Revisionist History - Revenge of "A Good Walk Spoiled"

Episode Date: July 7, 2026

Ten years ago, Malcolm inveighed against the exclusive country clubs of Los Angeles in an episode of Revisionist History called "A Good Walk Spoiled." This November, thanks to a Los Angeles City Council member who heard the episode, Los Angeles voters will have the opportunity to take up Malcolm's cause. Today, Malcolm revisits "A Good Walk Spoiled," and speaks with Councilmember Adrin Nazarian about his proposed ballot measure. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Wherever you're headed, Desjardin is here to assist, helping you with investment, insurance, banking, and business services. Dejardin, proud partner of the Amazing Race Canada. Watch Tuesdays at 9 on CTV. Stream next day on Crape. Pushkin. Every writer lives in fear of one thing, that what they say won't matter.

You toil away in obscurity, you scrub your pros until it's shiny and perfect. You put your work out for the world to see, and in the back of your mind is always a thought that all that effort will sink quietly into the sea like a corpse witted down with concrete shoes. Have I had this fear? Oh yes. Worse, I've seen it happen to me again and again.

It was a time in my life when I was obsessed with the relative age effect, wrote about it, did episodes about it on this very podcast. You look at a room full of third graders or fifth graders and you say, Tommy is a poor student, Alice is a good one. But what if Alice was a good one? was born in January and Tommy was born in December, and what looks like superior ability on Alice's part is actually just the fact that she's a year older than Tommy.

And a year's extra maturity at the age of eight is a really, really big deal. I made this argument until I was hoarse. And what did I want? I wanted elementary and middle schools to divide up their students by birth month. So the oldest kids would be in one class, and those born in the middle months would be in another class, and the youngest kids would be in a class by themselves, and the playing field could be leveled.

Did any school superintendent ever call me up and say, I love your idea. I've reorganized my kids by birth month. No, never. My own daughter is going to kindergarten this fall, and some part of me wanted to ask her principal, can she be in a class with all the other kids born at the same time as her? But I didn't.

You know why? Because I'm demoralized. because this fixation of mine, this beautiful, radical, provocative idea that I put out into the world sank quietly into the sea like a weighted corpse. I had all but given up until, like an angel descending from heaven, came Audra Nisarion. Los Angeles City Council member and revisionist history listener. Thank you for doing this. Thank you for inviting me.

No, no. So I was delighted to hear that you are the author, the instigator of a proposal to be put before the voters of Los Angeles. Well, you were the instigate. I was the instigator. Well, I was the provocateur. I just raise issues. Others have to make them actually happen. So can you tell me this story?

How did you, did you, how did you, how do you, how do you? did you come across my podcast? So one of my staff members brought this to my attention and said, you got to hear this. Counsel member, you got to hear this. And did he hear this?

Oh, yes, he did. My name is Malcolm Gladwell. You're listening to Revisionist History, my podcast about things overlooked and misunderstood. Later this week, we're going to be dropping the first of our epic five-episode blockbuster, The Staten Island Problem.

But before we do, as a little amuse-bush, we're going to revisit one of my all-time favorite episodes in the Revisionist History Canon from 10 years ago, a good walk spoiled. I'm going to play it for you now in case you need a little refresher. And then I'm going to come back at the end and tell you how, finally, a decade into Revisionous History, somebody listened. I have a friend who lives in Brentwood, on the west side of Los Angeles, between Beverly Hills and Santa Monica. He is a little poolhouse in his backyard, and I stay there whenever I come to L.A., kind of like Cato Caelin, if your memory for O.J. Simpson, esoterica goes back that far. Anyway, my friend's street dead ends on San Vicente Boulevard, one of the central east-west corridors in L.A. And on the other side of San Vicente is this absolutely gorgeous golf course, one of the many private country clubs that L.A. is famous for.

