CET Reading Comprehension Questions with Solutions – Page 37

No one argues that the rich should be rich because they were born to wealthy parents. Critics of inequality may complain that those who would abolish inheritance taxes, say, are implicitly condoning inherited privilege. But no one defends hereditary privilege outright or disputes the principle that careers should be open to talents. Most of our debates about access to jobs, education, and public office proceed from the premise of equal opportunity. Our disagreements are less about the principle itself than about what it requires. For example, critics of affirmative action in hiring and college admissions argue that such policies are inconsistent with equality of opportunity because they judge applicants on factors other than merit. Defenders of affirmative action reply that such policies are necessary to make equality of opportunity a reality for members of groups that have suffered discrimination or disadvantage. At the level of principle at least, and political rhetoric, meritocracy has won the day.

In democracies throughout the world, politicians of the center-left and center-right claim that their policies are the ones that will enable all citizens—whatever their race or ethnicity, gender or class—to compete on equal terms and to rise as far as their efforts and talents will take them. When people complain about meritocracy, the complaint is usually not about the ideal but about our failure to live up to it. The wealthy and powerful have rigged the system to perpetuate their privilege; the professional classes have figured out how to pass their advantages on to their children, converting the meritocracy into a hereditary aristocracy; colleges that claim to select students on merit give an edge to the sons and daughters of the wealthy and the well-connected. According to this complaint, meritocracy is a myth, a distant promise yet to be redeemed.

No one argues that the rich should be rich because they were born to wealthy parents. Critics of inequality may complain that those who would abolish inheritance taxes, say, are implicitly condoning inherited privilege. But no one defends hereditary privilege outright or disputes the principle that careers should be open to talents. Most of our debates about access to jobs, education, and public office proceed from the premise of equal opportunity. Our disagreements are less about the principle itself than about what it requires. For example, critics of affirmative action in hiring and college admissions argue that such policies are inconsistent with equality of opportunity because they judge applicants on factors other than merit. Defenders of affirmative action reply that such policies are necessary to make equality of opportunity a reality for members of groups that have suffered discrimination or disadvantage. At the level of principle at least, and political rhetoric, meritocracy has won the day.

In democracies throughout the world, politicians of the center-left and center-right claim that their policies are the ones that will enable all citizens—whatever their race or ethnicity, gender or class—to compete on equal terms and to rise as far as their efforts and talents will take them. When people complain about meritocracy, the complaint is usually not about the ideal but about our failure to live up to it. The wealthy and powerful have rigged the system to perpetuate their privilege; the professional classes have figured out how to pass their advantages on to their children, converting the meritocracy into a hereditary aristocracy; colleges that claim to select students on merit give an edge to the sons and daughters of the wealthy and the well-connected. According to this complaint, meritocracy is a myth, a distant promise yet to be redeemed.

When the COVID-19 pandemic struck, a social safety net was needed most. Yet the system fighting inequality in India faltered. Though the policies were perfectly geared on paper—targeted cash transfers, employment guarantee programs and subsidised meals for workers and families—they did not reach the unreached.

The workers had been left adrift for so long. Funded by the tax we all pay, and wrongly viewed often as favour or a misdirected inclusion, schemes like PDS (Public Distribution System), Jan Dhan, and MGNREGA have served as the most consistent support. Their expanding footprint and adoption have been praised in several quarters. That India’s safety net encourages and not hinders the incentive to work has been validated through many studies. The pandemic too re-emphasised the importance and positive externalities these programs provide. For instance, MGNREGA enabled households to tide over food insecurity, the broadening of account access showed how to serve all Indians better.

The demonitisation of financial liabilities has meant two things. First, it has stigmatised a population in need of support. Second, it has diverted attention from what ails the system and why it cannot serve those at the margins. On one hand, there is still a call to increase direct cash transfers. On the other hand, there is also a demand to double down on reforming delivery systems (PDS, job cards, insurance) to make them more inclusive and accountable. The idea is to ensure greater accessibility, fairer functioning and most importantly, increase dignity of access to public services.

