Author: Freakonomics Radio

  • 636. Why Aren’t We Having More Babies?

    AI transcript
    So, you got your Ph.D. in economics from Harvard.
    I know that you and your husband have eight children, and you are a stepmom to six more
    children from your husband’s first marriage.
    I’m guessing there are not many other Harvard-educated economists who have 14 children?
    I don’t know of any.
    Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence, but I don’t know of any.
    Catherine Pekalik is an economics professor at the Catholic University of America.
    I asked about her main areas of research.
    Education, schools, fertility, family formation.
    And what would you say you bring to those topics that the median economists might not bring?
    I think I bring to the table a large number of things that are outside of the field.
    And, you know, of course, I’d be disingenuous if I didn’t add that we’ll have a lot of kids.
    And so that makes you think about things a little bit differently.
    You might say that a lot of people have started to think differently about fertility and family
    formation.
    For decades, the great fear among demographers and politicians and environmentalists was overpopulation.
    They argued that the Earth’s resources simply couldn’t support three billion people, certainly
    not five billion or eight billion, which is where we stand today.
    That fear hasn’t totally gone away, but it has been joined by a fear of the opposite, that
    there are now too few babies being born.
    Here’s an astonishing fact.
    The global fertility rate has fallen by more than half over the past 50 years.
    Why?
    The answer to that question is complicated, and any solution is even more so.
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, we begin a three-part series about the great arc of human life.
    The inspiration for this series was a famous painting by Gustav Klimt called Death and Life.
    It shows a healthy newborn lying serenely on a bed of flowers among a group of adults, most
    of them young women.
    But there, off to the side, is Death, a grim reaper, smiling over this peaceful scene, knowing
    that he will win out in the end.
    That’s the thing.
    Life is finite.
    And life is precious.
    Does our knowing that it’s finite make it even more precious?
    That’s a deep question, one we probably won’t be able to answer during this series, but it
    will surely be hovering over every minute.
    Our three-part series, Cradle to Grave, starts now.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything, with
    your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Donald Trump has declared himself the fertilization president, and he wants Americans to have more
    babies.
    Why?
    Let’s start with what’s called the total fertility rate.
    That’s the expected number of births that a woman would have over her lifetime.
    In the first half of the 19th century, the U.S. fertility rate was over six babies per
    woman.
    In the late 1950s, it was 3.7.
    Today, it’s at 1.6 babies per woman, a record low.
    That also puts us well below the so-called replacement rate of 2.1.
    That’s the number needed to keep a population steady.
    So the Trump administration has proposed a variety of policies.
    A $5,000 baby bonus, federally funded fertility education programs, even a national medal of
    motherhood for women who have six or more children.
    Catherine Pakalik would certainly be eligible for that medal.
    She had six of her eight biological children while she was in graduate school.
    The oldest is now 25.
    She has found that people make assumptions about women with a lot of children.
    The first assumption, which is pretty common, is that it’s somehow a less than rational choice.
    That you do this maybe for cult-like reasons, because somebody says that you should, or a
    religious leader says that you should.
    Especially as somebody whose professional life is devoted to introspection and clear thinking
    and understanding, especially as an economist, the nature of rationality, that feels really
    painful.
    You fear that it may look to your colleagues as if the choice to have children is in some
    way revealing a lack of seriousness about your work.
    I want to be very clear.
    Most of what I’m telling you is in my head.
    I’m not accusing anybody of having been less than supportive or negative in any way.
    But the concern is you think that your colleagues will think you’re not as capable.
    We should say there are plenty of male economists who do manage to have a good number of children
    while they’re building their careers.
    Yeah.
    If you’re raising the question of the difference between men and women having children in academia,
    we know that getting married and having children, there isn’t the productivity penalty, and in
    fact, maybe a little gain.
    But for women, of course, time is a rival good, right?
    When people say children are expensive, they’re not wrong, but they aren’t used to using the
    language economists use.
    They’re expensive in terms of opportunity cost or lifestyle cost.
    If the only fun thing you could do 40 years ago on your weekends with the amount of income
    you had relative to the purchasing power that you have is the only fun thing you could do
    is stay home and watch TV and drink beer, well, maybe having a kid is not really a big problem
    for you.
    But if the thing you can do now is you could travel, for instance, way more accessible for
    so many more people all around the world, well, that next kid is going to completely change.
    40 years ago, fewer than 3% of U.S. citizens even owned a passport.
    Today, it’s around 50%.
    So, yes, a lot of things have changed.
    A lot of opportunities have arisen.
    As she was thinking about big picture fertility, Pakalik realized it would be useful to consider
    not just those smaller families, but also outliers like herself, people who are still having a
    lot of kids.
    Do they believe different things?
    Have they made different choices?
    Do they have a different value structure?
    What does that look like?
    So, I began traveling around the country to speak with women in a variety of communities
    who have larger-than-normal-sized families to find out why they’re doing this and what they
    think it means for themselves and for their families.
    Pakalik and her research team interviewed 55 women across the country, all of whom have
    five or more children.
    The research project became a book that Pakalik published in 2024 called Hannah’s Children,
    The Women Quietly Defying the Birth Deerth.
    The biblical Hannah is probably the single most known character in the world who represents
    someone who really wanted a child.
    Your book is a qualitative study, but it’s not a quantitative study.
    Plainly, if we’re talking about big population statistical analysis, this is just a drop in the
    bucket.
    Why did you go that route?
    We really do have a lot of great large population data about what’s happening with birth rates
    in general.
    What we’re missing are some of the nitty-gritty about the theory.
    So that’s where you turn in social sciences to qualitative work when you’re trying to struggle
    with the theory.
    All the women she interviewed have college degrees and all are religious.
    They don’t see wanting children as a choice of a plan or control in the way that I think
    most people think about planning their families.
    There’s a very specific content to wanting children, which has to do with cooperation with
    God’s providence.
    I think people who think you can’t have too many children are particularly interesting.
    Children are this sort of substantive good, but they probably don’t obey the same laws of
    economic preferences where most normal goods, you eventually get satisfied by them, or we
    say diminishing returns.
    One thing this makes me think of is really, I think, an often unobserved or maybe even unobservable
    idea, which is what is the utility to the children who were born in a big family who wouldn’t have
    been born if it was a smaller or average-sized family?
    And in this regard, I point to myself.
    I’m the youngest of eight.
    I believe you were one of nine siblings.
    Is that right?
    Yes.
    I’m the oldest of nine, so I would have made it.
    I would have made it.
    You would have made it, but I keep thinking…
    But you would not have made it.
    Yeah, if my family hadn’t decided for some rather strange set of reasons to have eight
    children, I wouldn’t be around to complain about, you know, anything, much less a pine on
    proper family size.
    When I was having my children, it gave me some special pleasure to think about, you know, having
    my fifth, I would think, okay, which of my siblings is my fifth?
    And that’s my brother, Ed.
    He’s such a good friend of mine, and Ed’s great.
    So then when you think, like, are we done trying to have children?
    And you think to yourself, well, maybe there would be a little bit of a loss in thinking
    there isn’t going to be that last child.
    One memory I have of the biblical Hannah is that, you know, this is back when prayer was
    not common or normalized in the Jewish tradition, but that Hannah did pray very, very intensely
    to God to be able to have a child, which she hadn’t been able to.
    And that her prayer was so intense that people thought she was crazy.
    And that strikes me as a perhaps unintentionally appropriate parallel between the biblical Hannah
    and modern Hannahs who are considered, like, I mean, I didn’t plan to ask you this question
    this directly because it sounds quite rude, but have people from your friend groups, professional
    groups, your own extended family, et cetera, thought that you were a little bit crazy for
    wanting so badly to have so many children?
    Yeah, people just don’t know what to make of it.
    The most polite version is something like, why?
    You know, why would you do this?
    Sometimes there’s less polite versions of it.
    For instance?
    Don’t you know how this happens?
    Oh, my gosh.
    Right.
    People say these things when they see a group of little kids and they think, oh, no, they’re
    not all yours.
    Most of us who get asked these questions, you come up with something kind of funny.
    But in fact, there’s not an easy way to answer, why would you do this?
    But you feel this is your servitude, essentially, yes?
    Mm-hmm.
    Would you say to a stranger, I believe that God wants me to have a lot of children?
    I might say it.
    It would depend on the context of the conversation.
    I might revert to, I think it’s great.
    It’s a substantive good.
    Having children is wonderful.
    I sometimes say I enjoyed my first one so much I wanted another one and kept going.
    Is it fair to call you an advocate of or a promoter of higher fertility in general?
    I’m only an advocate insofar as I’m happy to talk about my own personal experience.
    But I’m a really strong believer that the household is the correct locus of decision-making and that
    only an individual household can correctly assess the costs and benefits to them.
    I also think it’s the only locus that is workable in a non-tyrannical society or a free society,
    will say.
    When Catherine Pakalik says that only an individual household can assess the costs and benefits
    of having children, I’m guessing most of us can appreciate that sentiment.
    But I’m guessing we also appreciate that a steep drop in fertility across the society
    does have consequences.
    Matthias Dupke certainly does.
    How many children we have and what we do with our families are in many ways the most
    important decisions in our life, both at a personal level, but also for the economy.
    Dupke is a German-born economist who teaches at the London School of Economics.
    I’m trained originally as a macroeconomist, but in fact, most of my work touches on family
    economics.
    He also co-wrote a book called Love, Money, and Parenting, how economics explains the way
    we raise our kids.
    And he has three children, if you’re wondering.
    Economists like Dupke and Pakalik didn’t used to do research on things like family formation,
    but that changed with Gary Becker.
    He was a more holistic thinker than most economists of his era.
    Becker got his PhD in 1955, won a Nobel Prize in 1992, and died in 2014.
    And he liked to blend in ideas from sociology and criminology.
    When Matthias Dupke got his PhD at the University of Chicago, he studied under Gary Becker.
    For Gary Becker, economics is just a way to think about how people make decisions, and you
    can apply that method to everything.
    Who you marry, how many children you have, how you educate your children, all of those are
    decisions that can be analyzed with the tools of economics.
    Why, as an economist, is fertility and family formation such an important topic?
    If you think, for example, of economic growth, it depends on population growth.
    How many people there are, of course, is relevant for economic prospects.
    If an economy is shrinking in population, it will also shrink in economic output.
    There’s also important decisions on education, on human capital, more widely, that are done inside
    families, which matter a lot for how the economy does in the long term.
    Economists have many phrases to describe many things that normal people don’t need.
    You have a lot of jargon.
    When I hear you talk about children, my mind goes to some of the categorizations that economists
    use to describe things like normal goods, inferior goods, and luxury goods.
    Where do children fall in there?
    That was the first fundamental question in the economics of fertility, because the first
    observation in the data that Gary Becker had to deal with when he started with his whole
    enterprise was that it used to be the case that richer people have fewer children.
    So there was large families among the poorer households, smaller families among the richer
    households.
    And that was true everywhere across countries.
    Also, over time, as countries get richer, they have fewer children.
    If you just think of children as consumption goods, which maybe you shouldn’t, but if you
    wanted to do that, you would have to say that sounds like children are an inferior good.
    It’s an example of the kind of goods that you want less of as you get richer.
    With children, it’s not quite like that.
    When you get richer, instead of having a child, you have a very fancy dog or something like that.
    It’s not the mechanism that’s going on.
    So something else has to be going on.
    Gary Becker tried to explain this pattern, even though rich people otherwise have more
    of everything.
    And his idea was that having children involves both deciding how many to have and how much
    to invest in them, something that he refers to as child quality.
    Okay.
    If you were starting to worry that Gary Becker wasn’t quite a real economist, you can stop
    worrying.
    Now that we’re talking about child quality and how much to invest in children, and there’s
    plenty of evidence that Becker’s framework was correct.
    High income countries like Japan and South Korea and Spain have fertility rates well below
    the replacement level.
    What has changed since Becker’s time is that many countries that are not wealthy, like Albania
    and Nepal and El Salvador are also below the replacement level.
    What was initially something done only by higher income parents is now done by almost everybody.
    And so while the quality quality choice is still there, it’s perhaps not what’s driving most
    of the variation that we’re seeing today.
    Okay.
    So what has been driving lower fertility rates?
    One obvious answer, obvious at least to an economist, is the fact that millions upon millions of
    women have been entering the workforce.
    We had a model of a clear gender separation of labor a generation ago, where many women were
    homemakers or would interrupt their careers for long periods.
    We are in a different phase now, where young women and men have very similar aspirations.
    Most mothers are working, fathers are working.
    And that creates a tension that we haven’t fully resolved yet.
    It’s difficult to have two jobs and three or four children.
    So many people stop a bit earlier.
    The other thing that has happened is how we raise our children has changed.
    The nature of parenting is now quite different.
    We see in all the high income countries that parents spend a lot more time on parenting than
    they did a generation ago.
    The effort required has gone up to some extent for cultural reasons, but mostly I would argue
    for economic reasons, namely that parents perceive perhaps correctly that the stakes have risen
    in raising their children.
    This relates to what Gary Becker used to call child quality.
    A more modern phrase is intensive parenting.
    Intensity is a good word for it.
    How do you think about that as an economist?
    Is that just what you’d call a personal preference?
    I think it’s not a personal preference at all.
    This is something that I’ve worked on a lot with my co-author, Fabrizio Zilibari.
    What we argue is that parents are really responding to a changed environment, just like we respond
    as consumers to changes in incentives.
    A big part of that is rising inequality and rising stakes in education.
    Why do American parents care so much about making sure their kids do well in high school and pass the math exam?
    Because now college education is super important.
    When I was little, it wasn’t like that.
    You could go to university, you could go to an apprenticeship.
    The inequality was quite low.
    There was very different paths you could take and have an equally successful life as an adult.
    So parental intensity, as you’re describing it, takes a lot of time and money and other resources.
    How much does parental intensity drive lower fertility?
    I think it’s an important aspect.
    We now have some countries with ultra-low fertility rates, sometimes below one child per woman.
    Those are also the countries with the most intensive parenting culture.
    Famously, South Korea has now about 0.7 children per woman, which means each cohort is less than half the size of the previous one.
    How much does access to and cost of child care impact fertility rates?
    It impacts it a lot.
    If you look at variation in fertility across higher-income countries, that’s one of the closest correlations you’re going to see.
    There’s a lot of variation across these high-income countries in what they spend on child care, between a half percent of GDP at the lowest end to maybe three percent, so six times more at the upper end.
    And this does correlate quite closely with fertility.
    And when you say what they spend, does that mean what government spends?
    What government spends, yes.
    But then you have a place like the U.S. where the government spends very little on child care.
    And yet our fertility rate, while it has fallen quite a lot, is still higher than most of, let’s say, Western and Northern Europe, yes?
    The U.S. is actually a very interesting case because, indeed, there is very little public support for child care.
    There’s also very little in terms of policies for parental leave and things like that.
    One thing that also matters is social norms.
    Does society accept that mothers are working full-time, for example?
    On that dimension, the U.S. is doing very well.
    Everybody thinks that’s a normal way to live your life.
    The other thing that masked some of these issues in the past is that the U.S. used to have a very high teenage fertility rate.
    And that made the overall numbers look fairly high.
    Now, in the last few years, the teenage fertility rate has fallen, which is probably a good thing because many of those babies were accidental pregnancies.
    I would think another big driver of fertility choices is access to and cost of housing.
    What can you tell us about that?
    That is something that should be examined more empirically, but certainly the data is very suggestive of this being important.
    Some of the lowest fertility places, there are also very high housing cost places.
    South Korea is one example.
    These city-states, Hong Kong, Singapore, have extremely low fertility rates and extremely high housing costs.
    What about cost of education, especially higher education?
    So, in the U.S., we have essentially free education, K-12, but then college generally not free.
    Other countries do things differently.
    But here, if you’re deciding between, let’s say, two and three children, one child at current prices of college, four years could cost anywhere from $100,000 to $300,000, $400,000, $500,000.
    So, what do we know about the relationship there as a driver of lower fertility?
    Yes, we, again, don’t know anything definitive because we don’t have experiments.
    Matthias, you people need to get to work.
    What have you been doing this whole time?
    It is difficult because these are decisions you can’t do in the lab.
    Many things you can do experiments on and just to see how people react with fertility.
    It’s difficult to do.
    So, Matthias, the longer we talk, the more my mind gets scrambled in a very pleasant way, I have to say, because we read headlines about falling fertility and how horrible that is.
    The general economic argument is that we need more workers.
    We need younger people to take care of older people.
    We need economic growth and so on.
    But as you’re describing the way fertility and family formation have actually happened around the world and why, what people are responding to, to me, it sounds like a mostly good story.
    If most families are having fewer children because they want to invest more in those children in terms of education and dollars, they want to spend more time with their children, they want to give their children maybe more opportunities, more love perhaps, more modeling of what a life looks like.
    I could imagine spinning this problem around and looking at it as a potentially wonderful development in the history of civilization.
    Would you agree with that or not quite?
    Am I being too Pollyannish there?
    I would completely agree with you.
    Looking at the past, if you think about the decline from six children to two in the United States and the same thing happening in every country that’s now rich, it has been a fantastic thing.
    Just as you say, it was because of this rise of mass education.
    We were a mostly illiterate society in 1850.
    Now everybody goes to at least high school and many kids go on to college and therefore have much higher earnings.
    It’s a good thing for the economy.
    It’s probably also a good thing for relationships of parents and children spending more time together.
    Another aspect is what we call the demographic dividend.
    There’s this big change in the age structure of the population.
    When you do this one-time change from high to low population growth, you get these 30, 40 years of a very large labor force because there’s still many people entering the labor force with few people to support.
    There’s still a small number of old people, but also not many children anymore because fertility has fallen.
    And this is a tremendous benefit.
    You saw that a lot in the Asian tigers in South Korea and Taiwan.
    You saw it in China until very recently because now it’s also an aging society.
    When you think about why fertility is falling even further now from two children to one and a half per family on average or even less, it’s not that this reflects even higher investment.
    It used to be in the past all about this trade-off between having more children and educating them better or worse.
    Now it’s no longer that.
    It’s just other factors.
    And so this benefit from lower fertility is no longer there.
    Also, now that fertility is ultra low, there’s new downsides coming into focus, which is loss of labor force and just shrinkage of the population, which you might be depressed about if you just care about the survival of your people, but also has different implications on different people.
    When population starts to shrink, it doesn’t shrink everywhere equally.
    The big cities are still attractive, so people will still live in New York and Chicago, I suppose.
    The countryside empties out first.
    That’s both very unequal in terms of who it affects and essentially contributing to widening inequality in society.
    So what you just described makes me acknowledge that the caution and sometimes even the panic that I read in the press about falling fertility is warranted.
    And on the other hand, when you look at population predictions over the past hundred years or so, I mean, I have a word to describe the quality of those predictions, but let me hear your word first.
    How good have the predictions of population generally been?
    They have been terrible.
    Coming up after the break, since past predictions have been terrible, should we stop trying to predict the future?
    Come on, where’s the fun in that?
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    In case you’re not old enough to remember when the world was losing its mind about overpopulation, here’s a taste.
    The main premise is that there are 3.6 billion people in the world today, and we’re adding about 70 million a year, and that’s too many.
    That’s Paul Ehrlich, a Stanford biologist who, in 1968, co-wrote a book called The Population Bomb.
    It’s too many because we are getting desperately short of food.
    We’re very much short of other resources, and that above all, the very delicate life support systems of the planet are now severely threatened.
    Ehrlich was appearing on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.
    That’s how mainstream his argument was.
    His most startling prediction was that in the very next decade, the 1970s, hundreds of millions of people would die of starvation, including 65 million in the U.S.
    He wrote that India was doomed and that England will not exist in the year 2000.
    Ehrlich certainly made valid points about the challenges of a growing population, but many of his predictions were spectacularly wrong.
    Still, scary predictions have a way of influencing behavior and policy.
    In 1979, China announced its one-child policy, which lasted until 2015.
    Here, again, is the economist Matthias Dupke.
    I do think that the most direct implication of this fear of high population growth or population control policies, and those for the most part, I think, were a complete human disaster.
    A complete human disaster because why?
    The one-child policy in China, one of the biggest attempts of social engineering ever attempted.
    It had some positive economic benefits in terms of income per capita, but it was also such a drastic policy with forced abortions, massive interventions in people’s most basic choices that it was hard to have a very positive view about.
    And in India, fossilizations were widely used, so because we had a long-term trend towards lower fertility rates, and that started almost 200 years ago, the forecasts were based on extrapolating from that.
    And so, they did the right thing in saying that fertility will continue to decline along some path.
    What they got wrong is how quickly that was going to happen.
    When Asian countries entered demographic change after World War II, they did this much more rapidly than the U.S. had done previously.
    They were also wrong about where it was going to end up.
    For many years, population forecasts were based on the expectation that in the long-term, fertility would balance out at essentially two children per woman, which would keep the population constant.
    There was really never much of a basis for that expectation, and now we see very clearly that fertility seems to be headed much lower, which, of course, has a big impact on future forecasts for what population is going to be.
    So, do you blame the demographers for getting the predictions so wrong?
    I don’t know if it’s truly the fault of the demographers, because these things are hard to predict.
    You know, the economic conditions have changed.
    That’s the thing about predictions, especially predictions about something as complex as global population.
    Something is always changing, and it’s hard to factor that in.
    As Dupka says, the global economy has changed a lot over the past several decades, arguably both for better and worse.
    That’s a much longer conversation for another time.
    But in terms of fertility, consider one small but interesting piece of evidence from the economic literature.
    The conventional wisdom used to be that fertility decisions are a result of economic conditions, that boom times produced more babies and bad times produced fewer.
    In other words, fertility was a lagging economic indicator, not a leading indicator.
    But a 2018 research paper that looked at the 2008 global financial crisis found that fertility actually started dropping in the months before the crisis hit.
    This suggests, if nothing else, that fertility decisions may be more of a leading indicator than was previously thought.
    So economic uncertainty is something to think about.
    And when it comes to making predictions in a realm as complicated as fertility, with so many variables and so many incentives,
    There is another area of uncertainty that might surprise you, considering how long we humans have been making babies.
    It feels unjust that we know so little about how our reproductive system works.
    And it’s such an important part of human existence.
    That is Diana Laird.
    I’m a professor at University of California, San Francisco, in the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology, and in the Stem Cell Program.
    UCSF has been, for the past decade, the top-funded public academic institution by the NIH, the National Institutes of Health.
    My lab is really interested in where our eggs come from, developmentally speaking, how that process plays out,
    how it affects aging, and the 39 years in humans that we have for our ovaries to actually work and make babies.
    Those 39 years refer to the average woman’s fertility window between puberty and menopause.
    What we don’t know outweighs what we do know.
    It’s, first of all, really difficult to capture those early stages.
    We understand very little about how the embryo knows where to go and why, in many patients, there is repeated failure of implantation of the embryo.
    Work with human embryos is not fundable by NIH dollars and, actually, with fertilized embryos, is illegal in many states.
    So, that makes it very difficult to ask those fundamental scientific questions.
    If you are, let’s say, a government hoping to slow down the fertility decline or even reverse it,
    you’d think it would be useful to answer those fundamental scientific questions.
    One question has to do with a woman’s lifetime supply of eggs.
    Egg cells develop in the female.
    While she’s still a fetus, it’s believed that she starts with around 7 million eggs.
    By the time she’s born, she’ll have 1 to 2 million eggs.
    From there, her supply continues to diminish.
    And why is that?
    We don’t really know how these events in the early development of the embryo connect to the number of eggs that we have eventually.
    Laird likes to use an economic analogy here.
    If I told you that you’re going to have an inheritance of 7 million dollars, you would probably be really happy.
    And if I said, well, due to market conditions and volatility, by the time you’re born, it’s going to be more like 1 million.
    You’d still probably be like, well, a million dollars is pretty good.
    But then if I told you that, well, by the time you actually need this inheritance, it’s going to be closer to maybe $300,000 or $400,000.
    You would think I was a really bad investor.
    Because, you know, the eggs are our inheritance.
    I guess I could make it worse and I could tell you that by the time you use them, a lot of those dollars are not going to be accepted because they won’t work.
    And there’s even more uncertainty.
    Physicians and researchers can’t accurately measure the number of eggs in a given woman’s ovarian reserves, nor do current tests reveal anything about the quality of an egg while it’s in a woman’s body.
    How is it that a doctor can’t actually tell you how many eggs, how is it that a doctor can’t actually tell you how many eggs you have?
    If you’re 20, how can you start to make plans about how you’re going to live your life, how you’re going to have a career, whether or not you’re going to have children, and when that might happen?
    How can you make all those decisions if you don’t even know how long you have to reproduce and if you’ll be able to?
    I’m not saying that everyone needs to reproduce, but I think it should be a choice.
    It’s a very human experience and it’s how we continue our species.
    Unfortunately, the research funds for understanding the basics of reproduction and fertility have been pretty meager.
    Indeed, researchers have found that NIH applications with the words fertility, ovary, and reproductive have the lowest rates of funding acceptance, much lower than keywords like protein or glaucoma or mRNA.
    It makes it a little bit less painful when I get grants rejected.
    It’s not just me.
    In February, President Trump signed an executive order called Expanding Access to In-Vitro Fertilization as part of his administration’s push to boost fertility rates.
    But soon after, his administration eliminated the six-person team within the Department of Health and Human Services that tracks IVF.
    So, if scientific research isn’t the way forward for a government that wants more babies, how about financial incentives?
    Coming up after the break.
    It was a decade-long experiment that really was considered unsuccessful.
    I’m Stephen Dubner. This is Freakonomics Radio. We’ll be right back.
    It might be tempting to think that fertility rates have only begun falling recently.
    One of the things that my work shows is that fertility rates have declined in other time periods and in other places.
    That’s Amy Freud.
    I’m a professor of history at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County.
    Freud specializes in early modern Britain, women’s economic history in particular.
    In the 1690s, England was in the midst of really the beginning of over 100 years of wars against their enemies, the French.
    And there was a concern about being a strong and prosperous nation that could compete militarily and politically.
    And that meant growing their populations.
    Back then, fertility rates were very closely tied to marriage rates.
    In many places today, that connection is much looser.
    But King William III of England reckoned that boosting marriage would boost fertility.
    Enter the Marriage Duty Act of 1695.
    They began to tax bachelors over the age of 25 and widowers who were childless.
    Sometimes elite single women were taxed as well.
    Freud says this new tax was likely unpopular, as taxes tend to be.
    But did it work?
    We’re not sure that we can prove that it raised marriage rates.
    And it also didn’t raise enough money for the king and his wars.
    So it was abandoned in the early 1700s.
    France, meanwhile, was also concerned about their fertility rates.
    But rather than offer a stick in the form of a tax, they offered a carrot.
    Louis XIV passes an edict in promotion of marriage in the 1660s, which is even a little earlier than the concern about marriage in England.
    In this edict, he was willing to offer financial incentives to men who would marry by the age of 21, which was very young.
    Also financial incentives to men who fathered large families.
    As with the marriage tax in England, it’s hard for historians like Freud to prove whether these incentives boosted fertility.
    What’s interesting is that just a few decades later, both France and England started to study fertility itself.
    Both countries become much more concerned about what we today would call reproduction.
    In fact, that’s an 18th century term.
    Before that time, generation was usually the term.
    But there’s a more scientific conceptualization of producing children that takes hold.
    Along with it is an encouragement of new technologies and new people that might be able to ensure that childbirth is more safe and more successful.
    In England at the time, as many as one in three babies were dying in childbirth or soon after.
    A 33 percent infant mortality rate is horrific, right?
    There was a feeling that perhaps female midwives were not doing an adequate job.
    And over the 18th century, we see the introduction of the man midwife.
    The man midwife was a male who had been educated at a college or university and who was going to bring a more scientific approach to childbirth.
    And so men began to push female midwives out of the business of childbirth.
    This starts at the apex of society.
    Women of the nobility and royal women began to use male midwives.
    At the same time, they also embrace new technologies like the forceps, which are developed by the man midwife family, the Chamberlains.
    Side note here, the Chamberlains family hoarded their invention for more than a century, not sharing it outside their well-bred circle.
    This withholding of the forceps is thought to have cost millions of lives.
    In France, meanwhile, the midwife industry went in a different direction.
    Louis XV decides that he needs to train midwives better.
    And the person he chooses to do that is a woman.
    Her name was Madame de Coudray.
    Coudray was a Parisian midwife who received training and then was part of a regulated body of midwives.
    She had some of the highest earning power amongst Parisian midwives.
    And so the king sent her around the country to different cities and towns where she trained local female midwives in some of the up-to-date ways of delivering children that she had been taught in Paris.
    Madame de Coudray promoted a different style of midwifery than the male midwives.
    Female midwives would argue they didn’t need forceps because they could handle complicated births with their own hands.
    Coudray also felt that technology, instead of being used in the birthing process, should be used in the teaching process.
    She developed what she called her machine or her mannequin, which was a simulated pelvis of a woman with accoutrements like a fetus and a placenta.
    She used different types of textiles and materials to try to simulate reality.
    She would have both hard and soft materials, perhaps leather, perhaps linen, different colored materials to indicate different parts of the anatomy.
    It shows her understanding of anatomy, her practical nature, her inventiveness.
    Coudray also published a midwife handbook with colored anatomical plates.
    It’s hard to prove causality, but we do see in some areas that live births and successful live births were going up.
    There’s a wonderful book by Nina Gelbart called The King’s Midwife, where she argues that you could extrapolate the number of successful births based on Coudray’s training and then the midwives who followed her training.
    That kind of thing can be hard to trace, though, for the 18th century.
    And one of the sad things is so many records were destroyed in the French Revolutionary period.
    If you go back to 18th century England, meanwhile, it does seem like there was a fertility rebound, as evidenced by new concerns about overpopulation.
    People began to discuss the idea of limiting population as a way to improve one’s economy.
    England is often taken as the example of a country that did that early.
    That is associated with industrialization and the idea that perhaps not as many people are needed to work in the economy.
    And so it’s interesting to me as a historian to see us returning to concerns about having enough workers.
    This is really an eternal question.
    How many people should be allowed or encouraged to exist in a given space and place?
    This question can quickly migrate into the political sphere.
    And from there, it’s a short step to government policy.
    Our era is not immune.
    This recent concern about too few babies, it can feel like whiplash after all those decades of concern about overpopulation.
    And of course, before that, were more underpopulation worries and so on and so on and so forth.
    I wasn’t kidding when I called it an eternal question.
    And it swings both ways.
    At the moment, governments in many countries are trying to boost their babyhood through tax benefits, better parental leave, cash bonuses, state-sponsored matchmaking apps, and much more.
    Will they work?
    Here again is the economist Matthias Stapke.
    These are the biggest decisions we take in our lives.
    And you see in the data that people don’t respond very strongly to short-run changes in policy.
    Financial incentives, if you just give a bonus for having more children, no, people do respond.
    They don’t respond very much.
    They are in many ways set in their ways.
    And you make a plan and you will not change it like government by government.
    If you were secretary of higher fertility in Washington in a future time, what would be your best ideas society-wide and not just perhaps around the time of birth, but what would be your biggest society, economy-wide ideas for providing the best situation to boost fertility?
    I think we want to imagine what kind of society will want people to have larger families.
    One is this issue of compatibility of careers and having children that has to do with making it easier for women to rejoin the labor force after they have children.
    More childcare provision.
    Another part that’s also come into focus with the epidemic is this issue of flexibility of jobs.
    If you have a job, but it’s completely inflexible, meaning you have to be there 10 hours every day, you can never leave.
    If, for example, a child has a fever or has a theater performance, that will also make it more difficult.
    So creating workplaces that are a bit more flexible for everybody will also make it easier for families to decide to have that additional child.
    I went back to Catherine Pakalik, the economist mother of 14 and author of Hannah’s Children.
    I don’t believe that policymakers ought to aim to influence household decision-making as regards children.
    The reason I say that is because those costs and benefits, the big ones, the ones that are really affecting our current situation, those are subjective and personal.
    Policy can’t hit those things.
    Do you feel that that position aligns you with a particular political movement or even a name?
    I sometimes use the language of a pragmatic libertarian.
    Pragmatic in the sense that I’m not committed to the philosophical foundations of libertarianism.
    You write, the flourishing of traditional religious institutions breaks the low marriage, low fertility cycle.
    People will lay down their comfort, dreams and selves for God, not for subsidies.
    Can you say a little bit more about that?
    Because as the global fertility rate falls, we’re seeing more and more governments take all kinds of measures to try to boost births.
    As far as I can tell, most of these fail or they might produce a short-term birth boom, but that seems to be just a timing thing.
    It’s not actually encouraging people to have more children, just the timing.
    Can you talk about the ways in which, as you write it, government subsidies are weaker than internal or religious guidance?
    They’re weaker because they just don’t operate on the right margin.
    We’re proud of the fact that women and girls spend 12 years in school, minimally, we hope.
    But what happens in those 12 years of school is that we’re preparing for certain kinds of professional work.
    That’s the margin where the conflict between family and career is happening.
    It’s not obvious to me that subsidies of the kind that we’ve been thinking about can really get into that margin and make that adjustment.
    Do we have to roll back women’s education in order to see higher birth rates?
    I don’t think the answer is yes.
    I think the answer is definitely no, but we have to ask questions about value formation and where those things come from.
    Why shouldn’t I say, hey, Catherine, I understand that you’re making a particular religious-slash-personal argument for the beauty of having more children, and I’m cool with that, 100% cool with that.
    On the other hand, I don’t think we really need to be having a conversation about boosting a falling fertility rate because the future is probably nowhere near as grim as the doomsayers say.
    So should people who are worried about low fertility rate, rather than trying to come up with government policies to boost birth policies that don’t work, should we all just relax a little bit and let people do what they want to do?
    So I’ll put it this way.
    I do not think of my book and my work as an attempt to promote having children.
    My work is an attempt to help people understand what are the costs and benefits and how do households make these decisions.
    I’m attempting to show up in that conversation and say, look, that may be a policy decision that will have unintended, perhaps negative consequences, because I don’t think you can encourage this.
    What’s a policy with fewer unintended consequences?
    I like to think that religious liberty is a good policy decision for countries of any type at any point in time, pluralism, religious tolerance, and devolving more of the human care in society to religious communities.
    So in a sense, I see this as a moment to say, calm down.
    And if you want to do something, here’s something that you can do, which I think could never harm things and could only help.
    I have to say, I only have two kids, but I like them so much, I wish I had a couple more just like them.
    I get that.
    There’s limits, but I would certainly love to have a few more.
    That again was Catherine Pakalik.
    Thanks to her, to Matthias Dupka, Diana Laird, Amy Freud.
    And thanks especially to you for listening.
    I hope you will spread the word about our show.
    That is the biggest thank you we could ask for.
    If you would rather complain, you can write directly to us at radio at Freakonomics.com.
    Coming up next time, part two in our Cradle to Grave series, we advance in age, but go back in time.
    So you’re a middle class, middle aged artisan in the Middle Ages.
    Yes, that’s a lot of middle.
    And we ask this question.
    If you could go back, would you go back?
    If certain conditions are met, I guess I would, yeah, because it’s a much simpler life.
    One of the things that would be shocking would be the level of casual cruelty.
    What was it like to be middle aged in the Middle Ages?
    That’s next time.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    This episode was produced by Morgan Levy and mixed by Eleanor Osborne with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    The Freakonomics Radio network staff also includes Alina Cullman, Augusta Chapman, Dalvin Abouaji, Ellen Frankman, Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Roth, Greg Rippon, Jasmine Klinger, Sarah Lilly, Teo Jacobs, and Zach Lipinski.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by the Hitchhikers, and our composer is Luis Guerra.
    Our hands and feet develop as this disc, but then between the bones of our fingers, the cells actually die through this process called apoptosis.
    But if you’re a duck, they don’t.
    The Freakonomics Radio Network.
    The hidden side of everything.
    Stitcher.

    For decades, the great fear was overpopulation. Now it’s the opposite. How did this happen — and what’s being done about it? (Part one of a three-part series, “Cradle to Grave.”)

     

    • SOURCES:
      • Matthias Doepke, professor of economics at the London School of Economics.
      • Amy Froide, professor of history at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County.
      • Diana Laird, professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of California, San Francisco.
      • Catherine Pakaluk, professor of economics at The Catholic University of America.

     

     

  • An Economics Lesson from a Talking Pencil (Update)

