Social Welfare - a case of perverse incentives and unintended consequences

The text of my letter to the Commissioner, Social Welfare, Government of Karnataka.
Dear Sir, 
This letter is to bring to your attention the misuse of free rations being provided to tribal households living around the periphery of the Bandipur National Park.  The tribal households here are extremely poor, suffer from severe malnutrition and chronic alcoholism and live in lamentable conditions. 
I understand that each such tribal household is provided every month with the following rations : toor dal, ragi, green gram or horse gram, jaggery, oil, eggs and, occasionally, ghee.    
I am deeply appreciative of the Government’s intent on improving the nutrition value of food consumed by the tribals, yet what I reliably learnt was that most of these provisions were being sold by the beneficiaries to middlemen, in exchange for cash and/or alcohol, or occasionally towards the repayment of loans.  These provisions therefore re-enter the market in various forms and are not having the impact that the scheme intends to achieve.  Indeed, as a result of the scheme, the increased purchasing power due to sale of free provisions is resulting in increased alcohol consumption and indebtedness – quite the opposite effect to what is intended and, hence, an unintended consequence. This diversion by the tribal population is estimated by some locals to be as much as 75% of the total supply of provisions to the area. 
After some study and discussions with local school teachers, I am therefore volunteering the following suggestion – rather than provide free rations, could the Government provide free meals to the tribals, keeping in mind
- Local food preferences around a pre-agreed simple menu
- Addition of nutritional supplements if necessary, and locally-grown vegetables ? 
This will significantly
a) reduce diversion
b)reduce the expenditure on alcohol
c)improve nutrition; and
d)provide nominal additional employment opportunities in the area 
This could be either directly done by the Government (as in the case of the mid-day meal scheme there) or in partnership with credible non-governmental organisations that have experience in this service. 
I look forward to hearing from you,

 

The Selfie Captain

There is much to learn from playing a team sport as a recent set of volleyball games that I played indicated. 

Volleyball is not my thing, honestly.  I started it late in life; I used to walk or run around the volleyball courts on weekend mornings earlier, but was persuaded by a friend who plays there to join in the game.  The rest, as they say, is history (of the forgettable kind).  My arms and the ball don’t quite seem to understand my intent – when I wish to pass it to a team mate, who could then go for the kill, the ball sails over the net, allowing the opposition to achieve what I set out to do.  When I try anything minutely out of the ordinary, my fingers hurt for the rest of the week or the muscle becomes a tomato-red for the day.  Over the last few months, I have improved though and can now get the ball over the net eight times out of ten (aided by a fervent prayer), which is a tad better than some who try to pummel a winning shot each time.   

This week, two teams faced each other off in a friendly set of six games – each team had six players.  Our team had one very good player, four average players and the lone downtrodden (my ego preventing any further acknowledgement).  The other team had precisely the same profile, with the sixth player being average, so you could expect a broadly even contest. 

A chap in our team – the very good player -  had assumed the responsibility of captain, which title  the others seem to acknowledge (I named him therefore the ‘selfie-captain’).   

He – the selfie-captain - chose to position himself in the centre of the court, directed us to our stations and decided that he had to plug the holes, fix the weak links as it were.  So there he was, involved in about every shot, particularly if the ball came in my direction,  lunging, leaping, shouting “Leave it for me”, springing back and front attempting to cover an area beyond his reach and seeking, in particular, to cover me, with the result that, even as he played very well and gave the game a hundred percent, he seemed to make the most errors and confuse others often.  For much of the six games, I was an interested spectator.  Once, when the ball came twice, in quick succession, in my direction (and I hit into the net once), he hinted darkly that the other team was ‘targeting’ - playing unfairly by picking on the weakest – and did not quite recognise my embarrassment at being singled out as such.  I was immediately moved to another position for which I was even less suited – at the net. 

Of course, the net result (pun aside) was that we lost the first few games, and lost badly.  This got him grumpy and even more meddlesome, and critical of team-mates when they missed, banging the ball on the ground.  We won a consolation game, but in the end, it was a no-contest. 

What struck me was that the other team was just average and, by letting go, trusting his people, encouraging them, communicating far more and allowing them space to work, he could have got a much better result…that other team won, not on its merit, but on our demerit.  The selfie-captain walked away from the court with hardly a bye, making no eye contact with his weakest link; this blogpost is no retribution though! 

….and then, I thought of Ian Botham.  The world’s finest cricketer in the 1980s, a great all-rounder whose skill and talent were unique.  He also happened to be a disaster as a captain, not just losing his matches but his cricket as well that was in utter disarray during his captaincy.  But - here’s the best part – when the captaincy was taken away and given to Mike Brearley, Botham bounced back to being what he was: world class.  Botham’s problem was the same as the selfie-captain’s: a superstar performer who takes on all the responsibility and everyone’s job and does not do his own.  

