However, these programs weren’t just a way to boost development, but also an instrument for political control. The fund distribution procedure was criticised from the start for its opaque nature and for the lack of checks. The reason for this is to be found within the specific characteristic of Romania’s clientelistic political system.

Most major political parties are not dominated by national leaders, but rather by local leaders: mayors, county presidents or leaders of local party branches. They hold huge sway in their local communities, making them essential for their party in bringing in votes.

That is because historically Romania has been a decentralised and very rural country, with few major urban centers. In medieval times, political power was in the hands of the local boyars, who elected the ruling prince, serving at their pleasure. Unlike in France, Germany, Great Britain or other European countries, where the ruling monarchs eventually centralised the state, Romania’s fragmented system made its way into the democratic-era, inside its new political parties, replacing boyars with mayors. Even the communist regime preferred to develop Romania by industrialising each of its small towns, rather than concentrating on a few big cities.

Consequently, this dynamic of power, between local and national leaders, was preserved up until modern day, as Romania still remains a country with a large number of people living in villages or small towns, poorly connected to major urban centers – as evidenced by the lack of highways or railroads. This is further exacerbated by the fact that local officials’ power is often effectively unchecked – as they decide who gets social housing, social aid or a job at the town hall – power they use to gather votes. Some of them, nicknamed ‘local barrons’, hold vast networks, made-up of family members and ghost companies that allow them to get rich off of public contracts, while rewarding their political clientele – hence the name ‘clientelism’. It is exactly these corrupt networks that have profited most from the PNDLs.

These programs were brought on largely at the behest of the local organisations inside the ruling party at the time, PSD (the Social Democratic Party), in order to develop their communities and benefit personally from them. But they also served as a tool for PSD to both reward its loyal mayors, by financing expensive programs for them, and to punish the mayors who failed to bring in voters — finally offering the central leadership some power over its “local barrons”. Moreover, it also allowed PSD to attract mayors from other parties and to stop its own from defecting. It is therefore not a surprise that, after coming to power, despite heavily criticising the programs, PNL (the National Liberal Party), PSD’s rival party, not only continued, but also expanded them.

The cursory procedure – and the subsequent opportunity for corruption – were always features of the programs, rather than bugs. At the same time as the programs were ongoing, the EU allocated Romania funds for the exact same purpose. However, these funds had a much lower absorption rate, due to their more bureaucratic nature and the numerous checks put in place.

Romania’s situation stands in stark contrast with Poland’s. They share enough context that they can be compared in good faith: both are Eastern European, former communist states that adopted a semi-presidential political system and joined the EU in the 2000s, undergoing a transformative integration process since. However, there are crucial differences: despite being equally politically decentralised in the middle ages, Poland’s traditional power structures were erased by decades of foreign occupation. (Ironically, it was precisely that political division weakened the Polish State and led to its defeat and subjugation, which wiped out the local power structures.) Moreover, Poland developed multiple major urban centers and, during communist times, the regime focused on these big cities, rather than the small ones. As a result, Poland does not have the clientelic political system Romania does. This allowed Poland to realise a major territorial-administrative reform in 1999, leading to a more productive and efficacious local administration. Meanwhile, Romania has the same administrative divisions it did in 1968, despite significant demographic shifts. Any reform was blocked by mayors, which would have been left with significantly less town halls to run. As such, with only half its population, Romania actually has more communes (2800) than Poland (2400).

However, the most extreme example of this phenomenon can be observed in Moldova. The country was historically the least urbanised part of Romania and, consequently, has more first-level administrative units than Romania.

Nevertheless, the situation is showing signs of change. For decades, people have moved out of villages and towns and into big cities, in search for more opportunities and better living conditions. In spite of these investments, most of Romania’s economic growth was concentrated in its major urban areas, attracting many newcomers. Some rural places have seen a 20% drop in population between 2011 and 2021. As such, many communes are left without a source of income, unable to sustain themselves, without help from the government. In turn, the government is desperately seeking ways to curb the ballooning budget deficit, increasingly hinting at an administrative reform. Furthermore, the rural flight has gradually deprived the once untouchable local leaders of political capital, making a reform possible.

Nonetheless, this is prompting a moral question for Romania’s strategy for future development. Given that its most underdeveloped parts are growing increasingly emptier, despite recent major improvements in public services, is it justified to keep investing billions into them? Is it wise to artificially sustain regions where people do not want to live anymore? Why build schools in villages where almost no kids are born? However, not developing these regions further would equate with abandoning those remaining there to a life in near-poverty and would all but ensure that, eventually, everyone who can, will flee them. In any case, the government may suffer from a sunk cost hesitation to simply abandon such an expensive project.

Romania’s towns and villages have held a weighty political power for much of its history. As such, much of Romania’s economic growth was spent on these regions, in order to both develop and control them. However, despite great progress, these regions are growing emptier by the day, forcing the country to make an uncomfortable decision. Whatever it decides, long overdue painful reforms will have to be made.

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The use of the words ‘dark magic’ may seem excessively flamboyant, but it isn’t, it works very much the same way. We do not have a thorough, clear or full understanding of what ‘abstract’ actually means, about its nature, how (or if) it works, and nevertheless we use it because we have no other way to achieve or intellectual desires of explaining, proving or creating something, while exposing our ideas to the risk of being corrupted all along.

The scale of the abstract

Ethics is guilty of this sin every time it talks about morality, regardless of what it actually means by that word1. Theology is essentially trying to explain the (potentially causal) relation between one form of abstract phenomena and the physical reality, plus the inner happenings and interactions of these abstract phenomena. Epistemology’s fundamental mission is to define one abstract term: knowledge. Even non-philosophical fields rely heavily on the abstract. Psychology deals with feelings and thoughts, which are definitionally abstract. Cultural studies focus on the same things, except from a different and grander perspective, and with a different goal. Mathematics is nothing but a collection of abstract rules. And law is, well, infamously abstract.

In fact, any field that tackles anything that is not strictly and purely physical in nature, relies, explicitly or implicitly, on the notion of abstractness.

Analysis

The purpose of this article is to show that the use of the word ‘abstract’ is improper and that the concept it ingrains into our minds by its frequent usage is likely erroneous.

Before anything else, we should define the term. In my opinion, Cambridge dictionary comes closest to actually describing the concept: ‘existing as an idea, feeling, or quality, not as a material object’, while Merriam-Webster (‘having only intrinsic form with little or no attempt at pictorial representation or narrative content’) give a cleverer, logic-based and thus more encompassing definition, that, nonetheless, encounters a few issues. What does ‘pictorial representation’ mean? How can the abstract have some, albeit ‘little’, pictorial representation? Britannica Dictionary gives a fuzzy, unclear definition: ‘relating to or involving general ideas or qualities rather than specific people, objects, or actions’. Oxford Languages—the source behind Google’s definitions—gives a definition very close to Cambridge’s, except lower in scope: ‘existing in thought or as an idea but not having a physical or concrete existence’.

It can thus be observed how the actual essence of the concept is only intuited, not actually fully known or understood, making the word very vague.

For what’s worth, I think a combination of the first two definitions would be optimal for representing how we generally see the concept: having only intrinsic form, not existing as a material object, usually existing as an idea, feeling, or quality.

The problem it births & the possible hints of a solution

‘Absurd’ is incredibly, immeasurable, inexcusably vague. Why? Because it is an umbrella-term that encompasses everything that is not tangible, being functionally synonymous with ‘non-physical’.

Logic and mathematics describe abstract notions, some would argue abstract objects.

At the same time, feelings are abstract. Thoughts are abstract too, but in a different way—the difference is there, undoubtedly, and we could even point to the different physical causes for the two (by brain-scans and such), but we still can’t draw a perfect line between them. Among one’s thoughts, we find ideas, which are abstract too. We would also say that the idea one has in a particular moment is different from ideas, as in general concepts, that we would describe as part of knowledge.