    AI transcript
    Hey there, it’s Stephen W. We’ve all been hearing a lot lately about international trade
    and especially the restrictions on trade in the form of tariffs. President Trump, defending
    his tariff policy on Meet the Press, said that restricting trade means Americans will
    have to make do with less stuff, but that that’s OK.
    I don’t think a beautiful baby girl that’s 11 years old needs to have 30 dolls. I think
    they can have three dolls or four dolls. They don’t need to have 250 pencils. They can have five.
    Most economists think that tariffs are a bad idea. They argue that restricting trade has
    more downsides than upsides. Elon Musk, back when he was still the president’s first buddy,
    was in that camp and he reportedly urged Trump to reverse the tariffs.
    Musk also posted an interesting video on X, formerly known as Twitter.
    There’s not a single person in the world who could make this pencil. Remarkable statement? Not at all.
    There’s a lot more to be said about tariffs and free trade, and we will get into that over time. But for
    now, here’s a simpler question. Why are they talking about pencils? To answer that, we’re playing you
    this bonus episode, which we made in 2016 and have now updated facts and figures as necessary.
    This episode is about the pencil, something apparently simple that turns out to be very complicated.
    In an unusual New York City shop, a tiny storefront on the Lower East Side. Back when we made the
    episode, the shop had just opened.
    We sell only pencils, new pencils, rare pencils, antique pencils, novelty pencils, pencil accessories.
    That is Caroline Weaver, who was the proprietor of CW Pencil Enterprise.
    I grew up in Marietta, Ohio, which is in the southeast corner of Ohio, just across the river
    from West Virginia.
    Weaver was only 25 years old when she opened her store. That’s young to be the proprietor of
    any shop, much less a pencil shop. But then, after you speak with her for a bit, it’s hard
    to imagine Weaver doing anything else.
    It was just kind of a lifelong obsession.
    On the inside of her left forearm is a pencil tattoo.
    My mother drew it for me. I asked her to take a black Ticonderoga, sharpen it three times,
    and draw it to scale. And that’s what she did.
    And you can surely guess what Weaver and a friend dressed up as for Halloween.
    We both wore these paper pencil point hats that we made, and we wore pink shoes, like an
    eraser, and then painted whatever, the logo of our pencil on our clothes.
    What is it about the pencil that so captured Caroline Weaver’s imagination?
    I like to make things, and I’m really interested in the way that things are made. And so at a
    really young age, I developed an interest in these objects that appear to be really, really
    simple, but are actually very complicated in the nature in which they’re made, and kind of
    the nuances to all of the parts that they’re made of.
    She sold American pencils, Japanese, and German, and British, and Swiss, and Indian pencils.
    Every country kind of has its own normal as far as pencils go, and often those things aren’t
    available outside of their home countries.
    So talk for just a second about the economics of your shop.
    Is it profitable?
    Believe it or not, it is profitable. It turns out there are a lot of closet pencil nerds out there
    who want these things as much as I do.
    Weaver’s store closed in 2021, which, as you will recall, was a terrible time for most retail.
    She now runs the Locavore Guide, an online directory that promotes small businesses in New York City,
    like the one she used to run.
    While it survived, CW Pencil Enterprise carried an impressive variety of pencils, variety in color, in country of origin, and in price,
    some costing as little as $0.30 and some vintage pencils selling for $75.
    We had visited her to see one particular pencil, which is so unassuming, so typical of its pencilness,
    that I didn’t even realize Weaver had opened a drawer and pulled out a box of them.
    Oh, this is the 482.
    That is the 482, yeah. It was a classic Mongol.
    From roughly when?
    From roughly the 1950s.
    Mongol 482 from Eberhard Faber. It’s Faber, not Faber.
    It’s technically Faber, but people call it Faber. I often call it Faber.
    Okay, so how many different pencils did Eberhard Faber make?
    Oh, probably hundreds.
    They were mostly known for the Mongol and the Blackwing and the Van Dyke and the Microtonic.
    Was the Mongol 482 kind of the star of the line or no?
    I would say that the Blackwing was the star of the line, but the Mongol was their sort of like middle range, everyday pencil.
    By the point that this one was made, graphite technology had advanced a little bit,
    and so it’s generally a much smoother pencil because that’s when they figured out that if they put wax in pencils,
    they’re a whole lot smoother than just using graphite and clay in some sort of binder.
    They changed the aesthetic of it a little bit, too.
    The classic Mongol ferrule is black with a gold band.
    Around that time, that’s when pencil companies kind of started developing their signature ferrule for their different pencils.
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, the Mongol 482 may be just a middle range, everyday pencil,
    but it’s also one of the most famous pencils in history, famous at least in economics.
    Because the Mongol 482 has written its autobiography.
    My family tree begins with what, in fact, is a tree.
    A cedar of straight grain that grows in Northern California and Oregon.
    It is a complex story about how a simple thing comes into being.
    If I really wanted to, I could probably make a pencil.
    But could you really, Caroline Weaver?
    Could you really?
    All these kind of different specialized materials.
    And I was like, oh God, you know, so I’m trying to replicate this entirely myself.
    Where do I start?
    And what can a lowly pencil teach us about solving some of the world’s hardest problems?
    The lesson I draw, when you try to fix those problems, be humble.
    Be careful.
    Because they’re far more complicated than you could possibly imagine.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything, with your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Let’s begin in 1946.
    That’s when a man named Leonard Reed starts an organization called the Foundation for Economic Education, or FEE.
    The FEE is a think tank meant to extol the virtues of free market capitalism.
    It’s an early proponent of libertarianism in the U.S.
    Reed was a businessman from Michigan.
    He started out in wholesale groceries, later ran the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce.
    In 1958, the FEE published an essay written by Reed called I, Pencil.
    I am a lead pencil, the ordinary wooden pencil familiar to all boys and girls and adults who can read and write.
    Yes, the essay is told in the voice of the pencil, an Eberhard Faber, Mongol, 482.
    You may wonder why I should write a genealogy.
    Which is a bit weird, but also, this pencil has a chip on its shoulder.
    Sadly, I’m taken for granted by those who use me as if I were a mere incident and without background.
    The pencil is also a bit of a bragger.
    I have a profound lesson to teach.
    But you know what?
    It does have a profound lesson to teach.
    I, Pencil has become a classic in the canon of economics literature, translated into every major language.
    It’s rather beautifully written, this essay.
    That’s Matt Ridley, a science writer, a British Viscount, and a retired member of the House of Lords.
    He has been very much influenced by the ideas of I, Pencil.
    And it really struck me between the eyes because this essay is at once both extremely obvious, when you think about it, and extremely revelatory.
    Hello, hello, this is Tim.
    And that is Tim Harford, an economist.
    Sometimes known as the undercover economist.
    I write books of that title and a Financial Times column.
    Tim Harford and Matt Ridley are going to help us retell the pencil’s autobiography, which is really more of a parable.
    It first conveys a set of facts, then it reaches a shallow conclusion, and ultimately a deeper conclusion.
    Just as you can’t trace your family tree back very far, so it is impossible for me to name and explain all my antecedents.
    But I would like to suggest enough of them to impress upon you the richness and complexity of my background.
    While researching the essay, Leonard Reed visited an Eberhard Faber pencil factory in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.
    What he found was a supply chain that even in the 1950s reached around the globe.
    Let’s start with the wood.
    My family tree begins with what, in fact, is a tree.
    A cedar of straight grain that grows in Northern California and Oregon.
    Think about all the processes, all the people who were involved in cutting down those trees and in machining those trees.
    The people who designed the chainsaws and the axes and the trucks that ship the cedar across the country.
    Why, untold, thousands of persons had a hand in every cup of coffee that the loggers drink.
    Next, the pencil tells us the logs were shipped to a mill in San Leandro, California.
    And there they were milled and cut into pencil-like shapes.
    The pencil acknowledges all the workers who built the hydroelectric dam that powers the mill.
    And then there’s the lead.
    Which, of course, is not made of lead.
    Is graphite mined from Ceylon, Sri Lanka, mixed with clay, paraffin wax, candelilla wax, and hydrogenated natural fats.
    Did we know that? No, we didn’t.
    And here, the pencil nods toward all the graphite miners, the men who built the ships that transport the graphite, the harbor pilots who guide those ships in from the sea.
    Even the lighthouse keepers along the way assisted in my berth.
    And then there’s the lacquer, the paint that gives the Mongol 482 its bright yellow color.
    My cedar receives six coats of lacquer.
    The lacquer is made with oil from castor beans and a load of other ingredients.
    Why, even the process by which the lacquer is made, a beautiful yellow, involve the skills of more persons than one can enumerate.
    The number of people involved in creating this pencil is enormous.
    And then he goes into the same detail about the ferrule, which is the brass metal at the end of the pencil.
    The brass on the top of the pencil, the so-called ferrule, is made from zinc and copper, which have to be mined.
    Again, many, many hands involved, many machines, many processes.
    The same goes for the eraser, which you might think is made of rubber.
    I thought it was made of rubber, but it’s actually made from…
    Grape seed oil mixed with sulfur chloride and pumice and calcium sulfide to give it color and that kind of thing.
    All these incredible ingredients going into this very simple object.
    The pencil explains all this detail, but in each case, the pencil is pointing out that there are these global supply chains,
    there are all of these different inventions going way back in history, all of these different people involved.
    And if you put it all together, you realize there isn’t a single person in the world
    who would really understand how to make a pencil from scratch, from the raw materials.
    Simple, yet not a single person on the face of this earth knows how to make me.
    This is the shallow conclusion of I, Pencil.
    Actually, millions of human beings have had a hand in my creation.
    No one of whom even knows more than a very few of the others.
    There isn’t a single person in all these millions,
    including the president of the pencil company, who contributes more than a tiny, infinitesimal bit of know-how.
    It’s a bold claim the pencil makes.
    Not a single person knows how to make me.
    But the claim would seem to be justified.
    And it’s an interesting way of looking at the world, I think you’d agree,
    at how interdependent we are, how specialized we are.
    The deeper conclusion that Leonard Reed was making, however,
    this is where things get really interesting.
    That’s coming up after the break.
    I’m Stephen Dubner, and this is Freakonomics Radio.
    Okay, we’ve been talking about Leonard Reed’s amazing talking pencil.
    He likes to say that nobody knows how to make me.
    The miracle of this pencil isn’t that nobody knows how to make it.
    The miracle of the pencil is how did it get made?
    That’s Milton Friedman, one of the giants of modern economics.
    In 1980, he made a public TV series called Free to Choose
    and published a book of the same name.
    He borrowed Leonard Reed’s parable.
    This is the only prop I have for this TV show.
    As you can see, it’s a plain yellow pencil.
    The miracle that allows for the pencil to be made, Friedman says,
    is the price mechanism that lets buyers meet sellers
    and which makes free markets flow freely.
    I am trading with thousands of people all over the world.
    Not one of them has been forced to do it.
    Nobody has had a gun to his head.
    They’ve all done it.
    Why?
    Because each one of them thinks he’s better off in this transaction.
    You might know this concept as the invisible hand,
    as the proto-economist Adam Smith named it,
    which suggests, as the pencil puts it,
    the absence of a mastermind,
    of anyone dictating or forcibly directing
    these countless actions which bring me into being.
    In other words, none of the millions of people involved,
    directly or indirectly,
    in making a pencil
    cared one bit about making a pencil.
    Maybe didn’t even know what they were making.
    Not one of them is motivated by making a pencil.
    They’re motivated by earning money,
    providing for their family.
    And the astounding thing, as Leonard Reed says,
    is the absence of a mastermind.
    There is no one dictating or forcibly directing
    these countless actions, as he put it.
    So the deeper conclusion of iPencil
    is that a well-oiled free market
    can create something
    that even an alchemist wouldn’t dream of.
    Now, this may not be the way
    you see free market capitalism.
    Let’s be honest.
    There are market failures.
    There are segments of the economy
    that seem stacked against small players
    or are too susceptible to self-dealing or corruption.
    But the point is that free market capitalism
    is better than all the known alternatives.
    Now, let’s keep in mind that Leonard Reed,
    writing in 1958,
    and even Milton Friedman, speaking in 1980,
    were responding to a different political climate.
    They were both concerned about the legacy
    of Roosevelt’s New Deal programs
    and the growing involvement of the government
    in American economic life.
    They were also concerned about communism
    and what they saw as the tyranny
    of state-run economies
    in places like the Soviet Union.
    Just listen to the pencil.
    If you can become aware
    of the miraculousness,
    which I symbolize,
    you can help save the freedom
    mankind is so unhappily losing.
    The freedom mankind is so unhappily losing.
    Reed sounds worried.
    Worried that the U.S. government
    and others like it
    were disastrously veering to the left.
    That the government wanted to get more involved
    in running things
    and the governments don’t always do
    such a great job of running things,
    especially when it comes to the economy.
    So, really, the deep, deep conclusion
    of iPencil is,
    hey, U.S. government,
    get out of the way.
    Leave all creative energies uninhibited.
    Merely organize society
    to act in harmony with this lesson.
    Let society’s legal apparatus
    remove all obstacles the best it can.
    Permit these creative know-hows freely to flow.
    Have faith that free men and women
    will respond to the invisible hand.
    Does Leonard Reed’s essay sound like libertarian propaganda?
    Of course it does.
    That’s what it was, to some degree.
    So, if you don’t lean that way,
    you may not buy its message.
    There’s also an argument to be made,
    as some people have made,
    that the pencil conveniently omitted
    some important facts from its autobiography,
    like all the goods and services
    the government provides
    that help, directly or indirectly,
    in the pencil’s manufacture and sale.
    The roads that move the lumber
    and other materials,
    the public schools that educated
    the loggers and the mill workers,
    the same schools that, at least in 1958,
    would have ordered thousands upon thousands
    of pencils for their students.
    And then there are the less tangible things,
    like a legal system to uphold contracts
    and the protections provided by police
    and the courts.
    Here, again, is the economist Tim Harford.
    Clearly, in a modern economy,
    a tremendous amount of the infrastructure
    that we rely on has been paid for
    by taxpayers and coordinated in some way
    by state government, local government,
    or by the federal government.
    Some of these things could be provided privately,
    but as a matter of fact,
    they are provided by government,
    and they seem to be provided reasonably well.
    So, if your takeaway from iPencil
    is that governments should get
    completely out of the way…
    I think that’s an extreme reading.
    It’s not impossible to read it that way,
    but you’re really pushing it.
    If your reading, however,
    is the free market can do a lot,
    it does amazing things,
    and government should be careful
    before it sort of stamps its great big boots
    all over free market process,
    then I think that that’s a fair reading,
    and I think that’s a wise warning.
    It is a warning that Harford says is worth heeding,
    especially as we are collectively thinking
    about how to deal with things like
    climate change, income inequality,
    the stability of our financial system.
    So there are all kinds of areas
    of the global economy where you could say,
    I’m not happy with what the free market is giving me.
    The lesson I draw from the story of iPencil is
    when you try to fix those problems,
    be humble, be careful,
    because they’re far more complicated
    than you could possibly imagine.
    And any fix to, for example,
    the energy system
    is going to involve far more people
    and far more countries
    and far more technologies
    than you could imagine.
    Now, that doesn’t mean
    that you should just leave the market
    to do everything,
    but it does suggest
    a particular way of solving problems.
    And I guess in addition
    to requiring input
    from a lot of other people
    because of the complexity,
    it also implies
    that you may indeed, quote,
    solve one part of the problem,
    but that solution may indeed ripple up
    and turn into a bigger problem
    in another realm
    that you may not care about,
    but that actually does affect
    a lot of people.
    I mean, some kind of
    unintended consequence, I guess, yes?
    So yes, one lesson is
    that there will always
    be unintended consequences
    whenever you start messing around
    with a complex system.
    I think another lesson
    is that trial and error
    is a really important process.
    This is the lesson I draw
    in my book, Adapt.
    You need to carry out
    lots of experiments
    and you need to create a system
    that allows lots of experiments.
    The free market system
    is an experimental system,
    but it’s not the only
    experimental system.
    If you’re going to start messing
    with global supply chains,
    with the energy system,
    with the financial system,
    you want to make things work.
    better, you are going to need
    to do that step-by-step,
    constantly gathering data
    about what’s working
    and what’s not
    and running really good experiments.
    And I think where Leonard Reed
    was absolutely right
    was to suggest that
    when the free market works well,
    it delivers amazing results.
    Well, why does it deliver
    amazing results?
    One reason is because
    there’s lots and lots
    of small experiments
    and lots and lots
    of small failures.
    There are pencil manufacturers
    or lumberjacks or coffee companies
    or truck companies
    making bad decisions
    and going bankrupt all the time,
    but the system as a whole
    is resilient and stable
    and creative.
    As Leonard Reed rightly pointed out,
    it produces miracles.
    And some of those miracles
    are produced here.
    Okay, here we go.
    Jim Weisenborn,
    I’m a fourth-generation pencil maker,
    and we’re in Jersey City, New Jersey,
    at the home of General Pencil Company.
    General Pencil was incorporated
    in the late 19th century.
    We’ve been this location
    since 1917.
    When we spoke with Weisenborn
    back in 2015,
    he was the boss at General Pencil.
    He’s now mostly retired,
    but he still helps
    some of the younger members
    of the Weisenborn family
    run the company.
    General Pencil is one of the last
    few remaining pencil factories
    in the United States.
    You’re going to see
    probably something
    that’s not available
    in any place in the world.
    It’s a total production
    of a pencil
    from the very rawest materials
    to the finished product.
    We even do all our own marketing.
    It’s kind of fun.
    There are only a handful
    of American pencil factories left.
    Sometimes,
    when one’s shut down,
    Weisenborn would buy
    their old machinery
    and store it away
    for spare parts.
    I’m going to take you
    in the way
    from the very beginning
    of the process, okay?
    All right, sounds good.
    We’re going down.
    Graphite slippery.
    Weisenborn led
    our producer,
    Christopher Wirth,
    on a tour.
    It began by walking
    down a steep set of stairs
    into the factory’s basement
    where giant metal barrels
    were churning up
    a mixture of graphite
    and clay.
    These barrels
    are the secret
    to our product.
    These are tumbling barrels
    they used in Germany
    a hundred years ago.
    We’ve never changed
    this process.
    And what you hear
    going around in there
    are Belgian stones
    off the coast of Belgium.
    And they pulverize
    the graphite and clay
    into a top of them.
    You’ll find,
    and that’s where
    your pencils become smooth.
    That fine mixture
    is then dried,
    ground up again,
    and mixed with water.
    Then it’s extruded
    through a machine
    that makes pencil leads
    that at this point
    look like long strands
    of soft gray spaghetti.
    Those are then dried again
    and fired in kilns
    at around 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit.
    This is the traditional way
    of making,
    if you went through
    a pencil factory
    a hundred years ago
    in Germany,
    this is what you’d say.
    I mean,
    you’re in a time warp.
    The tour heads
    into the wood shop.
    It’s great stuff, huh?
    Yeah.
    A machine is cutting
    a row of tiny grooves
    into the thin,
    rectangular wooden slats.
    This is how the lead
    gets into the pencil.
    A lead is laid
    into each of the grooves
    and then another
    grooved wooden slat
    is glued on top.
    These are number two
    HV plads coming down.
    The slats,
    the bonding process
    is that the glue
    goes in the bottom one.
    and they’re flipped over
    and make a sandwich.
    Most of the wood
    that General Pencil uses
    is California cedar,
    just like in I-pencil.
    So some things
    have stayed the same,
    but a lot has changed also.
    The old days,
    80% of what we made
    were yellow pencils.
    We had all the contracts
    with Yellow Unified School Districts
    and Seattle School Districts
    and the state of New York.
    We were running
    a truckload of pencils
    out of here.
    I’d have all the kids
    and my wife working in here.
    This is back 40 years ago.
    But today,
    those standard yellow pencils,
    Weissenborn says,
    are made so cheaply elsewhere,
    primarily in China,
    that it’s impossible
    to compete.
    General Pencil’s solution
    was to start making
    smaller batches
    of specialized,
    higher quality products,
    drawing pencils
    and coloring pencils,
    things like that.
    All told,
    there are 117 steps
    in making a pencil
    in this factory,
    and Jim Weissenborn
    knows every single one.
    So,
    what does he think
    of the pencils argument
    in I Pencil?
    Romantically,
    that’s a nice story.
    No one makes a pencil.
    I think we make a pencil.
    But Weissenborn admits
    he’s never even been
    to a graphite mine
    or a clay mine.
    He doesn’t cut down
    the cedars out west.
    Which means
    Leonard Reed was right,
    doesn’t it?
    Simple,
    yet not a single person
    on the face of this earth
    knows how to make me.
    Not a single person,
    even the owner
    of a complete pencil factory,
    really knows
    how to make an object
    as seemingly simple
    as a pencil.
    Not that most of us
    would ever want
    or need to do
    such a thing, right?
    That was really
    Leonard Reed’s point,
    that the miracle
    of a well-functioning
    free market
    is that it provides us
    with what we want,
    generally speaking,
    at a price we can afford,
    at least most of the time.
    So a kiwi fruit
    grown in New Zealand
    or Italy,
    I can buy that
    for a dollar
    in a New York grocery store,
    even an online grocery store
    which delivers to my door.
    What do you want to buy?
    A German-made car?
    A t-shirt made in Indonesia
    and Bangladesh?
    Spun from cotton
    grown in Mississippi?
    Yep,
    you can buy that too.
    But this does not stop
    some people
    from trying
    to make their own stuff
    from the ground up.
    So it’s a simple,
    everyday product.
    We British,
    we love our toast.
    That’s coming up.
    After the break,
    I’m Stephen Dubner
    and this is
    Freakonomics Radio.
    It could be
    that by this point
    in our episode,
    you are sick of pencils.
    So it’s time to talk about
    how something else
    gets made.
    You wouldn’t think so,
    but there is a very
    interesting
    modern
    parallel
    to Len Reed’s
    iPencil story.
    That, again,
    is the economist
    and writer
    Tim Harford.
    A few years ago,
    a London design student
    called Thomas Thwaites
    decided that he was
    going to
    build
    a toaster
    from scratch.
    You know,
    mundane
    electric toaster.
    And that is
    Thomas Thwaites.
    He wanted to
    better understand
    just how
    finished consumer
    goods
    get to him.
    A toaster
    seemed like
    a relatively
    simple project.
    You know,
    obviously I use
    technology every day.
    It’s like
    amazingly complex,
    but at source
    it came from
    just a bunch
    of rocks
    and sludge
    buried in
    holes
    in the ground
    around the world.
    Thwaites now works
    as a freelance designer
    and he teaches
    at Central St. Martins,
    which is part of
    the University of the Arts
    London.
    His toaster quest
    began when he was
    a student
    at the Royal
    College of Art.
    So I
    went and bought
    the cheapest
    toaster I could
    find because I
    thought the
    cheapest toaster
    will be the
    simplest to
    reverse engineer.
    And this toaster
    costs about
    five or six
    dollars at the
    local store.
    So it’s a
    simple,
    everyday product.
    We British,
    we love our toast.
    Thwaites took
    home the toaster
    and took it apart.
    And to my
    dismay,
    there were kind
    of 400
    individual bits
    that had
    been made
    and then
    come together
    into this
    item whose
    sole purpose
    was to
    make toasting
    a slice
    of bread
    slightly more
    convenient in
    the morning.
    Those 400
    individual bits
    were made of
    many different
    materials.
    There’s copper,
    there’s nickel,
    there’s plastic,
    which is really
    important because
    it makes the
    toaster look good
    and also means
    you don’t get
    electrocuted.
    There’s mica,
    which is a sort
    of slate-like
    material and that’s
    what you wrap the
    heating elements
    around.
    all these
    different
    specialized
    materials.
    And I was
    like,
    oh god,
    I’m trying to
    replicate this
    entirely myself.
    Where do I
    start?
    So my
    strategy became
    to simplify
    and substitute
    and pair
    back to five
    materials that
    I thought I
    could manage
    and would
    give me the
    best toaster
    I could make.
    Those five
    materials were
    steel,
    nickel,
    copper,
    mica,
    and plastic.
    But even
    with the first
    material,
    steel,
    Thwaites hit
    a roadblock.
    The steel-making
    process is
    incredibly difficult,
    especially for an
    art and design
    student,
    so he settled
    on iron,
    which is
    somewhat less
    complicated.
    It turns out
    Britain’s a
    post-industrial
    society.
    We don’t have
    any iron mines
    anymore,
    but we have
    a disused
    iron mine.
    Thwaites called
    up an old
    iron mine in
    Wales that had
    been turned
    into a museum.
    and said,
    oh,
    hi,
    I’m trying
    to make a
    toaster.
    The guy on
    the other end
    of the phone
    was like,
    yeah,
    sure,
    come down.
    So I jumped
    on the train
    and went to
    Wales to
    this iron
    mine.
    Turns out
    when he got
    there,
    they’d
    misunderstood
    him on
    the phone.
    They thought
    he’d said,
    I’m a design
    student and
    I’m trying
    to make a
    poster,
    which I
    think makes
    a lot more
    sense.
    But anyway,
    they cleared
    that up and
    he went
    back home
    with a
    suitcase full
    of iron
    ore.
    I literally
    bought an
    empty suitcase
    with me and
    filled it up
    with iron
    ore.
    But then once
    you’ve got
    iron ore,
    what do you
    do with that?
    How do you
    turn iron ore
    into iron?
    Good question.
    Yeah,
    it’s like
    fundamental,
    isn’t it?
    How do you
    make metal
    from rock?
    I have a vague
    idea.
    You’ve got to
    get it hot.
    Turns out
    it’s a little
    more complex
    than that.
    Thwaites
    consulted
    professors
    and some
    books on
    metallurgy.
    He landed
    on a method
    from the
    15th century
    with a few
    modifications.
    He got a
    big trash
    can,
    he got a
    leaf blower,
    he got
    barbecue
    coals,
    and so he
    created this
    backyard
    furnace.
    There is a
    video,
    just search
    for Thwaites,
    that’s T-H-W-A-I-T-E-S,
    and Toaster
    Project,
    and the
    video shows
    flames pouring
    out of the
    trash can.
    Well,
    it might be
    working.
    We don’t
    actually know.
    The fire
    produced a
    big lump
    of heavy
    gray matter
    that looked
    like metal.
    I thought,
    my God,
    I have done
    it the first
    time.
    I must be
    some kind
    of genius
    because it
    took the rest
    of humanity
    thousands
    and thousands
    of years
    to move
    from the
    Bronze Age
    to the
    Iron Age,
    but hey,
    me,
    just pulled
    it out
    of the
    bag.
    Alas,
    Thwaites
    was not
    quite as
    genius
    as he
    imagined.
    The lump
    was still
    just iron
    ore.
    So he
    read some
    ore and
    landed on
    another idea.
    What about
    a microwave?
    He found
    a patented
    process for
    smelting iron
    in a microwave
    oven.
    My mum
    had a
    microwave,
    so I
    went around
    to her
    house and
    borrowed
    it.
    Kind of
    borrowed
    because his
    mother’s
    microwave
    in fact
    exploded.
    But the
    second one
    survived and
    he managed
    to get
    iron.
    I love
    that in
    the service
    of making
    a toaster,
    he destroys
    at least
    one microwave
    along the
    way.
    he destroys
    a microwave
    and he
    has to
    go through
    a lot
    of
    shortcuts
    to get
    the
    toaster.
    With
    the
    nickel
    he
    needed,
    for example.
    Thwaites
    couldn’t
    find any
    old
    nickel
    mine
    turned
    museum
    in
    Britain.
    The
    closest
    extant
    mine
    he could
    find
    was
    in
    Siberia.
    So in
    the end
    I
    had to
    even
    though
    they
    had
    the
    picture
    of
    the
    queen
    on
    them
    which
    makes
    it
    illegal,
    I
    had to
    melt
    down
    some
    Canadian
    commemorative
    nickels
    to get
    my
    nickel.
    Thwaites
    also
    finally
    managed
    to get
    hold
    of
    some
    copper
    and
    mica.
    Tremendous
    difficulty
    in making
    all of
    these
    materials.
    But he
    still
    needed
    plastic.
    I
    was
    determined
    that
    this
    toaster
    would
    have
    a
    plastic
    case
    because
    a
    plastic
    case
    is
    kind
    of
    the
    defining
    feature
    of
    cheap
    consumer
    electrical
    objects.
    You know,
    this kind
    of smooth
    plastic
    shell
    to hide
    the
    mess
    inside.
    So
    how do
    you make
    plastic?
    Plastic
    comes
    from
    oil.
    So
    I
    phoned
    up
    BP
    and
    spent
    a good
    45
    minutes
    on
    the
    phone
    trying
    to
    convince
    this
    PR
    guy
    that
    it
    would
    be
    fantastic
    PR
    for
    BP
    which
    they
    really
    need
    if
    they
    would
    put
    me
    spare
    seat
    in
    a
    helicopter
    out
    to
    an
    oil
    rig
    in
    the
    North
    Sea
    and
    then
    there
    I
    could
    get
    a
    jug
    full
    of
    crude
    oil
    and
    start
    but
    he
    said
    we’re
    just
    really
    not
    set
    up
    to
    work
    on
    that
    kind
    of
    scale
    in
    fact
    it
    would
    sort
    of
    be
    easier
    for
    me
    to
    help
    you
    if
    you
    wanted
    a
    tanker
    full
    of
    crude
    oil
    to
    turn
    up
    outside
    outside
    your
    house
    instead
    Thwaites
    turned
    to
    a
    less
    raw
    source
    of
    plastic
    household
    waste
    on
    the
    streets
    of
    London
    you
    know
    a
    plastic
    baby
    toy
    or
    chair
    or
    broken
    plastic
    tub
    I
    mean
    it’s
    everywhere
    so
    it
    wasn’t
    difficult
    to
    find
    he
    smashed
    up
    the
    pieces
    put
    them
    in
    a
    bucket
    floating
    in
    oil
    like
    a
    ban
    Marie
    for
    plastic
    recycling
    it
    was
    kind
    of
    a
    horrible
    process
    smelly
    and
    I
    worry
    about
    my
    lungs
    in
    the
    future
    because
    there
    were
    these
    fumes
    coming
    off
    this
    stuff
    god
    knows
    what
    additives
    it
    had
    in
    it
    but
    it
    worked
    and
    in
    the
    end
    Thomas
    Thwaites
    had
    something
    that
    sort
    of
    resembled
    a
    toaster
    to
    me
    it
    looks
    kind
    of
    beautiful
    but
    other
    people
    have
    said
    it
    looks
    like
    a
    weird
    kind
    of
    melted
    caveman
    toaster
    if I
    try and
    describe
    you
    it’s
    a bit
    like
    imagine
    Stephen
    that
    you
    were
    making
    a
    birthday
    cake
    for
    one
    of
    your
    children
    and
    they
    had
    requested
    a
    birthday
    cake
    in
    the
    shape
    of
    a
    toaster
    for
    some
    reason
    so
    you’re
    making
    this
    homemade
    toaster
    shaped
    birthday
    cake
    but
    imagine
    that
    before
    you
    did
    that
    you
    drank
    five
    or
    six
    shots
    of
    whiskey
    and
    so
    you
    were
    quite
    badly
    drunk
    and
    you
    tried
    to
    make
    this
    toaster
    cake
    that’s
    effectively
    what
    Thomas
    Thwaites’
    toaster
    looks like
    and then
    of course
    the question
    is
    does it
    work
    does it
    actually
    make
    toast
    an art
    gallery
    in
    Rotterdam
    invited
    Thwaites
    to show
    off his
    toaster
    and to
    try it
    out
    that’s
    when he
    plugged
    it
    in
    big
    demo
    put
    my
    bread
    in
    switched
    it
    on
    and
    for
    like
    a
    beautiful
    moment
    this
    thing
    was
    glowing
    red
    nearly
    brought
    a tear
    to my
    eye
    and
    the
    toaster
    immediately
    caught
    fire
    which
    he
    described
    as
    a
    partial
    success
    I
    got
    my
    bread
    out
    and
    I
    think
    I’d
    be
    lying
    if
    I
    said
    it
    changed
    to
    toast
    it
    was
    slightly
    warm
    And
    what
    was
    the
    final
    tally
    on
    this
    partially
    successful
    drunken
    caveman
    birthday
    cake
    bread
    warmer
    about
    nine
    months
    and
    I
    think
    I
    spent
    1,300
    pounds
    on my
    toaster
    in the
    end
    yeah
    Converted
    to
    dollars
    and
    updated
    for
    inflation
    that’s
    around
    2,500
    US dollars
    and
    Thwaites
    had to
    cheat
    quite a
    bit
    along
    the
    way
    the
    leaf
    blower
    the
    Canadian
    nickels
    the
    train
    from
    London
    to
    Wales
    I was
    trying to
    make this
    toaster
    from
    scratch
    and
    that
    brought up
    the question
    of what
    is from
    scratch
    because
    if I was
    really going to
    be making
    this toaster
    from scratch
    I would have to
    go to the
    middle of the
    woods
    get rid of
    all of my
    worldly
    belongings
    and burn
    my clothes
    and that
    would be
    starting from
    scratch
    starting from
    naked
    in the woods
    and then
    the process
    would begin
    of making
    this toaster
    but
    that
    was
    impossible
    I would
    have
    just
    died
    I think
    that is
    a perfect
    illustration
    of the
    point
    that
    Leonard
    Reed
    was
    making
    in
    iPencil
    I was
    actually
    recreating
    iPencil
    in a way
    but just
    with a
    toaster
    I could
    have
    picked
    a
    pencil
    I think
    and had
    equally
    as
    difficult
    a time
    As
    difficult
    as
    the
    project
    was
    it
    did
    lead
    Thwaites
    to
    appreciate
    the
    march
    of
    civilization
    Trying to
    do
    these
    processes
    and
    failing
    so
    often
    really
    made
    me
    think
    it’s
    just
    been
    this
    incremental
    process
    of
    slight
    improvements
    lifetimes
    and
    lifetimes
    of
    building
    this
    pyramid
    of
    knowledge
    and
    techniques
    Tim
    Harford
    as
    an
    economist
    who
    himself
    lives
    near
    London
    a
    most
    global
    city
    he
    understands
    how
    any
    one
    of
    us
    might
    feel
    alienated
    by
    this
    pyramid
    the
    big
    complicated
    global
    processes
    that
    produce
    the
    pencil
    or
    the
    toaster
    that
    show
    up
    in
    a
    local
    shop
    But
    of
    course
    you
    could
    also
    take
    Len
    Reed’s
    perspective
    the
    more
    pro
    free
    market
    perspective
    and
    say
    hey
    look
    you
    can
    have
    a
    toaster
    it’ll
    cost
    you
    five
    or
    six
    dollars
    it
    works
    really
    well
    all
    you
    need
    to
    do
    is
    to
    trust
    the
    market
    and
    the
    market
    will
    bring
    all
    of
    these
    things
    together
    there
    doesn’t
    need
    to be
    anybody
    in
    charge
    nobody
    needs
    to
    understand
    it
    it will
    get
    get
    you
    toaster
    let
    me
    ask
    you
    one
    more
    question
    if
    you
    Tim
    Harford
    wanted
    to
    take
    up
    the
    Thomas
    Thwaites
    challenge
    or
    something
    like
    it
    and
    go
    into
    the
    forest
    naked
    and
    create
    something
    from
    scratch
    anything
    what do
    you think
    you could
    pull
    off
    oh
    I
    would
    be
    absolutely
    finished
    if
    I
    could
    light
    a
    fire
    if
    I
    could
    just
    light
    a
    fire
    I’d
    be
    delighted
    so
    you
    think
    you’d
    starve
    and
    be
    eaten
    to
    death
    by
    squirrels
    and
    that’s
    the
    end
    of
    your
    line
    I
    think
    being
    eaten
    by
    squirrels
    would
    be
    a
    mercy
    if
    I
    could
    be
    quickly
    eaten
    by
    squirrels
    I
    would
    count
    myself
    lucky
    and
    that’s
    it
    for this
    bonus
    episode
    I hope
    you
    enjoyed
    it
    we
    will
    be
    back
    soon
    with
    a
    new
    episode
    until
    then
    take
    care
    of
    yourself
    and
    if
    you
    can
    someone
    else
    too
    Freakonomics
    Radio
    is
    produced
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    Stitcher

    A famous essay argues that “not a single person on the face of this earth” knows how to make a pencil. How true is that? In this 2016 episode, we looked at what pencil-making  can teach us about global manufacturing — and the proper role of government in the economy.

     

    • SOURCES:
      • Caroline Weaver, creator of the Locavore Guide.
      • Matt Ridley, science writer, British viscount and retired member of the House of Lords
      • Tim Harford, economist, author and columnist for the Financial Times
      • Jim Weissenborn, former CEO of General Pencil Company
      • Thomas Thwaites, freelance designer and associate lecturer at Central Saint Martins.

     

     

  • 635. Can a Museum Be the Conscience of a Nation?

    AI transcript
    Okay, I’m going to keep my voice down for a minute because we’re in a museum in London.
    Obviously, the British Museum is an inherently British institution.
    It’s the first institution to actually be called British.
    That is Nicholas Cullinan.
    He became director of the British Museum in 2024.
    Hans Sloan, our founder, of course, who offered an extraordinary collection of 80,000 objects
    to the nation, did it in a very deliberate way.
    He said he wanted it to be for the benefit of all persons, but he also stipulated that it
    was to be offered first to the city of London because it had the most international audience.
    And then he left a list in descending order of other cities it should be offered to if
    that didn’t happen, based on how many people from different parts of the world would have
    access to his collection.
    So second was St. Petersburg, and then I think it was Paris, Berlin, and Madrid.
    There’s a lovely idea about museums being either windows or mirrors.
    For example, the National Portrait Gallery could be thought of as a mirror.
    It’s a mirror of Britishness, you know, history of the nation through portraits.
    The British Museum from the very beginning was clearly a window museum.
    It’s about opening windows into other worlds, other cultures, other epochs.
    Can you define Britishness?
    Probably the word sorry.
    Sorry is our first response to a lot of things.
    If someone bumps into you, you apologize.
    I think sorry is a very British thing.
    It is true that Britain has spent much of its recent past apologizing, apologizing for its
    centuries of imperial conquest, apologizing for the slave trade, apologizing even for having
    launched the Industrial Revolution and the environmental damage that came with it.
    But the British Museum has not been a big apologizer, even though some people see it as essentially
    a trophy case for the nation’s colonizing past.
    A couple of years ago, we published a series called Stealing Art is Easy, Giving It Back is
    Hard.
    We looked at how museums around the world have been returning art and antiquities to their
    places of origin, especially if they had been taken by force.
    The British Museum, with eight million items in its collection, stands at the center of this
    complicated issue.
    For years, the Greek government has been asking the British Museum to return a collection of
    pieces known as the Parthenon sculptures, also called the Elgin marbles.
    Nigeria, meanwhile, wants the British Museum to return a collection known as the Benin bronzes,
    which were seized by British troops in a 19th century raid.
    When we were reporting that series, we couldn’t get anyone from the British Museum to speak
    with us.
    And when we visited the museum with an outside expert who was going to give us a tour of the
    Benin bronzes, we had our recording equipment confiscated by museum security.
    Soon after that series was published, there was even more controversy at the British Museum.
    A senior curator in the Greek and Roman department was found to have been stealing coins and other
    artifacts from the museum and selling them on eBay.
    That led to the resignation of the museum’s director, Hartwig Fischer.
    But now there is a new director in town.
    He has fresh goals for the museum and a fresh way of dealing with the old problems.
    I’m not really a big fan of binary thinking.
    Right, wrong, yes, no, yours, mine, win, lose.
    I don’t think that gets you very far.
    I’m not afraid of the past.
    And the collection of the British Museum, it’s a story of many things.
    You know, people doing wonderful things and terrible things to each other.
    But it’s definitely a story around Britain as well.
    Many British people feel that the story of their country has become a mess.
    There’s the Brexit hangover, the shaky public finances, the arguments over immigration and over what it means to be British.
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, could it be that the British Museum of all places is taking the lead in rewriting that story?
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything, with your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Nicholas Cullinan, unlike many people who run high-end cultural institutions, does not come from privilege.
    His father grew up in Manchester, England.
    My dad really wanted to be an architect, but he left school aged 14 because he was dyslexic, which wasn’t a word that was used,
    especially coming from a working-class background in the 1930s and 40s.
    Instead, he became a construction worker.
    My parents got married.
    My mom was from Rochdale.
    And my dad had an aunt just outside New Haven.
    That’s New Haven, Connecticut, in America.
    I think they moved in 1959 for, you know, a better life, more opportunity.
    And then, of course, they got busy with babies.
    First came three girls and then Nicholas.
    One construction project their father worked on was the Yale University Art Gallery building, designed by Louis Kahn.
    But when Nicholas was four, the family moved back to England.
    We left America.
    My parents basically quit their jobs.
    So there was a real sense of jeopardy around it.
    We were in a little hotel on Gower Street around the corner.
    Around the corner from the British Museum.
    I remember being in the hotel.
    It’s one of my earliest memories and realizing that my parents and my sister were quite freaked out.
    Cullinan is telling this story as we walk through the museum.
    We are near the Egyptian galleries and their famous mummy displays.
    Anyway, my mom brought me here to kind of probably distract herself and cheer me up.
    And I remember going to see the mummies.
    And that memory has come back so strongly to me.
    The family settled up north in West Yorkshire.
    Nick and his sisters were homeschooled.
    And a big part of that education was museum going.
    He moved to London for university at the Courtauld Institute, which is one of the world’s top art institutes and a breeding ground for future museum leaders.
    He got his undergraduate degree there in 2002, stayed on for his M.A. and then his Ph.D.
    Ever since, he has been on the rise.
    Very good jobs with very good museums in the U.K. and the U.S.
    Most recently, he was director of the National Portrait Gallery in London, where he modernized the collection and oversaw a $50 million renovation.
    That may be one reason the British Museum was impressed enough to hire him, since they are planning a big renovation of their own.
    But there are many other reasons to be impressed with Cullinan.
    For instance, at age 47, he still carries the energy of a striver.
    If you look back at my career, it seems in a way quite seamless, but it wasn’t the case at all.
    It was always a question of survival, of getting a good enough degree to get funding to do an M.A., of getting a good enough M.A. to get funding to do a Ph.D.
    You were working nights and weekends at Boots and things like that?
    Yeah, like multiple part-time jobs.
    I worked seven days a week from the age of like 14.
    I mean, studying and then working Saturday and Sunday and often nights as well, until almost my 30s, basically.
    So maybe that explains the work ethic.
    Since you’ve worked at American museums, including the Metropolitan Museum and the Guggenheim, and at several museums in London, what do you see as the fundamental differences between U.S. and British museums?
    Or maybe we should narrow it to New York City and London museums.
    Anything from audience to collections to finances, etc.
    The first thing I would say is I’m always jealous of the resources of American museums.
    And it’s not just about how big your endowment is.
    It’s what they actually do with those resources and the research it enables.
    I suppose one fundamental difference, which maybe sounds small, is the board structure.
    In the U.K., for national museums, those trustee appointments are public appointments.
    They’re basically rubber-stamped by the prime minister.
    People are appointed not necessarily for how much they can help to give or get for the museum.
    In American museums, at the Met, for example, a lot of those trustees are, of course, major donors to the museum, which is wonderful.
    I’m jealous.
    But that small fact has, I think, quite big ramifications on how the organizations are run.
    What are some ramifications?
    I mean, I jump immediately to the scandalous part of the story, which is how closely a provenance may be investigated to understand if a piece is legitimate and so on.
    Because I could imagine that if you’ve got a private donor who’s on the board, who’s got a collection that they’d like to see in the Met, either today or someday,
    that they may be interested in not having that provenance examined as carefully as a public institution might.
    That said, the British Museum, in my view, is famous for not having had much to say in the past about provenance and repatriation, which we’ll get into as well.
    So what do you mean when you say that?
    In terms of my own job, I have many different constituencies that I need to balance.
    I have a fantastic and very supportive board.
    But that board are not going to, for example, pay for a new wing.
    I mean, some of them will help or contribute.
    And therefore, there’s a lot of other people I need to speak to and relationships I need to maintain.
    I know other American museum directors who say to me, I pretty much confine my fundraising to my board.
    British museums are public.
    They’re owned by the nation.
    We’re responsible to every British taxpayer.
    The Department of Culture, Media and Sport is our main sponsor, and we’re very grateful for their support.
    All major museums in the UK, it used to be that the majority of your funding came from that body.
    That is increasingly flipping, where now actually a lot of museums, the majority of their funding comes from outside.
    So basically ticket sales, fundraising, exhibitions, et cetera, et cetera.
    Corporate sponsorship.
    All those things.
    And they’re all important.
    But the reality is that government support is increasingly constrained.
    I mean, not just because people don’t want to support museums.
    It’s because the financial picture always seems to get tighter, no matter what the situation is, whether it’s the financial crisis of 2008 or Brexit or when the Ukraine war started.
    There’s always something.
    What you have is British museums looking more to the American model.
    One of the big lessons I’ve learned from working in American museums, or even just being a bit more American, is not being afraid to ask for money, not being afraid to be enthusiastic.
    In the U.S., as I’m sure you well know, the Trump administration has been firing or, you know, defenestrating in various ways the leaders of institutions like yours.
    There’s the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, the Librarian of Congress.
    What goes through your mind when you read those stories?
    You always need some healthy separation between a government and some of the organizations they oversee.
    So to give you an example, I’m essentially a civil servant.
    I was appointed by the prime minister, but actually my appointment is made by the trustees of the museum.
    We are answerable to government, but we are not political appointees.
    Well, that’s what we used to say in the U.S., too, until quite recently.
    I think that principle is very important.
    And when that begins to be eroded, that is a matter of concern.
    Well, let me ask you a blunter question.
    Are you concerned at all that the leaders of British cultural institutions may face a similar fate?
    I think it would be complacent for anyone or any country to think, oh, it couldn’t happen here.
    When you look around the world, there is a common theme, which is increasing nationalism.
    Whatever you think, we all need to be listening to the fact that many, many people around the world feel disenfranchised, feel that globalization hasn’t worked for them.
    The dial could shift for any of us at any point.
    Democracy is increasingly not something that we can all take for granted.
    It would be very naive to think that we don’t all live in very challenging circumstances.
    Cullinan can be careful with his words, but ultimately, you always know where he stands.
    He is, as he said, an enthusiast, and he exudes the confidence of someone who sees his goals clearly and believes those goals are the right ones.
    That’s probably one thing that I bring to the table, which is maybe a sense of boldness.
    He says in a very tentative way.
    I was going to say.
    I guess it’s about having a big picture and it’s a sense of just panning back and how do we do something that will be an important chapter in the institution’s history.
    The next chapter in the history of the British Museum, the Cullinan chapter, will include a renovation of what’s called the Western Range.
    The Western Range refers to everything west of the Great Court that we’ve just passed through, including the Egyptian guards that we’re just walking into, Syria, which we’ll come on to in Greece and Rome.
    There’s a big rock in the case behind us.
    What might that be?
    This is the Rosetta Stone, which is obviously an incredible thing to be in front of and to be the custodian of.
    It’s probably the object that is most visited.
    So obviously we do audience research and we know what people come to see.
    I mean, many people come to the British Museum, not to see anything in particular, just to see the British Museum and then to discover things.
    But some of the most visited things are the Rosetta Stone, the Egyptian collection in which it sits.
    Of course, the Parthenon sculptures.
    And then it goes from there.
    There’s some of our most beautiful galleries.
    Not all of them are currently beautiful.
    Some of them were redone in the 1970s, but perhaps they haven’t aged so well.
    Also, the roof is leaking.
    Architecture is some of our most important and magnificent galleries.
    And of course, the collections it houses are some of the most important things, too.
    That doesn’t sit so much with having a leaking roof.
    I think it’s amazing how often museum transformations begin through very pragmatic and even banal reasons.
    But what that turns into is a complete holistic transformation and not just a bricks and mortar, but often of the ethos of the museum.
    We could show this collection in a much more compelling way.
    We could refresh the interpretation.
    We could reach new audiences.
    We could make visiting the museum a more pleasant experience.
    We’re just beginning this process now.
    The museum held a competition to choose an architect for this big job.
    The winner was Lina Gatma, a 44-year-old Lebanese architect based in Paris.
    She was probably the youngest architect, but that wasn’t the reason we chose her.
    She had an incredible fit with the museum and its collection and a real genuine passion for it.
    And she talked about how growing up in Beirut, in a city that was often in the process of ruination or rebuilding from ruins, her desire to see architecture as a force to rebuild and to bring people together.
    She actually wanted to be an archaeologist when she was younger.
    Talk to me about the scope and timeline and budget of this master plan, this renovation.
    I’m especially curious about what you see as the major challenges or complications.
    Lina and her team, their first job is to begin sketching out the initial ideas, obviously working closely with the team at the British Museum.
    Once we have those, we will then cost it and understand what ballpark we’re talking about.
    But we already know the scale of work that’s required here is 35% of the galleries of the British Museum.
    It’s significant.
    It’s hundreds of millions.
    The question is just, is it past 500?
    A rough estimate I’ve read is in the neighborhood of a billion pounds or a billion dollars, perhaps.
    Yeah, I mean, that figure is bandied about a lot, but it was something that was bandied about a few years ago and it stuck because it’s a nice round number.
    It’s a very eye-catching number.
    This is what you do with all projects, especially with architecture.
    There’s the wonderful period of infinite possibility and ideas.
    And you start by thinking, you know, all the things you could do.
    And then, of course, there’s this process of that butting up against the reality of your resources, whether it’s a massive rebuild or an exhibition or an essay.
    It’s not about the scale.
    It’s about the process.
    If you start any of those projects with, well, here’s the resource I have.
    So what can I do within those parameters?
    You end up with something inherently disappointing.
    You need to start from an expanded field of possibilities.
    You’ve talked about how important it is for any museum to be able to sum up its purpose in one sentence.
    So give me your sentence on the British Museum, especially as you think about this renovation.
    When I started at the National Portrait Gallery 10 years ago, we didn’t have that sentence.
    It’s just a useful elevator pitch, especially to donors when you’re saying you need to support this.
    And the reason is because X.
    The British Museum, we’re actually coming at it from the other side because I think we’ve got the best of those sentences.
    That was done under Neil McGregor, my predecessor.
    This phrase about the British Museum being a museum of the world for the world.
    It’s so good.
    It’s infuriatingly good because it captures a lot.
    And obviously, no one sentence can encompass all the complexity of what we do and who we are and who we reach
    and the whole history and the good and the bad.
    But that goes quite far to sketching out the parameters.
    So considering how much you like that sentence, will it need to change based on the renovation?
    I think Neil, even in that sentence, a museum of the world for the world, was rightly very collection focused.
    And I am to one slight shift of emphasis is I’m probably also thinking about people quite a bit.
    The phrase that I keep coming back to is this phrase that Hans Sloan used in his original will, which is all persons.
    This is a museum which should benefit all persons.
    And maybe all persons is slightly odd strapline for most people because it sounds quaint.
    But I keep coming back to that and I keep thinking, OK, what does that mean now in a digital age, in a global age?
    This was Hans Sloan’s original intention, which is that he wanted his collection to reach as many people as possible,
    that it should be free, that everyone should have access.
    It should be for the benefit of everyone.
    But that’s all physical access.
    You have to come to London to see it or be in London to see it.
    Yeah, because that’s what was available at the time.
    But if he were living now, I’m sure he would be thinking about how to use digital technology,
    how to have international partnership.
    Three centuries ago, he was visionary enough to invent something, basically.
    We’re the first public national museum in the world.
    If I’m on your board, I might say that is a lovely notion, Nick.
    And I love that you are trying to expand that notion into the present day when the virtual world has complemented the analog world so intensely.
    So why do we need to spend hundreds of millions of pounds on a renovation when, in fact,
    there is a way to make our collection and our ideas available to everyone all the time without them coming here?
    Because you need both.
    It’s not a binary choice or a zero-sum game.
    As Mary Beard, one of my trustees, said, we’re in the business of knowledge transfer, which is true.
    But of course, that’s led by the collection that we hold, which is objects.
    It’s the fact that more and more people want to come to visit the museum to see those objects in the flesh, in person.
    I assume that you’re just getting into the rather large fundraising process for your Western Range renovation.
    I’d love to hear your pitch, especially since this will rely on private donors.
    So let’s say I’m a billionaire.
    Maybe I’m even an expat oligarch who’s now living in London.
    Why should I contribute to this new master plan of yours for the British Museum?
    I’d probably want to start by asking you, this hypothetical billionaire, your experience with the museum.
    Most people I talk to visited the museum when they were young and it left a big mark on them.
    And therefore, what it did for you, and if you believe that it could do maybe the same thing or more for other people,
    essentially the positive potential for this extraordinary collection, which, I mean, let’s be clear,
    it’s arguably the greatest museum collection in the world, complexity and controversy included.
    It is an incredible, incredible institution.
    The work it does, the research that it generates, the people it reaches, these are all inherently good things.
    And let’s say I’m a little bit of an empiricist and I say, that’s all well and good, Nick.
    But what’s the best evidence you can offer that cultural institutions help cause a society to thrive
    rather than cultural institutions being byproducts of a society that’s already thriving
    and has enough money to spend on culture?
    In other words, what’s your best evidence for the ROI on culture spending?
    The honest answer would be just walking through the museum every day.
    I mean, even just going to the canteen to get my lunch.
    I was on the front desk last week.
    It’s just seeing the people from all around the world that come into the museum,
    seeing the multi-generational visitors, including families, school groups especially.
    I mean, it’s really amazing when you see 20, 30 school children from the UK or from abroad
    just having their horizons open.
    I don’t need facts and figures.
    You walk around the museum and you see it happening every moment of the day.
    I am generally sceptical of people who say they don’t need facts and figures.
    Still, I have been finding Nicholas Cullinan’s reasoning to be
    persuasive so far.
    Or maybe it’s just that his enthusiasm is contagious.
    Coming up after the break, is the British Museum ready to give back some of its most treasured loot?
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    We’re speaking today with Nicholas Cullinan, who became director of the British Museum in the summer of 2024.
    We first spoke in person at the museum in London and then a few days later in a studio interview when I was back in New York.
    We’ll pick up now with some conversation from that studio interview.
    This is the most cliched question ever, but I still find it a useful question.
    When you go to a museum and you could take home one object and keep it, what’s your keeper from the British Museum?
    In my final interview for the role of director last year, one of the final questions was to talk about an object.
    And the object I talked about was the Portland Vase, an amazing Roman glass cameo vase that we have.
    With a great history, we should say.
    With a great history, and that’s also kind of why I chose it, because I’m a big fan of Susan Suntag’s novel, The Volcano Lover, which is essentially a romantic novel around Lord Hamilton, who was the British ambassador to Staples.
    And the Portland Vase makes quite a few important appearances in the book.
    Lord Hamilton sold it to the Duchess of Portland, and then her heirs put it on deposit at the British Museum.
    And in, I think it was 1845, a drunken visitor came in and smashed it into basically a thousand pieces for no reason, no reason whatsoever.
    It was then painstakingly put back together by restorers, which is extraordinary.
    And then a hundred years later in 1945, just after the Second World War, just as the world was putting itself back together, and the British Museum too, because it was bombed.
    And, you know, there were whole galleries that had to be rebuilt.
    We actually acquired it, it was bought by the nation, and since then also been restored a second time.
    I found it very moving that things survive at all, first of all.
    It’s kind of a miracle if you think about it.
    It’s already been destroyed one time, and it’s managed to be pieced back together.
    It was pieced back together because it was destroyed within the confines of a museum.
    Yeah, but it could have been destroyed before that.
    It could never have been found.
    It could still be in the ground.
    It could be in a private collection, and no one would know about it.
    Just the fact that things were in museums at all is incredible when you actually think about it.
    Well, you’re making a rather compelling argument, which comes at a different issue, which is the notion of repatriation.
    One of the primary arguments there is that museums, while they may be charged with possessing and showing materials that have been obtained in a variety of ways that are not so above board,
    where you use as looted, which no previous director of the British Museum that I’m aware of has ever used.
    And when people call for repatriation, one argument against that is that if these objects had not been kept in museums in the past and continue to be kept in museums,
    then they might disappear into either a private holding or who knows where.
    I wonder if you might want to spend a little time talking about that at the moment as it pertains to works that the British Museum currently holds,
    whether it’s Elgin Marbles, whether it’s Benin Bronzes, etc., how that factors into your general thinking about repatriation.
    And I realize that was a large side door we just walked through, but I know you can handle it.
    No, it’s really interesting.
    I’ll begin by saying, as you might have gathered, I’m not really a big fan of binary thinking.
    You know, it only satisfies one party.
    And that’s not a way of fussing about the past.
    Yes.
    As you said, some of the things that are in the collection, specifically the Benin Bronzes, also the Assente Gold Regalia, which is currently on loan, back to the Royal Palace in Ghana,
    those things were looted because we were at war with each other.
    I think most people now would deplore that, but that’s a historical fact that you can’t get around.
    It’s not about politics.
    We’re just talking in a factual sense about what happened.
    As logical as it sounds now when you explain it that way, why did previous directors of the British Museum not engage in that kind of language?
    They wouldn’t use those words.
    I don’t want to speak for my predecessors.
    And just to be clear, I’m not talking about the majority of the British Museum collection.
    I’m not even talking about a significant percentage.
    We have 13 life cases of claims for objects that are contested.
    Claims meaning requests from the…
    Requests either for things to be repatriated or for dialogue or discussion.
    One of those is the Parthenon sculptures.
    We have 900 Benin Bronzes.
    That’s one case I’m talking about, but 900 objects within that.
    The basic issue is there’s an Act of Parliament from 1963 that expressly forbids the British Museum from deaccessioning its collection.
    And actually, this goes back to your earlier question about maybe the differences between British and American museums.
    A lot of American museums, it’s regular practice to deaccession from the collection.
    I’m not going to name names because it’s not really for me to talk about museums that don’t work in.
    There’s not a press release issue that’s often kept fairly quiet.
    Also, and I’ve seen it, lots of small things where you’ve got better versions.
    And so you quietly deaccession to small auction houses to not create a lot of press focus.
    So it’s pretty standard practice.
    And there’s an argument for being able to do that, I understand, which is to keep your collection manageable.
    In Britain, deaccessioning is basically forbidden.
    What that means is that often you end up with collections where they become very large.
    But there’s a principle that these things have been acquired for the nation.
    They’re owned by the people of Britain.
    And therefore, it’s not the museum’s right to sell them.
    One thing that’s always frustrated me about that argument, and we encountered this repeatedly when we did this series a couple years ago called
    Stealing art is easy, giving it back is hard.
    I don’t know if you agree with that sentiment or not.
    Well, you know what I would say? Sharing it is even easier.
    I love that sentiment, and I love that path that you’re on with the British Museum.
    But the reason it’s always been a frustrating argument to encounter is it just seemed like a ridiculous fig leaf to me.
    These are just laws passed by members of Parliament.
    There’s still a Parliament which has the ability to pass new laws.
    I don’t understand why that’s clung to as if it’s some natural, physical law.
    I’m not clean to it.
    It’s important to state it because otherwise people might be under the misapprehension that it’s our choice or it’s our decision, basically.
    It would take an act of Parliament.
    I don’t want to make trying to get an act of Parliament past my sole focus.
    It would take years, and you would also have a legal challenge.
    From whom?
    Oh, well, from a member of the public that will decide this is not the right thing.
    If I decided tomorrow I wanted to do something radical.
    Like, send all your Benin bronzes back to somewhere, although that’s complicated too.
    I’ll be taken to court for sure.
    I mean, there’s no question.
    So people need to factor that into the process too, and that’s not me using that as an excuse.
    There isn’t a legal framework for us to just do this in a straightforward way.
    I could spend my entire directorship trying to fight this and get nowhere.
    You have to also think really carefully about the ramifications.
    Thinking back to when the pandemic began, the big anxiety was that lots of small museums across the UK would be forced to sell, like, the one-star painting they had.
    There was huge anxiety that this was going to trigger a wave of disposals.
    So I think a say in a way around it is to begin collaborating now, which we already do, but to actually do even more of that.
    Including, I guess, back when you were at the National Portrait Gallery, your co-purchase of the Joshua Reynolds painting called Portrait of Mai.
    Is that right?
    Yeah, that’s right.
    And that was very innovative when we did that two years ago.
    I learned that this portrait of Mai by Reynolds, which is one of probably Reynolds’ most important portraits, was going to be sold.
    It hung in Castle Howard for most of the last 200 years, and then it’s been basically in a bank vault for 20 years.
    The value is 50 million.
    I knew that it was probably impossible for the National Portrait Gallery to be able to raise 50 million.
    I also knew that the Getty really wanted to acquire this work, and the Getty is the richest museum in the world.
    And it made sense to me, rather than have this fruitless competition, where I knew eventually we would lose, to actually work together.
    Did you end up paying for roughly half of that 50 million pounds?
    We paid for half.
    We split it 50-50.
    On the British side, lots of people said, this is a terrible idea.
    It’s not going to work.
    There’s no precedent.
    I said to them, listen, do you want 50% or 100% of nothing?
    Because that’s your option, basically.
    Now everyone’s very happy, and it’s been on the walls of the National Portrait Gallery for two years.
    And then it will go to Los Angeles in time for the Olympics.
    The compromise of my spending half its time next to where it was painted in Reynolds Studio, and it’s spending half its time facing the Pacific, which is where my comes from.
    And Los Angeles has the biggest community from the Pacific region outside those islands.
    I think that’s kind of appropriate.
    Anyway, so that’s a long-winded way of saying that you have to invent new models.
    Rather than battling one piece of legislation, I would rather work with the framework I have and use that to benefit as many people as possible.
    Yes, I think it would be wonderful to be able to show the Benin Bronzes, for example, in the new museum, MOA, the new museum in Benin City, that we collaborate with very actively.
    We’ve been working with them on a joint archaeological excavation that we fund.
    But I also know that there’s people I’ve talked to who are of Nigerian origin that say,
    I’m torn because part of me would love to see the Benin Bronzes go back.
    But the only reason I had access to my source culture was by going to see them in the British Museum.
    And therefore, there is an argument for both.
    So let’s talk a bit more about the circumstances of the British Museums, Benin Bronzes specifically.
    I spoke with David Frum, who wrote a piece about this situation for the Atlantic a few years ago.
    He said, as the piece I wrote predicted, the whole thing has fallen apart, meaning repatriation of the bronzes, not from the British Museum, but from other museums, especially in Germany.
    He said, the driver behind that was the German authorities.
    They sent back a lot, which have vanished.
    They were delivered to the Nigerian federal state.
    Some are known to have gone to the Oba, but what happened to them is totally unknown.
    You’ve talked about the plans for the museum to open and that you’re involved in that.
    But what do you say to someone who is concerned about repatriation, not having the desired effect of having a second place of display,
    but rather going back into a private collection or being sold off?
    That’s the kind of panicky version of the story.
    So what are you shooting for?
    We only lend things where they’re on public display.
    Somewhere else around either the country or around the world.
    I’m a museum person.
    I’m always excited when there’s other museums to work with, new museums to work with.
    When there’s new museums being born, I think it’s incumbent on established organizations and other museums to do whatever they can appropriately to support.
    Let’s not be paternalistic.
    A lot of museums have their own collections, their own program, their own curatorial expertise.
    They may or may not want your help or your collaboration.
    So it has to be a two-way street.
    Just to give you an example of that, the Getty, they fund this incredible project we do at the CSMVS Museum in Mumbai,
    which we’ve been working on for 14 years now, where that museum, which is essentially focused on Indian heritage,
    we lend things from our collection.
    But also for the first time, they’ve curated a show which is now on display at the British Museum, which is fantastic.
    And so I think all of these relationships need to be reciprocal in two ways.
    Does this apply to the Elgin marbles as well?
    What’s the plan there?
    I wish I could give you some amazing world exclusive, but I can only talk about what’s in the public domain.
    That means there is a world exclusive to be given.
    You’re just not willing to give it to me.
    No, no, no.
    But no, I’m telling you, it’s actually funny how people always think there’s some big mystery or secret.
    And actually, so it’s well known that there’s an ongoing discussion.
    I think both parties, the British Museum and Greece, and it is quite funny that it’s a museum dealing with a nation.
    It’s not the British government and the Greek government talking, it’s the British Museum and the Greek government talking.
    I think both parties would love to see progress.
    Again, basically, it all comes down to a piece of legislation.
    I’m sure that Greece would like to have them all back now, but it’s not within our gift to do that.
    So the question is, okay, can we find a way where we could lend a proportion and Greece would send us some wonderful things and we can build this partnership?
    And that’s the conversation that’s taking place.
    Where that will end up, I don’t know.
    I’m very hopeful.
    I’m always trying to find ways to collaborate and to pioneer, I suppose, and to invent new things.
    There’s one idea I’ve always thought is cute.
    I don’t know if it’s practical at all.
    But let’s say you’ve got a contested object or set of objects, like the Elgin Marbles, Benin Bronzes, there are others.
    Well, just the British Museum or the British government, I guess, sponsoring, paying for a daily or weekly or monthly flight of tourists from that place.
    Come see it, spend a day at the British Museum, a kind of handheld curated experience of, yes, we’re keeping these things.
    Parliament says we have to, but we also recognize that they are your heritage.
    And so we’d like to run this exchange program.
    You like that idea?
    Yeah, I mean, yeah, I think.
    Yes, he says, not meaning it at all.
    No, no, it’s definitely not a bad idea.
    It’s definitely innovative and it sounds ambitious and is trying to break through maybe a barrier.
    But what I would say is even getting people to the British Museum in London only gets you so far.
    And of course, the great thing is we’re free.
    We’ve always been free.
    That was, again, Hans Sloan’s original stipulation.
    The fact that anyone in the world who is in London can visit the British Museum and see all these things for free is incredible.
    We had 6.5 million visitors last year.
    If you think about the number of people that have come and seen these objects over time, almost 275 years, that’s kind of incredible.
    Then, of course, it’s also beholden on you to get beyond the museum, whether that’s virtually, digitally, whether that’s sharing the collection around the UK with the most generous lender of all the major British national museums outside London, about 2,000 objects.
    To give you an example, 6.5 million visitors last year came to the British Museum in Bloomsbury.
    8 million visitors outside London saw something from our collection.
    We have partnership galleries across the UK.
    And then up to 2,000 works are on loan all around the globe at any one time.
    It’s a truly global network.
    And what’s interesting is people just don’t know that because it’s not an obvious headline.
    Coming up after the break, we will get to the more obvious headlines about the British Museum.
    In more challenging moments, I do like to think about Andy Warhol’s great line, which is, don’t read your reviews, weigh them.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    In April of 1902, a man calling himself Jacob Richter wrote a letter to the director of the British Museum.
    This land question had to do with whether private ownership of land should be allowed.
    And Jacob Richter was a pseudonym for Vladimir Lenin.
    Here’s what Lenin said later about the British Museum’s library.
    It is a remarkable institution, especially that exceptional reference section.
    It’s an incredible space.
    Clearly, it was modeled on the Pantheon.
    But the amazing thing is this beautiful ceiling we’re looking at is made of papier-mâché.
    Because anything heavier would probably collapse in on itself.
    It’s an incredible piece of architecture and of Victorian engineering.
    That, again, is Nicholas Cullinan, the director of the British Museum.
    He and I are standing in the middle of the round reading room, which was completed in 1857.
    It is a massive expanse with that domed ceiling, with very tall bookshelves lining the circumference,
    and rows of wooden desks laid out like spokes on a wheel.
    The round reading room was really the brainchild of an extraordinary former director of the British Museum,
    Antonio Panizzi.
    This quote, I think, is incredible, which I will read out for the benefit of people listening.
    He said, I want a poor student to have the same means of indulging his learned curiosity,
    of following his rational pursuits, of consulting the same authorities,
    of fathoming the most intricate inquiry as the richest man in the kingdom.
    And I think that’s still relevant to what we do.
    Cullinan walks us over to an old ledger where Jacob Richter and others signed in.
    Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf, you see here Sylvia Pankhurst, Karl Marx, who pretty much spent every day for 30 years sat here writing Das Kapital.
    When Mikhail Gorbachev became leader of the Soviet Union and visited Britain for the first time in 1984,
    he came and looked at the round reading room and the desks where both Lenin and Marx had sat and said,
    if people don’t like communism, they can blame the British Museum.
    And I can’t think of many museums that are held responsible or accountable for an entire socio-political order.
    So, Nick, the headlines of the past few years for the British Museum have been, according to my reading at least, overwhelmingly bad.
    And so I wanted to ask you, as you were offered this job, first of all, I’m curious whether you were at all conflicted.
    I mean, it’s an amazing job, so I’m assuming you were eager to take it, but the outstanding issues are substantial.
    There’s the controversies over repatriation, as we’ve discussed.
    There’s some strong protest and activism, particularly over reliance on corporate sponsorship of petroleum firms and so on.
    You had Peter Higgs, a curator in your Greek and Roman department, who was allegedly stealing objects from within the museum and selling them on eBay.
    And I’ve read, although I’d love you to tell me if this is wrong, that the British Museum was alerted to this and did not pursue it.
    And then additionally, when we were reporting out our piece on repatriation a few years ago,
    we couldn’t even get the communications department to field our questions, much less an official.
    And we had our recording equipment seized when we showed up to try to record.
    This time, the director of the museum, that’s you, met us quite warmly.
    We had an off-the-record chat with coffee, lovely.
    We had a walkthrough of the museum, lovely.
    And now you’re sitting down for the studio interview.
    So can you just talk about the degree to which either your appointment as director or a general shift, why that’s happened?
    To go back to the beginning, no, I didn’t think twice.
    A museum obviously has to think very much about news cycles, but is also in the business of perpetuity and forever,
    rather than just getting through each day’s news cycle.
    You take it very seriously, and you take it with a little bit of a pinch of salt as well.
    Not saying, oh, I don’t care, but okay, this is today.
    But then there’s many, many more days to come.
    And the question is, each day, can you make improvement and keep moving it forward?
    In other words, it comes with the territory to some degree.
    To some degree, yeah.
    I’m not saying, oh, therefore, does it matter?
    Yeah, drunk museum goers smashing the Portland vase.
    Exactly.
    There will always be a crisis.
    The question for me is, is the British Museum an institution that is worth sticking with, basically?
    That’s what we’re saying.
    I mean, if you really want to push the argument, maybe it’s most vocal critics are saying it shouldn’t exist.
    It has no right to exist.
    And I think a lot of people around the world, including, you know, the 6.5 million people that visit us annually, the people like myself that visited when they were a child, would disagree with that and would say, of course, there are things that need to change or there are things that are complex and need to be addressed.
    But the museum definitely does a lot more good than harm.
    My larger point is, do you want to carry on being angry about the past?
    Or do you want to do something to try and create a more equitable future?
    Do you care more about the problem or the solution?
    I mean, it’s very easy to get angry.
    You know, all of us get angry about problems every day.
    But ultimately, is that where you want to expend your energy?
    Even if that’s your motivation, at a certain point, surely you need to switch and say, okay, but then how are we going to make this better?
    What you just said resonates with me.
    I think it will resonate with just about everyone who hears it.
    But in a world where short-termism and injustice collection is running rampant, how do you try to turn the tide, even if only within your own institution?
    I mean, it’s a really good question.
    I happen to love encyclopedic museums.
    I love them from being a visitor as a child to having worked in them.
    I’m lucky enough to have worked for two of them, the British Museum and the Met.
    I think they do something extraordinary.
    And of course, it can be complex in how that’s achieved, but it’s about bringing people and cultures together.
    Personally, I think we need more of that, not less of that.
    And that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t look at certain cases or think, okay, should the Parthenon sculptures be in London or Athens?
    But the bigger point is the idea of a world in which everyone and everything has to return back to its point of origin and never the twain shall meet.
    And people and objects and ideas don’t move around the world and can’t contaminate each other and create new realities.
    It’s deeply depressing to me.
    I mean, I feel like you’re whispering this lovely notion into a massive fan that is blowing in the opposite direction.
    Of course, but that’s all the more reason why it’s important.
    Those 6.5 million visitors, we give them very strong evidence or reality of how everything is connected.
    I want that to carry on reaching more and more people because I think it’s more and more important.
    It’s not less important.
    It’s not less relevant.
    One critique of the British Museum, this goes back to the idea of the museum as a trophy case for the nation’s colonial exploits,
    is that it publicly displays only a tiny fraction of their 8 million objects.
    The rest are in storerooms.
    I asked if we could see some.
    We are now in essentially the basement of the British Museum, although we’re actually at floor level.
    And this looks very much like a basement.
    This looks like a basement, but…
    Wow.
    This is like Raiders of the Lost Ark.
    I know, it’s quite astonishing.
    So where we are now is this is the sepulchral basement, which is part of the original Smirk building.
    So these are lions from Halicarnassus.
    We have quite a few on display upstairs, but a lot more things not currently on display.
    I’m very keen to get as much of the collection on view as possible.
    So do you have any sense of the ratio of work on display to work owned?
    Yes, and it doesn’t sound good, but we’ll talk about it.
    So about 1% of the collection is on view.
    The British Museum’s collection is one of the largest and most comprehensive collections in the world,
    spanning 2 million years of human history across all cultures.
    The Louvre, it’s several hundred thousand objects.
    The Met, it’s more like 2 million.
    They also have more display space.
    So we have this kind of unique problem, which is not just the biggest collection,
    but actually a smaller space in which to show it.
    There’s whole parts of the collection that currently we’re not able to show.
    For example, the Caribbean, which is really important.
    You have very little, if any, here, yeah?
    We have very little on display.
    And of course, that’s a very important part of our collection also because of Hans Sloan.
    Hans Sloan spent time in the Caribbean, spent time on plantations,
    which is a very complex thing.
    His wife owned plantations.
    But what was interesting about Sloan was he actually talked to and learned from
    and actually acquired objects and information from enslaved people.
    He was a physician?
    He was, yeah.
    He spent time learning from them, talking to them,
    and understanding histories from them from the very beginning.
    So that’s really interesting to me because it kind of fits with what seems to be your mission
    of being transparent and embracing what the past actually was.
    Yeah.
    And then obviously trying to do the best with that history and that past.
    The history of the British Museum is essentially just the history of Britain.
    And then beyond that, in the collection and in our history,
    it’s just the history of the world, which is of, you know, wonderful things,
    creation, innovation, democracy, and terrible things, conquest and brutality.
    And that’s the history of the world.
    I think if you’re really confident, you can own up to mistakes or misdeeds on a personal level,
    on a national level, on a historical level.
    I think cultures and countries that are truly confident are confident
    because they know themselves in all of their glory and with all of their flaws.
    I know it was a big year for amateur metal detectorists in the UK.
    Yes.
    And that there’s something called an annual report from the Portable Antiquities Scheme,
    which is about as British as it gets, in my view, which is managed by you, the British Museum.
    I’m curious to know if there are objects in the museum that have been discovered by amateurs.
    It’s an amazing scheme and it’s pretty unique in the world.
    So basically, we administer the national scheme whereby detectors, so people that are metal detecting,
    if they find something significant that could be considered treasure, they declare it.
    And then it goes through a process, which we oversee, where it’s decided what to do with that.
    Essentially, the law is that it belongs half to the finder and then half to the landowner, basically.
    Over the years, this scheme has turned amateur detectorists into archaeologists.
    And it doesn’t just benefit the British Museum, it actually benefits museums all across the UK
    because often that’s where the find ends up.
    It’s really about making sure that whatever finds are made are shown in the best possible context,
    which is often a more local context.
    Do you know of any significant or noteworthy or just beautiful objects that have been found this way?
    Oh my God, there is many.
    And I’m dying to, there’s one that we’re about to launch a public appeal for because it is incredible.
    Watch this space, watch this space.
    I’m not going to go into detail, but basically, there was an incredible find made in 2019
    by someone who had just begun metal detecting and found the most incredible thing from 1521.
    Probably in September, we’re going to launch a public appeal to acquire this object because it is amazing.
    I did a bit of digging myself online when I got home.
    The object that has Cullinan so excited is a heart-shaped gold pendant on a gold chain found in the West Midlands by a man in his 30s who owns a cafe.
    The pendant is decorated with the initials H and K, as in Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon, his first wife.
    So, yes, an amazing object.
    But even better, it is a very British object that was found on British soil.
    So, it’s hard to imagine that some other country will ever come asking to have it back.
    I’d like to thank Nicholas Cullinan for the tour and the good conversation.
    Let us know what you think of this episode.
    Our email is radio at Freakonomics.com.
    Coming up next time on the show, as I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s been a bit of a panic about the falling birth rate in the U.S. and elsewhere.
    If you think, for example, of economic growth, it depends on population growth.
    It is true that some families are still having a lot of kids.
    The most polite version is something like, why?
    You know, why would you do this?
    But the overall trend is down and governments are trying baby incentives.
    It was a decade-long experiment that really was considered unsuccessful.
    We kick off a three-part series on the human life cycle.
    First, birth.
    Then, the Middle Ages.
    And then, the sunset years.
    Part one is next time on the show.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else, too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    This episode was produced by Morgan Levy, with help from Zach Lipinski in London, and field recording by Rob Double.
    It was mixed by Jasmine Klinger, with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    The Freakonomics Radio network staff also includes Alina Cullman, Augusta Chapman, Dalvin Abawaji, Eleanor Osborne, Ellen Frankman, Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Roth, Greg Rippon, Sarah Lilly, and Tao Jacobs.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by the Hitchhikers, and our composer is Luis Guerra.
    As always, thanks for listening.
    We had something called a charrette, which was a new word in my vocabulary.
    It’s not a cheese or a board game.
    I thought it was maybe a singer from the 1960s.
    It’s a girl band.
    It’s like Blah Blah and the Charrettes.
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    Nicholas Cullinan, the new director of the British Museum, seems to think so. “I’m not afraid of the past,” he says — which means talking about looted objects, the basement storerooms, and the leaking roof. We take the guided tour.

