Whenever concerns are raised about the lack of funding for Indian science, a solution often put forward is to tax “unintellectual” industries such as cinema, tourism, apparel, and perfumes. For example, only recently, an academic from one of India’s leading research institutes suggested taxing the Indian Premier League (IPL), which, he argued, would magically generate “₹15 billion” for scientific pursuits; the “stroke of genius” was duly fawned over.
If that were true, then all scientists should refrain from watching movies or sports on government-subsidised campus Wi-Fi, as this would imply scientific funding flowing back to the entertainment industry. Luckily for them, the empirical evidence does not hold up: countries boasting a high expenditure on sport do not necessarily have poor scientific output, and vice versa. Besides, science is not an isolated pursuit: significant scientific input goes into making films or manufacturing textiles.
Because a laboratory fell short of centrifuges, if ‘profit’ in the sports or film industries necessarily came at the expense of science, then the exercise in financial imputation should be very simple: of the $5 billion in profit earned by a match or a movie, $1 billion was made.
If the latter, how will productivity be measured, and by whom? Some scientists appointed as advisers to the Department of Science and Technology? Would they not favour their colleagues and collaborators? But, why only science? Given the same pool of government money, how does one choose among these equally valid, competing claims? Politicians are notorious for basing such decisions on the electoral strength of each group, while academics form factions among themselves: microbiologists might grumble about theoretical physicists receiving disproportionately high funding, much to the delight of funding agencies. Most scientists would, credulously, want these decisions to be left to scientists themselves: a grand delusion, for no subsidy is ever unconditional. A government that provides a fertilizer subsidy will ensure that it is used only to purchase fertilizers, and will go to extreme lengths to define what a fertilizer is. State funding for science is no different. Government funding for science is, by definition, categorised into watertight compartments, for example, electronics, chemical reagents, consumables, travel grants, and equipment. If a scientist does not spend all the money allocated to her in a financial year, she may receive less funding in the next one. Consequently, precious time is wasted learning tricks to circumvent these restrictions, much like companies did during the Licence Raj. Experiments are often put on hold while scientists navigate cumbersome procurement rules, particularly towards the end of each financial year. Removing these restrictions would free up considerable resources for their intended use.
Because the money has been rigidly earmarked, laboratories that do not need that extra bottle of hydrogen chloride but desperately need a computer monitor are often unable to make the purchase. Because its expenditure is predetermined by archaic rules that the bureaucracy has little incentive to change, theoretically, the money is there, but it is squandered. Just as scientists can make a fair claim for the setting up of state-of-the-art research laboratories, surgeons could demand better hospitals in Tier-3 towns, and policemen could call for better protective gear. Procurement aside, even the recruitment of scientists is governed by the archaic University Grants Commission Act (1956), contributing to India losing some of its best scientists to opportunities overseas.
Should the money be directed towards science, must it be distributed equally among all institutes and laboratories across the country, or apportioned according to productivity? Once, a laboratory was allowed to purchase a server under “electronics”, but not a graphics card because, for some inexplicable reason, it fell under “consumables” rather than “electronics”. This absurd incentive produces colossal wastage, as what is “allowed” is bought instead of what is “needed”, often at the cheapest possible price.
The subsidy giver has historically viewed the subsidy recipient as a potential embezzler.
