Here's how to Welch-proof the jobs number in two easy steps
Jack Welch needs our help. The former CEO of GE has had a hard time understanding the September jobs report. Torn between the competing hypotheses that falling unemployment was a case of mean reversion or a shadowy conspiracy on the part of career civil servants, Welch has chosen the latter. Because ... Occam's Razor? Of course, this isn't to say we can't make the jobs number more accurate. We can. Here's how to Welch-proof it in two easy steps.
First, a big caveat. There's no need to Welch-proof the jobs number. House Oversight Chair Darrell Issa is concerned that the "constant revisions -- significant revisions -- tell us that it's not as exact a science as it needs to be," but the reality is the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) already does a pretty magnificent job. As University of Michigan professor and former Labor Department chief economist Betsey Stevenson told me, it's important to think in terms of changes to the level and not just revisions to the change. In other words, the revisions sound big because we compare them to the initial change, but they aren't big compared to the 143 million people currently working. They're a rounding error.
But they're a rounding error we could eliminate. It's just a question of how much we're willing to pay. Right now the BLS gets its job numbers from a pair of polls, one of establishment businesses and the other of households. The first, and easiest, way to increase accuracy would be to increase the survey size and increase the number of questions -- that is, reduce the margin of error.
This is straightforward enough, but we can do better still. Justin Wolfers, a professor at the University of Michigan and Betsey Stevenson's husband, points out that the establishment data actually comes from two sources. There's the monthly poll, and the annual benchmark revision -- the latter of which looks at so-called "universe counts" of who has paid into unemployment insurance over the previous quarter. In other words, it's a very precise measurement of employment rather than a very precise poll of employment. What kind of difference are we talking about here? Well, in the year ending in March 2012, the benchmark revision found 386,000 more jobs than the establishment poll had found. That's not nothing.
Obvious question time: If the benchmark data is better than the establishment survey data, why don't we just use the benchmark data? The answer is one part infrastructure and another part convenience. The crazy thing is every state has a record of how many jobs there are, but we can't get to the records fast enough. The data are stuck on different, sometimes antiquated, computer systems, and only come in every three months. We could revolutionize how we calculate the jobs number if we harmonized these computer systems across all 50 states and required businesses to file unemployment insurance payments every month instead of every quarter. It would become an administrative, rather than a statistical, task, as Justin Wolfers put it to me.
There is, of course, a rather large irony here. The Republicans are effectively attacking the BLS for not being invasive enough when last year they attacked the American Community Survey (ACS) for being too invasive. The ACS is one of those boring but essential government functions that policymakers and business leaders alike can't do without -- it's an annual survey of three million households that covers everything from demographics, internet usage to how often they flush the toilet. Despite its 200-year history, House Republicans decided the ACS was unconstitutional, if not worthless since the surveys are "random" and "not scientific". (Pro tip: The randomness makes it scientific).
So does this brouhaha over the BLS mean conservatives care more about increasing jobs accuracy than about increasing the regulatory burden on businesses? I'm just asking questions.
The Commission on Presidential Debates issued a cryptic statement acknowledging some audio issues Monday night.
After critics savaged his performance at Monday’s first presidential debate, Republican nominee Donald Trump alighted on several culprits: Hillary Clinton, the moderator, and especially his microphone.
The claim was met with some skepticism, but on Friday afternoon, the Commission on Presidential Debates seemed to confirm his claim, at least in part. The commission, which controls the debates, released a cryptic statement that reads in full:
Statement about first debate
Sep 30, 2016
Regarding the first debate, there were issues regarding Donald Trump's audio that affected the sound level in the debate hall.
We’ve called the commission to ask what that means, but have not heard back yet. Presumably, they are receiving dozens of such queries.
The Trump Foundation mostly takes in other people’s money, but it appears it doesn’t have legal permission to solicit donations.
The problem with telling people to follow the money is they just might take you up on it. Donald Trump’s campaign has adopted that mantra in reference to the Clinton Foundation, but it applies to him in uncomfortable ways, too.
First, there’s the fact that he won’t release his tax returns, making it hard to follow the money and raising questions about what might be hidden there. Second, there are his forays into Cuba, apparently in violation of the embargo. Third, there’s the latest scoop from The Washington Post’s David Fahrenthold, who finds that the Donald J. Trump Foundation was operating without a required license.
As Fahrenthold previously reported, the Trump Foundation is peculiar: Unlike many other similar charities, it’s stocked with other people’s money. Trump himself has given barely any money to it since the mid-2000s, although he did direct income from places like Comedy Central to the charity, possibly without paying taxes on it. Instead, he has raised money from other donors, which he has used to, among other things, settle legal cases against him, all while basking in the glow of his apparent charity.
Across the country, Republican-leaning papers are breaking with their own history to warn their readers about the GOP nominee.
There is a lot of truth to the stereotype that the American media is centered in New York City and Washington, D.C., staffed by Democrats, and hostile to Republicans. Like other professionals, journalists run the gamut from hugely talented individuals doing great work to hacks producing crap, but journalism is unusual in its dearth of ideological diversity.
