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Gray zone watching shoot author(s) frazer ward sou
1. Gray Zone: Watching "Shoot"
Author(s): Frazer Ward
Source: October , Winter, 2001, Vol. 95 (Winter, 2001), pp.
114-130
Published by: The MIT Press
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/779202
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Gray Zone: Watching Shoot
FRAZER WARD
I wasn't the artist who shot himself and I am
not the artist that pushes museums down.
-Chris Burden, 1996
Truth and consequences: the public as ethical realm
Chris Burden's description of his most famous (or infamous)
performance,
Shoot (November 19, 1971), consists of three simple sentences:
At 7:45 p.m. I was shot in the left arm by a friend. The bullet
was a copper
jacket 22 long rifle. My friend was standing about fifteen feet
from me.1
The bullet was intended to graze Burden's arm, but caused a
more serious
3. wound.2 The performance took place after hours in a gallery
space for an invited
audience of about ten people; it is documented by the
description and a black-
and-white photograph that shows Burden with his back against
a wall and the
marksman with rifle raised and his back to the viewer (so that
the photographer's
view was close to that of the marksman, though not exactly the
same). The photo-
graph is blurry, as if the photographer, understandably, had
winced. Another
photograph occasionally appears, which is an apparently
candid, head-to-knee
image of Burden walking from right to left, with his left arm in
the foreground,
held slightly away from his body, clearly showing the entry and
exit wounds in his
upper arm, with a line of blood running down from the entry
wound to below his
elbow.
As Shoot makes clear, Burden's performance work reached a
high pitch of
physical violence early in his career, and there has been a
tendency, subsequently,
1. "Chris Burden: Original Texts 1971-1995," Chris Burden
(Paris: Blocnotes, 1995), n.p.
2. "In Shoot I was supposed to have a grazed wound. We didn't
even have any Band-aids"
(Willoughby Sharp and Liza Bear, "Chris Burden: The Church
of Human Energy, An Interview by
Willoughby Sharp and Liza Bear," Avalanche 8 [Summer/Fall
1973], p. 54).
4. OCTOBER 95, Winter 2001, pp. 115-130. ? 2001 October
Magazine, Ltd. and Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
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Shoot. 1971. (Photo courtesy Chris Burden.)
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116 OCTOBER
simply to assign it to a pathological state. Certainly, over the
years since, critics
have tried to fit Burden into categories of subjectivity, as if the
right match
between type of person and performance would explain the
work. Among other
things, Burden has been described as a masochist; an avant-
garde novitiate; a
social therapist; an existential populist; a hero; the alter ego of
the biblical
Samson; a helpless, passive victim; a heroic victim; an
anthropologist; someone
inclined toward the scientist, engineer, inventor, tinkerer; a
5. victim-by-request; the
hero of an impossible quest (a modern Don Quixote); a
voluntary scapegoat; and
a survivalist.3 The very proliferation of these categories
indicates the failure of the
attempt to explain Shoot in terms of what kind of person would
do such a thing.
That failure leaves the work unexplained in terms able to be
appropriated by the
mass media, and the enigmatic status that results may be one of
the reasons that
Burden remains closely identified with Shoot. By mid-1973,
almost two years after
the performance, it had become fodder for sensational
journalism. In an inter-
view at that time in Avalanche, Burden commented on the way
his public was being
shifted away from "art people":
After that little number in Esquire, this guy called from Texas,
I'd hear
the bleeps on the phone: "Bleep. Hi! This is Don Steel on
WKEP in
Texas, are you Chris Burden?" "Yeah." "Are you the artist?"
"Yeah."
"What are you going to do next?"4
Exposed to tabloid publicity that most artists never have to
deal with, Burden was
saddled with a public identity as "the artist who shot himself."
The attempt to explain what kind of person would do such a
thing is in any
case misguided. Shoot was constitutively a collaborative event;
Burden did not
shoot himself, he was shot by a friend, and the audience
gathered to see it hap-
6. pen. When this is emphasized, different questions emerge. How
could someone
be persuaded to shoot his friend? Why were audience members
prepared to let it
3. The first reference is to Kathy O'Dell, Contract with the
Skin: Masochism, Performance Art and the
1970s (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998).