If you drive down Wilshire Boulevard into Beverly Hills, 10 minutes east of Brentwood, you go right past Los Angeles Country Club, which costs maybe a quarter of a million dollars just to join. That is, if they'll even consider your application. There's Bel Air Country Club just north of UCLA, which might be the most beautiful golf course in the country. Hillcrest off Pico, Wilshire Country Club in Hancock Park, I could go on. They're everywhere. Vast, gorgeous, and private. The one near my friend's house is called Brentwood Country Club, and it has a tall chain-link fence around it,

which goes almost all the way out to the street, leaving just this narrow, rocky dirt track. There's no sidewalk. And since there aren't a lot of places to run in Los Angeles, tons of people run around the Brentwood Country Club on that narrow dirt track. And there's one thing that always bothers me every time I run that route. Why do all the runners of West Los Angeles have to squeeze into this narrow, rocky little track when there's a huge, magnificent park just on the other side of the fence?

My name is Malcolm Gladwell, and you're listening to Revisionist History, my podcast about things overlooked and misunderstood. This episode is about the problem with golf. I hate golf. and hopefully by the end of this, you'll hate golf too. I'm standing here with Dai, Dai Zoc, who is a very successful landscape architect, Santa Monica, and we're on the corner of San Vicente and Burlingame, and we're looking into the Brentwood Country Club,

and the first thing I see is barbed wire. Looks like a couple of layers of barbed wire. This looks like a, it looks like the Berlin Wall. I don't think they want us to get in there. What are we seeing? Let's move a little closer here. What's that stand of trees? Do you know what those are?

That looks like silk oaks in the foreground. And then I see a sadres deodora, quite lovely. Lots of larger trees, which are unusual in Los Angeles, because there's so little open space. Yeah. There's some pinus canaryenses. Looks like a redwood in there. I don't think Dizak has ever played a round of golf in her life.

That's exactly why I wanted her opinion. I wanted someone objective to tell me what it would take to turn this place into a park. Well, first of all, I would get rid of the two layers of firebed wire. The whole Eastern European field, Eastern German feel, would have to be corrected. I mean, that might be some people's bag, but it's not very welcoming. Yeah. The typical golf course is 200 acres, give or take. That's a lot of land.

You have to landscape it, mow it, drench it in pesticides, keep the sand traps perfect. I read somewhere that when a fancy golf course rebuilds its bunkers, it typically takes about 389 truckloads of sand. 389, just to keep everything nice and white and fluffy. But at the same time, because golf involves launching a potentially lethal projectile at great speeds across enormous distances, You have to severely limit the number of people on the course at any one time.

Typically, a good private course can handle no more than 72 golfers at once. So that's one golfer per 120,833 square feet. Can you imagine if basketball had the same population density as golf? I did the math. If basketball was played according to the geographical requirements of golf, a basketball court would be 30 acres. Picture that, that had to play on motorcycle. Okay, another fact about golf.

Rich people really, really like it. They're obsessed with it in a way that there just isn't any parallel for ordinary people. Because serious golfers are super anal about their scores, we can actually quantify their obsession. In order to calculate their handicap, basically how well they're playing relative to other people at the country club, they all post their results on a database maintained by the United States Golf Association. So we have a record, and it's a gold mine. To be able to calculate your handicap and track it through time, you will log into the system either at your course or on your home computer.

I'm talking to an economist at Miami University named Lee Biggerstaff. He's interested in the habits of top corporate executives. If you have the corner office and a multi-million dollar stock option and a Gulfstream 5, does that make you more or less likely to put in a hard day's work? The USGA database is of serious professional interest to a guy like Bigger Staff. And you input where you played and what day you played on and what your score was. And, you know, after a certain number of rounds being played, the USGA will indicate what your handicap is, your level of skill, which allows you to compete against other golfers of different skill level and kind of normalize against that. You know how you always hear that CEOs play a lot of golf?

Bigger staff's insight is that the USGA database allows us to know exactly how much they play. All you need to do is cross-reference that list of scores with a list of the CEOs of America's largest companies. So that's what he does. It takes forever, by the way. It started while I was a PhD student, and so this certainly was a multi-month process. So it's not something that I necessarily want to repeat in the near term, just because it took a lot of collection time there. How can you not love this?

Surely this is why God invented graduate students. Bigger staff begins with the names of the heads of the top 1,500 publicly held companies in the U.S. 363 of those 1,500 turn out to be so obsessed with golf that they enter their scores into the USGA database. What you're seeing on average is, I think 15 rounds a year, is kind of the average CEO is playing that amount of golf, but it's a heavily skewed distribution, right? So we have a lot of people that are playing very little golf, and then we have a tail where we're picking it up, you know, the top quartile of what we're looking at, which is 22 or more rounds per year.

