Feeds

The astonishing contributions MIT has made to the world of economics emerged from “a melting pot of analytical tools and mathematical methods, mixed with a healthy interest in real world questions, grounded in real world problems,” says James Poterba, crystallizing many of the themes of the symposium, and its inaugural session. As they discuss the evolution of the profession and their own work, a distinguished group of economists also attest to MIT’s unique role as a place of research, teaching, and influence in the larger world.

“Without the right economics, we will get the wrong economic policy,” says George Akerlof, who finds fault with some “norms of economic thinking,” including the very way economists attack a problem, and publish in journals. Akerlof describes how John Maynard Keynes’ General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money was boiled down “to three easy equations” that became the basis for all macroeconomic models today. This reduction “spawned a great tragedy for which today we’re paying a great price,” because it did not address Keynes’ concern about irrational exuberance, “which explains why we get booms and busts, especially the sort that lead to economic calamities.” Akerlof worries that his profession may have evolved with certain biases and lacks the “empirical checks” to ensure “an economics that really serves the public.”

Avinash Dixit credits not just “stellar teachers” but fellow MIT students at “Friday lunchtime bridge games” for his economics education. He celebrates in particular MIT’s style of economic modeling, which he characterizes as not just “frontier research,” but an “art.” The MIT approach distills a central question, discarding all else to drill into specifics. Dixit holds up
Paul Samuelson’s Exact Consumption-Loan Model of Interest, which addressed the problem of overlapping generations working and saving, and retiring and spending their savings. MIT protégées built on Samuelson’s insights. Dixit invokes for instance
Peter Diamond’s Model of National Debt -- “an absurdly simple model of complex reality, but its very simplicity allowed us to understand the key economic mechanisms at work.” While “some economists from other research styles dismiss these as ‘toy models,’” says Dixit, “these practitioners of the MIT style wear that label proudly.”

Microeconometrics has had a big impact on economic policy and in people’s lives, Jerry Hausman says, gathering and analyzing data on large numbers of people over significant periods of time, in such areas as consumer behavior and work life. The field can usefully pursue slippery questions of equilibrium, the push-pull of cause, effect and feedbacks among different economic variables. For instance, data describing the relation between individuals’ education and their earnings can be fed into a regression model that demonstrates a powerful positive coefficient – strong evidence of the “returns” to education. Hausman cites as well his research that persuaded cellphone companies they would profit more over time by subsidizing the price of phones and selling people long-term contracts.

Note: Paul L. Joskow begins, reading the remarks of Oliver Williamson, who was detained by weather. Joskow also provides commentary on Williamson’s remarks.

Although Oliver Williamson took no economics courses while earning his undergraduate degree at MIT, he learned an important lesson: engineering and economics differ as they move from theory to applications. While both fields assumed an absence of frictions in theory, engineers developed applications and models that made provision for friction, and economists maintained the illusion of perfection. Williamson deployed this insight to develop his theory of transaction cost economics. He notes, “My engineering training provided grounding that made it easy for me…to recognize all feasible forms of organizations are flawed in relation to a hypothetical ideal.” To understand real world organizations and relationships, it was important to detect imperfections, and build them into the models. “Transaction cost economics gave us a framework to understand phenomena such as vertical integration, vertical market restrictions, long-term contracts, regulation, deregulation, the use of debt and equity and so on that thereafter provided a basis for shaping public policy toward business.”

Although we are still far from the moment of singularity, or even Star Wars ‘droids, we can anticipate robot colleagues in the near future, believes Seth Teller. He is developing ‘situationally aware’ machines to help out humans in those “unstructured environments…where we live, work and recreate.”

Teller’s goal is not “to solve the full AI problem,” but to provide robot solutions to specific challenges. Whatever the project, the robot must successfully navigate a messy human world with appropriate sensor data, and interact with us on our terms, through speech and gestures, overcoming potential unease. “We are working with ways of creating natural interactions between humans and robots, paying attention to notions of human acceptance,” says Teller.

The first venture Teller describes is an unmanned car, developed for a DARPA competition. Teller’s team had to design a vehicle that could not only “see” around itself, but understand the rules and hazards urban driving. Teller shows video of the “Urban Challenge” finals, with his car waiting patiently at an intersection for another car to pull out –“no honking or obscenities,” he notes. Someday, believes Teller, such a vehicle could help reduce U.S. driving fatalities, improve gas mileage and human productivity, and even replace thousands of military ground vehicles.

Teller has also been applying the principles of autonomous mobility to logistics in the form of an unmanned forklift for the military. Typical robotic forklifts function in indoor warehouses with smooth floors, uniform lighting, precise maps. Teller’s challenge was to come up with a device the “military could set down in a patch of earth somewhere.” This forklift robot is equipped not just with laser scanners to detect fixed or moving obstacles, but microphones, so it can stop if it hears a command or shouting. It also displays “text strings and color kinetic LEDs” to let people know where it is going.

Teller is applying this kind of machine intelligence to aid severely disabled people, with a motorized wheelchair that lets users navigate around an institutional setting, learning to map a space using verbal labels from a human trainer. A related assistive technology may offer blind people the possibility of greater independence and efficiency. Teller imagines a device that can “build up a persistent model of the wearer’s surround,” which could let a blind person know where she left her keys, or send out spoken or braille navigational instructions. Together, these projects point toward machine minds that can increasingly interpret human commands and needs, achieving “validation” from human supervisors and Teller hopes, “a gradual path toward autonomy.”

Although we are still far from the moment of singularity, or even Star Wars ‘droids, we can anticipate robot colleagues in the near future, believes Seth Teller. He is developing ‘situationally aware’ machines to help out humans in those “unstructured environments…where we live, work and recreate.”

Teller’s goal is not “to solve the full AI problem,” but to provide robot solutions to specific challenges. Whatever the project, the robot must successfully navigate a messy human world with appropriate sensor data, and interact with us on our terms, through speech and gestures, overcoming potential unease. “We are working with ways of creating natural interactions between humans and robots, paying attention to notions of human acceptance,” says Teller.

