In his bestselling book
Freakonomics, University
of Chicago economist Steven Levitt, Ph.D., showed how sophisticated math—and a knack
for asking the right questions—can uncover "the hidden side of
everything," from the bare-knuckle finances of a crack-dealing gang to the
very real dangers of suburban pools.
You could say that Griffin Edwards, Ph.D., an assistant
professor in the
Department of Marketing, Industrial Distribution, and Economics in the
UAB Collat School of Business, is taking freakonomics to court.
Edwards entered college "trying to figure out if I should be a lawyer or an economist." He ended up combining the two.
Edwards specializes in empirical legal studies, a young discipline that applies
the high-powered statistical methods of economics to lawmaking. By crunching
everything from murder rates to crop yields, he is revealing the unintended
consequences of mental health legislation, Prohibition, and more.
To Warn or Not to Warn
For decades, mental health professionals have chafed against
"duty to warn" laws, which require them to notify authorities if
their clients threaten others or themselves.
These laws can be traced back to a landmark California
Supreme Court decision,
Tarasoff vs.
Regents of the University of California. Tarasoff was a young woman
murdered in October 1969 by an unbalanced graduate student who had previously
confessed his intentions to his psychologist.
In the years since, 43 states have passed so-called
"duty to warn" laws. Some require mental health professionals to warn
the authorities or the threatened party. Others say professionals
can warn at their discretion.
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| Griffin Edwards |
Giving a warning "may seem like a reasonable response,
but from a psychologist's point of view, it is not," Edwards says.
"They argue that the whole reason the doctor-patient relationship works is
that everything said is confidential." According to mental health
professionals, such laws make it
less
likely that potential victims will be protected, because patients will be less
likely to divulge violent plans—and that means fewer opportunities for professionals
to intervene through counseling.
"This debate has been going on for years," Edwards
says, and determining an answer is not obvious. How can you tally up the number
of people who were prevented from murder, or suicide, by a psychologist's
warning? That is the goal of the law, after all, to stop these events from
happening.
Unintended Consequences
Edwards came up with a solution: If the mental health professionals were
right, there should be an
increase in
suicides and murders in states after these laws are passed. But you need to be
careful to tease out this signal from a sea of other possible contributing
factors. For example, suicide rates are higher in the Pacific Northwest due to the gloomy
weather and plentiful supply of isolated bridges, Edwards points out.
Murder rates
fluctuate as a factor of policing strategies, drug violence, and a host of
other reasons.
So Edwards compared statistics from states after they passed duty to warn laws to the data from the same states prior to passing the laws.
Then he compared that difference to the numbers from one of the states
that have never passed duty to warn laws. Using econometric techniques,
"I'm able to control for a lot," Edwards says. "This allows me
to infer something similar to a randomized controlled trial, but with laws and
states instead of individuals."
What happened? "I found that the
psychologists are right," Edwards says. In a paper published in 2013 in
The International Review of Law and
Economics, "I found that these laws actually increase suicides among
teens, but have no effect on adult suicides," he notes.
In a separate paper forthcoming at the
Journal of Law and Economics, Edwards found that "homicides
increase by anywhere from 5 to 7 percent" after mandatory duty to warn
laws are passed. "Permissive" laws, which say mental health
professionals
can warn potential
victims or the police, had no statistically significant effect.
| "We
tell our students that the great thing about economics is it's the study of
everything," Edwards says. His own research interests range from mental health legislation to the effects of golf cart use on a player's score. "I try to do research that's not totally boring to my
wife." |
Edwards is now examining involuntary commitment laws.
"Every state has a different length of time you can commit someone
involuntarily if you suspect they are a danger to themselves or others," he explains. In some states the period is three days; in some it is three
years. He wants "to see if locking someone up is actually stopping the
crime from happening or just delaying it."
Grain and Greens
Edwards's interests range far beyond mental health. "We
tell our students that the great thing about economics is it's the study of
everything," he says. He has used official government data on hops and
barley crops to estimate how much people were drinking during Prohibition (not
as much as you may think), and pored over medical records to determine the
effects of Prohibition on infant health (banning alcohol was good for babies).
Edwards is "really excited" about a new paper on
golf carts and player performance—a question that caused an uproar in the early
2000s. Casey Martin, a talented golfer born with a
degenerative knee condition that makes him unable to get around the course
without a cart, sued the Professional Golf Association (PGA), which wouldn't let him use a cart in its mandatory Qualifying School. His case made it to the Supreme Court. The justices agreed with Martin's lawyers that the Americans with Disabilities Act applies
at Pebble Beach and Augusta National just as much as it does in any other
public place.
Many commentators were outraged. "Lots of people were
saying, 'He's ruined sports; pretty soon we're going to see quarterbacks on
crutches and referees with seeing-eye dogs,'" Edwards says.
The PGA and its defenders argued that walking was a crucial
part of the game. But, Edwards wondered, how much of an advantage did Martin
really get from his cart?
Searching for evidence, Edwards hit on a quirk of
NCAA scheduling for college golf tournaments. Because these events need to be fit into a
single weekend, all players use carts on one tournament day, and walk the other
day. Analyzing hundreds of tournaments, Edwards found that players scored
worse rather than better when they drove
carts. (Possibly because the trudge to the next tee helps a player burn off
steam from a bad shot on the previous hole, and gives that player a chance to visualize the approach needed
on the upcoming hole, Edwards speculates.)
"It actually makes you better to walk," Edwards
says. "So not only does it not give him an unfair advantage, it actually
puts him at a disadvantage. The point of that paper is, maybe we could be a
little more accommodating to people with disabilities."
There is evidence that judges are beginning to cite
empirical legal studies research in their opinions, Edwards says—a trend that
should continue as the discipline matures. But Edwards also has another
motivating factor: "I try to do research that's not totally boring to my
wife," he says. "Something she can at least pretend to be interested
in."
Related:
The UAB Collat School of Business now offers completely online degrees in economics, finance, management, and marketing.
Learn more here.