And if you go to the top 10% of bigger staff sample, the CEOs are playing around at least 37 times a year. A round of golf is a good four, four and a half hours. So if you play 37 times a year, that's more than 160 hours on the course, the equivalent of five and a half weeks of work. By the way, these are understatements. They don't include the time spent driving into the course, warming up, getting changed, having a drink. Doesn't include the hours spent practicing shots on the putting green or the driving range, or all the rounds you play that you don't enter into the database, like if you're only playing nine holes or playing a fun round.

So the real time is probably way higher. Bigger staff then goes on to show that the more golf a CEO plays, the worse his firm does. And also that the more golf a CEO plays, the more likely he is to be fired. In other words, this isn't a harmless habit. It's a dangerous habit. Remember the Wall Street Investment Bank, Bear Stearns? They went bankrupt during the mortgage crisis.

In July of 2007, right when the crisis was beginning, the CEO of Bear Stearns would often helicopter out from Wall Street on Friday afternoons to his exclusive course in New Jersey to get a round in before sunset. Even when his company was collapsing, he couldn't stop playing golf. Out of President Donald Trump's first four months in office, he visited his own golf courses 25 times. One week, he played three times. You would think he would be at the office learning how to be president, reading intelligence briefings, trading the swamp. No, he's golfing.

It's an addiction, right? Because the definition of an addiction is a self-destructive habit. Just think if I said to you that an important employee of a major organization made lifestyle choices that caused him to miss an art. amounts of work, harm his performance, and put his own career in jeopardy. You would say, whoa, check that guy into rehab. That's golf. Crack cocaine for rich white guys. The highest in the sample, 146 or 148 rounds recorded in a single year,

which, I mean, at that point, that's a tremendous amount of time spent on the golf course. You thought I was engaging in hyperbole, didn't you? That I was using the word addiction metaphorically. 148 rounds a year is a round of golf every three days. And that would be if it was kind of uniformly distributed across the year. Golf certainly has a season where it's a little bit more intense in terms of the summer versus the winter. You can't tell me what company it is. I want to know what company it is.

Yeah, with this data, given it's somewhat sensitive, we're unwilling to name out CEOs. I can't believe you won't tell me. I mean, here we have an activity that is incredibly expensive that is organized in just about the most extravagant manner possible. And at the same time, this expensive habit is incredibly addictive to the point that there's a chief executive out there of a major American corporation who plays an average of 148 rounds of golf a year

and is so completely unself-conscious about that fact that he posts all 148 rounds on a public deal. database where it can be analyzed by graduate students. So what happens to rich white guys with a dangerous, costly obsession? Do they burn through their life savings paying for their addiction like ordinary addicts do? Please, give them a little more respect. By the way, this is my 15th year in television. Imagine that. 15 years of me. It's the longest stomach test in the history of show video. You could argue, I would say, in the 40s and 50s, there was no one who was more widely popular in America than Bob Hope.

I'm talking to Richard Zoglin, Bob Hope's biographer. I think Bob Hope has been a little forgotten in recent years, but in his day, he was huge. Every late-night comedian who does a stand-up monologue at the beginning of the show owes a debt to Bob Hope because he kind of invented that thing, a stand-up comedy monologue that sort of took note of what was going on in the world, what was going on in Hollywood, what was going on everywhere. And he was just the voice of,

America, I think, for a long time. Bob Hope is a crucial part of the story of golf in America. Although, I'm warning you, things are going to get a little complicated, which is sort of the point, because you don't get to run the world for as long as rich white guys have without being pretty wily. And some of their best and wiliest work has been on the golf course. So there's a principle in property tax law called highest and best use, which is that one of the ways you figure out how much to tax a piece of property is to estimate what its best use might be.