More convincingly than is done in the other
accounts listed here, O'Dell elaborates relations between a
"masochistic contract" and historical
moments of social uncertainty and upheaval. The idea of this
contract is grounded largely in Gilles
Deleuze's interpretation of masochism in Coldness and Cruelty,
trans. Jean McNeil (New York: Zone
Books, 1989). The other descriptions are given by: Peter
Plagens, "He Got Shot-For His Art," New York
Times, September 2, 1973, D3; Donald Kuspit, "Man For and
Against Machine," in Chris Burden: Beyond
the Limits, pp. 59, 63, 71, 73; Peter Noever, "Assault on Art,"
in Chris Burden: Beyond the Limits, p. 11;
Johannes Lothar Schr6der, "Science, Heat and Time:
Minimalism and Body Art in the Work of Chris
Burden," in Chris Burden: Beyond the Limits, pp. 197, 201;
Paul Schimmel, "Other Worlds: Interview with
Chris Burden," p. 34; Frank Perrin, "An Administration of
Extreme Urgency," in Chris Burden (Paris:
Blocnotes, 1995), n.p.; Stuart Morgan, "Survival Kit," Frieze
28 (May 1996), p. 54.
4. Burden in Sharp and Bi6ar, "The Church of Human Energy,"
p. 58.
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Gray Zone: Watching Shoot 117
happen? Questions like these suggest that what remains
compelling in Shoot is not
its physical violence, but its violently negative inference of an
ideal public realm.
Shoot is characteristic of Burden's early performance work in
that its combi-
nation of physical violence and passivity (Burden's and the
audience's) held out
the possibility of the public as a realm of, or opportunity for,
judgment and deci-
sion, but then largely forestalled that possibility.5 The very
violence of Shoot seems
to have called out for intervention on the part of collaborators
or audience mem-
bers. It doesn't seem too far-fetched to imagine the marksman
calling it off at the
last moment, or someone in the audience trying to talk
everyone out of it. Yet
once it was in train, some combination of the expectation of a
specialist public
(and Burden's manipulation of that), prurient fascination, an
antimoralistic, anti-
authoritarian historical milieu, even the brevity of the work,
prevented any such
intervention. As a result, Shoot, however tendentiously,
negatively or repellently,
limned the public as an arena of responsibility, of dilemma and
decision-as an
ethical realm. From this viewpoint, Shoot remains important as
8. a signal example,
among a body of more or less violent performances of the
1960s and '70s, the
implications of which, in terms of their having posed ethical
questions as they con-
stituted their own publics, have yet to be fully considered.6 In
the case of Burden,
at least, this approach shifts the discourse away from endless
refinements in the
stereotyping of artistic subjectivity.
After Minimalism: spectacle, participation, and passivity
The violence of Shoot is often, perhaps intuitively, taken to be
connected with an
emphatic artistic presence.7 Of course, Shoot draws some of its
"authority" from
Burden's physical experience; but this can be overemphasize d
at the expense of
the roles of marksman, photographer, and audience members.
To read Burden's
presence in Shoot as self-evident is to allow the apparent
extremity of the perfor-
mance to supercede the ways in which his presence was
actually complicated and
qualified. Without examining the mediation of presence in
Shoot, there may be a
tendency not to see the ethical questions the work poses. These
questions are tied
5. This can be seen as a negative reference to that realm of
public debate and reasoning described
byJfirgen Habermas as the public sphere.
6. Performances by other artists, including Marina Abramovic,
Vito Acconci, Valie Export, Gina
Pane, Yoko Ono, and Barbara Smith, may productively be
9. examined in this framework.
7. If we recall Rosalind Krauss's critical account of modernist
relations between medium and sub-
jectivity, in which everything about a painting, for instance,
was taken to express the interior life of the
artist, then the apparent substitution of the artist's body for
another medium might seem to conform
to Mary Kelly's argument that in performance art we see the
return of a (modernist) legitimating artis-
tic presence, by other means. See Krauss, Passages in Modern
Sculpture (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1981),
71, and Kelly, "Re-Viewing Modernist Criticism," in Art after
Modernism: Rethinking Representation, ed.
Brian Wallis (New York: New Museum of Contemporary Art,
1984), pp. 94-95.
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118 OCTOBER
to a critical engagement with Minimalism, at the same time that
they connect the
work to broader than strictly art-historical or art-world
concerns; the Vietnam War,
and its mass-media representations, provide one unavoidable
context for the vio-
lence of Shoot. So in broad strokes, there is a double context
(at least) for Shoot:
one element is Minimalism; the bloodier element is the
spectacle of the war.
10. Shoot's relation to Minimalism is implicit in Burden's emphasis
on the experi-
ence of being shot as "interesting":
Willoughby Sharp: So it doesn't much matter to you whether
it's a nick or
it goes through your arm?
Chris Burden: No. It's the idea of being shot at to be hit.
WS: Mmmmm. Why is that interesting?
CB: Well, it's something to experience. How do you know what
it feels
like to be shot if you don't experience it? It seems interesting
enough to be
worth doing.
WS: Most people don't want to be shot.
