The Dunning Kruger effect takes its name from two psychologists who performed the initial experiments to establish its existence. It describes the state of incompetent people who are unable to recognise their incompetence, and believe themselves to be competent. The more incompetent they are, the more intense the belief in their competence, and the more elaborate the strategies they employ to convince themselves.
In the words of Dunning and Kruger: “When people are incompetent in the strategies they adopt to achieve success and satisfaction, they suffer a dual burden: Not only do they reach erroneous conclusions and make unfortunate choices, but their incompetence robs them of the ability to realise it.”
This could be the Trini national disease. From the top to the bottom, we (as usual, I don’t include myself) drink and bathe in delusions of competence, and manufacture elaborate mythologies to convince ourselves of it.
We have universities which churn our more and more graduates, but literacy, productivity, and innovation are dying horrible deaths. The same applies to the police service, the health system, the civil service—in all, billions expended to maintain the appearance of normalcy or competence, little to actually fixing the problems.
In no area of national life is this effect more apparent and its consequences more devastating than in “culture,” neatly encapsulated in the Carnival, a metonym of/for national culture. Trinidadians, led by the State’s cultural apparatus, have convinced themselves they/we have not only prodigious amounts of talent, but of that genius’s embodiment in the phenomenon of the Carnival, disaggregated into the steelband, the masquerade and calypso and whatnot.
Every year I quixotically tilt two or three articles at Carnival, pointing at the extravagant claims and introducing Carnivalists to reality and facts. Issues include the wild claims that Carnival makes a profit; that it’s a “pressure valve” for national catharsis; that talent and intellect are manifest in the practice; and Canboulay is anything but a gang-war. As argued over the last two weeks the realities are: uh-uh, steups, hell no, and Oh Gord, shut it, nah.
Nonetheless ideas persist, doing harm, nurturing anti-intellectual and uncreative attitudes which suffuse the society. The result is a culture of delusion, hostility, and increasing desperation, stress, and pain when reality and illusion don’t line up. Like when all the creativity and competence lead to doctors who kill people, schools who have gang fights every day, no public transportation, growing illiteracy in schools and so on and so on.
Which persistence of harmful ideas brings me to Geoffrey Dunn, whose letter responding to my review of his documentaries, Calypso Dreams and Glamour Boyz, was published two Wednesdays ago. Ordinarily, I’d let such an importunate belch slide, but the crack about the Caroni River caught my attention, and reminded me of the role of people like Mr Dunn in enabling the harmful culture described above.
By “people like Mr Dunn” I don’t mean academics, musicians, filmmakers and artists. Nor do I mean foreigners or “white” people. I mean a few metropolitan tourists with more enthusiasm than talent. Naipaul put it best: they’re second-raters, and they love Trinidad because it’s a third-rate country. And apparently we love them for the same reason.
They are usually unremarkable in their own countries and come here, are entranced by “our culture” and appoint themselves to missions of mercy and preservation, encouraged by various posses of professional sufferers, with stories of oppression.
I suspect this is precisely what happened to Mr Dunn who, convinced of the dire need to “help” calypso, shot a great deal of amateurish footage of older calypsonians talking about themselves and their personal histories. (No mention of the younger, successful calypsonians, since this subverts the oppression story.)
And in filming, Mr Dunn apparently absorbed the sense of oppression, entitlement and victimhood the independence generation of calypsonians has convinced themselves is their fate and duty to perpetrate.
As part of his education, his interlocutors evidently schooled him in the lore about Indians being the enemy of Carnival, which would have been especially pointed when he filmed his footage (around 2000), the UNC era. So Mr Dunn feels entitled to the moral indignation when criticised, and reaches for the most ready stone to hurl—he is ah Indian an dem duzzen like Kahnaval.
I suppose it’s better than facing the fact that the movies are bad, amateurishly done and take up space better films could use. As history, they’re not factual in any sense but the privatist.
And Mr Dunn seems unaware he’s telling a story that’s been told more than once, by people more knowledgeable and capable. Rawle Gibbons’ Calypso Trilogy (of musical plays), Gordon Rohlehr’s Calypso and Society, and Louis Regis’s The Political Calypso are three of about 10 books I own. Of course there are many more I don’t.
The point here is not to “respond” to Mr Dunn. What do you say to a man who believes he “sold out” Globe cinema, when the tickets were free (and the cinema was at best two-thirds full)? He’s not unique. There’ve been many over the years, who with the best of intentions, help the havoc grow.
This is because these are the works that reach policy-makers and the academe, to disastrous effect, like the half-billion-dollar Carnival price tag. Unfortunately, there seems to be no end in sight given the status quo. The Carnival is the manifestation of the lengths Trinidad will go to deny its misery and avoid confronting it, and Mr Dunn, and the people like him, often with the best of intentions, help to prop up that delusion.