Democrats prize experts in staffing the Executive Branch while Republicans prefer political operatives and media spokespersons. But across the issue spectrum, policies are increasingly complicated and technical, requiring knowledge of many previous rounds of institution-building and policymaking. New social problems require remixing of complex policy tools, often led by research and experts. Addressing climate change and public health, for example, requires professionalized expert workforces and technical analyses. Even seemingly value-based areas of policymaking such as economic development and racial discrimination increasingly require subject-matter experts and formalized training. And the issue of higher education itself has increasingly divided the parties. Chapter 6 documents how each policy area is increasingly dominated by complex proposals from liberals accompanied by conservative suspicion of expert-led governance. Policy knowledge and evaluation capacity have become increasingly tethered to the Democratic Party, with believably nonpartisan expertise now in short supply.

Increasing educational standards in the workforce have increased the use of experts throughout the economy, leading to processes that more closely resemble bureaucracies and stakeholder policymaking, with an increasing emphasis on culturally liberal values such as diversity, representation, and social responsibility. The guiding industries and workforces of the scientific and technology sectors have enabled a technocratic ethos in government and industry. Public opposition to technocracy and skepticism of meritocracy is growing among voters, allowing conservatism to brand itself as an opposition movement to the extension of government reach and the associated prevalence of “politically correct” messages and practices across educational institutions and in the workplace. The polarized American brand of politics now pervades internal debates across organizational sectors, enlarging the scope of activist politics beyond campaigns and government, especially where educational and cultural divides are strongest. The distinct styles of the culture war’s two conflicting sides have become more dissimilar at the national, state, and local levels, even in ostensibly apolitical arenas.

In the late 1970s, queer parents increasingly fought to maintain custody of their children from different-sex relationships. These mothers and fathers were responding in part to the gay liberation movement, which inspired them to come out and demand their rights. Also important was that the American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality as a mental illness, which eliminated what had been an all-but-impenetrable barrier to custody. Courts were nevertheless reluctant to grant these petitions, fearing that the children would learn to be gay or lesbian from the adults in their lives. In response to these court cases, social scientists developed research studies that concluded parental homosexuality had no effect on the future sexual orientation of children. Based on that work, family courts around the country granted custody to lesbian mothers and gay fathers in the late 1970s and early 1980s, creating the first wave of visible queer-headed families.

Chapter 4 traces a rising market of professional consultants and think tanks in policymaking and political activity. Upper-caste and elite-educated men have long filled positions of power, including parliamentary seats, administrative services, business groups, advisory boards, and chambers of commerce. Despite some shifts towards caste-based affirmative action since the 1980s, the political classes remain predominantly elite (Verniers and Jaffrelor 2020). In 2014, anti-incumbent sentiment led to widespread distrust in existing experts, such that elite intellectuals and Western-educated economists holding political and policymaking positions were replaced by technical professionals: engineers, business managers, and consultants. As an alternative to intellectual and insular elites, this group of professionals projects itself as politically agnostic, rational, and a practical source of business-minded knowledge. This group, however, is no less insular or exclusionary: one set of intellectual experts has merely been replaced by a more elite, deracinated group of professional consultants situated in global management consulting firms.

Chapter 4 examines the wave of cases before international courts and tribunals (ICTs) against the most innovative tobacco control measures, focusing in particular on Philip Morris v Uruguay (ICSID) and Australia – Plain Packaging (WTO). It contends that the alleged ineffectiveness of the tobacco control measures was one of the key arguments of the claimants, who supported their claims by submitting a hefty amount of evidence. These evidentiary challenges presented novel and demanding tasks for adjudicators of ICTs. Against this backdrop, this chapter first analyses the nature and features of the evidentiary challenges to tobacco control measures (Section 4.2). Second, it reviews how the ICTs have assessed them, zooming in on the interpretation of flexibilities and the use of different sources of evidence (Section 4.3). The picture that emerges from this chapter is that of unnecessary, manufactured complexity. Shifting the discussions on tobacco control measures from the WHO/FCTC to trade and investment ICTs, the tobacco industry has effectively managed to masterfully use international law to its own advantage. It has reframed the debate, all while starting expensive and lengthy judicial proceedings that have taken almost a decade to be concluded.

