Please find the attached PDF book and please make three PPT slides from Chapter 6 and 7.Attached PPT in that we need to work on PPT 6,7,8 PPT 6: Friedman to Schwab? Overview

Copyright © 2021 by Vivek Ramaswamy

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CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

INTRODUCTION The Woke-Industrial Complex

CHAPTER 1 The Goldman Rule CHAPTER 2 How I Became a Capitalist CHAPTER 3 What’s the Purpose of a Corporation? CHAPTER 4 The Rise of the Managerial Class CHAPTER 5 The ESG Bubble CHAPTER 6 An Arranged Marriage CHAPTER 7 Henchmen of the Woke-Industrial Complex CHAPTER 8 When Dictators Become Stakeholders CHAPTER 9 The Silicon Leviathan CHAPTER 10 Wokeness Is Like a Religion CHAPTER 11 Actually, Wokeness Is Literally a Religion CHAPTER 12 Critical Diversity Theory CHAPTER 13 Woke Consumerism and the Big Sort CHAPTER 14 The Bastardization of Service CHAPTER 15 Who Are We?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

DISCOVER MORE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

NOTES

TO MY SON KARTHIK, AND TO HIS GENERATION.

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INTRODUCTION

The Woke-Industrial Complex

MY NAME IS VIVEK RAMASWAMY, and I am a traitor to my class. I’m going to make some controversial claims in this book, so it’s important

you know a bit about me first. My parents immigrated from India forty years ago to southwest Ohio where I was born. They weren’t rich. I went to a racially diverse public school with kids who came from difficult backgrounds. After I got roughed up in eighth grade by another kid, my parents sent me to a Jesuit high school where I was the only Hindu student and graduated as valedictorian in 2003. I then went to Harvard to study molecular biology and finished near the top of my class. Rather than becoming an academic scientist, I joined a large hedge fund in 2007 and started investing in biotech. A few years later I became the youngest partner at the firm.

In 2010, I had an itch to study law, so I went to Yale while keeping my job at the fund. After law school, I started a biotech company called Roivant Sciences. My goal was to challenge big pharma’s bureaucracy with a new business model —which proved to be easier said than done. I started by developing a drug for Alzheimer’s disease that resulted in the largest biotech IPO in history at the time, though a few years later that drug failed spectacularly. Failure hurt, and I was chastened by it. Thankfully the company went on to develop important drugs for other diseases that helped patients in the end. I’ve also co-founded a few tech companies along the way, one that I sold in 2009 and another of which is fast- growing today, and now I’m philanthropically active in a number of nonprofit ventures. I know how the elite business world works—and elite academia and philanthropy too—because I’ve seen it firsthand.

I used to think corporate bureaucracy was bad because it’s inefficient. That’s true, but it’s not the biggest problem. Rather, there’s a new invisible force at

work in the highest ranks of corporate America, one far more nefarious. It’s the defining scam of our time—one that robs you of not only your money but your voice and your identity.

The con works like a magic trick, summed up well by Michael Caine’s character in the opening monologue in Christopher Nolan’s movie The Prestige:

Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. The first part is called The Pledge. The magician shows you something ordinary: a deck of cards, a bird or a man.… The second act is called The Turn. The magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. But you wouldn’t clap yet. Because making something disappear isn’t enough; you have to bring it back. That’s why every magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call The Prestige.1

Financial success in twenty-first-century America involves the same simple steps. First, the Pledge: you find an ordinary market where ordinary people sell ordinary things. The simpler, the better. Second, the Turn: you find an arbitrage in that market and squeeze the hell out of it. An arbitrage refers to the opportunity to buy something for one price and instantly sell it for a higher price to someone else.

If this were a book about how to get rich quick, I’d expound on these first two steps. But the point of this book is to expose the dirty little secret underlying the third step of corporate America’s act, its Prestige. Here’s how it works: pretend like you care about something other than profit and power, precisely to gain more of each.

All great magicians master the art of distraction—flashing lights, smoke, beautiful women on stage. Today’s captains of industry do it by promoting progressive social values. Their tactics are far more dangerous for America than those of the older robber barons: their do-good smoke screen expands not only their market power but their power over every other facet of our lives.

