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The War of the Currents
Happy Sunday {{first_name}},
With a vast array of nonsense on social media designed to polarise people and create pockets of monetisable zealots, it’s almost refreshing that there are historical examples of this behaviour as well.
Perhaps technology has merely accelerated human nature, rather than evolved it?
The War of the Currents in the 1880s in New York shows us just how dirty some of the tactics can be. Thomas Edison was highly incentivised to protect his turf with DC technology, so George Westinghouse’s efforts with AC riled up the famous inventor. In her column this week, Dominique Olivier uses this example to help us understand more about our current affairs (pun shamelessly intended).
From incentive structures to calls for AI regulation, history remains our best teacher. Read it here.
At least electricity has made coffee machines possible. And thanks to Bootlegger, you can now enjoy your coffee at a 10% discount if you buy it online. Best of all, they will share that love with Dominique, so you get to support your favourite Sunday writer AND score yourself some great coffee at a discount. Talk about a win-win situation!
To get this offer, go to the Bootlegger website and use the code GHOST10 at checkout.
The War of the Currents clearly inspired Dominique to dig further into the history of regulation, prompting excellent further reads on British motor vehicle law and a bunch of other wild examples in the Fast Facts.
Enjoy the rest of your Sunday - and go buy some coffee!
The Finance Ghost (follow on X) | Dominique Olivier (connect on LinkedIn)
The War of the Currents and our current concern
More than a century ago, two titans clashed over a groundbreaking new technology, each claiming that the reckless advancement of the other would put countless lives in danger.
In 2026, there’s something about that story that sounds weirdly familiar.
Dominique explains how the War of the Currents is an important historical lesson.
Steady as she goes
TL;DR: For three decades, British law required every motor vehicle on the road to be preceded by a man on foot. For part of that time, the man also had to carry a red flag.
In 1865, Britain's roads faced a new menace: the steam traction engine. These hulking, hissing machines weighed several tonnes, churned up road surfaces and terrified the horses that still did most of the country's hauling.
Parliament responded with the Locomotive Act, which soon became known by a catchier name: the Red Flag Act. And yes, the rules were strict.
No self-propelled vehicle could travel faster than 6 km/h in the countryside, or 3 km/h in town, such that a brisk walker could comfortably overtake it.
Each vehicle needed a crew of at least three, one of whom had to walk 55 metres ahead of the vehicle, waving a red flag to warn riders and carriage drivers of the approaching peril; essentially an indicator on legs.
At this point, you really have to wonder if just walking to your destination is really all that bad (especially since one of the passengers is basically walking all the way there anyway).
The trouble was that the machines kept improving, and the law didn't. In 1878 the flag became optional and the distance between the indicator-walker and the vehicle was reduced, but he was still required. By the 1890s, light petrol-powered cars were arriving from Germany and France, nimble contraptions nothing like the lumbering beasts the Act was written for. But in Britain, they were still legally obliged to follow a pedestrian, with or without a flag.
Relief came in 1896, when a new law finally freed light vehicles from their escort and raised the speed limit to a giddy 22 km/h, promptly trimmed to 19 km/h by officials. Motorists celebrated the occasion with a drive from London to Brighton - and they still do it today.
Every November, hundreds of veteran cars chug down the same route. The pace is leisurely, but these days nobody has to walk in front.
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Dominique’s Fast Facts - “We really needed to regulate this?”
In 1988, the European Economic Community decided that for a cucumber to qualify as "Class I”, it could bend no more than 10 millimetres for every 10 centimetres of length. The rule became a favourite target of Eurosceptic ridicule for two decades, until the EU scrapped detailed marketing standards for 26 fruits and vegetables in 2009 (cucumbers included). But Europe’s reputation has survived.
In 1996, a Swedish couple were fined after failing to register a name for their son, who was then five years old. In protest, they submitted "Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116," which they insisted was pronounced "Albin." A court rejected it. They then tried the single letter "A," also pronounced "Albin." That was rejected too.
Since 2007, Chinese regulations have required state approval for recognised reincarnations of Tibetan Buddhist "Living Buddhas". The rules establish a formal application and approval process, with the level of government involved depending on the religious figure's perceived importance.
Britain's Salmon Act of 1986 makes it an offence to handle salmon "in suspicious circumstances". It was aimed at poachers and the people who buy from them, but the wording has made it a perennial entry on lists of Britain's strangest laws.
In Switzerland, under a 2008 ordinance, social animals such as guinea pigs must be kept with at least one companion of their own kind. This creates an awkward problem when one of a pair dies, and at least one enterprising Swiss has offered a rent-a-guinea-pig service to keep the survivor within the law.