For example, if I have a one-acre plot in the fanciest part of Manhattan that I use to grow vegetables, I can't say to the city, that land is worthless. It's just a vegetable garden. No, the city's going to say, we're going to value that one acre

and tax it as if it had an apartment block on it, because that's the best use of land in the fancy parts of Manhattan. Now, if you've got a vast golf course in the middle of Beverly Hills or Brentwood, highest and best use makes you really nervous. Because plainly, the highest and best use of land in the middle of one of the most expensive

and densely populated cities in the world is not a private golf course. So years ago, in 1960, California's country clubs realize they have to act or they're going to get taxed into oblivion. They get together and they propose an amendment to the state constitution that permanently exempts them

from the highest and best use standard. They want their very very best use standard. They want their vegetable garden to be taxed as a vegetable garden. If you think about it, this is seriously audacious. Private golf courses are these massive, opulent, gated playgrounds, and membership is often restricted. In Los Angeles, in 1960, a lot of these clubs didn't let in Jews. They certainly didn't let in black people, except to work in the kitchen.

Yet they wanted a constitutional exemption to ordinary property taxes, like they were some kind of public amending. How can they argue this? They don't. Not really. They just bring in Bob Hope, who in addition to being the most popular entertainer in America is also an obsessive golfer, obsessive. I might as well level with you. I spent so much time in sand traps.

They sent me citizenship papers from Saudi Arabia. Oh, see here. I love to hear the whole thrilling story. Bob Hope once wrote an entire book just devoted to his golf game called Confessions of a Hooker, in which he estimates that he had put up a book. estimates that he had played on 2,000 different golf courses over the course of his life. He belonged to the lakeside country club in L.A. near where he lived to look like. Which is one of the prestigious.

Yes. To the stay, isn't it? I think so, yeah. The genius of picking Bob Hope is the face of California's country clubs is that his whole persona, his whole act, was about being every man. He's self-deprecating. Half his jokes are about how he's not part of the in-group, even though, of course, there's no one more in than Bob Hope.

Isn't this wonderful, though, being here in California, I just love it. Look at that sky. It's the only place in the world where you can get four seasons in one day. I want to tell you that. This is divine. We better hurry. It'll be snowing before the third hole, you know. Let's move on, old boy.

So how did the Bob Hope for Golf Campaign do in 1960? It wins. The proposition passes and is added to Article 13 of the California Constitution where it remains to this day. In order to win a set of privileges for the very wealthy, in other words, California's country clubs turn to a man who symbolizes the common man. I mean, when does it ever happen

that a TV celebrity wins a sweetheart deal for his rich golf buddies by posing as a friend of the common man? If you get my drift. Wherever you're headed, Desjardin is here to assist, helping you with investment, insurance, banking, and business services. Jardin, proud partner of the amazing

Race Canada. Watch Tuesdays at 9 on CTV. Stream next day on Crape. Take me back just to I totally understand Prop 13. Prop 13 has passed in 1978. And what are the principal stipulations of the proposition? I'm in a big conference room in the Los Angeles

County Municipal Building. One of those beautiful 1930s office buildings that are all over downtown Los Angeles. There are four people on the other side of the table. They're from the LA County Tax Assessor's Office. I'm on my quest to figure out why Brentwood Country Club isn't just a big park

that I can go running through. And I've decided to start with the people who run the tax system. These are serious folks. Deliberate, thoughtful. They have promised to help me. You'll have to guess what they really think. The tax rate is set as 1% of the value,

as opposed to a variable rate, which it was before. The man speaking is Brian Donnelly. He's talking about the most famous amendment to the California Constitution, Proposition 13. The properties only get reassessed with when there's a transfer or a change of ownership, or there's new construction. Those are the primary parts of it. Here's what he's saying. If you own a house, every one or two years typically, the value of your property is reassessed by the city or county where you live.

So if your house doubles in value, the local government will raise your town. accordingly. That's the way property taxes work, except in California. Proposition 13 said that for tax purposes, the value of any piece of property in California is frozen at pre-1978 levels. And the only way that property can be reassessed at its real current value is if the property is sold, or to be more specific, if ownership of more than 50% of the property changes hands. In other words, California has two kinds of taxpayers. The post-1978 people who pay normal property taxes and the people lucky and old enough

to be living in the same house they owned in 1978 who pay a tiny fraction of their fair share. You know, I've got family members who've owned their house since 1969, and they're paying, I think their taxable value is about $90,000 or something like that. The houses in that neighborhood sell for $600. So they're paying. a lot less. It's the Prop 13 conundrum, which I'm sure you've read about.