As a young twenty-first-century capitalist myself, the thing I was supposed to do was shut up and play along: wear hipster clothes, lead via practiced vulnerability, applaud diversity and inclusion, and muse on how to make the world a better place at conferences in fancy ski towns. Not a bad gig.

The most important part of the trick was to stay mum about it. Now I’m violating the code by pulling back the curtain and showing you what’s really

going on in corporate boardrooms across America. Why am I defecting? I’m fed up with corporate America’s game of

pretending to care about justice in order to make money. It is quietly wreaking havoc on American democracy. It demands that a small group of investors and CEOs determine what’s good for society rather than our democracy at large. This new trend has created a major cultural shift in America. It’s not just ruining companies. It’s polarizing our politics. It’s dividing our country to a breaking point. Worst of all, it’s concentrating the power to determine American values in the hands of a small group of capitalists rather than in the hands of the American citizenry at large, which is where the dialogue about social values belongs. That’s not America, but a distortion of it.

Wokeness has remade American capitalism in its own image. Talk of being “woke” has morphed into a kind of catchall term for progressive identity politics today. The phrase “stay woke” was used from time to time by black2 civil rights activists over the last few decades, but it really took off only recently, when black protestors made it a catchphrase in the Ferguson protests in response to a police officer fatally shooting Michael Brown.3

These days, white progressives have appropriated “stay woke” as a general- purpose term that refers to being aware of all identity-based injustices. So while “stay woke” started as a remark black people would say to remind each other to be alert to racism, it would now be perfectly normal for white coastal suburbanites to say it to remind each other to watch out for possible microaggressions against, say, transgender people—for example, accidentally calling someone by their pre-transition name. In woke terminology, that forbidden practice would be called “deadnaming,” and “microaggression” means a small offense that causes a lot of harm when done widely. If someone committed a microaggression against black transgender people, we enter the world of “intersectionality,” where identity politics is applied to someone who has intersecting minority identities and its rules get complicated. Being woke means waking up to these invisible power structures that govern the social universe.

Lost? You aren’t alone. Basically, being woke means obsessing about race, gender, and sexual orientation. Maybe climate change too. That’s the best definition I can give. Today more and more people are becoming woke, even though generations of civil rights leaders have taught us not to focus on race or gender. And now capitalism is trying to stay woke too.

Once corporations discovered wokeness, the inevitable happened: they used

it to make money. Consider Fearless Girl, a statue of a young girl that suddenly appeared one

day in New York City to stare down the iconic statue of the Wall Street bull. It was apparently a challenge for Wall Street to promote gender diversity: the placard at Fearless Girl’s feet said, “Know the power of women in leadership. SHE makes a difference.” Feminists cheered. The trick? “SHE” referred not only to Fearless Girl but to the Nasdaq-listed exchange-traded fund (ETF) that her commissioners, State Street Global Advisors, wanted people to buy. State Street was battling a lawsuit from female employees saying it paid them less than their male peers in the firm. Instead of paying women equally, State Street made a statue for them. Fearless Girl was a line item in an advertising budget.

But it’s not enough to spend money on a PR trick. No capitalist would applaud yet. You have to bring the money back. For its final act, its Prestige, State Street is suing the statue’s creator, Kristen Visbal, saying that by making three unauthorized reproductions of Fearless Girl Visbal damaged State Street’s global campaign in support of female leadership and gender diversity. A master class on the trick itself. Some feminists still adore Fearless Girl. I doubt many of them know about her ETF or the fees State Street charges on it. She now stands guard across from the New York Stock Exchange. Yes, SHE makes a difference —to the bottom line.

An essential part of corporate wokeness is this jujitsu-like move where big business has figured out that it can make money by critiquing itself. First, you start praising gender diversity. Next, you criticize Wall Street’s lack of it, even though you’re Wall Street. Finally, Wall Street somehow gets to be the leader in the fight against big corporations. It gets to become its own watchman and, even better, get paid to do it.