CB: Yeah, but everybody watches it on TV every day. America
is the big
shoot-out country. About fifty per cent of American folklore is
about
people getting shot.8
Burden's account resonates with Donald Judd's single
requirement that a work of
art be interesting, and extends it in relation to media culture.
Shoot also translated
Judd's Minimal order, in a manner consistent with other
postminimalist turns away
from the art object, so that it was the experience involved in
the production of the
art (in this case, the performance) that needed to be interesting,
instead of any
object itself.
It was in part the stolid simplicity of Minimalism's objects (in
11. Robert Morris'
term, their quality as "gestalts") that deflected viewers'
attention onto their own
experience of art and its contexts. Burden's "clinical"9
passivity in the face of the
particular experience of being shot at appears as an embodied
extension or exag-
geration of the passivity of Minimalist objects. Yet the
simultaneously dangerous,
spectacular aspect of that experience-far from the highly
refined experiences
proffered by Minimalist objects-also provided for self-
reflection on the part of
viewers, at least potentially, along the lines of whether or not
they should have
participated. In this case, Shoot offered a comment on the
bloodlessness of
Minimalism's phenomenological investigations, introducing
instead questions of
consequences, and both artists' and viewers' participation and
responsibility. It
explicitly involved not only viewers' bodies but the artist's as
well. In relation to
8. Sharp and B&ar, "The Church of Human Energy," p. 54,
emphasis added.
9. Jon Bewley, "Chris Burden in Conversation with Jon
Bewley," in Talking Art 1, ed. Adrian Searle
(London: Institute of Contemporary Arts, 1993), p. 20.
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12. Gray Zone: Watching Shoot 119
Minimalist versions of repetition, while Shoot was in principle
repeatable-each
bullet in the gun was a potential instance-this potential in fact
marked a further
departure from Minimalism, in that the differences between one
experience and
the next must be bound to more than the viewer's physical
orientation in space
(the experience and effect of any repetition, for instance, would
be affected by
chance).o10 So Shoot dealt with terms derived from or
inflected by Minimalism, cen-
trally interest and experience and, more tangentially,
repetition. However, none
of this quite answers the question of why Burden (or for that
matter anyone else)
would choose to engage with or critique Minimalism by being
shot. Consciously, at
least, outside the realm of fantasy, to echo Willoughby Sharp' s
dry remark, most
people still do not want to be shot.
Twenty years after the interview in Avalanche, Burden referred
again to tele-
vision and films ("actually being shot is quite different"), and
continued:
I think everyone subconsciously has thought about what it's
like to be
shot. Being shot, at least in America, is as American as apple
pie, it's
sort of an American tradition almost. To do it in this clinical
13. way, to do
something that most people would go out of their way to avoid,
to turn
around and face the monster and say, "Well, let's find out what
it's
about," I think that touches on some cord, that's why the piece
works,
that's why a man twenty years later is calling me up with a
crank call
from Tennessee and is irate about it.11
Repeating the gist of this in 1996, Burden added, "all the
audience cannot help
but place themselves into my shoes."12 Now, Burden is
American, and, clearly, so is
his "everyone." The body and the subjectivity in question in
Shoot have a national
context that may have fed a temptation to see (or look for) the
work as a direct
commentary on the Vietnam War. As a result, we get Burden as
heroic victim, as a
kind of martyr, whose self-victimization mimics, in protest, the
brutality of the war.
Such a reading, however, not only repeats the colonial
asymmetry of broader his-
torical circumstances-presenting Shoot as a homegrown version
of Buddhist
self-immolations, as seen on television, perhaps-but ignores the
art-historical and
10. In 1973 Burden allowed that Shoot might physically be
repeated, but that to do so would be too
theatrical: "Getting shot is something you could do for a circus
over and over and over." But he has dis-
tanced himself from that potential, saying, "The unknown's
gone. I mean, there's no point in ever get-
14. ting shot again" ("The Church of Human Energy," pp. 58, 61).
Twenty years later he again distin-
guished the work from theater by his desire not to repeat it: "I
never saw myself as an actor. I'd never
stand in front of an audience and do Shoot over again, for
example" (Sharp and B&ar, "Chris Burden in
conversation with Jon Bewley," p. 23).
11. Ibid., pp.20-21.
12. Jose Antonio Sarmiento, "Chris Burden: Interview with
Jose Antonio Sarmiento; 'Hacer arte es
verdaderamenta una actividad subversiva,'" Sin Titulo 3
(September 1996), p. 56.