     

     

     

  • 634. “Fault-Finder Is a Minimum-Wage Job”

    AI transcript
    I first met the economist Austin Goolsbee around 20 years ago.
    I was out at the University of Chicago spending time with another Chicago economist, Steve
    Levitt, who had become my Freakonomics friend and co-author.
    Levitt could be shy and soft-spoken.
    Goolsbee was neither.
    He was a former debate champion.
    He had done improvisational comedy.
    In fact, Goolsbee did a lot of things that most economics professors didn’t do.
    So I guess I didn’t see him as a heavyweight exactly.
    If you had told me back then that Goolsbee would go on to run the Council of Economic Advisors
    in the Obama White House, which he did, and that he would become president of the Federal
    Reserve Bank of Chicago, which is his current job, I would have thought you had the wrong
    guy.
    But plainly, I’m the one who was wrong.
    Goolsbee has always been considered a top-tier academic researcher and professor.
    Temperamentally, he’s a hardcore empiricist, but he also has strong opinions.
    And so, as the Trump White House embarks on an aggressive overhaul of economic policy, I
    thought it might be a good idea to speak with someone from the Federal Reserve, and I suspected
    that Goolsbee might be very good.
    This time, I wasn’t wrong, as you’ll hear on today’s show.
    Goolsbee has been on Freakonomics Radio before, in 2018, talking about the 2017 Trump tax cuts,
    in 2020, talking about federal COVID stimulus, which was the biggest aid package in modern
    history, and also back in 2014 in an episode we called Should the U.S.
    Merge with Mexico.
    Goolsbee wasn’t a huge fan of that idea.
    It’s worth contemplating as a counterfactual, but if you start thinking beyond the first
    stage, there are a whole bunch of costs associated with it.
    As for his current job running the Chicago Fed, Goolsbee is part of a Federal Reserve system
    that dates back to 1913.
    It has a board of governors in D.C., currently chaired by Jerome Powell, and 12 regional banks
    across the country.
    Many people, including Austin Goolsbee, consider the Fed the most important economic institution
    in the United States.
    So, what exactly does the Fed do?
    It does monetary policy, and that is a big part of the job, but underneath the monetary
    policy part, there’s monitoring financial stability, and we’re the lender of last resort.
    There’s supervision of financial institutions and banks, and there’s providing financial services
    through massive payments.
    We’re the biggest payments operator.
    We distribute all the cash in the economy.
    If you look at the U.S. economy today by the numbers, it looks pretty good.
    Inflation has been trending downward since June of 2022.
    Most recent reading in April came in at 2.3 percent.
    Unemployment is also low at 4.2 percent.
    But the Trump White House has introduced a high level of economic uncertainty, especially
    around tariffs.
    And as a result, the U.S. stock markets and treasury bonds and the dollar have all taken
    wild swings lately.
    This puts the Fed on alert.
    When Goolsby joined the bank two years ago, his senior colleagues wanted to know where he
    stood.
    From the beginning, they started asking, are you a dove?
    Are you a hawk?
    I don’t even know if I like birds.
    I just want to be a data dog.
    And what does it mean to be a data dog?
    There’s two main rules.
    There’s a time for walking and there’s a time for sniffing.
    And the first rule is know the difference.
    The second rule is you never throw anything away.
    The diet of the data dog is eat anything that hits the floor.
    You might think of Austin Goolsby as an unusual man who, in an unusual time, holds an unusual
    job.
    My wife once found a hundred dollar bill in the street.
    She came to me and said, is there anybody at the Fed who can tell if this is real?
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, what’s real, what’s not, and how to tell the difference.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything, with
    your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Every time I say your name, like when I tell people I’m interviewing you, they all respond
    in the same way, like, Goolsby.
    It just sounds creepy.
    Yeah, Halloween’s our holiday.
    Tell me about your name, the origin.
    You know much about it?
    Many, many moons ago, they lived in the town of Goolsby, Scotland.
    And that’s how they got the name and came to the U.S.
    Now, there’s some dispute.
    There’s also some town in Northern England called Goolsby with a C, but I prefer to think
    of it as the Scotland one being the origin.
    They came to Virginia way, way long time ago, 1600s.
    You know how people will look back and they’ll be like, oh, in ancient Athens, the population
    of great philosophers was unbelievable.
    There are these periods in history where it’s like everyone was amazing and revolutionary
    America seems like that.
    Our people are proof that’s totally not true.
    They were there.
    They were standing around, but they didn’t do anything.
    They kept on moving.
    They moved to Georgia, Mississippi, Alabama.
    By the time they got to Texas, they were clearly illiterate.
    Your first name, Austin, sounds normal, but you don’t spell it normally.
    You spell it A-U-S-T-A-N.
    What’s the story there?
    Yeah, it was my dad’s fault.
    I had just been born.
    My dad came in and said, he’s going to be a unique person.
    He needs to have a unique name.
    My mom said, that’s crazy.
    He’s going to misspell his name his whole life.
    My dad said, I won’t sign the birth certificate unless we do that.
    She said, I apologize to you.
    I was just too tired.
    It was 20 hours of labor.
    And so I just went along with it.
    Can I just say they were both right?
    To his dying day, my dad would say, I was right.
    And then my mom would always add, and I was right too.
    Now, I see that a woman named Linda Goolsby recently ran for Congress in Texas as a Democrat
    and got walloped.
    Is that your mom?
    It was for state representative.
    It was my mom.
    At age 80, my father passed away and my mom decided to run for office.
    In Abilene, Texas, that’s the first or second reddest city in America.
    She got 19% of the vote, it looks like.
    Yeah.
    I think Trump’s support was in the 80s, so she probably started behind the eight ball.
    But I was proud of her.
    Okay.
    So, Austin, where are you physically today?
    I’m in the Chicago Fed Bank, the classic building.
    We got a vault with many tens of billions of dollars of cash down in there.
    Do you use stacks of money as a sound muffler there?
    Is that what the recording studio is walled with?
    I wanted it to be just piles of money, just open the door.
    But I was disappointed.
    It’s very organized.
    We have a lot of security and a lot of cameras.
    All the cash in America, people don’t realize it’s printed by the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.
    But all the cash is distributed through the reserve banks.
    The reserve banks are like banks for banks.
    So, the bank has an account and they’ll say, we have too much cash.
    We want to send some back or we need some for our ATM machine.
    So, we’re going to send a brink structure over there and place an order.
    When things go wrong in the world, COVID, crises, Silicon Valley Bank, things like that, the demand for cash suddenly surges.
    So, we keep a lot on hand and we’re ready to satisfy that.
    Now, the Chicago Fed is one of 12 regional feds.
    How does Chicago compare to the others in terms of cash on hand?
    Oh, I thought you were going to say, how do we compare?
    And I was going to say, by wide acknowledgement, we’re the best of the 12.
    But in cash on hand, we pay out about $140 million a day and we take in about $120 million.
    If you have $1 bills in your pocket, on the left side, there’ll be a little circle with a letter in it.
    And that tells you which bank it’s going on the balance sheet of.
    And we’re the 7th district, which is the G, the 7th letter.
    So, we’re the G money.
    Couldn’t be better.
    As president of a regional fed, if you were not speaking with us right now, what would you be doing instead?
    The thing about the presidents of the reserve banks is they’re also the CEO.
    There’s kind of a highbrow thinking about monetary policy.
    And then there’s a more operational role that the bank plays in payments, in bank supervision, in community engagement, community development, and forcing consumer protection laws.
    And then financial services of being a bank to the banks.
    In other words, you’re really a banker.
    I guess I kind of became a banker, a scholar warrior, economist, something in all of those.
    Every six weeks or so, Goolsby goes to Washington to participate in the meetings of the FOMC, or Federal Open Market Committee.
    That’s where interest rates are debated and determined.
    So, what’s it like to be in this meeting?
    If you’re an econ nerd, it’s just about the coolest thing in the world.
    It really is exactly what you dreamed it would be as an econ grad student.
    There’s a huge table.
    There’s 12 reserve banks and seven governors, including the chair.
    The shades come down so no one can spy on what’s happening.
    And then they go around the room.
    What do you think about the economy?
    What do you think?
    What do you think?
    And people say they’re peace.
    Give me a sense of what people are looking to you for.
    I mean, you’re in a relatively manufacturing-heavy region.
    You’re in the center of the country.
    Chicago is also a big city.
    You’re also a regional president who happened to have worked in a White House.
    So, I’m guessing that you have a perspective that would seem pretty valuable, maybe a little bit unusual.
    Look, I’m unapologetic about saying it.
    I believe that the FOMC is, in the 21st century, the world’s greatest deliberative body.
    No offense to the Senate, but you can turn on C-SPAN and judge for yourself.
    The thing about the FOMC is you have people coming from different backgrounds and different perspectives, both regional and what was their professional background.
    So, I came as an economic researcher.
    I had done time in the government and was interested in public service.
    But I try to come to the meeting very much with that economic research background.
    The Chicago Fed’s research department has always been at the forefront of economic research.
    They publish in top economic journals.
    So, that was a good fit for me.
    When you’re in that FOMC meeting with your colleagues, you coming from an academic economics background, so if you call it the world’s greatest deliberative body, I’ve been in the University of Chicago seminar rooms where economists are giving papers and really tearing each other apart.
    It can be brutal.
    I’m guessing it’s not like that at the Fed.
    No, no, it’s nothing like that.
    I love and will love to my last day, the University of Chicago and the economists there are brilliant.
    It’s a smash mouth football kind of a culture.
    And the Fed is not like that at all.
    Do you have to tone yourself down or no?
    I’ve always been on a nicer side of the continuum.
    The brutality part of that, I’ve never been a fan of.
    When I go to the meeting, I come from an academic background.
    You’ve got markets, people, bankers.
    You’ve got some academics.
    You’ve got people that were private sector economists.
    And it’s really fun to hear their take on the economy and their take on rates.
    It takes place over two days.
    Day one is about the state of the economy.
    Day two is about what we do with rates.
    Each district has some differences regionally.
    We should say the district presidents like yourself, you are not appointed federally.
    You are essentially chosen and elected and vetted regionally.
    Is that right?
    Yeah, that’s exactly right.
    So let’s take a side trip down the structure of the Fed.
    There are 19 people around the table.
    There are seven members of the Board of Governors.
    They are political appointees chosen by the president, confirmed by the Senate.
    How long a term?
    14-year terms.
    The system is set up to be independent from political interference in the setting of monetary policy.
    As much as you possibly can in a democratic system.
    So first, seven people are political appointees, but they’re on 14-year terms that are staggered.
    Those governor terms run regardless of who’s in it.
    So sometimes you’ll be nominated and it’ll be just to finish out the last two years of a 14-year term.
    And the chair and the vice chairs, separate from their governor term, serve a four-year term as chair.
    It’s not time to be on the presidential cycle.
    It’s two years later you change the Fed chair.
    Then there are 12 Reserve Bank presidents sitting around the table who are not political appointees at all.
    Those aren’t even government agencies.
    They each have their own board of directors composed of business leaders, civic leaders, bank leaders from the region.
    The seven governors vote every year.
    And among the regional presidents, the New York Fed votes every year.
    Chicago and Cleveland trade off voting every other year.
    And the other banks every third year.
    Okay.
    This sounds like a system made up by somebody who’s inventing rotisserie baseball or something, right?
    It’s kind of kludgy, rotisserie, baseball system, but why does it exist?
    Why is there a Fed in Chicago?
    It is because in 1913, as today, people were deeply uncomfortable with the idea that Washington, D.C. plus Wall Street would be in complete control of the financial system with no input from the rest of the country.
    So, even though it’s a kludgy voting system, it actually works.
    We come from Chicago and I’m out talking to business leaders, civic leaders.
    Our region is basically 90% of the economy of Iowa, Illinois, Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana.
    It’s more heavily manufacturing than any other district.
    It’s by far the most autos of any other district.
    So, at times like this one, where issues of supply chain, tariffs, things like that, come to the fore, I do feel like in the 7th District, we have more to say about that.
    If you want to know how will rare earth metals embargoes affect fabrication of engines and motors, the Chicago Fed has a Detroit branch and that branch has a board.
    And we have on our board, people from the auto industry.
    We do our contact calls before every FOMC meeting where we talk to a lot of different folks.
    We come with good regional information.
    I like to come to the meeting with aggrandizing tales of the 7th District, ways that we are singular, things that are amazing about the district.
    I’m sure that makes me unpopular with all the other presidents, but I don’t care.
    So, you described the voting system where the seven governors always have a vote on the FOMC.
    And then there’s these rotating regional votes.
    What is the total then?
    If, let’s say, the seven are unanimous and most of the regionals are against, do they inevitably lose out the regionals?
    There are 12 voters, and that makes up the FOMC, but there are still 19 people around the table, and everybody speaks their piece, whether they’re a voter or not a voter.
    And are the votes made in that same session?
    The votes are made at the very end.
    Now, the thing about the voting is it tends to be overwhelmingly based on consensus.
    So, if you just look at the votes, there are very few dissents.
    It’s almost always unanimous.
    But I’m guessing there are instances where either a regional Fed president like you or someone on the Board of Governors or maybe the chair himself, Powell in this case, might change minds or at least rally consensus.
    Can you give me an example of that?
    I’m not allowed to give you examples of that because we’re not out of the period that the transcripts come out.
    But historically, yes, you’re correct.
    There are times when there are multiple dissents or there can be arguments and people can’t change their mind.
    There was one episode in the 1980s where new governors had been appointed.
    Paul Volcker was the chair.
    There was a vote where the chair was going to be outvoted.
    They were going to do the opposite of what the chair was advocating.
    That’s extremely unusual.
    And Volcker said, look, if this happens, I’m going to resign.
    And they went back in and they revoted.
    In the 2000s coming out of the Great Recession, some of the regional presidents disagreed with Chair Bernanke and they dissented repeatedly.
    Not enough of them were dissenting to change the policy, but there were fundamental and lasting differences of opinion.
    And does that dissent filter back to the White House?
    Filter back how?
    What do you mean?
    I guess what I’m thinking about is there’s so much news going on right now.
    There are congressional budget debates, tax debates, tariff threats.
    How much does current policymaking intersect with the Fed?
    Let’s say you personally.
    You’re looking at these policy proposals and as an economist, you’re envisioning, probably like a lot of the nonpartisan analysts are talking about right now, that this economic agenda might be incendiary down the line, in which case the Fed may end up being the fire department.
    That’s my outside view.
    I’m guessing it’s wrong.
    But tell me what the inside view is.
    Okay, let’s back up to the founding of the Fed and what is the Fed’s job.
    The Federal Reserve Act gives the Fed two jobs when setting monetary policy.
    This is your famous dual mandate.
    The famous dual mandate.
    It says right in the law, we are to maximize employment and stabilize prices.
    That’s the job in its totality, nothing more, nothing less in the setting of monetary policy.
    So anything that affects prices or employment, we are required by law to think about it.
    I can imagine some people hearing that as a fairly narrow prescription and some people hearing that as, well, that’s everything.
    And they’re both right.
    As we say in Chicago, there’s no bad weather.
    There’s only bad clothing.
    You tell us the conditions and we’ll figure out what’s the correct jacket to put on.
    And that’s true at the Fed too.
    Conditions change all the time.
    Sometimes it’s policy.
    Sometimes it can be geopolitics.
    The productivity growth rate can change.
    We can have excess demand, animal spirits.
    You think we have a bubble.
    There are things happening all the time.
    That’s why we meet every six weeks at the FOMC to be the tip of the spear of economic stabilization.
    Now graft onto it policy changes, periods of major policy uncertainty.
    We have to think about it because if those policies are going to affect employment or prices, the law says that’s what we’re supposed to look at.
    We’re not in the elections business and it’s not the role of the Fed to express opinion about fiscal policy.
    There was a time in my life when I was in that business.
    And once you’re a sworn member of the Federal Reserve, it’s like the Night’s Watch or something.
    You’re out of that business.
    We have to think through if it’s tariffs.
    I go out and I talk to the auto executives well before April 2nd.
    The people in the district who are, granted, more manufacturing intensive, more supply chain intensive than other districts, they were expressing, if these tariffs of this magnitude come in, we are afraid that it is going to take us back to the period of a few years ago where costs are out of control.
    From COVID, supply chain issues from COVID.
    So there was an inflationary period in 21-22 and there was a COVID disruption period of 2020.
    They said this might take us back to the 21-22 where inflation from costs is raging.
    Or if they’re as big as what some of them are advocating, it might take us back to 2020 where we just couldn’t make the product because we couldn’t get the parts.
    So as you gathered this information in your role as the Chicago Fed president, you’re talking to people who have experience, they have stature, and they have skin in the game.
    What purpose does that information ultimately serve?
    You bring it to the FOMC and then what?
    Hopefully, whatever I get, people will listen to.
    And collectively, we got to decide.
    At the end of the day, the Fed, in a grand way, has only one tool, and that’s the interest rate.
    We have a balance sheet.
    We have different things.
    But they’re fundamentally about credit conditions and financial conditions in the economy.
    I think of it as a screwdriver.
    Hey, if things start getting too loose, then you tighten it.
    And if things are too tight, then you loosen it.
    But if it’s, you know, can you make us breakfast?
    No.
    We basically can’t.
    We don’t have a tool to do that.
    We try to think through not just backward looking but also forward looking for the economic outlook.
    What are these changes going to do to employment or to inflation?
    But it’s a waiting game then because you’re not a policymaking arm.
    But I would imagine it’s frustrating, especially because you as an economist who has done a lot of policy analysis, a lot of research over the years.
    Part of the challenge of doing that research and part of the fun is trying to estimate effects of different causes.
    As we’re talking today, you know, Moody’s recently downgraded U.S. debt, and it set off some alarms.
    A lot of the budget and tax proposals being discussed on the Hill right now are expected to contribute substantially to federal debt.
    So these all seem like upstream events that are theoretically, especially in the mind of an economist like you, going to have potentially major downstream consequences.
    I would see the Fed at the end of that in two or three or five years needing to respond to those events.
    Is that what you do?
    You kind of wait?
    The thing about the data, the official data come out with a lag.
    So there one month, one quarter, one week later, if you committed to never think about the outlook, only to look backward, you would miss a lot of things.
    You would be behind the curve multiple times.
    Policy is just one of an infinite number of shocks that you have to think through.
    It’s not special in that way.
    If there’s a war in the Middle East and the price of oil goes up $30 a barrel, we got to think about that too and not just wait to see what it does.
    In my view, there’s a great success story of the last couple of years that’s worth thinking about, which also makes me somewhat comfortable that Chad GPT is not going to replace the central bank and the FOMC anytime soon.
    I was going to ask you whether AI would be at least a useful tool in monetary policy.
    I would assume so.
    It might be a useful tool.
    You’re never going to hear me say we should throw away tools, but AI is only as good as the training sample.
    Take the beginning of 2023.
    That’s when I joined the Fed.
    Inflation is still well above the 2% target that the Fed has laid out.
    There are a number of smart people saying you cannot get the inflation rate down without pain, serious pain.
    You had Larry Summers saying unemployment would have to go above 6% for five consecutive years before you would see inflation come down.
    Chad GPT would have looked at the historical record and said, what should we do?
    It would have said, jack the interest rate up to 15% and have a recession because that’s how you get rid of it.
    But the economic analysis said, this is a very weird business cycle.
    So those previous business cycles might not apply.
    And if you could heal the supply chain, you might be able to bring down inflation without a recession.
    So in 2023, I said it was a Hall of Fame year because inflation fell by close to as much as it has ever fallen in a single year.
    And not only was there not a recession, the unemployment rate never even got above 4%.
    That’s a triumph for economic analysis, not just historical patterns.
    Now, to be fair, most economists were predicting recession.
    In fact, there’s the old joke about economists have correctly predicted 19 of the last three recessions, right?
    Yes.
    And look, the Bloomberg economists predicted in December of 22, there was a 100% chance of recession in 2023.
    But it’s because they were thinking historically.
    They’re not wrong.
    In the past, that wasn’t wrong.
    Coming up after the break, will Donald Trump’s so-called maximalist embrace of tariffs cause a recession?
    And will the Fed be able to maintain its political independence?
    There’s close to unanimity on the importance of Fed independence, mostly rooted in just go look at countries where they don’t have it.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    I’m speaking today with Austin Goolsbee, president and CEO of the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.
    The second Trump administration, even more than the first, has upended all sorts of political norms, right?
    A place like the Fed is built on political norms.
    So I’m curious how you and your colleagues are approaching that.
    I mean, the president of the United States, Donald Trump, has called your boss, Jerome Powell, a man he appointed, he’s called him a fool, a major loser.
    I can’t imagine that as much as one might intellectually try to insulate oneself from the noise, that it’s possible to do so entirely.
    So how does that affect the function of the Fed?
    The rules of the Fed, the rules of the FOMC say, I’m not allowed to speak for anyone else.
    I’m not allowed to speak for the Fed.
    I can only speak for myself.
    I would just say that before I was ever at the Fed, just go ask economists.
    They’re unanimous that it’s critically important that the central bank be independent of political interference when setting the interest rate.
    That’s the notion of Fed independence.
    If you want inflation to come back, go take away Fed independence and you’ll get inflation back.
    It makes me uncomfortable if people are truly advocating not having central bank independence.
    You know what happens when there’s political interference.
    Their incentives are different than long-term price stability and maximizing employment.
    Independence is never one for all times.
    It has to be re-earned in every generation, it seems.
    But let’s acknowledge, or I’ll acknowledge at least, that Fed independence has come under attack from the current administration.
    So what role do regional Fed presidents like you, as opposed to the D.C.-based governors, have when it comes to ensuring and continuing Fed independence from the executive branch?
    The role of reserve banks is critically important to be independent monetary policy voices on the committee.
    They have played that role over the 112 years that the Fed has been around.
    There are many examples where important ideas about monetary policy or about the state of the economy came up through the reserve banks.
    I don’t agree with all of my colleagues all of the time, and they don’t agree with me.
    A key part of what makes this as important a deliberative body as it is, is exactly this, that we’re coming from 12 different regions plus Washington, D.C. to express independent views.
    If you take it away, you should fully well expect inflation to be coming back.
    I’ve heard you cite a mentor of yours, the economist Jim Tobin, as saying that economics is most useful in a crisis.
    You talked about 2023 as being a weird business cycle.
    When you look at the U.S. economy today, do you see a crisis?
    And if not, what would you say are the characteristics about this economy that make it significantly different or confusing from the past?
    The thing that fundamentally made this period, let’s call it from 2020 to today, extremely unusual is that normally the business cycle is driven by the most cyclically sensitive sectors, and those are the most interest rate sensitive sectors as well.
    Durable goods manufacturing, durable goods manufacturing, business fixed investment, large consumer durables purchases, autos, stuff like that.
    Those are very cyclical industries, and they’re ones where the interest makes a big difference.
    As we go into 2020, it’s the first and only recession ever where demand for housing, durable goods, cars, all of that went up in the downturn.
    And a bunch of stuff that is normally recession-proof has nothing to do with the business cycle, like going to the dentist.
    All of those services dried up.
    So we had a business cycle that looked nothing like a normal business cycle, and it was a business cycle where if you say,
    what is the interest rate sensitivity of having elective surgery?
    Nobody ever asked that question before.
    Then it was like, well, you stupid Fed, why aren’t you predicting what’s going to be happening?
    In large measure, it’s that this business cycle is really weird, and people’s spending shifted heavily to physical goods and away from services,
    which was fighting against the 80-year trend.
    And now as it comes back, we’re still living with that, to say nothing about the supply chain disruptions.
    Where are we in relation to normal now in that regard?
    We’re mostly back for the consumer share.
    We’re mostly back to the heavily dominated services.
    So this question is maybe too reductive or maybe unanswerable, but how do you as a Fed president see the Trump tariff policy?
    And I realize that there are, you know, 1,800 different components of that.
    How do you think about that, especially compared to supply chain disruptions that were created by COVID?
    Do you see this as potentially a second wave?
    There’s kind of two parts about it.
    The first, the president and Congress, in their wisdom, can pass any tariff policy they want.
    That’s a straight fiscal policy.
    That becomes a condition that affects prices and affects employment.
    And if it does that, then the Fed has to think about it.
    The law says we have to think about it.
    I went out and talked to business people and consumers throughout the 7th District that made me, even before April 2nd, nervous.
    The Econ 101 version of what tariffs would do might not be subtle enough to capture what was happening.
    The Econ 101 version says tariffs that are permanent, there’s no retaliation, there’s no escalation.
    They’re just a one-time increase in the cost.
    That should be a transitory shock to inflation.
    Transitory just meaning it’ll come and then it’ll get absorbed and fade away.
    Yep.
    So if you put in a 10% tariff, inflation should be 10% in the first year, and then there would be no further inflation from the tariff.
    If you have a transitory shock, the Fed, in many ways, should see through it or should not be counting on that as a lasting, persistent inflation shock.
    And you would more be looking at, well, what is it going to do to output, employment, and what might it do to productivity or the economic potential?
    The thing that got me nervous is no retaliation, no escalation, no escalation, and no spillovers on the supply chain.
    They thought that was hopelessly naive.
    They said, we just went through a period with supply chain disruption that they said, as it was happening, this would probably be transitory because the supply chain will just fix itself.
    And it took years before that worked its way through, at the end of the day, imported goods are only 11% of GDP in the United States.
    So even sizable tariffs would be noticeable but might not have a material aggregate impact.
    But if they were too big, then they threatened to relearn the lessons of COVID and the inflation period.
    If they truly disrupt the supply chain, it could be a mess and it could last a lot longer than the textbook says.
    That was going to be even more problematic if there was retaliation, if the tariffs were going to apply to parts, components, and supplies, and if there were escalations.
    So far, there have been all three of those.
    That kind of just threw dust in the air.
    Now, before April 2nd, I was saying many times that we’re basically at stable, full employment.
    Unemployment rate around 4%, strong job growth.
    Inflation looked to me to be heading back to 2%.
    And if you just looked at the so-called dot plot where they ask all the members of the FOMC,
    where do you see rates?
    What do you think will be the appropriate rates next year, the year after?
    If you look at the long run, the vast majority of the committee believes that rates could be well below where they are right now.
    And I thought rates over the next 12 to 18 months could come down a fair bit more.
    This threw a lot of dirt in the air.
    And so it’s hard to know exactly what it is.
    But I still think underneath there, if we could get the dirt out of the air, I still think we’re basically in that spot.
    It’s kind of like at one point I went to the trainer and they said, well, what are your goals?
    And I said, well, do you think I could get a six-pack?
    And the trainer said, we all have a six-pack of muscle underneath.
    And that’s the problem is what’s on top of it.
    We’ve layered this thing on top of what I still think underneath there is a healthy six-pack economy.
    We had a big Fed Listens event where we brought in a bunch of folks a couple weeks ago.
    One of them, he was running a construction company.
    He said, for us, this is a put-your-pencils-down moment.
    We just have to wait to get some resolution.
    Because even when you announce, okay, we’re not going to do the tariffs, we’re going to revisit this decision in 60 days.
    And we might do them then.
    Everybody’s just going to wait.
    That’s the fear.
    So, Austin, I understand the Fed has been losing a lot of money, or at least returning much less to the Treasury than it used to.
    And, of course, the Fed spent a lot of money after the Great Recession on what’s called quantitative easing, buying up bonds and mortgage-backed securities to pump cash into the system.
    And then that strategy was used again during COVID.
    Why hasn’t the Fed fully wound down that portfolio by now?
    There’s two things at work with this.
    The people saying the Fed is not turning over as much money as it did before and is losing money are not counting all of the money that the Fed made over the years in the financial crisis and then again in COVID.
    The Fed expanded the balance sheet.
    Now, because the interest rate, the short-run Fed funds rate, which the Fed normally sets, was zero.
    And there’s a big problem when the rate is zero because what do you do?
    I would have said negative rates are impossible, but you actually saw some countries have negative rates.
    And so they expanded the balance sheet in a big way to prevent something worse happening in the economy.
    But if you do that, you know that it’s going to lose money.
    The reason that you’re buying at a point where the bonds are really valuable is when you’re trying to cut the rates, everyone understood that they’re not going to make money on those investments because they were done as emergency measures.
    Then there’s a whole second thing, which is the Fed, since 2008, has changed the way that it conducts monetary policy to instead of being the so-called scarce reserves regime,
    In which the Fed has a small balance sheet and they engage in monetary policy through open market operations, what the Fed does now is banks have an account and they pay interest on the reserves.
    And so banks are no longer in a scarce reserves regime.
    The interest on reserves rate that we set allows us to influence the interest rate, even in weird environments where the normal open market operations were problematic.
    And as a result, if you’re going to be in an ample reserves regime, people just need to know the Fed will always have a larger balance sheet than it had in the old days, because that’s the way we do monetary policy now.
    So, look, I’m sympathetic to evaluating all of the Fed’s actions and hold it accountable.
    But I don’t want to hold it for accountability on things that aren’t bad.
    They are not conspiracies.
    The Fed is not the bad guy.
    We’re the guardians of the galaxy.
    Five trillion dollars per day of payments, for example, go over Fed rails, wire transfers, ACH direct deposit, Fed now instant payments.
    Five trillion dollars a day.
    If you abolish the Fed, what would happen?
    People haven’t thought it through.
    One question along those lines, Trump has proposed lowering reserve requirements at banks.
    Does that intersect heavily with the Fed?
    It intersects with the Fed.
    But the thing to know about the reserve banks is that the 12 banks, we do the actual bank supervision to check that they have the capital, but we do not set the policy.
    This is delegated from the Board of Governors.
    They enact the policy and tell us what we’re supposed to enforce, and we do it well.
    But assuming lower capital requirements, are you expecting, for instance, a rise in bank M&A or something like that?
    If they change the capital requirements, we make sure that the banks in this district are safe and sound.
    We’re not going to be apologetic if somebody’s engaged in behavior that looks like it’s threatening financial stability or to the safety and soundness of that one bank.
    Coming up after the break, why a Fed banker like Goolsby doesn’t think that consumer vibes are all that meaningful.
    Also, if you want to hear some other conversations we have had with Fed people, check out episode 229 called Ben Bernanke Gives Himself a Grade or episode 390 called Fed Up with San Francisco Fed President Mary Daly.
    The entire archive of Freakonomics Radio is available on your podcast app.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    We will be right back.
    So, Steve Levitt, our mutual friend, told me that while the two of you were PhD students together at MIT, that you were one of just a handful of economists who saw the relatively new internet and thought that it would radically reshape at least parts of the economy.
    I know you wrote a well-regarded paper.
    I guess this came out in 2002, showed how price comparison sites reduced life insurance costs by quite a bit.
    I’m curious how you feel that research of yours has aged, especially as we’ve moved into an era of algorithmic pricing.
    Do you see that technology is continuing to make markets more competitive for consumers especially or not so much?
    That’s a fascinating area of question.
    In the late 90s and early 2000s, the first boom of the internet, the argument was basically, who does the internet give power to?
    Is it going to change the balance of power between customers and merchants slash manufacturers?
    In the early period, I was associated with the, this is going to make it more competitive and give more power to the consumers, that it might shrink the margins for business by giving more information to consumers.
    It does feel like in the decades that have passed, and especially in the last four or five years, the empire strikes back.
    They’re getting better at gathering information about the consumers and using that to tailor bespoke offers and products.
    Price discrimination, you guys call it.
    Yeah, price discrimination in our economist language, and if you take a casual look at business margins, they’ve gone up in the last decade or so.
    They’ve gone up quite a lot.
    I don’t know that that’s precisely or majority caused by algorithmic pricing in the internet, but it’s worth thinking about.
    Let me jump to another topic that economists historically were pretty united around, which was that globalized trade and labor, admitting China to the WTO,
    offshoring a lot of our manufacturing, was going to be a net win, certainly for China, but also for the U.S.
    And there’s been a lot of revisionism in the economic literature in the last maybe eight or 10 years to notice that there were consequences of offshoring all that labor that really changed the economic and social and labor fabric of this country.
    I bring this example up to show that even when really smart and well-educated economists reach a similar conclusion, that we shouldn’t necessarily accept it as truth, especially if it’s a prediction about the future.
    And I bring that up because I’ve been picking up lately a vibe in Washington, especially in elsewhere, that the kind of research that economists like you have been doing for decades is not to be relied on, at least as a foundational input in making policy decisions.
    I read a position paper by an incoming FTC commissioner, Mark Medor.
    It was called Antitrust Policy for the Conservative, and he said that we need to reinvigorate how we think about concepts such as competition, consumer welfare, economics, efficiency and innovation.
    I’m going to read a little bit more.
    The fundamental tension, he writes, within the Antitrust Project is that the law is and must be oriented toward consumer welfare, but human beings are not just consumers.
    They are embodied souls seeking communion with their fellow man and their creator.
    Human welfare cannot be accounted in dollars and cents or purely materialist renderings of the good.
    So to me, that sounds like an indictment, to some degree, of what you’ve built your career on.
    I’m not asking you to respond to Medor directly, but I’m curious to know how you feel that economic research is valued these days, in Washington especially.
    I don’t know that I have insight into the communion of minds or whatever they call for there.
    I’m interpreting the spirit of the question somewhat broadly.
    This brings us to the distinction between the hard data and the vibes.
    So you say, look, what if the hard data were good, but people say they just don’t feel it.
    They don’t feel like it’s good.
    Sounds like you’re describing 2023.
    Yeah, 2023, 2024, if you look at consumer confidence measures, they were quite poor.
    The first thing, and I recognize it’s a little bit of a dodge, the Fed’s job, we have to think about the hard data.
    That’s what the law says.
    So we’ve always been interested in sentiment, primarily as an indicator for what’s going to happen in the hard data.
    For a long time, it was the case that if consumer sentiment went way down, then people were about to stop spending and recession was on the way.
    Some things happened in a lot of the measures of vibes that have broken down that relationship.
    Just in the last few months, you’ve been getting immense plunges in the University of Michigan’s Consumer Confidence Survey.
    Some of the others, the drop is not as big, but they’ve all been falling.
    I just wanted to know how much of a signal is that, if you’re making a forecast, how much better is the forecast if you include, along with the hard data, you include this sentiment data.
    In the last 15 years or so, the sentiment data has added very little beyond the hard data.
    And that in the last couple of years, it actually makes a forecast worse.
    So I do seek out information from consumers and from businesses, but I don’t want to overstate what the vibes say.
    If you look, for example, at the University of Michigan survey, which is in our district, so I’m prone to like it.
    They have moved recently to an all-online survey.
    My characterization, maybe this is unsophisticated, people online look like they’re grumpy.
    And just the overall level is lower.
    Are you positing a causal relationship there that being online makes you grumpy?
    I don’t know if it just attracts the worst in us or if it was already there, but the data on sentiment and the communion of minds is harder to put into practice.
    I think economic research on both theory and data has proved really important for understanding the world and understanding conditions where we’re in moments of transition.
    Like in 2023 or like now or like COVID, they’re weird moments of transition, business cycles that look nothing like previous business cycles.
    You’ve got to at least have the discipline to go back and do some real economics and actually look at what happens.
    You’ll see people say things like, we should abolish the Fed.
    The thing is, there have been times when we got rid of the central bank.
    The second bank of the United States, the charter elapsed in 1836.
    There’s a reason there was a panic of 1837.
    The economic research imposes a discipline.
    It’s not always right.
    A lot of academics, including Nobel laureates, they don’t agree with each other.
    We go to a seminar where they’re arguing vehemently.
    But that process of disciplining your thoughts with either economic theory or with the data, I think is super important.
    I’m open to critiques of economic research, but the field is open to critiques too.
    And the rise of behavioral economics, there were a lot of insights that were not accepted.
    Many economists did not like or agree with the behavioral bent, but that debate was really helpful.
    Including you to some degree, if I remember correctly.
    Like in your textbook that you wrote with Steve Levitt, you didn’t want to give a whole lot of credence to the behavioral revolution.
    We have a chapter in there, and I think it’s a good chapter.
    It goes through, here’s what’s strong about it.
    There’s one sentence that goes something like, well, now we just taught you all of this, and it seems to contradict the first 16 chapters.
    So, do you regret having got the book?
    And then it goes through, ultimately, economics is meant to be about understanding human behavior.
    If the behavioral insights help you understand human behavior, help you understand the data, then they’re great.
    We should look at that.
    But I personally have less patience for people who, in the words of my dad, he used to always say, fault finder is a minimum wage job.
    For the people who just want to say, well, economics is horrible, and we should look to something else.
    You’ve got to have something else.
    It’s not enough to just say, I’m not going to look at the data, or I’m not going to look at the economics.
    Let me ask you another inflation question.
    We’ve been told forever that inflation is bad above a certain level.
    We’ve also been told that deflation is bad, but that stagflation may be the worst of all.
    So, can you describe the golden mean?
    Where is the place that a well-functioning economy wants to sit?
    And considering the Fed’s dual mandate, how do you think about getting to that place?
    What is the greatest of all the inflations if too much inflation is bad and too much deflation is bad and stagflation is even worse?
    The answer is exactly 2.0% personal consumption expenditure inflation because that’s what we said the target is.
    Alan Greenspan famously said way back when, when they were debating should there be an inflation target, they debated what is the meaning of price stability.
    Is that literally 0% inflation, which is hard to hit?
    And his statement was price stability is when people don’t have to think about inflation.
    It’s not factoring into their business decisions.
    It’s not factoring into people’s consumer spending decisions.
    And that implies that wages are keeping up.
    It implies wages are keeping up and that people are not thinking about it.
    The Fed decided that that should be, like several other central banks have, an explicit target for one measure of inflation.
    Not CPI, but personal consumption expenditure inflation would be 2.0%.
    So, that’s the target.
    Then the art of central bank management of monetary policy is, well, how do you keep us around that target?
    You remember the Apollo 13 image where they’re like, okay, you just need to keep the moon right in there and fire the thrusters.
    Then it’s wildly spinning around and they’re trying to control it.
    Sometimes it can feel like that around the inflation target.
    If there’s war in Ukraine and COVID and tariffs and this, how are you going to keep it at 2%?
    There are market measures of inflation expectations.
    What do people think the inflation rate is going to be five years from now or 10 years from now as opposed to just a measure of what is inflation today?
    In a world where the central bank is credible and people believe it when it says we will get inflation back to 2% no matter what, there’s an important threshold.
    In the case of the United States in the 70s, inflation expectations became unanchored in the economist language.
    If you asked people, the actual inflation rate was 10%, 12%.
    And if you asked them, what do you think inflation will be five years from now, they would say, I think it will still be 10%.
    Why that matters is because then when they’re going down and negotiating the wage for next year, everybody wants to say, look, if inflation is going to be 10% a year for the next five years, you’re going to have to pay us to compensate us for that.
    And you can get in a spiral that’s very, very difficult to get out of this time.
    It made it easier that the expectations never got unanchored.
    Actual inflation was almost double digits.
    But people looked at the window and could see inflation is raging.
    How during your career as an economist do you see, let’s call it public sentiment, especially through media, whether mainstream media or social media, how do you see that having changed the way elected officials and policymakers approach economic policies in ways that are, let’s say, detrimental to the economic reality?
    Do people get blown too hard off course by sentiment, in other words?
    Frequently, it feels like it.
    I think your observation that the media is involved, we have known about for a long time.
    This isn’t new with the Trump era.
    It wasn’t new in the Obama era.
    It wasn’t new in 1890.
    Yeah, it wasn’t new in 1890.
    If you’re old enough to remember the 1992 presidential election, you will recall that the entire thing was about the economy, stupid.
    It was all about the mismanagement of the recession.
    Go back and look at the data.
    There was no recession in 1992.
    The recession ended in 1991.
    1992 was actually a perfectly fine growth year.
    But Jim Carville had a good idea.
    It was in the media.
    It was all anyone was talking about.
    That’s just one example that we’ve seen many times that what people read about in the media does influence their opinion about the economy.
    Fast forward into a world of social media and many different channels, and it feels like everybody set up a news feed to give them the news they’re both interested in and that agrees with them.
    Maybe that very feature of the media environment is what has scrambled and made the consumer sentiments less indicative of economic behavior than they were before.
    But I’m not sure.
    Hey, listen, next time I’m in Chicago, will you show me around your vault?
    I would love to take you around.
    We got machines and they count the money and they pull out the counterfeit and everybody’s got to be certified every six months to detect counterfeit.
    I can show you what the markers are.
    So should I bring some counterfeit money and see if you can sniff it out?
    Well, do you want to be arrested by our LEU officers?
    That’s the law enforcement unit.
    The Fed, each of the Feds has a police force and they protect the assets, both physical and human.
    I assume the answer is no, I don’t want to be arrested by them, right?
    No, you don’t want to be arrested.
    What share of bills in your machines turn out to be counterfeit?
    Very, very small, very small.
    If I had to guess, I’d say it’s 10 to 20 bills a day.
    Now, the banks are supposed to catch it before it gets to us because if we get counterfeit, then we call the bank and we’re like, we’re giving you no credit for that money you sent because that was fake money.
    It does suggest that it might be a fun hustle for the bank to try to be the counterfeiter to pass it off against you guys.
    If you are a banker listening to this program, I strongly advise you not to do that because you’re going to get in big trouble.
    That, again, was Austin Goolsbee, longtime University of Chicago economist and now president and CEO of the Chicago Federal Reserve.
    I would love to know what you thought of this conversation.
    Our email is radio at freakonomics.com.
    Coming up next time on the show, a conversation with another leader of a historic and influential institution.
    This looks like a basement, but wow, this is like Raiders of the Lost Ark.
    The British Museum has a new director, Nicholas Cullinan, and he’s thinking about the museum’s mission in a new way.
    Yes, some of the things that are in the collection were looted because we were at war with each other.
    That’s next time on the show.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else, too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    This episode was produced by Tao Jacobs with help from Dalvin Abawaji.
    It was mixed by Jasmine Klinger with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    And we had nice assists from Pete Clino and Matt Grossman.
    The Freakonomics Radio network staff also includes Alina Cullman, Augusta Chapman, Eleanor Osborne, Ellen Frankman, Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Roth, Greg Rippon, Morgan Levy, Sarah Lilly, and Zach Lipinski.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by the Hitchhikers, and our composer is Luis Guerra.
    As always, thank you for listening.
    You have maybe six hours set aside for us today.
    Do you have an astronaut diaper you can throw on?
    I can just hold it really strongly.
    Because you’re a Goolsby, damn it.

