Author: Lasith Siriwardana

As I scavenged Gary Stevenson’s brash rhetoric on the internet for a deeper insight into his views, it dawned upon me that he was something I had not really come across before: a left-wing populist. The signs were clear; Stevenson thrives off of polarising language, extreme abstractions and one-size-fits-all solutions. Like his counterparts on the right, he targets the uninformed, the naive and the disillusioned. As he floats podcast to podcast he escapes largely unchallenged. The left-wing papers, specifically the Guardian, adore him; right-wing papers, like the Telegraph, mostly ignore him. Technocratic media, like the FT and The Economist, understand that their readers are, for the most part, uninterested in demagogy. Stevenson sits comfortably in the eye of the storm, spreading his gospel unabated.

Nobel prize winning Physicist Richard Feynman is often remembered for saying “if you think you understand quantum mechanism, you don’t understand quantum mechanics”. I would say the same holds for global economics. Very few people have truly grasped all the mechanisms behind the billions of individuals, millions of businesses and thousands of institutions that form the global economy. Whilst studying economics at A-Level, I would leap at opportunities to discuss economic problems plaguing the UK economy. Today, with four years of university level economics under my belt, I cower at the thought. Such a discussion would require an encyclopaedic knowledge of the stats and so much added nuance that it wouldn’t be enjoyable.

Having studied economics at the LSE, one would think that Gary understands the necessity of nuance when discussing economic issues. To quote proud Oxford man Sir Humphrey Appleby in Yes Minister, “even the LSE is not totally opposed to education”. It’s clear that Stevenson omits nuance to strengthen his arguments.

A recent video on Stevenson’s channel summarises his plan to “fix the UK”. In his view the “key, fundamental economic problem” facing the UK is economic inequality, and of the two types, income and wealth inequality, he generally focusses on the later. Without much explanation he says that wealth inequality is squeezing the government and the working and middle classes. He also adds that the political landscape of the UK means that successive governments refuse to tax the very rich, and instead continue to levy taxes on the working and middle classes. His solution to all of this: a (nondescript) wealth tax.

I cannot too harshly criticise the final stages of Stevenson’s logic; if one truly believes that wealth inequality is the crux of the UK’s economic woes, a wealth tax seams a reasonable solution. It’s his diagnosis that I take issue with; a half-century of domestic and international economic evidence would suggest that UK’s true economic ailment is a much more complex story.

In 2000, an hour of work by a British worker produced approximately the same amount of output as an American worker. In 2024, a UK worker produced 18% less than his or her US counterpart¹. Given that workers are generally paid in accordance to what they produce, this is incredibly worrying. The plight of the British working and middle classes that Stevenson discusses extensively can be attributed to this phenomenon. He was challenged with this fact by Rory Stewart on The Rest is Politics podcast. Stewart broke down the problem very clearly for Stevenson; he explained how Britain is now poorer than the poorest of American states, how relatively egalitarian European nations have struggled to keep up with US productivity growth and that the US has achieved this feat despite extreme inequality. Stewart goes on to retort, rather sardonically, that “they didn’t do it through wealth tax”. To my dismay, Alistair Campbell soon bails Stevenson out as he struggles to provide a cogent response, instead blathering about fracking, big tech and natural resources.

Explaining the lack of economic dynamism in the UK is a difficult task. Stevenson is right to mention “big tech”; the UK can’t claim to be the birthplace of any big-tech company. Our closest competitor is probably chip-designer Arm with a market cap of c. $145 billion – nowhere near the trillion dollar valuations of the US tech-behemoths. Although Stevenson may try and pass this off as exogenous in an attempt to refocus on inequality and wealth taxes, this is simply not the case; this FT Big Read argues that a lack of investment is the key culprit with the US accounting for 83% of the total of VC funding in G7 economies over the past decade. Doubtless, there are hundreds of interconnected factors at play.