Sincere liberals get tricked into adulation by their love of woke causes. Conservatives are duped into submission as they fall back on slogans they memorized decades ago—something like “the market can do no wrong”—failing to recognize that the free market they had in mind doesn’t actually exist today. And poof! Both sides are blinded to the gradual rise of a twenty-first-century Leviathan far more powerful than what even Thomas Hobbes imagined almost four centuries ago.

This new woke-industrial Leviathan gains its power by dividing us as a people. When corporations tell us what social values we’re supposed to adopt, they take America as a whole and divide us into tribes. That makes it easier for them to make a buck, but it also coaxes us into adopting new identities based on

skin-deep characteristics and flimsy social causes that supplant our deeper shared identity as Americans.

Corporations win. Woke activists win. Celebrities win. Even the Chinese Communist Party finds a way to win (more on that later). But the losers of this game are the American people, our hollowed-out institutions, and American democracy itself. The subversion of America by this new form of capitalism isn’t just a bug; as they say in Silicon Valley, it’s a feature.

This is a book that exposes exactly how this disaster unfolded and tells us what we can do to stop it. I’m not a journalist reporting on my research findings. This is the stuff I’ve encountered firsthand over the last 15 years in academia and in business. I’ve seen how the game is played. Now I’m taking you behind the curtain to show you how it works.

In the early chapters of this book, I reveal how the woke-industrial complex fleeces you of your money. Later, I expose how big business, corrupt politicians at home, and autocratic dictators abroad collude to rob you of your voice and your vote in our democracy. Under the banner of “stakeholder capitalism,” CEOs and large investors work with ideological activists to implement radical agendas that they could never pass in Congress. Finally, I reveal how these actors consummate the most pernicious heist of all: they steal our shared American identity. Woke culture posits a new theory of who you are as a person, one that reduces you to the characteristics you inherit at birth and denies your status as a free agent in the world. And it deploys powerful corporations to propagate this new theory with the full force of modern capitalism behind it.

The antidote isn’t to fight wokeness directly. It can’t be, because that’s a losing battle. You’ll be canceled before you even stand a chance. The true solution is to gradually rebuild a vision for shared American identity that is so deep and so powerful that it dilutes wokeism to irrelevance, one that no longer leaves us susceptible to being divided by corporate elites for their own gain. The modern woke-industrial complex preys on our innermost insecurities about who we really are as individuals and as a people, by mixing morality with commercialism. That might make us better consumers in the short run, but it leaves us worse off as citizens in the end. Banning bad corporate behavior isn’t the ultimate answer. Rather, the answer is to do the hard work of rediscovering who we really are.

Earlier this year, writing this book forced me to rediscover who I was. On January 6, 2021, an angry mob of rioters stormed the US Capitol as

Congress convened to certify the results of the 2020 presidential election. It was

a disgrace, and it was a stain on our history. When I watched it, I was ashamed of our nation. It made me want to be a better American.

But I grew even more worried about what happened after the Capitol riot. In the ensuing days, Silicon Valley closed ranks to cancel the accounts of not only the people who participated in that riot but everyday conservatives across the country. Social media companies, payment processing companies, home rental companies, and many more acted in unison. It was a Soviet-style ideological purge, happening in plain sight, right here in America, except the censorship czar wasn’t big government. It wasn’t private enterprise either. Rather it was a new beast altogether, a frightening hybrid of the two.

As a citizen, I couldn’t stomach it. I argued in The Wall Street Journal, along with my former law professor, that companies like Twitter and Facebook are legally bound by the First Amendment and that they break the law when they engage in selective political censorship.4 That’s because Big Tech companies, unlike ordinary publishers, are the beneficiaries of a special federal law that protects them in certain ways but also obligates them to abide by the Constitution.

I couldn’t anticipate what followed. Two advisors to my company resigned immediately. “Please immediately remove my name from all internal and public materials reporting or implying an association with Roivant or any of its subsidiary and affiliated entities,” one of them wrote. “I am submitting my resignation, effective immediately,” another wrote to me. “I was raised to value social justice causes and efforts for the greater good above all others.” A third advisor texted me saying, “I am profoundly disappointed… your comments on right wing media have been deeply troubling.”