The first venture Teller describes is an unmanned car, developed for a DARPA competition. Teller’s team had to design a vehicle that could not only “see” around itself, but understand the rules and hazards urban driving. Teller shows video of the “Urban Challenge” finals, with his car waiting patiently at an intersection for another car to pull out –“no honking or obscenities,” he notes. Someday, believes Teller, such a vehicle could help reduce U.S. driving fatalities, improve gas mileage and human productivity, and even replace thousands of military ground vehicles.

Teller has also been applying the principles of autonomous mobility to logistics in the form of an unmanned forklift for the military. Typical robotic forklifts function in indoor warehouses with smooth floors, uniform lighting, precise maps. Teller’s challenge was to come up with a device the “military could set down in a patch of earth somewhere.” This forklift robot is equipped not just with laser scanners to detect fixed or moving obstacles, but microphones, so it can stop if it hears a command or shouting. It also displays “text strings and color kinetic LEDs” to let people know where it is going.

Teller is applying this kind of machine intelligence to aid severely disabled people, with a motorized wheelchair that lets users navigate around an institutional setting, learning to map a space using verbal labels from a human trainer. A related assistive technology may offer blind people the possibility of greater independence and efficiency. Teller imagines a device that can “build up a persistent model of the wearer’s surround,” which could let a blind person know where she left her keys, or send out spoken or braille navigational instructions. Together, these projects point toward machine minds that can increasingly interpret human commands and needs, achieving “validation” from human supervisors and Teller hopes, “a gradual path toward autonomy.”

Don’t expect to glean any market tips or trading secrets from James Simons, who steadfastly refuses to disclose the method behind his remarkable record in investing. Instead, listen to this mathematician, hedge fund manager and philanthropist sum up a remarkably varied and rich career, and offer some “guiding principles” distilled along the way.

Simons drew a bead on studying math at MIT from an early age, which some acquaintances found surprising. As a 14-year-old, he was demoted in a temporary job from stockroom worker to floor-sweeper, because he “couldn’t remember where in hell everything went.” This switch suited him fine, since he had “lots of time to think.” When he told his employers he hoped to attend MIT, “they thought it was the funniest thing.” Ultimately, Simons had no choice about it: After Wesleyan recruited, then rejected him, there was only MIT. “I was destined for this place,” he says.

The idea of a math career was “clinched” for Simons after a typical late night of poker and sandwiches with MIT classmates. At 1 a.m. in a Brookline restaurant, Simons saw MIT math legends Isadore Singer and Warren Ambrose “doing math over coffee and cigarettes,” which he “thought was the coolest thing.” After a motor scooter trip to Bogota with Colombian friends -- in whose business he fatefully invested -- Simons leapt into the math phase of his career, writing a famous Ph.D. thesis, teaching at MIT, solving prickly geometry problems and helping build bridges between math and physics. During this phase, he managed to get fired as a cryptanalyst at a Defense Department think tank, after criticizing the pro-Vietnam War stance of his boss, General Maxwell Taylor.

While at Stony Brook’s math department, Simons “got really stuck, very frustrated,” trying “to prove a certain number was irrational.” Meanwhile, he had begun investing dividends generated by his South American business venture and “found out I was not bad at it.” In 1978 at age 38, with 20 years behind him as a mathematician, he concluded it was time for a change. He began an investment business, Renaissance Technologies, that deployed sophisticated, proprietary models to generate astonishing returns (and business envy) over many years. “We have a lot of smart guys,” he comments.

After his retirement in 2009, Simons got “busy as hell” with his third career. The Simons Foundation supports basic math and physics as well as autism research. Simons also wants to improve math at the high school level, by pumping money into teaching jobs so talented people don’t drift to “Google or Goldman Sachs.”

Simons says he is “always doing something new,” and doesn’t like to run with the pack. This approach, which he recommends, “gives you a chance.” Some other parting tips: collaborate with the best people you possibly can; try at problems “for a hell of a long time;” be guided by beauty; and “hope for some good luck.”

Don’t expect to glean any market tips or trading secrets from James Simons, who steadfastly refuses to disclose the method behind his remarkable record in investing. Instead, listen to this mathematician, hedge fund manager and philanthropist sum up a remarkably varied and rich career, and offer some “guiding principles” distilled along the way.

Simons drew a bead on studying math at MIT from an early age, which some acquaintances found surprising. As a 14-year-old, he was demoted in a temporary job from stockroom worker to floor-sweeper, because he “couldn’t remember where in hell everything went.” This switch suited him fine, since he had “lots of time to think.” When he told his employers he hoped to attend MIT, “they thought it was the funniest thing.” Ultimately, Simons had no choice about it: After Wesleyan recruited, then rejected him, there was only MIT. “I was destined for this place,” he says.

The idea of a math career was “clinched” for Simons after a typical late night of poker and sandwiches with MIT classmates. At 1 a.m. in a Brookline restaurant, Simons saw MIT math legends Isadore Singer and Warren Ambrose “doing math over coffee and cigarettes,” which he “thought was the coolest thing.” After a motor scooter trip to Bogota with Colombian friends -- in whose business he fatefully invested -- Simons leapt into the math phase of his career, writing a famous Ph.D. thesis, teaching at MIT, solving prickly geometry problems and helping build bridges between math and physics. During this phase, he managed to get fired as a cryptanalyst at a Defense Department think tank, after criticizing the pro-Vietnam War stance of his boss, General Maxwell Taylor.

While at Stony Brook’s math department, Simons “got really stuck, very frustrated,” trying “to prove a certain number was irrational.” Meanwhile, he had begun investing dividends generated by his South American business venture and “found out I was not bad at it.” In 1978 at age 38, with 20 years behind him as a mathematician, he concluded it was time for a change. He began an investment business, Renaissance Technologies, that deployed sophisticated, proprietary models to generate astonishing returns (and business envy) over many years. “We have a lot of smart guys,” he comments.