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120 OCTOBER
art-institutional issues to which Burden's performances were
also tied. With regard
to the Vietnam War, Burden himself was sensibly careful not to
equate his own
(nonetheless real) wound with the wounds of soldiers, as Peter
Plagens recounted
in 1973:
I asked Burden about that-comparing his bullet wound to a real
one,
suffered by a Vietnam vet or a street-gang member. "Isn't it
small pota-
toes?" I said. "Yes," he said.13
15. Burden's wound was "small potatoes" in part because its
consequences were differ-
ent. The shot that caused it was not fired in anger but in
collaboration, and if
Burden's death was unlikely to have occurred, it was
nonetheless conceivable
(Burden or his friend the marksman might have slipped,
panicked, etc.). But as
the sarcastic title of Plagens's newspaper commentary puts it,
"He Got Shot-For
His Art." No national interest was affected by this danger or
this wound, and no
mission was compromised, no troop (or gang) was endangered,
let down, or dis-
honored. To the extent that it was a life-and-death situation, if
it is possible to
speak relatively, little was at stake. If Burden had been killed,
or more seriously
wounded, he would not have become a hero of the antiwar
movement (or a mar-
tyr to art), but would have been subject to more intense
disapproval and ridicule.
His friend the marksman, and the invited audience, would have
found themselves
with even more serious ethical questions to answer, let alone
evidentiary and legal
ones.
Us and ours: the collective and the media
Even if the bullet had missed altogether, Shoot's invocation of
gunshot
wounds and death, in the historical moment in which it
occurred, has to be con-
16. sidered in relation to a backdrop of representations of violence,
and particularly
representations of the Vietnam War. Hence, for instance,
Plagens's discomfort
with the work, which might reflect the suspicion that the war
provided a too-easy
or ethically slack context for the work, lending its one shot too
much import.
Here we are returned to questions of consequence and
responsibility. If the iden-
tifications that Shoot attracted emerged from a specifically
American cultural
subconscious, that realm of fantasy and projection must also be
seen in relation to
the same historical context. For Burden, ostensibly, audience
members could (or
must) "place themselves into my shoes," because, as far as it
was relevant to Shoot,
the public-"everyone"-was constituted in relation to a history
of representa-
13. Plagens, "He Got Shot-For His Art," D3. Plagens
continued: "But-so it came to me later-so
is all art: yours, mine, Burden's or Wegman's" (work by
William Wegman was also discussed in the text).
Conceivably, it might be possible to argue that, as far as its
relation to its historical context goes,
enabling this recognition was the point of Shoot.
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17. Gray Zone: Watching Shoot 121
tions of violence. But that history (that "tradition" and
"folklore") was bound to
the mass media and therefore to programming (repeats, reruns,
etc.), which
means that it was a history without sequence, a swirl of
westerns and science fic-
tion, war and noir and news, such that six-guns, lasers, and
napalm might come to
share a generic quality. And "everyone" might come to share
that, too. In relation
to Shoot, "everyone" (us) is the collective that forms around
the violent event. As
such, it must be suspect. For "our" interest in, or fascination
with, representations
of violence belongs to-or is assigned to-an imagined, statistical
community of
moviegoers, television watchers, and tabloid readers, defined
by ticket sales, rat-
ings points, and circulation figures.
Burden's own accounts suggest that his experience was defined
by distinc-
tion from this society of the statistical.14 Crucially, however,
his own experience
must have emerged from it as well; Burden is one of us, too,
and if "us" and "we"
and "our" are under the gun, if "everyone" is, then "I" and "my"
must be, as well.
So the identifications arcing toward Shoot, especially in its
photographic form,
incorporated or reincorporated it into an amorphous cultural
field. This is
another way of thinking about Burden's "facing the monster,"
18. in which the mon-
ster is not necessarily the bullet and being shot, but the
problem of distinguishing
oneself from the shapeless entity-in this case a national,
cultural entity-that
nonetheless shapes that self. In this context, the equation that
Shoot sets up,
between self-distinction and self-effacement, becomes the
ground for a very lit-
eral, perhaps nihilistic, gesture of negation.
The crucial aspect of representations of the Vietnam War, as
far as their
relevance to Shoot is concerned, is that their meaning was
contested. As much as
gun violence is part of American folklore, so is the idea that
television images
from Vietnam helped to galvanize the antiwar movement,
specifically by creating a
constituency among middle-class voters not expected, by the
government, at least,
to have opposed the war. It can be described as folklore
because of the way it con-
denses elements of the historical situation. Of course,
conditions for the growth
of the antiwar movement were more complex. Like Shoot,
images of the war in and
of themselves did not necessarily establish anything more than
the fact that the
war was happening and that it was brutal. But there had been
active opposition to
the war for years before television images took their much-
vaunted effect, which is
to say that other interpretations of those images were already
available than those
19. 14. Here I refer to Mark Seltzer's account of a public sphere
that turns pathological as the self is
experienced as a typicality within. Seltzer quotes Gilles
Deleuze and F'lix Guattari to the effect that
there is "always something statistical in our loves, and
something belonging to the laws of large num-
bers." See "Serial Killers (II): The Pathological Public Sphere,"
Critical Inquiry 22, no.1 (Autumn 1995),
p. 124. Burden's work may represent an attempt to resist seeing
the self, in its most intimate connec-
tions, in this way.