It wasn’t just my advisors. Close friends called me to say how disappointed they were. One of them pleaded with me on the phone: “My friends have made money by investing in your company. Don’t ruin it for them.” One of my former executives, her eyes filled with tears, said, “Vivek, I had such high hopes for you. What happened?” Many of my employees were upset too, even as some of them privately emailed me to say they agreed with me.

Yet there was a peculiarity about it too. Eight months earlier, my advisors and friends were impatient with me for a different reason. Following the tragic death of George Floyd at the hands of a police officer in the spring of 2020, they pressured me to do more to address systemic racism. They felt I hadn’t done enough to condemn it. Apparently, being a CEO required me to speak out about politics sometimes, yet other times it required me to stay silent.

As CEO, I needed to effectively run a business focused on developing medicines without getting intertwined in political matters. Yet as a citizen, I felt compelled to speak out about the perils of woke capitalism. I tried my best to avoid using my company as a platform to foist my views onto others. But eventually I had to admit that I couldn’t do justice to either while trying to do both at once.

So in the end I decided to practice what I preached. It wasn’t easy, but in January 2021, I stepped down as CEO of my own company, seven years after I founded it, and gave the job to the person who was most qualified to do it—our longtime CFO, whose political perspectives couldn’t be more different from my own. He’s liberal. He’s also brilliant. On the day I appointed him, I said that he would speak for the company going forward, and I meant it.

There was a certain irony to the decision that lingered with me. When left- leaning CEOs like Marc Benioff write books about their views on business and politics, it doesn’t hurt their companies at all. Rather, it seems to help them. But my situation was different. At the company townhall explaining my decision to step down, I said that it was important to separate my personal voice as a citizen from the voice of the company in order to protect the company. No one was confused.

I do think there’s a double standard at play in America, but ultimately I didn’t step aside because I feared a firestorm. I did it because my own beliefs told me I had to keep business and politics apart.

A good barometer for the health of any democracy is the percentage of people who are willing to say what they actually believe in public. As a nation, we’re doing pretty poorly on that metric right now, and the only way to fix it is to start talking openly again. I wasn’t free to do that as a CEO, but now I am as an ordinary citizen. I hope some of you will find what I have to say worthwhile.

CHAPTER 1

The Goldman Rule

IN ONE OF MY FAVORITE EPISODES of South Park, two sleazy salesmen try to sell shoddy vacation condos in the glitzy ski town of “Asspen” to the lower middle-class residents of South Park. Their sales pitch is simple: “Try saying it, ‘I’ve got a little place in Asspen.’ Rolls off the tongue nicely, doesn’t it?” Eventually, the residents open up their checkbooks.1

This is exactly what happened when recruiters from Goldman Sachs used to show up on Ivy League campuses in the early 2000s. You didn’t join Goldman as a summer intern for the $1,500-per week-paycheck, though that wasn’t bad. Or for the possibility of a $65,000-a-year full-time offer for a 100-plus-hour-a- week job. You did it for the privilege of saying: “I work at Goldman Sachs.” There was something intoxicating about working at the most elite financial institution in America. For analysts who worked for Goldman in its day, the rush you got from saying you worked there was the equivalent of how today’s graduates feel when they say they work for a “social impact fund” or a “cleantech startup in the Valley.”

In the spring of 2006, I was a 20-year-old junior at Harvard College, and I fell for the trick. I joined Goldman Sachs that summer as an intern.

By the end of June, I knew that I had made a terrible mistake. People walked around Goldman Sachs with polished black leather shoes, pressed shirts, and Hugo Boss ties. I was selected to work in the firm’s then-prestigious investment division, where the essence of the job wasn’t so different from what my boss at a hedge fund had explained to me the prior year: to turn a pile of money into an even bigger pile of money. Yet at Goldman, we carried out that mission in a more genteel way. The managing directors at Goldman—the bosses at the top of the food chain—wore cheap digital watches with black rubber wrist straps,

prominently juxtaposed against their expensive tailor-made dress shirts. It was an unspoken Goldman tradition.

