice has wider and scarier applications in the political sphere.

“Opinion polls are a device for influencing public opinion, not a device for measuring it. Crack that, and it all makes sense”
Peter Hitchens, The Broken Compass (2009)

Loath as I am to quote the aggressively self-aggrandizing Hitchens, on this occasion, he may have stumbled across a point. A number of studies (pdf) have looked into this phenomenon (pdf), and while the findings aren’t conclusive, they all point in the same direction: people can be swayed by opinion polls.

There are several mechanisms at play. First, if there’s a perception that one candidate in an election has an unassailable lead, some undecideds will back the likely winner, because they think the majority must be right (the “bandwagon effect”); a few will switch to backing the loser out of sympathy (the “underdog effect”); some of those who favoured the projected winner might not bother voting because it’s in the bag, while some of those who favoured one of the “doomed” candidates might give up for the same reason.

Conversely, if polls suggest a contest is close, turnout tends to increase. Even if your preferred candidate isn’t one of the two vying for top spot, you might be moved to vote tactically, to keep out the candidate you like least.

Polling also has an indirect effect via the media. When surveys are reporting good figures for a candidate, broadcasters and publishers tend to give them more airtime and column inches, thus increasing their exposure, and, consequently, their popularity.

However these effects ultimately balance out, it’s clear that the ability to manipulate polling information could give you enormous political power. “But that’s absurd!” you cry. “I’ve never had my mind changed by anything as frivolous as a poll!”

Really? Can you be absolutely sure of that? Even if you’re immune, can’t lesser mortals be affected? If it works in the advertising world, there’s no reason why shouldn’t it work in the political sphere.

You might object at this point that pollsters are legitimate enterprises that have nothing to gain from putting out false information. To which I would counter-object: polling companies are businesses too. They exist not as some sort of public service, but to make money for their clients. And their clients’ interests do not always align with the public good.

A brief look at the ownership and management of the pollsters does little to alleviate these fears.

Savanta ComRes (formerly ComRes)

Retained pollster for ITV and the Daily Mail. Founded by Andrew Hawkins, Christian Conservative and contributor to the Daily Telegraph with a clear pro-Brexit stance. This year, Hawkins launched DemocracyThree, a “campaigning platform” that helps businesses and other interest groups raise funds and build support – ie influence public opinion.

“Democracy 3.0 helps you build a support base, raise the funds you need for your campaign to take off, and then we work with you to appoint professional campaigners – such as lobbyists and PR experts – who can bring your campaign to life.”
DemocracyThree website

ICM

Co-founded in 1989 by Nick Sparrow, a fundraising consultant who worked as a private pollster for the Tories from 1995-2004. Now part of “human understanding agency” Walnut Unlimited, which is in turn part of UNLIMITED – a “fully integrated agency group with human understanding at the heart”.

The sales pitches for these firms include the following quotes:

“Our team are experts in public opinion, behavioural change, communication, consultation and participation, policy and strategy, reputation, and user experience.”
ICM website

“We help brands connect with people, by understanding people … Blending neuroscience, behavioural science and data science, we uncover the truth behind our human experiences … Our mission is to create genuine business advantage for clients … by uncovering behaviour-led insights from our Human Understanding Lab.”
Walnut Unlimited website

Populus

Official pollster for the Times newspaper, co-founded by Tory peer Andrew Cooper and Michael Simmonds, a former adviser to the Tory party now married to Tory MP Nick Gibb, who has recently been added to the interview panel to choose the next head of media regulator Ofcom.

YouGov

Founded by Nadhim Zadawi, the incumbent Tory health secretary, and Stephan Shakespeare, former owner of the ConservativeHome website and former associate of diehard Brexiters Iain Dale, Tim Montgomerie and Claire Fox.

Survation

Founded by Damian Lyons Lowe, who during the EU referendum campaign set up, at the request of Ukip’s Nigel Farage, a separate “polling” company, Constituency Polling Ltd, based in the Bristol office of Arron Banks’s Eldon Insurance. But its remit seems to have been less about asking questions and more about micro-targeting voters. “Interviews with several people familiar with Survation’s operations show that in addition to measuring public opinion, the firm’s executives also helped shape it.”

(I was unable to find any evidence of strong political affiliation among the leadership of Ipsos MORI or Qriously, and Kantar has changed ownership and CEO so frequently of late as for any such investigation to be meaningless. As a side note, there seems to have been a recent flurry of activity in this sector, with many companies being gobbled up into ever larger, faceless global marketing conglomerates, whale sharks hoovering up data, with ever more sinister specialisms: “consumer insights”, “market intelligence”, “human understanding”.)

I don’t know about you, but I’d expect the people who founded and run companies that were nominally about gathering and analysing data to be statistics nerds – people with an interest in objective truth – not, by an overwhelming majority, people with the same strong political leanings. Put it this way: CEOs of polling firms have final approval over which surveys are released. If you were married to a Tory MP, would you really sign off on a poll that was damaging to your husband’s party?

Someone of a more cynical bent might start wondering whether the hard right, having secured control of most of the UK’s print media and with its tendrils burrowing ever deeper into the BBC, was stealthily trying to establish a monopoly on data.

So maybe they’re not all angels. But surely they can’t just pump rubbish into the public domain willy-nilly? In a stable(ish) 21^st-century democracy like Britain, there must be checks and balances in place.

Well, here’s the thing. Businesses are prevented from publishing grossly misleading adverts by the Advertising Standards Authority, but there’s no such independent regulator for the polling industry. They police themselves, through a voluntary body called the British Polling Council, staffed entirely by industry members.

So, polls are bad information, they can influence people’s votes, the pollsters’ motives are questionable, and they’re accountable to no one. But what about journalists? Isn’t it their job to pick up on this sort of thing?

It is, but as I mentioned above, journalistic resources are so depleted now, and the pressure to get stories up fast so great, that they can ill afford to look gift stories in the mouth. And as I mentioned in my last post, journalism and broadcasting aren’t exactly brimming with Carol Vordermans. Even if they had the time and the inclination to carry out due diligence, they wouldn’t necessarily know how.

The bald fact is, when you look at a poll, whether it’s reached you through a newspaper, a website, a meme or a leaflet, you have no guarantee whatsoever that it’s been subjected to even rudimentary checks.

What can we do?

Surveys are – or were, originally – designed to present a snapshot of the popular mood. But even the most fair-minded, honourably intentioned, statistically savvy pollster, using the best possible methodology, can produce a poll that is complete and utter Cheesicles.

But judging by the vast amounts of money pouring into the industry, the political leanings of its ownership and management, and their alarming transformation from simple question-setters to behavioural change specialists, there’s a very real possibility that honourable intentions are an endangered species in the polling industry.

Polls aren’t going away any time soon. Businesses and politicos will always want to gauge which way the wind is blowing. But when it comes to the data they’re pumping back in the public domain – a tiny fraction of what they’re amassing – the rest of us don’t have to play along.

To journalists, I would say: please stop treating polls as an easy way of filling column inches. (Employees of the Daily Express, Mail, Sun and Telegraph, I’m not talking to you. I said “journalists”.)

This is the opposite of speaking truth to power; it’s speaking garbage to those who aren’t in power. It’s 1980s women’s magazine journalism, clickbait, guff, and you’ve repeatedly proven yourselves incapable of discerning good information from bad.

If you must run an article on a poll, then ensure that, at the very minimum, you ask, and get satisfactory answers to, these questions:

Who commissioned the poll?
Who carried out the poll?
What was the sample size? If it’s much less than 2,000 people, ignore it.
What’s the relative standard error? (A measure of the confidence in the accuracy of the survey. If Labour are leading the Tories in a poll by 36% to 35% and the RSE is over 2% – as it is on samples of less than 2,000 – then they may not be leading at all.)
What were the questions?
What was the methodology?

Then, when you publish the story, include all this information so that readers can draw their own conclusions about the poll’s reliability. Above all, include a link to the poll. If you don’t take all these steps, your story is worthless.

To the public, my advice would be: ignore polls. If you must read them, treat them as meaningless fun, fodder for a throwaway social media gag, and don’t for one second fall into the trap of thinking they’re conveying any sort of truth.

If you’re ever approached to participate in a poll, ask yourself: do you really want to be handing over your data to people who are likely to be using that data against you and enriching themselves in the process?

Finally, to the pollsters, I would say: we’ve got your number.

Statistricks: how they lie to you with numbers (part 1)

If we’re going to fight back against the populists’ calculated assault on truth, we need to raise our numbers game

• Part 2: ‘We send the EU £350m a week’ (no, we don’t)
• Part 3: Why are all polling companies run by Tories?
• Part 4: ‘The UK is the fastest-growing economy in the G7’ (no, it isn’t)

Maths is scary.