Please understand, this system is insane. Totally crazy. I mean, just think of all the reasons why someone might deserve a big tax break. I mean, they're sick, they're poor, they have tons of young kids, they've made a big investment in their business. The state of California says, no, we think the most deserving group are people whose property hasn't changed hands in 40 years. Okay. Now imagine that you're a private golf club. You did that spectacular bit of jiu-jitsu with Bob Hope in 1960, which means that you don't pay real property taxes.

Gift from God, number one. Then comes Proposition 13, and you get a second gift from God. Because Proposition 13 says that those already artificially low property taxes are now frozen forever at 1978 levels, so long as your country club does not change hands. And that last part is crucial, because if you have a change in ownership, then you have to pay real property tax like every other long-suffering California taxpayer who hasn't been in one place since 1978. So the country clubs of Los Angeles all hang by a thread. They continue to exist only so long as the tax system perceives that they have not changed hands.

And for years, everyone assumes they haven't changed hands. I mean, Brentwood, L.A. Country Club, Wilshire, all the major golf clubs were all founded before 1978. But then, a neighborhood newspaper called the Los Angeles Garment and Citizen, runs an article, January 16, 2010, in which they say, wait a minute. Most private country clubs in Los Angeles have what's called equity ownership. they're owned by their members.

When you admitted you get a share, when you die or quit, someone else takes your share. So over time, if enough members die or quit, isn't that a change in ownership? That question was put to Rick Auerbach, who was then the head of tax assessment for L.A. County.

I think the quote was kind of funny for me. He said something about, let's see, on most issues, we have heard at least the question asked before. He said, who'd worked in the office 39 years, but this was a new one. Ourback refers the question to the city's lawyers. They put their best and brightest legal minds on it for six months. And on June 2nd, 2010, the county's tax court issues a solemn four-page ruling.

They conclude, no, country clubs haven't changed hands. If you're keeping track, that's the third straight-up gift from God that LA's private country clubs have gotten in the last 50 years. I was talking to someone who's a member of Belar Country Club. And I said, what percentage of the members of Bel Air today were members in 78? And he said, you know, 10%. So why isn't that a change of ownership? Right.

I haven't had a chance to dig through this a whole lot since I got it out of the file the other day. But they kind of get into it. They're saying if there's no one event that is more than 50% of a transfer, then it's not each of those little individual slices are not a change of ownership on their own. Did you find that argument plausible? Well, it's proper to be. Yeah, that's, that's, we are implementers of the law. You don't have opinions.

No. Well, I could swear, as I looked across the table at Donnelly and his cohorts, that they were twitching, like they desperately wanted to say something, but had to bite their tongue. You know what it's like? You know that famous paradox? I forgot with the ship. where you, the question is, if you change,

if you have a ship and you change, it's like some ancient Greek thing, and you change one board at a time, is at the end of the day, is the ship different? Oh, yeah. That's what this is. The thing I can't remember is a ship of Theseus, the famous thought experiment

described by the Greek philosopher Plutarch roughly 2,000 years ago. Plutarch says, imagine Theseus is sailing on a ship, and one by one, he replaces every one of the original planks that make up that ship with a new plank until every single piece of the ship

is new. The question is, when Theseus reaches shore, is he sailing on the same ship as he was when he left, or a new ship? One view says, it's a new ship. This is called the myriological theory of identity. The identity of something is the sum

of its component parts. Change the parts, you change the thing. On the other side of the argument is something called spatiotemporal continuity theory. which says that an object can maintain its identity so long as the change is gradual and the form or shape of the object is preserved to the changes of its component materials.

I think you can see where I'm going with this. The city's lawyers take the second view. So long as a country club replaces its rich white guys gradually and so long as each new rich white guy preserves the form and shape of the rich white guy he is replacing, then the private golf clubs of today must have the same existential status as the private golf courses of 1978. Collections of rich white guys from the standpoint of the L.A. County property tax system possess spatio temporal continuity.

At this point, I realized I was in way over my head. Tax assessors were not going to be enough. I needed an actual philosopher. So I called Mark Cohen of the University of Washington to get, get to the bottom of the question of whether large groups of rich white people possess ontological permanence. Here's an argument that favors the spatiotemporal continuity theory, the idea that what makes the ship persist through time as one and the same is that it moves smoothly through

space-time. One plank is removed and thrown overboard and a replacement plank is installed taken from the cargo the ship has on board. So when it arrives, it doesn't have a single part that is identical to any of the parts it started out with. And so there's no point at which you can say, aha, now we have a new ship, a different, a numerically different ship. So if you have that sort of argument in mind, you think, okay, the spatio-temporal continuity criterion is the correct one. Forget about requiring that all the parts are the same. But Cohen is not finished.