One of the many vice presidents who worked in the cubicle diagonally across from mine would make a small scene every time he needed to use the restroom, dashing out and walking fast to and from his desk, just to show everyone how busy he was. I was the only one with a direct view of his computer screen; he was usually surfing different news sites on the web. Six weeks into the internship, I hadn’t learned a single thing—save for the polite suggestion from my superiors that I wear nicer shoes to the office.

The hallmark event at Goldman Sachs the summer I worked there wasn’t a poker tournament on a lavish boat cruise followed by a debauched night of clubbing, as it had been at the more edgy firm where I’d worked the prior summer. Rather, it was “service day”—a day that involved dressing up in a T- shirt and shorts and then dedicating time to serving the community. Back in 2006, that involved planting trees in a garden in Harlem. The co-head of the group at the time was supposed to lead the way.

I welcomed the prospect of a full day spent at a park away from Goldman’s cloistered offices. Yet when I showed up at the park in Harlem, very few of my colleagues seemed interested in… well, planting trees. The full-time analysts shared office gossip with the summer analysts. The vice presidents one-upped each other with war stories about investment deals. And, of course, the head of the group was nowhere to be found.

It was supposed to be an all-day activity, yet after an hour I noticed that very little service had actually been performed. As if on cue, the co-head of the group showed up an hour late—wearing a slim-fit suit and a pair of Gucci boots. The chatter among the rest of the team died down, as we awaited what he had to say.

“Alright, guys,” he said with a somber expression, as though he were going to discipline the team. A moment of tension hung in the air. And then he broke the ice: “Let’s take some pictures and get out of here!” The entire group burst into laughter. Within minutes we had vacated the premises. No trees had been planted. Within a half hour, the entire group was seated comfortably at a nearby bar that was well prepared for our arrival—pitchers of beer ready on the tables and all.

I turned to one of the younger associates sitting next to me at the bar. I remarked that if we wanted to have a “social day,” then we should’ve just called it that instead of “service day.”

He laughed and demurred: “Look, just do what the boss says.” Then he

quipped back: “You ever heard of the Golden Rule?” “Treat others like you want to be treated,” I replied. “Wrong,” he said. “He who has the gold makes the rules.” I called it “the Goldman Rule.” I learned something valuable that summer

after all.

NEARLY A DECADE and a half after I learned that whoever has the gold makes the rules, the Goldman Rule had only grown in importance. In January 2020, at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Goldman Sachs CEO David Solomon declared that Goldman would refuse to take companies public unless they had at least one “diverse” member on their board. Goldman didn’t specify who counted as “diverse,” other than to say that it had a “focus on women.” The bank just said that “this decision is rooted first and foremost in our conviction that companies with diverse leadership perform better” and that board diversity “reduces the risk of groupthink.”

Personally, I believe the best way to achieve diversity of thought on a corporate board is to simply screen board candidates for the diversity of their thoughts, not the diversity of their genetically inherited attributes. But that wasn’t what bothered me most about Goldman’s announcement. The bigger problem was that its edict wasn’t about diversity at all. It was about corporate opportunism: seizing an already popular social value and prominently emblazoning it with the Goldman Sachs logo. This was just its latest version of pretending to plant trees in Harlem.

The timing of Goldman’s announcement was telling. In the prior year, approximately half the open board seats at S&P 500 companies went to women. In July 2019, the last remaining all-male board in the S&P 500 appointed a woman. In other words, every single company in the S&P 500 was already abiding by Goldman’s diversity standard long before Goldman issued its proclamation. Goldman’s announcement was hardly a profile in courage; it was just an ideal way to attract praise without taking any real risk. Another great risk-adjusted return for Goldman Sachs.

Goldman’s timing was also impeccable in another way. Its diversity quota proclamation stole the headlines from a much less flattering event: Goldman had just agreed to pay $5 billion in fines to governments around the world for its role in a scheme stealing billions from the Malaysian people.2 In what has become

known as the 1MDB scandal, Goldman paid more than $1 billion in bribes to win work raising money for the 1Malaysia Development Berhad Fund, which was supposedly meant to fund public development projects. In actuality, Goldman turned a willfully blind eye as corrupt

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