There are plenty of maths wizzes out there, of course, and most of us, when the necessity arises, can perform basic calculations. It’s just that these operations don’t come naturally to human beings. For most of our species’ history, there was little need for any more mental arithmetic than “one/two/many” and “our tribe small, their tribe big”.

If your brain isn’t adequately trained, maths requires serious mental effort, which most of us will go to any lengths to avoid. As a result, when confronted with a differential equation or trigonometry problem, we curl into a ball and whimper, “Oh, I’m rubbish with numbers!”

So when it comes to statistics, just as with molecular biology and nuclear physics and translating ancient Phoenician, we tend to leave things to the experts. The catch is, the main conduits of this knowledge from professors to public – the media – are as clueless about maths as we are.

As a veteran of journalism of 25 years, I can let you in on a scary secret: reporters – even reporters who are specifically charged with writing about business and science and trade – rarely have any sort of background in maths or economics. Most of those who aren’t media studies or journalism graduates studied humanities (English, modern languages, history, politics, law), and the same goes for the subeditors and desk editors whose job it is to check their work. In the average newspaper office, you can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who tell an x-axis from a y-axis, a percentage point from a percentage or a median from a mean. And TV interviewers, judging by their performance before and since Brexit, are no better.

Most of us aren’t too bad at figuring out when people are trying to mislead us with words or facts or pictures. But because we’re useless with numbers – and the gatekeepers are too – we’re much more susceptible to numerical shenanigans. Statistics can be massaged, manipulated, misrepresented and murdered as easily as words can. And it is this human weakness that the populists are counting on.

What I want to try to do in the next few posts is look at some of the more common examples of statistical chicanery that you will come across, in the hope that at least a few more people can start calling out the bastards who are trying to rip our society apart. (If I miss any obvious ones, please add your suggestions in the comments.)

(If you have no time to read on, I beg you to consider buying or borrowing a copy of Anthony Reuben’s Statistical: Ten Easy Ways To Avoid Being Misled By Numbers (Constable, 2019). It’s clear and concise and bang up to date, covering Brexit and Trump (but not coronavirus), and an easy read even for the fraidiest maths-phobe.)

The truth, the half-truth, and nothing like the truth

Sometimes, of course, as our present government demonstrates on a daily basis, populists are perfectly happy to forsake real numbers for entirely imaginary ones.

Think Owen Paterson’s assertion that only 5% of Northern Ireland’s trade is with Ireland, when the true figure is at least 30%; Jacob Rees-Mogg merrily retweeting the Sun’s innumerate bollocks about how much cheaper your shopping basket will be after Brexit; Dominic Raab overstating the cost of the CAP to British agriculture by a factor of 1,600%; Daniel Kawczynski’s ludicrous lemons claim; Matt Hancock counting pairs of gloves as two individual items of PPE; Matt Hancock including coronavirus tests on the same person and testing kits put in the post in the 100,000 total of tests carried out; Matt Hancock counting nurses who haven’t left towards the total of extra nurses employed; Boris Johnson, and thus, subsequently, the entire Conservative party, repeating until blue in the face that the Tories are building 40 new hospitals, when in fact they have committed to only six; Boris Johnson’s claim in January 2020 that the economy had grown by 73% under the present Tory government, when in fact the data covers the period back to 1990, which includes 13 years of Labour; Boris Johnson’s brazen and still unretracted claim that there are 400,000 fewer families in poverty since the Tories came to power, when in truth there are 600,000 more.

The chief drawback of straight-up untruths, of course, is that they’re easy to check and challenge. Most of the fictions above were exposed as such fairly quickly (though not before they’d burrowed their way into a few million poorly guarded minds). A far more effective way of misleading people is to present numerical information that is not incorrect, per se, but which tells only part of the story. To offer up, if you like, a fractional truth.

11/10 for presentation

If you’ve ever used a dating app, chances are you didn’t upload as your profile picture that zitty red-eye selfie you took in the Primark fitting room. You hunted through old snaps, maybe asked a camera-handy friend over for a mini-shoot, possibly even added a flattering filter, did a bit of Photoshopping, and judiciously cropped out the boyfriend. In short, you went to reasonable (or extreme) lengths to paint yourself in the best possible light.

This process – statisticians call it “cherry-picking”, but I prefer “Instagramming” – is the populists’ most common way of abusing numbers (it can also be applied in reverse, to show something in its worst possible light). If the absolute figure (say, 17.4 million) is the most impressive, use that. If the percentage best advances your case, use that (but if it’s, say, only 51.9%, poof! It’s gone). If neither of those works to your advantage, what about the trend?

Which brings us to our first example.

‘Trade with the EU is declining’

OMG! Trade with the EU is declining?! Tomorrow, our trade with them will be nothing! We must end all commerce with them now!

That’s clearly the reaction this claim was designed to elicit, and there were enough people lacking either the ability or the inclination to check it that it succeeded in its goal.

While it wasn’t one of the primary arguments advanced by the Leave campaign, it’s a drum that rightwing politicians, commentators and newspapers have been beating since day one. It was also one of the central planks of the “failing EU” narrative, which you still hear to this day.

Still, if the UK’s trade with the EU is shrinking, surely it’s a point worth making?

The first problem here is that the statement is not true. UK trade with the EU has grown steadily since we joined, as even House of Commons figures show:

(I couldn’t find an HoC graph covering the whole period, but the figures are all out there.)

Which shouldn’t come as a colossal surprise, as these are our closest neighbours, with whom we have enjoyed ever closer ties for almost 50 years. Of course trade with them is always going to grow.

So what is Thickinson wittering on about? It turns out what she meant is that the UK’s trade with the EU as a proportion of its overall trade has been decreasing (slowly) since 2000. Trade with the EU is still growing, but trade with other countries is growing faster.

(The trend was bucked in 2019, when the share rose to 46%, which is why they bit their tongues on this one for a while.)

So, not exactly a precipitous decline, but if trade with the EU as a proportion of overall trade is shrinking, shouldn’t we be a little worried?

Well, no, for two reasons.

First, trade outside the EU has increased precisely because of EU trade agreements with other countries and blocs, such as Israel, Egypt, South Africa, Canada, Mercosur and South Korea. In other words, trade with the EU has (proportionally) fallen because of trade through the EU. (For the benefit of those who have been living under a rock for five years, the UK will cease to be a signatory to all those deals as well as its EU agreements from January 1 2021. Sure, we might renegotiate some after exit, but there’s no guarantee of that, and even if we succeed, they’ll almost certainly be on less favourable terms, as the UK now has a lot less negotiating clout than it did as part of a bloc of 510 million people.)

Second, the countries with which the UK’s trade is growing more quickly are on the whole much smaller; they are developing countries. Trade with developed nations, and with nations with which trade relations are already well established – such as those in the EU – is never going to grow particularly fast, because it’s all grown up already.

Let’s take, as a hypothetical example, the nation of Arsendia. If you were to tell me that trade with Arsendia had increased by 1,000% over the past year, while trade with the EU 27 had grown by only 0.2%, I’d think, “Whoa! Maybe Arsendia is the future!” But if I then discovered the somewhat relevant supplementary information that trade with Arsendia this year was worth £110, compared with £10 in 2018-19, while the value of trade with the EU stood at £668bn, I might come to a slightly different conclusion.

To take a real-world example often cited by Brexiters, over the last 20 years, trade with Commonwealth nations has increased by a factor of more than three.

Meanwhile, over the same period, the value of UK trade with EU countries has merely doubled.

But now look at the absolute figures. Exports to the EU in 2019 were worth £300bn (43% of the UK total), and imports from it £372bn (51%). Meanwhile, UK exports to all the Commonwealth nations combined in 2019 were worth £65.2bn, while imports from those countries had a total value of £64.5bn. That’s less than a fifth of the EU total.

Again, pretty much what you’d expect when countries tend to do most of their trade with their neighbours, and most Commonwealth countries are half the fucking world away.

Adversely comparing the rate of growth of trade with established trade partners with the rate of growth of trade with tiny, brand-new buddies is the equivalent of a father taking a tape measure to his 18-year-old son and 14-year-old daughter, then saying, “Sorry, Kev, but Lisa’s grown three inches this year and you’ve barely sprouted at all, so I’m afraid she gets all the attention now.”

This is a common statistical misapprehension called the base rate fallacy, or ignoring the baseline. Expect it to make a reappearance, as it is one of the populists’ favourite subterfuges.

(The United States’ share of global GDP is declining for the exact same reason – less developed nations are eating up the pie because they have more scope to expand quickly – but you won’t find any of the Brexit zealots shouting about that.)