As a philosopher, his job is to consider all. the scenarios raised by the ship of Theseus conundrum, like the museum counter-example. The museum example goes like this. Suppose the ship is in a museum of ancient ships, and a gang of crooks is trying to steal this ancient ship, and it realizes it can't just haul it out in one piece. They would easily be spotted, so they come up with a clever scheme. They sneak in every night and steal the ship one board of the time, one plank a day, so the museum doesn't realize what's going on. By the time they're finished on day number N, they have all N parts of the ship removed.

Now they reassemble them and put it on the black market. They're selling Theseus' ancient ship for a pretty price, and they've left a replica behind in the museum. I contend that in this case, when you describe it in this way, it seems as if Theseus' ship has been stolen piecemeal from the museum. Cohen's point is that there's no simple answer to the ship of Theseus problem. You can go around and around and around. That's why it's a puzzle.

But do you see what the lawyers at the L.A. Board of Equalization did? They just waltz into a philosophical conundrum that has bedeviled some of the best minds in the world for 2,000 years and declare victory and say, oh, it's definitely option one, spatiotemporal continuity. The problem as it stands is irresolvable, and you only come to a conclusion that makes any sense to you if you place it in a context in which there is something sort of extra metaphysical, something pragmatic that tilts you in one direction or the other. So what's the pragmatic extra metaphysical consideration here? It's that Los Angeles ranks near the bottom of all major. metropolitan areas in the United States in terms of public parks. There's Griffith Park, off in the northeastern corner of the city, which only a fraction of the city can even get to,

and then there's basically nothing, except these massive golf courses, which are both closed to the general public and subsidized by the general public. Do you want to know the size of that subsidy? I asked around. A guy I know knows a guy who's a member of the LA Country Club. That guy's back of the envelope calculation was that the club's land was worth about $6 billion. But that was a couple years ago. Then I heard from another guy who said that they now think it's worth $9 billion. Nine billion. Under normal circumstances, the property taxes on that much land would come to about $90 million a year. Do you know what L.A. Country Club actually paid after you add up the Bob Hope exemption and a spatio temporal continuity ruling? $200,000. Give it to $100,000. Give it

take. All right, let's do the math together. They should be paying 90 million. In fact, they're only paying $200,000 in property taxes. 90 million minus $200,000 is $89,800,000. That's how much the taxpayers of Los Angeles subsidize one of the swankiest country clubs in the world every year. Well, I want to bring up something else that comes to mind here, which is that The spatial temporal argument taken out of philosophical context strikes me as being, can sometimes be really troubling. For example, it's a very, I mean, I think there's something fundamentally intuitive about it. And I don't mean that necessarily in a good way. That it, you know, that we get the fact that we call the Hudson River the Hudson River, even though the Hudson River is at every second.

changing. It's like, you know, the water's not the same. Boats go down it, you know, it's never, it never looks the same way twice ever, but we continue to call it the Hudson River. But it strikes me that in a political context, this kind of thinking can be used to perpetuate inequality and injustice. Interesting. For example, what is the, what is an aristocracy, but a political formulation of the spatial temporal continuity principle, right? It is something like that. And it's troubling it precisely that way

because they're saying circumstances can change and the holders of the privilege can change. The father can die and the son can inherit the peerage. But the peerage remains intact. It has this quality that's independent of all that's going around it. And that's... Yes. Where the identity of the object

confers, for example, a right or a title, and if it's considered to be held intact and in full by whoever holds it at any one time, then basically that removes change altogether from the realm of what matters as far as ownership is concerned. Yes. So the 17th great-grandson of the peer still has all of the rights and privileges, even though so far removed. from the rights and privileges as they attach to the original holder of them. So there is something that is unfair and anti-egalitarian about the way this principle can get applied. So the golf clubs of Los Angeles are essentially aristocratic institutions.

