The case can’t outweigh the critique- 1AC impacts are a product of innovation framing that delegitimizes alternative solutions and obscures devastating consequences of innovation gone wrong

(Sebastian M. Pfotenhauer, Munich Center for Technology in Society (MCTS) and TUM School of Management, , Joakim Juhlb Technical University Munich, Germany bDepartment of Planning and Development, Aalborg University, Denmark , Erik AardencDepartment of Science and Technology Studies, University of Vienna, Austria Challenging the “deficit model” of innovation: Framing policy issues under the innovation imperative , Research Policy, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.respol.2018.10.015)

The above case studies illustrate how the “deficit model of innovation” has become a powerful justification and organizing principle for major institutional and policy interventions. All three countries subscribed to the globalizing “innovation imperative,” yet each did so in its own way, pointing to unique social, economic, and institutional deficiencies and taking different courses of action. Our comparative analysis revealed the different dimensions of deficit construction and thus helps shed light on the discursive and political dynamics underwriting innovation policy in each case (see Table 2). First, in terms of problem diagnosis, the particular deficits identified are quite diverse and may combine seemingly disjointed socio-economic elements. In Luxembourg, uncertainty about the economic future, demographic change and its consequences for public health, and the absence of a critical mass in research were all considered part of the same compound innovation problem. Singapore turned to innovation not only to systematically address perceived deficits in education, research, institutional design and scientific culture more broadly, but also in response to perennial concerns about the country’s geopolitical survival. In Denmark, the innovation imperative imposed on the country’s universities sought to develop science as an economic resource and simultaneously to make universities more productive and accountable. Policymakers turned to equally diverse strategies to address the perceived problems while justifying them in the name of innovation all the same. Thus, innovation leadership was to be achieved, in Luxembourg, through developing capacity in the life sciences that could be plugged into European biotechnology markets, in Singapore, through importing various innovation “best practices” from abroad, and, in Denmark, through institutional reforms “from research to invoice.” All three countries turned to specific (and different) forms of innovation expertise, including an international consultancy firm in Luxembourg, the globally renowned innovation powerhouse MIT in Singapore and New Public Management approaches in Denmark. In each country, too, we saw how policymakers chose to address social problems through an innovation strategy, thus giving innovation primacy over other forms of policy intervention in the shaping of social order. In Luxembourg, biotechnology investments (rather than, say, an expansion of social services) were the vehicle of choice to tackle the challenges of an aging society. In Singapore, new institutional spaces for creativity and entrepreneurship were created in the name of innovation, rather than overhauling existing institutions. In Denmark, financial stabilization of DTU was coupled to an innovation agenda, even though it could have happened another way. The cases further illustrate that innovation success is understood in a comparative and fundamentally open-ended manner. Unlike the idea of discernible “scientific literacy” in PUS, there is no threshold for “innovation literacy.” Rather, innovation deficits and successes are always understood vis-à-vis global competitors. Luxembourg sought to secure a sustainable future as a competitive knowledge- and bioeconomy that positioned itself ahead of other nations as a gateway to Europe. Singapore consistently benchmarked itself vis-à-vis the latest MIT innovation practices. Denmark demanded scientific and economic competitiveness from its research base, benchmarking it against private-sector efficiency. This competitive benchmarking dynamic suggests that deficit remedies are at best temporary: caught in a self-reinforcing dynamic of catching up/staying ahead, the innovation imperative will never come to a conclusion. Even highly advanced nations such as Luxembourg, Singapore, and Denmark consider themselves at constant risk of falling behind. There are, of course, limits to our comparative study: for example, one must be prudent when comparing different sectors, e.g., a national biotech policy in Luxembourg as opposed to university reforms in Denmark. Our cases also cut across multiple scales (national, regional, and institutional). For example, national innovation strategies in Luxembourg and Singapore included the establishment of new research institutions, and the Danish university reforms were linked to a broader shift toward neoliberal governance for the country as a whole. Likewise, while all three countries are relatively small, the difference between the