When I think of supermarkets now—in our newly viral world—I think of the classical psychological test called the Prisoner’s Dilemma. It’s a scenario predicated upon two prisoners who have been charged with the same crime, usually as accomplices. However, the cops in the scenario don’t have great evidence so the most likely outcome becomes one in which both criminals are charged with a lesser offence. In order to get a better result, the cops separate the two prisoners and offer them a deal: rat out your partner, and you go free, but if they rat you out you’ll suffer a harsher penalty.
In essence, it’s a means of adding pressure—based on trust, or perhaps distrust—to act in a particular way. In the case of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, the desired action is a confession which would have been far, far less likely to manifest naturally in the status quo.
The idea is that it creates a perverse incentive for the hypothetical criminals to betray one another when they have no ostensible reason to. There’s probably some kind of Venn diagram for their potential responses which explains it pretty well but basically if one defects (ie. they rat on their buddy) they win big, and the other loses big. The ‘dilemma’ exists because if they both rat one another out, they both lose big, and yet if they hold firm and cooperate they both suffer a mild penalty which, overall, is the best for them as a group (even if not individually).
The idea behind this entire concept is that the best overall outcome is for them to cooperate and resist the temptation to defect, but psychologically that’s extremely rare.
Death, Tax, toilet paper
And so we come to supermarkets. In early 2020, it became en vogue at particular crisis points to discuss the parlous state of supermarket supplies. While the novel coronavirus did have an early impact on delivery chains, by and large most countries continued to produce most things at the same reliable rate they had before the pandemic began. In other words, supply remained about the same. And yet, on the demand end of the scale, the (first) world exploded. In Australia there were suddenly ridiculous shortages of things like toilet paper. Not fruit and vegetables and most foods… just toilet paper.
At one time, the most valuable material on the planet. Image: Sydney Morning Herald
But it’s the same deal as the earlier dilemma: we all went to the supermarket, looked at those dwindling supplies on the shelves and thought “I should only buy what I need right now”. But every part of your brain is screaming “but what if everyone else is hoarding and I miss out?” The reality is that in most situations people will hoard; they’ll buy more than they actually need at that time and perpetuate the cycle. In the end, everyone loses because everyone is trying to fuck everyone else over—too much fucking and we all get screwed.
On the other hand, just like in the classic dilemma, if we all just calmed down and trusted one another to act appropriately, there’s a mild penalty across the board (not being able to immediately stock up, and the risk that certain items won’t be available at a future date) counteracted by a free-flowing supply which ameliorates the trend toward panic-purchases and further lack of supply. But hovering over both scenarios, like the proverbial Sword of Damocles, is the idea that it only takes a very small proportion of dissenters to exploit everyone else’s ethical response.
And before you get too judgemental about those persnickety hoarders—as I certainly did at the time—it is worth noting that a large part of the problem is that the rational decision is actually to defect. To hoard.
It makes sense: if I don’t hoard, the best-case scenario is that nobody else hoards either, and our group overall gets a better outcome even though none of us get exactly what we want. The worst-case scenario created by not hoarding is that other people do hoard and I’m left without items, possibly for a long time. Whereas, if I do hoard, I get the second-best-case scenario (or the best-case, depending on your attitude) right away; I can’t fall too short because I already have the items I might need. And even if everyone else hoards, I’ve already hoarded so I can’t actually lose in the short-term even if the longer-term outcome is worse overall.
Therein lies the problem: for an individual, the best option, and the rational one, is hoarding. Which is why hoarding is what happened, and why it will always happen. We can get on Facebook and bitch all we like, but that doesn’t change the hard reality.
Give and take… or, just take
This very problem is, in my view, what communities and societies were actually created to counteract. A social contract enforces individual sacrifice for the benefit of a larger group—that is its purpose. That is also why any member of any society should be extremely suspicious of people who want barely any rules at all. Because without restriction nor restraint, the strong continue to take what they want, and individuals with an eye only for their own interests will dominate those who prefer to show a degree of compassion precisely because in the midst of a dilemma the former will win every time, and the latter will lose. It’s only when those who lose band together and insist on a theoretically even playing field that we get what most people would call “justice”.
Rules and laws and regulation and all the irritating bureaucratic bullshit that often seems to get in the way of just getting on with what should be very simple things, actually serve to act as an anchor against these very natural instincts. Our worst individual instincts. That is, the instincts which make us look after number one and disregard the needs of anyone outside our immediate group. The purpose of regulation is to force us to play nicely during a dilemma. It’s annoying a lot of the time precisely because it’s designed for that small portion of time when there is a crisis.