And yet, we would probably say that logical/mathematical rules are different from ideas—even though a mathematical rule can be an idea, in both connotations of the word.

Of course, some (i.e. nominalists2) would argue that while yes, humans have ideas, general ideas don’t really exist—general ideas being ideas that are specific and have the same form in the minds of all who access them. Or put differently, general ideas are the source of the ideas that our minds later create.

Others (i.e. mathematical formalists3) would argue that mathematical laws don’t exist either, not in the true sense of the word ‘exist’, and are just a way to express something we observe that seems to be identical, to the point we say it partakes in the same identity.

This illustrates that we seem to have different levels—or perhaps a better phrasing would be, different spaces—of reality in our non-physical (abstract) reality.

For example, mathematicians (that adhere to mathematical Platonism4) and psychologists can agree that both mathematical rules and feelings and thoughts are real, but in an abstract sense, and also agree that they are not abstractly real in the same way.

Furthermore, the meanings of the words ‘real’ and ‘exist’ become unclear, wobbly, straight-up unreliable.

For example, theists would say that God exists, in an abstract sense. Atheists would also say that God exists in an abstract sense, as in, there exists the notion that there is an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent entity/being, which we here specifically describe as God, and notions are inherently abstract. However, atheists would still confidently claim that God does not exist, not even in an abstract dimension and theists would agree that the atheists disagree with them.

Evidently, there are differing degrees of abstractness.

Alternatively one could argue that in the atheists view, God is real, as a piece of culture, while theists would describe God’s existence more in line with that of mathematical rules.

Naturally, as we have already seen above, some would deny that mathematical rules are ‘real’ either, or even that anything is abstractly real. Rather, they claim that ‘abstract’ merely means a theoretical/hypothetical idea, that others wrongly attribute some traits associated with physical phenomena.

It can also be argued that many (or perhaps even all) abstract notions are not actually restricted to the abstract realm, but are rather just shortcuts to describe complex physical phenomena that would, in the absence of a term, seem like multiple unconnected events.

As it can be observed, because the term is rather vague, unclear to us, and yet so widely used, it seems to have led to many unnecessary disagreements. Perhaps the Platonist-nominalist debate exists solely because of linguistic misunderstanding caused by the fuzziness that clouts the word ‘exist’ when relating to something abstract. Perhaps the Jubilee’s video featuring Jordan Peterson wouldn’t have been as confusing if there had been a clear distinction between the terms used to describe existence when relating to logical abstract objects and to religious abstract objects5.

Old news

None of this is new knowledge in any way. Analytical philosophy has, since the beginning, argued that many philosophical debates are actually rooted in linguistic misunderstanding, rather than disagreements over the actual6 objects7. The brains behind this school of thought (Frege, Carnap, Quine and many others) have done a complex work of labeling different abstract objects or entities in order to get a better understanding, better philosophical discussions and to avoid useless, tiresome misunderstandings—that is, when they weren’t arguing amongst themselves. They weren’t the first ones to do so either.

However, I believe that the concept of ‘abstract’ is actually empty and its use creates a false impression of its unitary existence.

This is not to say that (what we call) abstract objects, entities or ‘worlds’ do or don’t exist—whether we talk about those who originate in logic & mathematics, religion, the human mind.

However, the word abstract is misleading here, because it creates the impression that the abstract is just like the physical, but separate from it, that it has some sort of unity, that there is anything even slightly common or related through all the things we call ‘abstract’. The elements that ‘compose’ the abstract do not have more in common with each other, by pure virtue of being abstract, than they do with non-abstract things. ‘Abstract’ would be better defined as not existing physically, rather than existing in a non-physical way.

The latter definition—which is prevalent in dictionaries and in common understanding—implies that being abstract is a positive feature, rather than a negative one. Or better put, it is the absence of a feature—i.e. physical existence.

To better understand this nuance, I propose a simple example: the adjective ‘happy’. A rock is not happy, but it would not be proper to call it unhappy, nor to put it anywhere on the happy-unhappy scale. Sure, if we define ‘unhappy’ as strictly everything that is not happy, then, yes, the rock is unhappy. But it’s not unhappy in the sense we truly attribute to the world, because the term ‘unhappy’ does have its own positive (unfortunate wording) connotation.

The same applies to the abstract: the word means nothing more than just ‘non-physical’. However, some things are ‘non-physical’ in the same way Scrooge McDuck is unhappy, while others are non-physical the same way a rock is unhappy. No one would describe Scrooge McDuck in terms that place him closer to lithology than to, say, Forest Gump—a notoriously happy character.

The words ‘real’ or ‘to exist’ should be avoided too, because our understanding of what they mean depends on whether we apply them in these contexts—it’s circular. We can not possibly attribute the descriptions ‘not real’ or ‘non-existent’ to anything, to the fullest extent, because by simply thinking about it, it exists in an abstract way. This makes it difficult to argue that anything doesn’t exist—making the job significantly and unfairly harder for atheists and nihilists.

Our preferred definition (‘not existing physically’) leaves room for two, very distinct possibilities: (a) it exists in a non-physical manner or (b) it doesn’t exist at all. Of course, this is imperfect too, because of the aforementioned issues that plague the word ‘to exist’, because anything that doesn’t exist at all (a per point (b)) exists in thought, so in a non-physical manner. It is more recommendable that differences between categories are made on the basis of criteria, such as does it directly influence our physical world?—adepts of Platonic idealism would describe Forms as being part of this category.

A special consideration for religion and other planes of existence

Most religions deal with the notion of an afterlife, a separate plane of existence. Atheists deny the existence of this separate plane. Things turn fuzzy when the atheist side accepts the existence of anything non-physical—such as logical entities.

Creating dichotomies between different types of abstract will be most beneficial in our quest to grasp the unknowns of religion and bringing clarity to the atheist-theist debate.

I grant it an entire separate section, because religion, unlike other parts of philosophical thought, has appeared from a popular socio-cultural environment, not from the more chiselled and precise mind of an academic, or similar lab-like scholarly environments where other philosophical ideas or schools of thought tend to emerge from. The Bible’s authors were most certainly not concerned with peer-review.

Consequently, things become quite confusing because the nature/state/qualities & rules of this separate plane are not described literally, but rather, quite metaphorically, are not defined strictly, and not by using our current common logical terms. The plane of existence postulated by theism is not clearly located nor bounded. Thus, it can easily creep into the logical realm and disguise itself in its clothing. This seems to be what Jordan Peterson was trying to do in the above-mentioned video, that you’re going to have to forgive me for mentioning twice.

For example, one could just describe the afterlife as being nothing more than a set of two logical categories: one made up of people who have lived a moral life (Heaven), the other made up of people who’ve lived an immoral one (Hell). Moral or immoral life can mean moral/immoral according to the scriptures of a religion, actual agreement on moral objectivity is not even necessary. The categories of people can be very strictly logical—just like the category of people who have lived in the 18th century. Once all human life ends forever, these categories will be final and definite.

The individuals aren’t actually a part of the category in the physical sense, but in a logical one. A logical term will make up the category however, a logical term that is, in a way, connected to the person. We can call that logical term a person’s soul.

I don’t suppose that many atheists or theists would agree with the contrivance I have just constructed. However, the point was merely to emphasize the confusion and (apparent) unnatural conclusions of intellectual operations which treat the abstract like a family, rather than an incongruous collection of notions and objects.

And this is the entire point. When working with incomplete definitions and not fully defined objects, one could easily use logical and linguistic tricks to prove or disprove anything. While religious debates have enough ardent thinkers to defend against such ruses, other areas of knowledge do not. (Religion has been the hot-debate for millennia after all.)