15. As Susan Sontag argues, "A photograph that brings news of
some unsuspected zone of misery
cannot make a dent in public opinion unless there is an
appropriate context of feeling and attitude,"
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122 OCTOBER
offered by the government.15 And at a certain point, popular,
mainstream media
figures began to take editorial positions against the war.16 This
is the merest
sketch, but it is enough to make the point that within and
between segments of
the government, the media, and the population, images of the
war in Vietnam
were subject to radically different interpretations and put to
20. very different purposes.
Such contests mean that if the public was constituted around
representations of
violence, in the period in which Shoot was performed, then
"everyone" was often
bitterly fragmented.
One context for Shoot, then, was a public realm, whether
empirical or imag-
ined, that was shapeless and/or fragmented: a realm that
provided no stable
ethical vantage point. Yet Burden has called his early
performances "very private
acts."17 On the one hand, his definition of private seems to be
quantitative: "often
there were only two or three people there to see them, or maybe
just the people
who were there helping me."18 On the other hand, he has also
spoken of the audi-
ence, however small, as having been a crucial catalyst in the
execution of the
works: "I'd set it up by telling a bunch of people, and that
would make it hap-
pen."19 These private acts, that is, depended in part for their
realization on their
informal circulation in the form of invitation and expectation,
even before their
documentation (and before they were picked up by the mass
media). So their pri-
vate character cannot be separated easily, if at all, from a
public orientation.20
Further, this interdependence of private and public was
implicitly ethical: Burden
established an obligation, or at least an expectation, that he
would do something,
for or with a group of people. He would therefore have broken
his word, had he
21. not gone through with it. The somewhat fragile formality of
this obligation means
that the affective dimension of the work was to some extent
derived, before the
fact, from its virtual public existence, and was not simply a
private matter.
Intuitively or otherwise, Burden cannily manipulated the roles
that shared interest
and mutual obligation play in the formation of a public.
Ideally, a public is to be
and, "Americans did have access to photographs of the
suffering of the Vietnamese (many of which
came from military sources and were taken with quite a
different use in mind) because journalists felt
backed in their efforts to obtain those photographs, the event
having been defined by a significant num-
ber of people as a savage colonialist war" (On Photography
[New York: Anchor Books, 1990], pp. 17-18).
16. The newsreader Walter Cronkite is the signal example.
17. "Chris Burden in conversation with Jon Bewley," p. 22.
18. Jim Moisan, "Border Crossing: Interview with Chris
Burden," High Performance 2, no. 1 (March
1979), p. 9.
19. Ibid.
20. This may recall, if at some distance, Jfirgen Habermas's
account of the ideal type of bourgeois
subjectivity as it emerged from the bourgeois family (nowhere,
perhaps, is Habermas's idealism clearer,
however accurate the insight into the structure of subjectivity):
"Subjectivity, as the innermost core of
the private, was always already oriented to an audience"
(Habermas, The Structural Transfor mation of the
Public Sphere, trans. Thomas Burger with Frederick Lawrence
[Cambridge: MIT Press, 1989], p. 49).
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Gray Zone: Watching Shoot 123
distinguished from an audience, which would simply be the
people who were
there, but the necessary passivity of the people who were
present to watch Shoot
(not including the marksman), casts that distinction in doubt.
It's as though Shoot
required a public, in the sense of an interested, participant
group, but not too
much of one.
Innocent bystanders
Robin White: Well, what kinds of insights do you think you
have gained
from doing these-these things, you know, these endurance
tests?
These risk situations? These isolations?
Chris Burden: What kind of insights?21
Referring to the dispassionate nature of his work's
documentation, Burden
has said that "there would be no explanation as to why these
things had hap-
pened, or what it meant."22 He has nevertheless offered a
23. series of consistent if
partial explanations of Shoot over the years. These may suggest
directions in which
to begin to interpret the work.
Burden's claim is that Shoot functions as a kind of lightning
rod for
inescapable identifications ("all the audience cannot help but
place themselves into
my shoes") that arc from a specifically American cultural
"subconscious." Burden's
conception of his performances as private was quantifi able
("often there were
only two or three people there to see them"), and his version of
the public
("everyone," "all the audience") risked the level of generality
of political sloga-
neering ("the American people," etc.), the effect of which is to
efface differences.