    Austan Goolsbee, president of the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago, is less reserved than the average banker. He explains why vibes are overrated, why the Fed’s independence is non-negotiable, and why tariffs could bring the economy back to the Covid era.

     

    • SOURCES:
      • Austan Goolsbee, president and chief executive officer of the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.

     

     

  • 633. The Most Powerful People You’ve Never Heard Of

    AI transcript
    For the past couple of years, I’ve been letting a very good book collect dust on my shelf.
    A friend had told me about the book, and I did read the introduction, a wild introduction,
    about the CEO of a British company who flies his private jet into the middle of the Libyan
    Civil War to make an oil deal with the rebel army, an army which happened to have the covert
    support of the governments of Britain, Qatar, and the U.S.
    So, yeah, I probably should have kept reading, but I had 30 other books I wanted to take a look at.
    A Dirty Little Secret about me, there are a lot of books where I read only the introduction
    or a couple chapters, even books I like.
    This may strike some people as a wasteful practice, but I recommend it.
    Anyway, as fascinating as I found that introduction about the oil trader in Libya,
    the book didn’t seem relevant at that moment.
    But at this moment, with the U.S. signing a mineral deal with Ukraine, with Donald Trump
    expressing his appetite for the natural resources in Greenland and Canada, even at the bottom of the
    ocean, and of course, with an on-again, off-again trade war, the book is very relevant.
    It’s called The World for Sale, Money, Power, and the Traders Who Barter the Earth’s Resources.
    So, I finally took it off the shelf, read it, and, well, wow.
    The traders in this book are not the kind who sit at a desk in New York or London and buy and sell the
    options on commodities.
    These are the people who finance, procure, and trade the actual commodities.
    Petroleum products, agricultural products, and metals.
    This is high-stakes territory.
    When you think about a commodity trader, it has to have a bit of the Wolf of Wall Street character.
    It has to have a bit of James Bond character.
    And it has to have a lot of the character of Pirates of the Caribbean.
    The authors of this book are two Bloomberg journalists who also used to work together at the Financial Times,
    Javier Blas, whom you just heard, and Jack Farchi.
    The main subjects of their book are trading firms that you have likely never heard of.
    Glencore, Vital, Trafigura, Gunvor Group, Mercuria, and Cargill.
    These firms operate all over the world, and their reach is massive.
    Here is Jack Farchi.
    The revenues of the four largest is just under a trillion dollars last year, which, in terms
    of global exports, would make them, I think, the fourth largest country behind the U.S., China,
    and Germany, and ahead of Japan.
    Have you ever thought that you really understood something, that you were looking into the heart
    of it, only to realize that you were just looking at the surface layer?
    That’s the sensation I had while reading The World for Sale.
    These commodity traders are often at the center of big political and economic events.
    Civil wars and military coups seem to be a specialty, but they usually operate deep in the shadows.
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, with the help of Javier Blas and Jack Farchi, we try to shine a light.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything, with your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Last year, there was a record $33 trillion in global trade.
    Commodities make up about a third of that.
    Here are the two journalists who try to follow that money.
    My name’s Jack Farchi.
    I’m a senior reporter covering energy and commodities at Bloomberg News.
    How did you get onto this beat?
    I started my journalism career at the FT.
    I started out in 2008, just as the financial crisis was happening.
    Good timing for you, really.
    Yeah, much better than I had anticipated.
    I thought I was interested in geopolitics, global affairs.
    I didn’t think I was very interested in finance or business or markets or economics.
    Then I sat in the middle of the FT, not understanding half of what was going on,
    as the global financial system was collapsing and taking the world economy with it.
    And I realized, actually, I was wrong.
    I was looking for my first reporting job.
    And Gillian Tett, back then, was the capital markets editor, said,
    why don’t you go and work with Javier writing about commodities?
    My name is Javier Blas.
    I’m a commodities columnist for Bloomberg Opinion.
    And for the last 25 years, I have been writing about energy and natural resources.
    How did you become interested in that?
    Or were you shoved into it?
    How did that work?
    I went to college.
    I wanted to become a journalist.
    I ended writing about the Spanish economy and was quite bored at my job.
    My dream was to be Jerusalem bureau chief or Beirut bureau chief.
    One day, the oil correspondent in the newspaper I was writing left.
    So there was no one to write about the oil market.
    I raised my hand and they say yes.
    I started talking to a couple of oil companies and I went to see how they were buying crude oil.
    The trader that I was sitting with was a gentleman called Paco Garcia.
    He was working at Repsol, the Spanish oil company.
    Basically, he was babysitting me because everyone on that trading floor realized I have not a clue what I was even asking.
    Literally, I didn’t know what they were doing.
    He invited me to the trading floor and gave me his second headset and said, do you want to buy some barrels of oil?
    I say, sure.
    How?
    When?
    And he said, now on the phone.
    He was negotiating a deal for two million barrels of Iranian oil out of Kar Island, the main export terminal of Iran.
    They argue about the price.
    It’s all on the phone.
    They agree on a price.
    And one said, do we have a deal?
    The other one says, we have a deal.
    That was it.
    I said to the trader, what just happened?
    He said, we just bought the oil.
    And I was like, what do you mean?
    I mean, that was on the phone.
    Did you sign a contract?
    I said, no.
    I said, we have a deal.
    He said, we have a deal.
    And that’s it.
    We better find a tanker to bring the oil.
    And I became hooked and I became an oil reporter.
    Explain the difference between the commodity traders you write about in your book and the people who buy and sell financial instruments on commodity exchanges.
    These traders are very different to what people think about a trader behind a computer screen, trading on the keyboard and the mouse, Wall Street, Goldman Sachs, JP Morgan.
    These traders work in physical stuff.
    They are buying actual barrels of oil.
    They buy an actual consignment of copper.
    They buy a full shipload of wheat or soybeans.
    Something that most commodity traders spend a lot of time trying to explain is they don’t tend to care very much which way prices go.
    Oil traders, for example, for the most part, when they buy a cargo of physical oil, will at the very same time hedge the price of oil by selling a future on the futures exchange.
    So the oil price element of what they’re doing, they don’t care about at all, whereas your trader on a screen, that’s exactly what they’re trading.
    They’re betting on the ups and downs of the prices and they’re saying, okay, there’s a trade war, prices are going to go down, I’ll sell.
    Or actually the trade war fears are overdone, I’m going to come and buy.
    Whereas the physical commodity traders do definitely bet on outright prices sometimes, but they’re also, and on a day-to-day basis, trading a whole load of other factors.
    For example, they’re lending money to some producer in a country where they don’t have much other ability to borrow money, or they’re trading differences in prices between copper in Africa and copper in the US, or they’re trading differences in prices between one grade of oil and another grade of oil.
    And maybe they have several different producers who they have contracts with, and they’re buying oil from all three of them and blending it together, and then they can sell it for a higher price than the three barrels would have got individually.
    So Jack, you said you thought you were interested in geopolitics and so on.
    To me, the irony is that by coming in this side door, I’m sure you’ve learned a lot more about geopolitics than a lot of people who might have been on that beat directly, don’t you think?
    Yes, exactly. What I’ve learned is that to understand what’s going on in politics, you have to understand the money.
    And a lot of the time, not all of the time, obviously, but a lot of the time, the money is commodities, because commodities are a huge source of global trade, a huge source of profits for some companies in some countries and costs for others.
    In a lot of places in the world, be it Russia or the Middle East or South America or Asia, following the money means following the oil, means following the copper, the soybeans.
    So if you don’t understand that, then you’re missing a huge part of the political picture.
    I’m sure that a lot of people would think that they can follow the money by following the publicly traded markets.
    But if I have it right, a lot of the deals that you write about are totally hidden from public view.
    And so you’re offering what strikes me as an almost secret window into how a big part of the economy operates.
    Am I giving you too much credit?
    Probably, but I would agree with you.
    I think that’s right.
    That was our experience in coming to this trading industry specifically.
    Our job was to explain why the oil price was up or the copper price was down.
    And we found ourselves more and more hearing about this handful of privately owned, often very secretive commodity trading companies, people in the market telling us,
    oh, well, if you really want to know why the oil price is moving or what’s going on in Nigeria, then you need to talk to these guys.
    And as we did begin to talk to them, realising that there were these stories going on behind the news headlines,
    I think it would be an overstatement of the importance of the commodity traders to say, oh, yes, they’re always the hidden hand moving political events.
    Occasionally they are, but a lot of the time they’re not.
    But they’re very often there.
    The number of examples, including in recent history, we see where there are big geopolitical shifts.
    And the first people there are the commodity traders, be it the Libyan civil war or when South Sudan became independent.
    Within days after South Sudan declared independence, a whole team of traders from Glencore arrived trying to do an oil deal.
    And in fact, with $800,000 in cash to pay bribes at the same time.
    Let me back up and ask a super basic question.
    What is a commodity?
    What is it not?
    It’s a fungible raw material.
    It has to be something where one is as good as any other.
    A ton of pure copper, it doesn’t matter if it comes from Chile or Peru or Congo or Poland, they’re all the same.
    There’s one price and you can exchange one for another and it doesn’t matter too much.
    Whereas a bottle of fine wine is not so much a commodity because they’re all different.
    And connoisseurs will pay a huge price for one and pay nothing at all for another.
    Okay, so that’s a commodity.
    Javier, give me an example of a commodity trader’s role in a given transaction.
    Just imagine that you are a big coffee roaster, the Starbucks of this world, and you need lots of coffee.
    You are not going to go yourself to different producing countries and farming companies.
    And in some cases, these commodities are produced by smallholders.
    You will need to be talking to thousands of farmers to get the commodities.
    So you call, say, Cargill, the world’s largest agricultural trader, a very discreet company based near Minneapolis in the United States.
    And you say, we need coffee.
    So Cargill will go into the business of procuring coffee on your behalf.
    They will go to Brazil.
    They will go to Vietnam.
    They will go to Colombia.
    They will go to West Africa.
    And they will buy coffee from many suppliers on those places.
    They will move those commodities, often in trucks and then into ships, into whatever port in the United States, often the New Orleans area.
    That’s where they will perhaps roast the coffee on your behalf and then deliver it to the final destination.
    Sometimes they are financing the whole crop and harvesting operation.
    It’s a very complex business from the first purchase to the final delivery, for the first finance to the final payment.
    There may be six months where the commodity is in transit and where the finance needs to be there.
    Let’s hear about the history of this book.
    I’m just curious to know how the collaboration started and then how the work happened with the book.
    The desire to write the book came from a frustration.
    As a journalist, when you are assigned to a new sector, the first thing that you do is you go to the person that was doing the job before you.
    And then you ask, OK, so what is the basics?
    Can you share with me your phone book and also what I should read?
    You go to cover Wall Street, you’re going to read a book on the history of J.P. Morgan or Goldman Sachs, et cetera, et cetera.
    When Jack and I started working together at the Financial Times, Jack asked me what I should be reading.
    And I think Jack was a bit perplexed that my answer was like, well, there is not a book.
    He didn’t believe that in this important industry, no one has the book with capital letters that everyone will read.
    Considering it’s such an important topic, considering how much money is at stake, considering how many people are affected by commodities and commodity trading, why was there no book?
    I think that there was no book because it was difficult to write about the industry.
    The industry wanted to keep everything secret.
    As we were writing the book, some of the executives told us, we’d rather have you abandoning this project.
    I suppose also that during much of the 90s, there was not a lot of interest in commodities because prices were relatively low.
    Therefore, why are you going to write a book about commodity trading if no one is really interested in commodities?
    A lot of people were writing books about those financial commodity traders, the Wall Street type, the hedge fund manager type, but not about the people who were buying and selling the stuff.
    At some point, the question moved from how is that no one has written the book to maybe we should write the book.
    Describe the research and the reporting.
    What was your methodology?
    We started going through every source, whether it was public records to contacts at banks, at commodity trading houses.
    Anyone who had worked in these companies had kept an annual report that was confidential, but they have it at home.
    It was very easy to get from some companies the annual report from, say, 1975.
    It was a lot more complicated to get the annual report from 2015.
    Then we used phone email to everyone in the industry that we knew and said, we’re going to write a book.
    Would you sit down to talk to us on the record?
    And surprisingly, a lot of people say yes.
    A lot of the old hands of the industry really help us because I suppose that they were long retired.
    The people who were active in the industry were a lot more complicated.
    Some of them said to us, what I’m going to tell you is not all the true and nothing but the true.
    Others arrived to the meeting with their personal lawyer alongside the public relations officer.
    You left the interview with them after two hours and you felt that you have been boxing almost physically exhausted.
    But generally, for an industry that thrives in secrecy, a lot of the old hands were wide open and willing to tell stories that often you couldn’t believe.
    It sounds like you’re saying they are willing because what they did was kind of extraordinary.
    These people who were retired, they were telling you deals that they did in Angola in 1975 or on Cuba in 1985 or in the Soviet Union after the collapse of the Berlin Wall.
    They were very proud of what they did and how they made money.
    Also, it was a bit of a different world where perhaps corruption was not seen as is today.
    These were executives which made business in very difficult corners of the world and they were operating from Switzerland, a country that not only allowed companies to pay bribes overseas, but allowed companies to deduct the payments as a tax credit.
    Bribes were tax deductible in Switzerland until about a decade ago.
    To understand how Switzerland became the epicenter of this industry, it helps to understand a commodity trader named Mark Rich.
    Blas and Farchi write about Rich a good bit in their book.
    There’s also a very good Mark Rich biography called The King of Oil by Daniel Amman.
    At least the chapters I read were very good.
    Here’s Farchi again.
    Mark Rich was the godfather of the modern commodity trading industry.
    To a significant extent, invented the industry.
    Rich was born into a Jewish family in Belgium in the 1930s, like many other Jews in Europe in the 1930s.
    And like many of the people who would go on to be big players in the commodity trading industry, moved to the US because of the rise of Nazism in Europe.
    In the post-war period, got his apprenticeship at Philip Brothers, Fibro, which was in the 1950s and 1960s, the dominant force in commodity trading and really kind of invented a lot of the ways in which commodity traders do business and make money.
    But there was something gentlemanly and genteel in Philip Brothers.
    Mark Rich was this super aggressive, totally driven, always focused entirely on money and nothing else character.
    Philip Brothers was too small for him.
    In 1974, Rich and his trading partner, Pincus Pinky Green, left Philip Brothers to form their own firm, which would become a powerhouse.
    It was called Mark Rich and Co.
    He got his big break when the oil market began to fragment and the Seven Sisters, these big American European oil companies, began to lose control of the oil market.
    And he started trading oil with abandon at a time when the tradable oil market was only just becoming a thing.
    Talk about the ways in which he did things differently from everybody, or maybe another way to put it is the risks he was willing to take, the different actors he was willing to engage with, etc.
    A lot of what you needed to do to make money in the oil trade in those early days was to have a good enough relationship with one of the big oil producers that they would sell you oil at a price that was probably too low.
    One of his big trade flows was through this extremely secretive pipeline that went through Israel that was built as a joint venture between Israel and Iran before the fall of the Shah in great secrecy.
    Mark Rich would be buying Iranian oil, putting it through the pipeline, supplying Israel, but also supplying Europe through this pipeline, which then became enormously valuable when the Suez Canal closed in 1967 after Israel launched an attack on Egypt and Syria.
    This brief war was over, but the Suez Canal stayed closed until 1975.
    And for Mark Rich, that was a gift from the gods, and he made huge amounts of money.
    Mark Rich became this almost larger-than-life figure in commodity trading, the most profitable commodity trader ever.
    We spoke to a number of former senior people at Mark Rich who said that the company made a billion dollars of profit in 1979, the year of the Iranian Revolution, which in those days would have made it one of the 10 largest companies in America.
    And this was a company owned by a small handful of people that only people in the commodities industry had ever heard of.
    But that didn’t last because Mark Rich caught the attention of US law, and particularly of Rudy Giuliani, then a prosecutor, who indicted him for tax fraud and for trading with Iran during the hostage crisis.
    So he and his partner, Pinky Green, fled the US to Switzerland, became fugitives from US justice, and then carried on their business of being the world’s largest commodity trading house, despite this US indictment hanging over their head.
    So his real undoing came when he lost money in 1991, 1992, when one of Mark Rich’s zinc traders, under the influence of Mark Rich himself, attempted to corner the zinc market, and it went horribly wrong.
    Mark Rich lost about $170 million on this attempted zinc corner.
    That was really the last straw.
    His underlings rounded on him and forced him out of the company.
    The company was renamed as Glencore and continues as one of the largest commodity traders today.
    Glencore is not only the world’s largest commodity trader, but it’s also a conglomerate.
    They do everything and anything.
    They trade a lot of energy, whether it’s crude oil, natural gas, refined products, a lot of coal.
    They used to trade a lot of agriculture, and they trade a lot of metals and minerals.
    It strikes me that the commodity traders are performing a variety of big functions.
    They’re acting like bankers.
    They’re acting as sort of a government coming in to help another country try to stabilize itself, or maybe more like one of the big financial institutions like a World Bank.
    Can you think of any, in history, parallels to the functions that these commodity traders were performing?
    The commodity traders look like one of those Swiss knives where you could have everything out of them.
    They are the bankers of last resort when no one else will take your phone call for a credit line.
    They will offer you money.
    They are the McKinsey, the consultant for lost causes, where someone doesn’t know how a market works.
    They will come there and explain it to you.
    And they’re almost like diplomats for hire, where you have a foreign affairs problem, they can’t explain how to make it work.
    The joke in the oil trading industry was that Betel, the world’s largest oil trader, was the trading arm of MI6, the secret service of James Bond.
    There is a grain of truth behind that joke.
    I can’t imagine the same joke doesn’t exist for the CIA, correct?
    The CIA, I don’t think that they have an in-house trading house.
    However, Philip Brothers of Fibro, a big American trading house of the 70s and 80s, was known to have very close links to the CIA and just generally the American government.
    Coming up after the break, when the political situation gets turbulent, the commodity traders are often the first people to step into the breach.
    There comes a time when governments need things to happen, where having a commodity trader helping may come handy, and where everyone can deny their involvement.
    I’m Stephen Dubner. This is Freakonomics Radio. We’ll be right back.
    The book we are talking about today is called The World for Sale.
    Money, power, and the traitors who barter the Earth’s resources.
    The authors are Javier Blas and Jack Farchi, a pair of financial journalists at Bloomberg.
    I once had a professor who said that when historians write books, they always search for the big macro thesis, all the different events and populations that contribute to producing whatever it is, a war, a new country or whatever.
    But that often it really is the product of two people sitting in a room, making a deal, having conversation, shaking a hand.
    To that end, I’d like you to talk about Jamaica for a minute and the story you tell in your book.
    Single moments and single deals and single trades can shape the course of history.
    The Jamaican example was the early 1980s, and this was told to me by a guy called Hugh Hart, who was at the time the Minister for Mines and Energy in the Jamaican government.
    The Jamaican economy was in pretty tough shape.
    It was reliant on oil imports, and oil prices had surged in the oil crises, and the Jamaican economy was pretty much on its knees.
    Each month, Jamaica would import about 300,000 barrels of oil.
    Which is like one tanker, you know?
    It’s one tanker of oil, exactly, by the standards of today’s big tankers.
    A fraction of a tanker.
    It would import 300,000 barrels of oil, which would go to the refinery in Kingston, and that would supply Jamaica’s oil consumption for the month.
    In order to do that, the central bank would open a letter of credit, which would allow Jamaica to pay for the oil.
    So Hugh Hart was in his office one Friday afternoon, and someone came to see him from the central bank in a state of agitation.
    He said, what’s going on?
    What’s the matter?
    He said, we’ve got a problem.
    Problem is, we don’t have any money.
    We can’t open the letter of credit.
    Without that, Jamaica wouldn’t be able to buy this cargo of oil.
    They would run out of oil over the weekend.
    And they’re literally burning oil for electricity, right?
    Yeah, and fueling cars.
    You know, the petrol stations would run dry, and there would be chaos on the streets.
    This was a fairly febrile time in the Jamaican economy and Jamaican politics, and he thought there would be riots and revolution if they didn’t get any oil.
    And this was a Friday afternoon, so he thought, who do I call?
    And the only person he could think of to call was Mark Rich & Co., the company that is today Glencore.
    He called his contact at Mark Rich, who was in New York, who said, I can’t help you.
    I’m a metals trader.
    But try Mark Rich himself.
    And so he calls Mark Rich in Switzerland.
    It’s two in the morning.
    He gets Mark Rich out of bed.
    Mark Rich says, who are you?
    What do you want?
    He says, well, I’m the Minister of Energy in Jamaica, and I need some oil.
    And Mark Rich says, huh, OK, call back in an hour.
    And in that hour, Mark Rich has arranged for a tanker of oil that was going from Venezuela to the US to be diverted to Jamaica, delivers the oil, averts the crisis without even a contract being signed, without any payment, and saves Jamaica’s day, as Hugh Hart told it to me.
    Which is an amazing story of a commodity trader, very likely changing the course of history.
    Because there might have been a new government in Jamaica by Tuesday if he hadn’t done that.
    Absolutely.
    What did Mark Rich get out of that?
    Mark Rich got a very long relationship in Jamaica that made him an awful lot of money.
    Jamaica was then a really big producer of alumina, which is the raw material for aluminium.
    Mark Rich came in and struck a whole series of deals to buy Jamaican alumina below the global market price.
    And made hundreds of millions of dollars over the years to the point that later Jamaican governments turned around and said Mark Rich was taking advantage of the country.
    They were making far too much money and Jamaica was losing out, which probably was true.
    But at the same time, there was a moment in the early 1980s where Mark Rich saved Jamaica’s skin.
    So this relationship between Mark Rich and Jamaica deepened and took all kinds of interesting turns to the extent that Hugh Hart later on took a portfolio in charge of sport.
    And when Jamaica was putting together a bobsleigh team for the 1988 Olympics, Mark Rich actually helped to finance this bobsleigh team that then, of course, became the star of the Disney film Cool Runnings.
    And that was paid for by Mark Rich.
    Mark Rich died in 2013, but before he did, he pulled off one more mega deal.
    He got himself a presidential pardon from Bill Clinton.
    Critics called this contemptuous.
    Even Clinton himself would later say he regretted it.
    So how did commodity traders like Rich come to be so powerful in the first place?
    In their book, Javier Blas and Jack Farchi point to four key factors since World War II that have shaped the industry.
    Here’s Blas.
    The first one is nationalizations of the oil industry starting from 1950, but really culminating in the 1970s, where a lot of Middle East and North African countries took control of their oil destiny, kick out foreign powers and nationalize the industries.
    Say just a little bit more about the Seven Sisters and how the new players came in there.
    The Seven Sisters were seven vertically integrated American, British and French companies that, until 1973, dominated the oil market.
    At that point, typically, a barrel of oil will be produced in an Exxon oil field, transported in an Exxon pipeline or an Exxon tanker into an Exxon refinery and an Exxon fuel station.
    Every step of the chain, Exxon has its name, and the same for BP, Shell, and what is today Total of France.
    At one point, that is broken apart, and the companies lose a lot of access to the production, and that production is nationalized.
    It’s no longer the Saudi American oil company, but the Saudi Arabian oil company that does the drilling in Saudi Arabia.
    They have a lot of oil to sell and found that commodity traders were willing to buy the oil, and also that they didn’t ask too many questions, and they were very happy to pay a few bribes in the process.
    Also, it’s a time where oil goes from a rather boring commodity to really a big business.
    Prices explode.
    They go from a couple of dollars to $5 to $11 to $30 in the space of about 15 years.
    A lot of these companies make a lot of money because they replace the traditional vertical integrated oil company with something in between.
    They became the link between the new, very rich Middle East petro-states and the consumers in America and Europe.
    Okay, that’s the first big factor you identify.
    Number two is the collapse of the Soviet Union.
    Walk me through how that shaped the commodity trade.
    We have to remember that at the time of the end of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union, Moscow was one of the worst largest producers of commodities.
    Not only gas, but crude oil, aluminum, and a number of other metals, and also a significant producer on agricultural commodities.
    All of a sudden, the commodity traders have a lot of new production free and available for them to intermediate.
    These countries were connected only among themselves.
    Russia was making business only with communist countries largely.
    They didn’t have the experience of how to place oil or wheat or aluminum into the international market.
    They didn’t have the money to finance all of those commodity flows.
    And the commodity traders have the expertise and the money to help.
    In some cases, they help literally getting bags of money flying into an aluminum smelter in Siberia and saying to the manager,
    here is the money for the salaries on the last day of the month.
    You pay the people.
    You keep producing the aluminum.
    I will take care of that aluminum into the global market.
    So in a very short time frame, between 1989 and around 1994, billion-dollar-sized fortunes were made just buying and selling what the Soviet Union have to offer to the global economy.
    You write that around the same time, there was another big development, which was the financialization of the global economy.
    Why was that so important to the commodity traders?
    One of the big problems of a commodity trader is that you are taking a lot of risk price-wise.
    You are buying a cargo of oil.
    That oil sits on a tanker for, say, 40 days.
    Until you sell it, you have no way to hedge that price risk.
    The financialization of the global economy introduces a new number of commodity derivative contracts in Wall Street that allows the commodity traders to hedge the risk.
    They can buy and immediately sell a cargo in the paper market, guaranteeing the price that they’re going to get.
    That allows them to try more to secure profits and allows them also to raise finance more easy so they can expand very quickly and also makes their business just a touch more safe.
    One of the problems of the commodity traders before the 1980s and 1990s is that they went up very quickly and then collapsed because they lost money on a big transaction and that was the end of the day.
    Commodity traders started getting bigger and there were few failures after the financialization started.
    Okay, and the fourth big development you cite, the most recent, is, quote, the spectacular rise of China that spurred a massive commodity boom in the early 2000s.
    Tell me about that.
    China needs a lot of commodities and it goes to the very same players that everyone else have gone through the 70s, 80s, and 90s.
    It goes to the commodity traders who see the opportunity and start shifting flows of commodities from the typical end users in Europe and in the United States, Canada, Australia, Japan, into the new buyer, which is China.
    It is a spectacular growth in demand and that demand is met mostly by commodity traders.
    They see the pie of global trade increasing very rapidly.
    It also increases the price of most commodities.
    You have more demand, larger margins, so the commodity traders start making money like they have never done before.
    After this huge expansion of Chinese imports, you then had a situation in 2010 when the market was pretty tight and then you had this massive Russian crop failure, a huge drought in Russia that caused Russian supply to reduce a lot.
    And importers of grain of wheat and barley, particularly from Russia, started to panic and started to panic buy.
    Prices rose very rapidly.
    There was this key moment in the crisis when the head of Glencore’s grain unit in Moscow went on Russian TV and encouraged the government to ban exports.
    A couple of days later, that’s exactly what the government did.
    What was panic buying by some importers turned into a huge panic and massive buying and you had this enormous price spike.
    It’s not very clear what Glencore was trying to achieve and whether that was an official Glencore position or whether it was just one guy from Glencore’s Moscow office doing what somebody had asked him to do.
    But regardless of that, the impact was it gave the Russian government political cover to do something pretty extreme, which was to ban exports, caused a massive run-up in prices and panic from importers around the world, which caused prices to run up even further.
    As a result, between middle of June 2010 and early 2011, the price of wheat had more than doubled.
    Glencore, by the way, did very well out of that, made a record profit, as often happens in these moments of huge commodity price spikes.
    But the political implication was more significant because a doubling of the price of wheat, the people who were most severely affected by that were the poorest people in the world, the people who depend on wheat as a staple and who don’t have a lot of money to buy bread.
    And when the price of wheat doubled in a few months, that caused huge inflation, particularly for the poorest people in the Middle East and North Africa.
    And what happened in early 2011?
    Well, the Arab Spring began when a young fruit seller set himself on fire in Tunisia and set off a chain of events that led to the Arab Spring.
    Now, can we directly say the Russian export ban caused the Arab Spring?
    No, we can’t.
    Was the doubling of the price of wheat an important factor?
    Yes, absolutely, it was.
    You describe how sanctions and wars and any kind of chaos are impediments for most people, but for commodity traders, they can be opportunities.
    The chaos is actually pretty good for them.
    Give me some evidence for this argument with examples, please.
    I don’t think I have ever seen any sector of global business, with the exception, obviously, of the manufacturers of weapons, that actually thinks that a civil war can be a business opportunity.
    And for commodity traders, often that’s the case, and in very incredible, imaginative ways.
    Let’s go back to Libya about 15 years ago, when the east of the country rises against the dictatorship of Muammar Gaddafi.
    The eastern rebels are short of money.
    Surprisingly, for a country as oil-rich as Libya, they don’t have much gasoline and diesel.
    And you cannot fight a war without gasoline and diesel.
    You don’t have gasoline, the trucks are not moving.
    They don’t have that because they don’t have refineries, or why?
    The rebels didn’t have any working refinery.
    All the big refineries were controlled by the troops of Gaddafi.
    So they are trying to get refined products into the areas that they control to fuel their military.
    A big political and financial backer of the Libyan rebels was Qatar.
    So the Qataris, on behalf of the Ragtag Army of Libya, calls Vitol, the worst largest oil trader, and said,
    will you help these guys on our behalf?
    Here is a Middle East country asking someone to get into business with an army of a country in the middle of a civil war.
    And by the way, the army is the rebel army.
    It’s not recognized by anyone.
    They don’t have a central bank.
    They don’t have a prime minister.
    They don’t have anything.
    Most businesses will have run away as fast as they could.
    Vitol say, yes, of course.
    Most governments would have run away, too, by the way, right?
    Everyone.
    The only people that were flying into Libya were oil traders, journalists, and spies.
    So not only Vitol agreed to provide gasoline and diesel with the rebels, but say, look, since you guys don’t have money,
    but you control an oil field where you can produce crude, we will take barrels of oil in payment for the refined products.
    Then there was a problem because Gaddafi blew up the pipeline.
    Most companies, again, will have said, well, sorry, guys.
    We were prepared to do this very complicated barter agreement, crude oil for gasoline.
    But since you don’t have crude oil, you cannot pay us, so we are out.
    And Vitol said, no, no worries.
    Actually, we can help you.
    Let us extend you a credit card of a billion dollars, and you buy from us gasoline with that credit card.
    When the war ends and you win, you pay us back.
    So they were effectively taking a bet on who was going to win the civil war in Libya.
    You make it sound as though Vitol took this deal and fronted them the money sort of just the way you make a deal with anyone, say, I know you’re good for it.
    When in this case, it wasn’t clear that they were good for it at all.
    They have to win a war.
    But there’s more to it than that, right?
    Because Vitol knows that Qatar theoretically could make them whole if the rebels had totally imploded.
    Yes?
    This is where the political connections of the commodity traders come at play, and that is a very important element of the commodity traders.
    They are really well connected politically, not only in places like Libya and Qatar, but also in London, in Brussels, in Berlin, and in Washington.
    There comes a time where governments need things to happen in the market and in politics, where having a commodity trader helping may come handy.
    And a situation where everyone can deny their involvement.
    Was Qatar acknowledging that they were asking Vitol to do what they did?
    No.
    Was the British government telling Vitol, oh, you should go to Libya, do this deal, because actually London is supporting the rebels?
    No.
    But I think that the conversations behind the scenes, everyone was tapping the shoulder of Vitol and say, come on, guys, do it, but keep it quiet.
    Would you say it’s gotten harder or at least different for commodity traders to operate today than 15 or 20 years ago?
    One thing that has happened pretty recently, the last five, 10 years, is that governments, and in particular the U.S. government, has started paying an awful lot more attention to them.
    Coming up after the break, what does this attention translate into?
    And what happens when the U.S. government itself gets into the commodity trade?
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    In their book, The World for Sale, Javier Blas and Jack Farchi describe a multitude of bribes and handshake deals with a multitude of warlords and dictators.
    Today, the top commodity trading firms will tell you, they have changed their ways.
    In 2022, Glencore pleaded guilty and agreed to pay more than a billion dollars for making and concealing corrupt payments and bribes and for manipulating oil prices.
    That case was brought by prosecutors in the U.S., Britain, and Brazil.
    That same year, Glencore released its first-ever ethics and compliance report.
    The firm’s chairman said that the company aimed to operate, quote,
    transparently under a well-defined set of values with openness and integrity at the forefront.
    This kind of corporate speak has been echoed by other big commodity trading firms.
    Here is Jack Farchi.
    We have seen in the last five years, almost all of the largest commodity traders have pleaded guilty to misconduct, mostly corruption, but also market manipulation.
    As a result, we’ve seen them all invest a lot in compliance and due diligence.
    It’s fairly clear that commodity traders today can’t do the kind of things that Mark Rich was doing in the 1970s.
    Fewer suitcases full of cash.
    Certainly fewer suitcases full of cash.
    Probably.
    These days, it’s a thumb drive with some crypto on it.
    If Mark Rich were starting out today, what would he be doing?
    He’d probably be trying to trade Russian, Iranian, Venezuelan oil, selling it to India and China.
    Those are the dodgy bits of the oil market where there is huge amounts of money to be made and which rely on having good connections and a willingness to bend or break the rules.
    Now, somebody is doing that, plainly.
    Lots of people are doing that.
    For the most part, not the principal characters of our book, because the principal characters of our book have become such enormous companies that they’re too reliant on the U.S. dollar system to risk falling foul of the U.S. government.
    For the most part, that Russian oil flow, for example, Iranian oil flow, which is subject to even stricter sanctions, has gone into the hands of more shadowy traders.
    There’s this new set of traders that has popped up in Dubai who changes name every few months, including sometimes because they get sanctioned by the U.S. government, which is involved in trading a lot of the Russian oil.
    A lot of the Iranian oil gets traded or even bartered directly by Chinese companies and Chinese buyers, sometimes gets shipped via Malaysia, where it gets rebranded as Malaysian oil and then imported into China as Malaysian rather than Iranian oil.
    There are political scientists who make the argument that sanctions often fail for a variety of reasons.
    Do they factor in what you’re talking about right now, which is just that there are shadow dealers, essentially, who are finding ways to get around the sanctions?
    One of the key arguments for why people say that sanctions don’t work, particularly sanctions on things like commodities, because if commodities are produced, then as a rule, they tend to flow and they tend to find a market because they’re fungible.
    It’s quite hard to trace them.
    I wouldn’t say it’s universally true.
    For example, in 2012, when the U.S. and Europe ratcheted up sanctions on Iran, Iranian oil production and exports did fall pretty substantially.
    And is that because that was the period when the bigger firms were a little bit more concerned with compliance and there hadn’t yet arisen these smaller, more shadowy firms to fill the space?
    Yes.
    And because it takes time to build up new networks of trading to circumvent sanctions.
    At the end of the day, the U.S. is very powerful.
    It probably was more powerful then than it is now in terms of being able to exert its influence on countries like India and China.
    And so there was an ability for the U.S. to unofficially say to China, we’d like you to significantly reduce your purchase of Iranian oil and for it to happen.
    So predicting the future, as we all know, is really hard.
    But let me ask you about a past prediction and why it was so wrong.
    Peak oil, which was an argument that was really prominent in mainstream media, just about everywhere for a long time.
    And then it turned out to just be wrong.
    Why do you think the estimates were so off and what role did commodity traders play in the reality?
    The estimates were so wrong with peak oil supply because people keep betting against two things.
    One is American engineering.
    If you give an American engineer enough time and enough money, it will solve any problem.
    And the second one, they bet against American capitalism.
    We got $100 oil.
    It was just a question of time that someone in America was going to find a way to make money out of that.
    And that was the shale industry.
    The commodity traders were very helpful because all of a sudden, these are not the typical American big oil companies like ExxonMobil or Chevron or Occidental Petroleum or Conoco.
    These are a bunch of, with all due respect, cowboys in Texas with small companies drilling oil wells in a different way, and they need to sell it.
    All of a sudden, the U.S. government, who have banned the export of crude oil for many years, says,
    OK, guys, it’s fine.
    You can export the crude oil.
    Small oil producers, which need finance, which need expertise, which need advice, and a government which is willing to let the commodity to flow into the international market.
    It’s almost like if all of that was written by the executives of a commodity trader on, like, my Christmas shopping list of all what I need, and bang, you got it.
    There have been some pretty significant events in global politics and economics since you published the book.
    How do you see the Russia-Ukraine war as connected to commodities and commodity traders?
    The invasion of Ukraine by Russia has a huge impact in the commodity markets.
    Both countries are huge players in natural resources.
    The commodity traders were one of the most active Western business interests in Russia.
    I don’t think that Putin will have made it all the way from Crimea to the final invasion if the commodity traders have not been helping Russian companies to sell their cargos in the market.
    These are against U.S. sanctions, correct?
    There were, again, some American sanctions, but not European sanctions.
    So all this business was legal all the way until the final invasion of Ukraine.
    But a lot of companies didn’t really want to get into that business.
    There were some restrictions, but they were not breaking the law of the respective countries where they were doing it.
    But they were very, very important for Vladimir Putin to the point that Putin personally gave one of the highest medals that you could get as a foreigner to Ivan Glassenberg, the CEO of Glencore, for service to Russia.
    In that period, in between Crimea was invaded and the rest of Ukraine was invaded.
    So the big firms that have reformed to some degree, as you’re describing, are they still doing well financially?
    They’re doing better than they’ve ever done before.
    This period of the last four or five years, the energy crisis in Europe, COVID, the oil price went negative.
    It feels like a lifetime ago, but it happened.
    2022 was a bonanza year for all of them because oil prices and gas prices surged.
    There was massive volatility.
    Many of them had contracts to buy from Russia.
    And then the price of Russian commodities collapsed and they were buying at very low prices and making a lot of money.
    The four largest commodity traders made profits of $48 billion in 2022, which is more than Amazon, Meta, NVIDIA and Tesla combined that year.
    Talk to me about the first few months of the Trump administration.
    How do you assess this administration through the lens of commodity trading?
    For the commodity trader, Trump has had some very important and perhaps not very widely appreciated benefits.
    One is that Donald Trump has instructed the Department of Justice to effectively don’t care about foreign bribery.
    Considering that some of these commodity traders have to plead guilty in U.S. court of very serious crimes related with foreign bribery and pay hundreds of millions of dollars in fines,
    that is huge news for the commodity trading.
    One commodity trader told me that this is like we are back to the 70s.
    We can do whatever we want again.
    The other thing has been that all the trade policies of Donald Trump have introduced a lot of volatility in commodity trading.
    Tariffs, sanctions, restrictions, those kind of things, as long as they don’t affect economic growth,
    They are good for commodity traders because typically they open trade opportunities that were not there before.
    The problem for commodity traders is that a lot of the current policies from the White House are probably going to lead to lower economic growth.
    Typically, commodity traders want a healthy economy because the more the global economy grows, the more it consumes commodities,
    the more it demands the business of a commodity trader.
    Early in his second administration, President Trump prioritized a mineral deal with Ukraine in exchange for supporting Ukraine in its war with Russia.
    The deal, which was signed in April, gives the U.S. a cut of future revenue from Ukraine’s natural resources.
    These include minerals used to make electronics, what are often called rare earth metals.
    I asked Javier Blas how rare these metals actually are.
    The rarity is not their concentration.
    The rarity is to find enough of them on a place where you can process them into the actual metals that you can use.
    They are also very small in size.
    The United States imports about $170 million worth of rare earth metals.
    Let me put it this way.
    The price of rare earth metals could go up by a factor of 25 times.
    And the import bill of the United States for rare earth metals will just start to approach the import bill of that absolutely commodity essential for the American economy that is the Mexican avocado.
    Another commodity that has become central to the global economy, primarily for its use in batteries, is cobalt, which is a byproduct of copper mining.
    It’s estimated that more than 70% of the world’s cobalt comes from the DRC, the Democratic Republic of Congo.
    Congo is in a fascinating place at the moment in that it is this focus of this geopolitical struggle between the US and China.
    China has invested a lot there in the last 10, 15 years.
    It’s Chinese companies that have driven a lot of the growth in copper production, cobalt used in EV batteries.
    It’s a relatively difficult place to operate.
    It’s fairly corrupt.
    It’s in the middle of Africa and supply chains are difficult.
    There’s thousands of kilometres on trucks or rail and truck to get from the copper and cobalt mines in the middle of Congo to a port.
    From the Congolese government point of view, there’s a sense that the Congolese feel like they’re rather over-dependent on China.
    From the US point of view, Congo is one of the richest sources of minerals that we know about in the world.
    So there’s this attempt to do a minerals trade deal between the US and Congo, much like the deal that Trump is trying to do in Ukraine, what he wants to do in Greenland.
    At the same time, you have these commodity traders, people like Trafagura, Mercuria, Glencore, who are striking deals to buy copper from the Congolese government.
    And then the place that they’re taking it all to is the US.
    And the reason is one of these dislocations that’s been driven by Trump and by the trade war, because Trump has threatened to put tariffs on US copper imports, but he hasn’t actually done it yet.
    So you have a situation where because there’s a threat, the price of copper in the US has gone up.
    Usually the price of copper in the US is trading like $20, $30, $50 more than the price of copper in, I don’t know, China or London.
    At the moment, it’s trading $1,500, $2,000 more than the price of copper in China or London.
    So there’s $1,500, a tonne of opportunity for traders to make.
    The winners there are pretty obvious. Who are the losers?
    It’s very clear that the losers are US companies and US consumers.
    The price of copper in the US has been trading anywhere between 10% and 25% above the price of copper in the rest of the world, where usually it’s the same.
    The price of aluminium, the same. The price of steel, the same.
    Because of threatened or actual tariffs.
    It’ll take a while for that to feed through into very meaningful inflation for end users, but companies see it straight away.
    The companies will pay a copper price that’s based on the US copper contract.
    In fact, it’s now 20% more expensive than the rest of the world.
    So that’s a great example you just gave, but it’s really just one tiny example in the history of global trading.
    If you add it all up, how much do you feel that the inefficiencies or the arbitrage advantages, whatever you want to call them, in commodity trading accounts for inflation overall?
    I’m not sure I would see it like that.
    In that example, the driver of the inflation is the tariffs.
    The arbitrage is essentially bringing it down, right?
    The commodity traders in this example are buying copper at the cheap price and selling it at the more expensive US price.
    If you add all of their activities together, the impact of that is to bring up the price of copper outside of the US and bring it down inside the US.
    Now, if the US turns around and says, oh, actually, the tariff on copper is going to be 5%, not 25%, in that case, it will come down.
    But broadly speaking, moving material from where the price is cheap to where it’s expensive, both in location and in form and in time, that’s closing those price gaps at the margin.
    And so in a world where you have perfect commodity trading with unlimited capacity to trade and to finance trades and to take risks probably brings down inflation rather than pushes it up.
    Having read your book, I could make a pretty compelling argument, I think, that trading resources has shaped the world, the geopolitics, the national economics and societies of countries.
    For the past hundred years and probably a couple thousand years before that.
    So how do you assess the relationship between this practice, the trading of commodities and all those downstream political, economic and social effects?
    Commodity trading at this moment is as large as it has ever been.
    We are consuming record amounts of almost every natural resource.
    Even the resources that we think we are leaving behind, think about thermal coal.
    The global demand is an all-time high.
    The consumption of oil, the consumption of copper, the consumption of wheat, the consumption of rice, all of them are at the record.
    Therefore, you need commodity traders more than ever to arbitrage those flows, to buy from where those commodities are produced and sell where they are needed.
    At one time, I was criticizing the business to Deanne Taylor, who was the CEO of Beetle, the world’s largest oil trader.
    I suppose that I presented trading as something that it was easy, that they were taking money from the table under the noses of consumers and producers.
    And then he turned to me and said, well, Javier, if you think that this is so easy, why not everyone else is doing it?
    Why is only us who is doing it?
    This is a more difficult business than you think.
    This is not free money that we are taking from the table.
    This is not the big bully from high school taking the lunch from the children.
    We are putting our money at risk.
    And clearly, the global economy needs us because if not, they will have got rid of commodity traders a long time ago.
    But it’s not like you have to have all or nothing.
    Other products and services have well-established, transparent markets.
    And there are certainly trading markets and commodities that are similar to those markets I’m talking about.
    But this is a whole other layer.
    It could have been replaced by now by a more centralized clearinghouse.
    Couldn’t it have been?
    I suppose that the answer is no.
    If it was so easy to standardize commodity trading and make it, you know, the Amazon of commodity trading, it will have happened already.
    I suppose it’s a combination of the quantity and the differences of commodities.
    Also, the origins of where a lot of those commodities are coming and where they are going.
    And also, how politicized at times is the market?
    There’s a market where you need to navigate coup d’etat, civil wars, American sanctions.
    It just strikes me that the two of you have exposed a pretty large and foundational layer of the global economy that many people either don’t want to know about or don’t have the resources to find out about.
    But when it comes to the government, it still just surprises me that there’s so little appreciation for the depth and wealth of this industry.
    So do you see that changing in the U.S. and U.K. at least?
    I think there’s been a vast amount of complacency from governments in the West about commodities thinking that’s the past, that’s the old economy, the market will sort it out.
    We don’t need to worry about that.
    We don’t need to have lots of policy to do with that.
    Leave it to some technical specialist and probably don’t fund that technical specialist very well.
    There’s not an awful lot of consideration to commodity markets because they maybe don’t affect ordinary voters quite so directly as other things of the economy.
    But I think it’s a mistake.
    The last few years has borne that out.
    Suddenly, you know, we’ve woken up in Europe to how being complacent about commodity supplies and commodity security has suddenly left Europe extremely vulnerable and is essentially in the process of killing a lot of the heavy industry of Europe through high energy prices.
    Governments need to pay much more attention to this and need to think much more strategically and more long term about that.
    I don’t necessarily think that everything that the current U.S. administration is doing is a good idea, but commodities have risen up the list of political priorities, and I think that’s probably a good thing.
    Do you feel your book has changed the way commodities are traded or will be traded in the future?
    I think that the book has helped to bring a bit of transparency to the industry.
    We find more policymakers that are aware of who these companies are.
    It really concerns me that from time to time, a government may invite Jack or me to speak to them as if we were the source of expertise in the industry.
    While it’s very flattering, I’m thinking, geez, if the governments are calling us as the experts, they really have no clue what’s going on.
    That is really the level of understanding of the industry, where basically the world for sale has become the de facto, if you are interested into commodity trading, you need to read the book.
    Are the traders changing the behavior because of our book?
    I don’t know, but we know that an oil trader from Betel, which is the world’s largest oil trader, was recorded by the FBI on a secret wiretap, and he was talking about us.
    He was talking about our questions and the fact that we were writing stories about commodity trading, and he said that the company that employed him was a bit nervous, so they needed to keep a bit of a low profile.
    So, in so many ways, when we saw our names on the FBI wiretap, and then, you know, he did call us an idiot, but it was quite good because we thought, well, maybe we do have a bit of an impact.
    Javier Blas and Jack Farchi have certainly had an impact on me.
    I hope you as well.
    Their book is called The World for Sale.
    Let us know what you think.
    Our email is radio at Freakonomics.com.
    Coming up next time, the economist Austin Goolsby, a repeat guest on this show, is now president and CEO of the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago, which puts him at the center of some important debates.
    From the beginning, they started asking, are you a dove?
    Are you a hawk?
    I don’t even know if I like birds.
    I just want to be a data dog.
    And what does it take to be a data dog?
    There are two main rules.
    There’s a time for walking and there’s a time for sniffing.
    And the first rule is know the difference.
    The second rule is you never throw anything away.
    The diet of the data dog is eat anything that hits the floor.
    We asked Goolsby to walk us through the Fed’s data and tell us what it means for the U.S. economy.
    That’s next time on the show.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    You can find our entire archive on any podcast app, also at Freakonomics.com, where we publish complete transcripts and show notes.
    This episode was produced by Tao Jacobs.
    It was mixed by Jasmine Klinger with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    Thanks to Michael Haberkorn for the original book recommendation.
    Thanks also to Ivo Saryanovich, Jonathan Kingsman, and Scott Irwin for their good insights on commodity trading.
    The Freakonomics Radio Network staff also includes Alina Coleman, Augusta Chapman, Delvin Abouaji, Eleanor Osborne, Ellen Frankman, Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Walth, Greg Rippon, Morgan Levy, Sarah Lilly, and Zach Lipinski.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by the Hitchhikers, and our composer is Luis Guerra.
    As always, thank you for listening.
    Oh, Jesus Christ, hold on one second.
    That I need to check because I cannot remember.
    Jack, do you remember how much oil these guys controlled in the 1970s?
    The Freakonomics Radio Network.
    The hidden side of everything.
    Stitcher.