After his retirement in 2009, Simons got “busy as hell” with his third career. The Simons Foundation supports basic math and physics as well as autism research. Simons also wants to improve math at the high school level, by pumping money into teaching jobs so talented people don’t drift to “Google or Goldman Sachs.”

Simons says he is “always doing something new,” and doesn’t like to run with the pack. This approach, which he recommends, “gives you a chance.” Some other parting tips: collaborate with the best people you possibly can; try at problems “for a hell of a long time;” be guided by beauty; and “hope for some good luck.”

What’s a journalist to do when a major story must be coaxed reluctantly into public view, or emerges on what seems like a geological time scale? These panelists discuss how to approach slowly evolving but urgent stories at a time when news coverage has shifted inexorably from print and its variable deadlines to the constant, repetitive churn of cable news and instant internet information. In setting up the discussion, moderator Thomas Levenson discusses the concept of “slow-moving crises” and changes in the practice of journalism.

Rosalind Williams situates the challenge facing journalism within the context of much greater historical change. She first finds a telling contradiction in the phrase “slow-moving crisis,” since the concept of crisis involves a “decisive stage…where change for better or worse happens.” For Williams, the lack of adequate terminology suggests that “something is happening in the world that hasn’t happened before...”

Classical historians regarded history as taking place “on a very stable stage of the world.” In the 19th century, that world began to speed up, and historians began to grapple with human actions and deeds that accelerated change in the world from centuries to decades. Yet, says Williams, “history appears to be slowing down, getting like molasses,” as events erupt, apparently conclude, then continue indefinitely. She cites the oil spill and the financial crisis as example of such “aftermaths.”

Paradoxically, “things are happening much faster and much slower,” she continues, because the “density of human presence on the planet speeds up environmental change and slows down political change,” creating a “viscosity” that makes history “work differently.” Journalists must take account of this transformation, and remember that “what is making things different is human dominance as never before.”

At the investigative journalism website ProPublica, Abrahm Lustgarten and his colleagues enjoy the unusual luxury of creative, long-term reporting projects. Their freedom to spend literally years working a topic can lead to identifying a crisis before anyone else -- such as the dangers of drilling for natural gas -- and often involves looking behind the headlines of a major story to uncover all-important context.

Lustgarten describes ProPublica’s take on the Gulf oil spill, which “worked around the perimeter of what was happening,” focusing on BP’s drilling record, and inadequate government regulation. Since their story “was somewhat less sexy,” they offered “narrative focus and depth to engage readers.” ProPublica made its story urgent through a “drumbeat of communication…a steady stream of provocative and revealing stories,” and a longer-form investigative piece. Lustgarten sees the story now “probably at its most critical stage, months after the spill,” with mainstream “coverage at a virtual standstill.”

Andrea Pitzer believes in the power of narrative to help people understand public crises and public policy issues, but worries that “using storytelling in long-term crisis coverage” carries some risks. Journalists who target “established authorities” with stories may be viewed as “trying to sell something.” She advocates “tilting more heavily toward stories with teeth for an audience that already understands the basic problem.”

Pitzer embraces diverse media approaches to boost “game-changing narratives.” Visuals such as the photos from Abu Ghraib can have an instant impact on public opinion. She describes innovative websites such as TBD, which uses the Storify social media tool to aggregate perspectives on an event, “creating a moment by moment breakdown.” Statistics come alive and marry to stories with new forms of data visualization. Pitzer encourages reaching out to ordinary people and giving them a stake in their own narratives, demonstrating “where they fit into the larger arc.” Says Pitzer, “If we’re better at storytelling and giving them hooks … we’ll be presenting information so people really understand their choices.”

What’s a journalist to do when a major story must be coaxed reluctantly into public view, or emerges on what seems like a geological time scale? These panelists discuss how to approach slowly evolving but urgent stories at a time when news coverage has shifted inexorably from print and its variable deadlines to the constant, repetitive churn of cable news and instant internet information. In setting up the discussion, moderator Thomas Levenson discusses the concept of “slow-moving crises” and changes in the practice of journalism.

Rosalind Williams situates the challenge facing journalism within the context of much greater historical change. She first finds a telling contradiction in the phrase “slow-moving crisis,” since the concept of crisis involves a “decisive stage…where change for better or worse happens.” For Williams, the lack of adequate terminology suggests that “something is happening in the world that hasn’t happened before...”

Classical historians regarded history as taking place “on a very stable stage of the world.” In the 19th century, that world began to speed up, and historians began to grapple with human actions and deeds that accelerated change in the world from centuries to decades. Yet, says Williams, “history appears to be slowing down, getting like molasses,” as events erupt, apparently conclude, then continue indefinitely. She cites the oil spill and the financial crisis as example of such “aftermaths.”

Paradoxically, “things are happening much faster and much slower,” she continues, because the “density of human presence on the planet speeds up environmental change and slows down political change,” creating a “viscosity” that makes history “work differently.” Journalists must take account of this transformation, and remember that “what is making things different is human dominance as never before.”

At the investigative journalism website ProPublica, Abrahm Lustgarten and his colleagues enjoy the unusual luxury of creative, long-term reporting projects. Their freedom to spend literally years working a topic can lead to identifying a crisis before anyone else -- such as the dangers of drilling for natural gas -- and often involves looking behind the headlines of a major story to uncover all-important context.

Lustgarten describes ProPublica’s take on the Gulf oil spill, which “worked around the perimeter of what was happening,” focusing on BP’s drilling record, and inadequate government regulation. Since their story “was somewhat less sexy,” they offered “narrative focus and depth to engage readers.” ProPublica made its story urgent through a “drumbeat of communication…a steady stream of provocative and revealing stories,” and a longer-form investigative piece. Lustgarten sees the story now “probably at its most critical stage, months after the spill,” with mainstream “coverage at a virtual standstill.”

Andrea Pitzer believes in the power of narrative to help people understand public crises and public policy issues, but worries that “using storytelling in long-term crisis coverage” carries some risks. Journalists who target “established authorities” with stories may be viewed as “trying to sell something.” She advocates “tilting more heavily toward stories with teeth for an audience that already understands the basic problem.”