Exactly. I think someone needs to tell Brentwood an L.A. Country Club, and all the others, that if they want to hold spatio-temporal continuity privileges, they have to give something back. Take down your barbed wire. Your members can play golf on weekdays, but evenings and weekends belong to the ordinary taxpayers of Los Angeles. Let them come and enjoy the greens and fairways that they've been subsidizing for generations.

It's worth remembering, by the way, that the most famous golf course in the world, the home of golf, St. Andrews in Scotland, is open to the general public on Sundays. In Toronto, the fanciest golf club is Rosdale Country Club, right in the middle of the city. But the golf course is only private in the summer. The rest of the time, it's open to anyone who wants to go for a walk,

or play Frisbee, or go cross-country skiing. Canada and the United Kingdom, I would point out, are governed by a queen. They have an actual aristocracy. But somehow they've figured out a way to have their fancy golf courses be democratic. It's only on the corner of San Vicente and Burlingame

that golf remains an instrument of medieval privilege. I mean, when you fly over L.A., the green space that you see is cemeteries and golf courses. And golf courses. You don't see parks. We don't have a park like, say, San Francisco's Golden Gate Park or New York's Central Park. Central Park.

Dysak and I are standing outside the barbed wire of Brentwood Country Club, peering through a fence. We're trying to spot one of the privileged few permitted a walk in the park on the west side of L.A. I see one guy. I see one. That's unbelievable. It's a Saturday afternoon. Sun is now coming out. Yep. Like, wait now we're standing on the running track, and there's someone running up right now. There are more people on this narrow dirt track than there are typically on the golf course.

Let's see if we can still see any kind of. of, I'm still looking for a golfer. I'm not, oh, I see one. You see one? Yeah. Oh, that's very exciting. Yeah.

Next time, I'm climbing the fence. Maybe we all should. That episode dropped on June 15th, 2017. Ten years later, almost to the month, one of Audrae Nizarian's staffers comes to him and says, you should listen. So he does.

When we come back, all hell breaks loose. Wherever you're headed, Dejardin is here to assist, helping you with investment, insurance, banking, and business services. Dejardin, proud partner of the amazing race Canada. Watch Tuesdays at 9 on CTV. Stream next day on Crape. Audra Nisarian, it turns out, had for a long time asked himself the same question I asked myself whenever I went to Los Angeles, which is, how on earth do the these massive golf courses on some of the most expensive land in the world, afford their property taxes. And after listening to that episode from 2017, he finally had his answer. Because basically,

they don't pay property taxes. The six major L.A. country clubs sit on land worth conservatively $15 billion. You know how much they pay in property taxes in a typical year? Less than a million And thus enlightened, he decided to act and introduce a ballot proposition. So tell me what does your proposal, tell me exactly what your proposal says, how you would like to address this problem. The proposal was meant to be a conversation starter to force this issue. So what my team came up with was to look at maybe a $4 proposal. per square foot parcel tax, which does not contradict the state's Prop 13 requirement.

It's a local city-based parcel tax. And the goal of the $4 per square foot was to make it almost commensurate to what a 1% property tax valuation for best and highest use would have produced. So back of the envelope calculation, what would a club like LA Country Club be paying every year under your proposal? It depends. Oh, if it was at $4, I don't even know if they would be able to pay. They would shut down. Yeah, yeah. Let's do the math. The Los Angeles Country Club, the LACC, as it's called, the fanciest and most exclusive of all Los Angeles country clubs, occupies roughly 300. and 25 acres. That's just over 14 million square feet. A $4 a square foot tax comes to roughly $55 million a year in property taxes. Right now, membership dues for the LACC total somewhere around

$20 million a year. Under the Nazarian ballot proposal, they'd have to triple their fees just to pay their property taxes. Now, technically, could all the millionaires and billionaires who belong to the LA Country Club afford that? Sure. But everything we know about very rich people is that they don't like to pay market rates for things they've previously got for free. For the well-heeled golfers of Beverly Hills, then, this is existential. In May, Nazarian put his proposal on the ballot for November. Let the voters of Los Angeles decide. Did you have a, you must have done polling. We did do polling because we wanted to not just make assumptions and understand that we actually have something that the public

would feel strongly about. And in our initial polling from a reputable pollster, we saw a 64% approval rating. So it's pretty strong. Oh, you, so these guys had a reason to be scared. Again, these are all folks that are part of the fabric of the city. So they understand. that something like this would be seen as a populist issue and would garner quite a bit of support.