    Just beneath the surface of the global economy, there is a hidden layer of dealmakers for whom war, chaos, and sanctions can be a great business opportunity. Javier Blas and Jack Farchy, the authors of The World for Sale, help us shine a light on the shadowy realm of commodity traders.

     

    • SOURCES:
      • Javier Blas, opinion columnist at Bloomberg News.
      • Jack Farchy, energy and commodities senior reporter at Bloomberg News.

     

     

  • How to Succeed at Failing, Part 4: Extreme Resiliency (Update)

    AI transcript
    Hey there, it’s Stephen Dubner, and you are about to hear the fourth and final episode
    of our series, How to Succeed at Failing, which was first published in 2023.
    If you missed any of the earlier episodes, they should be right there in your podcast
    app.
    For this version, we have updated facts and figures as necessary.
    As always, thanks for listening.
    If I asked you to name the world’s deadliest infectious disease, what would you say?
    COVID-19?
    That was the biggest infectious killer for a few years, but not anymore.
    How about malaria?
    Influenza?
    HIV?
    Those are all deadly, but not the deadliest.
    So what’s number one?
    Actually, TB, for the last 20, 30 years, has been the number one infectious disease killer
    in the world.
    Babek Javed is a physician scientist who studies tuberculosis, or TB.
    You may think of TB as a 19th century disease when it was called consumption.
    It killed John Keats, Anton Chekhov, and at least two of the Bronte sisters.
    It killed the heroines of both La Boheme and La Traviata.
    And today, it still kills more than a million people each year, most of them in the developing
    world.
    TB is a disease of poverty.
    It’s really a major problem in India, China, Indonesia, Pakistan, South Africa, Nigeria.
    TB is a bacterial infection.
    There is a vaccine for it, but it’s not always effective.
    It can be treated with antibiotics, but it’s a long and fairly complicated course of treatment.
    And as deadly as TB is, it doesn’t draw the attention or the funding that flow to other
    diseases.
    There is no Hollywood star that gets TB that puts it in the public mind and everyday people’s
    thoughts.
    One of the reasons I was attracted to this field is I felt that infectious diseases in general,
    TB in particular, is, you know, one of the mechanisms of injustice in our world.
    And I really wanted to tackle that.
    David runs a tuberculosis research lab at the University of California, San Francisco.
    He has also worked at labs in Beijing and at Harvard.
    His kind of research comes with a lot of failure.
    I remember in my graduate school, I went over a year and a half without a single experiment
    working.
    And it’s very hard to get up in the morning and go back and expect to fail again.
    The first drug that was found to successfully fight TB is called streptomycin.
    It was discovered in 1943.
    It won a Nobel Prize for Selman Waxman, the main scientist behind it.
    And the way that streptomycin works is that it does two things.
    It inhibits the process of making new proteins.
    It’s called a protein synthesis inhibitor.
    But that in itself doesn’t kill the bug.
    What kills the bug is that in addition to that inhibitory action, it actually causes the
    bug to make mistakes when it makes these proteins.
    What interested Javid was this second function, the drug causing the bacteria to make mistakes
    as they are creating the proteins that produce the symptoms of TB.
    So he went looking for other ways to trigger those mistakes.
    And he found some, but it turned out this wasn’t enough to thwart the bacteria.
    What was really shocking and surprising to me is the bug didn’t seem to mind.
    It just carried on regardless.
    So I cranked up the error rate and I kept pushing and pushing.
    And really, the bugs were kind of fine with it until eventually, when I had really,
    cranked up the error rate an awful lot, then the bugs died.
    It takes a lot of error to kill these bugs.
    I was reflecting on my results and I was thinking, this just doesn’t make any sense to me.
    The prevailing dogma at the time is that with a small amount of error, you induce what’s
    called error catastrophe, where the errors in the new proteins make faulty machinery in the
    cell that then makes more errors and it just feeds on itself.
    And these bugs were extremely resilient.
    And that made me take a step back.
    And I thought, what if actually these errors aren’t detrimental after all, at least in a
    moderate amount?
    And that was my, I guess, aha moment.
    I have to be honest, at the beginning, I had no idea why this was.
    We were coming up with lots of different ideas just to explain it.
    But after a lot of experimentation and blind alleys and wrong turns, we figured out that
    what’s happening is that this mistranslation is allowing the bacteria to innovate.
    And that was a really exciting moment.
    And I kind of coined the term adaptive mistranslation, that sometimes these errors in the right context
    can actually be good for the bug.
    Adaptive mistranslation.
    Think about that for a minute.
    And let’s think about it outside the realm of tuberculosis research.
    It’s the idea that errors in the right context and degree can strengthen an organism, can make
    it more resilient and lead it to innovate.
    Now, that sounds like a magic trick, doesn’t it?
    But if it can work for TB, can it work for us?
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, the final episode of our series, How to Succeed at Failing.
    We will hear about another counterintuitive way to fight off failure.
    The premortem is designed to help you do better rather than to shut off innovation.
    We ask if failure should be taught formally in the classroom.
    The whole point of the whole semester is going to be, hey, everybody fails and we fail at everything.
    And whether failure needs a museum.
    We have a Ford Edsel.
    We have Pepsi Crystal, New Coke.
    How to Succeed at Failing, the final chapter starting right now.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything.
    With your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Gary Klein is a cognitive psychologist who advises organizations on how to respond to failure.
    His latest research is around what are called wicked problems.
    A wicked problem is one where there’s not a clear right answer that people would generally agree upon.
    And what share of problems in the world are wicked problems?
    Most of the major social problems we wrestle with are wicked problems.
    We have multiple stakeholders and there’s no way to please all of them.
    And so there’s all of this potential conflict.
    And resource situations change or pandemics arise, wars arise, things that are unexpected that are going to upset what you’re doing.
    In any of those conflicts that Klein is describing, any of those disruptions, let’s call them, we suddenly crash into a complex situation that’s also fogged in by uncertainty.
    And now we have to essentially guess what’s going to happen next.
    And those guesses often turn out to be wrong.
    I actually went on Anderson Cooper during the early days of the pandemic to tell everyone how wrong I was.
    That is Teresa McPhail.
    She is a medical anthropologist at the Stevens Institute of Technology, one of the country’s top engineering colleges.
    And yes, McPhail is an appropriate name for a professor discussing her own failure in a series about failure.
    But just wait, it will get even more appropriate later in this episode.
    Anyway, McPhail had studied the outbreak of the H1N1 influenza pandemic in 2009.
    So her expertise was in demand when COVID came along.
    I really thought when we heard the first rumblings out of China in 2019 and early 2020, I was like, we have this.
    Like there’s mechanisms in place.
    But what I hadn’t really considered was what over a decade of cutting funding had done.
    And it had basically decimated a lot of public health.
    I thought we were more prepared and it turns out we were not.
    And I felt badly because I had done an interview with Vice News in February and I said, calm down.
    You know, we’re not China.
    We’re better equipped.
    Here’s why.
    I had to go to the ER in March because I got very sick on March 1st.
    I went to the ER and I remember the ER doctor saying to me that he had never seen a situation where they were so ill-equipped with PPE or personal protective equipment.
    That’s when I realized, uh-oh, I was wrong.
    Now, what might have happened if Teresa McPhail, and not just McPhail, but let’s say everyone in the realm of pandemic preparedness, what if they had all thought a bit differently about this wicked problem?
    What if, before the failure happened, they pretended that there had already been a failure?
    You are probably familiar with the idea of a post-mortem or what the military calls an after-action review.
    By that point, of course, the damage has been done.
    So what if you flip the order and conduct a pre-mortem?
    That’s what Gary Klein called this strategy when he invented it in the 1980s.
    The pre-mortem is designed to help people surface realistic possibilities and threats so that you can improve the plan, improve the product, and increase your chance of success.
    At the time, Klein was running an R&D firm that studied decision-making in organizations.
    You know, many of our projects succeeded, but not all of them.
    And we would occasionally have an after-action review.
    Those weren’t exciting things to do because we were pretty disgruntled.
    At one point, I said, why don’t we do this at the very beginning?
    Why don’t we imagine that it fails?
    Often in organizations, if you have like a kickoff meeting, there’ll be a part where they say, all right, now, does anybody have any concerns?
    Are there any critiques?
    Does anybody see any problems?
    And nobody says anything, either because they don’t want to disrupt the harmony of the team or because they’re not thinking that anything could go wrong because they’re excited to get started.
    So to break through that mindset, I developed this technique of a pre-mortem.
    And at the end of a kickoff meeting, we say, all right, imagine that I’m looking at a crystal ball.
    I’m dialing forward six months, maybe a year, whatever the right time frame is.
    And oh, no, this project has failed.
    It’s failed in a big way.
    We know that.
    There is no doubt.
    This crystal ball is infallible.
    Now, everybody in the room, you’ve got two minutes.
    Write down all the reasons why this project failed.
    And it’s amazing the types of issues that people surface that ordinarily they wouldn’t say in public or even think about.
    Can you explain from a psychological perspective why that works?
    Well, after I developed the technique, I read about some research on prospective hindsight.
    And so I think a big part of it is the certainty that it’s failed.
    And so now that changes my mindset.
    So I’m not resisting.
    If I say, here’s the plan.
    Are there any problems?
    There’s all kinds of pressure not to think about problems.
    But by being certain that the plan has failed, by entering into that exercise, it just changes the whole valence, the whole experience.
    So interesting.
    I mean, we always hear about how humans perform poorly under uncertainty generally.
    So you’re saying you’re just removing the uncertainty of whether it will work.
    You’re saying it didn’t.
    Now tell me why it didn’t.
    And that provides clarity.
    Right.
    So what happens next after people voice these ideas?
    What happens now?
    OK, so let me get we never thought about this as a tool outside our company.
    This was just something we did.
    But then we had a big project we were doing for the Air Force.
    It was a software tool for identifying ways of using precision guided munitions.
    And I told my prime sponsor, I want to do a pre-mortem.
    And he said, what’s that?
    And I explained it to him.
    And he said, absolutely no way.
    We want everybody to be positive.
    This is such a depressing exercise.
    I don’t want to do it.
    And I said, this is an important project.
    We want it to succeed.
    This is a way to make it succeed.
    And reluctantly, he agreed to do it.
    We were doing this pre-mortem.
    And there was this young captain.
    He hadn’t said a word.
    The meeting had gone on for about two days.
    He hadn’t said a word.
    And it was time for him to come up with his, what he had on his list.
    We go around one at a time around the room.
    And we do one or two or three sweeps.
    And he looked a little nervous.
    And he said, this tool that we’re building, it’s for people in the field.
    And they have these low-powered laptops.
    The tool we’re building runs on a supercomputer that takes 48 hours.
    I don’t see how that’s going to work.
    And there was silence in the room because everybody realized he was right.
    And then somebody said, now, I’ve got a back-of-the-envelope technique that I use that could be a shortcut.
    And all of a sudden, we were back in business.
    But if we hadn’t done that, we would have failed.
    And he never would have said that if we didn’t give him that space.
    And you’re saying the person who spoke up was the most junior or among the most junior in the room?
    Yes, he was.
    So I’ve seen this myself many times, not in a pre-mortem, but just in a meeting generally, where junior people, they have very little incentive to speak up.
    It seems like there’s more downside than upside.
    It strikes me that American meeting culture is dominated by noisy people who have a lot of confidence, which is often unearned.
    And I’m curious if you have any advice for having better ideas come through in meetings.
    I have a couple of ideas, but one of them is the pre-mortem because the pre-mortem creates a culture of candor.
    People learn that they can voice unpopular ideas and not be punished for it.
    It also creates an environment where I’m surprised at the ideas that you come up with or this young captain comes up with.
    It’s because a pre-mortem really harvests the different experience and ability of the people in the room.
    I don’t know what’s in your head, so how can I appreciate your perspective?
    But in a pre-mortem, I realize, wow, I never thought of it that way.
    So there’s a chance for the people in the room to start to gain more respect for their colleagues.
    I would think that anonymity would be a useful tool here.
    Why do you not use that?
    Anonymity could be useful in environments that are usually very punitive.
    But in terms of creating a culture of candor, it works better if we’re all face-to-face.
    Does it sometimes get personal, even ugly?
    I have never seen that happen, surprisingly enough.
    No.
    No, because everybody knows that this is a made-up failure.
    So it’s not life or death, although it could be.
    And everybody knows that the intent is to improve the plan.
    Can you talk about how to encourage candid feedback generally?
    Again, it may be the more junior employees, but whoever it is that might have a valuable insight,
    how can you best float that insight up to leadership?
    I’ve wrestled with that issue for a while because most organizations say that they want insights,
    but they don’t because insights are going to mean that we have to change.
    And if I’m a mid-level manager, now I’ve got to change my supply lines.
    I’ve got to change my staffing.
    Can we just continue what we’re doing and try to do it better?
    They’ll say, we want to be harmonious, so we’re going to make decisions where everybody agrees.
    A harmonious decision is a terrible idea because that means that everybody has a veto.
    And so your chance of coming up with an innovation has been severely compromised.
    Do you ever have harmonious decisions in your personal life, maybe with your family?
    I am guilty of the delusion that we can have harmonious decisions.
    And despite personal experience, I hold on to this goal.
    Do you personally routinely do pre-mortems, even just a quick in-your-head one when you’re about to make a decision?
    I do not do it when I make lots of decisions.
    And so I don’t do it automatically.
    Did you pre-mortem this interview today, Gary?
    That was a no.
    After the break, we ask the CEO of a startup if he would like to try Gary Klein’s pre-mortem idea.
    I guess I disagree with Gary.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    In 2018, Will Coleman left his job as a partner at McKinsey, the consulting firm, in order to launch a rideshare startup called Alto.
    At Alto, we’re elevating rideshare for both drivers and passengers.
    We offer a really differentiated service through W2 employees and company-owned vehicles.
    So at Alto, you always know exactly what you’re going to get, a safe, clean, high-quality ride every single time.
    A lot of those words sounded as if they were chosen to be contra Uber and Lyft.
    Is that essentially the case?
    That is essentially the case.
    Uber and Lyft, we think, are the contra of safe, clean, consistent.
    Our brand was always built to go head-to-head against the big names and to compete directly against them in every major city.
    Are you also, to some degree, a luxury product?
    We call it an accessible luxury.
    We want it to be something that feels luxurious, but that is, for most people, a couple dollars more.
    It might be because you really value your safety and the type of vehicle that you’re in or the type of person that you’re in the vehicle with or that you just value the consistency, knowing exactly what you’re going to get.
    So we see it a lot like a cup of Starbucks coffee.
    You can get a much cheaper cup of coffee, but most people choose that for that consistency and quality every single time.
    How many markets are you in right now?
    Yeah, we’re in six markets across the U.S.
    Los Angeles, San Francisco, Dallas, Houston, Miami, and Washington, D.C.
    I did not hear New York City there.
    Why not?
    That’s a big market.
    New York is a very expensive market.
    It’s a very competitive market.
    It’s very big and it’s a huge opportunity.
    But as efficient and maybe conservative allocators of capital, we want to perfect the product.
    The rideshare market is tough to break into.
    Uber and Lyft dominate both the drivers and riders in most places.
    Coleman hopes that Alto’s business model can set it apart.
    Instead of using freelance drivers who have their own cars, which is how Lyft and Uber do
    it, Alto employs the drivers directly and leases vehicles from manufacturers.
    Will that work?
    The history of the rideshare industry is already littered with firms that tried to challenge
    Uber and Lyft.
    There’s Juno, Sidecar, Fasten, and more.
    We asked Gary Klein how he might help Alto stay off that list.
    Okay, so there’s a couple of things that I might do with them.
    First of all, we would want to run some premortems to inject a healthy dose of reality.
    Not that I don’t think they have that.
    A second is, are they going to be able to pivot based on what they learn?
    Or are they going to get locked into a business model and not be resilient or flexible as things
    develop?
    Because things will develop.
    Their plan is not going to continue as they’ve originally designed it, simply because nobody
    is smart enough to come up with a perfect plan right off the bat.
    So you do want to make discoveries and you do want to be able to pivot and maybe even make
    massive changes in your business model.
    I mean, if you do some sort of premortem, you might say, what are the things that we might
    have to adapt for in part to build a more resilient organization?
    We went back to Will Coleman to ask what he thinks of Gary Klein’s suggestion.
    Yeah, we’re not going to be running any premortems at all.
    Because why?
    I guess I disagree with Gary.
    I mean, if you’re constantly focused on the downside, then I think you’re probably not
    focused enough on the upside.
    I often tell my team, you know, the money-making machine hasn’t been built yet.
    If you’re in a company like Google or Apple or Amazon, the money-making machine has been built
    and you’re just there to make it better.
    Here, you’re really building something from scratch.
    And so, honestly, the proposition of failure is almost – I mean, startups fail every day,
    you know, probably, what, 99% of them.
    So you’re already going into this with an understanding that failure is the most likely outcome.
    So we could sit around and talk about that for hours, days, but we’ll never make any progress.
    It’s paralyzing.
    Instead, what we talk about and what I focus on is, you know, how do we just get to the next
    decision point?
    How do we just get to tomorrow?
    How do we just make this incrementally better now?
    I hate to keep leading you down the road of potential failure, but I do want to ask, let’s
    say this doesn’t work and a couple of years from now, you need to close up shop.
    Can you envision what that would feel like for you?
    It would be devastating.
    Yeah, I mean, because we’ve been on the brink of that before.
    In COVID, I mean, I’m not kidding.
    We lost 95% of our revenue in a day.
    We were more agile during that period of time than we had ever been.
    And the impact of that was that many of those products that we built that were the ones that
    succeeded, which was maybe a tenth of them, but the ones that did are now 20%, 30% of our
    revenue.
    Incremental things that we didn’t have before the pandemic have made our business more robust,
    more resilient.
    A couple of months after we spoke with Coleman, we learned that Alto shut down service in
    San Francisco.
    Later, they stopped operations in two more cities.
    This all came with significant layoffs.
    Does this mean they will join the 90 some percent of failed startups that Coleman mentioned?
    I, of course, have no way of knowing.
    But if they do fail and fail spectacularly, they might end up with this man.
    My name is Samuel West.
    I’m a psychologist and I’m a curator.
    He is a curator and founder of the Museum of Failure.
    And how did that come to be?
    So I was in Croatia, in Zagreb, the capital, just on holiday with my family.
    And I stumbled into a museum called the Museum of Broken Relationships.
    So I’d been thinking about ways to sort of spread the ideas of accepting failure and how much room
    for improvement there is on learning from failure.
    And then I was in Zagreb and I just got this, you know, what do you call it?
    Hallelujah moment.
    And so it was that Samuel West invented the Museum of Failure.
    It’s a pop-up museum that has been traveling the world since 2017.
    Helsingborg, Sweden, Paris, Los Angeles, Washington, D.C.
    When we spoke with West, the museum was in Brooklyn.
    It’s a sunny, nice day and we’re about to open in a few minutes.
    As it turns out, running a traveling museum is not easy.
    So here we have an example of failure at Museum of Failure.
    Our wall panels are falling off the wall.
    I’m going to kill somebody.
    The museum includes more than 150 failures, most of them inventions and commercial products.
    They range from trivial to fraudulent.
    Elizabeth Holmes, do I need to say anything about her?
    No, come on.
    Gerber, back in the 70s, they launched a product of adult food in a baby food jar.
    This is the Euro Club from 2008.
    In case you couldn’t hear that, it’s called the Euro Club, not Euro, E-U-R-O, just U-R-O.
    It’s a golf club with, yeah, it’s for us men when we’re out golfing.
    And I need to urinate.
    So what you do is you unscrew the top of it, you clip it onto your belt, and then you fiddle
    under the belt and you urinate into this canister camouflaged as a golf club.
    And then you screw it back up and you continue on with your golf.
    I mean, the criteria is that to be in a museum, it has to be an innovation, and it has to be
    a failure, obviously.
    And then I have to find it interesting.
    The museum of failure will make you laugh, but West hopes that people walk away with more
    than that.
    So the focus at the museum is on innovations, which is products and services, but in our
    personal lives we fail also, and the same principle applies there.
    We’re very bad at learning from our own failures because it’s uncomfortable.
    So if we’re willing to have those uncomfortable feelings and thoughts for a while, we can actually
    learn from them.
    I want people to feel liberated that failing isn’t as bad as you think it is, usually.
    We also got Samuel West into a studio to talk about failure more generally.
    I think failure is far more interesting than success.
    Because why?
    Because success is often sort of curated by whoever, whatever story the sender wants to
    present, whereas failure feels much more authentic, much more human.
    Do you think it’s easier to learn from failure or from success?
    I think it maybe feels better to learn from success, but I think we can learn much more from failure.
    It’s a more natural way of learning.
    That’s how we learn how to eat, how to walk, how to do anything is through a repeated trial
    and error.
    So here’s the thing.
    I agree with you, but it seems as though most of the world, certainly the business world,
    thinks the opposite.
    We are addicted to, you know, success porn.
    People read the books written by successful entrepreneurs and they say, okay, that’s what I’m
    going to do.
    People listen to popular music or watch popular films and emulate that.
    It seems that there’s pretty much consensus that the best way to succeed is to copy success.
    What’s wrong with that idea?
    There’s nothing wrong with it.
    It’s just really difficult to do.
    And the thing is, it’s really low effort learning because sometimes, you know, listening to that
    successful entrepreneur or listening to that successful artist, you think you’re just going
    to absorb the success by listening to the story.
    Just because something works for someone else doesn’t mean it’s going to work for you.
    Since we spoke with Samuel West, the Museum of Failure itself seems to be failing.
    West and his former business partner are engaged in a bitter public dispute.
    West has encouraged people not to buy tickets to the museum.
    He says the partner stole his collection of failure memorabilia.
    The partner denies this.
    So if the Museum of Failure isn’t the place for instruction at the moment, how else might
    you learn from failure?
    Throughout this series, we’ve been speaking with Amy Edmondson, a scholar of failure at the
    Harvard Business School.
    She argues that, for starters, we should not be hiding our failures.
    One way to think about this is we will be failing.
    So let’s do it joyfully.
    Let’s do it thoughtfully and celebrate them appropriately.
    Talk to me for a moment about the ways in which failure is a good teacher, but we ignore its lessons.
    And I’m particularly thinking about the lack of publishing of null results and things like that.
    We don’t, in academia, we don’t publish our null results.
    So that means not only do we not spend enough time on them to really learn what they’re teaching
    us, but even more importantly, our colleagues near and far don’t get to see them.
    So then they’re at risk of trying the same thing, which to me is the most wasteful of the
    wasteful failures is when we already had that knowledge, but somehow we aren’t able to share it.
    Should there be a journal of failed results somewhere?
    Yes.
    And, you know, it’s not as strange as it sounds.
    You could still have very high standards because you wouldn’t publish things that were just
    nonsensical or didn’t have thoughtful hypotheses or theories that led you to spend that time
    studying them.
    You want to be the editor-in-chief and I’ll be your amanuensis or something?
    Let’s do it the other way around.
    Oh, I failed in my request to Tom Sawyer you into painting the fence there.
    I like the idea, though.
    Okay, so that’s one vote for a journal of failure, but Edmondson doesn’t want to run it.
    Maybe we can persuade this person.
    My name is Roy Shalem.
    I have a PhD in economics.
    Shalem teaches at Tel Aviv University and he studies the economics of competition and regulation.
    He once published a paper called The Market for R&D Failures.
    So what I’m trying to analyze is a situation in which firms are competing head-to-head in
    kind of a patent race.
    Patent races are quite common.
    Think about when pharmaceutical firms are competing to find a disease treatment.
    But this goes way beyond pharma companies.
    One of the most famous examples is when Alexander Graham Bell and Alicia Gray both filed a patent
    for the telephone on the same day in 1876.
    Bell won the patent, started the successful company, now synonymous with telephone, while
    far fewer people remember Gray.
    A typical patent race is winner-take-all.
    The competitors work hard, invest a lot of resources, but only the winner reaps the rewards.
    And the loser, or losers, are left with pretty much nothing.
    Roy Shalem, based on his research around corporate innovation, thinks this model is due for an upgrade.
    He thinks the losers should also have a way to monetize their efforts.
    My paper proves that theoretically there is a potential for a market for R&D failure.
    When you sell knowledge of past failures, you are expected both to reduce the cost of R&D because
    you’re not doing the same mistakes over and over again.
    And you also reduce the time until a discovery is made.
    So that’s also worth money.
    If Shalem had his way, there would be, as he titled his paper, a true market for R&D failures.
    Basically, when you’re doing something which is very hard, you mostly produce failures.
    And this is a very, very important part of the stock of knowledge.
    And so I think that it is possible to take all that knowledge and find the right price for
    a competitor to buy that knowledge.
    So far, at least, such a market does not exist.
    So what else can we do if we want to seriously consider the idea of learning from failure?
    Maybe we learn from failure in the old-fashioned way, in a classroom.
    I mean, I’m old school.
    I’m talking about Hobbes.
    After the break, Failure 101.
    I’m Stephen Dubner, and this is Freakonomics Radio.
    Freakonomics Radio.
    Do you remember Teresa McPhail?
    She is the medical anthropologist who initially thought that COVID-19 wouldn’t be a big deal.
    I said, calm down.
    You know, we’re not China.
    We’re better equipped.
    Here’s why.
    McPhail’s day job is teaching undergraduate engineering students at Stevens Institute of Technology.
    Right.
    They’re all science and technology nerds and geeks.
    And I mean that in the best possible sense.
    My people.
    Very driven.
    Very type A personalities.
    I mean, you don’t get into science and tech lightly.
    It’s not an easy subject.
    And the course load is quite hefty.
    At some point in their lives, probably the majority, like say 70%, will probably go on to get some sort of master’s or PhD.
    And then in terms of careers, what’s typical?
    What sort of careers?
    Engineers, engineers, engineers.
    And research scientists.
    And within engineering, is it software, mechanical, electrical, everything?
    The whole gamut.
    They’re building your bridges.
    They’re putting up your buildings.
    They’re designing your sewage pipes.
    All things I don’t want to fail.
    Exactly.
    Exactly.
    They’re designing your airplane engines.
    Everything.
    Now, for someone studying engineering who sees a future designing things where the stakes are high, an airplane, a bridge, whatever.
    How do they think about failure generally in their work?
    It’s the worst thing that can happen.
    It’s the worst thing that can happen.
    They’re all very high-achieving students.
    So they’re used to getting straight A’s or close to it.
    They come in thinking that failure is bad and it needs to be avoided at all costs.
    And they have imbibed the cultural narrative of, oh, you must learn from your failures and fail better and fail faster.
    But they kind of don’t buy it.
    Why do you think that is?
    I did a research project where a psychology professor and I designed a survey and just wanted to get a sense of how they define failure for themselves and what they think about it and what they think the American culture thinks about it.
    And they’re all really aware when we ask them what Americans think about failure, some of their answers are, you’re not doing a good job, you must be lazy, weak, incapable, stupid.
    They say that if you fail, it’s going to lead you to poverty, perhaps, a lack of social status.
    One person, this is a direct quote that I wrote down, if you fail, you suck.
    So McPhail got to thinking about whether there was a better way to talk to her students about failure, a more direct way.
    I know that business schools already teach case studies and failures, like they’ll teach what happened to Enron, what happened to WeWork.
    And that’s great for business students, but that’s not what I wanted to do.
    I wanted to really get them familiar with the concept of failure and introduce it as a necessary and natural part of life.
    And she felt the stakes were high, higher than most of us are willing to admit.
    Around 2017, 2018, we had a year that had several suicides.
    And, you know, we’re not alone.
    You pick up the newspaper and you’re reading constantly about Penn, Yale, Cornell.
    I mean, you name a school and they’re having a suicide problem.
    And one of the students who committed suicide in 2018 was my student, one of my students in a class that I had.
    She was active.
    She was involved heavily in Amnesty International, which is how she came to me because she took my global health class.
    She was very interested in helping others.
    She was cheery.
    She was a pleasure to be around.
    There were none of the signs when she was in my classroom, at least, of outward struggle.
    So I really felt blindsided when I heard that she had committed suicide.
    And I had heard from friends of multiple students who had committed suicide in that same time frame that one of the things they were all worried about is that they were somehow going to screw up,
    that they had screwed up, that college was the last good years, and then everything else was just going to be a series of failure.
    And I thought, my God, what is happening?
    And so as a professor, you know, I’m teaching and I teach depressing classes.
    Let me just be honest about this.
    I teach about things that can hurt us.
    I teach about pandemics.
    I teach about illnesses.
    I teach medicine, which is all about disease and death.
    And so my classes are pretty depressing.
    And I thought, what can I do to make a difference or, like, just provide a different perspective to try to help all of this anxiety?
    And that’s when Teresa McPhail started teaching a course she calls Failure 101.
    So I start off the class with the ultimate failure, which is death.
    I really think I’m an intellectual granddaughter of Ernest Becker, who famously wrote The Denial of Death.
    He was an anthropologist as well.
    And his take was that society everywhere is a living myth of the significance of human life,
    that we defiantly create meaning where none exists because we do not want to deal with the terror that the ultimate mistake is one that’s going to get us killed.
    I start off the class saying, listen, life is terrifying because death is terrifying.
    And I think evolutionarily, mistakes meant catastrophe.
    And that’s probably why we don’t like them, because if you make a wrong move in the savannah when you’re hunting, you’re dead.
    When I read your course description and you describe teaching about failures in all realms of science, and then you write that death is the ultimate failure, my response was, well, that’s not fair.
    My reasoning would be that failure implies at least some small level of uninevitability, whereas death has a perfect record as far as I know.
    Yes, but if you look at biology, death is your systems all failing.
    See what I’m saying?
    But that’s the perfect example to try to get them to accept that failure is necessary, because the example of something that doesn’t die is cancer.
    And that’s not what we want.
    And so there’s that tension that, yes, death is, if you think about it from that perspective, it’s all your system shutting down one by one in a cascade.
    And you can see that as the ultimate failure, but then I try to get them to embrace that, because, and again, I’m just Becker’s granddaughter, because his argument was, if we distract ourselves and we try to push down our fears of failing, ultimately that’s about our fear of dying, that ironically trying to push all of that down and not talking openly about it creates more problems.
    So that’s my take, is that, yeah, you have to embrace failure, because you can’t have a successful life without it.
    I basically tell them at the start of my classes that I need you to get comfortable being uncomfortable, and I need you to be comfortable with uncertainty, and I really think embracing the idea that you’re going to fail
    Okay, but Professor McPhail, I’ve gotten nothing but A’s for the last 13 years of my life, and I’m not going to stop now.
    So would you please not say things like that and get out of the way and start lecturing and give me an A?
    No.
    I’m trying to take failure and put it on the table and look at it as a social object.
    From an economic perspective, what does it look like?
    From a business perspective, from a science perspective?
    Because failure is a changeable object.
    Like, one failure in one arena doesn’t necessarily have any of the components of the same label in another.
    I mean, I’m old school.
    I’m talking about Hobbes.
    And we’re going over things like what is the social contract and what does the social good look like and what does Hobbes think failure will be?
    Give me an example of a culture that dealt with or deals with failure very differently than 21st century American.
    I mean, it’s never good.
    I mean, here’s the thing.
    So anthropologists often ask, what are the things that all cultures everywhere struggle with?
    And failure is definitely something that all cultures grapple with on some level.
    That surprises me.
    I would have thought there have been many cultures and societies through time where…
    Where it’s fine?
    I don’t know about fine.
    It’s great?
    I definitely don’t think great.
    But I mean, here’s the way I’m thinking.
    If you look at our track record, humans, we’re pretty darn fallible.
    We screw up all the time in so many ways.
    Right.
    And so it’s surprising to me that we haven’t developed a philosophy or science of failure that would be fairly timeless and robust and so on.
    You would think so, but not in my…
    I mean, maybe someone will listen to this and say, here’s the book that answers it all.
    But the truth is there’s something about the time you’re living in that it’s either hard to see what it is you’re doing wrong or it’s hard to admit where that buck stops.
    I know that the researchers, Lauren Eskreis-Winkler and Ayelet Fischbach, have done work looking at why we hate failure so much.
    And it comes down to a pretty obvious point, which is that ego is real and failure threatens our ego.
    And universally, it feels bad.
    So if we were to reduce it to that finite and concrete psychological response and emotional response, have you encountered any way to sort of take the sting out of that response?
    Not really except for embracing it.
    So I would, I guess…
    Man, I came in thinking you were going to have all sorts of…
    I went back to Amy Edmondson, the failure expert at Harvard, to ask what she would like to see taught in a failure 101 class.
    Number one, distinguishing different kinds of failure.
    A failure is not a failure is not a failure.
    You know, we could be talking about a little mistake.
    We could be talking about a catastrophic accident.
    We could be talking about a scientific, you know, hypothesis that didn’t get supported.
    So providing the students that useful terminology and that useful clarity.
    And then I think a second element that I’d love to see in the course is experimentation best practices.
    You know, how do you think about good experiments versus not good experiments?
    Here’s what Teresa McPhail writes in her Failure 101 syllabus.
    Some assignments will intentionally be set up for you to fail to complete them in full.
    But I expect you to cope with this as best you can and turn in something.
    I will not warn you which weeks are impossible to complete.
    McPhail has now taught the course seven times.
    The only grades she gives are an A for passing or an F for failing.
    She’s only had two students ever fail the class.
    McPhail says she has gotten positive feedback from students, their parents, and according to some students, their therapists.
    She would like to see her course taught at other schools.
    I think they should offer a Failure 101 course because it works.
    It changes the students’ perspectives on failure.
    It makes them embrace it.
    It completely alters their understanding of themselves in relationship to the norm.
    And I think that’s worth it.
    I’m looking at your Rate My Professor rankings.
    Oh, God.
    And you have a perfect score.
    I’ve never seen that before.
    Here’s one review.
    Quite possibly the best professor I have ever had.
    Confident and knows what she’s talking about.
    She’s enthusiastic about her lectures.
    And that enthusiasm is truly contagious to students.
    She just loves what she does.
    Also, she is so cool.
    She’s had such an interesting life.
    Low-key want to be her.
    All right.
    So what’s your review of that review?
    Oh, my God.
    If they could only see me behind the scenes.
    You know what, though?
    I think they feel like that because I do show them my failures.
    For instance?
    Well, I mean, we’re all human beings.
    There are going to be days where I’m not entirely prepped for class.
    Ah.
    What do you do then?
    I announce it.
    I say, hey, guess what?
    I forgot my notes at home.
    So we’re off the books.
    Let’s do this.
    Or I also will.
    I mean, we live in the age of lightning Googling.
    So, you know, if I say something, feel free to fact check me.
    And if I’m not right, raise your hand.
    Because I want them to get the idea that you can be an expert.
    You can be highly knowledgeable.
    But there’s no way I know everything.
    What is the upside of embracing or at least processing failure in the way that you’re describing?
    Freedom.
    Freedom.
    And a lightness of moving through the world.
    Okay.
    But the people designing our airplanes and bridges, I don’t care if they feel free and light.
    So here’s the thing.
    Before any of us step on a plane, there’s been so many prototypes and there’s been so many tests.
    And the thing I’d like to see more is letting people fail.
    There has to be a space for people to accept abject failure.
    Failure that doesn’t teach you anything.
    And in that space, what does one do?
    Does one grieve, for instance?
    I think, yes.
    I think one learns acceptance.
    And out of acceptance comes resilience.
    I ask my students to reflect at the end of every class.
    And the answers I get back is that they’ve totally changed their definition of what failure is.
    Most of them will say it’s not the end of the world.
    It’s a setback that you learn from.
    And all of them understand that it’s subjective and a social construct.
    Simply having a class where you come in once a week for three hours and talk about failure just blatantly somehow made it okay for them to accept their own personal failures.
    And one of the things that shifts throughout the class is I ask them, what do you think the rate of other people’s failures is compared to your own?
    And before they take the class, they say, oh, I definitely fail more than other people.
    And then at the end of the class, they go, everyone is failing every day at everything.
    And I’m like, yes, that’s right.
    Correct.
    You’ve passed this class.
    I’d like to thank Teresa McPhail for teaching all of us a new way to think about failure.
    And thanks to everyone who spoke with us for this series, How to Succeed at Failing.
    I’m curious to know how you think we did with this series.
    One key ingredient of learning from failure is getting good feedback.
    And I want yours.
    Our email is radio at Freakonomics.com.
    You can also leave a rating or review on your podcast app.
    Coming up next time on the show, let’s play a guessing game.
    Who operates in the shadows of the global economy, but often dictates the fate of nations?
    They’re also involved at one point or another in the buying and selling of just about everything you touch.
    Wherever there is history being made, the commodity traders are there.
    Jack Farchi and Javier Blas have written a definitive book on the commodity trading industry.
    We’re not talking about the desk warriors who trade financialized commodity futures.
    These are the people who buy and sell the actual petroleum products and metals and agricultural products.
    If you think about a commodity trader, they have to have a bit of the Wolf of Wall Street,
    a bit of James Bond, and a lot of pirates of the Caribbean.
    Just beneath the surface of the global economy, there is a hidden layer of dealmakers for whom chaos, war and sanctions are often a great business opportunity.
    We’ll hear all about them next time on the show.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    This episode and this entire failure series was originally produced by Zach Lipinski and was updated with help from Dalvin Abawaji.
    It was mixed by Greg Rippon and Jasmine Klinger with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    The Freakonomics Radio network staff also includes Alina Cullman, Augusta Chapman, Eleanor Osborne, Ellen Frankman,
    Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Roth, Morgan Levy, Sarah Lilly, and Tao Jacobs.
    You can find our entire archive on any podcast app or at Freakonomics.com, where we also publish transcripts and show notes.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by the Hitchhikers, and our composer is Luis Guerra.
    As always, thanks for listening.
    I am a professor, so if I’m talking too long, feel free to nudge me.
    Will do.
    I try to keep track of it, but sometimes, you know, I get enthusiastic, as you’ll see.
    Should we have a safe word?
    Pineapple.
    The Freakonomics Radio Network.
    The hidden side of everything.
    Stitcher.

    Everyone makes mistakes. How do we learn from them? Lessons from the classroom, the Air Force, and the world’s deadliest infectious disease.

     

    • SOURCES:
      • Will Coleman, founder and C.E.O. of Alto.
      • Amy Edmondson, professor of leadership management at Harvard Business School.
      • Babak Javid, physician-scientist and associate director of the University of California, San Francisco Center for Tuberculosis.
      • Gary Klein, cognitive psychologist and pioneer in the field of naturalistic decision making.
      • Theresa MacPhail, medical anthropologist and associate professor of science & technology studies at the Stevens Institute of Technology.
      • Roy Shalem, lecturer at Tel Aviv University.
      • Samuel West, curator and founder of The Museum of Failure.

     

     

  • How to Succeed at Failing, Part 3: Grit vs. Quit (Update)