Let’s try to boil this down into something so simple that even the average Tory MP can understand it. Trade with the EU is growing. Trade with some other, much smaller countries is growing a little faster, because they have more capacity for growth, but that’s unlikely to continue for long. The EU, the UK’s closest neighbour, is, and will always remain, the UK’s most important trading partner.

A recurring theme of these posts is going to be: whenever you see pat statistical statements like Dickinson’s, by politician or commentator or journalist, they are not giving you the full picture. It’s not necessarily their fault – there isn’t enough space. But the space shortage gives them an excuse to Instagram the data; to present only the facets of the information that best supports their agenda.

For a full understanding of the situation, you need to a) read beyond the headline or tweet, and ideally trace the source of the data; b) do further research, or at least read some rebuttals; and if neither of those is possible, c) ask questions. In the particular case of “Trade with the EU is declining’”, the relevant questions would be: “What level is it declining from?”, “How fast?”, and “Is this trend likely to continue?”

As we’ll see time and again in the coming posts, without the proper context, numerical information is useless. However great the emotional impact on you, you must not draw any conclusions until you see the wider picture. If you can’t overcome your fear of numbers, you must at least stop meekly accepting them.

Next time: let’s fund the NHS instead!

The 3M test: how to upgrade your bullshit detector

In the time of coronavirus, the ability to tell good info from bad is more vital than ever. How do you sort the gold from the garbage?

Minds greater than mine have been grappling with the reasons for society’s gaping divisions for years. Convincing cases have been made for the role of shorter attention spans, echo chambers, smaller families and spoiled kids and “me” culture, inequality, consumerism, the rise of lowest-common-denominator infotainment at the expense of grown-up news.

But from my perspective – a language graduate who has spent 30 years working in media and communications – the main problem is bullshit.

As individual, ephemeral human beings, we can’t possibly find out all the information we need at first hand. We have to rely on input from other sources: parents, teachers, friends, newspapers, TV, social media. But a lot of that input is contradictory. Some sources are clearly more reliable than others. In the time of coronavirus, the ability to tell good info from bad is more vital than ever. So how do you sort the gold from the garbage?

NBC report: 5G mobile phone masts set on fire amid bogus coronavirus theories — Not content with waging economic warfare on innocent civilians, Putin’s goons have now upgraded to biological warfare.

In the SnapChattin’, TikTokin’, Lyftin’, Zoomin’, Zooskin’ 21^st century, whenever we come across a piece of new information, we tend to respond in one of two ways: automatic belief (“Yeah, that sounds about right, retweet”) and automatic disbelief (“Bollocks, obviously biased/brainwashed/stupid, block”).

That’s your system 1 brain – your primeval, emotional, semi-automatic brain – barging to the front and bellowing, “Don’t panic, everyone, I’ve got this, piece of piss,” when you should, it hasn’t and it isn’t. New information is precisely what your system 1 brain sucks at.

If you want to navigate your way through the morass of conflicting input, you’ve got to cast off this binary good/bad mindset, and prod your system 2 brain into activating a process called scepticism.

Scepticism (from Greek skepsis, “inquiry, doubt”) involves suspending your belief and disbelief and looking at things neutrally. (That’s as distinct from cynicism, which is closer to the wholesale rejection of everything.) Scepticism means checking, comparing, investigating – essentially, asking questions. And the questions you need to be asking when you encounter new information you find fall into three categories: medium, message, and marketplace.

Medium (the source, or context)

Believe it or not, there was a time not so long ago when most media, and even most politicians, could broadly be trusted. They might screw up; they might have vague ideological leanings one way or another. But they’d rarely blatantly tell you, with a straight face, that black was white or up was down.

Then the cutthroat chase for advertising revenue and votes and clicks began, leading to a rapid erosion of standards. Formerly august news organs gave us the Hitler diaries, the Sun’s reporting of the Hillsborough disaster, phone hacking and the fake Abu Ghraib torture photos, and trust in the “mainstream media” withered away. At the same time, ever larger numbers of news organisations fell into the hands of unscrupulous, openly partisan kleptocrats, who whittled the concept of editorial independence to the bone.

Paradoxically, this paved the way for even more unreliable purveyors of “news” – thinly disguised state-sponsored propaganda outlets, contrarian tweeters and YouTube demagogues – who snapped the bone clean in two. Accountable to no watchdog, bound by no editorial code, subject to no scrutiny, untouchable by law, never compelled to publish corrections or give right of reply, they used the shield of “free speech” to publish what they goddamn pleased. The increasingly erratic, sometimes biased, but still mostly principled news organisations had been abandoned in favour of shamelessly partisan hucksters.

In theory, it’s wrong to dismiss information purely on the basis of its source. That’s the crux of the ad hominem fallacy: it’s logically unsound to state that someone’s character or history has any bearing on the value of what they say. Just because Tony Blair says two plus two equals four, doesn’t mean the real answer is nine.

But in practice, we don’t have the means to verify every assertion. And some individuals and organisations have such abysmal track records with the truth, and such transparent agendas, that it is now not just permissible but a damn good idea to inspect the messenger as carefully as the message.

So the first thing you should do when you come across new information is check where that information came from. If it’s an article, find out who owns the newspaper or website. Are they widely trusted? Do they have a clear political agenda? Is all or most of their output devoted to a narrow range of subjects? (How can anyone who stumbles across one of those cesspit Twitter accounts that consist of nothing but retweets of negative stories, real and fabricated, about Muslims, really think they’re curated in good faith?)

If you’re looking at a post on a random social media account, check the author’s bio. Does it seem authentic? Does it mention where the story came from – the original source (the urtext)? If not, place it firmly in the holding category labelled “DODGY AF”. In the absence of verification, a news “story” is just that: a fable.

If you can find the ultimate source, ask the same questions you would of a news organ. How long has the platform been around? Is it approvingly cited by other respected media outlets?

Now do your due diligence on the writer, if one is credited. What else has this person written? Do they have any experience of or expertise in the field they are writing about? What are their credentials other than a glib turn of phrase and a cool byline pic?

Reminder: columnists are commentators. Radio shock jocks are commentators. Vox-popped pensioners in seaside towns who voted for Brexit are commentators. Representatives of thinktanks are commentators. Populist politicians, because they listen only to the advice they want to hear, from the lickspittles they surround themselves with, are no better than commentators. And commentators are not experts. They might have a way with words, but they have no such dominion over facts; they deal in opinions, and those opinions are often based solely on what sounds or feels good.

If we’re talking about an epidemic, I want to be hearing from epidemiologists. If we’re talking about international trade, I want to be hearing from economists. Not from failed fucking fashion students.

If you can’t quickly establish the identity, background and financing of a source, then suspect (but don’t assume) the worst. No reputable media organisation has any reason to withhold where their money comes from – if you’re acting on behalf of private interests, then you’re not acting in the public interest – and most journalists would happily take credit for a fart at a funeral.

Lastly, is your source Donald Trump? Well, if you’ve decided to give the slightest credence to that 50-faced, triple-chinned, flint-hearted, atom-brained, snake-tongued, gossamer-skinned, matchstick-spined, lily-livered, mushroom-cocked lardass, then the chances you’re reading this – or indeed anything – are infinitesimal; but in that vanishingly unlikely event, know this: Trump’s mis- and disinformation has already killed people, and may yet kill tens of thousands more.

Message (the story, or text)

The focus of your inquiry, of course, should be on the information itself. Putting the content aside for a moment, you can garner some clues from the presentation. Is this a polished, professional product, or does it feel … tossed off somehow?

Are the spelling and grammar of a high standard? (Again, it’s a mistake to write something off solely because of a stray “your” for “you’re”, but if someone is sloppy with something as simple as an apostrophe, it does raise a question mark over the accuracy of their statements.)

Is the tweet or article or passage of speech delivered clearly, accurately and succinctly, with specifics rather than generalisations? Are the words all used in their correct senses?

Is the use of language fresh and original, or cluttered with clichés and buzzwords? Is the meaning clear and unambiguous? Does the author or speaker illustrate their point with relevant examples? Does the piece contain any obvious inaccuracies, or things you know or suspect to be untrue? Is it internally consistent?

If the author uses statistics, are they sound? (I know it’s hard for those without the appropriate background to rigorously examine any particular numerical claim. And unfortunately, since even most trained journalists and interviewers don’t know their bell curves from their bell-ends, they’re not often a great help either. My next post will deal with a few of the most common abuses of statistics.)

Have any of the people mentioned been approached to give their side of events (this is regarded as good practice by traditional news outlets)? Have any dissenting voices been quoted? Has the background to the developments been fully expounded?