The subconscious that his work calls upon operates in relation
to "tradition" and
"folklore," but these are tied to mass media, and hence to the
generic forms of
gun violence, fictional or otherwise; westerns, war movies,
crime genres, and also,
in 1971, during the Vietnam War, the television news. (In this
context, the news,
of course, remains the most banal and insidious provider of
"atrocity exhibitions."23)
Burden seems to have set in play an unstable relation between a
too-empirical ver-
sion of what is private and a too-general version of the public.
Yet his concern with
21. Robin White, "Chris Burden: Interview with Robin White,"
View 1, no. 8 (January 1979), pp. 6-7.
29. consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
4
4
Accounting data is typically kept in quantitative measures, and,
is important in the decision–making process.
Managers must use their skills, their judgment and their ethics
to make difficult decisions.
While involved in all stages of the decision-making process, the
managerial accountant’s primary role is to provide quantitative
data and analysis that are relevant, accurate, and timely to the
decision being made. (LO 14-2)
The Decision-Making Process (3 of 4)
1. Clarify the Decision Problem
2. Specify the Criterion
3. Identify the Alternatives
4. Develop a Decision Model
5. Collect the Data
6. Select an alternative
Relevant
Pertinent to a
decision problem.
Accurate
Information must
49. consent of McGraw-Hill Education.
33
42
The president of Worldwide Airways, is worried that the World
Express Club might not be profitable. Her concern is caused by
the statement of monthly operating income shown. In her
weekly staff meeting, Wing states her concern about the World
Express Club’s profitability.
The controller responds by pointing out that not all of the costs
on the club’s income statement would be eliminated if the club
were discontinued.
The vice president for sales adds that the club helps Worldwide
Airways attract passengers who it might otherwise lose to a
competitor.
As the meeting adjourns, Wing asks the controller to prepare an
analysis of the relevant costs and benefits associated with the
World Express Club. (LO 14-5)
Add or Drop a Product (3 of 5)
KEEP CLUB ELIMINATE DIFFERENTIAL
52. These expenses are called unavoidable expenses. In other
words, these costs will continue if the club is either kept or
eliminated. Depreciation, insurance, and allocated overhead
costs will continue regardless of the decision, therefore
Worldwide cannot avoid them.
In contrast, the expenses appearing in the first column but not
the second are avoidable expenses. The airline will no longer
incur these expenses if the club is eliminated. Notice that all
variable costs are avoidable. In addition, supervisor salaries and
airport fees will be eliminated if the club is closed. The positive
$40,000 differential amount reflects the fact that the company is
$40,000 better off by keeping the club. (LO 14-5)
Add or Drop a Product (5 of 5)
KEEP CLUB ELIMINATE DIFFERENTIAL
Sales $200,000 0 $200,000
Food/Beverage (70,000) 0 (70,000)
Personnel (40,000) 0 (40,000)
Variable overhead (25,000) 0 (25,000)
Contribution Margin 65,000 0 65,000
Avoidable fixed costs
Supervisor salary (20,000) 0 (20,000)
Airport fees ( 5,000) 0 ( 5,000)
Profit/Loss $ 40,000 $ 40,000
Worldwide airlines would also lose the contribution margin of
$65,000 but only $25,000 in fixed expenses. The club
contributes $40,000 to Worldwide’s fixed costs.
73. mayor has asked the city’s controller to make a recommendation
as to which of two computing systems should be purchased.
The two systems are equivalent in their ability to meet the
city’s needs and in their ease of use. The mainframe system
consists of one large mainframe computer with remote terminals
and printers located throughout the city offices. The personal
computer system consists of a much smaller mainframe
computer, a few remote terminals, and a dozen personal
computers, which will be networked to the small mainframe.
Mountainview’s accountant has prepared the above schedule of
net costs.
Before we begin the steps of the net-present-value method, let’s
examine the cash flow data in the slide to determine if any of
the data can be ignored as irrelevant. Notice that salvage value s
and datalink services do not differ between the two alternatives.
Regardless of which new computing system is purchased,
certain components of the old system can be sold now for
$25,000. Moreover, the datalink service will cost $20,000
annually, regardless of which system is acquired. If the only
purpose of the NPV analysis is to determine which computer
system is the least-cost alternative, then salvage values and
datalink services can be ignored as irrelevant, since they will
affect both alternatives’ NPVs equally. (LO 16-3)
Total-Cost Approach (2/3)
MAINFRAME ($) Time 0 Time 1 Time 2
Time 3 Time 4 Time 5
Acquisition cost computer (400,000)
83. Deloitte’s Capital Efficiency practice helps organizations make
better and faster decisions by
assisting them in improving the quality of their capital
allocation decisions to enhance robustness,
efficiency, and return on investment.
