West Virginia University is proposing a radical restructuring of their university. Did I say restructuring? I meant slashing and buring whole departments:

Is this fiscally driven? Politically motivated? An attack on education? Some sorta boondoggle? Hard to say with any degree of confidence from all the way down here in Clemson, but that won’t stop me from speculating to my heart’s content. With these sorts of proposals on the table, there has arrived no shortage of proposed explanations and blame. All that said, I am quite confident that the final outcome will result in a different university that more than a few other universities will eventually resemble as well (NB: not mine, to be clear. For all of it’s standard pecadilloes, Clemson appears to be pretty good shape. That said, if the fates hand us a couple losing football seasons alongside a QAnon woke-truther voting block winning a set of seats in the state legislature, well, anything becomes possible).

So why is this happening?

A handful of reasonable explanations, in semi-random order

1. The University president is a corrupt and incompetent boob

Feasibility: 4/5 Explanatory power: 2/5

Whoo-buddy. This guy appears to be the kind of known commodity that only a completely checked-out board of trustees would ever put in charge of a university. To wit, while plowing through millions he got caught spending $64k (not a typo) on his “signature” bow ties at his job prior to WVU. He has since burned millions at WVU on all the stuff that corrupt managers spend money on when they can’t put the money directly in their own pockets. Click on the whole thread below, it’s pretty jarring. That said, while this is likely all true, I’m not sure he’s burned enough money to wholly explain cuts this deep and a $45m budget shortfall.

Gordon Gee has a verifiable history of wasteful spending and exorbitantly high compensation compared to his peers.

Not only has Gee's antics wasted tens of millions of dollars in spending … he's also responsible for the deaths of 29 West Virginian coal miners.

🧵A THREAD w/🧾

— Austin 🇺🇸🇺🇦 (@AustinDizzy) August 11, 2023

2. West Virginia has turned its back on higher education broadly, the humanities specifically.

Feasibility: 2/5 Explanatory power: 1/5

West Virginia University is no longer interested in educating young people to meaningfully participate in a global community. As usual, students will pay for the parochialism and greed of a bloated administration that feeds itself while starving them. https://t.co/MokyosmuY0

— Uju Anya (@UjuAnya) August 11, 2023

Now, before you get ahead of me, I am not saying that the current political climate, obsessions with “woke” professors, and the broad anti-science/scholarship platform of a chunk of the US conservative movement isn’t making this an easier sell to the state legislature. What I am saying is that the $45m budget shortfall is real and graduate programs are often sneaky expensive. Masters programs are generally expected to be revenue positive for a department, and for many schools were often quite lucrative (at least, they were before the demand from foreign students was cut off). If a MA/MS/MFA program is getting cut during a budget crisis, you can be extra sure that program is losing money. Put another way, the university can’t afford to cut any profitable program right now, no matter how much its political gestalt might annoy certain power players. Placed in this context, I am surprised to see the Public Administration department on the chopping block. Those are often fairly popular and profitable masters programs. To be fair, I was originially the most surprised to see the MFA in Creative Writing program was being eliminated. It has a good reputation, such programs are usually relatively low cost to operate, and often can bring in a lot tuition money from students looking for a “consumption” degree. Then I saw that 100% of their MFA students received a full tuition waiver and $16,500 stipend. For that to work when your university is underwater you need those MFA students to teach a lot of undergraduate composition courses, and even then that leaves you with an English Department faculty hardpressed to justify their own numbers.

3. A $45 million shortfall meant WVU couldn’t put off the future another year

Feasibility: 5/5 Explanatory power: 3/5

This is the converstion we’re all actually having, regardless of the various competing framings. There are departments struggling on every campus. Humanities majors in decline, STEM majors in ascendance. For every Arts & Sciences faculty meeting that turned into a “why are their salaries higher than ours/because there is greater demand for our services outside of academia” food fight, there is now an actual existential question on the table, which means this just got real.

Real-er than you might think. Covid exposed the Return-On-Investment fragility of a lot of high priced private colleges, but <raised-eyebrows sotto voce> made your in-state public university look pret-ty good by comparison. Inflation? Inflation is often a boon to universities looking to cut costs because it offers the prospect of a meaningful haircut to the salaries of every member of your tenured faculty, but only if the state legislature plays along and lets you raise tuition in accordance with inflation. The fact that the flagship public university of a state is staring this down at exactly the moment when things are set up for state schools to succeed is perhaps the darkest harbinger of them all.