It’s easy to dislike such rules when they impact you, and just as easy to forget they protect you—because many people erroneously feel like humans, as a rule, will be “good” if offered the opportunity (forgetting for a moment the absolute subjective nature of a word like good). But nothing burst that idealistic little bubble quicker than the hoarders descending upon toilet paper aisles in 2020. Many laws are boring and arcane, and some are outright unjust. But the concept of restriction is important because it reins in the worst excesses of our nature, and even of our reasoning.
Many people are capable of being sensible without being instructed to be by the law. Communities are built around resisting the temptations offered by the Shopper’s Dilemma, by developing trust—which is why it’s so easy to get angry at people who do defect. Such defection feels like a betrayal. Because it is a betrayal. It breaks trust. But hold on to that anger and consider this: there’s a larger and more persistent defection at play all around us, and it’s been going on a lot longer than the virus, or petty tabloid-fuelled fights over toilet paper.
Why is it that extraordinarily wealthy people so often complain that “regulation” will destroy businesses and economies? Often they’ll go so far as to suggest they attack “freedoms” or “democracy”, which is quite the stretch. Sometimes people of lesser means complain about regulation as well, but I’ll bet it’s usually because they got that idea from somewhere else, and appropriated an emotional reason for their distaste rather than examining their own self-interest.
Because unless you’re into some kind of dangerous sport, or a hobby or interest which may injure or harm other people, it’s unlikely that restrictions which are good for the whole community would be bad for you individually over the length of your life. Remember; regulation is about combatting crises and edge cases, not day to day operations. There are exceptions, of course, though at this stage I don’t have enough digression space to properly illustrate the many financial interests behind something like gun or media ownership laws and their associated politics, which often figure into such arguments. The common strain is a focus on terms like “freedom”.
The concept of something like freedom seems, on the surface, almost infinitely positive. How can championing freedom possibly be a bad thing? Well… if I am strong, and have absolute freedom, I can break anything which stands in my way should I so choose. If I am wealthy, I can pay to escape punishment, or I can even pay a third party to avoid behaving (or appearing to behave) distastefully myself. In fact, I might even pay to engineer changes to the system which then benefit me even further. In fact, such “payments” to engineer change are really investments, being later repaid many times over once regulation is removed and I can gain even more wealth as a consequence.
These conditions arrive precisely because I am free to behave in whatever way I please, limited only by my strength or privilege or wealth relative to those in competition with me—which must be wonderful if you’re already powerful, but not so great if you’re not.
As a general rule, powerful people, and wealthy people (who are frequently, but not always, the same people), enjoy the status quo. They don’t want things to change, and the bigger the change the more likely they are to resist it. After all, it is the system as it exists now which provided them with their wealth in the first place (whether they earned it themselves or inherited it, or even merely piggy-backed off their inherent privileges, provided to them by those same systemic conditions). Why would they ever want that system to change?
Therefore, it serves the beneficiaries of a given system to reinforce and protect that same system as it currently exists, and if anything actively reduce its restrictions (which impact them more than they benefit from the protection—which they can already afford). It follows that it would be illogical for the economic élite to inherently feel anything other than disdain toward regulation or social protections. Which no doubt explains why so many proffer just those kinds of attitudes. And also why those few among them who don’t think that way likely came to their position with considerable intellectual effort or an external factor such as the adoption of a particular ethical principle.
So it’s a bitter pill to swallow when millionaires and billionaires complain about restrictions and social obligations (which are re-branded as attacks on “freedom” or one of its synonyms, like “liberty”) brought about by regulation. They have many ideological champions to assist them, of course, but it’s not actually the broader concept of “freedom” they are really talking about. It’s only their freedom. The freedom to continue using their wealth and power as an instrument of social domination, free of regulation or law or any kind of threat to their economic hegemony.
made of pure Iron Sulfide
The very definition of wealth is accumulation. Abundance. It’s taking what one can get regardless of whether it is needed or necessary, simply to ensure someone else doesn’t get it instead. Beyond a certain point, the possession of obscene wealth (by which I mean multiple millions at the least) becomes predicated on the idea that economic systems are a zero-sum game. If I don’t win, I lose. What does that remind you of? The entire modus operandi of the wealthy is hoarding; they don’t want us regular serfs getting in the way of their trolley-full of toilet paper. Therefore, they want a Shopper’s Dilemma to exist, because they are banking on defecting—which gives them a huge advantage if the rest of us are doing the “right” thing and not defecting.