Stevenson follows the populist playbook to a T. The purpose of this article isn’t to provide a thorough case for productivity growth being the true economic ailment Britain faces. Nor is its purpose to provide a simple solution to this issue. As I have tried to emphasise, economic problems are incredibly complex. I do not deny that income inequality is an issue facing Britain; I do however resent the notion that is is the problem. Simple diagnoses such as these are misleading. Simple solutions do not generally exist. Stevenson’s inequality problem, wealth tax solution is no less harmful than Trump’s China problem, tariff solution. Populism exists on both extremes of the politcal-economic spectrum – if you aren’t fooled by one side, don’t find yourself fooled by the other.

1. Figures drawn from FT The Big Read on US Productivity and Dynamism (here) ↩︎

I envy those who have so far avoided the Jubilee “Surrounded” debates which have riddled the internet for the best part of a year now. The series has amassed millions of views through its full-feature length videos and derived short-form content. At first glance, we may welcome the popularity of these videos; public discourse is an incredibly important aspect of democracy which should be encouraged. Debate allows those holding certain views to be challenged whilst granting them the opportunity to defend these views under scrutiny. Ultimately it allows both participants and observers to amend their views and convictions on the issues that matter to them. However, a closer look at Jubilee’s videos reveals a reality quite different from this ideal. Instead, the current state of internet “debate” rewards vehemently expressed extremes at the expense of reasoned discourse.

The most recent video of the series saw Mehdi Hasan, a well known left wing commentator, “surrounded” by 20 far-right American conservatives. However, it quickly transpired that Hasan was up against people who were, to use his own words, “a little bit more than far right republican”. One guest proudly admitted to being a fascist, an admission met with applause from others in the room, whilst another told Hasan to “get the hell out” when Hasan raised the fact that he himself was an immigrant when discussing immigration.

About halfway through the 100 minute long video, it was abundantly clear that none of the 20 participants were there with the intention of, or perhaps even the ability to, have a reasonable debate with Hasan. One might think that Jubilee had intentionally chosen such participants in attempt to maximise jaw-dropping moments and thereby views. I personally disagree with Mehdi Hasan on many of his views ranging from taxation to illegal immigration. I would have valued seeing him truly challenged with cogent well-ariticulated arguments. More importantly, I think it would have been important for fans of Hasan to be exposed to such content. Jubilee disregarded an opportunity to improve public discourse in the US in favour of viral clips and views.

If you are in any doubt of Jubilee’s disregard for showcasing intellectual debate, the Red Flag feature of the Surrounded format makes it unmistakably clear. If a majority of the 19 observers raise their red flags, the current debater is voted out. Most debaters are voted out within minutes. Those rewarded by the red flag system are those who score easy points by citing facts, often of doubtful authenticity, or using emotive anecdotes. Very rarely does the flag system enable a well constructed logical argument that may challenge the expert. Guests don’t want to sit through a peer defining terms or laying out coherent arguments when they themselves could be on the hot seat banging the drum.

The problems with and popularity of Jubilee’s Surrounded format represents a much wider issue that has permeated the spirit of debate across a variety of platforms. From internet podcasts to Cambridge Union debates to motions in the House of Commons, the focus on scoring short-term points with those on one’s own side of the argument has supplanted the purpose of debate – to convince the marginal and, if effective, change the minds of the already decided.

Countless “commentators” have risen to fame in recent years enabled by limp-lipped podcasts hosts. None I find more infuriating than Gary Stevenson, a.k.a Gary’s Economics, who travels from podcast to podcast spreading his own radical, nonsensical version of economics. Hosts like Chris Williamson and The Diary of a CEO’s Steven Bartlett podcast let him run amok whilst qualified macroeconomists cringe knowing that they would eat Gary for breakfast.¹ But this is merely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to internet podcasts. The meteoric growth of the format has given way to hundreds of uninformed podcasters interviewing hundreds of unqualified guests who spread nonsense under the guise of being an expert. Dissect these podcasts into short-format clips and the internet is plagued with unchallenged rhetoric taken out of context.