4. Maybe this is just a West Virginia problem

Feasibility: 5/5 Explanatory power: 4/5

West Virginia’s population shrank 3.2% from 2010 to 2020. The university’s enrollment has shrunk 10% since 2005. It’s hard enough to shrink any public institution’s workforce, let alone one with a tenure system for a sizable portion of it’s employees. Maybe none of this is that complicated. Shrinking populations are hard for government institutions to manage. Politically costly decisions get put off until the lights might actually go out. Choices do eventually get made, however, and when they do, they tend to be drastic.

5. All of the above

Feasibility: 5/5 Explanatory power: 5/5

That’s the best part of this gimmick. It implies I’ve explained the entire West Virginia University dilemma without ever actually committing my reputation to a single excerptable sentence. Come to think of it, I should use this format more often.

There are things that you can, on some level, know are true but not fully internalize until you re-experience that truth multiple times. We all know that there is a seemingly unending supply of free and paid educational instruction available on the internet, from the broadest mathematical pedagogy to instructions for replacing a single grommet on a specific appliance make and model. We are awash in content, much of it explicitly designed to aid in our self-guided educational journeys. You and I already know this, but every few years I feel like I re-live a moment of awe at what is costlessly or near-costlessly made available to anyone with an internet connection.

As you probably know, I am an economist and a sports junkie. In both my professional and sports endeavors, I tend to dabble in scattered interests until I get narrowly obsessed with something. Sometimes this takes the form of a 5 year research project, other times it means I become a hockey goalie for 15 years. For both hockey and most of the technical aspects of my economic research, I am almost exclusively “self-taught”, though I’m not sure that is all that unusual anymore. Woe be unto the applied economist who thinks an afternoon’s cap-and-gown affair means they are done struggling to learn new econometrics.

The corridor of athletic activity available to me has narrowed with injury and age, so like many before me I have turned to golf. At first reluctantly, I’ll admit, but now I am fully on board. I’ve constrained my financial investment, using (until very recently) entirely used equipment, found balls, and opting for less expensive courses. As I’ve progressed, what has once again shocked me is not just how easy it is to acquire instruction, but the incredible nuance and narrowness of that instruction. If something isn’t working for me, I can simply describe the problem I am experiencing into google and a dozen videos diagnosing and remedying the problem will instantly appear. If I want to understand the biomechanics or even physics behind my swing to build intuition, I can watch 100s of hours of videos. If I want advice geared towards players with similar personal characteristics, habits, or preferences, it all appears before me. It is not without exaggeration to suggest that I am receiving better instruction as a 46-year old amateur with one good knee than all but the absolutely most privleged in the world would have received 30 years ago.

This is all the more important when placed in the context of the rising cost of personal instruction. The price of passive instruction may be rapidly approaching zero, but that doesn’t insulate active instruction from Baumol’s cost disease. The cost of having someone’s time all to your self has never been higher, which means if you want your instruction curated, the regulatory device of interpersonal obligation and sunk costs, or simply an upscale babysitter that lets you feel like a good parent while you scroll your phone for an hour, you’re going to pay more than ever.

The only downside to being able to costlessly access our near-infinite Library of Alexandria, if there must be one, is the guilt I feel as I steadily improve. Every increment of improvement is evidence that I chose to get better at golf instead every other dimension of my professional and private self. The double-edged sword of opportunity cost haunts me, reminding me that everything I learn comes at the expense of what I chose not to learn. I could have learned about the China Trade Shock, the latest reason why every identification strategy ever employed in an economics paper is wrong, Mandarin, or how to cook rissotto for my wife.

But I chose golf. There’s probably insight into myself to be be had there, but some lessons are best left unlearned.

A new paper, “Beyond Teachers: Estimating Individual Guidance Counselors’ Effects
on Educational Attainment” by Christine Mulhern observes significant contributions from guidance counselors to student outcomes:

It’s the last bit that rings truest to me: that counselors are most salient to low-achieving and low-income students because they lack other resources, specifically information. As I’ve noted before, information deserts are real, particularly for potential first generation college students. As modern applied economists, we are obsessed with identification and causality, but don’t sleep on distribution of impacts observed. Her finding that “counselors vary substantially in their effectiveness” is worth consideration and further exploration. Where does that variation come from? The excellence of the best counselors or the negative impact of the very worst? I’ve only a handful of experiences interacting with counselors, but my expectation is that it is both. Given that counselors tend to be woefully paid, I expect that they frequently sort across schools on non-pecuniaries i.e. how pleasant it is to work somewhere, which seems like yet another channel through public school students in affluent neighborhoods will find themselve advantaged.