If there are any pictures or video accompanying the story, are they attributed to anyone? (Photographers and filmmakers, even amateur ones, are no shier about taking credit for their work than writers.) Has this picture or video been used elsewhere, and if so, are there any differences between the two versions? If not, has it independently been verified as authentic?

Yep, they tried to claim that Obama was a Black Panther.

Now look more closely at the language used. Is the piece relatively free of adjectives, adverbs and otherwise emotionally loaded words? It is a reporter’s job to tell readers what has happened, not what opinion to have on what has happened; they’re reporters, after all, not explainers or influencers. When someone is introduced as “terrorist sympathiser Jeremy Corbyn”, you can be fairly sure you’re not listening to a neutral voice.

Good news organisations take great care to draw a thick line between objective news reporting and subjective interpretations of the news. Opinion pieces are clearly badged as such, and published in a separate section of the paper or website.

But bad practice is proliferating, and more and more media outlets, particularly those under the control of moguls, are beginning to see as their duty as being not to inform, but to influence. They, the openly partisan “news” operations funded by God knows who and self-appointed champions of truth like Tommy Robinson and Paul Joseph Watson have abandoned all pretence of balance and neutrality.

Good news reporting is not fun or edgy or stylish or provocative; it is dry. Functional. Dull, even. The text should have no subtext. Scroll to the end for some recent examples.

If you don’t have time to go through this rigmarole every time you come across new information – and let’s face it, you don’t – one little short cut will often point you in the right direction. Read the story, and re-read the headline. Now do your best to consider this objectively: does the headline accurately reflect the content of the story?

Once upon a time, headlines had a single purpose: to pithily summarise the words beneath it. But as the media ecosystem became more competitive, headlines evolved. Accuracy was no longer enough; they had to be quirky, grabby, funky. The Sun enjoyed some success for a while by crowbarring in terrible puns (but trust me, guys, that era is long past). Meanwhile, the Mail (and all newspapers, to some extent) got round the problem by stretching, or sometimes breaking, the truth. Take this gem from last August.

If you read the article, the reasons for the billionaires’ departure are, in fact, purely the opinion of a single lawyer – and her exact words are, “Brexit uncertainty is driving out many of the wealthiest non-doms … The prospect of a Labour government is also very unappealing to high net worth people.” So Corbyn isn’t even mentioned, and fears about Labour (in the opinion of this solitary lawyer) are only a secondary factor in capital flight. The headline grossly misrepresents the article, to the benefit of the Mail’s anti-left agenda.

Much as I hate to be even glancingly fair to the chuntering ninnyhammer that is Daniel Hannan, his recent wankpiece for ConservativeHome, headlined “Alarmism, doom-mongering, panic – and the coronavirus. We are nowhere near a 1919-style catastrophe”, wasn’t quite as irresponsible as it first seemed. The text actually reads, “You’re unlikely to die of coronavirus,” which is quite true – if perhaps not the most useful message to be sending to society at this time.

But to return to being deservedly harsh on the chuntering ninnyhammer that is Daniel Hannan, he then chose to tweet the following link to his own story, with a headline of his own devising that said something completely different, purely in the interest of harvesting more clicks. Instead he harvested widespread vilification, and deleted the tweet.

Just before the 2016 EU referendum, InFacts did a round-up of the most misleading stories on the issue published in the rightwing press. In most of the cases, the offence involved not an outright untruth, but a duplicitous headline.

But the last word in headline shenanigans goes to this Express story from 2016, to which I dedicated an entire post (and for which trouble I was threatened with legal action). Accurate headlines are more important today than they’ve ever been because much of the time, people simply don’t read any further – and even when they do, the headline is what they take away with them.

One more little thing to look out for: if what you’re reading is online, has the author provided any external links to something that might corroborate it? If someone believes their information is legit, they’ll be happy to share their source. (It should go without saying that links to opaque websites with clear political agendas don’t count.)

The marketplace (the metatext)

So, you’ve carried out a full background check on the potato salesman. You’ve examined his potatoes. Now you need to check to see what other consumers are saying about his potatoes, and how rival tradesmen’s potatoes compare.

First, look to your fellow spud seekers. What rating have people given the merchant on ChipAdvisor? If it’s a tweet, what are people saying in the replies? If it’s an online article, what are they saying in the comments underneath? If it’s an interview, did the interviewer challenge the remark, or ask any follow-up questions?

One-word responses can be safely ignored. “Bollocks”, “Nonsense”, “Twat”: that’s just the opposing side’s system 1 brigade reflexively rubbishing the point because it threatens their world-view. Pay no more heed to those trying to dismiss the article with reference to the platform or writer. “Typical Remoaner”, “You expect me to believe something published in the Guardian?!!”, etc.

The comments worth considering are the detailed, level-headed, rational ones: people pointing out factual errors, highlighting contradictory evidence, logical flaws, providing relevant context. Pay special attention to those who can actually back up their points with evidence from a reputable third-party source. Do these responses, individually or collectively, cast any doubt on any of the claims in the original article or post?

Now consider the rival salesmen. If there’s any substance to a story, then the chances are, other individuals or news outlets will have picked up on it. So hunt down some other versions. (Word for word repetitions don’t count. What you’ve found there is not a separate source, but one source copying a second one, or two sources copying a third, which suggests an orchestrated propaganda campaign rather than an independently verified scoop.)

Now, how reliable is this source? Is its information usually of high quality? Once you’re satisfied that it has no connection with the first source and upholds basic journalistic standards, compare the two takes. Do any of the details in the new version contradict any of those in the first? Does it omit any details, provide any additional context, or interpret them differently? Why might that be?

Let me stress: none of these red flags, in and of itself, is sufficient reason to dismiss any piece of information outright. But each one should push the needle on your bullshit-meter further to the right.

I know this seems like an awful lot of work do to just to establish some approximation of the truth; but the truth is under attack as never before, and it’s the only weapon we have short of actual weapons against the dark forces of illiberalism and authoritarianism. And while Finland’s response to fake news has been to launch a nationwide campaign to educate and protect its citizens, their British counterparts have instead chosen to become its most prolific purveyors.

The task of saving democracy falls to you and you alone.

Starmer chameleon

Now let’s put those principles into practice and examine the different approaches of various media outlets to the same news item. On the day I went out to mass-buy the papers, April 4^th, one of the main non-coronavirus stories was the news that Keir Starmer was poised to win the Labour leadership election.

Guardian: Keir Starmer poised to be announced new Labour leader

(900 words, page 27 of 35 news pages)
Thrust of story: Starmer likely to win, Corbyn supporters fear they will be purged
Introduced as: Keir Starmer
Referred to subsequently as: Former director of public prosecutions, shadow Brexit secretary
Background/context: Age (57), election defeat, antisemitism inquiry, forthcoming NEC elections, efforts to unify party wings, likely shadow ministerial appointments
Other people cited: Unnamed allies of Starmer, unnamed allies of Corbyn, one former Corbyn aide, Tulip Siddiq, associate of Rebecca Long-Bailey
Subjectivity: “Devastating 80-seat defeat to Boris Johnson”
Errors: “After … an ongoing inquiry”, incorrect dashes, “Starmer’s had successfully targeted”
Bullshit factor: 2

Daily Mail: Sir Keir and a question of cowardice

(2,700 words, p32/45; badged as “special investigation”)
Thrust: Starmer has not done enough to combat antisemitism in the Labour party, according to several conversations with unnamed party sources and a cursory analysis of 340 online articles
Introduced as: Party figure more moderate than Jeremy Corbyn
Referred to subsequently as: Shadow Brexit secretary, hot favourite to succeed Corbyn, Sir Keir, QC and former DPP
Background/context: Starmer’s Jewish family, leadership candidates’ records on condemning antisemitism, first elected to parliament in 2015
Other people cited: Unnamed sources in Jewish community and on far left of party, “a friend of a rabbi”, “a source”, “a source at the Jewish Chronicle”, “another Jewish former Labour politician”, “one former Labour MP”, “prominent members of the Jewish community”, “a friend of Luciana Berger”, “one of Starmer’s former colleagues”. In an article 2,700 words long, consisting mostly of quotations, not a single source is named
Subjectivity: “Cowardice”, “troubling issue”, “Sir Keir’s surprise promotion of his previously discreet Jewish ties”, “desperate for leadership votes”, “deeply disillusioned Jewish membership”, “cosy interviews”, “hardly gladiatorial tone”; “these mild critiques”; “sympathetic interview”, “Left-leaning New Statesman magazine”, “previously shrouded Jewish ties”, “Sir Keir replies, no doubt sadly”, “habitual fence-sitting”
Errors: Incorrect punctuation around speech; missing quotation mark; missing final full stop
Bullshit factor: 8/10

