The idea for this book derived from two plays that I wrote for the BBC about Enron; had it not been for the commissioning courage of Jeremy Howe, Clare McGinn, and Sara Davies, I would never have found myself submerged in the transcript of Ken Lay’s trial. Encountering the legal doctrine of willful blindness felt like introducing a magnet to a mess of iron filings. Without Fiona Wilson, I would not have had access to that transcript; and without a timely conversation with Joelle Delbourgo, my ensuing thoughts might have gone nowhere.
One of the glories of American academic life is the openness and enthusiasm with which scholars generously share their work and insights with curious investigators. I am immensely grateful to Albert Bandura, Robert Burton, Joel Cooper, John Darley, and Daniel Simons, who gave their time generously and were always prepared to engage with my questions and challenges. If their work is imperfectly articulated, that is my fault, not theirs.
I’d also like to thank Beth Edwards for guiding me through the legal nuances of willful blindness and the attorneys Brent Coon and Eric Newell for sharing with me their years of insight into the workings of BP. They will, alas, be at work for many years to come.
I would also like to thank the people of Libby, Montana, who were open, hospitable, and generous. Their character is more impressive even than the stunning surroundings in which they live.
I also owe a great deal to Peggy Northrop, Karen Steen, Donna Banks, and Nancy Coveney, all wonderful editors whose encouragement and obsessive fact-checking has made me a more fastidious writer.
In the United Kingdom, I am especially grateful to the London Library and the library at the University of Bath without whose resources I would have been blind indeed. I’ve also been grateful for stimulating and provocative colleagues, especially Glynis Breakwell, Ajit Nayak, Michael Meyer, Sarah Dixon, and Svenja Tams. I’m indebted to Ian Stockley for his insights into the world of digital direct marketing and its relationship to big ideas. I would also like to thank Don Honeyman and Gitta Sereny for being prepared to share their memories of Albert Speer after all these years.
In tracking down a strange array of experts, fraudsters, and Cassandras, Isobel Eaton was fearless and determined, regardless of time zone. While crossing the United States in what sometimes felt like a tour of industrial disasters, I was hugely encouraged and energized by the hospitality, generosity, and kindness of Paul Muldoon, Jean Hanff Korelitz, Rob and Fiona Wilson, Tatiana Lanning, Cindy Solomon, David and Denise Nicholson, and Beth Weiner and Chuck Finkle. They provided sustenance in more ways than one and stopped my own blind spots from being bigger and more numerous.
I’m indebted to George Gibson and Jacqueline Johnson for their wonderful mixture of patience, punctiliousness, and enthusiasm; it’s a tremendous privilege to have such quality collaborators who truly care.
If at times writing this book made me willfully blind to the needs and wants of my two children, Felix and Leonora Nicholson, I hope it’s also left me more appreciative of their stamina and self-sufficiency. More impressive still has been the patience and forbearance of my husband, Lindsay Nicholson. He put up with my gross intrusions into the world of neuroscience, constantly spotted more examples of willful blindness, and demonstrated yet again his tremendous capacity for the perfect probing question. My trip into the land of willful blindness was a long one and it’s good to be home.
Finally I’d like to pay tribute to my sister, Pamela Stewart, who has seen willful blindness and its costs at close quarters. Her determination to articulate difficult truths has been a model and an inspiration since childhood.