But that’s enough speculative extrapolating for one day. Read the paper.

The EJMR paper presentation dropped at the NBER summer meetings. If you were a 90s kid who loved hacker movies, you were not disappointed. Some are worried it’s an exercise in doxxing (it isn’t). What I think is worth a bit more reflection is the “big reveal” that EJMR toxic posters were not limited to the periphery of the profession. Quite to the contrary, large swaths were matched to the IP addresses of elite universities. Besides disabusing people of the notion that toxic behavior and ideas might decrease with prestige, accomplishment, or intelligence, I think it serves as a healthy reminder that 1) Any anonymous message board will devolve into a cesspool if left unmoderated (see Law, Gresham’s) and, 2) Any status game can devolve into a negative sum game if left unmoderated.

Academia is a status tournament

From a purely careerist standpoint, academia is a long run status tournament built around rankings and tiers. It starts from the moment you apply to graduate schools, hoping to get into the highest ranked school. Some are admitted, some are not. Those admitted are sorted across tiers of schools. Once in a school there is the (sometimes true) perception that students are internally ranked, sorting to faculty advisors, projects, and data access. Some graduate, some leave early with a masters degree, some leave with nothing. Those who graduate are sorted into academic and non-academic jobs. Those that are pushed by the faculty on to the academic market sort into better and worse schools. The best prospects are swapped across the best schools (it’s generally uncouth to hire your own students, at least immediately). Once they are established in tenure track positions, the tournament continues in its least compressed, but also most heightened form, as scholars conduct research, write papers, tour seminars, apply to workshops and conferences, submit to journals, apply for grants and fellowships, and generally fight their way towards tenure. Tenure, to be noted, is a stage of this tournament, but it’s not the end (the end happens at funerals and Nobel Prize ceremonies.)

“You aren’t tenured by your department. You’re tenured by the profession.” – academic proverb

The tournament is subtle and unrelenting. For those who seek to climb the ladder or remain on top, the strategies are more varied than you might expect. It is, point of fact, not all about research productivity, scholarly contributions, and intellectual advancements. It’s also about public goods, including data curation, lab management, feedback on other people’s research, journal editing, idea sharing, even referee reports. From the most cyncical careerist point of view, however, it remains a status game, which means what matters at the end of the day is not how good you are, but how good other people think you are. Or how good people think other people think you are. Or how good…you get the k-level reasoning idea.

Can you see where the trouble seeps into this tweedy swamp of ambition and ego? The inherent subjectivity of it. The biases some of us have, the biases all of us have. The dark arts of manipulating image, conversation, and public opinion. The herding around ideas. The bureaucratic and scholarly gamesmanship that can hold back one paper and elevate another. Every story your paranoid lizard brain can dream up explaining why a node in the tournament decision tree turned against you and in another’s favor.

Which brings me back to EJMR.

I’ll make a statement you don’t have to believe: I expected the worst behavior to be at the good schools. Why? Because they are embroiled in the most ruthless, unforgiving level of the tournament, and most of them are losing. That’s not a hypothesis, that’s just a mathematical reality. For every 25 students in a top PhD program, I’d guess 10-12 end up in academia. Of those, 6-10 are at an R1. Of those, 1-2 are in a top school. Of those, maybe 1 gets tenure at said top school.

From the perspective of the most competitive souls, that’s 96% who are losers. Not in the absolute sense, but in the “at some stage of the game someone else was chosen over them” sense. In the relative, zero-sum, status seeking sense. That doesn’t mean 96% of academics are angry, but it does make for a large pool of potentially angry people. People who, in a moment of weakness, might feed that dark tapeworm of the soul whose only sustenance is the denigration and suffering of people they envy. That desperate willingness to believe the only reason you didn’t “win” is because your competitors were vile and dishonorable? That’s a tapeworm buffet.

