Branching out as the blame game continues

And at that, Gavin Williamson stormed out, ripped up a sapling from the leafy streets of Westminster, and returned with it into the Department for Education, heading for the computer, named Algy, which had been wheeled into a corner in disgrace.

“I’m going to give you a damn good thrashing!” cried Gavin as indeed he began to give a damn good thrashing to the poor digital monster.

“But it’s not my fault,” whined the computer. “I’m only a computer. What comes out depends on what humans put in.”

Now this was a fair point. Somebody had come up with the algorithm. An algorithm is... er...

Nobody’s really bothered to explain it, but it’s probably something like Simpson’s Rule. If N + Y is greater than B – D, and is divided by the number of pupils in the class, multiplied by their age, then weave into the mix how the First Remove did in 1952, and stir in a mock exam or two, you get something or other, taking into account variables like the weather and who won the World Cup.

It’s brilliant, it’s fair, and it extracts human prejudice and bias and replaces it with science, statistics, and pure maths to predict the inherently unpredictable. This is the future. Computers are the future.

In the old days if a cop stopped you for speeding you could plead that it was your birthday, you were on your way to a funeral, and you wouldn’t do it ever again, and they might let you off. Then in came science, and the automated eye of the speed camera, which was not interested in whether it was your birthday and that bit about you being on your way to a funeral.

Reason, judgment, and balance went out of the window. Ker-ching! Manic and wide-eyed, Gavin wasn’t listening to Algy as he continued to flail away.

“Because of you, I could lose my job,” he wailed.

Suddenly Algy started to make whirring noises. After all, problem solving is a computer’s forte. Wheels began to turn, and lights started to flash (because of public spending cuts the computers at the Department for Education have not been updated for some time).

Scapegoat

“I’ve come up with a solution,” said Algy. “You need a scapegoat.”

“Blaming the computer doesn’t work any more. Humans are only emotionally satisfied if they find humans to blame, but as a computer you could never understand that,” sneered Gavin as he raised that sapling yet again.

“But that’s the point,” said Algy. “I only do what humans tell me to do. So have you thought about Damien?”

“Damien?” echoed Gavin, becoming interested. “Yes, Damien, he’s my handler.”

Gavin lowered the sapling. Perhaps it would be a good idea to give Damien a ring to have a “chat,” he thought.

Damien was home working. As Gavin’s call came through he put aside the copy of Silicon Chip Weekly he had been reading, turned down the sound on Home And Away, and picked up the phone.

“Computer department,” he answered.

“Damien? It’s Gavin Williamson, the education secretary here. We have a serious problem. That algorithm for the exam results – you know, those exams which never took place because of coronavirus – has led to lots of school children getting worse grades than they had been expecting.”

“So?” replied Damien.

Disaster

“Have you not seen the television? There have been teenagers all over the news, all upset and crying. It’s a political disaster!”

There was a pause at the other end of the line, before, at length, Damien replied.

“So?”

“Something must have gone wrong with the computer.”

“Have you tried turning it off and turning it on again?” suggested Damien.

“The point is,” said Gavin, adopting the tone of an admonishing headteacher, “that this is all down to that algorithm. It has caused great unhappiness.”

“Oh yes, the algorithm. It was a groundbreaking piece of modelling work. It took hours to perfect,” said Damien.

“Did you come up with this algorithm?” demanded Gavin.

“You can’t handle the truth.”

“I think I deserve the truth! DID YOU COME UP WITH THIS ALGORITHM?”

“You’re goddamn right I did,” drawled Damien in a mock American accent, without an ounce of guilt.

There was a stunned silence at the other end of the line.

He had done it. He’d found somebody apart from himself to blame.

Damien though was way ahead of him.

“Don’t even think of it. I’m a teenager too. I can go on television too. I can cry before the cameras too.”

“But couldn’t you admit that it was you who messed up the algorithm?”

“The algorithm was absolutely fine. I can’t help it if people didn’t like the results – it’s just like as if there had been real exams,” said Damien.

Gavin tried to reason with him.

“Look Damien, I’m a politician. I’m in the business of making people happy. Otherwise I’ll get voted out.”

This time Damien put on a non-PC accent. “I was only following orders,” he said. “Your orders.”

Gavin sighed.

“I suppose we’ll have to rely on teacher assessments now.”

Damien was aghast.

“What do teachers know? You’re turning the clock back on progress, Mr Williamson. You are putting the subjective before the objective.”

Then, sensing an opportunity, he added: “Mind you, if you want, I think I could develop a little program to help them.”