Perhaps the most important victim of the attention-seeking debate culture has been this country’s highest form of office: the Houses of Parliament. Both houses have been broadcasted to the public since the 1980’s. Unsurprisingly, PMQs is the most popular item of the week. Party politics has always been the name of the game at PMQs but never to the extent it is today where the content of PMQs seems irrelevant – what matters is if The Telegraph considers Kemi to have silenced Starmer or fallen flat in the following morning’s paper. Increasingly this is not determined by cogent argument but whether the Leader of the Opposition can berate the Prime Minister for his failings whilst amply deflecting the return fire. Those who supported televising Parliament in the 1980s could not have anticipated the harm it might cause in today’s politically polarised, internet-driven world; 40 years on, I am certain it was a mistake.

A strong atmosphere of public discourse is essential for a well functioning democracy. We often underestimate how much online debates shape the conversations we have in person. I will admit that the majority of arguments I make in conversation are not originally my own but taken from an article I have read, a debate I have watched or a conversation I have had with someone else. Good arguments spread exponentially whilst bad ones fall by the wayside. An absence of quality arguments in the media threatens to nip this process in the bud; if intelligent arguments are replaced by derisive rhetoric, polarisation is inevitable. Although this is an artefact of modern media, it is not an inescapable one. We must look past the YouTube main page for political content and beyond Instagram feeds for news. Instead read newspaper and magazine articles in their totality, seek out podcasters and guests who are well researched and qualified, and reward content creators that are in search of true debate rather than viral moments.² Once a process of rewarding intellectual discourse begins, we may hope to escape the race to the bottom we currently find ourselves in.

1. Maybe I will write a post trying to eat Gary for breakfast. ↩︎
2. I hope you might find examples of such content in my Further Reading page. ↩︎

This Monday I was lucky enough to watch a spectacular day of Test cricket at Lord’s. Having bought a last-minute ticket on a whim, I was treated to the finale of a five-day nail-biter. The match had everything one would hope for in a Test; marvelous batting, glorious bowling, and a fierce rivalry underpinning the contest which elevated all aspects of the game to the highest level. The match undoubtedly deserves to be remembered as an “absolute classic” – an accolade sparingly bestowed in a format where matches are sadly becoming few and far between. I do hope that this match reignites passions for the long format game; as Sir Geoffrey Boycott put it in a voice note for the Telegraph in his characteristic Yorkshire accent, “T20 can be fun but it has nothing on Test match cricket at its best”.

I had all the time in the world to watch days 1-4 on TV pending my trip to Lord’s. Sitting with Suetonius’s The Twelve Caesars in hand, I probably watched 80% of deliveries on these days. Safe to say I didn’t progress far into the classical epic I had prescribed myself to finish before Sunday evening; I only made it to the end of the chapter on Augustus, who you may know was only The Second Caesar. Despite this, I feel that I used my unique inoccupation wisely. The last time I watched a Test match so fixatedly was the summer of 2011. I vividly remember sweltering in my grandparents’ home in Mt Lavinia, Sri Lanka, watching Alistair Cook knock 294 against India at Edgbaston. I even remember his dismal dismissal: lofting one to Suresh Raina at deep point, having not hit a single six in his 545-ball innings.

Test cricket has evolved significantly since 2011, one often forgotten evolution being the implementation of the Umpire’s Call rule.¹ The rule has been prolific in the Anderson-Tendulkar series so far, coming into play eight times in the first three tests. At Lord’s, on-field decisions were upheld on three occasions by Umpire’s Call. This has thrust the rule into the limelight sparking conversation with some muddled takes. Perhaps we can blame the emotion involved in Test match cricket, but nearly a decade on from the ICC’s implementation of Umpire’s Call in 2016, it is time that players, commentators and spectators think deeply about the rule.

Let’s consider one recent comment from which we might identify where the misunderstandings lie. Indian batting legend Sunil Gavaskar was commentating when Joe Root wasn’t given out on-field and the decision remained upon review when ball tracking suggested that it was Umpire’s Call. He said from the commentary box, “You’re saying it was going to kiss the leg stump? There’s no way. It was knocking the leg stump off. The only good thing is that India has not lost the review.”