Simply put, the abstract is not just dark magic, it’s a dark dimension, with its internal and external boundaries misty and its nature and inner laws almost completely known to us.The abstract really functions like a black hole that inexplicably sucks up a vast plethora of things into one single point.It is time we stop abusing this unholy void and turn towards more concrete wording.

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However, it is my belief, which I hope to demonstrate below, that utilitarianism has hidden presumptions that compromise its apparent simplicity and obviousness: worthiness.

What is worthiness?

This is a simple concept to understand, as it is fundamental in our understanding of the world. For someone to be worthy, it means that because of an action, an intrinsic quality, a circumstance or any other such phenomena tied, directly or indirectly, to the person in question, a certain event should (as in, it needs to, for the sake of fairness) happen upon him. If this happens, we would rejoice in happiness, we would say it is good or moral that it happened, and if it doesn’t, we would be at least mildly infuriated by it, labeling it as bad or immoral. The deserved event might need to be caused by humans – e.g. a legal punishment for a crime – or not – e.g. one might deserve to have bad luck because of a bad deed of his.

It must be clarified that this article will not treat differently the notions of worthiness, deservingness and merit. While, admittedly, there are subtle differences, as the first results from an inherent quality of the person, and the others results from one or more actions, a character trait or anything else where a personal input is required, the difference is not relevant for the purpose of this article. Their common essential characteristic is: because of a condition (or a precondition), a certain state of things with regards to a certain person, a certain event must (or mustn’t) happen to said person, for the sake of fairness.

Utilitarianism might generally be quick to dismiss this concept insofar as it doesn’t align with its own goal of maximising utility, which happens quite often. Even when utilitarianism and worthiness happen to align, the former would brand the latter as an unnecessary factor in the moral decision making process.

The hidden presupposition

The question utilitarianism struggles to answer is a rather basic one: why should people follow it? Even if one admits that all other schools of thought in the field of ethics are wrong and utilitarianism isn’t, how can utilitarianism urge people to follow it? Utilitarianism can prove that to be moral, to act good, one must maximise utility – but why should people be good in the first place? Asking people to follow an ethical framework is an imperative calling that itself needs to be justified, to be backed up by arguments. Many other theories of morality escape this conundrum because they rely on the inherent morality of certain actions – for example, it is inherently wrong to breach a categorical imperative – that justify the imperative nature of following their teachings.

Utilitarianism isn’t among them, because any action can be moral, depending on the context and alternative, nothing is inherently forbidden. In the transformation of satisfaction (utilitarianism’s chosen version of good) into morality, something very important we closely associate with morality, its imperative, obligatory nature, gets lost. That happens because utilitarianism relies, without knowing it, on traditional imperative notions of morality, when urging people to follow its conclusions – if it’s moral, you have to do it! – while ignoring that it changed the meaning of morality in the process of asserting itself as the correct theory.

One could argue that utilitarianism has its own abstract quasi-categorical imperative: to create as much utility as possible. However, that only makes utilitarianism be less strong when compared to other schools of thought, making its soul categorical imperative be no better than those of other theories, but in fact weaker, as it does not have the same complex justification behind it (i.e. what we earlier referred to as philosophical mambo-jumbo), relying solely on intuition and on the apparent proximity between the terms “good”, “moral” and “pleasant”.

It’s important to note that this doesn’t automatically mean that utilitarianism is wrong, in the sense that to act morally, one shouldn’t or wouldn’t have to maximise pleasure and minimise suffering. It does, however, mean that utilitarianism represents a diluted version of morality, a non-imperative, optional one. Naturally, many might be uncomfortable with calling such a system morality at all. In this case, utilitarianism becomes more of a hypothetical system, presenting itself like an unfinished mathematical conjecture – should there be a correct moral system, it would be utilitarian – or a descriptive, but not prescriptive framework, than can label actions as moral or not, but cannot urge people to act a certain way.

In that case, what other possible answers could utilitarianism give to the aforementioned question? How can it justify itself as imperative? Why do people have to maximise utility?

The answer that implicitly results from utilitarian theories seems to be that people deserve utility, they inherently deserve it by virtue of being humans1. Because of the close relationship between humans and happiness, their need for happiness, their craving for it and the horrid, undesirable nature of suffering, people deserve to be happy, deserve satisfaction, deserve to be spared, as much as possible, of pain.

An alternate way to think about this, that nonetheless leads to the same conclusion, is to accept the imperative that people should be treated morally, whatever the correct system of morality is. Having this imperative without any other inherent duty in any specific acts is troublesome, because again, that means it has to be justified separately, on its own. But it doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch to postulate that morality (ontologically/definitionally) is deserved by humans, as in humans deserve to (are worthy of, need to be) treated morally, because that is what morality is: the only way that humans deserve to be treated – the alternative being moral nihilism, the rejection of morality as a whole.

Secondly, we would concede for the sake of the overall argument, that utilitarianism is, thanks to the prowess of its arguments, the correct school of thought in ethics.

As a result, by combining our two postulates, we conclude that humans are worthy of utility and utilitarianism as a way of being treated.

This conclusion shouldn’t be all that surprising. After all, when a person faced with a choice elects the one which doesn’t maximise utility, and therefore wastes some amount of utility, utilitarianism would brand this as an immoral act. This is despite the fact that said person does not actively destroy already existing utility – say he destroys an ambulance, throws good food in the trash – but simply creates less utility than possible – he donates money to a person that didn’t really need it as much as others would. It seems to be an unspoken opinion of utilitarianism that that wasted utility, like all utility, should have gone to someone, to people, to humankind – creating this strong inherent link between people and utility.

Once utilitarianism accepts this one small concession – that utility itself, or morality are inherently deserved – quite a few things begin to unravel.

Utilitarianism can not simply accept worthiness in this single point, without accepting at least the possibility of worthiness appearing somewhere else. Why? Because the existence of worthiness is not based on utilitarian reasoning, but on separate deductions.

What are individuals worthy of?

Now that we have established that humans deserve utility, it’s time to ask ourselves what does that mean, more precisely? The trouble is that in a utilitarian perception, it is perfectly possible for us to not grant a certain person any utility whatsoever, or even more so, to actively and purposely subject that person to suffering, while following the moral code to a dot. Think of the tragic example of a newborn that might be sacrificed during childbirth to save the life of their mother. Or, think of a hypothetical extreme global catastrophe, when we have very limited resources, and we decide to send those to one region, for various practical reasons, and not to another, condemning the latter’s inhabitants to certain death and suffering.

Therefore, it’s not possible that individuals inherently deserve utility, because certain circumstances can justify depriving an individual of utility. An intuitive response to this would be to say the people collectively deserve utility, that humankind is worthy of (maximum) utility, and receives it by trade-offs that happen at an individual level, upon singular persons.

However utilitarianism doesn’t typically accept collectives as separate entities that have to be treated one way or another. All the value, all the importance rests, in the utilitarian worldview, at the individual, because only actually is capable of feeling, of receiving pain or pleasure; communities cannot actually suffer or rejoice stricto sensu. And this is the main argument behind utilitarianism, so it seems improper to describe collectives as inherently deserving of utility and, on top of that, individuals as not (inherently).

This doesn’t mean that we should scrap the statement that collectives should have the maximum possible satisfaction, but that we shouldn’t see it as the start, as the first principle, the place where inherence appears. Any utilitarian conclusion about collectives must be derived from the inherent attributes ascribed to humans individually.

Therefore, we are forced to ask, what does every individual deserve?

It would seem that individuals don’t necessarily deserve utility, because that depends on a plethora of usually circumstantial factors, but all humans have, at all times, the potential of deserving utility, since had those circumstances been different or should the situation change, they would be in the position of receiving utility – assuming the acceptance and application of utilitarianism. This could be condensed as: every human deserves to be taken into consideration.