…and then the thoughts flowed: of the chief of a small company that I had consulted with last year, who is ironically a star volleyballer himself.  He is a superstar software manager, a terrific face of the company, most customer friendly and outstandingly competent.  His team is nowhere close.  The company has been ‘Botham-ed’: everyone is in awe of the chief, he is consulted on everything and he gets involved in everything, he is particularly critical of others’ decisions and the company is in perpetual ‘rush’ mode, yet has hardly grown over the years.  

…and then, many names of superstar captains flashed through my mind and, I realised (with surprise and a touch of consternation) today, that the underperformance of the superstar-selfie-captain is no exception; it is a malaise. 

…..and, finally, I thought of Virat Kohli and the underperformance of the Royal Challengers in the initial part of the IPL this year.  Right through the day today, an image of this guy’s aggression questioning an underperforming colleague in the field has flashed through the mind - a posture, a look, a gesticulation seemed to suggest that he would need to learn to not be the superstar-captain.

Another kind of pugilist

When a man of honourable ancestry, with a lineage of noblemen and rulers stood up to be a spokesman for a forest that was being felled, his voice echoed across the country after the Supreme Court passed a ruling.

The result, even by his modest admission, was stunning.

Godavarman Thirumalpad was born in the royal household of Nilambur Kovilakam in Kerala’s Malappuram district.  The household was the sole owner of the thousands of hectares of forests which stretched from the Mysore border to Calicut in Kerala and spread across Gudaloor.

In 1947, the then ruler, Manavedan Raja, requested the Madras government to take over the land, saying it was impossible to look after it.  The forest was taken over in 1949.

Thus began the problem: after the formation of Kerala, this forest was divided between the state and Tamil Nadu and, over the years, a systematic, rapid and egregiously destructive felling of trees thinned the forest cover down to a fraction of what it used to be.  These forests were rich with wildlife and an astonishing diversity of deciduous and evergreen trees yet, contractors and timber smugglers  who knew the price of everything but the value of nothing tore away at the verdant ecosystem.   The guardians entrusted with the job of conservation, the Forest Department, could do little,  even as some officers participated in the plunder with their passivity and corruption.  When Mr. Thirumalpad tried to persuade the tree-fellers, he was ignored, often treated with contempt. 

The Forest Conservation Act, passed in 1980, was hardly an impediment, followed more in its breach, the felling legitimised with notional fines that were ludicrous. In an interview with Down to Earth , Thirumalpad said: “The trees were being felled in violation of various legislations and rules.  Contractors who obtained permission for felling these trees remitted only Rs. 1000 to the district collector for 50 logs of rosewood.”

Dismayed and angry at the illegal felling of public forests that had belonged to his family, Thirumulpad filed a writ petition in 1995 asking for a stay on felling of trees in that forest.   He had to fight his way through: the dissuaders were many and the enticements were rich, even as the threats followed his persistence.

In December 1996, the Supreme Court - the bench comprising Justice JS Verma and Justice BN Kirpal - passed its order: no trees, it said, would be felled in any forest in India, a landmark, sweeping, incredibly perspicuous judgement by the only Institution in India that has stood by the environment.  The court ordered all non-forest activity like sawmills and mining to be suspended.

Overnight, the entire plywood industry in the country which had grown on the back of surreptitious supply from North-East India shut down.  There was an immediate, significant drop in illegal felling in all States, the transportation of timber from forest areas to urban India came to a halt, the operation of saw mills across the country that had relied on the nexus between forest contractors and the Forest Service ceased at once. (With revised rules, the wood business resumed later, but the plunder had been halted.) 

The Supreme Court took over the status of being the law-maker, administrator and enforcer.  It kept the Godavarman case open using the device of a “continuing mandamus” and, over the years and has heard hundreds of matters related to the implementation of the Forest Conservation Act. The ruling excluded the lower courts from admitting such application, leaving the Supreme Court the sole administrator of the law when it came to forest matters.  

Those who care for India’s forests and wildlife are used to bad news; it’s there in the papers every day.  Yet, it’s important to look at another view: the even-worse case scenario of what could have happened, and then derive the strength that optimism provides. 

The result of the Supreme Court’s judgement in this case has been marvellous: thousands of hectares of forest have been saved from diversion to non-forest purposes, in consequence and over the next two decades, a number of judgements on forest conservation have been passed, a vast number quoting this landmark case as a referral point in protection.    To our generation of wildlifers and foresters, Godavarman Thirumalpad is a legend and will remain so for decades to come.

On June 1^{st 2016,} a few days before World Environment Day, he passed away at the age of 86, followed a few days later by another fighter, Muhammad Ali. 

History will judge which one of them was the greatest.

Notes:

'Continuing mandamus' : which means that the Courts, rather than passing final judgements, keeps passing orders and directions with a view to monitor the functioning of the executive.