dried, others are far more problematic. The value-added model in Washington, D.C., schools, to return to that example, evaluates teachers largely on the basis of students’ test scores, while ignoring how much the teachers engage the students, work on specific skills, deal with classroom management, or help students with personal and family problems. It’s overly simple, sacrificing accuracy and insight for efficiency. Yet from the administrators’ perspective it provides an effective tool to ferret out hundreds of apparently underperforming teachers, even at the risk of misreading some of them.
Here we see that models, despite their reputation for impartiality, reflect goals and ideology. When I removed the possibility of eating Pop-Tarts at every meal, I was imposing my ideology on the meals model. It’s something we do without a second thought. Our own values and desires influence our choices, from the data we choose to collect to the questions we ask. Models are opinions embedded in mathematics.
Whether or not a model works is also a matter of opinion. After all, a key component of every model, whether formal or informal, is its definition of success. This is an important point that we’ll return to as we explore the dark world of WMDs. In each case, we must ask not only who designed the model but also what that person or company is trying to accomplish. If the North Korean government built a model for my family’s meals, for example, itmight be optimized to keep us above the threshold of starvation at the lowest cost, based on the food stock available. Preferences would count for little or nothing. By contrast, if my kids were creating the model, success might feature ice cream at every meal. My own model attempts to blend a bit of the North Koreans’ resource management with the happiness of my kids, along with my own priorities of health, convenience, diversity of experience, and sustainability. As a result, it’s much more complex. But it still reflects my own personal reality. And a model built for today will work a bit worse tomorrow. It will grow stale if it’s not constantly updated. Prices change, as do people’s preferences. A model built for a six-year-old won’t work for a teenager.
This is true of internal models as well. You can often see troubles when grandparents visit a grandchild they haven’t seen for a while. On their previous visit, they gathered data on what the child knows, what makes her laugh, and what TV show she likes and (unconsciously) created a model for relating to this particular four-year-old. Upon meeting her a year later, they can suffer a few awkward hours because their models are out of date. Thomas the Tank Engine, it turns out, is no longer cool. It takes some time to gather new data about the child and adjust their models.
This is not to say that good models cannot be primitive. Some very effective ones hinge on a single variable. The most common model for detecting fires in a home or office weighs only one strongly correlated variable, the presence of smoke. That’s usually enough. But modelers run into problems—or subject us to problems—when they focus models as simple as a smoke alarm on their fellow humans.
Racism, at the individual level, can be seen as a predictive model whirring away in billions of human minds around the world. It is built from faulty, incomplete, or generalized data. Whether it comes from experience or hearsay, the data indicatesthat certain types of people have behaved badly. That generates a binary prediction that all people of that race will behave that same way.
Needless to say, racists don’t spend a lot of time hunting down reliable data to train their twisted models. And once their model morphs into a belief, it becomes hardwired. It generates poisonous assumptions, yet rarely tests them, settling instead for data that seems to confirm and fortify them. Consequently, racism is the most slovenly of predictive models. It is
Maggie Ryan, Blushing Books