Simply by living 3,000 miles from the East Coast, leaning more libertarian than progressive, and opposing President Obama’s reelection, I am an outlier in my field. And neither my upbringing among Republicans I respect deeply nor my many differences with leftism gives me insight into what daily life is like in the vast swaths of the country where I’ve never lived or the many jobs I’ve never worked. So I get why tens of millions of Americans don’t give a damn what distant network news anchors with seven-figure net worths think about this election, or that the New York Times, which always endorses the Democratic nominee, endorsed Hillary Clinton.
An etiquette update: Brevity is the highest virtue.
I recently cut the amount of time I spent on email by almost half, and I think a lot of people could do the same.
I’m sure my approach has made some people hate me, because I come off curt. But if everyone thought about email in the same way, what I’m suggesting wouldn’t be rude. Here are the basic guidelines that are working for me and, so, I propose for all of the world to adopt immediately:
Best? Cheers? Thanks?
None of the above. You can write your name if it feels too naked or abrupt not to have something down there. But it shouldn’t, and it wouldn’t if it were the norm.
Don’t waste time considering if “Dear,” or “Hey” or “[name]!” is appropriate. Just get right into it. Write the recipient’s name if you must. But most people already know their names. Like they already know your name.
Lawmakers overrode an Obama veto for the first time on Wednesday. A day later, they already had regrets.
The enactment on Wednesday of the Justice Against Sponsors of Terrorism Act should have been a triumphant moment for Republican leaders in Congress. They had succeeded, after years of trying, in overriding a presidential veto for the first time and forcing a bill into law over the strenuous objections of Barack Obama.
But the morning after brought no such celebration for HouseSpeaker Paul Ryan and Senate Majority Leader McConnell—only pangs of regret.
“It appears as if there may be some unintended ramifications,” McConnell lamented at a press conference barely 24 hours after all but one senator voted to reject the president’s veto of the legislation, which would allow victims of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks to sue Saudi Arabia in U.S. court. On the other side of the Capitol, Ryan said that he hoped there could be a “fix” to the very law he allowed to pass through the House—one that would protect U.S. soldiers abroad from legal retribution that the Obama administration had warned for months would follow as a result of the law.
With the death of Shimon Peres, Israel has lost its chief optimist. And the prime minister remains paralyzed by pessimism.
The Book of Proverbs teaches us that where there is no vision, the people perish. The people of Israel, now bereft of Shimon Peres, will not perish, because survival—or, at least, muddling through—is a Jewish specialty. But the death of Israel’s greatest visionary, a man who understood that it would never be morally or spiritually sufficient for the Jews to build for themselves the perfect ghetto and then wash their hands of the often-merciless world, means that Israel has lost its chief optimist.
Peres was, for so many years, a prophet without honor in his own country, but he was someone who, late in life, came to symbolize Israel’s big-hearted, free-thinking, inventive, and democratic promise. Peres came to this role in part because he had prescience, verbal acuity, a feel for poetry, and a restless curiosity, but also because, gradually but steadily, he became surrounded by small men. One of the distressing realities of Israel today is that, in so many fields—technology, medicine, agriculture, literature, music, cinema—the country is excelling. But to Israeli politics go the mediocrities.
They’re not transparent. They’re not independent. They’re not even turned on when they should be.
When they were introduced to the American public two years ago, police body-cameras seemed like they might help everyone. Police departments liked that body cams reduced the number of public complaints about officer behavior. Communities and protesters liked that they would introduce some transparency and accountability to an officer’s actions.
Today, research suggests that body cameras significantly reduce the number of public complaints about police. But recent events subvert the idea that the devices help or increase the power of regular people—that is, the policed. Instead of making officers more accountable and transparent to the public, body cameras may be making officers and departments more powerful than they were before.
Despite an array of calculating tools, comparing financial-aid packages is still an incredibly dense and circular process.
As almost any parent of a high-school senior knows, figuring out the true college price tag is confusing. While the full annual sticker price can be as much as $60,000 or $70,000 at a private college and more than $55,000 at an out-of-state public college, experts say that many students will end up paying considerably less. Sizable merit and need-based aid packages take the sting out of those big numbers.
Students, however, typically have to wait until the spring, when their acceptance letters arrive, to learn the amount of those awards, making it difficult for families to effectively plan a long-term budget and posing significant obstacles for first-generation students who may not be aware of all the financial options.
After Andrea Wulf won the Royal Society’s highest honor for her book The Invention of Nature, a writer at The Guardian attributed it to a new fondness for “female-friendly” biographies among prize juries.
Last week, the Royal Society held its ceremony to honor the best popular-science book of the year. I was there, having had the good fortune to be one of the finalists for my recent book, The Hunt for Vulcan. I didn’t expect to win—partly because of my baseline pessimism, partly because of the strength of the competition, and partly because I had set out to write a kind of miniature, a brief book on a quirky topic. Whatever the reason, I was right: I didn’t.
The event itself was good fun. Each of the authors read a passage from their work; the head judge for the prize, author Bill Bryson, led us in a brief question-and-answer session, in which we compared notes on what moved us to write about science. Then came the moment of truth. Venkatraman Ramakrishnan, the president of the Royal Society, approached the podium, opened the envelope, and announced that Andrea Wulf had won for The Invention of Nature.