Capital bias
The balancing act | 2
Choreographing the optimism bias, expert bias,
and narrow framing | 3
Mitigating biases in planning: The US Navy | 7
Prioritization: Leveling the playing field | 9
Stripping away your own organization’s biases | 11
Endnotes | 12
CONTENTS
Reducing human error in capital decision-making
1
A look at the S&P 500 suggests just how dif-ficult it can be to
consistently drive positive results. Take one measure, return on
in-
vested capital (ROIC). In a Deloitte study, neither
84. the amount of capital expenditures (as a percentage
of revenue) nor the growth in capital expenditure
demonstrated any kind of meaningful correlation
with ROIC.1 Regardless of industry, individual com-
panies can often have a difficult time maintaining
high and steady returns on their investments year
over year.
Given such uncertainty in capital allocation re-
sults, it may not be surprising that more than 60
percent of finance executives say they are not con-
fident in their organization’s ability to optimally al-
locate capital.2 After all, many companies are bal-
ancing competing priorities, diverse stakeholder
interests, and a complex variety of proposals that
can make capital allocation decisions even more dif-
ficult to execute in practice.
Why is this? On paper it seems practical enough
for everyone throughout the organization to be on
the same page. In an ideal world, a company estab-
lishes the goals and priorities; then, from senior
managers to frontline employees, everyone is ex-
pected to act in a manner that supports these man-
dates.
However, behavioral science, and possibly your
own experience, suggest it’s likely not always that
simple. Individuals at any level of an organization
may be overly optimistic about certain courses of
action, rely too much on specific pieces of informa-
tion (and people), or simply interpret the objective
through too narrow a lens (that may even run coun-
ter to other views on how to achieve these goals).
85. Within the behavioral science field, these are
referred to as cognitive biases and they exist in
many endeavors, not just capital planning. These
same biases can explain why we are too optimistic
about our retirement portfolios, can rely solely on
the opinions of experts in matters of health, and
narrowly frame our car buying decisions based on
a single attribute, such as fuel efficiency—ignoring
safety features, price, and aesthetic design. In the
language of the behavioral sciences, these translate
into the optimism bias, expert bias, and narrow
framing, respectively.
Though these biases, and many others, are ex-
tensively covered within the academic literature
and other fields, they are typically not as salient in
matters of capital planning.3 Despite this often lack
of coverage, the evidence from our research sug-
gests they may be no less prevalent.
In this article, we dissect which attributes can
help us identify these biases. We close with cases
from the US Navy and a large telecommunica-
tions provider that highlight how they can manifest
throughout the capital planning processes.
The balancing act
Whether launching a new product, investing in equipment, or
weighing the
merits of an acquisition, corporate executives typically rely on
their capital
planning process to help shape these high-stakes decisions.
Shareholders,
creditors, and employees alike expect management to take this
obligation
86. seriously, and get it right consistently. Firms that excel in
capital planning can
be amply rewarded, but this is often easier said than done.
Capital bias
2
BIASES can arise throughout many areas of daily life. From
how we choose a retirement plan to picking out jams at the
grocery store,
we often make unconscious, suboptimal decisions.4
Capital planning decisions may be no different.
From the original Nobel Prize-winning work of
psychologists Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman
to more recent findings, more than 80 different
cognitive biases have been identified over the last
40 years.5 Of these, three common biases seem to
stand out as likely to wreak havoc on capital deci-
sion-making: the optimism bias, expert bias, and
narrow framing.6 Here’s an in-depth look at how
they typically work, and how organizations can
avoid succumbing to their influence.
The optimism bias: Fueled
by overconfidence and
uncertainty avoidance
Optimism, while not categorically bad, is often
closely tied to overconfidence. Known to minimi ze
uncertainty, overconfidence can lead to perilous
outcomes. In his book, Thinking, Fast and Slow,
87. Daniel Kahneman recounts a multiyear study in-
volving autopsy results. Physicians surveyed said
they were “completely certain” with their diagnosis
while the patient was alive, but autopsies contra-
dicted those diagnoses 40 percent of the time.7
Another long-term study asked chief financial of-
ficers (CFOs) to predict the performance of a stock
market index fund, along with their own company’s
prospects. When asked to give an 80 percent confi-
dence internal (that is, provide a range of possible
outcomes they are 80 percent certain results will
fall within), only 33 percent of the results actually
fell within their estimates—and most miscalculated
in an overly optimistic manner.8 Interestingly, the
same CFOs who misjudged the market, misjudged
the return on investment (ROI) of their own proj-
ects by a similar magnitude.9 Kahneman explains
that people defer to overconfident and optimistic
predictions due to our distaste for uncertainty. If
the CFOs provided a broader, vaguer estimate, they
may fear perceptions that they weren’t up to the
task. This, in turn, could lead to decision paralysis
(that is, the inability or unwillingness to make a de-
cision due to such broad estimates) or could make
them appear inept or unqualified to do the job.