    AI transcript
    Hey there, Stephen Dovner.
    Today, we’re continuing our update of a series on failure we published a couple years ago
    called How to Succeed at Failing.
    In this episode, you will hear some personal stories from people who tried something new
    and failed.
    One of those people is Travis Thull, who thought what the world really needed was a new way
    to make instant ramen.
    Stay tuned to the end to hear how that worked out.
    We have updated all facts and figures as necessary.
    As always, thanks for listening.
    We have been making Freakonomics Radio for a while now, and there are two themes we have
    come back to again and again.
    The first is the value of persistence, of staying the course, not giving up.
    Our friend Angela Duckworth, a research psychologist at the University of Pennsylvania, wrote a book
    about this.
    It’s called Grit, The Power of Passion and Perseverance.
    Here she is on another podcast we used to make together called No Stupid Questions.
    I think the reason why there are all these aphorisms about not giving up and maybe why so much of
    my research has focused on the psychology of staying the course is that sometimes the road
    not taken, the track that you want to switch to, is appealing not because it is objectively
    better, but because it’s objectively easier just in the short run.
    In other words, we give up because we’re lazy or maybe impatient or intimidated or we’re scared
    to fail.
    That makes sense, doesn’t it?
    Duckworth is saying we might be better off by learning to tough it out.
    But the other theme we have often explored is pretty much the opposite of grit.
    Back in 2011, we made an episode called The Upside of Quitting.
    Here’s my Freakonomics friend and co-author Steve Levitt more recently.
    It is a compliment to be called a quitter precisely because we live in a world where so many forces
    push us to persist far too long at failing endeavors.
    Now, Levitt is an economist, not a psychologist.
    And his ideas about quitting come from basic economic concepts.
    One of them is called opportunity cost.
    That’s the idea that every dollar or hour or brain cell you spend doing one thing is a dollar, an hour or a brain cell you can’t spend on some other opportunity.
    There is another idea called the sunk cost fallacy.
    A sunk cost is the time or money or effort you’ve already spent.
    The fallacy is the belief that since you’ve already spent all those resources, you would be foolish to quit.
    But in reality, this is what economists argue, at least, those sunk costs are a distraction.
    And if what you’re doing isn’t likely to work out, you should stop throwing good money and time and effort after bad.
    Now, that makes sense too, doesn’t it?
    But it does leave you with a dilemma.
    If you’re in the middle of a project or a career, a relationship or a journey, and it’s not going so well, how do you know whether the answer is grit or quit?
    What a great question.
    I don’t think there’s an easy answer to that.
    Amy Edmondson and Gary Klein have both built their research careers around the study of failure.
    There’s no objective criteria that are going to announce themselves to say, go right, go left.
    So you’re going to have to make a judgment.
    It’s a question of what kind of resources you have.
    What’s your tolerance for pain?
    What are the alternatives?
    There’s that kind of reluctance to admit that you’ve wasted all of these resources.
    If you’re a child learning to ride a bicycle, please don’t quit.
    If you’re someone who thinks this particular paper is the best thing ever published and every single journal rejects it, there does come a point where it’s probably worth quitting.
    The thing about quitting is that it is usually seen as an admission of failure.
    And so we are solemnly counseled to never quit.
    Consider Winston Churchill.
    Never give in.
    Never give in.
    Never, never, never.
    In nothing, great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.
    You’ll run into that Churchill quote in a lot of the literature around grit.
    But context matters.
    Churchill gave that speech at his old school in October of 1941 when Britain was almost single-handedly trying to hold off Nazi Germany in World War II.
    The threat his country faced was literally existential.
    So you can see why quitting wasn’t an attractive option.
    But for the rest of us, in most situations where we’re thinking about grit versus quit, the decision isn’t nearly as obvious.
    As we’ve been discussing in this series, we humans are almost pathologically afraid of failure.
    What we like are stories of success and of perseverance.
    So the best possible story is the one where our hero encounters many struggles but shows grit, refuses to quit, and ultimately wins the battle.
    Those are the stories we hear in fairy tales, in lectures, in books.
    But shouldn’t we spend some time hearing the failure stories, too?
    Can’t they be as instructive as the success stories?
    This is an idea I’ve been kicking around for a long time.
    It goes back to when I was in graduate school for writing.
    Most of us were young, earnest, hardworking writers.
    And it seemed that the obvious path to success was to emulate other successful writers.
    So we read and wrote and read and wrote and read some more.
    And we wrote a lot of short stories that tried to be Raymond Carver, a lot of novels that tried to be Virginia Woolf.
    I did not find this to be a fruitful path.
    It struck me that great writers are great because of some unique combination of factors that are, by definition, inimitable.
    So why are we trying to imitate their success?
    But there was something I found really instructive.
    When I read the other students’ writing and it didn’t work, if it was boring or pretentious or confusing or if it lacked self-awareness,
    I could see that failure right there on the page in a way that it was hard to see in my own writing.
    In other words, I found more inspiration in learning how writing can fail than in trying to replicate writing that had been deemed a success.
    Maybe that’s just me.
    Maybe this idea strikes you as ludicrous.
    But, hey, I’ve got the microphone today.
    So I’m going to go for it.
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, an episode full of failures.
    Sometimes I thought, like, this will never be me, right?
    Like, I will never be that successful.
    I respect tenacity.
    Sometimes tenacity is directed in a nonproductive direction.
    If you fail as a woman, you had no business being there in the first place.
    Every single bit of feedback we received was, this is a great idea, but…
    Grit versus quit.
    Which side are you on?
    Part three of our special series, How to Succeed at Failing, begins right now.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything.
    With your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Let’s begin our stories about failure in a domain where failure lurks around every corner.
    Invention.
    I’d like you to meet our first victim.
    Fantastic.
    Travis Thull.
    I’m a director of operations and senior fellow at the University of Minnesota, also a reserve Coast Guard officer, currently serving with the joint staff.
    Travis Thull has a variety of degrees in electrical engineering, including a doctorate.
    He has changed jobs since we first spoke with him for the series.
    He is now vice president of student success and engagement at Minnesota State University, Mankato.
    In his day job, Thull is not a failure.
    At least, I’m pretty sure he’s not.
    I don’t have his personnel file.
    His failure goes back to more than 10 years ago when he was a junior officer on active duty with the Coast Guard.
    Yeah, this was a United States Coast Guard telecommunications and information systems command just south of Washington, D.C., adjacent to Fort Belvoir.
    And when you’re a junior officer on active duty, you are officer of the day on a rotation, which means you are on site for 24 hours and you’re responsible for security, making sure doors are locked, gates are locked.
    Nothing crazy is going on.
    That evening rolls around, and I’m at my desk, and I’m hungry.
    I want something to eat, like most young engineers.
    I had a supply of ramen noodles, and I’ve got, you know, my secret stash.
    So I grab a pack.
    In my building, we had a little tiny kitchenette, you know, 50 or 60 old coffee cups that haven’t been washed, and miscellaneous packets of Chinese seasoning.
    And I open the microwave, and it looks like somebody just microwaved spaghetti, and I’m just really struggling to figure out how I’m going to get this, you know, dehydrated block of goodness into a edible capacity.
    And I notice that there is a coffee maker.
    So I grab the coffee pot.
    I fill it up, you know, as much as I think necessary.
    The ramen will be broken in half because you can’t actually fit it through the hole in the top of the pot.
    So break the ramen up.
    But the problem is the water ratio is way off.
    The drip mechanism is not appropriate.
    And then you can’t stick a spoon into a coffee pot, right?
    Like, the ergonomics of it is a fail.
    But, you know, desperate times call for desperate measures.
    So, you know, I was able to get a 60 or 70 percent cooked ramen meal.
    And as I’m trying to get the fork into the thing and get the noodles out, I’m thinking to myself, if only I knew an engineer, you know, I feel like there’s something here.
    I start doodling on some paper and think, you know, the next day, a friend of mine from Milwaukee, who I went to college with, who was a mechanical engineer, I called him up.
    And I’m like, hey, I got this crazy idea.
    The idea was for a device that Thull came to call the Ramen Now.
    That’s with an exclamation point.
    The Ramen Now is a Keurig for ramen noodles, which are the most consumed noodle product on earth with hundreds of millions of packages eaten annually.
    We can do to ramen what the Keurig did for coffee.
    Thull and his friend from Milwaukee, Jiju Johnson, started to build prototypes.
    Their first attempt was a massive contraption.
    Over time, they got it down to the size of a Kleenex box.
    It blew my mind that something like this didn’t exist.
    Like, every college student would have, in my opinion, I would have had, my grandmother would have bought me this for, like, Christmas.
    Like, here you go.
    This is, like, every grandmother would buy this for their, you know, kid in college.
    It’s, like, it seemed just too obvious.
    But, lo and behold, no one had ever put it together.
    Thull was excited.
    He thought the Ramen Now might be the next George Foreman grill.
    We had some prototypes.
    We successfully pursued some patents.
    And we were very successful in pitching the product to major U.S. appliance brands.
    And the feedback we received consistently was, this is great.
    This is awesome.
    We’ll sell millions.
    We just need you to pony up, you know, $200,000 or $300,000 up front for the tooling and the manufacturing.
    That’s when Travis Thull learned a hard reality.
    Most firms, at least firms in the home appliance business, are not willing to invest their own money in developing new products.
    You can see why this might make sense.
    There are a lot of home inventors out there.
    And it’d be easy to go broke funding them.
    On the other hand, there are a lot of home inventors out there.
    And many of the products we all use today were developed not in the R&D lab of a big company, but in the garage of some home inventor.
    Eric von Hippel is an economist at MIT.
    He co-founded the MIT Entrepreneurship Program.
    We spoke with him a few years ago for an episode about the power of home invention.
    The episode was called, Honey, I Grew the Economy.
    Every field we look at, in terms of the basic innovations, about half were done by users.
    And it’s fantastic.
    Companies very seldom mention the user-developed routes of their innovations.
    In all our studies, what we find is that the producers lag the users.
    So the first PCs were developed by users.
    Okay, so maybe the Ramen Now machine wouldn’t be quite as revolutionary as the PC, but it looks like we’ll never know.
    My experience was, if you’re not inventing an app that has very low overhead and very easy distribution potentiality, building a novel kitchen appliance is much more difficult to convince people to throw hundreds of thousands of dollars your way.
    We ran out of prospective companies to license to, and, you know, resources to make it happen.
    As you go through this process, people know what you’re working on.
    So, friends, parents, hey, how’s the project?
    You were really close, right?
    What happened?
    Every time that question comes up, then you have to kind of recite, well, in as graceful language as possible, you know, we ended up failing.
    I’m an optimist.
    If you ever listen to an Adele song, like any of Adele’s work, she does good stuff.
    All of her songs, not all, some of the best ones, are about breakups.
    So, yeah, she had a relationship that didn’t work.
    It inspired this next second order effect that turned out to be really great.
    And I’ve tried to keep perspective that, you know, we’ve spent a lot of money.
    We spent a lot of time.
    We did something unique.
    We got some patents, which for an engineer, having real legitimate utility patents is a feather in your cap, something I’m very proud of.
    And I try to hope that, you know, maybe that song didn’t chart, but maybe someday, you know, there’ll be an opportunity to sing it again.
    There is nothing more that I would love to see in my lifetime to see this thing on the shelf and see one college kid go, you know what?
    I’m eating slightly unhealthy food because of you, Travis.
    I would love that.
    Jill Hoffman lives in Washington, D.C. She is in her 50s. She has worked as a chef, a caterer, a docent at the Smithsonian. She worked for a few nonprofit organizations.
    I haven’t really found that sweet spot of, oh, this is what I do very well and it comes easily.
    But she never gave up.
    Really a firm believer of, you know, perseverance. And if you build it, they will come. And the only way to fail is to quit. And you give it your full force and you will succeed. I mean, everybody else has.
    When Hoffman says that everybody else succeeded, she’s talking about her family.
    Yes, my father is Dick Rutan. He was the first person to fly around the world nonstop, non-refuel through bad weather and flying over hostile countries and a plane that if you threw a pencil at it, it would go right through the wing.
    He is part of the duo most people know of as the Rutan brothers. I like to call them the modern Wright brothers because his brother, who’s my uncle, Bert, is a revolutionary aircraft designer who has designed probably 50 different aircraft.
    So he’s done crazy things like build experimental aircraft that look like they’re flying backwards using Volkswagen engines all the way to a rocket, sending people to the edge of space.
    I knew about the Rutan’s through my oldest brother, Joe. He’s a former Air Force pilot who fell in love with those experimental planes. He built and flew a couple of them himself.
    My brother is a pretty irreverent guy about most things in the world, but not the Rutan’s. He considers them aviation royalty, as does Jill Hoffman.
    I don’t think I’ve ever had just a basic conversation with Bert. There’s three cylinders that are working in his brain, and whenever you’re talking to him, only one of those cylinders is spending time with you.
    The other two are thinking about building a new seaplane or trying to break a world record.
    Jill Hoffman also fell in love with the family business, and about 10 years ago, she had an idea that she thought was worthy of her heritage.
    There had been a lot of talk about a pilot shortage in the U.S.
    Her idea would make it easier for people to learn to fly.
    She started a company called Path to Flight in 2016.
    The goal was that you could find a local flight experience, book it, and pay for it all in just a few clicks from your phone.
    Her idea was kind of like Airbnb, connecting people who have a spare bedroom with someone who needs a bedroom.
    Or like Uber, connecting people who have a car with someone who needs a ride.
    Simple, right?
    In her case, she was connecting people who wanted to learn to fly with flight schools in their area.
    She would list locations, prices, availability, and then you would use her app to schedule lessons.
    That was the idea.
    Now she just had to build it.
    I thought, how am I supposed to sell this platform?
    How am I going to show it to the aviation industry if it’s not there?
    I just needed something to show them.
    So she hired a web developer.
    At first, it was wonderful because the web development team, they understood what I was trying to build and they added to it.
    And they said, you know, we solve problems.
    You know, what if a 14-year-old books a flight?
    What if it’s canceled?
    How do we do that?
    I loved every second of it.
    And I thought we were on the same page because I was going to launch it at Oshkosh.
    Oshkosh is a massive air show held every year in Oshkosh, Wisconsin.
    And when I say massive, think of Lollapalooza and Burning Man combined, but for aviation.
    We invested money in ads and I thought it was understood that I was going to pitch and show it and it had to work.
    We were building a dummy site and then they were going to make it live with some dummy profiles while we were building it in.
    And I get a call the day before we’re supposed to launch and the developer says, what did you mean by launch?
    And it was the first time where I went, what do you, what?
    The communication, it shattered.
    And I just knew I was about to go into promoting this.
    I had everything on that with a dummy site.
    And ironically, I got a lot of people that wanted to fly.
    A lot of people signed up for it, but none of the flight schools saw any value with it.
    All they really saw was that it was glitchy.
    The debut turned out to be a disaster.
    Flight schools weren’t interested.
    They were skeptical of Hoffman and her product.
    Most of them weren’t interested in digitizing their systems anyway.
    It was a terrible experience, but she didn’t give up.
    I would talk to everybody I could.
    Two years of reaching out to everyone on LinkedIn I could find, trying to rebuild my reputation.
    Just walking in, just feeling uncomfortable and trying to talk to the decision maker and show the product day in and day out across the country.
    So after getting no and no and no, and then one day, I am at a flight school, and it’s set up like a Tesla showroom.
    It’s very modern, very excited.
    I’ve gotten to know this pilot very, very well.
    I was talking to him about the platform and our ideas of what we’re doing to modernize.
    And he said to me, well, everybody did it.
    You know, I did it that way.
    Everybody needs to do it that way, too.
    And he just wouldn’t sign in, and that’s the day I think I knew.
    If I can’t get this young flight school owner that understands modernization, when he said, no, I did it that way, you can, too.
    I think that was my tipping point, or I just went, I’m done.
    I have no place else to go from here.
    And it broke me.
    You know, my grandfather lived through the Depression, and I think he gave me my earliest memories of money.
    You pay for cars and cash, and, you know, you never waste.
    We were always very scrappy.
    We didn’t grow up with money.
    Once I lost a $5 bill, and you’d think the world came to it in.
    But I lost over $100,000.
    And sometimes in the shower, I would physically just get sick, and I felt like a complete failure, the shame of it.
    It took me a long time to figure out it was shame.
    And it still hurts me, and it’s very weird to have somebody ask me about it, because I have the ability to clear a room.
    Nobody wants to hear about the failure, when, in essence, that’s all I needed at that time.
    I needed a story from somebody else that said, yeah, I failed.
    Oh, and there’s another guy over here, and another lady over here that also failed.
    Oh, and, you know, my cousin also did.
    And if I could have had those stories earlier on, I wouldn’t have felt so incredibly alone, like I was the only one.
    That was Jill Hoffman.
    Now on to John Boykin, who lives in Belmont, California, between San Francisco and Silicon Valley.
    I am in the communication business.
    I mostly design websites for a living.
    Being a designer, I’m in the business of solving problems on behalf of other people.
    And you see problems everywhere you look, and you think, gee, I could do better than that.
    And so one day I was painting the bedroom and thinking what a piece of crap the paint can was.
    This was about 10 years ago.
    The thing about a paint can is that it’s guaranteed to make a mess every single time you use it, no matter what you do.
    It’s painful to carry.
    It requires a tool to open or close.
    It never closes right after you use it the first time.
    It was invented in the mid-1860s by either Mr. Sherwin or Mr. Williams, I forget which.
    It has had virtually no innovation in the time since.
    If you look at the Sherwin-Williams logo, you know, with the paint can pouring paint down over the globe,
    if you look at their logo from 1893, it’s the same paint can.
    And so I got thinking, how could this be better?
    And started just sketching out some ideas.
    In Silicon Valley, you’re very aware that the company, they want to do things to serve their interests.
    And as a user experience designer, I’m in the business of understanding what the end user needs and wants and how we can solve their problems.
    And the two tend to be very different.
    The paint can is a great thing for the manufacturer.
    It’s, you know, it’s a known quantity.
    All of their machines and robots are designed to accommodate its size and weight and everything else.
    It’s great for the retailer because it fits on a shelf just right.
    It’s really not designed for you, the consumer.
    I worked on it intermittently over a period of about five years, something like that.
    It was all evenings and weekends while I had a day job to pay the rent and to pay the people that I was hiring to help me with it.
    It started with pencil sketches and then onto a computer program where I could do drawings.
    The lid is critical to the success of a paint can.
    And so I prototyped that with paper and I interviewed a bunch of people.
    I learned everything about 3D printing.
    I learned about how you designed for injection molding.
    I interviewed product designers.
    I talked to painters.
    I took a tour of a paint factory.
    I interviewed the former head of a paint factory.
    I interviewed a hardware store, paint department managers, a recycling expert.
    One painter, the very first words out of his mouth were,
    who told you to reinvent the paint can?
    I said, well, nobody.
    I just felt like it needed to be done.
    And he said, why?
    It’s a logical question.
    Why would anybody in his right mind take on this thing that nobody asked him to do?
    And I never claimed to be in my right mind.
    So that’s the answer.
    I did hire mechanical engineers to help me with it.
    I hired a material science engineer.
    I hired a fluid dynamics engineer.
    Because I didn’t want to be doing it all myself.
    I’m a big believer that one-man bands play street corners, not concert halls.
    And if this thing was going to be any good, it was going to have to have more than my brain involved in it.
    I would get my prototype of the bucket, my prototype of the lid.
    I would have some prototype of a gasket in there.
    And I would pour some liquid yogurt in, which was my surrogate paint.
    I would put it in the bucket, and then shake the thing up, hold it upside down, trip it this way, tip it that way, and see what happened.
    I would say the design worked as a whole, except for the fact that it leaked.
    The blasted thing leaked.
    There would always be anywhere from a couple of drops coming out to a trickle coming out.
    I could not, for the life of me, stop it from leaking to some extent.
    And ultimately, that’s why I pulled the plug on the project.
    Given the design, I would have had to start over from scratch.
    And I was no longer willing to keep pouring more and more of my money into it.
    How much money did Boykin lose?
    Suffice it to say, you could go to Europe plenty of times.
    You could buy a car or two.
    You could do all sorts of things that anybody with a lick of sense would do instead.
    I have a wife and a cat.
    The cat didn’t care.
    My wife, let’s just say, was not a fan of this project.
    She’s always had a lot more sense than I have.
    And she was very wary of the money that it was going to take to push this thing through.
    She was worried I was going to get sued.
    She was not a fan.
    It was disappointing, but not terrible.
    Because the thing is that I’m the guy who tries.
    I worship at the Temple of Trying.
    And if you worship at the Temple of Trying, you have to maintain heavy denial about the odds
    that are stacked against you.
    And you have to know that your likelihood of failure is very, very high.
    And you have to go ahead and do it anyway.
    People with more sense probably would not.
    As Las Vegas and video games have taught us so well, the best way to addict somebody is
    intermittent reward.
    If you fail all the time, you’ll give up and stop trying.
    If you win all the time, you’ll get bored and stop trying.
    But intermittent reward, if you succeed just often enough, then you keep coming back.
    Oh, this next time I’ll do better.
    John Boykin, Jill Hoffman, Travis Thull, they all tried and failed.
    According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, around 20 percent of new businesses fail in
    their first two years and 45 percent in their first five years.
    So, they have a lot of company.
    How should we think about their failure?
    Well, remember what we heard earlier from the innovation scholar, Eric von Hippel.
    Every field we look at, in terms of the basic innovations, about half were done by users.
    And it’s fantastic.
    And think back to what we heard from the psychologist Gary Klein in the first episode of the series.
    We don’t want to discourage entrepreneurs from trying things out, even though the chances
    of success are so low.
    It’s not a good gamble for the entrepreneurs, but it’s good for our society.
    So, perhaps we should celebrate the failures of Boykin and Hoffman and Thull.
    Think about it.
    The fact that so many people are willing to keep trying and failing is fantastic.
    This is how civilization progresses.
    And your willingness to fail is valuable to me because if you do succeed, I will share
    in that success.
    So, give me your leaky paint cans and glitchy flight school apps.
    Even your ramen now.
    The wretched refuse of your teeming garage.
    Send these tempests tossed to me.
    I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
    Coming up after the break, what’s the difference between failure in invention and in academia?
    And how can you even tell?
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    In our last episode, we talked about medical failures where the stakes are literally life
    or death.
    In the first part of today’s episode, we talked about entrepreneurial failures, which
    typically aren’t life or death, but which can be expensive and painful and where the failure
    is obvious.
    But there’s another realm where failure isn’t so obvious, and it’s certainly not life or death.
    What is this realm?
    I’m talking about academia.
    If you have had the good fortune to make it into this realm with a tenured position, you
    can do pretty much what you want, often with generous funding from philanthropists and taxpayers.
    Now, I have come to know many academic researchers over the years, most of them in the social sciences.
    The majority of them are lovely, brilliant, right-minded people.
    But they are also, and I hope they don’t mind me saying this, they are also extraordinarily risk
    averse, which is probably not a coincidence.
    You may know the famous saying, the politics of the university are so intense because the
    stakes are so low.
    To be fair, academia has been set up to be this way.
    That’s why we call it the ivory tower, which the Oxford English Dictionary defines as a state
    of privileged seclusion or separation from the facts and practicalities of the real world.
    And that’s from a dictionary made in Oxford.
    Many academics I know do not have the temperament to thrive in the outside world.
    Now, this shouldn’t make us respect them any less.
    It’s just the way it is.
    Consider this.
    I happen to have a dog, one of those fluffy little breeds common in New York City.
    She looks more like a stuffed animal than one of her alleged wolf ancestors.
    And if she were set loose in the wilderness, she’d probably last around eight minutes.
    But that’s not her fault.
    And I do not love her any less.
    So it is with academic researchers.
    And when it comes to grit versus quit, well, here is the view of one person in the field.
    I think it’s very true that scientists are very unwilling to quit.
    Grit got us through school and it got us through undergrad and through, like, getting A’s.
    I think it’s, like, the only trait you need in order to get a PhD.
    And again, it’s not about how smart you are or, like, how creative you are or anything.
    You can get a PhD if you’re just willing to grit it out, essentially.
    That is Melanie Steffen.
    As you can probably hear from my accent, I was born in Austria.
    And then I studied biology and math at university and decided to be a scientist.
    I went to England to do a PhD and then traveled to different places to learn and study and ultimately work in science.
    Steffen lived in Scotland for seven years and recently moved to Germany.
    She is a professor of physiology at Medical School Berlin and she runs a neurobiology research lab.
    So Steffen has clearly had success.
    But along the way, she learned a lot about failure.
    I completed my PhD in 2009.
    I started my undergrad in 1999.
    So it had been already, like, 10 years worth of training.
    And then suddenly, after 10 years of training for that, I wasn’t sure if it was going to work out.
    I applied for several grants to get two or three years of postdoc funding and I was rejected from most of them.
    In terms of ego, I’m not going to lie, that was a bit difficult.
    Like, who am I really if the thing that I’ve trained for for the last 10 years and the thing that I thought I was is not actually what I’m going to do for the rest of my life?
    I think going into science, most people kind of think they will cure cancer or something.
    And then once you get into the work, you will solve problems.
    But it’s only like a very, very, very tiny bit of the overall problem.
    Like, even if you do cancer research, it’s going to be one particular mutation in one particular type of cancer in one particular cell line or something.
    And it’s such a small, small piece of the puzzle.
    Also, it turns out that grit is not actually sufficient, right?
    It’s necessary, but you can be the hardest worker ever and something can still go wrong.
    That went really dark now.
    Yeah.
    Even though Stefan did eventually get the career she hoped for, all that failure stayed with her.
    Years ago, she was rejected for a fellowship on the same day that the Brazilian Soccer Federation announced that they were leaving Ronaldinho, their longtime superstar, off the World Cup squad.
    At the time, Stefan wrote, cool, I am like Ronaldinho.
    Here’s how she sees it now.
    If you’re a young football player and something doesn’t work out, you know that you’re not the first person that that happens to, because it happened to Ronaldinho.
    As a scientist, it’s kind of the other way around, right?
    Like, failures are not discussed in public.
    I had been to a lot of talks and a lot of conferences and things like that.
    And speakers, famous, big, you know, important scientists get introduced with, like, ICV.
    And it’s all like, they did a PhD at this awesome place and they posted at this awesome place.
    And then they were hired and they got this grant and blah, blah, blah, you know.
    And so when you fail, you kind of feel like you’re the only person that that happens to.
    You feel extremely alone with it.
    And so this is why I thought, well, maybe we could use a little bit more public discussion of that.
    And my idea was that scientists who are famous and big and successful could actually publish their CV of failures in order to give younger scientists a bit more perspective.
    That’s right. Melanie Steffen created the idea of a CV of failures, a record of every rejected application, grant proposal, etc.
    So I started my CV of failures and then, I have to say, honestly, there were too many failures to keep track of after a while.
    She published an essay in Nature, a top journal, by the way, was called A CV of Failures.
    My CV, she wrote, meaning her regular CV, does not reflect the bulk of my academic efforts.
    It does not mention the exams I failed, my unsuccessful PhD or fellowship applications, or the papers never accepted for publication.
    At conferences, I talk about the one project that worked, not about the many that failed.
    Interestingly, this essay did not make a lot of noise.
    Perhaps it was because Steffen just wasn’t a big enough name.
    But years later, the idea got a boost from a prominent economist.
    Johannes Haushofer published his CV of failures and he was a Princeton professor.
    So now it was a big thing because someone who was clearly objectively very successful stepped forward and said,
    well, here are the things that I failed at, did it on social media and it became quite the, I mean, not viral in the sense that viral things get viral, but like, you know, science viral.
    He had said that he had a CV of failures for a few years and occasionally just sent it to people who needed it.
    Maybe a friend who had just experienced a rejection or a failure.
    And so as a way of saying, look, this happens to everyone.
    It’s hard to say if this idea of publicizing your own failures in academia has really caught on from the outside.
    I don’t see much evidence.
    I still see a lot of academic lectures that make no mention of mistakes or false steps or unproductive rabbit holes.
    Why is that?
    Well, consider how tenuous an academic career can be.
    Here’s another story from someone in academia, at least someone who planned to be in academia.
    My name is Mike Ridgeman.
    I was a teacher.
    I was a public school teacher.
    That was my career.
    Ridgeman taught English and he loved it.
    So he decided to keep climbing the ladder.
    Did a master’s degree at Fairfield University in Connecticut.
    Taught some more and then applied to and was accepted to the doctorate program at Penn State University.
    The goal was get that degree so I have the credential necessary to teach at a university level.
    That’s what I thought I was doing.
    Mike Ridgeman got his Ph.D. in education from Penn State in 2011.
    Not long after, he moved to Wisconsin where his girlfriend, soon to be his wife, was already living.
    I began adjuncting immediately.
    I think there were four local universities that I was adjuncting in.
    And I’m like, oh, well, OK, here we go.
    You know, one of these is bound to turn into something full time.
    An adjunct teaching job is essentially a freelance gig.
    No job security, no paid time for research and no guarantee of anything better in the future.
    To a student in a college classroom, an adjunct professor and a tenured or tenured track professor might look identical.
    But if you saw their pay stubs, you could easily tell them apart.
    Adjuncts often earn just a few thousand dollars per course.
    Over the past few decades, universities have continued to create a lot of Ph.D.s while eliminating many of the tenured positions those Ph.D.s might hope to fill, replacing them with adjuncts or graduate students.
    As recently as 1987, fewer than half of college and university teaching positions were held by adjuncts and other contingent faculty, as they’re sometimes called.
    Today, it’s more than two thirds.
    And that’s where Mike Ridgeman found himself.
    When you get a Ph.D. from Penn State, you feel like you’re going to go somewhere.
    You know, it just it never did.
    And then you wonder, like, is it me?
    Did I do something wrong?
    None of his adjunct jobs turned into anything more than that.
    He kept at it for a while.
    Ridgeman has grit, that’s for sure.
    But grit wasn’t getting him anywhere.
    You know, had a little come to Jesus meeting with my wife and she kind of, I don’t remember her exact words, but her message was.
    I know you’ve given 20 years to this and have put in a lot of time and effort to making a career for yourself in education.
    But this family cannot carry on not knowing how much or if you’re going to work from semester to semester.
    And she’s like, we need you to have, you know, for lack of a better phrase, a real job.
    You know, and God bless her for having the guts to say that to me.
    I’m sure that was not easy for her.
    That idea you have that, okay, I’m going to have a fulfilling career on a campus where there are, you know, creative, thoughtful people with new ideas and just this vibrancy and this enthusiasm for learning.
    I’m going to get to be around that my whole life.
    And then you got to flip the switch and find something else to do.
    When we first spoke with Ridgeman, he was an advocacy manager for the Trek Bicycle Corporation.
    When I went to go work for my current employer, I was picking orders for bicycles in the warehouse for $11.50 an hour.
    I’m like, what the f*** am I doing here?
    How did I end up here, right?
    I have a doctorate degree in education.
    And I don’t mean to say that like I, because I have friends who work at that warehouse and that’s their career and they love it.
    So I don’t want that to come off in a wrong way.
    But that was professionally, that was rock bottom right there.
    No doubt.
    I have somehow failed myself by not being able to get to whatever place it was that I had envisioned for myself.
    But, you know, more than that, I feel like I sold my wife a false bill of goods.
    One of the benefits of being a faculty member at a university is a free or reduced education tuition for dependents, you know, to help the kids.
    And then all of a sudden, I feel like I have fallen short of how I advertised myself to her.
    And I feel like I let the kids down, too.
    I still feel like I’m a positive influence on them in many ways.
    Academically, they’re both doing incredible things.
    One’s in high school now and one is in college.
    But, yeah, I just, I feel like I’ve let them down in some way, too, and that I wasn’t able to do more for them.
    I need to be honest with myself here, too, right?
    I mean, I have a wonderful home.
    I have a wonderful family.
    I have a job.
    I don’t have to worry about where I’m going to eat or sleep.
    I’m sure that I still look like a success, right?
    Like my life turned out great, but that’s not how it feels.
    As far as blame goes, I’m certainly culpable.
    I should have, I think, done more to learn about what I was getting into.
    Part of my problem was I did not ask enough questions.
    And I don’t think I knew the right questions to ask.
    But I think had I just started down that road of asking questions, I would have found the right questions.
    I miss teaching every day.
    I miss those relationships.
    I miss, you know, I still get emails from some of the undergraduates that I taught.
    That’s what I miss, you know, getting a kid to run through that brick wall for the very first time
    and seeing the look on their face when they’re like, oh, my God, I just did that.
    And you’re like, yes, man, you did.
    You just did that.
    There’s nothing that replaces that feeling.
    And I miss that.
    I miss that tremendously.
    I have no idea if Mike Ridgeman was a good professor.
    Maybe he wasn’t.
    But think back to the data we talked about earlier.
    The rising share of adjunct professors who are basically part of the gig economy
    and the falling share of tenured professors who get to have an actual career.
    I’m guessing when it comes to intellect and talent, there are a lot of people in the first
    group who are virtually indistinguishable from people in the second group.
    And I’m guessing a lot of them are as stunned as Mike Ridgeman that they devoted so much time
    and money and effort to a system he dearly wanted to belong to, but which in the end just
    spat him out.
    The tenured professors, meanwhile, are protected, even if they don’t perform well in the classroom
    or produce good research, in some cases, even if they commit academic fraud.
    So if you were just starting out in academia, if you were a young Mike Ridgeman who didn’t
    make it or a young Melanie Stephan who did, but with scars from her failures, how do you know
    if the answer is grit or quit?
    I wish I knew.
    I would happily tell you.
    But I don’t.
    After the break, more failure.
    In love.
    Yeah, he dumped me when I was 70.
    And in art.
    We had spent so much time worrying about what would happen if there was a hurricane.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    Joseph O’Connell has been a maker all his life.
    I had, as a child, a lot of connection to Thomas Edison.
    My grandfather had played with Edison’s youngest son, and he was always bringing home lab notebooks
    and motors and gizmos, some of which had Edison’s writings in the margins.
    This was in New Jersey, where O’Connell grew up.
    Of course, I never met Edison, but the next best thing happened when I was in my early
    20s, and I started my studio creative machines, just myself.
    And just by happenstance, the landlord, the man whose building I was renting, had been Thomas
    Edison’s last shop foreman.
    It was his job to direct the work every day and report back to Edison.
    To say that Thomas Edison was an inspiration to O’Connell would be an understatement.
    Not just how Edison succeeded, but how he talked about failure.
    I had heard that phrase, I have not failed 10,000 times.
    I have successfully found 10,000 ways not to build the light bulb.
    And of course, that led to the success.
    Today, O’Connell and his studio build public art projects across the country.
    Some of them are complicated pieces with big, moving parts.
    He has won awards.
    His work is in museums.
    But O’Connell says the projects he remembers best are the ones that don’t work out.
    His biggest failure was in Houston.
    It’s a massive piece made of aluminum and stainless steel and fabric.
    It’s called Wings Over Water.
    We won the commission in the spring of 2016.
    And it had to be installed in downtown Houston in time for Super Bowl 51, which was February 2017.
    It was going to be what’s, by some measures, the world’s largest freestanding outdoor kinetic
    sculpture in an active fountain.
    And it all had to be done in a few months.
    Houston is a city of immigration and migration.
    It’s the number one city from which people coming from South and Central America get their
    first foothold in the United States.
    They have an economy that is welcoming.
    They have established communities.
    It’s also an extremely welcoming city to bird migration.
    Houston and the Gulf of Mexico-Houston interface is where birds on the Central American flyway
    stop after they’ve flown over the Gulf.
    And so the concept for this art is to give tribute to when a bird or a human is in a difficult spot
    and doesn’t have a place to land and rest.
    They just have to fly days and days without rest.
    So the idea was this giant set of wings that has this sine wave that moves through it along two axes and the wings are
    continuously beating over the fountain, wings over water, if you will.
    In an effort to be completely metaphorically true to Houston, it is moved by a large hydraulic motor that turns a crankshaft.
    And the wings are supported by, I think it’s 32 push rods that look like oil derricks rising and falling.
    So things were installed.
    It ran for the Super Bowl.
    People love it.
    It’s the backdrop for countless social media photos.
    And in the Super Bowl, between plays, there’s some footage of it.
    Then three things happened.
    We had Hurricane Harvey, which hit Houston, but didn’t damage the sculpture.
    It was a pretty mild impact on the actual downtown.
    We had planned for hurricanes.
    It also went through COVID during a period of time when we know that the plaza was not policed
    and we’d heard that kids were kind of getting in the fountain and messing around.
    In any event, COVID’s over.
    We’re reopening to the public and the sculpture’s operating.
    What got us was we were not prepared for the big Texas freeze.
    For one to two weeks, the temperature was around 10, 20 degrees.
    And pipes froze and broke all over Houston.
    So the main helix that drives wings over water is itself a pipe.
    And as it dips in and out of the fountain, it accumulates water.
    And we had never anticipated.
    We had gotten environmental data and we had anticipated an ice storm coating the sculpture
    and we did the calculations for that.
    But nothing in our assumptions led us to calculate two weeks of how much water expands
    when it gets down well below 20 degrees.
    So it went through the ice storm and there was no visible damage.
    And then cracks started to develop in one part of the helix.
    And so the first thing we do is we immobilize it.
    We replace that part with an identical part.
    And then right next to it, additional cracks developed.
    So we stopped operating it again.
    And what they decided to do as of last November was to say,
    you know, I think we’re just going to leave the sculpture off as a static sculpture.
    And that’s the current position.
    And so we took that, well, it’s theirs, you know.
    We took that judgment a little harshly.
    It’s the feeling you get when you’ve prepared for problems A, B, C, D, E, and F,
    and something like G or M comes out of the blue and smacks you.
    We had spent so much time worrying about what would happen if there was a hurricane.
    You know, what if somebody got hurt building it?
    Nobody ever got hurt building it.
    And the sculpture eventually made it through Hurricane Harvey.
    But I think this particular incident highlights one of the problems with projects and complexity.
    It would probably take a million dollars to totally redo the bottom part of Wings Over Water.
    And I still hold out the thought that that would be a wonderful future second act for Wings Over Water,
    if just a relatively small amount of money by municipal standards could be raised.
    I will tell you one thing about Edison.
    He wasn’t driven by money.
    He was passionate about inventing the next thing.
    He was driven by the beauty of the things he was making.
    And I feel like I have that too.
    And that sets you up for disappointment, for failure.
    Because you can’t stop investing in what you’re doing.
    There’s one more zone of failure that we haven’t heard about today.
    It’s love.
    Nobody gets out of love alive.
    Nobody.
    We all know that.
    But we go on.
    Helen Fisher was a friend of mine, a lovely human.
    She died last year.
    She was an anthropologist who studied romantic love.
    I have been extremely lucky during most of my life.
    I’ve lived with men long-term, two men long-term, one for 15 years, another for 18 years.
    Oddly enough, I’ve studied marriage for 50 years, but I wasn’t interested in marrying.
    I finally met the man of my dreams.
    I’m just nuts about him.
    He’s a very well-known journalist, and he had interviewed me for years, and I really liked him.
    And we went out for about six months, and then he dumped me.
    Yeah, he dumped me when I was 70.
    I was never angry at him.
    The reason I wasn’t angry at him is he was a single father going through a horrible divorce.
    He just came to me one day, and he said,
    Helen, I just can’t take on anymore.
    I remember he did it in Grand Central Station, and I was standing there, and I said, okay.
    And I remember I walked home, and I just sat at the edge of my bed for six weeks playing music to kill yourself by.
    And crying, I mean, what else do you do?
    And, you know, overloading my friends with my sorrow and all that.
    Which, by the way, after a while isn’t a good idea.
    You’re just raising the ghost.
    But anyway, what I did, though, is I never contacted him.
    I never wrote him at Christmas to wish him well.
    I never contacted him again.
    I think it allowed him to realize that he was a free agent,
    that he could start this relationship and explore where it was going to go without having a tightrope around his neck.
    So he wrote to me a letter and said to me that he thought he’d made a terrible mistake.
    And we fell in love, and I got married to him at age 75.
    When he asked me to marry him, I said, I’ll marry you, but I’m not moving in.
    Because I have a little nice apartment in New York.
    He’s got a beautiful apartment in the Bronx.
    But, I mean, I’m there five nights a week.
    The other nights I like to go to the theater with my girlfriends, etc.
    If Helen Fisher is to be believed, the difference between success and failure is sometimes just timing.
    Time, after all, is the dimension of change.
    It isn’t hard to think of success and failure as nearly identical, as twins even, separated by nothing but a few moments.
    This is what Travis Thull came to believe.
    Thull, you will remember, is the inventor of the ramen now.
    The feedback we received consistently was, this is great, this is awesome, we’ll sell millions.
    We just need you to pony up $200,000 or $300,000 up front.
    After he spoke with us about his failed invention, he started thinking maybe he shouldn’t have given up.
    He still doesn’t have the $200,000 or $300,000, but he did think of a way to raise it.
    With a campaign on Kickstarter, the crowdfunding platform.
    So, we got back on the line with Travis Thull.
    Yeah, so the proposal to give this one last rodeo on Kickstarter seemed really intuitive.
    I hired a marketing team, I hired a graphic designer, I hired a mechanical engineer, a couple other folks that have helped put together the social media presence, build the webpage, build out some more three-dimensional renders.
    Of course, we’ve done the prototyping and the experimentation.
    So, really, I think putting ourselves in a position where if Kickstarter has the interest that we hope it will, we might be able to get a good product to some early adopters in the not-too-distant future.
    What do you think your chance of success is?
    This whole conversation started out of failing gloriously, right?
    There was a point 10 years ago where I thought, how on earth could this fail?
    This is such a simple concept with a huge audience, right?
    This is literally the coffee maker for ramen noodles, which everybody eats.
    And, of course, we were not successful the first rodeo.
    So, I want to temper expectations.
    I would be happy to be surprised.
    Would you put your odds at maybe 50-50 at least or no?
    Oh, my.
    Maybe there’s a 10% chance that we raised that $300,000.
    I think that’s probably just being an engineer.
    I think that’s the more statistically relevant reality.
    But I think, you know, maybe the hope springs eternal in all of us failed and successful entrepreneurs that, you know, we get that visibility.
    And there’s somebody out there and says, you know what?
    This has a potential George Foreman Grill style market.
    Why don’t we give this a go, given that the investment is relatively small, given the market size?
    If there was a celebrity to link to the ramen now, who would it be?
    Oh, man.
    So, I’m out of touch with pop culture like I was.
    Can we get the kid that played Chunk from the Goonies?
    I feel like that would be a great voice for my generation.
    Aaron Rodgers, he’s very popular, I guess, in New York, which would be a great place to go.
    Tom Brady, he’s still around.
    Presumably, we could go with him.
    What if you go upstream a little bit, like Barack Obama might be interested and he’s not that busy?
    Yeah, Barack Obama did a very good episode with Anthony Bourdain where they were eating noodles in Vietnam.
    Barack Obama eating ramen out of my ramen maker would be, I guess I could call it a day at that point.
    I think the Obama now could be a potential kitchen appliance.
    So, the last time we spoke, you said, here’s a quote from you, Travis.
    There’s nothing more that I would like to see in my lifetime than the successful launching and widespread adoption of ramen now.
    I was looking back over that transcript and I was thinking, like, really?
    There’s nothing more you’d like to see?
    You have a family and there’s cancer and climate change.
    How do all those challenges, let’s say, compare to the problem of instant ramen?
    Well, you know, if you can’t enjoy your ramen the way you want to, when you want to, what’s the point of it all?
    What else is there?
    Well played, sir.
    Well played.
    World peace is very important.
    But I want to assure that when we have that peaceful world, everybody in it can eat ramen now.
    I hope you enjoyed this episode and we’ve got an update for you on Travis Thull and the ramen now.
    His Kickstarter campaign raised only $54,000, a long way from his goal of $277,000.
    That might sound like another failure, but the story did not end there.
    After this episode aired in 2023, two listeners reached out to Thull to learn more about Ramen Now.
    They were both entrepreneurs who liked the idea and wanted to help him get it off the ground.
    And that’s how Ramen Now finally found its lead investor, Moa Haile, the CEO of a Denver contracting company.
    Thull says he hopes we will see the Ramen Now on store shelves by next spring.
    Coming up next time on the show, the fourth and final episode in our series, How to Succeed at Failing.
    Here’s a question.
    If there’s so much to learn from failure, why is no one teaching it?
    I’m going to do this experimental class and I’m going to call it Failure 101.
    And how would you feel about a museum of failure?
    We have Pepsi Crystal, New Coke.
    We have the Theranis blood testing kit.
    Also, you’ve heard of a post-mortem when things go wrong.
    How about a pre-mortem?
    That’s next time on the show.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    This episode was originally produced by Zach Lipinski and was updated with help from Dalvin Abouaji.
    It was mixed by Greg Rippin and Jasmine Klinger with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    The Freakonomics Radio Network staff also includes Alina Cullman, Augusta Chapman, Eleanor Osborne, Ellen Frankman, Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Roth, Morgan Levy, Sarah Lilly, and Theo Jacobs.
    You can find our entire archive on any podcast app, also at Freakonomics.com, where we publish transcripts and show notes.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by The Hitchhikers.
    Our composer is Luis Guerra.
    Once again, thanks for listening.
    The 39-cent ramen noodle brick is really a foundational component of what can be a hugely experimental meal.
    And I say this with all seriousness.
    Sorry, I’m laughing with joy, not with derision, I promise.

    Giving up can be painful. That’s why we need to talk about it. Today: stories about glitchy apps, leaky paint cans, broken sculptures — and a quest for the perfect bowl of ramen.

     

    • SOURCES:
      • John Boykin, website designer and failed paint can re-inventor.
      • Angela Duckworth, host of No Stupid Questions, co-founder of Character Lab, and professor of psychology at the University of Pennsylvania.
      • Amy Edmondson, professor of leadership management at Harvard Business School.
      • Helen Fisher, former senior research fellow at The Kinsey Institute and former chief science advisor to Match.com.
      • Eric von Hippel, professor of technological innovation at M.I.T.’s Sloan School of Management.
      • Jill Hoffman, founder and C.E.O. of Path 2 Flight.
      • Gary Klein, cognitive psychologist and pioneer in the field of naturalistic decision making.
      • Steve Levitt, host of People I (Mostly) Admire, co-author of the Freakonomics books, and professor of economics at the University of Chicago.
      • Joseph O’Connell, artist.
      • Mike Ridgeman, government affairs manager at the Wisconsin Bike Fed.
      • Melanie Stefan, professor of physiology at Medical School Berlin.
      • Travis Thul, vice president for Student Success and Engagement at Minnesota State University, Mankato.

     

     

  • How to Succeed at Failing, Part 2: Life and Death (Update)