Pitzer embraces diverse media approaches to boost “game-changing narratives.” Visuals such as the photos from Abu Ghraib can have an instant impact on public opinion. She describes innovative websites such as TBD, which uses the Storify social media tool to aggregate perspectives on an event, “creating a moment by moment breakdown.” Statistics come alive and marry to stories with new forms of data visualization. Pitzer encourages reaching out to ordinary people and giving them a stake in their own narratives, demonstrating “where they fit into the larger arc.” Says Pitzer, “If we’re better at storytelling and giving them hooks … we’ll be presenting information so people really understand their choices.”

José María Aznar finds it difficult to witness the calamitous decline of Spain, a nation he led to robust economic health as prime minister from 1996 to 2004. The gains during his administration have vanished following the international financial crisis. But the economic misfortunes of Spain and other European nations are actually long-standing, Aznar says, and represent a profound underlying “political, cultural and social crisis” suffered by the entire European continent.

Aznar recommends a “broad, historical perspective” to grasp this crisis. He begins after World War II, when European nations, pursuing a trio of goals -- “security, freedom and prosperity”-- joined the Atlantic alliance, committed to democratic forms of government, and established the welfare state. These countries pledged to support all three “pillars” simultaneously, because “the moment we sacrifice one, the other two are bound to be lost.” But over time, Aznar suggests, Europe’s will to sustain these fundamental principles flagged, and now many people have come to believe “that freedom, security and progress are something like national properties, perpetually guaranteed whatever you do.”

Europeans are divided between two starkly different world views, and in this division Aznar perceives the “true origin of our European crisis.” One ideology he describes as “utopian,” and involves a “cocktail of postmodern illusions” including the belief that societies will “just continue to improve,” that “social cohesion and well-being can be preserved without any effort whatsoever,” and that “one’s self is an endless source of economic rights (that) the government has an obligation to fulfill in exchange for nothing and for an indefinite period of time.” It is the world view of “progressive do-gooders and eternal teenagers.” Aznar sums up the alternative: a “realistic and responsible approach” to governing that encourages “civilization, freedom, science, culture and enterprise.”

The “European project” is also failing because member nations have not forcefully backed security and economic agreements that promote freedom and democracy as well as the competition, innovation and budget balancing that “would make welfare sustainable.” 300 million Europeans sharing a single currency cannot suffice to bring security, freedom and prosperity, all of which require “an intensity of political commitments,” says Aznar.

Europe can never return to its old ways of “irresponsible indebtedness,” says Aznar, nor can it indulge in “raising taxes indiscriminately” lest it lose out in global competition. He calls for “new, responsible leadership” to “undertake the task of explaining to citizens why it is essential to make structural reforms,” and help transform Europe into a “booming welfare society open to all, where individual responsibility, opportunity creation and social mobility” can come to the fore.

José María Aznar finds it difficult to witness the calamitous decline of Spain, a nation he led to robust economic health as prime minister from 1996 to 2004. The gains during his administration have vanished following the international financial crisis. But the economic misfortunes of Spain and other European nations are actually long-standing, Aznar says, and represent a profound underlying “political, cultural and social crisis” suffered by the entire European continent.

Aznar recommends a “broad, historical perspective” to grasp this crisis. He begins after World War II, when European nations, pursuing a trio of goals -- “security, freedom and prosperity”-- joined the Atlantic alliance, committed to democratic forms of government, and established the welfare state. These countries pledged to support all three “pillars” simultaneously, because “the moment we sacrifice one, the other two are bound to be lost.” But over time, Aznar suggests, Europe’s will to sustain these fundamental principles flagged, and now many people have come to believe “that freedom, security and progress are something like national properties, perpetually guaranteed whatever you do.”

Europeans are divided between two starkly different world views, and in this division Aznar perceives the “true origin of our European crisis.” One ideology he describes as “utopian,” and involves a “cocktail of postmodern illusions” including the belief that societies will “just continue to improve,” that “social cohesion and well-being can be preserved without any effort whatsoever,” and that “one’s self is an endless source of economic rights (that) the government has an obligation to fulfill in exchange for nothing and for an indefinite period of time.” It is the world view of “progressive do-gooders and eternal teenagers.” Aznar sums up the alternative: a “realistic and responsible approach” to governing that encourages “civilization, freedom, science, culture and enterprise.”

The “European project” is also failing because member nations have not forcefully backed security and economic agreements that promote freedom and democracy as well as the competition, innovation and budget balancing that “would make welfare sustainable.” 300 million Europeans sharing a single currency cannot suffice to bring security, freedom and prosperity, all of which require “an intensity of political commitments,” says Aznar.

Europe can never return to its old ways of “irresponsible indebtedness,” says Aznar, nor can it indulge in “raising taxes indiscriminately” lest it lose out in global competition. He calls for “new, responsible leadership” to “undertake the task of explaining to citizens why it is essential to make structural reforms,” and help transform Europe into a “booming welfare society open to all, where individual responsibility, opportunity creation and social mobility” can come to the fore.

Soon, after checking under the hood and kicking the tires, we will be scanning our car’s on-board diagnostic system (OBD). Sanjay Sarma has been investigating ways to take advantage of a car’s sensor bus, the module that records and conveys information about the vehicle’s components and systems. Sarma hopes to make the OBD increasingly useful and essential to consumers concerned about their fuel consumption and carbon footprint.

Car companies have been “cagey” and even “opaque” about the information bus that now comes standard in most cars, but auto enthusiasts have long known how to tap into this system for information on a car’s vitals. Sarma, a mechanical engineer comfortable tinkering with car systems, wondered if he could devise a way to gather a continuous stream of data on fuel consumption from OBD, and then come up with accessible and informative metrics for the data. As the internal combustion engine figures less in the future of cars, and batteries and electric motors more, says Sarma, “logging in and learning from this data…will be a bigger and bigger deal.”

