The measure of herding cats

A few days ago while driving on a freeway at 120 km/h and thinking about a photograph I had taken of a cityscape over which loomed a cloud that—to my mind—looked like an atomic bomb mushroom I saw a man in a dressing gown and slippers hitchhiking on the side of the road. When my sister saw the picture and said it was a giant swan in flight. She is prone to a more whimsical pareidolia.

Now suddenly this cloudy musing was juxtapositioned with the questions: what sane man would walk out on a busy freeway around rush hour in a dressing gown? And what sane man driving in the fast lane would cut across traffic to stop and pick him up?

And then I was past and entering in slow zone and thinking about perception and interpretation and the shape of reality. Did the dressing gown trigger caution (the guy is crazy) rather than compassion (the guy is ill)? What objective circumstances led him to be there, I will never know.

Was I really concerned about the perception of danger in pulling over to help or was my split-second interpretation that the man was a threat? And I factored in that cloud pareidolia showed people see destruction or beauty in the same image.

In today's fast-paced complex world, we make split-second judgements all the time based on massive amounts of incomplete information. In this information saturated environment, divided perspectives dominate and increasingly the same events are viewed through dramatically different lenses. Divergent interpretations resulting from split-second decisions become more consequential when applied to complex social issues like transgender rights in sport or affirmative action or religious bigotry. Our fears and hopes taint our perception and dictate reality. The hitchhiker was a disruption; the cloud was a reflection of an internal framework determining something wonderful or ominous.

Some perceive affirmative action as an essential justice issue, correcting historical imbalances or unfair preference; others interpret it as a violation of the principles of meritocracy. Some see transgender rights as a fundamental human rights issue, promoting dignity and inclusion; others say it violates competitive fairness. When a man claims to be a woman and wants to compete in women's athletics events, is it sufficient that you check he’s got the tackle that shows he’s a man, and exclude him? Maybe that's too blunt and basic.

Lee Kuan Yew, the prime minister who founded Singapore, focused on observable outcomes, and is famously reputed to have said, "I don't care if the cat is black or white as long as it catches mice." His pragmatic approach measured results—catching mice rather than the characteristics (colour, ethnicity, gender) of the cat—and cut through the theoretical debate. But is that the way meritocracy should be measured?

Nothing comes from forcing everyone to see a swan or a mushroom cloud, but by acknowledging multiple perspectives we can find policy that accommodates the reality of different lived experiences. Both sides draw on what they consider objective circumstances, citing the same scientific data yet reaching opposite conclusions because they prioritise different values. Is it an atomic mushroom cloud or a swan? But, unlike the hitchhiker scenario where I had had seconds to decide, or the ephemeral shape-shifting pareidolia moment, society has been debating equality and justice for years. The split-second digital environment exposes us to perspectives that serve to reinforce existing viewpoints. Such issues are nuanced but adding complexity doesn't necessarily serve practical outcomes. Common sense solutions often miss the complex dimensions of human experience. Most people lean equally toward meritocracy: we like to reward capability and effort. But they equally disagree on whether current systems actually measure merit fairly. Historical advantages and disadvantages are baked into what we consider “merit”.

But what if the Prime Minister's practical cat was actually Schrödinger's cat, existing in a quantum superposition, simultaneously alive and dead until observed? In policy debates like transgender and affirmative action, we force issues into binary states—right, wrong, fair, unfair. The reality might be more quantum-like, containing multiple valid perspectives simultaneously.

Lee's approach focused on observable—i.e. measurable—outcomes. In a quantum world, multiple states exist until measurement forces a single reality. Schrödinger’s cat reminds us that measurement itself changes reality. Our methods of measuring merit or fairness actually shape what we observe.

We judge policies by their practical outcomes—number of mice caught—but we must be chary: how we choose to observe and measure success itself creates reality rather than simply revealing it. Metrics aren't neutral. They collapse complex social quantum states into specific realities that align with our values. In debates about affirmative action or transgender ethics or religious bias, the disagreement is about which measurements matter most. Choosing what to measure determines what reality recreates.

And so, in times of confusion, turn always to poetry.

[Apologies to T.S. Eliot, Macavity the Mystery Cat]

Ms Quantum the Mystery Cat.

Ms Quantum the mystery cat; her state is quite absurd,

She’s neither here nor there, they say, until she’s observed.

Ms Quantum the mystery cat, she's called the Hidden Paw,

A mistress quite quizzical who defies all natural law.

Ms Quantum, Ms Quantum, there’s nothing quite exact,

She’s particle and wave, it seems—a scientific fact.

When Ms Quantum leaps discreetly, observers scratch their heads—

She’s simultaneously alive, and yet surely she is dead.

Ms Quantum’s a contradiction, the physicist’s delight,

Confounding all observers with her puzzling quantum flight.

And when experiments are run, the results remain unclear—

For Ms Quantum, the mystery cat, thrives best when no one’s near.

Her whiskers sense probabilities, stretched through space and time,

She lurks in superposition, undefined, and quite sublime.

Police of physics search for her, equations well in hand,

But when they think they’ve caught her, she’s slipped to distant lands.

Ms Quantum, Ms Quantum, you’ll never pin her down,

Uncertainty’s her shadow, and paradox her crown.

In boxes firmly closed up tight, her mystery persists;

For Ms Quantum is both everywhere and nowhere—or so she insists.

Ms Quantum, Ms Quantum, the elusive mystery cat,

When you peek inside her box—well, that’s the end of that.

One moment she’s potential, spread thin across the air;

Next moment she’s reality—and just because you stared.

Ms Quantum, Ms Quantum, she's a paradox complete.

Her outcomes probabilistic, her behaviour so discreet.

She breaks no known equation—Heisenberg would agree—

Yet somehow her location is where she oughtn’t to be.

Ms Quantum, Ms Quantum.

There's no one like Ms Quantum.

You may seek her in the classroom.

You may reference her in every text.

And when you think she's measured and her nature finally caught,

Ms Quantum's not there.

(Disclaimer: Yes, AI was a participant in this exercise in poetic licence.)