After all, it would be weird to say that in one state of affairs, a certain individual doesn’t deserve utility or anything else, but after a few circumstances change, without any input from him, he suddenly deserves utility. Circumstances couldn’t possibly unilaterally influence what a person deserves or not – especially given that, as we have shown above, there is a degree of inherence to the whole situation.

Perhaps a better phrasing for our findings would be to say that (1) all people are worthy (deserving) of utility2 and (2) every person has the right to receive satisfaction, if this is the best outcome in the utilitarian calculus.

While these statements may sound banal, almost tautological for utilitarian thought, appearances are deceiving in this case, for this could be a tremendously consequential finding.

Potential implications

The findings in this part of the article might be less robust than the reasoning above, as there are numerous ways to interpret the introduction of an almost novel concept for utilitarianism, one that is very different in nature to its usual reasoning. This section is more of an exploration of possibilities with regards to the integration of worthiness into utilitarianism.

Nevertheless, at a first glance, it seems extremely unlikely that utilitarianism would be unaffected by the reliance on worthiness. If people deserve utility, could they also deserve anything else? If, as we have seen above, their deserving of things is influenced by external circumstances, could it also be influenced by internal factors – besides the sole characteristic of being humans?

Revisiting our earlier finding that people have the right to be taken into consideration in the utilitarian calculus, we could derive from here that actions undertaken without such a consideration are immoral, even if they lead to greater utility, since this ‘right’ appears to us almost as a categorical imperative.

Another important question is: if the attribute of being human is what causes one to deserve utility, then does coming closer to an idealised version of humanity makes one more deserving than others?

Of course, this is pure nonsense if we take ‘humanity’ to be a purely binary notion. In utilitarian logic, one would probably deserve more utility if, thanks to certain traits, she receives more satisfaction from the same amount of utility as other people. However, while the reasoning behind utilitarianism as a whole is based on people’s receptive abilities, worthiness specifically is not; it’s based on them being humans. Therefore, it would not be all that far-fetched to argue that since we find humanity so intimately intertwined with notions such as kindness, morality or empathy – after all, we call this one’s ‘humanity’ –, and at least partially from this deep connection results humanity’s worthiness for utility; then humans who act more in kind with the earlier mentioned concepts, are worthier than others. Therefore, there might be a scale to how much people deserve things – in this case utility. If so, we would modify the utilitarian equation to include a multiplication of sorts: a (the amount of utility received by the person) × b (the worthiness of said person), before comparing it with the potential benefit for other people.

Going further, it should be noted yet again that the existence of worthiness is not proven by utilitarian theory, but by a completely separate moral reasoning – which is beyond the scope of this article, but we can reasonably assume that it would be closer to deontological thought. Therefore, such a reasoning might also result in humans being inherently worthy of other things that are exceptionally proximate to the very nature of being human: dignity, fundamental living conditions or perhaps even social connections. In other words, humans might be equally worthy of utility as they are of basic human rights. How these two might interact when they inevitably come into conflict is highly debatable, but we could make an educated guess that it would lead to a search for what is more inherent – since this is what the whole foundation of this theory – to a person in each situation.

A more reasonable and palatable ethical system

The beauty of this theory is that not only would it mean that utilitarianism and certain non-consequentialist ideas are compatible, but that they are necessarily so. While this may lead to many headaches for philosophers trying to combine two apparently irreconcilable views on the most fundamental aspect of life and humanity, it does actually lead to a more intuitive, balanced, reasonable, natural and genuine perspective on morality, from a layman’s standpoint.

Utilitarianism, in most of its forms, seems extreme, radical, as it would actively encourage acts that feel cynical, immoral, even cruel – such as in the ‘sheriff counterexample’ or ‘transplant case’ –, or discourage them out of pure pragmatism, of fear of precedent (in the case of rule utilitarianism). This is what might make many feel it simply doesn’t fit in as a theory of morality. Even in cases where people would agree with utilitarian decisions in situations where the stakes are extremely high, they might do so saying that the (utilitarian) decision is right or correct, but it’s not the moral one – but should be taken nonetheless. As we have seen, the rejection of anything not tangibly good, of any abstract duty, actually empties it of the characteristics of usual ethical school of thought, validating the simple, intuitive view on morality.

However, the ordinary person would probably adopt utilitarianism, often without knowing, quite frequently in day-to-day decisions, decisions of lesser magnitude, that nevertheless end up breaching certain categorical imperatives. This fits perfectly with our (admittedly very customised) version of utilitarianism, that does coexist with elements of fundamental rights, but applies in traditional fashion beyond that.

But perhaps the biggest flaw of utilitarianism that makes it unpalatable to many people is its almost complete disregard for the character and deeds of a person when rewarding them or not with utility. Those traits only matter in so far as that may make a person create more or less utility in the future, but, in the utilitarian view, that doesn’t make such a person automatically worthy of pleasure or pain. A terrible criminal that is reliably rehabilitated in record time should be released without serving his time. A hard working man should not be rewarded if that only makes him work less because he is satisfied. A lazy glutton may receive more than others who have less, simply because he enjoys it a lot more.

Meanwhile, the average person treasures merit, associates an action with a punishment or reward, partially regardless of pragmatic consequences – that is, they wouldn't sacrifice too much just to fulfill what one deserves, they wouldn’t actually let the heavens fall for justice to be done. This worthiness utilitarianism could be more appealing in this sense, as it reconciles the two concepts, something thought of us unattainable beforehand.

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Cu acest gând în minte, mulți alegători nu sunt hotărâți dacă să voteze un partid mai mic, cu șanse modeste să treacă pragul electoral, cu care se identifică cel mai mult, sau să „voteze util” un partid de tip establishment, care în mod cert va intra în parlament, dar pe care, deși îl tolerează/agreează, nu îl preferă, în multe cazuri fiind opțiunea „răului mai mic”. Această problemă se pune, de cele mai multe ori, în cazul votanților antisistem, care își doresc o reformă profundă, în mai toate aspectele ale statului, un reset. Ei se confruntă cu o dezbinare ce are loc la ambii poli antisistem: polul pro-UE, pro-NATO, progresit, modernist și cel tradiționalist, suveranist, conservator, naționalist, eurosceptic.

Primul dintre ele era înainte reprezentat, destul de unitar, de USR/USR-PLUS, atingând 22,36% în apogeul său, anume alegerile europarlamentare din 2019. În timp, acesta a început să se erodeze încetul cu încetul. Neînțelegerile interne și diferențele ideologice sunt principalele cauze ale scindării. Acest lucru nu era greu de prezis, întrucât USR era un partid big tent, ai cărui membrii erau uniți de ura față de un sistem pe care îl considerau corupt, incompetent și pe alocuri nedemocratic, fără un numitor comun ideologic. Rezultatul constă în mai multe splinter parties, adică partide mai mici care s-au desprins din „partidul mama”: REPER, SENS, DREPT. Acestora li se alătură și foștii parteneri politicii ai USR, Forța Dreptei și PMP, care continuă împreună la aceste alegeri.

În polul diametral opus a avut loc o fragmentare a mișcări de extremă dreapta, reprezentată inițial doar de AUR, fragmentare datorată unei oarecare moderări a discursului acestuia. Astfel au apărut partide precum SOS România, POT (partidul ce îl susține pe Călin Georgescu) și varianta clasică – PRM.

Există mulți ce se întreabă dacă are vreun sens să voteze unul dintre partidele mici, sau dacă doar își irosesc votul. Însă problema este pusă greșit din start, pentru că implică că votarea unui partid care garantat va intra în parlament ar fi, cumva, mai valoroasă, mai utilă. Însă această concepție vine, mai degrabă, dintr-un instinct de a ne alătura câștigătorului (sau, măcar, nepierzătorului), nu neapărat dintr-o utilitate mai mare a acelui vot.