The broadening of financial liabilities has meant three things so far. First, it diverted attention from the institutional rot which worsens social security of many. Second, the fundamental idea behind the safety net is now threatened. If the idea is to serve the poorest, it must do so in a way that does not diminish their public presence, and hence their social citizenship. Third, it puts the onus on the individual, instead of the state. The levels of destitution have already risen. State governments have often attempted to rescue the most 'worthy' poor with schemes such as Bhamashah, Ujjwala, PM Kisan, etc. Yet, even with such policies, coverage is patchy. Bizarrely, one could get ₹500 from one scheme, free food from a third, and LPG in another. However, these programs lack depth, and instead risk compartmentalising those in poverty. The fear is that the welfare architecture, having been government-built, will be blamed. The state opts to shift this to the individual.

People insist loans are a piped line. They selectively offer bad credit additional incentives (what banks do as stimulus) ignoring the very financial and social stress behind a crisis. Think about how carefully the credit card companies place ATMs at walking distance from their financiers’ offices, while the poor trek miles. You hear loud grumbling that banks are finally free of policy-driven lending after two years of lockdown-induced loan moratoriums. Far from that: most of the freedom has been granted by way of a regulatory forbearance. If banks in India have been nudged to lend to viable businesses, it means they are not business-unfriendly, nor risk-averse. Rather, it means that it’s not about borrowers’ ability to take risk. It reflects how the state itself became so uncertain to take risks in behalf of the poor. And the endgame to this failure is clear. The market’s preference for scale and efficiency over the safety net is likely to push the state’s fingers into deeper stress holes. Unless the state rechecks the rate of disbursement across schemes to study why such exclusion or hunger? Addressing hunger is not the point. The real challenge is that the hungry are now faceless. First, the state is now faceless. Second, the hungry are faceless. Third, the public is being made blind. The state can speak of numbers for weeks, but not of suffering. We ask the poor about the scale of their consumption and design reforms accordingly. The urban middle class constructs fairness in food choices based on television footage. College-educated voters back reformers who are aggressive. This is a crisis we could solve with ease, not in terms of money, but in terms of dignity. Sadly, our imagination is not working.

But the most important thing, is to talk about this. “The ‘welfare model’ is not about enabling a moral citizen unless it suits. Now it foolishly prescribes a new income credit-score metric. That it only fails the poor, yet claims to manage risk. Decline in morale likely will move in one direction,” the author ends.

When the COVID-19 pandemic struck, a social safety net was needed most. Yet the system fighting inequality in India faltered. Though the policies were perfectly geared on paper—targeted cash transfers, employment guarantee programs and subsidised meals for workers and families—they did not reach the unreached.

The workers had been left adrift for so long. Funded by the tax we all pay, and wrongly viewed often as favour or a misdirected inclusion, schemes like PDS (Public Distribution System), Jan Dhan, and MGNREGA have served as the most consistent support. Their expanding footprint and adoption have been praised in several quarters. That India’s safety net encourages and not hinders the incentive to work has been validated through many studies. The pandemic too re-emphasised the importance and positive externalities these programs provide. For instance, MGNREGA enabled households to tide over food insecurity, the broadening of account access showed how to serve all Indians better.

The demonitisation of financial liabilities has meant two things. First, it has stigmatised a population in need of support. Second, it has diverted attention from what ails the system and why it cannot serve those at the margins. On one hand, there is still a call to increase direct cash transfers. On the other hand, there is also a demand to double down on reforming delivery systems (PDS, job cards, insurance) to make them more inclusive and accountable. The idea is to ensure greater accessibility, fairer functioning and most importantly, increase dignity of access to public services.