What is particularly appalling, though, is that this attitude is reinforced not simply by brute economic force, but by harnessing the will of people they have convinced might have their “freedom” curtailed as well. Why is it that the gun lobby in the United States is so influential, so well-funded, and the issue of gun ownership so contentious? To most people in most countries other than the U.S., those gun laws seem almost comically insufficient, or frightening, or both.
But that’s the point: to win the Dilemma, if the situation offers you the chance to betray your so-called buddy for your own benefit, to win you also need to make your buddy think you’re not going to rat him out either. If they suspect you’ll betray them, they’ll betray you too and you’ll both lose.
Hence, it serves the purpose of the defector to focus on something which unites a group—falsely, as it turns out—to behave in the same fashion under the guise of some jingoistic concept such as “freedom,” or a common (and supposedly threatened) national identity, or so-called cultural or religious “norm”. Something like the freedom to own a gun or the exclusivity of Christmas. Latching on to something as crude as a conspiracy theory, perhaps.
Or, in Australia, the long-surrendered “freedom” to smoke cigarettes around other people in public, even though it might cause cancer in those other people. I struggle to think of a more apt representation of personal liberty versus the common good, and yet the companies who had a financial stake in the production and sale of such products yielded only after much kicking and screaming. The difference perhaps was that these laws were embraced at a time when other issues—like burgeoning identity politics, or fights over coal-fired power stations—were front and centre, distracting media outlets and conservative ideologues enough that this “attack” on “freedom” was never fully embraced as a hill to die on.
So long as those who love their personal freedom love it more than they love the idea of, say, income equality or social stability or not having to pay crippling medical fees for basic services (each of which is either irrelevant or easily counteracted by the super-wealthy), then they may be getting precisely what they want. Masochism is a sexual fetish for some people, so it’s not implausible that some people might actually enjoy being crushed beneath the boot of the rich and powerful. More than likely, though, many people don’t realise the cost of particular kinds of self-interest; the ones which impinge on the larger community and create what can only be called continued injustice.
At its most fundamental level, simply not wanting to have to think about the needs or safety of other people at all had better be worth financial stress, social disharmony, and a state of being involving endless frustration and impotence. Because that’s the price-tag which economic subservience has had since the dawn of commerce itself. And it’s a price only the portion who benefit most from the status quo usually enjoy paying.
By the people, For the people… right?
A common complaint about so-called “democratic” political systems is that, offering only limited terms of office, they become too focused on short-term outcomes and self-interest. The argument goes that politicians should be more representative of “the people” more generally, and share the wealth around more instead of hoarding it (or allowing people—usually like themselves—to keep hoarding it). And yet, across social strata and class, the very first example we see where “the people”, regardless of class or wealth, need to share and look at longer-term goals, what happens? A rash of hoarding occurs. I would posit that this is yet another example of the fact that we do, in fact, get precisely the governance we deserve.
In my opinion, this demoralising state of affairs is also one of the main reasons religions likely came about, and why even in the face of counter-factual denials—of things like child sex abuse scandals, the outrageous hypocrisy of just about any dogmatic book you choose to name, or the innumerable logical fallacies inherent in most religious belief—many members of religious communities still stand by their creeds and traditions. And it’s understandable why: because the feeling of unity, of belonging, of ritual discipline, of communal safety, is worth the unshackling of reason (reason which, recall, also leads to the rationalisation of hoarding). Despite my disdain of institutional religion generally, I bear no ill will to those individuals who quite understandably seek solace in a higher power, one which might sort out some of these problems for us from ‘above’. It’s a tempting offer, because the only other top-down alternative is the State, which many people no longer trust.
The behavioural cost to those who uphold particularly rigid religious rituals is high. But that’s the point: they need to be ridiculous and arcane precisely because they signal a strong commitment to a group. You can’t just quickly show up one day and pretend to be a Catholic if you have no idea what Communion represents (speaking of problematic rituals in the era of Coronavirus), or what the the difference is between the Father, the Son, and that quite amorphous Holy Spirit. What are the differences, for example, between Lent and Ramadan?
It’s also worth considering the way in those with actual religious commitment might be absolutely offended by the way in which, say, Christmas is marketed in our consumer-driven capitalist culture, as opposed to someone who is only casually committed to the idea of Christianity. Perhaps culturally committed would be a better phrase; that is, such a person upholds religion as identity rather than actual faith. “I am a Christian”, rather than “I uphold Christian tenets as specifically outlined in our sacred texts”.
It takes time and commitment—perhaps even a bodily mutilation like circumcision—to display one’s commitment to such a group. But, afterward, the group itself knows it can trust you because you’ve already made a significant—ridiculous, to outsiders—sacrifice to become part of it. Religions—or cults, or gangs, or cliques, even some sporting teams—operate in similar ways, requiring some kind of sacrifice, overt visual signal, or ritual habit, in order to prove one’s membership.