Sun: Labour’s Keir and present danger

(p24/36 news/celebrity gossip pages, 230 words)
Thrust: Corbyn will cause trouble from back benches
Introduced as: Millionaire barrister Keir Starmer
Referred to subsequently as: Former chief prosecutor
Background/context: Age; a podium has been sent to Starmer’s house so that he can practise his acceptance speech
Other sources cited: “A source”, Jeremy Corbyn’s Facebook page
Subjectivity: “Bitterly divided party”; “Marxist policies”
Errors: “While we exist on lockdown”, “bitterly-divided”, stray full stop
Bullshit factor: 7/10, plus a bonus 1 for that godawful must-pun-at-all-costs headline

Times: Labour’s women will rise again under Sir Keir

(p18/31, 400 words)
Thrust: Several MPs who were overlooked or declined to serve under Corbyn are likely to be called to the shadow cabinet
Introduced as: Sir Keir Starmer
Referred to subsequently as: Sir Keir, exclusively
Background/context: Shadow cabinet will not meet in person until social distancing rules relaxed; Corbyn allies will be discarded
Other people cited: Lord Wood of Anfield. Lots of speculation couched in terms of “X might/could/is expected to …”
Subjectivity: Article is basically all guesswork
Errors: None
Bullshit factor: A surprising 3/10

Telegraph: Corbyn plans ‘farewell tour’ as Starmer takes reins

(p16/20, 400 words)
Thrust: Corbyn may become Tony Benn-style thorn in Starmer’s side
Introduced as: Sir Keir Starmer
Referred to subsequently as: Sir Keir, former director of public prosecutions
Background/context: Starmer’s efforts to rebuild relations with marginalised elements of party; rebellious tendencies of Benn and Corbyn
Other people cited: Corbyn, “close ally of Angela Rayner”, “one insider”
Subjectivity: Purports to know Starmer’s vision for party; idea of “farewell tour” appears to be invention of reporter
Errors: Double “as” in opening sentence
Bullshit factor: 4/10

Tweet: Kier Starmer is a charmless posh sod

(31 words)
Thrust: Keir Starmer is a charmless posh sod
Introduced as: Sir Kier Starmer QC
Background/context: Former director of public prosecutions
Other people cited: None
Subjectivity: All of it
Errors: Can’t even spell the guy’s fucking name right
Bullshit factor: 10/10

Apples and oranges: how bad metaphors mess with your mind

The far right’s awful analogies helped swing Brexit – and now they may threaten your life

“Apt analogies are among the most formidable weapons of the rhetorician” – Winston Churchill

For too long, too many people have been listening to populists: know-nothing blatherskites offering simple solutions to complex problems. As a result, the UK has left the EU, nutsacking the economy and the opportunities of the young and triggering a massive rise in racial and class hatred; Jair Bolsonaro has laid waste to the Amazon rainforest; and Americans have elected an incompetent, incontinent, incoherent pussy-grabbing golf cheat as president.

How did the far right achieve this coup? With lies, mostly; but blatant lies most people can see through. Subtler tinkerings with the truth are far more effective.

In 1987, the French scholar Françoise Thom wrote an essay describing the Newspeak-style “wooden language” that the totalitarian regime of Soviet Russia used to fob off, confuse and pacify its citizens. (Orwell’s Newspeak was based on a similar idea of language as an instrument of control.) She identified four main characteristics:

use of abstract terms over concrete – attractive-sounding but empty slogans (think “Brexit means Brexit”, “Global Britain”, “Take back control”, “Get Brexit done”, “levelling up”), and vague terms like “sovereignty” and “democracy” and “freedom” that sound great but signifiy nothing;

Manichaeism – nuance-free, black and white thinking that paints everything as a battle between right and wrong, good and evil: “You’re either with us or against us”, “Enemies of the people”, “You lost, get over it”, “Get behind Brexit”;

tautology – repetition of the same idea: “20,000 police officers”, “40 hospitals”, most of the above catchphrases;

bad metaphors.

Since the first three are all pretty self-explanatory, it’s the last one I want to look at.

You may recall learning about similes and metaphors in English lessons. Quick refresher: a simile is a figure of speech that compares one object to another using the words “like” or “as”; a metaphor does the same thing, but by saying the two things are one and the same. So “My love is like a red, red rose” is a simile, while “Love is a battlefield” is a metaphor.

(While, strictly speaking, similes, metaphors and analogies are different things, their difference is largely in form, not function, so I’ll be using the terms more or less interchangeably.)

But it turns out metaphors aren’t just for Robert Burns and Pat Benatar. They underpin the very way we think, and if misused, can actually change what we think. A bold claim, I know. Bear with me.

Why do we use metaphors? In 99.9% of cases, they’re an explanatory tool. Metaphors tend to describe something that is less familiar to the listener in terms of something that is more familiar. The unfamiliar quantity – what psychologist Julian Jaynes (pdf) called a metaphrand, but which is now usually referred to as the target – might be an abstract concept (say, love), a complicated or disputed thing (the EU), or a brand-new thing (like coronavirus). The familiar quantity – the metaphier, or source – will generally be something concrete, which we regularly encounter in everyday life: a rose, a football match, influenza. So in “Love is a battlefield”, “love” is the target, the unfamiliar thing, and “battlefield” is the source.

The point is, we can easily summon a mental picture of battlefields and roses and football matches, and most people have some experience of the flu. We have much more trouble visualising abstract, complex and new things, like love, the EU and coronavirus, so people naturally turn to analogies to demystify them. The catch is that some metaphors do not work as advertised.

Two things determine the quality of a metaphor: the accuracy of the comparison, and its richness – the number of ways in which the things resemble each other. Shakespeare’s “All the world’s a stage” is a good metaphor because there are parallels galore between the stage and everyday life (not that surprising when you consider the stage was created as a representation of the world). Bill explores some of them himself: men and women are like actors, playing roles rather than living out their desires; they enter life, and they leave it, just as actors enter and exit the stage; the various phases of life are a bit like the acts of a play.

If, on the other hand, you’d never heard of sulphuric acid, and I explain it to you by telling you it’s a bit like water, you’ll be justifiably mad at me after you drink it (and survive). Ditto if you encounter your first snake, and I say, “Don’t worry, it’s just a big worm.” Bad metaphors can bite.

If anything ever called for a judicious analogy, it was Brexit. Few people – myself included – understood the full detail of how the EU worked, what the benefits of membership were, what the trade-offs were between sovereignty and trade and geopolitical harmony, and how integrated the UK was in EU supply chains. The far right was quick to fill this gap; two of their metaphors have framed much of the Brexit debate.

1. Oppression/confinement/freedom

“EU dictatorship.” “EU shackles.” “Take back control!”

2. Sport/war

“You lost, get over it.” “You just want a replay until you get the result you want.”

Daniel Hannan quote-tweeting Gary Lineker: "If every football match were replayed until you got a result you liked, England would romp home"

These are superficially powerful lines, which conjure vivid images and cut straight to our sense of self. But as soon as you interrogate them in any detail, they fall apart.

In what respects does the EU resemble a dictatorship? Well … it does take some decisions on its members’ behalf; but it consults its members on those decisions. Members vote on all laws and can veto them. And oftentimes, those members ignore the decisions without sanction.

There are no votes in a dictatorship. They’re run by self-appointed tyrants who tend to reign for life, and they’re characterised by the use of force, propaganda, and an intolerance of opposition and independent media. Dissent is ruthlessly suppressed. And crucially, no one is free to leave a dictatorship.

None of these things apply to the EU, and yet the Brexit gibberlings would have you believe that Guy Verhofstadt is Hitler reincarnated. The propagandists tried to persuade us that the worm was a snake, and a lot of us swallowed it.

Now, in what respects did the EU referendum resemble a football match? A few simple follow-up questions – “What have you won? What have I lost that you haven’t lost too?” “What role did you play in this glorious victory?” “Where do the people who voted leave but have since change their minds fit in, and the handful of remainers who have swung the other way? Are they winners, or losers?” “If your team gets beaten by another one, do you suddenly give up on your team and start supporting the other side?” – expose this comparison as equally flimsy.

When remainers pointed out the possible pitfalls of Brexit, the populists pooped out yet another crap analogy. “Millennium bug!” they chirped. “People issued dire warnings about that, and nothing happened!” Yes, it’s true that then, as now, some people prophesied doom. But that’s literally the only parallel between the two situations. The actors were different, the conditions were different, the entire realm of knowledge was different, the problem was different, and the solutions were different. And crucially, in the case of Y2K, steps were taken to mitigate its effects, without which catastrophe might well have struck.