bustling city-state of Singapore and Denmark’s economically significant agrarian hinterland are quite large. Nevertheless, our cases illustrate how the innovation imperative and associated notions of innovation deficits permeate a wide range of policy domains and social contexts. Moreover, they reveal how different political cultures, steeped in different socio-economic histories, interpret and act upon the perceived innovation imperative in very different ways. These idiosyncratic ways of understanding what innovation requires and how it fits into the local institutional landscape resonate with what Pfotenhauer and Jasanoff (2017a) call “Imaginaries of Innovation.” From this vantage point, the case study in Luxembourg reveals how innovation relates to the country’s current economic structure based on financial services, a strong welfare state and its outlier role within Europe. Likewise, the life sciences strategy in Luxembourg reflects a national self-understanding that the country is at the geographical, cultural and linguistic heart of Western Europe. The Singapore case speaks to the malleable role of research institutions in the rapidly developing innovation system of a country known for its technocratic systems approach to governance. It also shows Singapore’s preoccupations with economic and technological advancement as a means for security and social reform, as well as a long tradition of overseas linkages. The Denmark case stands apart as an example of commercial reorientation of university research that has to be evaluated against the country’s democratic and welfare traditions. It also shows how an overt push for application and commercialization in the name of innovation can lead to considerable resistance. These findings speak to the hidden politics of the innovation imperative: in each of our cases, the innovation policies introduced fundamentally altered the premises under which existing institutions could fulfill their societal functions – frequently in ways that marginalized any rationales and values other than innovation for framing and tackling social problems. Moreover, these innovation strategies were rarely deliberated on as political decisions that touch upon a range of institutionalized social norms and values with potentially large consequences. For example, in the case of Luxembourg, should welfare states really bet their future on transnational biotechnology markets? What type of biotech does Luxembourg’s society find acceptable? And is an aging population really an asset? In Singapore, should a national flagship institution be included or sidelined in reforms? Is a research strategy based on importing foreign researchers really more desirable than a strategy based on homegrown talent? And does the shift from electronics manufacturing to biotech benefit the majority of the workforce? In Denmark, what is the role of universities within society – are they commercial enterprises pursuing returns on investment or cradles of civic emancipation and social upward mobility? How should universities be governed? And is research really worth funding only if it is commercially applicable? These questions underscore the need to understand innovation policy as essentially political: while all three policy strategies may indeed have promoted innovation, they also broadly intervened in existing social and institutional orders with consequences far beyond what their narrow focus on technological innovation betrays. Alternative priorities and courses of action were conceivable in each case, but rarely openly deliberated and generally outweighed by the perceived competitiveness pressures and the authority of innovation expertise. Against this background, we end on a word of caution. The similarities between DMS and DMI in terms of technocratic governance and a lack of institutional reflexivity suggest that continued blind adherence to the present deficit logic may result in the widespread erosion of public trust and credibility with regard to innovation policy. While the need for dialogue and inclusion has made some headway into mainstream policy discourses in science and technology policy (Irwin, 2006), a similar appreciation is currently lacking in innovation policy. All three cases arguably suffered from an absence of inclusive, deliberative processes about the desirability of the proposed changes and a recognition that innovation strategies, too, are a form of politics that require legitimacy. Without public legitimation, innovation policy may remain unable to better connect innovation to societal needs (Kuhlmann and Rip, 2014) or effect directed transformative change (Schot and Steinmueller, 2016). The continued deference to a global innovation imperative obscures the political stakes and diverse needs across diverse contexts and distracts from potential negative or disruptive social consequences of innovation. Thus, Wynne’s question (1992) as to whether we are truly approaching “new horizons” or are caught in a “hall of mirrors” rings as true for innovation policy today as it did for PUS in 1992. By imagining innovation under wider horizons, we may begin to conceive of more democratic forms of innovation policy.