Is there really all that much difference between what a cross hanging from a chain around a neck, the bold colours of a sporting uniform, or a gang tattoo, represent? These groups offer a way for their members to more easily trust one another. Words like “loyalty”, “honour” and “faith” become almost synonymous in such a context. One is pledged to the cause. In many famously stable, safe countries, seemingly prohibitive laws, bureaucratic red tape, and regulatory restriction abound; but is that not the same cost? Does it not take a strong commitment to the social group to ensure a more trusting community?
That is, in order to ensure the good behaviour of the worst-performing members, the entire group must adhere to a set of rules which conditions their behaviour whether they would be inherently tempted to betray the group or not?
I’m all right jack, but Keep your hands off my stack
It should be evident enough that I am neither religious nor a hoarder. My household (except Totoro) was prepared to lose out in the Shopper’s Dilemma on general principle. Perhaps that’s our small—and hopefully slightly less ridiculous—commitment to our social group. But it’s likely that, as a mitigating factor, our household is reasonably stocked as a general habit and so we were not desperate for anything. It’s easy to uphold principles when you’re swimming in privilege. Much harder when your back is legitimately against the wall; that’s when fancy principles really get tested, and often fall short.
Though, one wonders if some atavistic gene hasn’t manifested which now suggests to us that profligate consumption, and waste-as-mark-of-wealth, isn’t actually conscionable. That our “normal” way of life pre-COVID was already becoming gnawingly offensive to many of us already, in a polite voice too easily swallowed by the noise and gregariousness of a postmodern capitalist world trying to sell us our own anxieties in the form of cheap and temporary salves.
Perhaps that was a process already in place for us long before we began delivering vicious side-eye to selfish or ignorant people in supermarkets; those who just couldn’t stop themselves from wandering around—mask-less, heedless of distance—as though they were the sole individual in the world immune from infection. The kind of people with more than enough privilege to truly entertain the notion of individual freedom at all costs. Or perhaps because their guiding principle is simply reason, in the form of systemic defection. That is to say, systemic betrayal.
While religion and the State may be the predominant top-down answers to the problem of the Dilemma, acting to enforce some kind of law or moral proscription in order to basically enforce trust—to make defection punishable either by ostracism or legal retaliation—they cannot be the only options available to us. It would be nice to think that individuals might actually take responsibility for themselves rather than requiring it be mandated from ‘above’ in some fashion. But all indicators tell us otherwise. That’s not even necessarily a fault in those individuals. It’s just human nature.
And one also wonders even if such were possible, whether capitalism itself might turn that moral code into something that can be sold. Buy this product and you’ll become a “good” person, compared to those “bad” people who stand by and do nothing. In fact, if you think carefully about that, these things exist already. The market began speaking to that manufactured need long ago. So that’s not the answer either.
Another potential solution, if it can even be called that, is simply that one only has one’s own dignity to rely upon. Knowing that one did the right thing must be, of and unto itself, the reward. Anything more—the need to brag about it, to display it, for the act to be known at all—then it’s not dignity you’re talking about any more; it’s pride. And of course the problem with dignity is that, in game theory terms, it requires the player to show their hand early. Which makes it even easier for defectors to exploit the situation and win for themselves.
And so the only real answer—as opposed to solution—is to enact one’s dignity every day, without thought of recompense beyond the inherent satisfaction of that very act itself. A grindingly difficult prospect, particularly in the face of such frequent defection. And yet, is it not possible that along the way we have caught sight of others who speak our language or are part of our ‘tribe’, those who—regardless of their team’s colours or their gang patch or the symbol hanging from their neck—behave as we do, also without provocation nor merely in response to the threat of punishment. Simply because it is the most decent thing to do.
Trust does not always require symbols; those things just make identification easier. It would be reassuring to think that there are more people alike in that regard than not, on a large enough scale. The media does enjoy a good scapegoat—and we are all complicit in encouraging that hydra to continue growing more heads—and so we may perceive defectors in larger quantities than they actually exist.
Media owners are, after all, the very same wealthy defectors who distract us from that fact by depicting the average Joe grabbing too much toilet paper. The kind of simple idiot we can all sneer at in a supermarket, instead of glancing at glass palaces in the fancy suburbs. Where live a class of people so inured to playing a winning hand at the dilemma—the hand you get when you betray everyone else—that they have no idea what might happen if the rules changed while they weren’t paying attention.