John Redwood blog comparing Brexit concerns to Millennium bug

(It’s not just the far right that is guilty of this; the populist, pro-Brexit far left also seems to have a predilection for teeth-grindingly terrible comparisons.)

Paul Embery: crap analogy about Labour and shopping

Rachel Swindon: terrible analogy about Corbyn and football

Remainers did hit back with some counter-metaphors – membership of the EU is more like belonging to a golf club, they said: if you stop paying your dues, you no longer get to play on the course or drink in the bar. But it was all too feeble, too late. The right’s shit metaphors had forced their way into enough people’s heads, put down roots, and become unassailable truths.

And as if that wasn’t enough for them, the populist demagogues and disinformants, emboldened by their Brexit “success”, continued to wheel out their cack-handed comparisons in response to the coronavirus.

Hodges tweet: if a mad passenger tried to take over a plane because he didn't trust the pilot, would you help?

Mail on Sunday dross geyser Dan Hodges can’t help himself; he genuinely seems to consider himself a maven of metaphor, the Svengali of simile.

Dan Hodges: coronavirus strategy = football strategy — Football comes up a lot, doesn’t it. Wonder why?

But in their perpetual, desperate quests for attention and relevance, Trump and Brexit party banshee Ann Widdecombe had to go one further.

Trump: coronavirus is no worse than flu (March 9th 2020)

Widdecombe: coronavirus will be like Aids - not as devastating as feared

Covid-19 and influenza are both contagious respiratory illnesses caused by a virus, but that’s as far as the similarities go. The symptoms are different, the infection rates are different, the morbidity rates are different, and the treatments are different. The viruses aren’t even part of the same family.

As for the Aids comparison, where to begin? Aids isn’t even a goddamn virus (it’s the final, often fatal stage of the illness caused by HIV).

Graphic comparing stats/characteristics of flu, Covid-19, Sars and Mers

Trump and Widdecombe’s offhand disinformation goes beyond simple irresponsibility and borders on criminal negligence. Hard though it is to credit, there are people out there who have faith in their wisdom, and they’re repaying their fans by putting their lives in grave danger. (The Express presumably figured this out eventually, or caved in after massive outcry, as it took the Widdecombe column down, which is why I could only screenshot the New European’s response.)

They’ve been at it in America for a while, of course. Anyone who has politely suggested to a gun nut that US gun laws might be a tad on the lax side will be familiar with this retort: “Well, cars kill people too, and no one talks about banning them!”

The problem with this analogy, once again, is that it is fucking shit. Cars are not expressly designed to kill people. Their primary purpose – conveying people and goods from place to place quickly and efficiently – is so damned useful that society has reluctantly decided tolerate the occasional accidental death. Besides, driving is subject to all sorts of rules and regulations. You can’t drive under a certain age, you can’t drive drunk, and you have to obey speed limits and the rules of the road.

“Hold your horses, Bodle – aren’t you getting your panties in a bunch over what are, at the end of the day, just words?” you cry, mixing three metaphors.

But as Hitler and Goebbels knew, as Orwell knew, as the Russian security services and Cambridge Analytica have long known and as others are finally slowly realising, words matter. In an ever more compartmentalised and specialised world, we’ve become unprecedentedly reliant on others for information. On matters we haven’t personally mastered, we have to trust someone. And terrifyingly, a large swath of the population has stopped trusting experts and instead turned to populists and their sloppy, misleading, and often downright dangerous metaphors.

Why am I so concerned about metaphors in particular? Because they’re sneaky. When you encounter a fresh metaphor, it brings you up short. “That’s odd,” thinks your brain. “Not seen that before,” and you take a closer look. If I say, “British shoppers in 2020 are locusts,” you’ll probably spend a couple of seconds weighing it up before deciding whether or not you agree.

If enough people agree with a metaphor, it might catch on, and pass into wider use. So when you read “The elephant in the room” (a metaphorical phrase that dates to the 1950s) or “Take a chill pill” (early 1980s), it’s familiar enough that it no longer has the same jarring effect – you don’t for a second imagine that anyone’s talking about a real pachyderm squatting in your lounge – but still novel enough that you are aware of its metaphorical origin. Now it has become a cliche; if it’s lucky, it might even get promoted to idiom. And when idioms stick around for long enough, a further stage of evolution occurs, and they become part of everyday speech.

The language of abstract relationships – marriages, friendships, etc – almost exclusively borrows the vocabulary of physical relationships. So we talk about the ties between people, breaking up with someone, being close to someone and growing apart. We talk about grasping an idea and beating an opponent and closing a deal. You’ve probably rarely, if ever, reflected on the metaphorical origins of these phrases when using them.

And if you talk about time in any meaningful sense, you will find yourself drawing on the lexicon of space. You simply can’t conceptualise it any other way. You go on a long trip. You were born in the 20^th century. You look back on your youth. Time passes by.

Julian Jaynes’s theory – and I’ve never seen a better one – is that humans have a “mental space” (not a literal one, obviously), a sort of internal theatre, where we visualise things in order to make sense of them, and that without this spatialisation, we can’t properly think about things at all.

Metaphors are not just for bards and bellettrists – they’re part of everyday speech and thought. A huge number of words we use, especially those for abstract concepts, started life as metaphors, but have become so widely used that they have developed meanings of their own. Our dictionaries now contain hundreds of thousands of definitions that have separate entries for the literal and figurative meanings of words.

In fact, if you look up the etymology of any abstract concept you can think of, the chances are, it originated from a word or words for tangible things or everyday actions. The word “understand”, for example, derives from under- (Old English “among”, “close to”) and standan (stand). “Comprehend”, meanwhile, comes from con- (with) and prehendere, to gain hold of: to take within. “Money” can trace its family tree to Latin moneta (“a place where coins are made; a mint”), while the verb “to be” ultimately comes from the Sanskrit bhu, meaning “grow”, while the parts “am” and “is” come from a separate verb meaning “breathe”.

Metaphors, it turns out, are fundamental to our conception of the world. They play a massive role in shaping the way we think.

Suddenly, the populist far right’s strategy comes into focus. By putting out misleading metaphors like “EU dictatorship” and repeating them until blue in the face, they’re trying to normalise them. To make people forget that they are in fact just opinions, and mould them into self-evident truths.

(It turns out that there is a crucial difference between metaphors on the one hand and similes and analogies on the other. Similes and analogies are upfront about their intentions – they explicitly admit that they are comparisons, subjective judgements, up for dispute. Metaphors, meanwhile, brook no dissent.)

Never trust an analogy from a populist. How can they explain things to you when they’re totally unversed in the subject-matter? How can Ann Widdecombe possibly know how similar coronavirus is to Aids when even she would admit she knows nothing about either? Only recognised experts know the target domain (in this case, epidemiology) well enough to judge what source makes a good or bad metaphor. Populists just pull things out of thin air that feel right, regardless of their accuracy or utility. This is why popular science books are written by scientists, not populists, why popular economics books are written by economists, not populists, and so on.

“Understanding a thing,” according to Jaynes, “is arriving at a familiarising metaphor for it.” So if people are pushing duff metaphors on us, we’re going to misunderstand things – and as we’re seeing with Brexit, Trump, and especially coronavirus, the consequences of that can be grave.

What can you do about it? Well, the next time someone wheels one of these similes or metaphors or analogies, don’t let it pass. Ask them directly: in what respects is the EU like a dictatorship? When they inevitably fail to answer, point out the differences. Extend the analogy until it collapses under the weight of its own absurdity. Even if you can’t get through to them, you might just help prevent someone else who happens to be following the exchange from falling into the same deadly trap.

To finish on a more positive note, here’s how metaphors should be done. Kudos to @ptp335:

@ptp335: "Brexit is an underlying condition that none of the other nations has"

What we mean when we say ‘we’

‘We’ is a slippery little pronoun that can have any number of meanings – a fact that populist demagogues are gleefully exploiting

A world without pronouns would be a tedious one. “Bryan Fielding was an ordinary man. Bryan Fielding did not think of Bryan Fielding as an ordinary man, but Bryan Fielding most certainly was.” Pronouns save us time by avoiding the need to spell out the objects of our utterances in full at every mention.

But they can be slippery blighters.

When I use the word “I”, you have a pretty good idea of who I’m talking about. With a bit more context (where you are, who you’ve been talking about), the same goes for “he”, “she” and “they”. Minor confusions can arise in sentences like “When Sara kissed Barbara, she felt amazing”, but things are usually clear enough.