    AI transcript
    Hey there, Stephen Dubner.
    We are replaying a series we made in 2023 called How to Succeed at Failing.
    This is the second episode.
    We have updated all facts and figures as necessary.
    As always, thanks for listening.
    In early 2007, Carol Hemmelgarn’s life was forever changed by a failure, a tragic medical failure.
    At the time, she was working for Pfizer, the huge U.S. pharmaceutical firm.
    So she was familiar with the health care system.
    But what changed her life wasn’t a professional failure.
    This was personal.
    My nine-year-old daughter, Alyssa, was diagnosed with leukemia, ALL, on a Monday afternoon.
    And she died 10 days later.
    In this day and age of health care, children don’t die of leukemia in nine days.
    She died from multiple medical errors.
    She got a hospital-acquired infection, which we know today can be prevented.
    She was labeled.
    And when you attach labels to patients, a bias is formed.
    And it’s often difficult to look beyond that bias.
    So one of the failures in my daughter’s care is that she was labeled with anxiety.
    The young resident treating her never asked myself or her father if she was an anxious child.
    And she wasn’t.
    What happens is we treat anxiety, but we don’t treat scared, afraid, and frightened.
    And that’s what my daughter was.
    Hospitals are frightening places to children.
    So my daughter, with her hospital-acquired infection, became septic.
    But they were not treating her for the sepsis because all they could focus on is they thought she was anxious.
    And they kept giving her drugs for anxiety.
    Even though the signs, the symptoms, and me as her mother kept telling them something was wrong, something wasn’t right,
    they wouldn’t listen to me.
    So by the time she was failing so poorly and rushed to surgery and brought back out, there was nothing they could do for her.
    The first harm was unintentional that they did to our daughter.
    It was all the intentional harms after that, where we were lied to.
    The medical records were hidden from us.
    People were told not to talk to us.
    And the fact that it took the organization three years, seven months, and 28 days to have the first honest conversation with us,
    Those were all intentional harms.
    And that’s why in health care, we have to have transparency.
    Because how many other children suffered because of the learning that didn’t take place?
    Hemelgarn says she filed a claim against the hospital, but she didn’t move forward with a lawsuit because of the emotional toll.
    She ultimately took a different path.
    In 2021, she co-founded an advocacy group called Patients for Patient Safety U.S.
    It is aligned with the World Health Organization.
    She also runs a master’s program at Georgetown University called Clinical Quality, Safety, and Leadership.
    When harm does reach the patient or family, that is the time to really analyze what happened.
    And while you never want to harm a patient or family, one of the things you’ll hear from patients and families after they have been harmed
    is they want to make sure that what happened to them or their loved one never happens again.
    The example I can give for myself personally is I did go back to the very organization where my daughter died.
    And I have done work there.
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, we continue with our series on failure.
    In the first episode, we acknowledge that some failure is inevitable.
    We are, by definition, fallible human beings, each and every one of us.
    And that failure can be painful.
    I don’t think we should enjoy failure.
    I think failure needs to burn on us.
    This week, we focus on the healthcare system, where failure is literally a matter of life or death.
    Some organizations felt like they had already achieved the patient safety mission.
    Others, it wasn’t even part of their strategic plan.
    And we will learn where on a spectrum to place every failure.
    From inexcusable.
    There’s lots of examples of huge public sector failures.
    But this was one of the biggest.
    To life-saving.
    I really believe that if we could do this, it would make a big difference in medicine.
    How to Succeed at Failing, Part 2, Beginning Now.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    The podcast that explores the hidden side of everything.
    With your host, Stephen Dubner.
    The story of Carol Hemmelgarn’s daughter is tragic.
    A hospital death caused by something other than the reason the patient was in the hospital.
    Unfortunately, that type of death is not as rare as you might think.
    Consider the case of Redonda Vaught, a nurse at Vanderbilt University’s Medical Center.
    In 2019, she was prosecuted for having administered the wrong medication to a patient who subsequently died.
    The patient was a 75-year-old woman who had been admitted to the hospital
    for a subdural hematoma or bleeding in the brain.
    Here is Redonda Vaught testifying at her trial.
    I was pulling this medication.
    I didn’t think to double-check what I thought I had pulled from the machine.
    I used the override function.
    I don’t recall ever seeing any warnings that showed up on the monitor.
    The medication that Vaught meant to pull from the AccuDose machine was a sedative called Versed.
    What she mistakenly pulled was a paralytic called Vecuronium.
    Vecuronium instead of Versed.
    I won’t ever be the same person.
    When I started being a nurse, I told myself that I wanted to take care of people the way that I would want my grandmother to be taken care of.
    Redonda Vaught was convicted of negligent homicide and gross neglect of an impaired adult.
    Her sentence was three years probation.
    You might expect a patient safety advocate like Carol Hemmelgarn to celebrate Vaught’s prosecution, but she doesn’t.
    This doesn’t solve problems.
    All this does is it creates silence and barriers.
    When errors happen so often, the frontline workers, your nurses, allied health physicians were blamed.
    But what we’ve come to realize is it’s really a systemic problem.
    They happen to be at the frontline, but it’s underlying issues that are at the root of these problems.
    It can be policies that aren’t the right policies.
    It could be shortages of staff.
    It can be equipment failures that are known at device companies but haven’t been shared with those using the devices.
    It can be medication errors because of labels that look similar or drug names that are similar.
    To get at the systemic problem in the Vanderbilt case, Hemmelgarn’s advocacy group filed a complaint with the Office of Inspector General in the Department of Health and Human Services.
    What we found most frustrating was the lack of leadership from Vanderbilt.
    Leadership never came out and took any responsibility.
    They never said anything.
    They never talked to the community.
    It was essentially silence from leadership.
    I think one of the other big failures we have in health care is fear.
    Health care is rooted in fear because of the fear of litigation.
    When there’s a fear of litigation, silence happens.
    And until we flip that model, we’re going to continue down this road.
    I absolutely share that worry.
    And that case was, in my mind, a classic case of a complex failure.
    Yes, there was a human error.
    We also had faulty medication labeling and storing practices with alphabetical organization of drugs, which is not how you do it.
    That’s Amy Edmondson.
    That’s Amy Edmondson.
    We heard from her in our last episode.
    She is an organizational psychologist at the Harvard Business School.
    She recently published a book called Right Kind of Wrong, The Science of Failing Well.
    The Vanderbilt case was not an example of failing well.
    Redonda Vaught, you will remember, dispensed Vecuronium instead of Versed.
    You know, you don’t have a dangerous, potentially fatal drug next to one that’s routinely used in a particular procedure.
    It’s what we might call an accident waiting to happen.
    With that perspective in mind, Redonda is as much a victim of a system failure as a perpetuator of the failure, right?
    So, this reaction, human error is almost never criminal.
    To criminalize this, I think, reflects an erroneous belief that by doing so, we’ll preclude human error.
    No, what we will do is preclude speaking up about human error.
    And to her credit, she spoke up.
    And that, one could argue, ultimately led her to the conviction she would have been better off somehow trying to hide it, which I wouldn’t advocate, obviously.
    But when we recognize, deeply recognize, that errors will happen, then that means that what excellence looks like is catching and correcting errors.
    And then being forever on the lookout for vulnerabilities in our systems.
    How often do these kinds of deaths happen?
    Researchers have a hard time answering that question.
    In 1999, the Institute of Medicine, known today as the National Academy of Medicine, found that medical error,
    medical error causes between 44,000 and 98,000 deaths per year.
    A 2013 study in the Journal of Patient Safety estimated the number of preventable deaths at U.S. hospitals at 200,000 a year.
    But in 2020, a meta-analysis done by researchers at the Yale School of Medicine re-evaluated those past estimates.
    They put the number of preventable deaths at 22,000 preventable deaths a year is way too many.
    This issue has gotten a lot of attention within the medical community.
    But Carol Hemmelgarn says the attention hasn’t produced enough change.
    Some organizations felt like they had already achieved the patient safety mission.
    Others, it wasn’t even part of their strategic plan.
    There’s areas where improvement has definitely escalated since the report came out over 20 years ago.
    But it hasn’t been fast enough.
    What we see is that not everything is implemented in the system.
    That you can oftentimes have champions that are doing this work.
    And if they leave, the work isn’t embedded and sustainable.
    Amy Edmondson at Harvard has been doing research on medical failure for a long time.
    But she didn’t set out to be a failure researcher.
    As an undergraduate, I studied engineering sciences and design.
    Tell me about the first phase of your professional life, including with Buckminster Fuller.
    Yeah, so I’m answering that question with a huge smile on my face.
    I worked three years for Buckminster Fuller, who was an octogenarian, creative person, an inventor, a genius, a writer, a teacher.
    Best known for the geodesic dome, which he invented.
    But single-mindedly about how do we use design to make a better world.
    You can’t sort of get people to change.
    You have to change the environment, and then they’ll change with it, was a kind of notion that he had.
    My part was just doing engineering drawings and building models and doing the mathematics behind new, simpler geodesic configurations.
    And it was so much fun.
    And what was his view on failure generally?
    Oh, he was a very enthusiastic proponent of using failure to learn.
    He said often, the only mistake we make is thinking we shouldn’t make mistakes.
    He would give the example of the very first time he got a group of students together to build a geodesic dome that he had, you know, he’d done the math.
    He’d come up with this idea, and he got, you know, 20 students together.
    They’re outside.
    They built the thing, and it immediately collapsed.
    Okay.
    And he enthusiastically said, okay, that didn’t work.
    Now, what went wrong?
    And it was really the materials they were using, which were, I think, the best way to describe them is Venetian blind materials.
    They had the tensile strength, but they certainly didn’t have the compressive strength to do their job.
    Okay.
    And what are the steps you take to turn that failure into a useful learning, I guess is the noun we use these days?
    It was several years into her engineering career that Edmondson decided to get a PhD in organizational behavior.
    I was interested in learning in organizations, and I got invited to be a member of a large team studying medication errors in hospitals.
    And the reason I said yes was, first of all, I was a first-year graduate student.
    I needed to do something.
    And second of all, I saw a very obvious link between mistakes and learning.
    And so I thought, here we’ve got these really smart people who will be identifying mistakes, and then I can look at how do people learn from them and how easy is it and how hard is it.
    So that’s how I got in there.
    And then one thing led to another.
    After doing that study, people kept inviting me back.
    I see.
    She loves failure, they say.
    That’s right.
    Edmondson focused her research on what are called preventable adverse drug events, like the one from the Redonda Vaught case.
    Now, you can divide adverse drug events into two categories, one which is related to some kind of human error or system breakdown, and the other which is a previously unknown allergy.
    So it literally couldn’t have been predicted.
    And those are still adverse drug events, but they’re not called preventable adverse drug events.
    But within the first category, there’s probably 10 subcategories at least, right?
    There’s bad data entry, bad handwriting, wrong eyeglasses.
    On and on it goes.
    Yep.
    Or, you know, using language badly so that people didn’t understand what you said and they didn’t feel safe asking.
    My wife had a knee surgery, easy knee surgery, and the painkiller that they prescribed on the spot, the doc actually stood there and wrote it, was for 100x the dosage.
    Oh, no.
    No.
    Yeah.
    Yeah.
    See, that’s an error-driven, preventable adverse drug event.
    Yes, I agree.
    You know, there will always be things that go wrong or at least not the way we wanted them to.
    And my observation in studying teams in a variety of industries and settings was that responses to failure were rather uniform, inappropriately uniform.
    The natural response and even the formal response was to find the culprit as if there was a culprit and either discipline or retrain or, you know, shame and blame the culprit.
    And it wasn’t a very effective solution because the only way to prevent those kinds of system breakdowns is to be highly vigilant to how little things can line up and produce failures.
    Based on what she was learning from medical mistakes, Edmondson wanted to come up with a more general theory of failure, or if not a theory, at least a way to think about it more systematically.
    To remove some of the blame, to remove some of the blame, to make the responses to failure less uniform.
    Over time, she produced what she calls, well, here, let’s have Edmondson say it.
    My spectrum of causes of failures.
    After the break, we will hear about that spectrum of causes of failures.
    It can clarify some things, but not everything.
    Uncertainty is everywhere.
    I’m Stephen Dubner, and you are listening to Freakonomics Radio.
    We will be right back with how to succeed at failing.
    How did Amy Edmondson become so driven to study failure?
    Well, here’s one path to it.
    Her whole life, she had been a straight-A student.
    Right, I never had an A-.
    Well, you know, I once had one in 10th grade.
    It just was so devastating, I resolved not to have one again.
    And I’m only partly joking.
    But then she went to college.
    I got an F on my first semester multivariable calculus exam.
    An F.
    Like, I failed the exam.
    I mean, that’s unheard of.
    What’d that feel like?
    I didn’t see it coming, but I wasn’t baffled after the fact.
    After the fact, it was very clear to me that I hadn’t studied enough.
    In the years since then, Edmondson has been refining what she calls a spectrum of causes of failure.
    The spectrum ranges from blameworthy to praiseworthy, and it contains six distinct categories of failure.
    Let’s take two extremes.
    Let’s say something goes wrong.
    We achieve an undesired result.
    On one end of the spectrum, it’s sabotage.
    Someone literally tanked the process.
    They threw a wrench into the works.
    On the other end of the spectrum, we have a scientist or an engineer hypothesizing some new tweak that might solve a really important problem.
    And they try it, and it fails.
    And, of course, we praise the scientist, but the gradations in between often lull us into a false sense that it’s blameworthy all the way.
    Okay.
    So let’s start at the blameworthy end of the spectrum and move our way along.
    Number one of the six.
    My spectrum of causes of failures starts with sabotage or deviance.
    I soak a rag in lighter fluid, set it on fire, throw it into a building, right?
    Or I’m a physician in a hospital, I’m a surgeon, and I come to work drunk and do an operation.
    You describe this as the individual chooses to violate a prescribed process or practice.
    Now, I could imagine there are some cases where people violate because they think that the process is wrong.
    That’s right.
    There has to be intent here.
    To label something a true sabotage, it has to be my intent is to break something.
    It’s not a mistake, and it’s not a thoughtful experiment.
    There certainly are protocols in hospitals, for example, where thoughtful physicians will deliberately depart from the protocol because their clinical judgment suggests that would be better.
    They may be right, they may be wrong, but that would not qualify as a blameworthy act.
    After sabotage on the spectrum comes inattention.
    Inattention is when something goes wrong because you just were mailing it in.
    You spaced out.
    You didn’t hear what someone said, and you didn’t ask, and then you just tried to wing it.
    Or you maybe are driving, you’re a trucker, and you’re driving, and you look away or fiddle with the radio and have a car crash.
    Now, it sounds like those are mostly blameworthy, but what about inattention caused by external factors?
    Well, that’s exactly right.
    Once we leave sabotage and move to the right in the spectrum, it will never be immediately obvious whether something’s blameworthy or not.
    It’s always going to need further analysis.
    So, when we say the failure was caused by someone not paying attention, that just brings up more questions.
    Okay, why weren’t they paying attention?
    Now, it could be that this poor nurse was on a double shift, and that is not necessarily the nurse’s fault.
    It might be the nurse manager who assigned that double shift, or it might be the fact that someone else didn’t show up, and so they have to just do it, and they’re quite literally too tired to pay attention fully, right?
    So, we always want to say, well, wait, let’s see, what are the other contributing factors to this inattention?
    Can you think of a large-scale failure, a corporate or institutional failure that was caused largely by inattention?
    Yes.
    One that comes to mind was a devastating collapse with the loss of many lives when a Hyatt Regency atrium collapsed in Kansas City in the early 80s.
    And the inattention there was the engineer on record’s failure to pay close attention when the builder decided, out loud, not hidden, to swap one long beam for two smaller connected steel beams.
    It would have been a five-minute calculation to show that won’t work with the loads that were expected.
    It was a change that didn’t obtain the attention it needed to have avoided this catastrophic failure.
    And was that change done to save money, or was it even more benign than that?
    I think it was a combination of speed and money.
    Speed is money.
    Wow, wow, wow, wow.
    That’s a great example.
    Okay, let’s go to the next one.
    Inability.
    I’m reading one version of your spectrum here, which describes this as the individual lacks the knowledge, attitudes, skills, or perceptions required to execute a task.
    That’s quite a portfolio of potential failure.
    That’s right.
    And that spans from a young child who doesn’t yet know how to ride a bicycle.
    So as soon as they hop on that bicycle, they’re going to fall off because they don’t have the ability yet to, you know, multivariable calculus, which at least when you’re not studying hard enough, you don’t have the ability.
    So it’s something that you just don’t have the ability to do to success, but usually could develop.
    This reminds me of the Peter Principle, where people get promoted to a position higher than they’re capable based on their past experience, but their past experience may not have been so relevant to this.
    That’s a great connection.
    Yeah, the Peter Principle, where the failure gets caused by the fact that you don’t have the ability to do the new role, but no one really paused to reflect on that.
    I sometimes think about this in the political realm, too.
    The ability to get elected and the ability to govern effectively seem to be almost uncorrelated to me.
    I’m sorry to say, do you think that’s the case and do you apply this spectrum sometimes to the political realm?
    I don’t think it was always the case, but I think it might be increasingly the case.
    There’s no theoretical reason why the two abilities to be compelling and win people over to your point of view should be at odds with the capability to do it.
    But the way it is increasingly set up in our society might be putting them at odds.
    After inability comes what Edmondson calls task challenge.
    Yes, the task is too challenging for reliable failure-free performance.
    Example?
    A great example is an Olympic gymnast who is training all the time and is able to do some of the most challenging maneuvers, but will not do them 100% of the time.
    And so when that person experiences a failure, they trip during their routine, then we would call that a failure that was largely caused by the inherent challenge of the task.
    Can you give an example in either the corporate or maybe academic realm?
    Let’s go to NASA, for example.
    The shuttle program is very, very challenging.
    I think we can all agree to that.
    And over time, they started to think of it as not challenging.
    But really, it’s a remarkably challenging thing to send a rocket into space and bring it back safely.
    Kind of paradoxical, then, that the thing was actually called Challenger.
    That’s a good point.
    Actually, I love Richard Feynman looking back on the Challenger accident, his sort of simple willingness to just put the piece of O-ring in the ice water and see what happens.
    That’s something that in a better run, more psychologically safe, more creative, generative work environment, someone else would have done in real time.
    But, you know, if I recall correctly, even though he was on that commission to investigate, they tried to essentially shut him up.
    They didn’t want that news coming out at the hearing.
    They wanted, you know, they didn’t want the failure to be so explicit.
    That’s right.
    But that’s, I mean, that’s not a good thing.
    That’s not a good thing.
    You’ve got to learn from it so that it doesn’t happen again.
    By the way, if you don’t remember the story of Richard Feynman and the Challenger investigation and the O-rings, don’t worry.
    Last year, we made a three-part series about Feynman.
    The story of his role in the Challenger investigation is covered in part one of that series called The Curious Mr. Feynman.
    Okay, back to failure.
    The fifth cause of failure on Amy Edmondson’s spectrum is uncertainty.
    So uncertainty is everywhere.
    There’s probably, you know, an infinite number of examples here, but let me pick a silly one.
    A friend sets you up on a blind date, and you like the friend, and you think, okay, sure.
    And then you go out on the date, and it’s a terrible bore or worse, right?
    It’s a failure.
    But you couldn’t have known in advance.
    It was uncertain.
    How about a less silly example?
    You’re in a company setting.
    You have an idea for a strategic shift or a product that you could launch, and there’s very good reasons to believe this could work, but it’s not 100%.
    The final cause of failure we have by now moved all the way from the blameworthy end of the spectrum to the praiseworthy is simply called experimentation.
    I’m being fairly formal when I say experimentation, right?
    The most obvious example is a scientist in a lab and probably really believes it will work and puts the chemicals in, and lo and behold, it fails.
    Or in much smaller scale, I’m going to experiment with being more assertive in my next meeting and doesn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped.
    It’s the Edison, quote, you know, 10,000 ways that didn’t work.
    He’s perfectly, perfectly willing to share that because he’s proud of each and every one of those 10,000 experiments.
    So that is Amy Edmondson’s entire spectrum of the causes of failure.
    Sabotage, inattention, inability, task challenge, uncertainty, and experimentation.
    If you’re like me, as you hear each of the categories, you automatically try to match them up with specific failures of your own.
    If nothing else, you may find that thinking about failure on a spectrum from blameworthy to praiseworthy is more useful than the standard blaming and shaming.
    It may even make you less afraid of failure.
    That said, not everyone is a fan of Edmondson’s ethos of embracing failure.
    A research article by Jeffrey Ray at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, is called Dispelling the Myth that Organizations Learn from Failure.
    He writes, failure shouldn’t even be in a firm’s vocabulary.
    To learn from failure or otherwise, a firm must have an organizational learning capability.
    If the firm has the learning capability in the first instance, why not apply it at the beginning of a project to prevent a failure, rather than waiting for a failure to occur and then reacting to it?
    But Amy Edmondson’s failure spectrum has been winning admirers, including Gary Klein, the research psychologist best known as the pioneer of naturalistic decision making.
    I’m very impressed by it.
    I’m impressed because it’s sophisticated.
    It’s not simplistic.
    There’s a variety of levels and a variety of reasons.
    And before we start making policies about what to do about failure, we need to, you know, look at things like her spectrum and identify what kind of a failure is it so that we can formulate a more effective strategy.
    Okay, let’s do that.
    After the break, two case studies of failure, one of them toward the blameworthy end of the spectrum.
    It was very much driven by, you know, the Prime Minister, Tony Blair.
    The other, quite praiseworthy.
    I failed over 200 times before I finally got something to work.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    John van Rienen is a professor at the London School of Economics.
    He studies innovation.
    But years ago, he did some time in the British Civil Service.
    I spent a year of my life working in the Department of Health when there was a big expansion in the UK National Health Service of resources and various attempts at reforms.
    One of the key things that was thought could really be a game changer was to have electronic patient records so you can see the history of patients, you know, their conditions, what they’ve been treated with.
    And having that information, I mean, instead of having all this, you know, pieces of paper written illegibly by different physicians, you could actually have this in a single record would not only make it much easier to find what was going on with patients, but could also be used as a data source to try and help think about how patients have more joined up care and could even maybe predict what kind of conditions they might have in the future.
    The project was called Connecting for Health, and there was substantial enthusiasm for it.
    At least the ad campaign was enthusiastic.
    All this is a key element in the future of the NHS.
    One day, not too far away, you’ll wonder how you live without it.
    It was very much driven by the Prime Minister, Tony Blair.
    This was a centralised, top-down approach in order to have a single IT system where you could access information.
    Instead of having all these different IT systems, these different siloed, you know, pieces of paper, to have it in one consistent national system.
    The NHS is a big operation, one of the biggest employers in the world.
    But then, if you drill down into it, it is pretty fragmented.
    Each local general practitioner unit is self-employed.
    Each trust has a lot of autonomy.
    And that’s part of the issue, is that, you know, this was a centralised, top-down programme in a system where there’s a lot of different fiefdoms,
    a lot of different pockets of power, who are quite capable of resisting this,
    and disliked very strongly being told, this is what you’re going to have, this is what you’re going to do,
    without really being engaged and consulted properly.
    But the train rolled on, despite these potential problems.
    Connecting for health required a massive overhaul of hardware systems as well as software systems.
    And the delivery of those was, there was a guy called Richard Granger, who was brought in, I think he was the highest paid public servant in the country.
    He was at Deloitte’s before he came, and then after he left, he went to work for Accenture.
    He was brought in to do this, and he designed these contracts, very tough contracts,
    which loaded the risk of things going wrong very strongly onto the private sector providers.
    I think just about every single quote-unquote winner, eventually either went bankrupt or walked away from the contract.
    The estimates vary of the cost of this, but, you know, estimates are up to $20 billion lost on this project.
    It was the biggest civilian IT project in the Western world.
    I mean, there’s lots of examples of huge, you know, public sector failures and private sector failures as well,
    but this was one of the biggest.
    British Parliament ultimately called this attempted reform, quote,
    one of the worst and most expensive contracting fiascos ever.
    So, what kind of lessons can be learned from this failure?
    I think it’s a failure of many, many different causes on many different levels.
    That top-down-ness, not really understanding what was going on at a grassroots level,
    and the haste, it was attempted to them very quickly.
    I’ve read that the haste, especially the haste of awarding contracts at the time,
    was considered a great thing because it was so atypical of how government worked,
    and it was hailed as, you know, a new way of the government doing business.
    In the end, that haste turned out to be a problem, though, correct?
    Correct. I mean, it seemed at the time when these contracts were formed,
    the government was getting a good deal, and they were doing it quickly,
    they were loading the risks onto the suppliers.
    So, it wasn’t obvious from the get-go that this was going to be as bad as it turned out to be.
    Looking back, trying to do things quickly in such a complicated system,
    there was so much complexity that a lot of these contracts effectively had to be rewritten afterwards.
    And I think, you know, another general lesson is that when you’re doing a long-term,
    important, big contract, you can’t get everything written down quickly.
    There has to be a lot of give and take.
    It’s a kind of relationship that you have to adjust as things go.
    You know, contracts are very fuzzy.
    They’re very incomplete.
    You just have to accept that, that you’re going to have to not get things right,
    but not try to do everything really, really, really quickly.
    An IT project’s never just about IT.
    It’s also about the way you change a whole organization.
    And to do it, it’s not just about spending money.
    You also have to get players in that system on board,
    because it’s very difficult to just get them to do things,
    especially, you know, in a public system where you can’t just fire people if you want to fire them.
    You really have to have a culture of kind of bringing people on board
    if you want to make these type of changes, and that just didn’t happen.
    So I don’t think it’s just one thing you could think of.
    There’s the haste, there’s the design which worked out badly,
    and there’s the cultural aspects that we’ve talked about.
    When you’re trying to innovate, you want to have a way of allowing people to take risks
    and do things wrong, but then you also have to have feedback mechanisms
    to figure out, well, you know, what has gone wrong.
    So creating an attitude of saying, well, we actually don’t know what the right thing to do is,
    so we’re prepared to do experimentations and learn from that.
    If you are the kind of person who likes to understand and analyze failure in order to mitigate future failures,
    what might be useful here is to overlay the National Health Service’s IT fiasco
    onto Amy Edmondson’s spectrum of causes of failure.
    Reconfiguring a huge IT system certainly qualifies as a task challenge,
    but there were shades of inability and inattention at work here as well.
    All of those causes reside toward the blameworthy end of the scale.
    As for the praiseworthy end of the spectrum, that’s where experimentation can be found.
    The NHS project didn’t incorporate much experimentation.
    It was more command and control, top-down, with little room for adjustment
    and little opportunity to learn from the small failures that experimentation can produce
    and which can prevent big failures.
    Experimentation, if you think about it,
    is the foundation of just about all the learning we do as humans.
    And yet, we seem to constantly forget this.
    Maybe that’s because experimentation will inevitably produce a lot of failure.
    I mean, that’s the point.
    And most of us just don’t want to fail at all,
    even if it’s in the service of long-term success.
    So let’s see if we can’t adjust our focus here.
    Let’s talk about real experimentation.
    And for that, we will need not another social scientist like John Van Rienen or Amy Edmondson,
    as capable as they are, but an actual science scientist.
    Here is one of the most acclaimed scientists of the modern era.
    My name’s Bob Langer, and I’m an institute professor at MIT.
    I do research, but I’ve also been involved in helping get companies started,
    and I’ve done various advising to the government, FDA, and places like that.
    And if I say to you, Bob, what kind of scientist are you exactly?
    How do you answer that question?
    Well, I would say I’m a chemical engineer or a biomedical engineer,
    but people have called me all kinds of things.
    You know, they’ve called me a biochemist.
    We do very interdisciplinary work, so I end up getting called more than one thing.
    Do you care what people call you?
    I just like them to call me Bob.
    Langer holds more than 1,500 patents, including those that are pending.
    He runs the world’s largest biomedical engineering lab at MIT,
    and he is one of the world’s most highly cited biotech researchers.
    He also played a role in the founding of dozens of biotech firms, including Moderna,
    which produced one of the most effective COVID vaccines.
    One thing Langer is particularly known for is drug delivery.
    That is, developing and refining how a given drug is delivered and absorbed at the cellular level.
    A time-release drug, for instance, is the sort of thing we take for granted today,
    but it took a while to get there.
    One problem Langer worked on back in the 1970s was finding a drug delivery system
    that would prevent the abnormal growth of blood vessels.
    The chemical that inhibits the growth is quite large by biological standards,
    and there was consensus at the time that a time-release wouldn’t work on large molecules.
    But as Langer once put it,
    I didn’t know you couldn’t do it because I hadn’t read the literature.
    So he ran experiment after experiment after experiment
    before finally developing a recipe that worked.
    Decades later, thanks to all that failure,
    his discovery played a key role in how Moderna
    used messenger RNA to create its COVID vaccine.
    So, in your line of work, when I say the word failure, what comes to mind?
    Well, I mean, a lot of things, but I’d go back to my own career.
    I failed at trying to get research grants.
    My first nine research grants were turned down.
    I’d send them to places like National Institutes of Health,
    and they have study sections, reviewers.
    Mine would go, just because of the work I was doing,
    to what was called a Pathology B study section,
    and they would review it, and they said,
    well, Dr. Langer, you know, he’s an engineer.
    He doesn’t know anything about biology or cancer.
    I failed over and over again.
    Other things, like I failed to get a job in a chemical engineering department
    as an assistant professor, even.
    Nobody would hire me.
    They said actually the opposite.
    They said, you know, chemical engineers
    don’t do experimental biomedical engineering work,
    so, you know, they should work on oil or energy.
    When I first started working on creating these micro or nanoparticles
    to try to get large molecules to be delivered,
    I failed over 200 times, I mean, before I finally got something to work.
    I could go on and on in my failures.
    What kept you going during all this failure?
    I really believed that if we could do this,
    it would make a big difference in science,
    and I hoped a big difference in medicine.
    Secondly, as I did some of it, you know,
    I could see some of these results with my own eyes.
    You know, when we were trying to deliver
    some of these molecules to stop blood vessel growth,
    I could see we were doing this double blind,
    but I could still see that we were stopping the vessels from growing.
    That’s such a visual thing.
    And I also developed these ways of studying
    delivery out of the little particles
    by putting certain enzymes in them
    and putting dyes in a little gel
    that would turn color if the enzymes came out.
    And I could see that happening.
    Like I said, the first 200 times
    or first 200 designs or more,
    it didn’t happen.
    But finally, I came up with a way
    where I’d see it come out after an hour,
    after two hours, after a day,
    after a second day,
    up to over 100 days in some cases.
    So I could see with my own eyes this was working.
    So that made an enormous difference to me too.
    But failing 200 times costs a lot of money
    and obviously a lot of time.
    Did you ever almost run out of one or the other?
    The experiments I was doing weren’t that expensive,
    especially the delivery ones initially
    because they were in test tubes.
    I worked probably 20-hour days.
    And so the expense wasn’t that great.
    And I’ve always been good at manufacturing time.
    Now, let’s say someone is in a similar situation today
    to where you were then with an idea
    or a set of ideas that they believe in,
    that they think they are right about,
    they think it’s an important idea,
    and yet they are failing and failing
    to get the attention of the people
    who can help manufacture success.
    How do you think about the line?
    I think of it sometimes as the line
    between grit and quit, right?
    Economists talk about opportunity cost.
    Every hour you spend on something that isn’t working
    is an hour you could spend on something
    that is working.
    But then psychologists talk about grittiness
    and how useful it can be to stick things out.
    Do you have anything to say to people
    who might be wrestling with that?
    Well, I think it’s a great question.
    And I ultimately think it’s a judgment call
    and we can never be sure of our judgment.
    You like to try to think,
    are these things scientifically possible?
    I think that’s one thing.
    Secondly, it’s good to get advice from people.
    It doesn’t mean you have to take it,
    but it’s good to get advice.
    I certainly personally have always erred
    on the side of, I guess, not quitting.
    And maybe that’s sometimes a mistake.
    I don’t think so.
    I think it depends on what could happen
    if you are successful.
    You know, if you are successful,
    could it make a giant difference in the world?
    Could it help science a lot?
    Could it help patients’ lives a lot?
    And so if you really feel that it can,
    you try that much harder.
    If it’s incremental, sure,
    then it’s much easier to quit.
    Is that ability to persevere,
    within yourself at least,
    do you think that’s your natural temperament?
    Is that something you learned?
    Did you find incentives to lead you there?
    I think for me, there are a couple of things.
    One, I guess I’ve always been very stubborn.
    My parents told me that.
    But secondly,
    I think there’s a whole thing with role models too.
    When I was a postdoc,
    the man that I worked with, Judah Folkman,
    he experienced the same thing.
    He had this theory that if you could stop blood vessels,
    you could stop cancer.
    And that was mediated by chemical signals.
    And everyone told him he was wrong.
    But I would watch him every day.
    And he believed anything was possible.
    And he kept sticking to it.
    And of course, eventually he was right.
    I think seeing his example probably also had a big effect on me.
    Can you talk to me about how scientific failure is treated generally?
    Let’s assume a spectrum.
    And on one end of the spectrum is that every failure is written up and published
    and perhaps even celebrated as having discovered a definitive wrong path to pursue.
    So everybody coming after you can cross that off their list.
    And on the other end of the spectrum,
    every failure is hidden away,
    which allows many other people to make the same failure.
    Can you talk about where the reality is?
    I think that’s an interesting question.
    A lot of it even depends how you define failure.
    You know, when you’re trying to learn about something,
    you try different things.
    And embedded in the scientific papers we write,
    like when we wrote this paper in Nature in 1976,
    which was the first time you could get small particles
    to release large molecules from biocompatible materials,
    well, some of the materials we used failed.
    A lot of them did, actually, because they would either cause inflammation
    or the drug would come out way too fast or not come out at all.
    We found one fraction that worked and stopped blood vessels
    and probably 50 or 100 that didn’t.
    So the failures and successes are maybe in the same papers sometimes.
    What I’ve tried to do, even to give more detail,
    is you put all the data in, even if it makes for a very long thesis.
    So not only are the graphs there and the papers,
    but there’s even the raw data that people can look at and analyze.
    And I try to get people to do as much of that as possible.
    So I guess what I’m trying to say is that
    the failures and successes are almost intertwined.
    I’d like to hear you talk about
    how failure is discussed or thought of in the lab.
    Maybe it’s nothing overt, but I am curious,
    especially when you bring in young people, researchers,
    whether they’re, you know, postdoc or undergrad,
    do you give pep talks about failure?
    Do you kind of have a philosophy that you want to instill in these people
    that failure is an essential component of research and success?
    Yes.
    Yes.
    And I do.
    And I, whether it’s my own talks or just meeting with students
    and brainstorming with them about those things.
    But to me, that research, scientific research,
    I mean, you just fail way more than,
    at least I do, way more than you succeed.
    It’s just part of the process.
    I mean, that’s experimentation and that’s okay.
    A lot of your colleagues and students go on to start companies,
    and that’s a whole different ball of wax.
    How do you think about failure in the entrepreneurial process?
    Obviously, the easy criteria is a successful company having a good financial exit, I suppose.
    But I don’t necessarily think of it as just that way.
    I mean, that’s certainly going to be important.
    You know, I’ve been involved in things where you’ve advanced science and you learn some things,
    and there’s degrees of success.
    You just don’t know.
    I’ve been pretty fortunate in the companies we’ve started in terms of the exits that they’ve had.
    But I just think there’s no simple criteria.
    I feel like we’ve turned out a lot of great scientists and entrepreneurs,
    and not all their companies have had great financial exits.
    But I think they’ve also created products that can change people’s lives.
    And that, to me, is also very, very important, obviously.
    That’s why we do it in the first place.
    I have never done it for money, and I don’t think they do it for money.
    They do it to try to make a difference in the world.
    Do you think failure is, however, a different animal in the research sphere
    as in the entrepreneurial sphere?
    I would say yes, I think it is.
    But I also think, you know, there’s different cultures, too.
    I think the good thing about the United States culture,
    maybe in contrast to some cultures, is failure is widely accepted.
    I’ll give you one of my examples, actually, in the business sphere.
    So I’m a big fan of chocolate.
    Of eating it or making it or researching it?
    Probably any part, but mostly eating it.
    But at any rate, one of the books I read, and I’m actually not a fan of their chocolate,
    is a book on Milton Hershey.
    And so this really gets to your point on failure.
    Milton Hershey, he had this idea when he was young, very young, of starting a candy company.
    And I remember the first candy company, he went bankrupt.
    You know, and he tried to raise more money, started another one.
    I think, like, the first six or seven totally failed, but not the last one, obviously.
    And he became a millionaire at a time when there weren’t very many.
    Was that really failure?
    Or was it just being an apprentice to trying to learn how to succeed?
    And I think that’s true in a lot of things.
    The reason I brought it up is I don’t think there’s a shame and failure in either area, or I hope there’s not.
    I think you have to feel it’s okay.
    And then you keep going on.
    What do you think?
    Would you like to live in a world where there’s no shame in failure?
    Or do you think it’s important for failure to hurt, to burn, as one of our guests put it last week?
    Maybe that creates a stronger incentive to succeed.
    I’d love to know your thoughts on this question and on this series so far.
    Send an email to radio at Freakonomics.com, or you can leave a review or rating in your podcast app.
    Coming up next time on the show, we will dig deeper into the idea of grit versus quit.
    When you’re failing, how do you know if it’s time to move on?
    We just could not stop it from leaking, and I was no longer willing to just keep pouring more and more of my money into it.
    He dumped me when I was 70, and I married him again at age 75.
    You know, hope springs eternal.
    This is a great idea.
    You just have to raise a quarter million dollars.
    Case studies in failure and in grit versus quit, including stories from you, our listeners.
    That’s in the next part of our series on failure.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    This episode was produced by Zach Lipinski.
    He and Dalvin Abawaji worked on the update.
    It was mixed by Eleanor Osborne and Jasmine Klinger with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    The Freakonomics Radio network staff also includes Alina Cullman, Augusta Chapman, Ellen Frankman, Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Roth, Greg Rippin, Morgan Levy, Sarah Lilly, and Tao Jacobs.
    You can find our entire archive on any podcast app, also at Freakonomics.com, where we publish transcripts and show notes.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by the Hitchhikers, and our composer is Luis Guerra.
    The conversation that we had casually last year was a great conversation.
    If we can essentially do something similar, that’ll be fantastic for our listeners.
    I’ll try to remember what I said.
    The Freakonomics Radio Network.
    The hidden side of everything.
    Stitcher.

    In medicine, failure can be catastrophic. It can also produce discoveries that save millions of lives. Tales from the front line, the lab, and the I.T. department.

     

    • SOURCES:
      • Amy Edmondson, professor of leadership management at Harvard Business School.
      • Carole Hemmelgarn, co-founder of Patients for Patient Safety U.S. and director of the Clinical Quality, Safety & Leadership Master’s program at Georgetown University.
      • Gary Klein, cognitive psychologist and pioneer in the field of naturalistic decision making.
      • Robert Langer, institute professor and head of the Langer Lab at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
      • John Van Reenen, professor at the London School of Economics.

     

     

  • How to Succeed at Failing, Part 1: The Chain of Events (Update)

    AI transcript
    Hey there, it’s Stephen Dubner.
    I’m sure you’ve heard people say that failure is a great teacher, but how?
    How does that work?
    What do we learn from failure that prevents more of the same?
    How do we not let fear of failure keep us from trying things?
    We tried to answer those questions and many more in a series we first published in 2023.
    I thought it was worth publishing again.
    So today you will hear part one.
    We’ve updated facts and figures as necessary.
    As always, thanks for listening.
    In August of 2023, on a Monday morning, the National Weather Service issued a warning of
    high winds in Maui County, Hawaii.
    By the next morning, the wind was gusting at over 70 miles an hour.
    Here’s how one resident described it.
    Tiles are getting ripped off roofs, leaving exposed rooftops with bare wood everywhere.
    Power lines are like spaghetti strings everywhere.
    The island started to lose electricity, and near the town of Lahaina, there was a brush fire.
    Firefighters arrived, and it was soon declared contained.
    But later that day, the high winds caused a flare-up.
    We could see the smoke, and all of a sudden, oh my gosh, the quickness with which it happened was the craziest part.
    It was just so fast.
    What happened next, you have probably read about or seen in horrifying videos and news coverage.
    The town of Lahaina was swallowed by fire.
    People tried to flee in their cars, but the roads were clogged.
    Some people jumped in the ocean to escape.
    Here is one survivor.
    And we were in the ocean probably like eight hours, fighting the water, getting pulled out, flames were hitting you still.
    Things were falling from the palm tree on fire on you.
    By the time the fire was out, 102 people had died.
    More than 2,000 buildings had been destroyed, most of them homes.
    We’re mad. We’re mad.
    We didn’t just lose our homes.
    We lost our town.
    We lost history, you know?
    Our kids are traumatized.
    You guys messed up real bad.
    Who messed up real bad?
    That is the kind of question that some people make it their business to find out.
    In my work, failure is fatal.
    Ed Gallia is director of the Fire Safety Engineering Group at the University of Greenwich in London.
    He got his PhD in astrophysics.
    I was modeling how stars are born and how they die.
    But it so happens that the mathematics that I use to develop these models of stars
    are very similar to the mathematics that we need to simulate how fire spreads in structures.
    Gallia studies how people react to disasters.
    For example, the World Trade Center evacuation in 9-11, the Dusseldorf Airport fire, the Grenfell Tower fire.
    It’s not just fire where a lot of this is relevant.
    If we look at marauding armed shooters, we also study those situations.
    The event in South Korea where there were a number of young people crushed to death in a narrow street is another example.
    It’s always distressing to look at a new event, especially events that were predictable and preventable.
    Wait a minute, events that were predictable and preventable, like marauding armed shooters or that crowd crush on Halloween in Seoul, South Korea, where more than 150 young people were killed.
    Don’t events like these happen because they weren’t predictable and preventable?
    We tend to use the word tragedy to describe all kinds of terrible events.
    But what do you call a tragedy that was predictable and preventable?
    You call that a failure.
    At least Ed Gallia does.
    Consider the 102 people who died by fire in Lahaina.
    One of the key issues in managing wildfire situations is managing the evacuation.
    When do you start the evacuation?
    How do you inform the public as to the need to evacuate?
    Hawaii has a robust emergency warning system, although it is most famous for having falsely notified the entire state of an impending missile strike in 2018.
    But the system appears to have failed during the wildfires.
    This is from an NBC News interview with a survivor.
    Did you hear any alarms?
    Did you get any kind of warning?
    No alarms.
    No warning.
    Nothing.
    No sign.
    Nothing.
    That we had to evacuate.
    Government investigators found that the fire was caused by a series of failures.
    A fallen power line was mistakenly re-energized, which ignited a gully full of dry grass that should have been trimmed.
    And it’s clear that the evacuation was a failure, a failure that could have been prevented.
    As Ed Gallia likes to say, a failure is not just about the tragic moment.
    It’s a chain of events.
    Failure to notify people early enough.
    Failure for the people to respond to the call.
    Failure for the people to have a plan as to what they’re going to do during an evacuation.
    Okay, can we agree on that?
    That a failure, any kind of failure, is a chain of events.
    There can be any number of causes and any number of consequences, too.
    Embarrassment, shame, anger, pain, financial loss, the loss of reputation, the loss of life.
    There are public failures and private failures, each of them costly in their own ways.
    And, of course, there is the fear of failure and the fear of being seen having failed.
    This means that sometimes we don’t even try.
    And what’s the cost of that?
    Or we try to hide our failures, which means denying everyone else what might have been a helpful example.
    You might think that as long as we humans have been failing, that by now, we would be very good at managing it and learning from it.
    But my argument today is that we are not.
    Most of us don’t think about failure as a chain of events.
    Most of us get angry or frustrated, and we go looking for someone to blame.
    Consider what happens when a hospital patient is given the wrong drug.
    The natural tendency is just to look at what they call in hospitals the sharp end, right?
    The last person, the person at the bedside who administered that drug.
    But, in fact, the chain of events goes back to the pharmacy and even to the IT folks who printed the label in a weird way.
    That is Amy Edmondson, another failure expert.
    She’s at the Harvard Business School, and her research focus is on failure in organizations, which is not uncommon.
    Many times you have failures in organizations simply because one silo doesn’t know what the other silo is doing.
    So these are learning events.
    One big reason we don’t learn enough from failures is that we don’t share them systematically enough.
    Okay, so let’s get systematic.
    Failure is something that has long intrigued me.
    And so, I hope you don’t mind, we are making a series on the topic.
    We’ll call it How to Succeed at Failing.
    I suspect that you are also intrigued by failure.
    A while back, when we asked listeners to send us their failure stories, we got many replies.
    There were stories about failure in the business world.
    What happened to Enron?
    What happened to WeWork?
    We heard about failures of government policy.
    Detroit’s failures are interesting because it’s also a failure of planning.
    Failed relationships, of course.
    Well, I actually don’t think that they’re a failure, but that’s for different Darwinian reasons.
    There are failures of imagination.
    You’ve prepared for problems A, B, C, D, E, and F, and something like M comes out of the blue and smacks you.
    Failures of determination.
    Part of my problem was I did not ask enough questions.
    And failures that cut deep.
    I think that was my tipping point where I just went, I’m done.
    And it broke me.
    You will hear those stories, and you’ll also hear about better ways to think about failure and learn from it.
    I once had a wise teacher, and he had a wise teacher, and she had a wise teacher, and that teacher had a mantra.
    It went like this.
    Be bad.
    Don’t be boring.
    I should say, these were acting teachers, but I think the lesson applies anywhere.
    The idea is that when you’re trying to create something or accomplish something, it’s tempting to stick to the boring, the tried and true, the riskless path.
    That’s how much we fear failing.
    But the point of the mantra is that it’s better to take a chance, to risk being bad, because that’s the only way you’ll actually make something good.
    Our special series, How to Succeed at Failing, gets started right now.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything, with your host, Stephen Dubner.
    If we could just talk about your path to this moment, this place.
    How did you become a scholar of failure, if I may be so bold as to call you so?
    I’m very happy to be called that.
    It seems like an upgrade.
    I became a scholar of failure because I wanted to be a scholar of organizational learning.
    So I came to graduate school with the idea, unformed, that organizations need to keep changing to stay relevant in a world that keeps changing.
    And they didn’t seem to be very good at it.
    That, again, is the organizational psychologist Amy Edmondson.
    She recently published a book called Right Kind of Wrong, The Science of Failing Well.
    She understands this is a hard sell.
    I haven’t met anyone who feels really good about failure, myself included.
    You have to force yourself to feel good about failure.
    And why do you think that is?
    I think it’s our upbringing, right?
    By the time you’re in elementary school, there’s such a strong emphasis on getting the right answer or succeeding, not failing.
    And so we’re not trained very well in the whole idea of uncertainty or novelty.
    You write that there are three reasons why most of us fail at failure.
    Aversion, confusion, and fear.
    I’d like you to walk us through each of those and say how they contribute to failure.
    Sure.
    I think of them as emotional, cognitive, and social.
    So emotionally, we’re just spontaneously averse to failure, right?
    I don’t like it.
    I don’t want to have it.
    I don’t want to look at it, right?
    It’s immediate.
    Cognitively, because we don’t do a good job or don’t have access to a simple framework to distinguish among kinds of failures, we then sort of decide to not like any of them.
    And the fear part has to do with our concerns, very deep and deeply founded concerns of what other people think of us.
    So we don’t want to be seen as having shortcomings.
    We don’t want to be seen as associated with a failure.
    Well, so in other words, in every strand of our lives, right, the social, the internal, we have the capacity to fail.
    I mean, we’re really good at failing, you’re saying.
    We’re good at failing.
    I mean, we are, by definition, fallible human beings, each and every one of us, and we will have failures.
    You know, the only real question is, how bad do we have to feel about it?
    There have been plenty of efforts to rebrand failure.
    You can see this by simply scrolling through the titles of popular TED Talks.
    Smart Failure for a Fast-Changing World.
    How Failure Cultivates Resilience.
    The Unexpected Benefit of Celebrating Failure.
    Embracing failure is a particularly popular idea in Silicon Valley.
    Although, interestingly, you never hear about it from people who are in the midst of a failure.
    You hear about it after the fact, from people who have succeeded wildly.
    Here’s Mark Zuckerberg from a commencement speech at Harvard in 2017.
    Facebook wasn’t the first thing I built.
    I also built chat systems and games, study tools and music players, and I’m not alone.
    J.K. Rowling got rejected 12 times before she finally wrote and published Harry Potter.
    Even Beyonce had to make hundreds of songs to get Halo.
    So, what does Amy Edmondson think of messages like this?
    They’re inadequate.
    When you say, fail fast, fail often, big smile on your face, you know, most people, oh, yeah, I get it.
    I see innovation, blah, blah, blah.
    But at a deeper level, wait a minute, you know, failure is not good, right?
    I don’t want a failure and I don’t want to fail.
    So, I’ll pretend I agree with that.
    But in reality, no way.
    It’s just wrong.
    Failure is bad.
    I just want to read back what I think is the best quote I’ve ever heard from an HBS professor.
    Oh, yeah, innovation, blah, blah, blah.
    But you know what I’m talking about.
    Slogans aren’t enough.
    You know, slogans don’t get you to the behavioral changes you need to make.
    We reached out to another psychologist whose work I admire, Gary Klein.
    He is a cognitive psychologist who studies decision-making.
    I asked Klein what he thinks of those Silicon Valley failure slogans.
    I think they tend to be cliches.
    And my negative reaction to them is it’s pretending that we should learn to enjoy failure.
    And I don’t think we should enjoy failure.
    I think failure needs to burn on us.
    When I talk to people, I want to find out if they’re experts.
    One of the things I ask them is, can you tell me about the last mistake you made?
    And some people, a surprising number of people say, I can’t think of any mistakes.
    But the people I think are the real experts, they can tell you because those mistakes have
    been bothering them for the last couple of weeks.
    But many of the failures that I read about in the academic literature on leadership and
    management, most of them have a happy ending.
    You know, we got through all that failure on the way to our great triumph.
    What do you think of that type of narrative being so dominant?
    Does it hide too many failures that end in failure?
    I think it does.
    I think the failure stories tend not to be advertised as well.
    People who had those stories aren’t in a position to go on the lecture circuit or write books.
    Would the world be better if we had a broader acceptance of or at least less fear of discussing
    failure?
    I think it would.
    But we don’t want to discourage entrepreneurs from trying things out, even though the chances
    of success are so low, it’s not a good gamble for the entrepreneurs, but it’s good for our
    society.
    Let’s step back for a minute and acknowledge this fact.
    The way we see failure has changed over the centuries.
    It also varies greatly across individuals and across cultures.
    The ancient Greeks, for instance, hated and feared failure, but they largely attributed
    it to the whims of the gods.
    The ancient Romans, meanwhile, attributed failure, particularly on the battlefield, to human error.
    Failure was considered shameful, often the grounds for suicide.
    And think about the Christian concept of original sin.
    You are born with failure in your soul.
    I asked Gary Klein for a modern definition of failure, at least his modern definition.
    Failure is an inability to accomplish important goals that you have set out for yourself.
    Okay, that’s one definition, maybe a bit narrow.
    I asked Amy Edmondson for her take.
    I want to be broad.
    Let’s start broad.
    Like, a failure is something undesired that happens.
    And a failure-free life is not a possibility.
    One way to think about this is, we will be failing.
    So, let’s do it joyfully.
    Let’s do it thoughtfully and celebrate them appropriately.
    Okay.
    So, we’re starting to see why failure is tricky.
    Two failure experts, two very different definitions.
    There are people who say, we should learn to enjoy failure and use failure and not respond negatively to it.
    I don’t agree with that.
    I think it needs to be a negative emotionally.
    The value of failure is it forces us to re-examine our assumptions and to revise our concepts of how things work or can fall apart.
    I’ve seen the argument that a lot of failure is hushed up because, A, people are embarrassed or ashamed, perhaps, but also, B, they’re eager to move on to something that’s not a failure.
    And that that hushing up can have a big downside, which is that people don’t know what that failure was.
    The data aren’t necessarily published or released.
    And, therefore, it can waste an awful lot of time by an awful lot of smart, motivated people if they don’t know what path produced failure.
    What are your thoughts on that?
    I think that’s exactly accurate, that in many organizations, people don’t want to admit their own failures because it will reflect poorly on them.
    And they don’t want to call out their colleagues because that’s going to disrupt the harmony.
    And so they avoid it or they just find some ways to redirect the focus of the team in another direction so they don’t have to confront how this failed and why it failed.
    So when you’re in the realm of decision-making, you’re working with a lot of people, I assume, who come from different disciplines.
    They might be from management, from engineering, and so on.
    But with a background in cognitive psychology, I’m wondering, Gary, if you feel the way you do about failure in part because of an evolutionary explanation.
    In other words, does failure need to burn at us for the simple reason that we won’t progress as a tribe, as a civilization, if it doesn’t burn at us?
    That feels right.
    I would accept that analysis.
    So if someone were to ask you what’s the correct way or the most productive way to think about failure generally, do you have an answer for that?
    I don’t have a good answer.
    I’ll tell you what I do.
    What I do is I become discouraged and depressed for a couple of days, and I say, I never want to do any of that again.
    And I just, I don’t totally repress it, but I wish I could repress it.
    And then eventually, after a couple of days, almost always, I realized, you know, if I had done that or if we had arranged that differently, that could have been really exciting.
    And now I can’t wait to do it again.
    So that’s how a couple of psychologists think about failure, especially personal failures and failure in organizations.
    Let’s slide over to thinking about failures in the economy.
    How might an economist think about failure?
    I think it’s extraordinarily important.
    John Van Rienen is a professor at the London School of Economics.
    He studies innovation, or as Amy Edmondson calls it, innovation, blah, blah, blah.
    I think that when you do what we do in research, you recognize the fact that most ideas you have are not going to work.
    There’s a risk of being paralyzed by that.
    But the way to approach that is to say, well, let’s just, you know, try them out.
    In a way, the whole market economy is like an experimentation machine.
    Loads of companies fail, but the ones who do come up with things which, you know, people want to buy or come up with new ideas are the ones who can be successful.
    So I think that notion of embracing failure is very important.
    Van Rienen is particularly interested in failure because of a puzzle that economists are trying to solve.
    Why has there been over the past couple of decades a decline in innovation and productivity in advanced economies like the UK and the US?
    If you look over the last 20, 25 years, the fraction of jobs in new firms has actually declined in the US.
    The degree of entrepreneurship has been going down.
    Van Rienen thinks this may have to do with a decreased appetite for risk.
    One of the reasons for people being risk averse is the worry about failure, because if you fail, that makes it look like maybe you were incompetent or doing the wrong thing.
    There is a set of mantras from Silicon Valley about fail fast and the success of failure and so on.
    But in most places in the world, people don’t really believe in that.
    Failure is seen as an embarrassment, a shameful thing, a thing we don’t talk about, and therefore a thing we don’t learn about.
    So do you have any advice for changing mindsets about failure?
    Well, I think, yes.
    America is a bit like this compared to Europe.
    It’s like, you know, it’s better to try and fail than never to have tried at all.
    So the rewards for actually trying something, even if it doesn’t work out, that is part of a kind of cultural change, which I think is very beneficial.
    I just want to make sure I understood that right.
    You are saying that America does lead the world in failure.
    In trying.
    And in success.
    I think that’s probably true in failure and in success compared to, say, Europe.
    I think there’s a much stronger emphasis on entrepreneurship.
    If you think of the bankruptcy laws, for example, a more generous approach in Chapter 11 to saying, oh, if things went wrong, it’s not necessarily your fault.
    In many parts of Europe, historically, it’s like if you are bankrupt, you’re not allowed to run another business for another 15 years.
    That reflects this feeling that it’s always your fault if things went wrong.
    Are you saying that that relatively high rate of success is due in some part to a particularly American embrace or at least ability to withstand failure?
    I think it is.
    I think that’s part of the historically greater levels of entrepreneurship in the United States and in Europe is related to that greater tolerance of if things go wrong, it’s not such a great shame as it would be in Europe.
    And that creates more success.
    I mean, you think about the superstar firms in the digital sector, the Googles, the Facebooks and everything else.
    You don’t see many of those in Europe or any parts of the world, maybe apart from China.
    So, there is something about the culture of America.
    I’ve seen this having lived both in America and in Europe.
    There is a greater openness to trying new things out, even if, you know, at the end of the day, they don’t work out.
    Okay, to summarize John Van Rienen’s economic view, the United States is a hotbed of failure, and that’s a good thing.
    But he is talking about failed business ideas.
    How about failed relationships?
    I ended up finding that romantic love is an addiction.
    That’s coming up.
    After the break, I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, and you are listening to How to Succeed at Failing.
    Most of the academic literature on failure is devoted to institutional and business failures.
    And that makes sense.
    That’s where the money is.
    But let’s consider another kind of failure, one that is typically the province of poets and occasionally a brave academic researcher.
    Well, nobody gets that a love alive.
    We all know that.
    But we go on.
    That is Helen Fisher.
    I’m a biological anthropologist at the Kinsey Institute, and I write books on love.
    Fisher died in August of 2024, sometime after this interview took place.
    She had also been chief science advisor for the dating site Match.com.
    In the course of her research, Fisher learned a great deal about why people start relationships and what happens when they fail.
    People are going to break up for very different kinds of reasons.
    But the brain just knows that you’ve been abandoned.
    And, of course, there’s all kinds of cultural issues when you’ve been abandoned.
    I mean, you’ve lost some social ties.
    You might have lost the cat, the dog, even children or your home or economic stability or your bicycle or your car or what you do on Christmas or Hanukkah, etc.
    I mean, your daily rituals are disrupted.
    A lot of people will regard it as a failure.
    And, indeed, it is a failure for them.
    The most obvious failed relationship is a divorce.
    And divorce is plenty common.
    But that’s only the beginning or maybe the end.
    There was a wonderful study of teenagers in college.
    And Roy Baumeister and others, a psychologist, asked these kids,
    have you ever dumped somebody who really loved you?
    And 95% said yes.
    And then they asked, have you ever been dumped by somebody who you really loved?
    And 93% said yes.
    Now, these kids are in college.
    They got another 50 years of this roller coaster.
    Let’s take another step back.
    As we think about how to succeed at failing,
    does it make sense to consider a failed relationship and a failed startup as the same species?
    Do personal and professional failures even belong on the same spectrum?
    Amy Edmondson, the organizational psychologist, says yes.
    Most, not all, but most professional failures have an element of the personal,
    in them.
    It might be that we didn’t put enough effort into it or we missed signals that we probably
    should have been paying attention to or we discounted someone else’s perspective as less
    valid than our own.
    Most of the time, there is a personal or human, occasionally character, contributor to the failure.
    So it’s hard to separate the professional and the personal.
    That reminds me of something you wrote in your new book about trying to
    balance the life of a scholar and the life of a parent.
    Here you wrote, I’ve missed important little league games and disappointed both of my sons.
    The list goes on and on.
    How do you think about the causes and consequences of a failure like that versus an institutional
    or organizational failure?
    When you refer to personal life, that is one of those domains where there’s no right answer.
    So when I say I, you know, I very likely made many decisions not to be at a little league game
    where I could have been there, you know, largely because of work demands that seemed, you know,
    seemed too important to not focus on.
    And then, you know, what’s the net result of that?
    It may not be, you know, it may be some of it’s bad, some of it’s good.
    I mean, maybe my sons felt that I didn’t care.
    Maybe they didn’t become professional baseball players, which is true.
    That is factually true.
    Although statistically improbable anyway.
    Exactly, statistically improbable anyway.
    And one thing, you know, one thing I did, not by design, but inadvertently leave them with
    is a model of loving your work in a way that it’s just engaging and you sort of can’t stop
    thinking about it.
    So I don’t feel too bad about that.
    But we might need to interview them to know for sure.
    For the degree to which you do feel bad, do you think it’s more because you are a mother
    in America versus a father?
    No question about it.
    Some failures are objective.
    When the shuttle implodes upon reentry into the Earth’s atmosphere, that is a failure and
    there’s no disagreement about it.
    But failures in the personal realm or work-life balance realm are utterly subjective.
    We are societally very likely to see it differently based on gender, based on mother or father.
    And we know this, right?
    Something that is seen as a success, you know, or successful or appropriate or positive
    behavior for a father can be coded very differently for a mother.
    When we asked listeners to submit their failure stories, one thing that jolted us was that probably
    90% of the responses were from men.
    Ultimately, we went back with another call-out for stories from women because we just had so
    few.
    But it really made me wonder about how failure is perceived and perhaps discussed differently
    for men and women.
    We don’t have what you would call scientific evidence.
    I have plenty of anecdotal evidence in the classroom and also a theory.
    Okay.
    Let’s have it.
    So this is the unequal license to fail.
    And that can make, and I think does make, women more risk-averse, you know, in boardrooms
    and classrooms alike.
    In my classroom, I have noticed over the years that women are substantially less likely to raise
    their hand with a mediocre comment.
    They put their own threshold higher.
    And I think of a classroom, and I try to convey this very clearly to my students, as a laboratory,
    right, as a place where here’s where we can make mistakes so we don’t make them out there.
    The whole point of a classroom is to take risks to get things wrong along the way to getting
    them right.
    Now, I understand it is a very social context, and they want to be seen well in the eyes of
    others.
    But consistently, women act as if they’re more risk-averse.
    They don’t raise their hand.
    And then they’ll tell me that in my office, too, that they don’t want to raise their hand
    unless they know it’s a really good comment.
    And men seem to be less inhibited.
    After the break, a more serious classroom failure, one of those chain-of-events tragedies.
    He had the gun in his backpack.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    Earlier, we talked with the economist John Van Rienen about failure in the context of
    innovation, the idea that a certain amount of failure just goes with the territory, and that
    a tolerance for failure may be a precondition for success.
    But there are some cases in which any failure is unacceptable.
    If you remember our series on airline travel, you know how safe it is to fly these days.
    That’s because the industry and its regulators decided to collaborate in order to reduce commercial
    airline crashes to zero.
    And so, today, as the CEO of Delta Airlines told us…
    It’s safer than riding a bike, safer than driving a car, safer than crossing a street.
    There are other places where you might think there would be zero tolerance for failure.
    It’s very popular for organizations to describe themselves as learning cultures.
    We’re going to experiment and we’re going to try, but school safety can’t be a learning
    culture because the consequences of a failure are too serious.
    That is David Reedman.
    I’m the founder of the K-12 school shooting database, and I’m the only person that records
    every shooting at a school in the United States.
    Reedman is an assistant professor at Idaho State University, and he’s getting a PhD in
    artificial intelligence.
    But he is not one of those PhD candidates who went straight from college.
    He grew up in Maryland, just outside of Washington, D.C., and went to nearby Georgetown to study
    literature.
    What happened in the middle of college is I had been a volunteer in the fire department since
    I was 16 years old.
    And when Hurricane Katrina happened, I felt that I couldn’t be sitting in a classroom
    amid this national disaster.
    So I took a leave of absence, and I began working as a reservist for FEMA.
    And I worked on disaster recovery and response on New Orleans, and that really started my career
    in emergency management, which then progressed into homeland security and intelligence.
    I worked in various roles on the contractor side, in just about every capacity, from science
    and technology, through emergency planning, through intelligence analysis, monitoring watch
    centers.
    I’m really a homeland security generalist.
    If you had to sum up David Reedman’s central motivation, it might be this, protecting innocent
    people from terrible things.
    And ultimately, that led me to the Naval Post graduate school, where this school shooting
    database project started.
    Reedman runs the school shooting database out of his guest bedroom.
    He has recorded every school shooting in the U.S. since 1966, more than 3,000 incidents
    and 1,000 deaths.
    The database is not just a date and a link.
    Each incident is carefully set up with standardized, continuous, or categorical variables.
    There are more than 200 different variables about the who, what, where, when, and how, but also
    information about the location, about the situation, the shooter, the victims, the weapons used,
    and then lots of pieces that add extra context within the school day.
    You know, where in the school building did it occur?
    During what period of the school day?
    Morning classes?
    Lunch?
    Why does Reedman care about all these details?
    This goes back to what Ed Gallia, the astrophysicist-turned-disaster scholar, told us, that most tragedies come at the end of a chain of events.
    For David Reedman, assembling that chain takes a lot of time.
    Oh, easily 40 hours a week.
    I get about 30 Google alerts every morning at 7 a.m.
    And the first 90 minutes to two hours of my day are going through those Google alerts and updating the database.
    Transferring narrative data from a news report into relational database data that’s coded in all of these ways that can easily be sorted and filtered for just about any research question is a time-consuming process and something that is not easily automatable.
    David, you sent us an email a while back.
    It said, the causal chain leading up to a school shooting has dozens of events and every single one of them needs to be a failure for the shooting to occur.
    Any single success would break the chain and prevent the shooting from happening.
    That sounds to me like both an empirical argument and almost a philosophical argument.
    Can you unpack that for me?
    What do you mean by that?
    I think that it’s both empirical based on looking at now thousands of incidents and philosophical because, as you said, leading up to that shooting, there’s this causal chain of actions.
    And with each one of those actions, there’s either a right or a wrong decision that can be made.
    And one right decision is going to break that chain.
    I think an incident that really highlights this is the Oxford high school shooting in November 2021.
    This is in Michigan, Oxford Township, Michigan.
    In Michigan, yes.
    There were four students killed, seven wounded.
    But leading up to this attack, just four days prior, the parents bought the 15-year-old shooter a gun and he posted pictures with it online.
    And then the day prior to the attack, he was caught Googling bullets.
    His teacher saw this and made a report of it.
    So everyone should have been on high alert.
    Students were on high alert because there were rumors circulating of a school shooting.
    You get to the morning of the shooting.
    He’s taking a test and on the test, he draws a picture of himself committing a school shooting.
    And the teacher sees this test, is clearly worried, and sends him to the guidance counselor’s office.
    The guidance counselor could have called police or asked other staff members to come in and help her.
    The guidance counselor did a suicide screening, but she didn’t interpret the results in a way that would show that he was actively suicidal.
    The parents could have checked the gun safe before they got to the counselor’s office and seen the gun was gone.
    At this point, it was still not known that he was in possession of the gun?
    Yes, Stephen.
    He had the gun in his backpack.
    And at any point, one of those adults could have looked in his backpack.
    His parents also could have said that he has told them that he’s actively suicidal.
    He was telling his parents, he was sending text messages, saying that he was having bad thoughts.
    He wanted to hurt himself.
    He wanted to hurt others.
    The guidance counselor then could have said, you know, he probably shouldn’t go back to the classroom.
    Why doesn’t he go for a formal mental health evaluation?
    And lastly, the parents could have thought, there are all of these different things going on here.
    Why don’t we just take him home?
    But they didn’t do that.
    The shooter is serving a life sentence.
    And last year, his parents were both convicted of involuntary manslaughter and sentenced to 10 to 15 years in prison, the first parents in the U.S. to face criminal charges for a school shooting committed by their child.
    David Reidman thinks that school officials may have made mistakes that day.
    But, he says, if you take the chain of events approach, there is a much bigger problem that leads to a failure like this.
    We have no national guidance and no common playbook for how a school official is supposed to react to the threat of a school shooting.
    It’s on people to essentially make it up when they’re in these circumstances.
    After 9-11, the public was engaged in preventing terrorism.
    And we created the See Something, Say Something program.
    And every citizen knew what to look out for and knew what actions to take.
    And from taking those actions, you would immediately get the attention of federal resources that would make sure there was an investigation.
    That’s what we’ve never done in the context of school shootings.
    We tell people to look for red flags, but we haven’t given clear action to take.
    And even if that action is taken, there’s nothing to make sure that that information doesn’t fall through the cracks.
    There’s a multi-billion dollar school security industry.
    It’s based on people’s assertions about what they think might be good ideas for school security.
    But none of it is based on empirical evidence.
    Even the procedures of run, hide, fight are not rooted in any empirical study.
    On the softer side, I think that we have proven strategies and systems that could really be a model for this.
    We have a national poison control center.
    It has a $25 million per year budget, which is a drop in the bucket compared to the estimated $3 billion that’s being spent on physical security at schools.
    And with the national poison control center, if you’re worried that you or someone you know has ingested a poison, you can call a number from anywhere in the country and get somebody on the phone.
    We could take that same model and apply it to a national crisis center where we tell people to look for red flags.
    So let me ask a few questions about that.
    What’s your generic or descriptive term for what you are seeking here, what you’re advocating?
    Is it like a red flag system for school shootings?
    I think the national crisis center would be more than school shootings, even more than mass shootings, because what we’ve seen leading up to a mass shooting or leading up to a school shooting is a person who’s in crisis and they’re actively suicidal.
    And within that umbrella of somebody being suicidal and in crisis, you can also have self-harm, you can have physical and psychological abuse, you can have substance abuse.
    And this would be a resource that would provide services across all of those different major issues.
    A one-stop resource where somebody who is concerned that they’re seeing the red flags in a friend or classmate or coworker can go and get assistance, get a plan of action.
    That is paired with investment in community crisis intervention training, as well as violence interruption programs, because we know that community violence interruption programs have been successful to prevent shootings.
    Isn’t it a little bit shocking that there have been so many school shootings and something like this hasn’t happened yet?
    It is. Really, the biggest objection is the thought that if there’s a tip line and red flag laws, that that will lead to guns being taken away from somebody.
    That if you have a widely available system of reporting, that somebody who is an innocent gun owner will have an anonymous report made against them and then have their gun seized.
    And how would you respond to that critique?
    What would you put in place to prevent that?
    I think that that’s a very difficult policy question to answer because it comes down to the philosophical point of, do you care about the public good or do you care about your individual freedoms?
    And I try to look at history and look at the context for these events.
    And following Ruby Ridge and Waco and Oklahoma City, we put very significant restrictions on who is allowed to buy explosives.
    But I fear that this is an issue that’s far too polarized.
    And I get death threats just for reporting school shootings.
    Can you describe one?
    Oh, yeah.
    I get emails that say, you know, we’re going to find you and you’ll be eviscerated in front of your family.
    So, you know, it’s a very careful path that one has to walk.
    And I really try to objectively report a problem that is in every community and every part of the country over now a 60-year period of modern history.
    And I do that in really an objective manner that can be studied for just about any research purposes.
    I’m also extraordinarily hopeful because far more shootings are averted than attacks that happen.
    Reedman mentioned one shooting that was averted at a high school in Ohio in 2023.
    A student walked into the bathroom and he found a bullet that was sitting upright on the toilet seat.
    And he knew that something was wrong.
    So he went and he found the school resource officer, the vice principal, the principal, and a teacher and told all of them there’s a problem because he wanted to make sure that he was heard.
    And they took him seriously.
    They watched the surveillance footage, figured out which student had left the bathroom, and they detained a student.
    And in his backpack, he had a loaded handgun, three loaded magazines, a hit list, and a written plan to commit a shooting that day.
    And that is because these mass shootings and these school shootings are public suicides.
    And somebody is going to cry for help until the moment right before the attack.
    And that bullet was left there, hoping somebody would find it.
    And that’s the opportunity that we have.
    If somebody knows what to do and has someone to talk to, we can prevent almost every one of these attacks.
    Readman has collaborated with other academic researchers, including Jill Peterson and James Densley, co-founders of the Violence Prevention Project Research Center.
    In 2021, they published a book called The Violence Project, How to Stop a Mass Shooting Epidemic.
    For their book, they interviewed convicted mass shooters in jail.
    And one of the questions that they asked each person they interviewed is, who could have prevented the shooting?
    And the answer they got was, anyone could have prevented the shooting.
    I think that’s why we need this system where the public knows the red flags, knows that there’s somebody in crisis, and then has a system to get that person help.
    There’s a gentleman named Aaron Stark, and he did a TED Talk about when he plotted a school shooting when he was in high school.
    He was a victim of serious abuse at home, and he thought that this school shooting would be something that would finally really get back at his parents.
    He had bought the gun, and he had the plan, and there was one classmate who reached out to him and said,
    Why don’t you come over to my house and have some lunch, and let me get you a clean shirt?
    And that one act of kindness showed him that his life had value, and he never committed that shooting.
    We reached out to Aaron Stark to see if he would give his recollections.
    Absolutely.
    My name is Aaron Stark, and I am currently an assistant manager at Come & Go here in Denver, Colorado.
    Since we first spoke with Stark, he has left Come & Go and now works as a head cashier at Lowe’s.
    I have a wife and four kids, and I’m also a public speaker who flies around the country talking because when I was a teenager, I used to be a school shooter.
    So what was Stark thinking at the time?
    That was going to cause as much damage as possible, kill as many people as possible, including myself.
    But the actual targets, I wanted to make my parents deal with making me.
    I wanted to make them deal with creating a monster.
    And what kind of lessons does Aaron Stark think we should take from his story?
    I would say the biggest lessons from my story are to remember that up until the point that the kid actually pulls the trigger, that he can be helped, that he can be reached, that that is a kid that is falling down a path of destruction.
    He hasn’t reached the end yet.
    And until you reach the end, you can still be pulled off of it.
    And that the biggest thing that helped me was simple human compassion, simple connection.
    It wasn’t someone coming to me with a program and someone coming to me with this project.
    It was a friend sitting down next to me and treating me like I was a human.
    I was covered in dirt and blood and nastiness and chaos, and he still treated me like I was a kid.
    And that to me is the important thing we need to do.
    The failure that happens is trying to mitigate the after effects and trying to stop the damage afterwards and trying to put in all these band-aids to try to make the adults feel better.
    If you talk to a kid in class, they know what kids in their class are super depressed, what ones are on the edge, what ones are living in hell, which ones are very abused, which ones are very aggressive and stuck up, and which ones have borderline personality disorders, which ones are just having anxiety issues and need to have more care.
    No one ever talks to the kids who actually have the problem.
    No one ever digs in to the actual human behind any of the story.
    Here is David Reedman, again, the school shooting researcher.
    And I think that that’s what we’re missing.
    In fortification of the schools, in adding school police officers, in creating all of these levels of fortresses around schools and public spaces,
    the person that ultimately wants to commit a mass shooting is somebody who’s very, very deeply hurt.
    And rather than trying to keep that person further out and demonize that person even further,
    if we can just show them a tiny bit of kindness, you know, a lot of these shootings would never happen.
    Probably none of these shootings would happen.
    David Reedman, when he was in high school, had his own terrifying experience with a series of shootings.
    In October 2002, there were 17 different random sniper attacks in the Washington, D.C. area.
    And there was no clue as to why they were happening and where the next one was going to be.
    So there were two gentlemen, one older, one a teenager.
    The older man was the car driver.
    The younger man laid in the back and fired through a hole that they had made in the trunk.
    And they drove to random locations and shot people.
    And they were only caught when they started leaving clues, which eventually led to their arrest.
    And that was three weeks where really going to school every day, there was genuine fear that you weren’t going to come home.
    We left the school at groups of five running in a zigzag pattern.
    And that really framed, I think, a lot of my future experiences around school shootings and gun violence.
    If you look at the long arc of David Reedman’s career as someone who wants to protect innocent people from terrible things,
    you see that it, too, was a long chain of events.
    The fear that fueled him in high school, the fear of tragedy, has driven him to prevent as many tragedies as he can.
    This is an absolute reverse image of the chain of events that create so many tragedies, so many failures, as we’ve been calling them today.
    The fact that we humans are capable of this, too, of creating a virtuous circle rather than a vicious circle,
    is testimony to the fact that failure is not inevitable.
    So let’s keep figuring it out together.
    Next week, in part two of How to Succeed at Failing.
    I just went from the blameworthy end all the way over to the praiseworthy end.
    What if we could think of failure as a spectrum?
    Also, a Nobel Prize was just awarded for a scientific triumph that, for decades, had been considered a failure.
    Research on messenger RNA itself started in 1961.
    That’s next time on the show.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And, if you can, someone else, too.
    You can find our entire archive on any podcast app, also at Freakonomics.com, where we publish transcripts and show notes.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by The Hitchhikers.
    Our composer is Luis Guerra.
    As always, thanks for listening.
    I meant to prepare a great deal more than I have.
    Uh-oh.
    I guess I’ve been preparing 30 years, so.
    The Freakonomics Radio Network.
    The hidden side of everything.
    Ditcher.