Choreographing the
optimism bias, expert bias,
and narrow framing
Most people accept
that overconfidence
88. and optimism exist.
It is far more difficult,
however, to identify
these behaviors while
they are happening.
Reducing human error in capital decision-making
3
Most people accept that overconfidence and
optimism exist. It is far more difficult, however, to
identify these behaviors while they are happening.
Here are two methods to consider using to deter-
mine if excessive optimism is setting in within your
organization:
Take a survey of past performance. Like
the CFO study, compare past projections to real-
ity. If the estimates systematically proved more op-
timistic than reality, there may be evidence of ex-
cessive optimism. But make sure you avoid letting
hindsight dictate this analysis too much. In the case
of individual performance, for example, if a man-
ager did exceedingly well in the past, leaders should
not assume he or she will achieve the same level of
performance in the future. (We will cover this more
in our discussion on expert bias).
Focus on data, not just narratives, to
make decisions. When we have little information
to go on, it can be easier to manufacture a coherent,
overly positive story to fill in the blanks. But those
decisions rarely end up to be solid ones. In profes-
89. sional sports, many have cited “intangibles” as the
reason they picked a player to be on their team—
only to regret the decision shortly down the road
when the data suggests these intangible character-
istics aren’t leading to tangible victories. When data
is scarce or ambiguous, it can be easier for the mind
to form a more confident narrative based upon an-
ecdotal evidence. But stories shouldn’t be enough to
go on when making big decisions, such as multimil-
lion-dollar capital decisions.
The expert bias: What
happens when we rely
upon the “expert”?
Often, we are guiltiest of believing and act-
ing upon overly optimistic views when they derive
from “experts.” This could be your company’s lead
software engineer, the vice president of sales who
knows “what the customer really wants,” or even
the CEO. When we simply accept an expert’s opin-
ion or even our own, vs. seeking out additional in-
formation from a variety of sources, we fall victim
to the expert bias.
How bad can it get? In many cases, the experts
can prove to be no better at making predictions
than random chance would be. In his book, Ex-
pert Political Judgment, Philip Tetlock analyzed
more than 20 years of political pundits’ predictions
on a variety of policy and economic outcomes.10
When tracked (but not necessarily held account-
able), these experts performed about as well as they
would had they randomly guessed. Even more dis-
turbing, with greater fame usually comes greater
90. inaccuracy—a stark illustration of how people value
confidence over uncertainty.
One could argue that there is a big difference
between heeding the advice of a TV personality and
an analyst who is augmenting their predictions with
data. For the most part, we would likely agree, but
following even the best expert can also be danger-
ous.11 Just because someone was the most accurate
in the past does not mean we should only rely on his
or her opinions going forward.
Illustrating this point, one study asked MBA
students to predict six economic indicators by ei-
ther relying solely on the most accurate economist
based on past performance or an average of three to
six well-respected economists’ forecasts.12 While 80
percent of the students chose to rely on the single
How bad can it get? In
many cases, the experts
can prove to be no better
at making predictions
than random chance
would be.
Capital bias
4
top performer, the average estimates routinely per-
formed better. This showed that when making de-
cisions, relying on a number of informed opinions
can be better than chasing a top expert’s past per-
91. formance.
These studies, along with the conversation on
optimism suggest two things: First, a display of
confidence does not necessarily translate into better
results. Instead, it may signal a degree of ignorance
(or arrogance). Second, a good group of people
making a decision usually outweighs relying on the
“best” person to make the decision.
Narrow framing: Narrow
perspectives lead to
wide miscalculations
Another common, potentially perilous behav-
ior people often exhibit when making decisions is
engaging in narrow framing. Here, people isolate
problems, regardless of how broadly defined, into
smaller, individual decisions. So rather than aggre-
gating decisions into a portfolio of interdependent
choices, they tackle them individually. At face value,
this may sound intuitive. In practice, though, it can
lead to the mismanagement of risk and an isolated
view of problems.
Consider this hypothetical question from Tver-
sky and Kahneman:13
Which would you prefer?
(A) A guaranteed $240 reward or
(B) A 25 percent chance to win a $1,000
reward with a 75 percent chance to win $0.
In this case, more than 80 percent of respon-