“You” is a trickier proposition. If I address a statement to “you”, I might be talking to you and you only, to you and others present, or to you and others of a group of which I consider you a member who are not present. Those who have studied foreign languages will know that while English lumps all these possibilities together, other tongues admit more distinctions: the French tu and vous, the German du and Sie.

But of all of personal pronouns, by far the biggest potential troublemaker is “we”.

Without any context, all you can be sure of when someone says “we” is that they mean “me, plus at least one other individual” (and even then you’ll still be wrong some of the time). This may or may not include any or all present; it may include only one other person, or it may stretch to every other human being who is living, has lived, or is yet to be born.

But the crucial ambiguity – and one that populist demagogues have gleefully exploited – is this: “we” may include or exclude the person being addressed.

Some examples to show you what I mean.

1. “We are not amused”

I’ll get two special cases out of the way first, as although they’re not especially relevant to my argument, they’re fascinating.

The “royal” we, meaning “I”, while associated most closely with Queen Victoria, has actually been with us for almost a millennium. Depending on who you believe, the first to use the word this way was either Henry II or Richard I, and its intended signification, apparently, was “God and I” – ie it was an attempt by the monarch to shore up his authority by claiming a “special relationship” with Him Upstairs.

It soon spread by contagion to anyone who overrated themselves – Margaret Thatcher was widely lambasted for her comment, “We have become a grandmother.”

2. “How are we feeling today?”

This “doctoral” we, also sometimes heard from carers of small children, actually means “you”. It’s a trick GPs, specialists and other “responsible adults” use to put the patient or child at ease from the off by creating a sense of affinity.

3. “What shall we do tonight?”

The most basic meaning of “we” is “the person speaking plus the person they are speaking to”, namely “me” and “you”.

4. “We are gathered here today …”

Ever since the first human ancestor ululated from a treetop, it’s been possible to address more than one individual at a time. Now, in the era of mass communication, you can talk to millions.

5. “Sorry we’re late”

The second simple meaning of “we”, again mostly restricted to real-life applications, has a radically different meaning from no 3: it’s “me, plus another person or persons, and explicitly not you”.

6. “We know from Godel’s second incompleteness theorem …”

The academic we, used in dissertations and other research literature, is frowned upon by most pointy-heads these days, precisely because it presupposes the reader’s agreement. “We” should strictly refer only to the authors of the study, not to “the scientific community” or “people in general”.

7. “We are destroying the planet”

What you might call the “Attenborough we”: generally taken to mean everyone; humanity as one monolithic mass. Can be extended to denote all humans past, present and future: “As a species, we do not know what our legacy to the universe will be.”

8. “We’re gonna win the league”

In the above cases, the referents of “we” are generally very clear (while the first two cases are a little odd, they are agreed by longstanding convention). There’s no potential disparity between who they actually mean when they say “we” and who you understand them to mean.

But now we’re entering murky territory. How can this 20-stone football fan, who hasn’t kicked a ball in anger since 1987 and whose sole contribution to match strategy has been to bellow “Useless wanker” at the team’s left-back, possibly claim any ownership of the on-field players’ success?

What he is signifying by “we” here is the team, or the club, that he supports, rather than himself and his Stella-swigging friends in the Fyffes End. He feels a connection to the club, even though his contribution is limited to a few hundred quid a year in season tickets and foul-mouthed support from the sidelines.

The club itself, assuming he hasn’t disgraced himself by throwing coins at the opposition goalkeeper, barely knows that he exists. But when that trophy comes home, he celebrates just as wildly as if he were the team’s veteran captain.

This is the chief appeal of tribalism: the ability to opt into and out of whatever aspects of membership you see fit. Your responsibilities within the tribe are minimal, and yet you feel able to take your share of the credit in the event of a victory.

9. “We won the war”

If you were a 95-year-old who served in the North African campaign, you might be justified in claiming a small part of the acclaim for Britain’s victory in the second world war (along with millions of Russians, Americans, Chinese, Indians, Poles, Aussies, Kiwis, French, etc). But as a fat middle-aged loser from Coventry who was born in 1963, you absolutely cannot.

What this old bigot means to be understood by “we”, of course, is all British people who have ever lived and will ever live. There is no such thing as an “innate British character” that you simply pick up by virtue of being born in these isles.

It also raises the question, how far back does Britishness go? To the Empire? To the Norman kings? To King Alfred? To Boudicca? And where do conscientious objectors, traitors, naturalised immigrants, and anti-Brexit liberals fit into your “we”?

Wars these days are fought on values, not nationalities. It’s difficult not to conclude that, were the same conditions of 1945 to emerge today, this old bigot would pick the other side.

10. “We don’t like strangers round here”

The speaker presumes to speak on behalf of all members of a group, when in fact their view may not be universal or even widespread.

There is undoubtedly a malicious element to this “confrontational we” – it is after all an attempt to intimidate by suggesting that the speaker has extensive support. But there may not necessarily be any deception involved; the speaker may well believe, correctly or not, that everyone else thinks the same way he does.

11. “We have a remain parliament”

Permavictim rentagob Chloe Westley of the TaxPayers’ Alliance has no such defence. When she says “we” here, she wants Brexit voters to believe that she is on their side. For one thing, she’s Australian, so not even part of the group she claims membership of. For another, she’s paid by US corporations to spread falsehoods in order to secure a damaging no-deal Brexit that will actively harm British citizens and facilitate the sell-off of public services and the quashing of workers’ rights and environmental protections, all to swell the coffers of the Koch brothers.

12. “We voted out”

An intimidatory “we” similar to No 10, and a favoured tool of the Brexit voter. There’s a huge and important disjunction here between who the speaker intends us to picture, and who they actually mean. In this case, the intent is to give the impression that the United Kingdom voted as one unit to leave the European Union, when in reality, only 17.4 million people, or 26% of the population, did.

Just under a quarter of the population voted for the exact opposite outcome, and the remaining half voted for nothing at all (which you could legitimately interpret as a passive vote for the status quo). Furthermore, 3 million EU citizens and a sizeable number of the 1.5 million British migrants to the EU were denied a voice.

(The phrase “the people” is often used in the same misleading fashion: “the will of the people”, “the people have spoken”, “enemies of the people”.)

But this “we” falls apart at the slightest scrutiny. As long as your collective aims are nice and broad and vague, you can muster quite a lot of “us” in support of them. But as soon as you try to narrow down those aims to specific course of action, the illusion of unity vanishes and your following splinters – as we are now seeing with the various warring Brexit factions.

“What do we want?”
“Change!”
“When do we want it?”
“Now!”
“What specific changes do we want to make?”
“Well, Parvinder favours option A. Sally prefers option B, which is completely incompatible with option A, and Keith doesn’t really have any ideas. He’s just cranky.”

13. “Let’s take back control”

The “we” is rather buried, in the form of that apostrophe+s, in Vote Leave’s ingenious and probably decisive slogan for the 2016 referendum campaign, but it’s crucial.

Almost three years after the vote, no Brexit campaigner has yet been able to explain how leaving the EU will restore any control to the average person in the street. The truth is, the only beneficiaries of the change will be whoever is in power at Westminster and, some way down the line, the big businesses that lobby them.

And they will benefit precisely at the expense of the average person in the street, whose rights and protections they will be free to curtail once the UK leaves the European Union. The slogan is a ruthlessly cynical exploitation of the ambiguity of the word “we”. It implies everyone in the UK; in fact it means only a very small subset of that group.

Dominic Cummings and his fellow cacodemons were essentially trying to pull the same trick as your GP – but with far less benevolent intent. In return for nothing more than putting a cross in a box, they seemed to promise, you could become part of a project, a team, a family. You’ll feel valued again! And that family will go on to achieve untold glories, that you can share in!

Alas, the bitter truth for Brexiters is the same as for the football fan: while you may experience the elation of vicarious victory, it’ll cost you a small fortune, and you won’t so much as lay a finger on that trophy.

Cummings, Johnson, Rees-Mogg, Westley et al can say “we” till they’re blue in the face – but know this: you, the common person, are not and never will be part of their club.

The Brexit index

A nexus for all the best articles, blog posts, tweets and other resources related to the ongoing clusterfuck

What is the European Union?

The referendum

Economics and trade

Immigration and freedom of movement

Northern Ireland

Higher education

Britain’s global standing

Fake thinktanks, data harvesting and targeted propaganda

Role of the social media giants

Government preparations

Populist tricks and how to see through them

Are people changing their minds?

As loyal reader (not a typo) will know, I’ve compiled a fair bit of material about Brexit and the rise of populism on this site. But there are of course plenty of others with more knowledge and a better work ethic than me, so there’s a veritable glut of information out there now. Only thing is, it’s all so … scattered. So this page will serve as a nexus for all the best articles, blog posts, tweets and other resources related to the ongoing clusterfuck.