Așadar, hai să analizăm care este cea mai bună strategie pe care un cetățean cu sufragiu o are pentru a-și maximiza valoarea votului. De subliniat că vorbim doar din punctul de vedere al unui singur votant. Cum ar trebui să procedeze o masă de votanți aflați în aceeași dilemă este altă discuție, însă nu una ce va fi abordată pe îndelete aici.*

Vom defini „irosirea votului” unei persoane că fiind neschimbarea situației politice la finalul numărării voturilor. Adică, pe scurt, dacă numărul de parlamentari pe care îl are fiecare partid este la fel cu cel pe care l-ar fi avut dacă acea persoană nu ar fi votat deloc. „Valorificarea votului” va fi definită ca fiind opusul situației descrise mai sus, în favoarea unuia dintre partidele pe care le preferă votantul indecis, partidul A, cel mai mare, pe care doar îl tolerează, și partidul a, partidul mai mic, pe care îl susține cel mai mult.

Vom folosi „scenariu” pentru a distinge între diferite opțiuni de vot ale nehotărâtului nostru, iar „cazuri” pentru a distinge între diferitele posibilități pentru numărul de voturi ale partidelor, din fiecare scenariu.

Să începem cu scenariul în care votantul nostru decide să voteze partidul A, care, cum era de așteptat, trece pragul electoral. În acest caz, va fi oare votul „irosit” sau „valorificat”?

Depinde, însă cea mai probabilă, în mod surprinzător, este prima varianta. Cum se face? Există două cazuri:

1. Dacă, în momentul în care au fost alocate locurile în parlament, partidul A avea cu mai mult de 1 vot peste partidul imediat următor, să-i zicem partidul B, atunci votul a fost „irosit”, în sensul că nu a contat, nu a schimbat nimic. Asta pentru că un vot poate, în cel mai bun caz, să aducă un singur parlamentar unui anumit partid și, pe cale de consecință, să îi scadă un parlamentar altui partid**. Întrucât diferența dintre cele 2 partide a fost mai mare de un vot, atunci și fără votul cetățeanului nostru dilematic partidul A ar fi avut la fel de multe locuri în parlament. Poate ar fi putut face o diferență, în schimb, pentru partidul a.

2. Însă, dacă partidul A a depășit partidul B cu un singur vot (lucru foarte improbabil), atunci, într-adevăr, partidul A ar fi putut pierde un loc în parlament, fără decizia chibzuită a votantului. Votul sau a fost cu adevărat „valoros”.

Dar dacă votantul nostru alege să pună ștampila pe partidul a?

1. Ei bine dacă, așa cum se temea, partidul respectiv ratează pragul electoral, atunci votul său este „irosit”. Însă nu într-o mai mare măsură decât dacă s-ar fi aflat în primul caz al scenariului anterior.

2. Într-un caz nesperat de fericit, partidul a trece pragul electoral, având nu mai mult, nu mai puțin decât numărul necesar de voturi. Fără votul nehotaratului fictiv, nu ar fi putut avea niciun loc în parlament. Acum însă, are în jur de 20. Votul lui este, așadar, nu doar „valoros”, ci chiar mai fructificat/util decât cel din cazul fericit al scenariului precedent, întrucât a dus la intrarea a mai mult de un singur candidat în parlament. Astfel, cazul acesta compensează pentru relativa sa improbabilitate de a se adeveri, chiar și comparat cu posibilitatea redusă a unui rezultat favorabil (cazul 2) în primul scenariu – până la urmă, partidul A poate fi la un vot diferență de mai multe partide, nu doar față de B, multiplicându-se probabilitatea, fie ea infimă, însă pragul electoral este unul singur.

Tabel ce ilustrează care sunt cazurile posibile înainte că votantul nostru să își exprime opțiunea

Desigur va puteți gândi la cazul în care partidul A sau partidul a se află la un vot în urmă unui partid, respectiv, la un vot distanță de prag, însă acestea sunt doar inversări ale cazurilor de „valorificare” deja expuse mai sus. Nu este o posibilitate nouă, ci doar aceeași posibilitate văzută din altă perspectivă, aceea a cetățeanului care, în acele cazuri, a ales să voteze diferit. Dacă dorim putem defini „votul irosit” drept votul care ar fi putut face o schimbare, însă nu a făcut-o. Atunci rezultatul este același: votul fie poate fi irosit ratând să îi dea un scaun în plus în parlament partidului A, sau ratând să îl treacă pe partidul a de pragul electoral.

Sigur, discuția despre voturi irosite la partide mai mici – cele care obțin 3-4% din voturi – voturi care ar fi putut merge la alt partid mai mare, oarecum pe aceeași lungime de undă cu ele, nu este neapărat falsă. Însă are sens doar dacă vorbim despre mase de votanți, nu de strategia pe care un votant individual ar trebui să o aibă. Este o discuție pe care trebuie să o aibă partidele înainte de candida, nu o strategie de vot a cetățeanului de rând.

În același timp, și într-o logică a învinuirii unui grup sau altul pentru un rezultat de acest gen, aș menționa doar că logica tradițională a votului util poate fi la fel de dăunătoare. Mai precis, poate că partidele care au obținut doar 3-4% ar fi putut trece pragul dacă 1-2% din cei ce intenționau să-i voteze nu ar fi ales să „voteze util” cu partidul mai mare. De asemenea, raționamentul votului util poate fi folosit pentru a duce la concluzia exact opusă, aceea că susținătorii partidului mai mare ar trebui să voteze partidul mai mic. Mai exact, cei ce își doresc din pură preferință personală să voteze cu partidul mai mare ar trebui să-l voteze pe cel mai mic, care inevitabil va fi votat de cei care refuză să „voteze util” cu partidul mai mare, pentru ai ajuta să treacă pragul electoral. Acest lucru ar fructifică și acele 3-4% care, altfel, ar fi fost pierdute. Totul, în numele „votului util”.

Concluzia importantă este, însă, că teoria votului util nu are la fel de mult sens când discutăm despre alegeri parlamentare (sau în cazul celor pentru CJ/CGMB și CL), că la alegerile prezidențiale / pentru primari, unde este vorba de totul sau nimic. Acolo votul decisiv („valoros”) pentru partidul mai mare însemna mult mai mult decât un singur parlamentar în plus, iar votul pentru partidul mai mic nu poate aduce aproape nimic. În cazul alegerilor cu rezultate mai puțin binare, precum cele de duminică, votul util nu este mult mai mult decât o tehnică de manipulare a votanților sau o modalitate de canalizare a furiei taberei perdante, ce caută țapi ispășitori pentru înfrângere.

*Într-adevăr, în cazul în care s-ar fi încercat îndrumarea unei mase de oameni spre a vota cu un anumit partid, problema ar fi fost pusă altfel, întrucât ne-am fi aflat într-un fel de „dilemă a prizonierului”, în care ne-am fi întrebat: a) Este numărul de oameni care doresc votarea partidului mic suficient pentru a îl trece peste prag? și b) Vor fi suficienți dintre aceștia convinși să voteze cu acel partid mai mic, sau va „trăda” o parte dintre ei, votând cu opțiunea sigură și condamnând, în acest proces, la irelevanță votul celor „solidari”?

**Datorită sistemului nostru complex de alocare a scaunelor în parlament, partidul care ar pierde parlamentarul nu este neapărat cel imediat următor în numărul de voturi totale partidului care l-ar câștigă. Partidul B, este, mai degrabă, partidul imediat următor în stadiul distribuirii/redistribuirii locurilor în parlament.

