If taxpayer money is being spent on maintaining the privileges and lifestyles of particular ministers, then we should scrutinise whether the money is being spent prudently. But the case where the ministers are spending their own private wealth is a lot more complicated. Politicians perform a different expressive role in any society. They are meant to be exemplars. They are also meant to be expressions of that nebulous entity called “the people”. So it is prudent that the social distance between them and those they represent is never too great. Sometimes their gestures of solidarity and sacrifice can also reinstate a powerful idea that they are in office to serve, not to enjoy privilege. Depriving yourself of a privilege you could have otherwise enjoyed can be a message of reassurance. In that sense, there is a deal of political prudence in gestures of solidarity that austerity measures sometimes embody. But we should be clear that this ia about political judgment, not about ethics or morality.

An excessive moralistic tone runs several risks. Any anti-hypocrisy argument, where we make a parade of our abilities to set an example, is often quite hypocritical. There has been much hand-wringing over particular individuals staying in five-star hotels. But if we were being genuinely non-hypocritical about austerity where would we stop? Much is being made about the fact that ministers are not moving into government accommodation. But if we really examined the matter we might swiftly come to the conclusion that, in Delhi, it is most forms of government accommodation and the attendant services that go with it that are the markers of privilege and conspicuous consumption. Government houses with great market rental value, with extraordinary gardens, prime locations, with an army of excess labour to maintain them, are far more a sign of privilege and social distance than spending your own wealth as you please. In short, individual gestures at austerity disguise the fact that there is a fantastic structural privilege inherent in government. The hypocrisy of living with that privilege might be far more deleterious to public policy than individual acts of conspicuous consumption. Just fantasise how different government’s attitude might be if everyone in government was actually asked to arrange for their own house, facilities, domestic help, etc, as others do. We might even get sensible government policy!

The point is not to suggest that because we cannot draw the line clearly between austerity and conspicuous consumption we should not draw it anywhere. The point is that easy moralism disguises the fact that those who call for these lines to be drawn sharply are already engaged in deep structural hypocrisy. And when we applaud exposure of hypocrisy we also forget that all of us are implicated in it too.

In some cases the politics of symbolism can itself produce greater hypocrisy. The irony in the case of someone like Shashi Tharoor is that we have moved him from honesty to dissimulation. One may not agree with his choice of residence. But on the face of it, it was at least honest and (if he was paying) did not impose much on the taxpayer. Now he has to pretend that he belongs to a class to which he palpably does not. Where is there more hypocrisy? In the honest admission of privilege? Or in the pretence that you are poorer than you are? Which sort of politician would you trust more?

The great theorist of hypocrisy, Judith Shklar, once wrote, “anti-hypocrisy is a splendid weapon of psychic warfare, but not a principle of government.” This can be seen at three levels. Austerity is fine as a principle. But in case of government it is a two-edged sword. As every intelligent theorist of political authority from Burke to Adam Smith recognised, it is also important for government not to appear contemptible. Much of what passed as austerity for many years did just that — made government look incapable and incompetent, if not an outright health hazard. The “five star” culture was not so much about conspicuous consumption as it was about overcoming decades where government frugality made it more contemptible than recognisably austere.

Second, contrary to what hypocritical moralists think, our attitude to privilege is complex. Of course conspicuous consumption generates a backlash. On the other hand, there is also the reverse thought: if even the well-to-do in society are unable to create some kind of world of their own choosing, what hope will there be for the rest? In short, exercising privilege, to a certain degree, is as much an expression of people’s aspirations as tearing down privilege. The balance is a hard one. But merely focusing on individuals disguises the fact that an inherent hypocrisy is generated by the tension between egalitarianism and aspiration. Most ordinary people are sensible enough to live with this hypocrisy.

Third, there is always the curious misapplication of symbolically-based frugality arguments. I think a case can be made that our members of Parliament are actually underpaid, and even more importantly under-resourced. But all kinds of austerity arguments are being used in places where they are probably not necessary. Here the politics of making the gesture takes over prudent determination of costs and benefits of giving MPs more.

None of this is to suggest that gestures of solidarity with the poor, or symbolic foregoing of privileges, or a critique of consumption are unimportant. They are. But we should recognise them for what they are: political judgments. The deeper moral issues have to do with the ends of government policy and the effects those have. Often, as Shklar noted, we are tempted to expose hypocrisy because it is easier then to dispose of the character of particular individuals than it is to show how their convictions are wrong, or their policies ineffective. Let us have an honest debate about the broad culture of consumption; we need that discussion as a society. Let us have a debate over taxpayer money or policies for the poor. But let us not pretend that forcing austerity on individuals by unmasking hypocrisy is a serious ethical issue.

The writer is president, Centre for Policy Research, Delhi

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