The dark tapeworm is an emotional parasite, isolated and lonely in it’s host. EJMR, in its toxic final form, allowed thousands of depressed, angry tapeworms to find community and feed each other. To affirm the belief festering within each of them that they were cheated. That they would have gotten the job, published, admitted, invited, tenure. That they would have won just one more round, and risen just one more level, if it wasn’t for them. The cheaters.

It’s not surprising that the targets of EJMR hate were disproportionately (but not exclusively) women and people of color. I’m not going to tour you through the misogny and racism on EJMR, but I will note that it’s a good reminder that intelligence isn’t the prophylactic against grotesque beliefs and behavior that you might hope it is. Quite the contrary, it’s almost (almost) heartwarming to see that status envy and anger turn everyone into the same monsters, looking to attack and blame the same people, whether you’re an unemployed trucker in Arkansas worried about making rent or a 5th year PhD student at Harvard nervously managing the shame of having to settle for an industry job that starts at $190k a year.

Returing to the thesis of this post, let’s not forget that tournaments are perfectly fine. They can even be positive sum games. A golf tournament only has one winner, but the more honorable the competitors are, the more they collectively raise the status and opportunities of others in their tournament, the higher the quality of their collective product, which means a bigger prize pool for everyone. There’s a reason the prize money isn’t winner-take-all: they know that a certain amount of cooperation amongst competitors is necessary for the tournament as a whole to thrive.

And that’s why this paper is important. Beyond shining a light on grotesque and dangerous behavior, it’s a wake-up call that the status tournament in academic economics is out of control and veering into negative sum territory. EJMR got a foothold because students and faculty had questions nobody felt they could ask or answer without anonymity. A secret curriculum. A gnawing, desperate fear that you don’t understand the rules. How do I get in the NBER? Can I use the same data as another student? Can I renege on a job if a better one is offered? Does journal X count for tenure? EJMR thrived and achieved critical mass. But that critical mass, combined with anonymity and the abandoning of content moderation, became a breeding ground for emotional tapeworms and here we are.

So how do we kill it off? Well, we can go after the most aggressive and disgusting posters on the website, but that feels a bit like attacking a forest fire with a fire extinguisher. In the long run, I suspect the solutions will be public goods. Not unlike undermining the labor supply of a terrorist group by supplying clean water and healthcare, I think the profession needs to start providing the public goods that were the original EJMR lifespring. Journal submission records. Hiring decision transparency (i.e. when a job is filled or still considering candidates). Invitation, acceptance, and rejection statuses in real time. Repositories of course notes and slides. A hidden curriculum made visible.

And, yes, an anonymous message board (or a identified board with a special anonymous section), but with strict content moderation. We know it can be done. You don’t see any of the same filth on statalist or the economics subreddit. We have professional associations, including the AEA, whose sole purpose is to provide public goods. I’m not going to dissuade anyone, particularly those attacked, from going after EJMR operators or posters through legal channels. But it we want to rip it out of the earth, root and vine, I see no better way than to beat it in the marketplace. And in doing so, we might even smooth over the rough edges of the status tournament we’re trying to build lives and careers in.

Because maybe the collective production of new knowledge at the bleeding edge of economics could even be a positive sum game?

I don’t know if Team Transitory (in which I count myself, though I included Fed intervention in my expectations) gets to take home the final prize regarding inflation. Certainly the timeline was imperfect. It’s good that we’re debating who and what gets credit for a soft landing, though, since it means that Covid recovery policies haven’t likely mired us in a decade of heavy inflation (let alone hyperinflation). No, that doesn’t mean that the last round of payments wasn’t a net welfare loss, but let’s do our best to be sympathetic to the possibility that one-too-many is preferable to one-too-few when trying to bubblewrap your economy through the worst global pandemic in a century.

I bring this up because we will no doubt continue to suffer through “If inflation is under control, why is _____ so expensive” takes for a few year. I look forward to entirely ignoring these takes, with the occasional link back to this post when the commenter is sufficiently thoughtful (or annoying) to engage. And I just want to remind everyone that a lot of goods and services continue to steadily rise in price, not just because of the opportunity cost of labor (i.e. Baumol’s disease), but because of the opportunity cost of death.

We value human life more than at any previous point in human history (I haven’t consulted actuarial tables, or even googled it, but remain confident this is true). There are a lot of things we used to produce cheaply by throwing labor at the problem until it was built or everyone was dead (see Giza, the Pyramids of). You don’t have to go back nearly so far to appreciate the phenomenon.