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Desigur, s-ar putea spune că principalul motiv este că partidele, indiferent care sunt ele, niciodată nu promovează oamenii meritocratic, ci în funcție de infamul sistem de pile, conexiuni și relații. Totuși, e greu de crezut că 10-15 oameni pregătiți ar deranja vasta rețea de sinecuri, într-atât de mult încât să nu se justifice prin plus de imagine câștigat. Oricum, nici în afara marilor partide nu e aglomerație de profesioniști care să-și formeze propriul partid sau să candideze independent. Iar atunci când apar astfel de personaje, o fac nu din proprie inițiativă, ci trase de mânecă de un partid sau altul, care le folosește pentru un rând de alegeri la care stau prost în sondaje, înainte de a-i abandona. Acesta a fost cazul lui Theodor Paleologu, candidatul PMP la alegerile prezidențiale din 2019 sau al lui Carmen Avram, care a intrat în Parlamentul European pe listele PSD în 2019, când partidul, condus atunci de Dragnea, avea nevoie de tot ajutorul posibil pentru a-și reabilita imaginea, doar ca acum să fie lăsată complet pe dinafară.

Calomniile și insultele cu care a fost înfruntat fostul matematician au depășit orice minim de decență: s-au răspândit exemplare false cu rezultatele sale școlare, a fost „diagnosticat” cu autism de către politicieni lipsiți de orice cunoștințe în psihologie, i-a fost atacată credința, s-au falsificat (sau cel puțin așa pare) poze compromițătoare cu el, a fost supus unui spectacol grotesc și penibil de către chiar fosta lui aliată, Elena Lasconi (aducem aminte episodul jurământului pe Biblie și cel al privitului în ochi, demne de un reality TV show de o calitate îndoielnică).

Evident, Dan nu a fost singurul denigrat – până și despre Simion, care are oricum destule păcate, au circulat multe acuzați neprobate. Însă dezbaterile prezidențiale antemergătoare primului tur au ilustrat natura linșajului mediatic la care a fost supus președintele ales: aproape toți candidații, de la ceilalți politicieni pro-occidentali, Lasconi și Antonescu, la colegul olimpic, Daniel Funeriu, l-au atacat cel mai vehement pe el.

Aproape că nu mai are rost să amintim experiențele avute în numeroasele candidaturi la Primăria București. Trecem în revistă doar comportamentul agresiv al viceprimarului de atunci, Aurelian Bădulescu, care venise peste el la conferința de presă, agasându-l cu un dulap, și porecla „Plicușor Ban” – acum uitată – ce îi fusese atribuită de Antena 3, care, la acea vreme, îl demoniza fără oprire. Și despre greutățile înfruntate de el în perioada activismului civic s-ar putea scrie multe.

Fără îndoială, presa și publicul larg au dreptul și chiar datoria de a adresa întrebări incomode, de a pune presiune pentru a obține răspunsuri și de a atrage atenția asupra oricărui aspect potențial important. Iar Nicușor Dan a candidat pentru cele mai importante funcții publice din România, astfel că era de așteptat că presiunea pusă pe el să fie deosebită, mai ales întrucât existau niște suspiciuni foarte rezonabile. Însă, mai ales în cazul acestor alegeri prezidențiale, a fost, mai degrabă, vorba despre un atentat de umilire a lui Dan.

Fondatorul USR a dat dovadă, în tot parcursul său în politică, de un stoicism de invidiat: nu s-a coborât la nivelul atacurilor și și-a cerut scuze atunci când el a depășit măsura. În dezbaterile premergătoare primului tur de scrutin, a părut, într-adevăr, zdruncinat de haosul din jur și de acuzele aduse – în unele momente părea că-și regretă profund decizia de a candida. Însă Dan a evoluat impresionant de rapid, astfel că, la dezbaterea de la Euronews s-a remarcat prin controlul de sine, contrastat clar cu aparenta instabilitate a lui Simion.

Totuși, nu este deloc rezonabil și plauzibil să ne așteptăm că aceste persoane calificate – așa-zișii „oameni noi în politică” – să accepte să se supună unui festival al batjocurii, al luării în derâdere – o veritabilă probă a rușinii. Nu toată lumea are nervii de fier necesari unei asemenea aventuri. Reticența față de politică a unor astfel de persoane se explică mai ales întrucât ei nu au nicio garanție că vor avea succes. Este foarte probabil că vor fi nevoiți să se întoarcă la cariera inițială, unde reputația este, adesea, esențială. Oricum, cine și-ar dori să riște să fie ridiculizat fără aproape nicio limită, cel puțin pe toată durata mandatului, dacă nu chiar mai mult, având în vedere durata de viață a unor meme-uri? Și, în fond, pentru ce să își asume un asemenea risc? Politica făcută onest nu este foarte lucrativă, singura recompensă fiind internă, bucuria de a face un bine concetățenilor. Or, când o bună parte dintre aceștia par să te batjocorească pentru efort, este mult mai oportun să rămâi la confortul inițial.

Astfel că, atât timp cât societatea civilă nu va începe să respingă din principiu orice politician ce recurge la asemenea tactici, cât timp CNA nu va începe să amendeze serios pe oricine calomniază sau insultă, până când chiar noi vom începe să ne impunem singuri filtre, indiferent cât de mult detestăm un politician și oricât de delicioasă ar fi gluma; puțin probabil ca mai mulți oameni de vază să renunțe la o carieră de succes pentru politică. Majoritatea politicienilor va fi formată din cei care nu ar fi putut trăi din altceva decât politică, astfel că își asumă toate injuriile posibile – adică tipologia participantului la un reality TV show coordonat de niște producători de o moralitate îndoielnică.

Pe scurt, cât timp vom trata toți politicienii că pe niște hoți, de a căror vinovăție nu ne îndoim, pentru care căutăm moduri de a-i pedepsi (deși umilința publică nu mai este o sancțiune legală în nicio țară civilizată), nu ar trebui să ne mire că doar hoții intră în politică.

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În cazul în care ați urmărit atât dezbaterile prezidențiale premergătoare primului tur, cât și pe cea de la Euronews, probabil ați rămas cu o senzație foarte diferită după aceasta din urmă. Dacă primele nu păreau a fi mult mai mult decât emisiuni melodramatice de scandal, unde participanții se certau haotic pe terenuri – asemenea rudelor la masa de Crăciun, ce își aduc aminte de vreo moștenire nerezolvată –, cea de joi seara chiar a părut coerentă și a rezultat destul de clar într-un câștigător. Acest lucru se datorează unui lucru fundamental pe care Euronews l-a făcut bine: alegerea formatului.

În primul rând, s-ar putea spune că, în sens strict, doar emisiunea de la Euronews a constituit o veritabilă dezbatere, celelalte fiind niște simulacre ce doar mimau o dezbatere. Conform dexonline, o dezbatere este o „analiză amănunțită; discuție largă asupra unei probleme de interes general”. O dezbatere necesita contradictorialitate între candidați pe diferite teme, adică argumente, contraargumente, apărarea argumentelor proprii în fața contraargumentelor și punerea în balanță a plusurilor și minusurilor propunerilor fiecărui vorbitor. Mai mult, toate formatele de dezbateri academice competitive (precum World Schools, British Parliamentary sau American Parliamentary) impun susținerea unei moțiuni, adică o teză, de către o parte și negarea ei de către cealaltă. Însă chiar formatul așa-ziselor dezbateri de la Digi 24, TVR și Antena 3 CNN făceau ca multe aspecte esențiale ale unei dezbateri să nu se poată manifesta. Dezbaterile de dinaintea turui I erau formate majoritar din întrebări adresate candidaților, de către jurnaliști și, mai puțin, de către contracandidați, întrebări ce puteau avea de-a face cu absolut orice – drept dovadă, în dezbaterea de dinaintea alegerilor din noiembrie, un jurnalist a întrebat dacă „Steaua e FCSB?”. Nicio întrebare nu trebuia să aibă nici măcar o legătură tangențială cu întrebarea adresată anterior. Tipul întrebărilor adresate (fie asupra caracterului candidatului, fie asupra unei politici în general) a creat și inechități, întrucât candidații atacați direct puteau cel mult să se apere, în timp ce ceilalți aveau oportunitatea de a impresiona prin soluțiile propuse la o problemă generală, formulată de un jurnalist. Astfel, nu se poate pune problema unei „analize amănunțite”. În fapt, cele trei dezbateri nu au fost nimic altceva decât o serie de interviuri cu fiecare candidat, luate simultan, la care au avut ocazia să participe din când în când și contracandidații.