    We tend to think of tragedies as a single terrible moment, rather than the result of multiple bad decisions. Can this pattern be reversed? We try — with stories about wildfires, school shootings, and love.

     

    • SOURCES:
      • Amy Edmondson, professor of leadership management at Harvard Business School.
      • Helen Fisher, former senior research fellow at The Kinsey Institute and former chief science advisor to Match.com.
      • Ed Galea, founding director of the Fire Safety Engineering Group at the University of Greenwich.
      • Gary Klein, cognitive psychologist and pioneer in the field of naturalistic decision making.
      • David Riedman, founder of the K-12 School Shooting Database.
      • Aaron Stark, head cashier at Lowe’s and keynote speaker.
      • John Van Reenen, professor at the London School of Economics.

     

     

  • 632. When Did We All Start Watching Documentaries?

    AI transcript
    Over the past few episodes of Freakonomics Radio, we dug into the economics of live theater
    and we followed one show on its long journey toward Broadway.
    In that series, we learned that live theater has become very expensive to produce, so ticket
    prices have also risen and at the same time, attendance is falling.
    So, if fewer people are watching plays and musicals, what are they watching?
    It turns out that a lot of people, and I mean a lot of them, are watching documentary films.
    This explosion of documentary on streaming, the conviction that this was a popular art form
    and its full popularity was just waiting to happen, is what matters most.
    R.J. Cutler is an Emmy Award-winning filmmaker who has produced and or directed dozens of documentaries.
    You may not know his name, but there’s a good chance you’ve seen his work.
    Martha, his film about Martha Stewart, has been a big hit on Netflix.
    He recently made a film about the young pop star Billie Eilish called The World’s A Little Blurry,
    and a film about the old pop star Elton John called Never Too Late.
    His 2009 film, The September Issue, shadowed Vogue magazine editor Anna Wintour and her colleague and
    sometimes antagonist Grace Coddington.
    Cutler has also made a number of political documentaries like The World According to Dick Cheney
    and A Perfect Candidate about the failed Senate race of Oliver North.
    And his first film, The War Room, which was about Bill Clinton’s first presidential campaign.
    That one was nominated for an Academy Award.
    Cutler’s most recent project is a docu-series on Apple TV Plus called Fight for Glory, about the 2024 World Series.
    You may also recognize Cutler’s name if you are a regular Freakonomics Radio listener.
    A few months ago, we did a live show in Los Angeles that was supposed to be recorded for this podcast,
    but the theater failed to record the show, which was a shame because we had two great guests that night.
    One was the Hollywood super agent and entrepreneur Ari Emanuel, and the other was R.J. Cutler.
    As for Ari, him we had interviewed a couple years ago in a studio, episode number 544, so you can hear that if you’d like.
    But R.J. had never been on this show before, so we asked him to sit down in a studio and try again.
    Oh, you mean we taped this?
    Yes, we did tape it, you wise-ass.
    Today on Freakonomics Radio, the filmmaker becomes the subject, and it starts now.
    This is Freakonomics Radio, the podcast that explores the hidden side of everything, with your host, Stephen Dubner.
    Hello, Stephen.
    Hello, R.J.
    Robert James.
    What is R.J.?
    Jason, Robert Jason.
    R.J. are such good initials.
    They are.
    You know, my mother insisted on naming me R.J.
    Well, she actually named me Robert Jason so that she could call me R.J.
    That was her plan.
    Wouldn’t let me change it.
    She passed away recently.
    One of the stories I recounted at her funeral was that when I was in eighth grade,
    there was a ninth grade girl from the other high school in town who I had a crush on who called me Rob.
    I came home one day and said, I came home one day and said, I’m changing my name to Rob.
    And my mother would not hear of it.
    She didn’t even want to discuss it.
    Robert Jason Cutler grew up in Great Neck, New York on Long Island.
    I can’t remember the number of times a teacher said to me something like, you’re gathering people in a theater.
    You’ve asked them to come and spend three hours of their lives with you.
    You better have something to say and you better damn well know what it is.
    After college, Cutler got work on some major theatrical productions, including the Stephen Sondheim musical Into the Woods,
    assisting the playwright and director James Lapine.
    Cutler also directed a workshop of Jonathan Larson’s first musical, Superbia, years before Larson wrote Rent.
    Even though I was a theater kid who was very committed to my career in the theater and pursued it, you know, with some real success into my late 20s,
    I always had in the back of my mind that I would end up making documentaries and I would speak to people about it.
    And it was such an odd thing.
    It’s not a well-worn path.
    Talk me through the recent half-century life cycle of documentary film, including your mentors and heroes and this evolution of documentary generally.
    The essence of the American documentary movement, which comes of age in the early 1960s,
    in the hands of people like D.A. Pennebaker and Ricky Leacock and Alan David Maisels and Robert Drew and others,
    is that the technology has advanced to the point where you can carry a camera on your shoulder,
    have sync sound and film people through their lives.
    This is an enormous breakthrough and it allows people to make what are extraordinary films.
    Films about politics, such as Crisis and Primary, which tells stories of the Kennedys and others who were running for office.
    Films like Don’t Look Back about Bob Dylan and Gimme Shelter about the Rolling Stones.
    Soon thereafter, films like Harlan County, USA by Barbara Koppel, which is a film that had an enormous personal impact on me when I first saw it.
    All of these films, they have many things in common, but the biggest one is that they are made by people who have a conviction
    that this art form is as viable as scripted filmmaking and that it has a place in cinema the same way that scripted filmmaking does.
    Documentaries are no longer just about education.
    They are fully cinema, fully narrative, fully character driven.
    And as I like to say, just like a real film.
    The idea was, if Cary Grant and Robert Redford could be movie stars, why, too, couldn’t the coal miners from Harlan County be movie stars?
    Why couldn’t Mick Jagger be a movie star?
    And they were right.
    At what point did you become a believer in that thesis?
    I became a believer in that thesis without even knowing that I was being a believer.
    I became a believer when I saw these films as a teenager and as a college student, most of all, as a 17 year old seeing Harlan County, USA, by the way, on a TV set, a PBS screening on a rainy evening that I can remember as if it were yesterday.
    And being so mesmerized, not only by the narrative and the filmmaking, but by the voice of the director off screen, Barbara Koppel, in the middle of what was essentially a war zone.
    These battles between the local coal miners and the thugs who worked for the mining company who were threatening to kill them.
    And there she was in the middle of all of it.
    This was the film that made me think this is what I want to do.
    In 1992, Cutler had an idea for a documentary that would track that year’s presidential campaign, including the rise of the young Arkansas governor, Bill Clinton.
    When I started with The War Room, you could count the number of career documentary filmmakers on two hands.
    Two of those filmmakers were the husband and wife team of D.A. Pennebaker and Chris Hegedus.
    They liked Cutler’s idea and they took on the project as directors.
    Only the Clinton campaign gave them access.
    So the film focused on James Carville, the campaign’s lead strategist, and George Stephanopoulos, its communications director.
    Even today, there are many memorable moments in The War Room.
    This is the origin of, it’s the economy, stupid.
    One of my favorite moments is an emotional speech given by Carville to a room full of campaign workers when it’s looking like their candidate will win.
    There’s a simple doctrine outside of a person’s love.
    The most sacred thing that they can give is their labor.
    Labor is a very precious thing that you have.
    The harder you work, the luckier you are.
    I was 33 years old before I ever went to Washington, New York.
    I was 42 before I ever won my first campaign.
    And I’m happy for all of y’all.
    You’ve been part of something special in my life.
    Now, never forget the job done.
    The War Room premiered in 1993, and by documentary standards, it was a huge hit, grossing nearly a million dollars.
    Back then, most people who saw new movies still watched them in theaters.
    The biggest rental company was Blockbuster.
    A few years later, Netflix would emerge as a competitor.
    As the producer of The War Room, I would run into Ted Sarandos at film festivals, the head of Netflix, when Netflix was a red envelope company that was sending out DVDs.
    And every time I’d see him, he would tell me that The War Room was one of the most popular films that he was sending out.
    So when Netflix started to do original programming with House of Cards, it was obvious to me that documentaries were going to soon follow.
    And what do you know?
    They soon followed.
    And now we have evidence.
    They have the data.
    They know how many people watch them.
    They know who watches them.
    They don’t like to share the data, but they have it.
    They don’t like to share it with the public.
    They share with some of us.
    And the numbers are good.
    On that point, let me ask you this.
    The story you just told me about Ted Sarandos and The War Room being so popular among the early subscribers of Netflix would suggest to me, but please tell me if I’m wrong, that lying out there sort of dormant or underserved this whole time, the last several decades, was a large audience for documentary films.
    But that the system, the filmmaking system, Hollywood and the theater system and so on didn’t pay as much attention to documentaries as to the standard fiction films.
    Do you think that was the case, that there was dormant demand out there that nobody ever knew?
    And that’s why we’re seeing so much demand now is simply there is a distribution technology that allows that demand to be satisfying?
    Well, every town with an art house was showing documentaries.
    October Films and Fine Line Films, part of New Line and Miramax, which became the Weinstein Company, and others were distributing documentaries.
    The War Room ran for months and months in the art houses.
    George Stephanopoulos was a matinee idol as a result.
    But the art house audience is smaller than the multiplex audience, and it always was and it always will be.
    Now the art house comes to you through the streaming services.
    So if you are someone who loves a documentary, those people now have a healthy menu of films to see.
    I’ve seen you describe yourself as a theater director who makes documentary films.
    I mean, it’s now coming clear to me that that is technically and literally true.
    But what does that mean?
    How does it manifest itself, do you think?
    I mean, this is the foundation of my training.
    Structurally, I think of narrative as Aristotle taught me to.
    I want the audience to have a rollicking good time at the theater.
    I want them to laugh and cry and stomp their feet.
    I’m thinking cinematically as well, but I’m also thinking in terms of character and obstacle and overcoming obstacle and the things we learn when we overcome obstacle.
    One of the things you look for when you’re making a film is an inherent structure.
    There’s nothing better than Election Day.
    There’s nothing better than graduation.
    And if you’re making a film about Billie Eilish, there’s nothing better than the Grammys.
    But we didn’t know that she was going to win however many Grammy Awards she won that night.
    And they were an armful.
    This was the 2020 Grammy Awards when Eilish won Album of the Year, Record of the Year, Song of the Year, Best Pop Vocal Album, and Best New Artist.
    She was 18 years old.
    Cutler had been embedded with Eilish and her family.
    Her older brother, Phineas, who’s also her collaborator and producer, and their parents, Maggie and Patrick, who homeschooled the kids.
    I made this film at a time when I was probably a little out of love with documentary filmmaking.
    A little bit had lost the spark, and this film rekindled that spark in a huge way.
    How did you meet the Eilish family?
    I was invited to meet with them.
    They had seen the September issue.
    They had seen the War Room, I think.
    They were familiar with my work, and I was one of the people that they met with, and we instantly connected.
    So there were others they were interested in also.
    I don’t really know the full details.
    When someone invites you to a party, you don’t ask them who else is invited, and you don’t ask them why.
    In that case, I was thrilled to meet them, and I was thrilled to work with them, because it was very clear to me that there was a purely verite film to be made, a film that would tell the story of the coming period of their life.
    Billie, I think, was 16 at the time.
    She and Phineas were in the middle of writing.
    When we all fall asleep, where do we go?
    Their first full album.
    I was intrigued thematically.
    I was intrigued in terms of who they were.
    I saw in this a great film about family and a great film about raising kids.
    I saw in it a great film about being an artistic prodigy, as they both, both Phineas and Billy are, and being kids coming of age in America at a very particular moment in the world.
    I saw that all at once.
    That much was very clear to me.
    And so once we started filming, you’re doing what I call following the puck.
    At the height of his success, Wayne Gretzky was interviewed, and he was asked, what was his secret?
    Wayne Gretzky being one of the greatest hockey players to ever live, Gretzky said, well, it’s quite simple.
    I just follow the puck.
    And that’s what we must do as verite filmmakers.
    We must follow the puck.
    We must try to see life as clearly as possible and tell the story that is unfolding in front of us.
    The Gretzky quote, as I’ve always heard it, is a little bit different from what you just said.
    It’s something like, skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it is.
    So when you’re thinking about the Billy, let’s call it the Billy and Phineas story, because he’s obviously so central to it as well.
    Tell us what you knew and thought about them when you started working with them and where you thought maybe they were going.
    I saw them in their moment.
    I do have a different sense of it.
    I’m not looking for where you’re going.
    I’m not expecting anything.
    I’m asking questions.
    I’m not answering anything.
    People would say to me, what were the biggest surprises you had in making the film about Billie Eilish?
    And I don’t have surprises, because that would mean that you’re expecting one thing and something else happens.
    In one scene of the Billie Eilish documentary, a producer on Cutler’s team named Chelsea Dodson asks Billie about choosing to speak out about the harmful effects of drugs.
    Billie’s mom, Maggie, is also there.
    The first voice you’ll hear now is Chelsea.
    What do you both think about talking about your feelings about drugs and cigarettes and alcohol?
    My only thought is how, like, you say things and then maybe you grow up and feel differently and then get dragged for it.
    I have my moment and then I do drugs and then people are like, ha ha.
    And then Maggie speaks up.
    Are you actually not going to let her be authentic to who she is now in case she grows up to do drugs?
    I don’t mean doing any of that.
    Can you do this, please?
    Stop yelling at Chelsea.
    I’m not yelling.
    I just think that’s borrowing trouble.
    Well, she’s right, though.
    She has a point.
    Well, maybe don’t grow up to do that.
    What do you have to plan right now that every person who does what you do has to grow up and f*** up that way?
    And you have to plan it so that you don’t get hate later when you do it because when you were younger you said you wouldn’t.
    You know, why are your parents with you all the time?
    I mean, you’ve got a whole army of people trying to help you not decide to destroy your life like people in your shoes have done before.
    So are we going to literally not release something for fear that later she will do that?
    When you’re that intimately involved in a family, in this case, or a scenario of any sort, how concerned are you that your presence is influencing events?
    I’m not concerned that it’s influencing events, in large part because I don’t think of myself as a camera.
    I think of myself as a person.
    And I don’t think of myself being there as a film crew or as a fly on the wall.
    One of the great misperceptions of what we do is that we’re flies on the wall.
    You’ve met me, I’m six foot one, I’m no fly, I’ve got red hair and a beard, I come with a guy with a microphone and a woman with a camera.
    We’re people, we’re people in a room and we’re in a dynamic, we’re in a relationship.
    And like all good relationships, the relationship thrives if there’s trust.
    If we feel like we’re impacting the environment, we get out of there.
    I’m always saying, let’s stop shooting 15 minutes before they ask us to stop shooting.
    Talk to me about editing.
    I want to know who does what and how big your team is.
    I’m also thinking about what Sean Baker, the director of Enora, said when he won the Oscars.
    He won for direction and editing and something else.
    And producing.
    Right, best picture and best screenplay too.
    Anyway, in his acceptance speech for the editing award, he said, if you saw the footage, I saved this film in the edit.
    Trust me, that director should never work again, which was funny, of course, because he was also the director.
    So in your case, how does it work?
    What kind of team do you have and what does everybody do?
    Well, I have a very small team and it includes two editors in the case of this film.
    Greg Fenton, an editor who I had worked with since 1999 and who had edited many projects that I had done.
    And Lindsay Utes, the brilliant editor who I had never worked with before.
    They were my editing team.
    And Jonathan Ruane, who is a producer and a researcher, was a post-production story producer for the project.
    And the four of us were the team.
    And you’re starting at the beginning.
    You know, you have hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of hours of footage.
    You’re identifying first everything that you have and then everything you think you need to look at.
    And we spent a month every day just looking at what we considered to be the golden scenes.
    And then we met for several days and then we talked about it and added some scenes and removed others.
    And then the editors worked for another couple of months and then they had a 27-hour cut.
    And we watched the 27 hours.
    Is this part of the process enjoyable at all?
    Because it sounds…
    Of course, of course.
    It’s fantastic.
    If it’s not enjoyable, maybe consider a different line of work, I would say.
    But for us, yes, it’s enjoyable and it’s illuminating.
    And sure, there are moments where your mind wanders, but that’s illuminating too, right?
    And then there are moments where you’re riveted and your heart is pounding and that’s illuminating.
    We discovered story and we discovered character and we discovered journey and we discovered how long the film wanted to be.
    You know, it’s a two-hour and 20-minute film with an intermission.
    And when Billy saw it, she said that she didn’t think it was possible for anybody to see her the way she saw herself.
    It’s a film I’m incredibly proud of.
    Coming up after the break, from a teenager who’s about to be a pop star to a superstar who’s about to get busted.
    Guilty, guilty, guilty on all these talents of whatever.
    Thanks to streaming services like Netflix and Amazon Prime and Apple TV+, documentary films are no longer confined to the art house theaters where R.J. Cutler used to see them.
    Let me read you something from a recent piece in New York Magazine.
    Between 2018 and 2021, demand for documentaries on streaming services more than doubled.
    And films that once had hoped to eke out a couple million bucks at the box office were now selling to streamers for $10 or $15 or $20 million.
    When Cutler was coming up, deciding to make documentaries for a living was like taking a vow of poverty and probably obscurity, too.
    But that is not the case today.
    Consider Cutler’s 2024 film about Martha Stewart.
    I’m told between 30 and 40 million people saw that movie.
    Stewart has been called the original influencer.
    She was also the first self-made female billionaire in American history.
    Cutler’s film tracks her life from her childhood in New Jersey to a couple of early successes as a model and a stockbroker to the creation of her lifestyle empire.
    And then a conviction on felony charges related to insider trading that sent her to prison for five months and bruised her brand badly.
    But she has been rehabilitating herself ever since.
    Cutler’s film is a chronicle of that comeback and to some degree a part of it.
    I asked Cutler how this project happened.
    That film came about because my wife Jane and I, we go to Montauk, Long Island.
    We’re both from Long Island and we love to go back to Long Island a couple of weeks every year and we bring our kids.
    And we were having dinner with our friend Alina.
    And that afternoon, Alina called and said, would you mind?
    Martha Stewart would like to join us at dinner.
    And we both said, that sounds terrific.
    Let’s have dinner with Martha Stewart.
    Wait a minute, wait a minute.
    Did it not make you a little bit nervous about what you were serving and maybe how the house looked?
    I’m very confident in my cooking, but we were going out to dinner.
    Oh, good move.
    And out to dinner we went and I sat with Martha and what a lovely evening we had.
    We talked all about her upbringing and her background and her family.
    And I learned that counter intuitively, she was not a child of privilege, but one who came from a working class background,
    one of six children who herself had to go to work as a teenager to feed her family because her father had a hard time holding down a job.
    I learned all sorts of things about her and I learned all sorts of things about her and I also got the strong sense that she was interested in having a film made about her.
    Is that why she invited herself to the dinner?
    It seemed very clear that that’s why she invited herself to the dinner.
    And so a conversation began because I was certainly intrigued.
    I didn’t know a lot about her going in.
    Of course, I knew the fundamentals, but I wasn’t somebody who subscribed to her magazine.
    I was not somebody who watched her show on a daily basis, but I was aware of her.
    And then at dinner, I became incredibly intrigued.
    And in subsequent meetings and conversations, we decided to make a film together.
    A lot of documentaries, including biographies, use talking heads to fill out the story.
    Friends and family of the subject, maybe a rival or critic.
    And you do use talking heads in Martha, but we never see them.
    We only hear their voices.
    So was that something that you did from the outset?
    Did you shoot them on film and then only use audio?
    Or did you decide early on to only record audio?
    And I’m just curious how much of the vision of the finished film was made as you were producing.
    Yeah, that’s a great question, because in this case, it shows how the form and content in post-production can interface and get you where you’re trying to go, but don’t know how to get to.
    I knew that we wanted to interview Martha on camera.
    She’s Martha Stewart, and I wanted her to be at the center of her film.
    Her story has been told so many times before, but never by her.
    I knew that I wanted to interview Martha on camera, but I’m always looking and I’m always open to alternatives.
    I don’t want analytical talking heads that pull you out of the moment.
    I want you to be in the moment.
    In this case, I nevertheless started interviewing people on camera, and we would edit them in, and I just, I didn’t like it.
    Did it take you out of the flow?
    It took you out of the flow.
    I didn’t understand why I was looking at people in their living rooms talking about something that had happened 30 years ago.
    It wasn’t the cinema that I felt this story needed.
    One day, we said, let’s take everybody off camera, but keep Martha on camera.
    Martha emerged as a complicated central character in a way that she hadn’t been quite as much before.
    The fact that she’s kind of an unreliable narrator became more of the, and that’s a literary construct, but a very revealing one.
    People reveal themselves in the things they say and the things they don’t say.
    They reveal themselves in the truths they share and in the mistruths that they share.
    So you could use that audio documentary, the voices of the people who were with her, but you would use them sometimes to challenge or to expand the version of reality that she’s giving.
    As you’re putting that together, how concerned are you about offending her?
    I remember one time you asked her about her feelings and she says, you know, I’d rather do things.
    Have you had any relationships where you talk about your feelings?
    No, and that’s probably why I haven’t had very many personal relationships with men, for example, because I couldn’t care less.
    I don’t know what the real reason is, and it doesn’t interest me so much to know, you know, oh, Charles, you know, how do you feel this second?
    I don’t care, actually.
    I do care about, Charles, what are you doing?
    What are you thinking about?
    So I sort of gravitate towards people who are doing things all the time, and I think more about everything that I’m doing, things that I’m working on, things that I’d like to work on, things that I’d like to accomplish.
    That’s where I’m best.
    And it’s so revealing about her, but it also is a little bit of a slap, like, you know, hey, we’re doing this in a certain way and not that way.
    I’m curious, when you’re editing that, do you think about that as slightly hostile testimony in a trial kind of voice?
    Are you thinking about how she is going to respond to it?
    Honestly, I’m just thinking about making the film.
    I hear what you’re saying, and clearly I’m including those moments in the film because I want you to understand that it’s very difficult for Martha to open up in this way because it has to do with who she is as a person.
    And that’s great that I can be the foil because that illuminates who she is.
    And that’s what I’m thinking about is clarity there.
    And same with the other voices.
    I’m looking for clarity and complexity and, you know, a journey towards truth on your behalf as a viewer.
    I found one of the most powerful pieces of that film was around a series of letters that she had written to her then-husband.
    You’re interviewing her about this marriage that ended up going bad.
    At one point, she basically says to you, RJ, you know, like, I gave you the letters.
    It’s hard for me personally to talk about it.
    Some people revel in this.
    Self-pity, et cetera, et cetera.
    I just don’t.
    I handed over letters that were very personal.
    So, guess what?
    Take it out of the letters.
    Dearest Andy, I cannot sleep.
    I cannot eat.
    My skin is worried and many lives that were not there are now there.
    Talk to me about those letters, about what it’s like to come upon material like that and how you think it through.
    Well, it’s a great resource for a filmmaker who’s looking to tell the truth in the moment.
    Letters are a verite element and they’re better than someone describing what they remember or what they said.
    It’s as valuable as a piece of film and I was incredibly grateful to her for trusting us with them.
    And by the way, there’s a 45-minute audio edit of the full length of letters that she gave us that is riveting and powerful and very emotional because it’s the letters written during a divorce, you know?
    Talk to me through the completion and release of that film and especially Martha Stewart’s reaction.
    Anyone who’s read the media a little bit about her response will have, I think, a misperception of the reality according to what you’ve told me earlier.
    A person who’s in a film like this, especially somebody who’s used to controlling their image and their narrative for their whole career and who’s had some ups and downs and difficult times is going to be very vulnerable seeing the film.
    I mean, if I made a film about you and showed it to you, it would probably differ than the film you would make about you.
    If you made a film about me and showed it to me, it would differ than the film I would make about me.
    It shouldn’t surprise any of us that Martha Stewart would have made a different film than I did.
    In those early days, she was public about the fact that she wished I had used different music and there was a scene towards the end of the film where she felt it didn’t depict her as flatteringly as she would have.
    Right. She said she just had an Achilles injury and it made her look older than she actually is.
    Yes, yes.
    More fragile.
    Believe me, empathetic.
    And we might not have used the footage she was referring to if it wasn’t also incredibly beautiful and powerful and poetic.
    And if it didn’t show her extraordinary landscaping abilities, which was a central metaphor in the film.
    It’s not that I minded her having the criticism.
    It probably, you know, suggested to some people that they would want to see the film to see what all the hullabaloo was about.
    Martha continues to be incredibly supportive of the film and we speak all the time.
    What Martha has told me is that everywhere she goes, young women come up to her to tell her that her story of overcoming adversity has inspired them and adversity at multiple times in her life.
    Coming up after the break, who wouldn’t R.J.
    Cutler make a film about?
    My mother used to say, don’t do anything you don’t want to read about on the front page of the New York Times.
    There’s a version of that here.
    I’m Stephen Dubner.
    This is Freakonomics Radio.
    We’ll be right back.
    The latest release from the documentary filmmaker R.J.
    Cutler is called Fight for Glory.
    It’s a three-parter about the 2024 World Series.
    Cutler and his crew were down in the dugouts of both the Los Angeles Dodgers and the New York Yankees.
    Spoiler alert, the Dodgers win.
    Cutler is a lifelong and hardcore fan of the other New York baseball team, the Mets.
    His brother used to take piano lessons from one Mrs. Cohen, who happens to be the mother of the Mets’ current owner, Steve Cohen.
    Cutler is very much hoping that the Mets make it to the World Series this year and that Apple asks him to make that version of Fight for Glory.
    I will do anything to make the New York Mets film.
    Baseball is a beautiful game that has so much to teach us about life and about overcoming adversity.
    It’s a game of failure.
    A success rate in baseball is 30%.
    That means 70% of the time you’re Juan Soto grounding into a double play with the bases loaded like he did yesterday at a critical moment.
    You know, R.J., when you describe baseball as an exercise in overcoming adversity,
    it strikes me that every film you’ve ever made has had overcoming adversity at the core of the people you’re following, no?
    This is life, you know.
    This is life.
    It’s certainly something that attracts me to the subjects I’ve made films about, and everybody has adversity that they’ve had to overcome, and it’s the way who we are is defined.
    We might think of you as celebrity-adjacent, right?
    You’re not a celebrity quite.
    You’re well-known, but you’ve spent a lot of time with people who are really famous.
    So I wonder if you could just talk for a moment about fame and the costs especially.
    I think a lot of people think that being famous is mostly wonderful because it also comes with wealth and power.
    I would argue wealth and power are kind of separate.
    If you could have those without the fame, it might be better.
    I wonder what you can tell us that you’ve seen about fame per se, having spent time with a number of people in a very intimate way, people who are famous and who have to deal with the upsides and downsides.
    Well, I guess I will answer that by saying that I try to impress upon my kids that fame isn’t what it looks like, and that from what I’ve seen, it’s certainly a double-edged sword.
    It’s a culture that worships fame.
    Sometimes I’m not quite sure I understand why.
    I get asked about fame as a subject, and I understand that it has become a subject of some of the films that I’ve done, but I don’t really see that as what has attracted me to the famous people I’ve made movies about.
    I see their greatness as the thing that attracts me more than their fame.
    I mean, what you’re pointing out about greatness, most people get famous because they’re great.
    The problem is the thing that made them great at the thing they do has nothing to do with the ability to be famous.
    And indeed, even among some performers who set out to perform in public, they seem really overwhelmed if they happen to become famous and then they have to deal with that.
    It just seems like it’s a condition, a side effect of greatness, maybe, as much as anything.
    If you were around before People magazine, which I was, you’ve seen the culture change.
    Remember when People was just a column in Time magazine, and then it became its own magazine, and you’ve seen the culture change, and of course the internet changes it.
    I remember meeting a famous person in my early 20s and thinking, oh, she’s famous for being famous.
    Now, that’s the culture.
    The culture is people who are famous for being famous.
    We have to understand fully what the real value is.
    Let me ask you this.
    I can go to Netflix and watch your documentary about Martha Stewart, and I appreciate that it’s a real piece of documentary work and all the things that that entails.
    I believe it to be nonfiction.
    I don’t think anybody’s making up stuff.
    I don’t think anybody’s leaving anything substantial out, etc.
    So, to me, it’s not journalism, but it’s a cousin, at least, of journalism.
    But then I can also watch a lot of other docs on Netflix or Amazon or elsewhere about well-known people that are made to feel and look pretty similar to, let’s say, a Martha Stewart documentary, but I know are made with a very different level and type of cooperation.
    They’re essentially commissioned portraits.
    And I, as both journalist and as a consumer, I’m not super thrilled about that, and I’m curious to know your take on this topic.
    I think that it is absolutely critical that, you know, viewers have a sense of who’s making the films that they’re looking at.
    I’m a big proponent of media literacy.
    I think you should have a strong sense of what you’re looking at and who the sources are.
    I think if you’re watching one news service, you should know the difference between it and another news service.
    I think if you’re reading a tweet online, you should know the source of that.
    I think that if you’re looking at a documentary, you should know the source of that.
    And I can only speak to my own work and the rigor with which we pursue truth.
    But we’re filmmakers.
    We’re artists.
    We’re looking at the more poetic mysteries of life and its complexities rather than the journalistic facts of the matter.
    As much as we are equally obliged to the truth as journalists, what we do is very different.
    I assume no money changed hands.
    Martha Stewart does not commission you to make a film about her, correct?
    Oh, no.
    Of course not.
    Would you ever accept a commission if Bill Gates or someone comes and says,
    R.J., I think your films are great.
    I want you to make an honest film about me, but I want you to make a film about me.
    And here’s $5 million, $20 million to make it.
    What do you do?
    Well, those are two different numbers.
    So that means 20, yes, five, no.
    Let’s just say I call some people to talk it through and they make sure I make the right decision.
    I’m very blessed in that I have wise counsel from my partners.
    I thought you were going to say you’re blessed in that you’ve been able to make the work that you want to make without strings and get paid for it.
    That’s also true?
    Yes, all of that is true.
    That’s an even better answer.
    What’s the difference between or where is the line between access and approval?
    The line between access and approval is a conversation that I try to have with everyone as early in the process as possible.
    And that is the line of final cut.
    I had that conversation with Martha that very first evening, and she embraced it the way that Billie Eilish embraced it and her parents embraced it,
    the way that Anna Wintour embraced it, the way that everybody who I’ve worked with since the beginning has embraced it.
    Define final cut for those who don’t know.
    If the director has final cut, the director is making all the decisions.
    That doesn’t mean that I don’t respect the fact that the story belongs to the subject.
    It doesn’t mean that I don’t share the film beforehand and hear their feedback.
    But final decisions are mine.
    Tell me about a project that you’ve been offered and rejected.
    Oh, goodness.
    I don’t know.
    What if, for instance, in November of 2023, Hamas came to you and said, you know, RJ, we think we’re being misportrayed here.
    No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
    But we’ll offer you a full embedding, full access to everything.
    I mean, it depends on the circumstances.
    That doesn’t sound like anywhere you should.
    Anybody who loves me would advise me to go.
    My mother used to say, bless her memory.
    My mother used to say, don’t do anything you don’t want to read about on the front page of the New York Times.
    But but, you know, listen, I made a movie about Dick Cheney.
    It’s called The World According to Dick Cheney.
    He is somebody with whom I have absolutely no political common ground, but I was fascinated by him.
    Here’s perhaps the single most powerful and impactful nonpresidential political figure in American history.
    And he agreed to let me make a film and sat for a deep interview with you.
    Yes.
    Five days of long interviews.
    And I’m really glad that I did.
    So I’m not saying I always would need to agree with the subject.
    But, you know, there’s we get into all sorts of complexities and I’m not going to make a propaganda film about anybody.
    Tell me, with the Cheney film, how did it change you or what did you learn about yourself?
    Not about him, but, you know, I think the reason all of us who write or make stuff do it is because it’s thrilling to put yourself around people that are unlike you,
    to put yourself in situations that are unlike yours because it changes you.
    So what happened in that case for you?
    Certainly talking with him for those five days, eight hours a day, required an intellectual rigor and a level of engagement that was very satisfying.
    I mean, Dick Cheney is a remarkable figure.
    And what was very interesting to me was how he had changed over time.
    He was the youngest presidential chief of staff in American history as Gerald Ford’s chief of staff and somebody who had started his life, you know, his adult life as a drunk, forever dropping out of school and not really having a promising future until he got his alcoholism under control.
    And then focused on his education and then on his career in Washington.
    It sounds like what you’re saying you learned was that you could have afforded to drink more in your youth.
    I learned a lot about him, but I also learned a lot about the conflict between duty and honor, which is something that he and I spoke about and differed on.
    And the film differs from him on.
    He felt that duty outranked honor, and I think it led him to do some damaging things.
    So, RJ, you’ve made a number of films about politics, politicians, the electoral process.
    I want you to talk to me about Donald Trump.
    What do you see when you see him on TV?
    How do you think about him shaping his image and influencing the public?
    Who does he remind you of, etc.?
    Well, I see a man who reminds me politically of Oliver North, who is the subject of A Perfect Candidate.
    The film that David Van Taylor and I made in 1994 about Oliver North’s Senate campaign.
    I see a playbook that’s very familiar, a playbook of grievance, and one that taps into a kind of dark side of American history and identity.
    I see a master media manipulator.
    Those of us who grew up in New York and are New Yorkers know we’ve seen Donald Trump our whole careers.
    We know his playbook, and we know Roy Cohn’s playbook, and we see it in action.
    What Oliver North didn’t have, and Donald Trump does have, is an incredibly powerful media machine in Fox News.
    And I see that as a difference maker, a very, very powerful difference maker in its impact on his political success.
    I don’t think that the anger that Trump taps into is not genuine, but the manipulation of the truth becomes a lot easier in the culture that we’re in right now.
    Have you thought about making a film on Trump?
    No, no.
    No.
    I mean, I would always be curious to film in a verite environment that involves the government of my country.
    Honestly, I would be very curious, but do I get final cut?
    If the answer is no, then no, I’m not interested.
    What if you did?
    If I were invited to film for 10 days in the Oval Office?
    Yeah.
    Sure, I’d be honored and curious.
    So, we do have a lot of listeners to this program in the White House.
    We hear from them, you know, now and again.
    It sounds as though if an invitation were extended, you would accept chief condition being final cut, correct?
    Yes.
    And I’m grateful to you for negotiating this on my behalf.
    You’re welcome.
    I can get one of those tiny, tiny, tiny co-executive junior producer credits when it’s on.
    No problem.
    Tell me about your Greenland film project, what it is, and the status.
    We’re just beginning, and it’s incredibly exciting.
    In the wake of the Second World War in the early 1960s, during the Cold War, the United States built an underground city in Greenland that was ostensibly meant to monitor environmental issues and demonstrate survivability in Arctic areas.
    What the U.S. government didn’t tell the Danish government was that it was really a military base for nuclear armaments pointed at the Soviet Union.
    We invaded Greenland in the early 1960s, and we didn’t tell the Danish government that we were there.
    Just to be clear, the Danish government is the official keeper of Greenland, correct?
    That is correct.
    And by 1966 or so, the U.S. government abandoned the project, sent everybody home, and got rid of the nuclear reactor, but left all the nuclear waste and just assumed that it would remain buried under the ice forever.
    And guess what?
    Guess what doesn’t happen when you bury your secrets?
    They don’t stay buried.
    And they especially don’t stay buried with global warming and the polar ice cap melting.
    At what point did the Danish government make this discovery?
    They discovered that the U.S. had put missiles there right around the turn of the century.
    So it wasn’t until around the turn of the century that the existence of the base was even known outside of the military?
    The existence of the base as a nuclear arsenal, that didn’t get revealed for many decades.
    And then it wasn’t until 2017 that a glaciologist revealed a study that this nuclear waste was, at the rate that the polar ice cap was melting and the ice around Greenland was melting, this nuclear waste would be exposed in a dangerous way within decades.
    And as you get into the history of this, you realize that the United States has had designs on Greenland for decades, in fact, for more than decades, for 150 years.
    And that’s what this movie that we’re making is about.
    I mean, plainly, this intersects with your professed willingness or appetite to make a film about the Trump White House.
    What do you know about the U.S. government’s current level of concern about the situation under the ground there?
    In other words, to what degree is this being factored into the Trump administration’s ideas about Greenland?
    We’re going to find out, and we’re going to look to tell that story.
    I admire your craft and your craftiness.
    You asked if, out of the blue, I was to receive a phone call inviting me to film in the Oval Office for a period of time, would I accept the invitation?
    And I said, under any circumstances, I would accept that invitation, because it’s true.
    And then later in your interview, you referred to my desire to make a film about the Trump administration.
    I think I maybe amended desire with appetite or something like that.
    Appetite, even, which is a more ferocious desire.
    I would like, for the record, to clarify that it is not part of my current plan or appetite to make a film about this administration.
    I’m experiencing it as a citizen, and I’m pursuing my art in other ways.
    Noted.
    However, short addendum, I learned my craftiness by watching documentary films.
    If we’re being honest.
    I know no craftier storytellers than my colleagues in the documentary world.
    It’s an extraordinary community with amazing work being done every year.
    New films that push the form and are rising to the call of the popular success of the form.
    And the challenges are greater now than ever because of the challenges in the entertainment industry and the fact that the bubble burst a few years ago in terms of peak programming.
    So craftiness is called on even more.
    We’re just about at time.
    I have another 1,800 questions I could ask you, but I’m just curious.
    Is there a film, a topic, an idea, a person, a family member, a pet, anything you do want to talk about that I haven’t asked about?
    No, I’m grateful that you’ve covered so much.
    My dog’s name is Dexter.
    He gets very little attention in these interviews, but he taught my wife and I about how to raise kids.
    He teaches us every day about love and empathy, and he’s a good man.
    So since you gave me the chance to sing his praises, I will.
    That was R.J. Cutler, also known as Rob Cutler, briefly, a long time ago.
    I’d like to thank him for the conversation today and the films he’s made over the years.
    He’s got a dedication to storytelling that I really admire.
    I would love to know what you thought about this episode.
    Our email is radio at Freakonomics dot com.
    And if you have any ideas for Cutler, we’ll be sure to pass them along.
    Coming up next time on the show, baseball is not the only way to learn from failure.
    One big reason we don’t learn enough from failures is that we don’t share them systematically enough.
    That makes it look like maybe you were incompetent.
    The brain just knows that you’ve been abandoned.
    Part of my problem was I did not ask enough questions.
    I think that was my tipping point where I just went, I’m done.
    And it broke me.
    But we don’t want you to be broken.
    We look at failed relationships, failures of the imagination, failures of determination, and how to overcome them.
    That’s next time as we revisit and update our series, How to Succeed at Failing.
    Until then, take care of yourself.
    And if you can, someone else too.
    Freakonomics Radio is produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio.
    You can find our entire archive on any podcast app, also at Freakonomics.com, where we publish complete transcripts and show notes.
    This episode was produced by Zach Lipinski with help from Morgan Levy.
    It was mixed by Jasmine Klinger with help from Jeremy Johnston.
    The Freakonomics Radio network staff also includes Alina Coleman, Augusta Chapman, Dalvin Abawaji, Eleanor Osborne, Ellen Frankman, Elsa Hernandez, Gabriel Roth, Greg Rippon, Sarah Lilly, and Tao Jacobs.
    Our theme song is Mr. Fortune by the Hitchhikers, and our composer is Luis Guerra.
    As always, thank you for listening.
    Just to be clear, we do have your patent approval and permission to use this material in the making of our project, correct?
    Yes, you do.
    You have final cut.
    The Freakonomics Radio Network.
    The hidden side of everything.
    Stitcher.

    It used to be that making documentary films meant taking a vow of poverty (and obscurity). The streaming revolution changed that. Award-winning filmmaker R.J. Cutler talks to Stephen Dubner about capturing Billie Eilish’s musical genius and Martha Stewart’s vulnerability — and why he really, really, really needs to make a film about the New York Mets.

     

     

     

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