There’s a lot to unpack here but it might be prudent to start with why Umpire’s Call was first introduced in 2016. There are errors involved with all prediction methods and technology.² Once the ball has hit the pad, ball tracking is no longer doing what is says on the tin – instead it has now turned from tracking to predicting. Every instance of ball prediction, as I will now call it, has some distribution with associated error. When we are shown on the big screen the flight of the ball after it hits the pad, we are being shown the mean prediction. There are a range of other possible flights that could have happened with some probability.

We can think about this with a simple example in which we abstract away the height of the ball and instead focus purely on line. Consider a scenario in which the ball prediction system is 70% certain that the ball would have hit middle stump and 95% certain it would have hit any of the stumps. Assuming symmetry, this gives a 2.5% chance that the ball would have missed leg and a 2.5% chance that the ball would have missed off. In this scenario, it seems reasonable to give the batsman out – we can say with 95% confidence that the ball was going on to hit the stumps. Now transpose this scenario onto the off stump. Now there is a 70% that the ball would have hit the off stump, and less than 15% chance that it would have hit middle or leg. This leaves a 15% chance that the ball would have missed off. Now it seems less reasonable to give the batsman out – we can now only say with 85% confidence (at most) that the ball was hitting the stumps.

If we move the mean prediction around, we can see that at some point it changes from it being reasonable to unreasonable to give someone out off of the ball prediction (given some threshold confidence you want to have i.e. 95%). Umpire’s Call was introduced because the ICC decided that the point at which the mean prediction switches from being reasonable to unreasonable, crossing their chosen confidence threshold for LBW decisions, is when exactly half of the ball is predicted to hit the stumps. They decided that when less than half of the ball was hitting the stumps, the Umpire’s decision was to be trusted – the ICC had more confidence in the Umpire to predict the flight of the ball at this point than the ball prediction system. Hence, we have Umpire’s Call.

Now let’s return to Gavaskar’s comments on Root’s survival by Umpire’s Call. Saying that there was no way a ball was going on to kiss leg stump but was instead going to hit leg plumb indicates a misunderstanding of how Umpire’s Call works. The whole point is that if the ball prediction system predicts that it was kissing leg, we can’t trust it so we defer to the on-field umpire. In this instance the on-field umpire thought it was missing, Gavaskar thought it was hitting; a more appropriate thing to say in the commentary box would be “the Umpire thinks it was going to miss leg stump? No way. It was knocking the leg stump off”. His quibble shouldn’t be directed at DRS, nor Umpire’s Call – rather it should be directed at Paul Reiffel.

Umpire’s Call has played a key role in the Test series between India and England creating frustrating moments for both sides. Commentators must do a better job of conveying to spectators that a deferral to Umpire’s Call is not an arbitrary decision to stand behind umpires but rather one that aims to improve the accuracy of in-game decisions. There exist an abundance of reasons why Test cricket is dying, but one wholly avoidable factor is the perceived highbrow nature of the sport, with its esoteric rules and terminology. We have to minimize this sentiment if we want the format to thrive. Comments like Gavaskar’s, for example, just muddy the waters for spectators new to the game. A large part of the problem with Umpire’s Call has to do with the on-screen DRS graphics that spectators see during a review. The easiest way to explain to someone new to the game what to look for during a review is three reds. I never know where to begin the moment an orange box appears and the inevitable question follows: “Wait — why isn’t that out?”

1. The LBW rule essentially states that a batsman can be given out if the ball strikes their legs and would have otherwise gone on to hit the stumps. DRS allows both the batting and fielding sides to challenge the on-field umpire’s decision using ball-tracking technology. Before the introduction of Umpire’s Call in 2016, if any part of the ball was hitting the stumps, the batsman would be given out. After the introduction of Umpire’s Call, what mattered was the centre of the spherically modelled ball. If the centre of the ball was hitting the stumps, then the batsman would be given out. If the centre was outside of the rectangle area of the stumps, technically called the Wicket Zone, meaning less than half the ball was within the rectangle, the original decision of the on-field umpire would remain. ↩︎
2. This includes the ball flight prediction an on-field umpire does when making an on-field decision. ↩︎