It will of necessity be fairly skeletal to be begin with, as I wanted to get it up sooner rather than later, but I hope it will grow quickly – ideally with your help. Feel free to suggest any links you’ve found useful. (And don’t be upset if I don’t use them straight away. I don’t have as much time or energy to spend on this as I’d like.)

What is the European Union?

In its own words

Newsbeat version (for Brexiters)

European attitudes to the EU (2018 survey: 53% of Brits think the EU has been a force for good)

Brexit terminology explained: EEA/EFTA, non-tariff barriers, max fac, backstop, etc. Part of a huge reference resource

Full Fact: What proportion of UK laws are written by the EU (of which, just to remind you, the UK is a contributing member)? Answer: smaller than you think. There’s a ton more EU mythbusting on the same site.

Financial Times: How EU membership has benefited Britain

Spectator: The EU was a sticking plaster for Britain’s underlying structural flaws. What happens when you rip it off?

The referendum

Summary of Britain’s 1975 referendum on EEC membership (pdf)

The Electoral Commission’s regional breakdown of results, plus lots of other useful links

Handy summary of the known criminality associated with the referendum campaign

European Law Monitor: did people really fall for Leave’s lies? All that matters is, enough of them did. (Leave campaign literature and post-ref polling information)

Was the press coverage during the campaign balanced? – Reuters Institute. Have a guess. (Oh, and guess what percentage of spokespeople cited were experts? A staggering 13%.)

A staggering graph plotting the results of the annual survey that asks people: “What’s the most important issue facing Britain?” Look at the blue line. Just fucking look at it.

The BBC’s EU referendum poll tracker. Pay particular attention to the “don’t knows”. Somehow, in the last few days of the campaign, someone managed to swing all the don’t knows to Leave. It’s surely a complete coincidence that Vote Leave spent the vast majority of its (illegally large) budget on unaccountable, bespoke social media adverts in the last three days.

Economics and trade

The UK government’s analysis of the long-term economic impact of Brexit

The UK government report (pdf) on the impact of no-deal Brexit

The Brexit Shitstorm Forecast, a rolling summary of the effects, good and bad, of Brexit. (Almost three years, and nothing good yet)

Bloomberg’s Brexit Tracker, listing all the effects, negative and negative, of Brexit on UK businesses

Treasure trove of Brexit-related info from IGD, a research group affiliated with the food and grocery industry

Brexit job losses: no further explanation needed

Steve Peers debunks the “batshit” Lisbon Treaty 2022 myths

Steve Analyst’s thread on EU coffee tariffs (refuting a tiresomely common Brexit lie)

Jim Cornelius’s thread on EU tariffs on oranges (same deal)

Jim pulverises animatronic turnip Tim Martin’s bullshit about tariffs on rice

Holger Hestermayer’s thread on GATT article XXIV: can trade continue unhindered after a no-deal Brexit? No.

Thread by Edwin Hayward: what does trading on WTO terms really mean?

Institute for Government: 10 things to know about WTO

So you thought Brexit was going to help the fishermen?

Kid Tempo’s thread on why unilaterally dropping all tariffs isn’t the magic bullet for the UK’s trade woes.

All the times Brexiters promised we’d stay in the single market (video). Actually, there are many more, but this was all they’d turned up on video at the time.

Immigration and freedom of movement

My potted history of human migration

Me on myths about freedom of movement

The 3 Million: useful info for our European friends and our former compatriots

Northern Ireland

Jonathan Mills’s thread on the Northern Irish backstop

Higher education

Universities UK: The impact of Brexit on the sector

Britain’s global influence

UK government report on the effects of Brexit on the UK’s role in the world

Fake thinktanks, data harvesting and targeted propaganda

Richard Corbett’s Long List of Leave Lies lists the fibs the Leave campaign told in order to cheat their way to victory, along with some impressive refutations

European Commission’s Euromyths: hundreds more examples of the above, generally peddled by the UK’s gutter press

The Bad Boys of Brexit: MEP Molly Scott Cato’s treasure trove of background info on the people who engineered the disaster: a cabal of chancers, shysters, hucksters and outright villains

How much your average Tory MP knows about the EU

Who are the European Research Group?

Banks and Wigmore give evidence to the DCMS committee (then walk out early) (video)

Open Democracy: How did Arron Banks afford Brexit?

Andrew Tyrie questions Vote Leave chief Dominic Cummings on the referendum, Jun 2016 (video)

Cummings’s blog posts on the referendum (content warning: tedious, smug and overwrought, but some enlightening nuggets buried in there somewhere)

We need to talk about Tufton Street: Details of the shadowy network of opaquely funded “thinkthanks” based at 55 Tufton Street – the Institute for Economic Affairs, Civitas, the Taxpayers’ Alliance et al – whose representatives, despite their complete lack of relevant qualifications and clear neoconservative agenda, are interviewed on political talkshows as “independent experts” on a daily basis

George Monbiot on how US billionaires are funding the far right in the US and UK

Why do American corporations want Brexit so badly? Read this 2014 essay on the Heritage Foundation website to find out. (Heritage is the US template upon which the UK “thinktanks” were built: climate change sceptics, anti-tax, anti-regulation, inexplicable charitable status, donors unknown – but agenda points squarely to big business)

The Koch brothers’ integrated strategy for social transformation. Sounds terrifying, doesn’t it? It is.

Robert Mercer, the shadowy, evil billionaire behind Breitbart and Bannon

The Brink: inside Steve Bannon’s plan to ruin the world

Who is Chloe Westley? Short thread (with some interesting addenda) on the TaxPayers’ Alliance’s Australian rentagob shill

Gavin Esler for the New European on the lesser-known faces of the Brexit Posse

Electoral Commission findings on breaches of law by Vote Leave and BeLeave’s Darren Grimes

DeSmog: Economists for Free Trade: the climate change deniers pushing for a hard Brexit

Carole Cadwalladr’s Observer piece on the global data operation that drove Brexit, still one of the few efforts by mainstream media to get to grips with the problem

What is 4chan, and what role did it play in the rise of Trump and the alt-right?

VICS (Voter Intention Collection System): the software Vote Leave used to win

DFR Labs: How bots work

Andrew Hickey: Why people can’t think – an essay on the increasingly obvious limitations of the human brain

Dr Emma Briant’s testimony to the DCMS on the murky methods of Cambridge Analytica, AIQ et al (pdf)

How Trump uses the same methods as Hitler (audio: interview with founder of SCL Group, parent of Cambridge Analytica/AIQ)

Sara Danner Dukic’s thread on how they fuck with your brain

Umair Haque’s essay on how social media hacked the human mind

Telegraph: two-thirds of Britons polled in May 2016 did not think Brexit would make them any poorer. Boy, how stupid must they feel now?

Who funds the anti-NHS “thinktank” the Institute for Economic Affairs? Well, blow me down if it isn’t Big Tobacco.

The Russia connection

The Atlantic Council’s reports on Russian disinformation efforts in Europe: 1.0 (UK, France, Germany), 2.0 (Greece, Italy, Spain) and 3.0 (Denmark, Netherlands, Norway, Sweden)

The Russian “Firehose of Falsehood” (pdf) model of propaganda

NPR: What is dezinformatsiya, and how does it work?

JJ Patrick’s Pfft-what-tinfoil-hat-bollocks-oh-no-it’s-suddenly-all-terrifyingly-true Alternative War, on the kleptocrat/populist disinformation masterplan. That’s a link to the Amazon page; there’s a good taster here

Daily Beast: Russia’s long history of messing with American minds

US Helsinki Commission on Russian information warfare

Washington Post: how the trolls invaded America (not Brexit, but related)

Fake news and social media

The Department of Culture, Media and Sport’s 2019 report into fake news (pdf)

Government preparations

Hansard: the Brexit statutory instruments

Online debate: populist tricks

My bit on feeble populist arguments and how to rebut them. Basically, how to shoot down those dreary, witless souls who parrot slogans they’ve picked up from memes and the Daily Express – “They need us more than we need them”, “Millennium bug!” – but don’t really understand.

How to outthink a Brexiter (no, it doesn’t just say, “Think”)

The turning tide

Bregrets? I’ve found a few

Swansea has second thoughts about Brexit

On Twitter? Follow @RemainerNow, the community for those who are kicking themselves.

And just for shits and giggles …

Daniel Hannan’s hilarious flag-waving vision of Britain after Brexit. Be sure not to have a mouth full of tea when you read.

Do also check out the Brexit database and aggregator, a rather more thorough, if less colourful approach to the same sorta ting.

Work in progress – more to follow …