With a small team of researchers, Sarma conducted hundreds of miles of driving tests in urban and highway settings, micrologging vehicle fuel consumption. They first analyzed the effects of traffic congestion, which demonstrated that traveling slowly did not diminish fuel consumption, because in real life, accelerating and braking frequently wastes energy. They figured out a sampling rate ideal for harvesting an adequate stream of information and avoiding a sea of data, and a way of separating idling time from moving time fuel consumption. Ultimately, Sarma’s team came up with “simple kinematic measures” for “flogging” (fuel logging) that could apply to cars of all stripes -- high-performance gas guzzlers, or the latest battery-powered inventions.

Sarma is enthusiastic about the possibility of using cell phones as an interface with a car’s OBD. With GPS and accelerometers, cellphones could read out a “weather report of emissions,” enabling drivers to determine in real time or historically what segments of a commute consume the most fuel. This information could be shared by other users across the internet. Beyond individual consumer applications, Sarma sees constructive use by public traffic authorities, which could detect fuel consumption/emissions hot spots and speed up long red lights, or even use data in “creative pricing for congestion.” Concludes Sarma, “All sorts of things like this are inevitable.”

Soon, after checking under the hood and kicking the tires, we will be scanning our car’s on-board diagnostic system (OBD). Sanjay Sarma has been investigating ways to take advantage of a car’s sensor bus, the module that records and conveys information about the vehicle’s components and systems. Sarma hopes to make the OBD increasingly useful and essential to consumers concerned about their fuel consumption and carbon footprint.

Car companies have been “cagey” and even “opaque” about the information bus that now comes standard in most cars, but auto enthusiasts have long known how to tap into this system for information on a car’s vitals. Sarma, a mechanical engineer comfortable tinkering with car systems, wondered if he could devise a way to gather a continuous stream of data on fuel consumption from OBD, and then come up with accessible and informative metrics for the data. As the internal combustion engine figures less in the future of cars, and batteries and electric motors more, says Sarma, “logging in and learning from this data…will be a bigger and bigger deal.”

With a small team of researchers, Sarma conducted hundreds of miles of driving tests in urban and highway settings, micrologging vehicle fuel consumption. They first analyzed the effects of traffic congestion, which demonstrated that traveling slowly did not diminish fuel consumption, because in real life, accelerating and braking frequently wastes energy. They figured out a sampling rate ideal for harvesting an adequate stream of information and avoiding a sea of data, and a way of separating idling time from moving time fuel consumption. Ultimately, Sarma’s team came up with “simple kinematic measures” for “flogging” (fuel logging) that could apply to cars of all stripes -- high-performance gas guzzlers, or the latest battery-powered inventions.

Sarma is enthusiastic about the possibility of using cell phones as an interface with a car’s OBD. With GPS and accelerometers, cellphones could read out a “weather report of emissions,” enabling drivers to determine in real time or historically what segments of a commute consume the most fuel. This information could be shared by other users across the internet. Beyond individual consumer applications, Sarma sees constructive use by public traffic authorities, which could detect fuel consumption/emissions hot spots and speed up long red lights, or even use data in “creative pricing for congestion.” Concludes Sarma, “All sorts of things like this are inevitable.”

Returning to his freshman physics classroom after half a century, Kent Kresa still feels passionate about MIT: “It’s a place I love; I feel good when I come back, and it’s been very much a part of my life for the past 50 years.” In his talk, Kresa describes how an MIT education helped shape his professional path, leading to a topflight career in the aviation and defense industry.

Kresa came to MIT “in love with airplanes,” but had no sense where he’d end up. Fascinated by fluid dynamics, he found student work at Boeing in the wind tunnel group. After witnessing “huge open rooms that had acres of engineers…all grinding away on numbers,” he left Boeing with “serious questions about his future career” in aeronautics engineering. He was so soured that he contemplated leaving MIT for a business degree at Harvard.

MIT professors persuaded him that the engineering world was about to change dramatically, and Kresa decided to stick it out. This decision paid off, for Kresa soon found opportunities that were both exciting and cutting edge. He got an early taste of digital computing at a firm developing a commercial parachute system for satellite capsules. He worked at MIT Lincoln Lab in ballistic missile defense. One of his most “phenomenal life experiences” unfolded on a tiny atoll in the Marshall Islands, where he and a team of 100 MIT researchers toiled for two years on a missile reentry project. Cut off from the rest of the world, there wasn’t “a lot to do other than to work and drink and party.”

After completing an advanced MIT engineering degree in the mid-60s, Kresa went to work for DARPA. He saw the first stirrings of the internet, and the evolution of infrared technology, precision weapons guidance, GPS, stealth technology and unmanned vehicles. After seven years in this innovative environment, Kresa feared he “had peaked before he was 35.” But his next job “fortunately proved there was plenty left to do.” He headed to Northrop as lead researcher, which led to a series of increasingly senior positions, culminating in company chairman in 1990.

At Northrop, Kresa weathered the downsizing of the nation’s defense industry, which spurred his company’s acquisition of Grumman and other affiliated tech companies. He says he came to recognize that “engineering-related activities that emphasize broad thinking and innovation have the best chance of delivering good solutions and giving self-fulfillment and social value as well.” These insights, he says, powerfully evoke his MIT experiences, where he first learned that “the most successful problem-solving stretches and crosses boundaries,” and that the ideal environment for this involves “interaction with smart teammates, where everybody has mutual excitement about work, and the commitment to try out ideas.”

Returning to his freshman physics classroom after half a century, Kent Kresa still feels passionate about MIT: “It’s a place I love; I feel good when I come back, and it’s been very much a part of my life for the past 50 years.” In his talk, Kresa describes how an MIT education helped shape his professional path, leading to a topflight career in the aviation and defense industry.

Kresa came to MIT “in love with airplanes,” but had no sense where he’d end up. Fascinated by fluid dynamics, he found student work at Boeing in the wind tunnel group. After witnessing “huge open rooms that had acres of engineers…all grinding away on numbers,” he left Boeing with “serious questions about his future career” in aeronautics engineering. He was so soured that he contemplated leaving MIT for a business degree at Harvard.