Have you ever seen The French Connection? It has the single greatest car chase in history. It’s amazing. How did they do it? By not giving a damn about anyone or anything, including the actors in the cars and the unknowing civilians on the street. The film with arguably the greatest long-form stunt set-piece was produced for a total of $1.8 million (12.8 in 2023 dollars). Not that scene, mind you, the whole movie. It was cheap in dollars, but they had to put hundreds of people at risk to do it. Just because a miracle occurred and no one died doesn’t mean it was enormously expensive in turns of human risk (including unconsented risk).

Did you see John Wick 4? It has the best chase scene I’ve seen since the French Connection (at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, no less). Priscillia Page, without question my single favorite film writer going these days, interviewed the director, and brilliant action movie obsessive that she is, got him to discuss in extensive detail the months of planning, the small city of professionals, and the enormous investment that went into mitigating risk at every possible turn for just that scene. All in service of John Wick driving the wrong way on the world’s most famous roundabout and then running through traffic. John Wick 4 cost $100 million to film precisely because it places so much value on every human being directly and indirectly involved.

just dropped the first part of my interview with Chad Stahelski, one of my absolute favorite filmmakers https://t.co/BPpjTRbjGk

— priscilla page (@BBW_BFF) June 17, 2023

Does anyone seriously believe movies are more expensive because of decades of inflation? Of course not. We know, at some level that the products have become more costly to produce and that that is reflected in the price facing consumers. I remain an unrepentant YIMBY who thinks that the key to the future of the US economy is lowering the costs of rebuilding our infrastructure, but we would do well to remember that the dollar costs of the past are no longer attainable because we are (gratefully) no longer comfortable throwing human suffering at a problem instead of money. This doesn’t let us off the hook from permitting, NIMBY, and public union gridlock, but we would do well endure rising costs with a bit more alacrity.

Technological innovation means the total cost of most things has gone down. That total cost includes dollars and physical risk. Our willingness to tolerate physical risk has gone down so much that, even in our world of technological miracles, there are some products that the dollar cost we are left with has gone up. But that’s not inflation. Or even a problem. It’s literally the best thing about living in the modern world.

There is much to admire in the bundle of Canadian policy, but housing and construction regulation remains a largely unmitigated disaster.

The Canadian housing market… 😬 pic.twitter.com/pdr2oeLa5B

— Alec Stapp (@AlecStapp) July 9, 2023

I note this only as a reminder that

1. It’s safer to admire individual policies rather than national bundles. There isn’t a nation on earth that gets anywhere close to everything right.
2. What you gain from an optimal policy is often just slack that softens the impact of getting something else completely wrong.
3. Often you only really feel the true cost of bad policy when political tides undermine what was previously buttressing your entire system. Case in point: the NHS and Brexit.

What happens to the Canadian economy when the housing market is still strangling disposable income and an anti-immigrant political movement rises to power on the false but persuasive accusation that immigrants, and not bad housing policy, is to blame? Leveraging all my gifts of analysis and foresight, I predict bad things. Bad things will happen.

[Author’s note: I almost used the word “radical” in the title, but stepped back from the abyss. Being wrong is always more forgivable than being sweaty and clichéd.]

The principal objective of disinformation campaigns is to lower the value of publicly available knowledge so the purveyor’s preferred narrative can compete in the market for ideas. This is particularly attractive to authortarian regimes who have control of large media outlets. If the integrity of public information is sufficiently low, then wholesale fabrications can dominate based on reach and volume.

But what if you are a benevolent democratic regime without a state media outlet trying to compete with targeted disinformation campaigns? Your enemies have flooded the zone with so many conspiracy theories and falsehoods that your ability to steer the public discourse is significantly hindered. How do you recover control of the narratives driving elections and, in turn, policy?

The classic power solution would be to eliminate the disinformation. Constraints on production and dissemination of information, bans on outlets, criminal prosecution for promoting foreign propaganda. Standard command and control governance. But what if the genie is already out of the bottle? Maybe you can limit access to foreign-owned outlets (i.e. TikTok), but eventually everything is going to leak through via other outlets. Half of Instagram Reels is essentially TikTok on a two week delay after all. And that doesn’t solve the problem of domestic disinformation/misinformation. If disinformation has reduced the price of lying to zero, then we should expect news and campaigns to indulge whenever it serves their bottom lines, which means lies will find every crack in the media regulatory firewall, like water on concrete.