The broadening of financial liabilities has meant three things so far. First, it diverted attention from the institutional rot which worsens social security of many. Second, the fundamental idea behind the safety net is now threatened. If the idea is to serve the poorest, it must do so in a way that does not diminish their public presence, and hence their social citizenship. Third, it puts the onus on the individual, instead of the state. The levels of destitution have already risen. State governments have often attempted to rescue the most 'worthy' poor with schemes such as Bhamashah, Ujjwala, PM Kisan, etc. Yet, even with such policies, coverage is patchy. Bizarrely, one could get ₹500 from one scheme, free food from a third, and LPG in another. However, these programs lack depth, and instead risk compartmentalising those in poverty. The fear is that the welfare architecture, having been government-built, will be blamed. The state opts to shift this to the individual.

People insist loans are a piped line. They selectively offer bad credit additional incentives (what banks do as stimulus) ignoring the very financial and social stress behind a crisis. Think about how carefully the credit card companies place ATMs at walking distance from their financiers’ offices, while the poor trek miles. You hear loud grumbling that banks are finally free of policy-driven lending after two years of lockdown-induced loan moratoriums. Far from that: most of the freedom has been granted by way of a regulatory forbearance. If banks in India have been nudged to lend to viable businesses, it means they are not business-unfriendly, nor risk-averse. Rather, it means that it’s not about borrowers’ ability to take risk. It reflects how the state itself became so uncertain to take risks in behalf of the poor. And the endgame to this failure is clear. The market’s preference for scale and efficiency over the safety net is likely to push the state’s fingers into deeper stress holes. Unless the state rechecks the rate of disbursement across schemes to study why such exclusion or hunger? Addressing hunger is not the point. The real challenge is that the hungry are now faceless. First, the state is now faceless. Second, the hungry are faceless. Third, the public is being made blind. The state can speak of numbers for weeks, but not of suffering. We ask the poor about the scale of their consumption and design reforms accordingly. The urban middle class constructs fairness in food choices based on television footage. College-educated voters back reformers who are aggressive. This is a crisis we could solve with ease, not in terms of money, but in terms of dignity. Sadly, our imagination is not working.

But the most important thing, is to talk about this. “The ‘welfare model’ is not about enabling a moral citizen unless it suits. Now it foolishly prescribes a new income credit-score metric. That it only fails the poor, yet claims to manage risk. Decline in morale likely will move in one direction,” the author ends.

Most of recorded human history is one big data gap. Starting with the story of Man the Hunter, the chroniclers of the past have left little space for women’s role in the evolution of humanity, whether cultural or biological. Instead, the lives of men have been taken to represent that of humans overall. When it comes to the lives of the other half of humanity, there is often nothing but silence.
And these silences are everywhere. Our entire culture is riddled with them. Films, news, literature, science, city planning, economics. The stories we tell ourselves about our past, present and future. They are all marked—disfigured—by a female-shaped absent presence. This is the gender data gap.

The gender data gap isn’t just about silence. These silences, these gaps, have consequences. They impact on women’s lives every day. The impact can be relatively minor. Shivering in offices set to a male temperature norm, for example, or struggling to reach a top shelf set at a male height norm. Irritating, certainly. Unjust, undoubtedly. But not life-threatening. Not like crashing in a car whose safety measures don’t account for women’s measurements. Not like having your heart attack go undiagnosed because your symptoms are deemed “atypical”. For these women, the consequences of living in a world built around male data can be deadly.

One of the most important things to say about the gender data gap is that it is not generally malicious, or even deliberate. Quite the opposite. It is simply the product of a way of thinking that has been around for millennia and is therefore a kind of not thinking. A double not thinking, even: men go without saying, and women don’t get said at all. Because when we say human, on the whole, we mean man.

This is not a new observation. Simone de Beauvoir made it most famously when in 1949 she wrote, ‘Humanity is male and man defines woman not in herself, but as relative to him; she is not regarded as an autonomous being. […] He is the Subject, he is the Absolute—she is the Other.’ What is new is the context in which women continue to be the ‘Other’. And that context is a world increasingly reliant on and in thrall to data. Big Data. Which in turn is panned for Big Truths by Big Algorithms, using Big Computers. But when your big data is corrupted by big silences, the truths you get are half-truths, at best. And often, for women, they aren’t true at all. As computer scientists themselves say: “Garbage in, garbage out.”