MIT professors persuaded him that the engineering world was about to change dramatically, and Kresa decided to stick it out. This decision paid off, for Kresa soon found opportunities that were both exciting and cutting edge. He got an early taste of digital computing at a firm developing a commercial parachute system for satellite capsules. He worked at MIT Lincoln Lab in ballistic missile defense. One of his most “phenomenal life experiences” unfolded on a tiny atoll in the Marshall Islands, where he and a team of 100 MIT researchers toiled for two years on a missile reentry project. Cut off from the rest of the world, there wasn’t “a lot to do other than to work and drink and party.”

After completing an advanced MIT engineering degree in the mid-60s, Kresa went to work for DARPA. He saw the first stirrings of the internet, and the evolution of infrared technology, precision weapons guidance, GPS, stealth technology and unmanned vehicles. After seven years in this innovative environment, Kresa feared he “had peaked before he was 35.” But his next job “fortunately proved there was plenty left to do.” He headed to Northrop as lead researcher, which led to a series of increasingly senior positions, culminating in company chairman in 1990.

At Northrop, Kresa weathered the downsizing of the nation’s defense industry, which spurred his company’s acquisition of Grumman and other affiliated tech companies. He says he came to recognize that “engineering-related activities that emphasize broad thinking and innovation have the best chance of delivering good solutions and giving self-fulfillment and social value as well.” These insights, he says, powerfully evoke his MIT experiences, where he first learned that “the most successful problem-solving stretches and crosses boundaries,” and that the ideal environment for this involves “interaction with smart teammates, where everybody has mutual excitement about work, and the commitment to try out ideas.”

It’s a good thing for oil spill science that Richard Camilli was not yet on a flight to Australia when the Coast Guard called last May. An hour later and Camilli might have missed the urgent request to get a team together to measure the month-old leak from the Deepwater Horizon pipe. In a richly detailed and highly accessible talk, Camilli describes novel research he performed in the depths of the Gulf to quantify the disaster, helping to settle heated conflicts swirling around the oil gushing from BP’s broken well head.

In addition to its vast scale, the spill posed other uniquely challenging conditions, says Camilli: the well’s depth of 5,000 feet required robotic tools for examination or intervention, and enormous undersea pressures encouraged the formation of hydrate crystals, as a mix of oil, gas and other chemicals shot out of the pipe at high temperature, and mixed with much cooler water.

Through technological innovations, Camilli was able to measure the flow rate of this “multiphase fluid” as it spewed from the well. With specially rigged equipment, Camilli’s team “listened” to fluid velocity, and imaged the flow with sonar, putting both kinds of measurements together to arrive at the volumetric flow rate. Camilli calculated a daily flow rate for oil from the well, and then its total output, and came up with a net leak of 4.2 million barrels. He also learned that oil from this deep reservoir contained a large fraction of gas, an important finding in terms of environmental impact.

While running this research, Camilli discovered a coherent “oil emulsion layer,” a subsurface plume, which he was able to investigate nearly immediately due to a fast turnaround government grant. This time, Camilli deployed a NASA-designed, free-swimming, autonomous undersea device (AUV), which runs a preprogrammed mission then “swims to the surface and waits to be picked up.” Using the AUV, Camilli tracked the plume “meandering along the continental shelf” at around 1,100 meters depth. While other researchers also noted the plume, Camilli’s group “were able to characterize its spatial extent,” and sampled oily water inside this two-kilometer wide, 200- meter thick and 35-kilometer long blob.

Camilli, aware of people denying the existence of the plume, says this AUV research “was pretty high stakes for us scientists. I didn’t get a lot of sleep at night. I tried to think through, what did I miss, am I going out there and coming back with nothing, or with an indeterminate answer?” Most doubts have been laid to rest, with other researchers corroborating Camilli’s findings, and his work published in Science. A larger satisfaction for Camilli involves his successful tests of novel ways to assess a spill in real-time. “We have shown that cutting-edge scientific methods can be applied for something that was a national emergency.”

It’s a good thing for oil spill science that Richard Camilli was not yet on a flight to Australia when the Coast Guard called last May. An hour later and Camilli might have missed the urgent request to get a team together to measure the month-old leak from the Deepwater Horizon pipe. In a richly detailed and highly accessible talk, Camilli describes novel research he performed in the depths of the Gulf to quantify the disaster, helping to settle heated conflicts swirling around the oil gushing from BP’s broken well head.

In addition to its vast scale, the spill posed other uniquely challenging conditions, says Camilli: the well’s depth of 5,000 feet required robotic tools for examination or intervention, and enormous undersea pressures encouraged the formation of hydrate crystals, as a mix of oil, gas and other chemicals shot out of the pipe at high temperature, and mixed with much cooler water.

Through technological innovations, Camilli was able to measure the flow rate of this “multiphase fluid” as it spewed from the well. With specially rigged equipment, Camilli’s team “listened” to fluid velocity, and imaged the flow with sonar, putting both kinds of measurements together to arrive at the volumetric flow rate. Camilli calculated a daily flow rate for oil from the well, and then its total output, and came up with a net leak of 4.2 million barrels. He also learned that oil from this deep reservoir contained a large fraction of gas, an important finding in terms of environmental impact.

While running this research, Camilli discovered a coherent “oil emulsion layer,” a subsurface plume, which he was able to investigate nearly immediately due to a fast turnaround government grant. This time, Camilli deployed a NASA-designed, free-swimming, autonomous undersea device (AUV), which runs a preprogrammed mission then “swims to the surface and waits to be picked up.” Using the AUV, Camilli tracked the plume “meandering along the continental shelf” at around 1,100 meters depth. While other researchers also noted the plume, Camilli’s group “were able to characterize its spatial extent,” and sampled oily water inside this two-kilometer wide, 200- meter thick and 35-kilometer long blob.

Camilli, aware of people denying the existence of the plume, says this AUV research “was pretty high stakes for us scientists. I didn’t get a lot of sleep at night. I tried to think through, what did I miss, am I going out there and coming back with nothing, or with an indeterminate answer?” Most doubts have been laid to rest, with other researchers corroborating Camilli’s findings, and his work published in Science. A larger satisfaction for Camilli involves his successful tests of novel ways to assess a spill in real-time. “We have shown that cutting-edge scientific methods can be applied for something that was a national emergency.”