(Brief aside: maybe you don’t believe in the horseshoe theory of political politics as it relates to authoritarianism and identity, but it sure does seem to accurately describe affinities for conspiracy theories.)

If you are a benevolent democratic regime seeking to retain office for yourself or your political party, how do you communicate with a public unable to distinguish truth from opposition deception? How do you produce something with signal value when the world is being purposefully and strategically filled with so much noise?

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What if you didn’t focus on communicating with the public, per se, at least in the short run? What if you gave up on communicating broadly, for a moment, and focused entirely on the subset who could independently extract signal from noise? You’d lose elections, right? There’s not enough “signal extracters” to compete with “noise voters”, are there?

This is going to sound mathy and, at first, elitist, but hear me out. Maybe there are enough signal extractors simply because noise voters cancel each other out. This is not a new theory. This is classic statistics and political economy. If we assume that noise voters are purely random in who they vote for, then the Law of Large Numbers kicks in and you essentially get an even split of noise voters across all candidates, allowing the election-within-the-election “signal extractors” to determine the final winner.

If that all sounds just a little too cute and too convenient, its because it probably is. Assuming that noise voters are randomly distributed across parties and platform is a pipe dream. At this moment in the US and abroad, authoritarians and social conservatives are far more invested in pursuing noise voters, to varying degrees of success, by serving them up bespoke misinformation at every turn. Not that we should expect this to stay constant. As we speak a Kennedy (!) is running for the Democratic nomination on what is essentially a platform of disinformation, conspiracy theories, and pure hokum.

At the end of the day, we have to increase the value of signal campaigns relative to noise. How do we do that? Education! Public service! A recommitment to civic duty! A recommitment to God! A blogging revival! Ha. You wish. Sorry, those are certainly aspirational, if not inspirational, solutions. But I think those whither and die in the face of unrepent bullshit and lies. I have a different answer.

What if the solution to disinformation is more misinformation? But first, an aside.

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There is a classic story in game theory that professors still put in front of their students to this day: if you had to meet someone in New York City tomorrow, but couldn’t communicate with them, where would you go and when would you go there? When posited to New Yorkers, specifically, and East Coasters broadly, it’s amazing how many people give the same answer: the clock in Grand Central Station at noon.

This is known as a focal point (or Schelling Point). It allows for coordination without communication. Focal points show up in culture and social norms on fairly regular basis simply because they are so useful. They emerge, over time, from thousands of repeated interactions, with certain norms taking hold when they create advantages for their adherents. The seeds of these focal points are when enough people find something useful that it becomes duplicated. Like meeting a friend arriving in town at the train station.

The truth can be a natural focal point, not because it is necessarily pretty or inviting, but because it is actually there.

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So, again, what if the solution to disinformation is more misinformation? Not debunking the lies and bullshit, but heaping more out the window until it covers every surface? The reason that targeted disinformation works is that it reduces the advantage of telling the truth, allowing your preferred narrative to compete. The weakness of disinformation and lies, though, is that they are nearly costless to supply. Noise voters aren’t shopping for the best answer, they’re shopping for the answer that they would prefer to be true. So give it to them! Give them exactly the answer they want. Give everyone the exact answer they want. Flood the zone to the point of total saturation.

If everyone can find their own truth, then the Law of Large Numbers can actually dominate the outcome. If everyone can be fed exactly the story they need to hear to vote for Candidate A and exactly the story they need to hear to vote for Candidate B, then their vote will be effectively a coin flip. They only votes remaining to be determined outside of our probabilistic system? The signal voters. But it gets better, because the truth has an advantage in this landscape: it’s a superior focal point. If beliefs are blades of grass in a lawn fertilized with pure and utter bullshit, the truth will look like all the others, but it will be just a little taller. As people observe signal voters collecting around it, it will grow and grow until people decide, absent communication, to meet at the tall blade of grass.

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How do you create such an infinite system of bespoke false narratives for the tiniest slices of the electorate? Targeted large language models. Artificial intelligence. The exact thing that some people fear will destroy democracy and enable authoritarians everywhere. If everyone is receiving their perfect cocktail of flattering, angering, entertaining disinformation, the only people that will determine elections will be those with an abnormal resistance to bullshit. Narratives flooding the internet, produced by a million AIs at a million typewriters, will ensure that each of us will stumble upon the exact sonnet you most want to hear, telling you which aliens caused which problems, which conspiracy cost people jobs, and which reason the world is worse than when you were sixteen.