Nici măcar contradictorialitatea nu s-a regăsit cu adevărat în vreun format al dezbaterilor precedente turului întâi, deoarece candidații nu puteau răspunde sau interacționa în vreun fel cu discursul unui alt candidat, decât prin intermediul „dreptului la replică”, adică numai dacă ei fuseseră vizați în vreun fel de afirmațiile lui. Or, esența dezbaterii stă fix în du-te-vinoul argumentativ. Într-o dezbatere, nu ar trebui să fie necesară o scuză pentru a putea contraargumenta. Fix de aceea, aspiranții la președinție mai puțin cunoscuți nu au avut ocazia să impresioneze prin ideile lor, să dovedească că sunt mai competenți pe un domeniu, întrucât nu puteau interveni decât dacă erau menționați, lucru puțin probabil, dată fiind lipsa lor de popularitate. Mai mult, contraargumentarea ar trebui să fie legată de conținutul argumentativ al discursului oponentului, nu doar despre partea specific legată de persoana celui care răspunde.

De asemenea, majoritatea discuțiilor despre persoana unui candidat sau altuia nu ar fi trebuit să se regăsească nici ele într-o dezbatere veritabilă. Dezbaterile sunt despre valori, despre politici publice, despre idei, despre programe electorale, despre argumente și contraargumente – nu despre caracterul candidaților. Oricât de ciudat ar părea, dezbaterile electorale nu sunt locul potrivit pentru momente de tipul „Nici azi-noapte nu v-a plăcut la domnul Vîntu?”.

Desigur, integritatea politicienilor este un subiect important în campania electorală, pe care presa trebuie să-l analizeze amănunțit, însă nu în timpul alocat analizei programului fiecărui candidat, substanța reală a politicii. Posturile de televiziune doar profită de prestigiul asociat dezbaterilor pentru a introduce, în acest segment mai vizionat, elemente ce ar trebui să țină de alte emisiuni.

Cea mai bună ilustrare a distanței dintre emisiunile intitulate „dezbateri electorale” și o dezbatere propriu-zisă este existența segmentului dedicat „camerei de comandă”, de la TVR. În aceea parte nu au existat interacțiuni de niciun fel între candidați, care nici nu au vorbit despre aceleași teme – o dezbatere necesită ca ambele părți să discute despre același subiect. Nici măcar nu se aflau toți candidații în același loc.

Întrebările de tip gotcha (întrebări închise hiperspecifice, de natură pur factuală) nu își au nici ele locul într-o dezbatere. Dezbaterile implică o confruntare de ideologii, nu teste fulger.

Dacă e să ne raportăm la cele 3 mijloace de persuasiune, enunțate de Aristotel: pathos, ethos, logos, vom vedea că primele 3 dezbateri au avut parte de pathos – emoția pe care candidații au pus-o (sau cel puțin au încercat) în ceea ce spuneau – de ethos – credibilitatea vorbitorilor – acesta fiind probabil cel mai pronunțat aspect al confruntărilor electorale, însă prea puțin de logos – logica, rațiunea, explicațiile concrete asupra soluțiilor propuse de prezidențiabili.

Pe scurt, dezbaterile reprezintă o discuție complexă între candidați, moderată de jurnaliști, cu eventuale intervenții din exterior, nu o discuție a candidaților cu moderatorii și alți jurnaliști, cu eventuale intervenții ale altor candidați.

Totuși, ne putem întreba: la ce ne trebuie dezbateri, în aceasta accepțiune restrânsă? La ce bun să vorbim despre programe electorale, despre valori sau despre promisiuni când știm că politicieni oricum nu și le vor îndeplini? Mai bine să vedem care e cel mai puțin probabil să fure.

Ei bine, fix prin punerea sub lupă, printr-o „analiza amănunțită” a acestor propuneri putem vedea dacă ele sunt fezabile, dacă au vreo șansă să fie îndeplinite, sau dacă sunt doar promisiuni populiste, astfel nefiind necesar să așteptăm câțiva anii pentru a descoperi că erau minciuni. Probabil din acest motiv s-a concentrat Nicușor Dan atât de mult asupra numărului de presupuși paraziți înaintat de Simion, presând identificarea lor exactă în aparatul de stat. Pentru că, luate la bani mărunți, multe promisiuni se prăbușesc. De ce credeți că populiștii – mai ales cei idolatrizați de George Simion – se descurca atât de prost în dezbaterile electorale sau le evita întru totul? Donald Trump, când nu dezbătea împotriva unui contracandidat ce suferea de declin cognitiv, fie pierdea dezbaterile, fie le transforma într-o discuție complet haotică din care să nu mai înțeleagă nimeni nimic. Ar fi reușit Călin Georgescu să explice cum vă duce benzina la un leu litrul?

Mai mult, acesta este un exercițiu necesar și pentru cel pus în poziția de a demasca minciuna celuilalt. O eventuală neputință a lui Nicușor Dan de a explica de ce nu este fezabil să fie concediați 500.000 de funcționari publici ar fi spus la fel de multe despre competența lui, cât despre cea a lui George Simion. Acum, fiecare dintre cei doi posibili viitori președinți are tot interesul să denunțe orice propunere a celuilalt drept fantasmagorică, chiar și atunci când nu este. Dar oare, atunci când nu va mai exista această motivație, cât de bine se vor descurca în a distinge ce e adevărat și ce nu?

Grație Euronews, am putut observa cum se descurcă cei doi posibili viitori președinți când sunt puși în fața cifrelor, cât de capabili sunt să realizeze o analiză mai tehnică a situațiilor cu care se confruntă România.

Ce a lipsit, totuși, de la dezbatere?

Evident, oriunde exista loc de mai bine, iar probabil cel mai important aspect de rezolvat până la următoarea dezbatere este tăiatul microfonului. O dezbatere ar trebui să fie despre rațiune și convingerea prin argumente, nu despre tonuri ridicate și întreruperi. Dacă nu exista nicio sancțiune pentru întreruperea discursului unui contracandidat, fiecare politician aflat pe scena vă fi motivat să vorbească peste ceilalți, pentru a capta atenția. În era politică în care ne aflăm, adesea cine face cel mult zgomot câștigă. Pentru asta exista deja TikTok, haideți să avem și un loc doar al rațiunii!

Fact checking-ul (verificarea factualității afirmațiilor politicienilor) trebuie să devină mai popular în toată presa și media românească, dar mai ales la aceste dezbateri. De ce? Pentru că în absența sa, fiecare candidat poate susține orice dorește, iar adevărul va rămâne în aer sau vă părea că este de partea celui care a vorbit ultimul – puncte bonus daca a vorbit și mai tare. De aceasta lipsă au profitat ambii aspiranți la fotoliul prezidențial: Nicușor Dan a refuzat să abordeze eșecul de a-și realiza promisiunea trenului metropolitan, doar invocând legitimitatea dată de votul bucureștenilor, iar Simion a mințit pur simplu în legătură cu afirmațiile lui Călin Georgescu referitoare la prim-ministrul Italiei, Giorgia Meloni.