Chapter 1 sets the historical and theoretical background of the book. It starts by describing the regulatory battles that took place from the 1970s to adopt more stringent tobacco control measures. Then, it illustrates how the negotiations of the WHO Framework Convention on Tobacco Control and the subsequent WTO and international investment disputes can be considered the internationalisation of the tobacco wars. In this context, the concept of ‘lawfare’ is introduced as a descriptive device and analytical tool for the analysis of the book. The second part of the introduction introduces the second fil rouge of the book: evidence. It begins by defining the notion of evidence and by showing how, in the context of tobacco control, it can refer to different bodies of evidence that pertain both to the risk assessment and risk management dimension of tobacco control measures. This second part, moreover, shows how evidence has always been one of the key points of contention in the tobacco wars and has continued to be so in the international tobacco control lawfare. The introduction concludes with an explanation of the methodology employed, a reflection on its limits, and an outline of the content of the book.

In addition to summarising the main findings of the book, this final chapter offers some reflections on the lessons that emerge from the history of the international tobacco control lawfare. The reflections are organised around the two main themes of the book: lawfare (Section 5.1) and evidence (Section 5.2). The first part offers some thoughts on the value of using ‘lawfare’ as an analytical tool, zooming in on the role of business actors in international regulation (Section 5.1.1) and on a reflexive account on one’s research (Section 5.1.2). The second part summarises the main topics related to evidence that have emerged in the book: the different types of evidence in risk assessment and risk management (Section 5.2.1), international law’s overreliance on evidence (Section 5.2.2), evidence as a weapon (Section 5.2.3), and evidence as an ideological battleground (Section 5.2.4).

Chapter 3 analyses how evidence has become a central element of the FCTC regime (2005–present). Section 3.1 captures the most important developments since the conclusion of the FCTC in 2003. Section 3.2 provides the theoretical framework of the chapter, focusing on the concept of path dependence in international organisations. Section 3.3 proceeds by showing that the development of the guidelines by the FCTC Conference of the Parties (COP) has been in effect a continuation of the strategy on evidence. Section 3.4 in turn highlights the second facet of the FCTC as an evidence-based regime, that is how the FCTC has mobilised new evidence at the national level. Sections 3.5 and 3.6 reflect on the consequences that the evidence-based approach has had on the outlook of the FCTC regime. Section 3.5 uses in-depth qualitative analysis to demonstrate that the evidence-based approach has reinforced the importance of the expertise of civil society organisations. Finally, Section 3.6 illustrates how the evidence-based approach has started to show its shortcomings in the work of the FCTC COP – particularly in the approach to new products like e-cigarettes (or ENDS) and in the (lack of) development of strategies to foster the implementation of tobacco control measures.

Chapter 19 opens by asking readers to reflect on prior collaborations, writing down their views on what makes people easy to work with and what makes them hard to work with. The chapter argues for a team-based approach to public engagement, and suggests ways to build effective teams. Also, it’s important to trust our partners at informal learning venues, as they have expertise on the audiences and logistics in these settings. Emphasizing that communication with these partners is still a conversation, the chapter returns to the principles of a successful conversation described in Chapter 3 and unpacks each one with reference to venue partners. A case study exemplifies these points, describing a partnership between university students and faculty and museum professionals. Details are given of negotiation about institutional missions and daily operations through to a demonstration on children’s science practices in a game about vowel sounds. This chapter’s Closing Worksheet asks readers to make a detailed plan for getting their demonstration into a specific place or event.

This chapter on fact-finding and expert evidence considers how the Court has treated competing evidentiary claims, and how it engages in a fact-finding process, looking at the evolution of the Court’s process in this regard. The author evaluates the significant criticism that has been directed against the Court in respect of its approach to fact-finding and the ways in which the Court has begun to address those criticisms.

This chapter asks and attempts to answer a set of questions we have not dealt with previously. More precisely, in all of our previous chapters (except for Chapter 9 on social learning), people had no choice as to what information they received before they made a decision. They just received advice. We now ask whether there are other types of information they might prefer. We have also never asked whether people have preferences over who gives them advice. Are there types of people that are perceived as good advisors and other types that are perceived as unreliable? If so, who are those “good advisors” and what characteristics do they share? The ... first question is important because it asks how important advice is to decision makers. If people consider advice only when they have no other source of information, then its influence will be diminished when they are given access to alternatives. However, if advice has an inordinate sway over people, if they seek it out, then we need to understand why advice is so desirable or persuasive. The second question is also important because, if certain types of people are considered good advisors, then this perception may confer rents on them which may or may not be warranted. To answer these questions, we set up a market for advice and advisors. In general, we find that subjects bid significantly more for data than they do for advice, i.e., they prefer information that they can use to make their own decision rather than having an advisor offer them advice. We also ... find some evidence for “perception rents” for economics majors, whose price is elevated in the market, and a certain amount of support for what we call the ”chauvinistic bias,” meaning that subjects tended to bid more for advice from people sharing the same major as themselves than for people of other majors.