No one will be fully, purely resistant, but we, each of us, have dimensions on which we actually know what we are talking about. Our own experiences, tacit knowledge, and expertise what will dominate our decision making process and tilt the balance of our vote towards the best outcome. A lot, if not most, of us, have a signal voter within. If our lesser proclivities are nullified in the aggregate by the power of statisics and perfectly curated bullshit, then the political carnival might just leave us governed by the better angels of our nature. A curious, counter-intuitive distillate, to be sure. But maybe also a functioning, more resilient democracy.

Just don’t read the comments ever again.

While the FTC is trying to break up a monopoly that, in my current but open to revision opinion, isn’t a monopoly, the most efficiently labor-extractive cartel in US history is literally sitting inside the Capitol begging Congress to give them back their (near) zero wage labor.

I’m not going to make the case against Lina Khan’s FTC lawsuit against Amazon (and by all accounts I’ve come across, it is very much her lawsuit). I’ll leave that to people who know a lot more about monopoly and antitrust than me. What I would like to humbly suggest, however, is that there is something kafkaesque about dedicating significant resources and political capital to pursue a case that is at least not unreasonable to say is wrong-headed while an obvious cartel that spent decades enforcing a zero-wage policy on labor in physically dangerous occupations is at this very moment actively lobbying for legislation to create a legal firewall ensuring that billions of dollars never suffer the ignomius fate of falling into the hands of their employees.

Yes, I know, I just wrote the same paragraph twice, but it’s just that flabbergasting, a “too-on-the-nose” political cartoon come to life. I’m not even sure that else to write.

I could talk about the pure powers of rationalization and cognitive dissonance. Nothing will lead to a more clear-eyed, full-hearted, open-throated defense of the purity of amateur sports and the inevitable destructive powers of wages than the $1.14 billion cut in rents the NCAA receives each year. And that’s just the NCAA, the governing body that oversees the cartel. The chief participants earned $3.3 billion in revenue from sports. You don’t have to be a sociopath sincerely spouting bald-faced lies with those kinds of incentives. The human capacity for narrative internalization and rationalization will do the trick for you, no sweat.

I could delve into classic the capture theory of regulation, how monopolies and cartels are often the only people sufficiently informed and motivated on niche issues to tilt the balance of democratic forces in their favor. I could reference the classic prisoner’s dilemma/collective action problems that plague even the most successful cartels. The network-structure of competitive sports leagues allowed the NCAA to successfully monitor and enforce the rules of their cartel (no compensation for players other than in-kind tuition, room, and board), but even such a successful cartel was still on borrowed time against the incentives facing top programs combined with the march of innovation and the rival collective of players.

No, what disappoints me is our regulatory institutions ignoring low-hanging fruit. I get it, political appointees are political animals, as well as just standard humans trying to make a secure living. Any FTC chair that sues Amazon, successful or not, will never want for law school appointments for the rest of their career. More than 70% of US adults are in households subscribed to Amazon Prime, which is affects a lot of voters and will lead to a lot of thinkpieces. For a $139 a year they get a bundle of goods and services, including the rough equivalent of Netflix. Is that too high? Is exit from the service too costly? Even if the answer is yes, what is the preferred outcome? A $7 lower price? Three-clicks fewer to unsubscribe? Even spread across the entirety of the US adult population, the costs seem fairly trivial, and added up in aggregate that’s not that much either. If it’s suppression of competition, well that’s a far tougher argument to win, which is why they aren’t making it.

The NCAA, on the other hand, has extracted a) enormous rents, likely > 50% of the marginal product of labor, b) from employees in physically dangerous and demanding jobs, many of whom c) are engaged in the task for which they have the peak marginal revenue product of their entire career. That last part is often under-appreciated. Very few of us, myself included, will ever have a marginal revenue product from our labor that compares to a starter on a Division I sports team that is regularly televised. They’re literally being denied earnings in what should be the highest 1 to 4 years of their career earning power. Maybe that doesn’t add up to as much in the aggregate of shaving $7 off of Amazon Prime, but the the number of households for whom Prime fees are salient to the trajectories of their lives is absolutely trivial compared to the NCAA cartel.