While these panelists diverge on the precise metaphor -- ‘picking through a minefield,’ ‘hacking through the underbrush,’ ‘navigating uncharted waters’ -- they all agree that the web poses novel dilemmas and hazards for truth-seeking and speaking citizens.

First the good news: “There was a conscious decision by Congress to give online space some breathing room,” says David Ardia, shielding website operators “who allow others to use their site to speak out” from liability for some published content. This has permitted the explosive rise of YouTube and blogging services that serve as platforms for the masses. On the other hand, copyright and other legal claims are being successfully prosecuted against website hosts and posters.

Ardia worries about the underreported phenomenon of citizen journalists who post on the web and find themselves “fighting an authority.” There is “an extensive chilling effect,” says Ardia “If you … discover information that shows government corruption or puts powerful institutions on the defensive, you run the real risk of having them lawyer up, come after you, or put you in a position where you can’t afford to stand up for your rights.”

Another emerging issue: When web content is construed as invading privacy, legal suits arise that lead to a delicate dance between free speech and privacy. “Horrible things are said and done through the internet,” says Ardia, “but overall the impact is far more beneficial than harmful. As we start to fix instances of bad conduct, we run a great risk…of correcting one thing, but at the cost of…speech that should be protected.”

While the Obama Administration has pledged to make government more transparent, there is wild inconsistency in how federal, state and local governments make their work available.
Daniel Schuman describes how some public authorities offer “giant data sets” lacking the kind of sophisticated formats that enable fruitful vetting. Congress members must post an earmarks request online, but Schuman says, “If you want to find it, good luck.” And in certain areas, there is no web data at all: For access to congressional ethics information, someone must visit Capitol Hill in person at the right time, and copy pertinent pages. Schuman researched a “fantastic, sortable, downloadable” database describing the disbursement of Wall Street bailout money. The drawback: license provisions that permit the database owner “to pull back” the information, posing a major “impediment to people who want to use this information to talk about what’s going on.”

Another problem involves credentialing of online journalists. “Members of the civic media simply can’t get in the door” of press galleries in some House and Committee meetings, and forget recording Supreme Court justices by cellphone or other electronic devices. “As a private citizen, it’s hard and expensive to push back,” says Schuman.

The Wikileaks disclosures are shaking up discussions of government transparency as well as those about online freedoms. Says Schuman, “It makes the political climate more difficult. Irresponsible journalism will need to be protected, and condemned when done in this kind of way.” Moderator Micah Sifry sees an overreaction: “Leaks happen every day in Washington; secret information is out there all the time…No one is prosecuted. It’s the currency of information there.” Ultimately, says Ardia, we want to “bring information together in a way that moves us from a glut of data to real knowledge, and hopefully to wisdom, to make better decisions as a society. We are moving in that direction. I’m optimistic.”

While these panelists diverge on the precise metaphor -- ‘picking through a minefield,’ ‘hacking through the underbrush,’ ‘navigating uncharted waters’ -- they all agree that the web poses novel dilemmas and hazards for truth-seeking and speaking citizens.

First the good news: “There was a conscious decision by Congress to give online space some breathing room,” says David Ardia, shielding website operators “who allow others to use their site to speak out” from liability for some published content. This has permitted the explosive rise of YouTube and blogging services that serve as platforms for the masses. On the other hand, copyright and other legal claims are being successfully prosecuted against website hosts and posters.

Ardia worries about the underreported phenomenon of citizen journalists who post on the web and find themselves “fighting an authority.” There is “an extensive chilling effect,” says Ardia “If you … discover information that shows government corruption or puts powerful institutions on the defensive, you run the real risk of having them lawyer up, come after you, or put you in a position where you can’t afford to stand up for your rights.”

Another emerging issue: When web content is construed as invading privacy, legal suits arise that lead to a delicate dance between free speech and privacy. “Horrible things are said and done through the internet,” says Ardia, “but overall the impact is far more beneficial than harmful. As we start to fix instances of bad conduct, we run a great risk…of correcting one thing, but at the cost of…speech that should be protected.”

While the Obama Administration has pledged to make government more transparent, there is wild inconsistency in how federal, state and local governments make their work available.
Daniel Schuman describes how some public authorities offer “giant data sets” lacking the kind of sophisticated formats that enable fruitful vetting. Congress members must post an earmarks request online, but Schuman says, “If you want to find it, good luck.” And in certain areas, there is no web data at all: For access to congressional ethics information, someone must visit Capitol Hill in person at the right time, and copy pertinent pages. Schuman researched a “fantastic, sortable, downloadable” database describing the disbursement of Wall Street bailout money. The drawback: license provisions that permit the database owner “to pull back” the information, posing a major “impediment to people who want to use this information to talk about what’s going on.”

Another problem involves credentialing of online journalists. “Members of the civic media simply can’t get in the door” of press galleries in some House and Committee meetings, and forget recording Supreme Court justices by cellphone or other electronic devices. “As a private citizen, it’s hard and expensive to push back,” says Schuman.

The Wikileaks disclosures are shaking up discussions of government transparency as well as those about online freedoms. Says Schuman, “It makes the political climate more difficult. Irresponsible journalism will need to be protected, and condemned when done in this kind of way.” Moderator Micah Sifry sees an overreaction: “Leaks happen every day in Washington; secret information is out there all the time…No one is prosecuted. It’s the currency of information there.” Ultimately, says Ardia, we want to “bring information together in a way that moves us from a glut of data to real knowledge, and hopefully to wisdom, to make better decisions as a society. We are moving in that direction. I’m optimistic.”

“An oil spill is a crime scene,” says Christopher Reddy, but quite unlike the kind in TV whodunits, where fictional forensic whizzes help nail down perpetrators with an arsenal of lab tools. For Reddy, a chemist involved in analyzing oil spills, investigations take years, and do not always yield certain results.