Do you understand that? The country clubs freaked out. Someone, I'm not going to say who, who is a member of the LACC, forwarded me an email sent to him by the club's board of directors. Here's what it said. We want you to know that we are taking this matter very seriously. We are confident that we have the right people,

with a right experience engaged to address this issue on our collective behalf. While we won't get into specific details of our approach in a broadly distributed communication, please be assured that we are actively and thoughtfully engaged. In case you're wondering, these are all rich people euphemisms for, we're going to the mattresses on this one. An entire busload of white shoe lawyers just pulled up downstairs. We've locked the gates. We've stocked up on enough. Wagyu beef and 40-year single month to fortify us until November.

But then, the email continues. In the meantime, if you have particular expertise, insight, or relationships that you believe may be relevant to this situation, we encourage you to reach out to our general manager. Which is rich people, euphemism for. We're totally panicking right now. We wish we'd said yes to that membership application, 20 years ago, from Donald Trump. So the clubs get together.

Tell Nazarian, they want to negotiate. He puts the ballot measure on hold. But then the second fanciest club in the city, Bel Air Country Club, says no, we're going to fight. I have to confess that I didn't know there was such a thing as the Society of Golf historians, but there is, and they wait in. What the city of Los Angeles seems to overlook

is that the preservation of these clubs should be viewed in much the same way we preserve great works of art. Their importance is no less significant than a Frank Lloyd Wright home or the value of a Picasso painting. The artists behind them are equally important and their canvas is a living, breathing,

landscape that requires stewardship, investment and at times thoughtful restoration. The tabloids get wind of the story. It makes page six. Twitter blows up. My friend emails me again. They are throwing their nine irons at me at the LACC. It's chaos.

It's rich white guy on rich white guy violence. But play with me for a moment. Last time I was in L.A., I went to the top of... I wanted to see L.A. Country Club from high up. So I went to the top of the Waldorf. Okay. You got a little restaurant there and looked down and said, this is an astonishing piece of property.

And if they came back to you, suppose I was thinking, what are the little things? Suppose they came back and said, all right, they have two parcels on either side of Wilshire, right? Am I right? Yes. What if they said, okay, we'll give you one of those parcels for a park

if you let us keep the other for our country club? who says no well I like how you're thinking and if this is a precursor to how the negotiations go then that's a good place to be while you're doing these negotiations

you can't make a personal request please the whole I think explains in the in the podcast the whole thing that got me going on this is I would stay with a friend of mine in Brentwood and go running around the

Brentwood Country Club on that little narrow, rocky gravel path that is between the fence of the Redmond Country Club and the street and I would always say they have whatever, 300 acres, and there's no one on their 300 acres, and I'm being forced to run in this narrow track

all I want. Can they just move their fence? Audrey, could they just move their fence in three feet so that the runners of Brentwood would have a nice path as opposed to running like a thing of rocks? Can you make it? Just say, just say Malcolm wants you to move your fence

in three feet and we can talk. But that, it goes to... And then afterwards, we'll name it the Malcolm Path. So that's where we are, dear listeners. A revolt on the verdant greens of Los Angeles, sparked by yours truly, in combination with a city council member who is now my hero.

And next time you're in Los Angeles and happen to drive by any of those fancy, golf clubs, LACC, Bel Air, Brentwood, Hillcrest, Lakeside, lower your window, raise your middle finger, honk your horn, and shout out, I stand with Glabel in this Aryan motherfuck. And if anyone ever tells you, the truth cannot be spoken to power. You should answer, actually, that's not true. May I direct you to Season 2, Episode 10 of Revisionist History. is produced by Nina Bird Lawrence, Lucy Sullivan, and Ben Nadaf Halfrey. Our editor is Karen Chkirgy.

Our executive producer is Jacob Smith, engineering by Nina Bird Lawrence. Special thanks to the newest member of our team, Isaac Scribner. An extra special thanks to the people who worked on the original of Good Walks spoiled. Mia LaBelle, Julia Barton, Camille Baptista, and Stephanie Daniel. Original music by Luis Gera, sound design and mastering by Marcelo Diallo. I'm Malcolm Gladwell.