One of the big questions in governance is what do we want out of our regulatory agencies? A not unreasonable school of thought is to say we want a counterbalance to scale. Government forces with enough heft that they can bring the mightiest companies to heel. A reasonable person might say we want to maximize welfare, which could mean targeting cartels and monopolies of any size, looking strictly at the bottom line for consumers. A third might say the world is noisy and constantly changing. Cases are confusing and take years to adjudicate. What we should pursue are the most obvious transgressions, where we can operate with a high degree of confidence that government action will lead to better outcomes in contexts that matter.

If you count yourself in that third camp, as I do, then let me suggest there is no easier antitrust case to make than when a multi-billion dollar entity comes to you hat in hand begging for an antitrust exemption. Legal rhetoric and economic evidence are great, but nothing beats an old-fashioned confession.

I’ll keep it brief today. The best golfers in the world are usually in the running, but who wins depends on who flips heads on the most coins i.e. who makes the most putts. Putting is a skill to be sure, but there is enough chaos in the green that randomness has a heavy say in who wins. Skill can wholly dominate when the differences between the best and everyone else is greater than multiple standard deviations of a coldly binomial distribution.

The greatest record in golf is not who won the most tournaments, but Tiger Woods making 142 consecutive cuts after the first two days of tournaments. He was so much better than everyone else that even when every coin flip went against him he was still in the top half of the leaderboard. The greatest record in tennis is Roger Federer making 23 consecutive semifinals in major tournaments. The greatest record in the NBA may be Lebron James reaching the NBA finals 8 times in a row, including with some Cleveland teams exceedingly thin on talent. The home run record is nice, but Barry Bonds greatest achievement may be his reaching base 61% of at-bats in 2004. 61%! To put that in context, the leader last year reached base 42.5% of the time.

The mark of true excellence is when repeated competition reveals a gap from their opposition so great that even the cruel left tail of randomness can rarely overcome it.

Oil money has flooded into soccer/football, golf, and a host of sporting events. The prevailing term is “sportswashing” i.e. the attempt to reinvent the public image of the Saudi Royal Family, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, and anything petro-state adjacent. Partners in these endeavors can be found regularly providing sound bites praising parties whose records in human rights are less than sterling.

I just want to point out one thing: when your extended family’s net worth is $1.4 trillion (with a `T’, not a typo), your public image remains important, but nonetheless a potentially second order concern. What is a first-order concern is maintaining that wealth for the generations to come. When it comes to the oil-based wealth, the sun is setting. Not in terms of calendar months (not yet), but certainly in terms of generations. Oil, as the fulcrum of geopolitical history, is in it’s final period. Which is simply a long-winded way of saying that if a petro-state magnate cares profoundly about the global standing of their grandchildrens’ grandchildren, they’re looking for ways to move away from oil.

Oil is one of those special commodities that is of interest to economists because it enjoys high demand, has few substitutes, and it’s supply is relatively inelastic. You can’t merely will oil into existence. So if your family happened to enjoy high status and power over a previously low-value plot of land that an ocean of oil randomly happened to exist beneath, you could parlay that into tremendous wealth and power in the world. And they did.

With solar power setting the sun on oil (I am so sorry), you can’t blame oil magnates for looking for the next thing to tie their wealth to. What’s interesting is that the lesson they appear to have learned is the importance of hard-to-reproduce commodities. They fell into the first, now they are actively looking for the second.

You know what’s hard to reproduce? Status. Prestige. History. Identity networks. You know what characterizes those exact things? Sports teams and luxury brands. I fully expect oil money to keep pouring into soccer teams and handbags. Watches and sports cars. The kind of products that are grown and historically selected for across multiple generations, in processes that often take more than a century. Production processes that are less engineering than social geology.

Petro states and families have been tied to oil for 100 years, but now they want out. And we should let them, encourage them even. The fewer forces there are in the world working to continue fossil fuel dependence, the better. The more they tie themselves to products where labor holds more leverage than capital i.e. sports, the better. If you’re waiting for fossil fuel money, or human rights abusers, to get their come-uppance, prepare yourself for disappointment. But if you’re excited to the see a better world with cleaner air and a better climate future, then don’t be surprised if it’s first harbinger isn’t solar farms in Texas, but princes in stadium press boxes sponsored by Rolex.