In fine, dezbaterea de la Euronews a suferit, la fel ca orice dezbatere prezidențială din lume, de timp insuficient. Pentru a avea termen de comparație, formatul de dezbateri World Schools, dedicat elevilor de liceu, alocă fiecărui discurs individual 8 minute, astfel fiecare echipă având în total 24 de minute (echipele au întotdeauna 3 membri) să-și expună argumentele și contraargumentele (plus încă 4 minute pentru un discurs final sumativ). Până și cea mai simplificată variantă a acestui format, menită să fie folosită de copii de gimnaziu, alocă 5 minute fiecărui discurs, deci în total 15 minute conținutului constructiv. La Euronews, pe fiecare temă, candidații au avut la dispoziție (teoretic) maximum 3 minute pentru a răspunde și încă un minut pentru a întrebă. Menționez acest lucru nu pentru a critica Euronews – nu ar fi putut avea o dezbatere de 8 ore –, ci pentru a sublinia nevoia pentru cât mai multe dezbateri, pentru a putea analiza cu adevărat propunerile celor ce vor să ne conducă.

N.B. Imperfecțiunile unui format sau altul de dezbateri, atât timp cât ele nu constituie o inechitate crasă, nu reprezintă o scuză pentru niciunul dintre candidați să nu se prezinte la dezbateri.

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Eastern Europe having among the most to lose, with its unstable democracies risking to succumb to Russian influence and its fragile opposition movements to dictatorships risking to die out completely, it may be hard to see how there is anything to gain for Europe in this. However, there is a silver lining.

First, it is important to mention that a large part of the money goes towards governance, which represents the vast majority of aid received by Eastern Europe ($14.9B out of the $16.8B it gets). While aid allocated to governance sounds less consequential than that directed towards humanitarian or health and population issues – after all, even budget-cutter-in-chief Elon Musk agrees containing Ebola is worth it, if only because it protects American lives –, it must not be underrated. This represents funding that goes towards independent media, policy think-tanks, human rights groups, election monitoring organisations and all sorts of other NGOs. Some of them are almost entirely dependent on USAID for survival.

It is a necessity for Europe to step-up and fill the US’ shoes, at least in Eastern Europe, for its own good – the lack of internal opposition allows dictators like Putin and Lukashenko to be more aggressive with the EU and strongman leaders like Viktor Orbán and Robert Fico to sabotage it from the inside. What’s more, the only thing that stops the Kremlin from moving onto the EU is the fact that states like Ukraine, Georgia and Moldova won’t yet succumb by hybrid war alone.

It is also an opportunity. The near-total cut in USAID is still fresh, meaning the vast and complex infrastructure that Trump’s predecessors painstakingly built over decades is still there. The organisations, their networks and know-how still exists – for now. All they lack is someone with a purse and similar values. The EU is a bloc that has just found itself with no clearly committed allies, after the strident rebukes from the Trump-Vance administration, and a declining influence. Its rekindling with the UK, trade agreements with distant agents or ad-hoc cooperation with China, an ideologically opposed totalitarian dystopia, won’t make up for the apparent “brain death” of NATO.

Supply, meet demand!

As much as the hard-right sovereigntist narrative might want to claim that “soft power” is merely a fancy buzzword, meant to rationalize guilt-driven hand-outs by globalist governments, the truth is their motives are less altruistic than one might guess at a first glance. The benefits that this “charity” brings are very real.

Not only is the influence of independent, fact-based media subscribed to western values – as of in, what we traditionally referred to as western values (democracy, liberty, rule of law), not necessarily what is applied in all the western nations right now – essential towards swinging the opinion of the population towards the West and bringing like minded parties to power, in the states that still hold at least somewhat free and fair elections. Think-tanks later further influence politicians through their proposed policies. This is the classic way that this funding “buys” goodwill and allies for the financier. While the US has historically had an advantage in this field over Europe, due to the latter’s colonial past, that advantage has now been erased by the current president’s openly imperial ambitions.

But the organisations formerly financed by USAID, that I believe Europe should start funding, also bring a more subtle and perhaps less unquestionably moral type of influence, through their vast networks. The people that work in these NGOs usually develop political connections or end up in politics themselves. It needs to be noted that these people don’t need to stay in the respective organisations to be beneficial for the EU, as, by supporting them early on, these aid programs gain something arguably more powerful in the long term than leverage (hard power): their sympathies and convictions. It might be easy to believe that these NGOs simply sign blind checks to whoever they find, but their programs are usually effective in aligning their participants with democratic ideals. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, as they usually offer their members unique opportunities, either because of the lack of other democratic institutions to turn to or thanks to their prestige. These are people who are fully committed to the cause, meaning they usually won’t just work for the highest bidder (as might, for example, consultancy firms). They have also passed a test of sorts by keeping the course in spite of the vicious attacks they have been subjected to by numerous populist groups, who usually benefit from better funding and less ethical constraint, proving their endurance and convictions. (Of course, this doesn’t mean these NGOs are 100% effective at picking their receivers, as shown in the curious case of Călin Georgescu, the Russophile, NATO bashing candidate in the Romanian presidential elections, that has apparently benefited from USAID funding.)

Thus, these types of foreign funding end up shaping friendlier institutions through the people making them up, friendlier populations by influencing them at the grass-roots – through the various projects and activities held by the NGOs. The importance these two effects have had for facilitating US influence mustn’t be underestimated. For example, it is entirely likely that the tariffs imposed upon American exports by other countries would have been much higher were it not for this soft power.

Quite ironically, some of the far-right’s criticism of USAID actually accurately sense some of its benefits. Take for example politicians such as Viktor Orbán and Dmitry Medvedev, who rightly point out that USAID provides the US with influence that often irks their own, a rhetoric consistent with the more broadly known attacks against George Soros’ supposed campaign to undermine states’ sovereignty. Therefore, it’s hard to believe the Trump administration didn’t know about the benefits brought by USAID. Perhaps its closure is one of the better outcomes, as a possible alternative could have been the MAGAfication of the institution, in order to promote Trumpism, instead of its usual values. The new administration probably considered that option, but realized that the people they’d have to convert are committed to ideals, not names.

Right now, it might seem like the EU’s purses’ strings should be tied up to such foreign endeavors that don’t have a clear and guaranteed pay off, as everything from defense to innovation and competitiveness requires significant extra funding. However if left unfunded long enough, these complex networks will die out and the EU will not meet such an opportunity again. And I use the word opportunity because it is: Europe doesn't need to do any of the heavy lifting that comes with establishing a foothold, they can avoid, during this narrow window, the barriers to entry. If anyone’s responsible for the EU ripping of the USA, in this case it’d be Donald Trump. And while it may seem like we have many other more urgent crises to concentrate our full attention to, it is exactly this sort of short-termist approaches that lead to such existential problems arising in the present for Europe. Look, for instance, at how the EU was comfortable to play second fiddle in its own defense against Russia, immediately after Biden took office, ignoring the glaring reality that Europe is no longer the USA’s main priority, or how Germany had no issues making itself dependent on Russian gas, in order to prop up its economy.

The UK, it seems, has forfeited this opportunity, as it has slashed its own foreign aid – something that didn’t make the news, as Keir Starmer’s more eye-catching high level meetings were effective in finally bringing him some positive headlines. The EU must not make the same mistake, as it could mean that future bright, talented youths of the developing world aspire to bring home the ideals and values of Europe, to enter into a global network with it and to view the Old Continent not as exploiters – and image that it not only still struggles to shrug of in its former colonies but also has caught on more and more in Eastern Europe too –, but as defender of liberty, or at least, the closest thing to it in this increasingly authoritarian age.