Reddy delivers a colorful account of his research, which includes an insider’s perspective on the Deepwater Horizon spill. He confesses that not long ago he “was thinking about getting out of the oil spill business;” the incidence of big accidents “had dropped like a rock” since 1991. Then came news of the BP well blowout. He was invited on the scene to take water samples in the spring of 2010. Reddy shows video from underwater robots collecting oil from the leaking well head, and of the fierce flames from gas burning off nearby. “You couldn’t hear anything, and you could feel the heat on your skin. I’ll never forget it,” Reddy recalls.

Reddy has long experience with tracking oil in the ocean and in the diverse coastal ecosystems where it comes ashore. He has learned that even 30 years after a spill, coastal marshes and shores that appear healthy often conceal toxic sludge that wreaks havoc on flora and fauna. Contrary to oil industry claims, sites don’t rebound easily.

Accounting for the Deepwater Horizon crude (nearly 200 million gallons) and its impact on the ocean and coastal environments has meant taking countless samples, and tagging them chemically. Oil is made of thousands of compounds, “each with a different personality, or behavior, like a teenager,” says Reddy, and nature treats these diverse oils in different ways: “Some evaporate, some biodegrade, or break down with sunlight.” Reddy says, “I want to know who’s (in deep water now), who used to be, and why the other guy is on the surface.” This means “punching holes in the water collecting as many data points as possible.”

The result of this work, involving hundreds of surveys by Reddy and other scientists, has costly legal ramifications for BP and the government, not to mention significant consequences for ecosystems and people living along the Gulf. And the outcome of this research will unfold not over months, but likely over decades, with lingering uncertainties about the ultimate disposition of the oil. “If we can say … about 50% evaporated, about 1/3rd biodegraded and we don’t know where the rest went,” says Reddy, “that might be the best we can get.”

If the prospect of aging and infirmity seems remote, you could use some time with AGNES (Age Gain Now Empathy System), a wearable apparatus that approximates “what it feels like to be a 75-year-old woman.” Joseph Coughlin’s MIT AgeLab designed the suit to promote better understanding of the challenges of aging -- part of a larger effort to address the evolving demographic reality in the U.S., where a baby boomer turns 64 every seven seconds, 85-year-olds are the fastest growing age cohort, and most of the longest-lived will be women. Coughlin believes society must anticipate the needs of this rapidly emerging population, particularly where transportation is concerned.

Coughlin draws from a flurry of statistics a vivid portrait of the near future when great numbers of people, mainly women, will not only live longer, but alone. In the U.S., many of these seniors expect to continue working and playing, sometimes battling chronic illness, but above all, maintaining independence and freedom. Given these expectations, “What is driving?” asks Coughlin. “Everything…It’s the glue that holds life together.”

Coughlin sees “transportation as a function of all the other activities you do.” How then will an aging, frequently ailing, isolated population meet its needs for healthcare, shopping, work, leisure, especially when driving becomes a challenge, if not an impossibility?

Older drivers contending with stress or fatigue may turn to such automotive technology as the AwareCar, from Coughlin’s lab, which can alert drivers if their performance flags at the wheel. Some communities have developed alternative transportation options for seniors who can’t count on relatives or friends to shuttle them to appointments or shopping. Big box stores have begun to recognize that acres of parking lot and warehouse pose insuperable challenges to older folks, and are working on making their locations more convenient and navigable.

Coughlin cites additional ways society is beginning to accommodate the specific needs of the elderly, so as to sidestep the problems of transportation altogether. These include smart toilets that monitor human waste and upload information to disease management companies, signaling if a change in diet is indicated, and delivering appropriate foods; and home delivery of health care services and products by such retailers as Walgreens.

In spite of these promising moves, the sheer number of aging baby boomers who will need to get around in coming years spells trouble. “We are still going to have a major mobility gap in the U.S.,” Coughlin believes, “even if we started yesterday and invested billions to work really fast.”

If the prospect of aging and infirmity seems remote, you could use some time with AGNES (Age Gain Now Empathy System), a wearable apparatus that approximates “what it feels like to be a 75-year-old woman.” Joseph Coughlin’s MIT AgeLab designed the suit to promote better understanding of the challenges of aging -- part of a larger effort to address the evolving demographic reality in the U.S., where a baby boomer turns 64 every seven seconds, 85-year-olds are the fastest growing age cohort, and most of the longest-lived will be women. Coughlin believes society must anticipate the needs of this rapidly emerging population, particularly where transportation is concerned.

Coughlin draws from a flurry of statistics a vivid portrait of the near future when great numbers of people, mainly women, will not only live longer, but alone. In the U.S., many of these seniors expect to continue working and playing, sometimes battling chronic illness, but above all, maintaining independence and freedom. Given these expectations, “What is driving?” asks Coughlin. “Everything…It’s the glue that holds life together.”

Coughlin sees “transportation as a function of all the other activities you do.” How then will an aging, frequently ailing, isolated population meet its needs for healthcare, shopping, work, leisure, especially when driving becomes a challenge, if not an impossibility?

Older drivers contending with stress or fatigue may turn to such automotive technology as the AwareCar, from Coughlin’s lab, which can alert drivers if their performance flags at the wheel. Some communities have developed alternative transportation options for seniors who can’t count on relatives or friends to shuttle them to appointments or shopping. Big box stores have begun to recognize that acres of parking lot and warehouse pose insuperable challenges to older folks, and are working on making their locations more convenient and navigable.

Coughlin cites additional ways society is beginning to accommodate the specific needs of the elderly, so as to sidestep the problems of transportation altogether. These include smart toilets that monitor human waste and upload information to disease management companies, signaling if a change in diet is indicated, and delivering appropriate foods; and home delivery of health care services and products by such retailers as Walgreens.

In spite of these promising moves, the sheer number of aging baby boomers who will need to get around in coming years spells trouble. “We are still going to have a major mobility gap in the U.S.,” Coughlin believes, “even if we started yesterday and invested billions to work really fast.”