America’s greatest invention isn’t the airplane, the lightbulb or the internet. It is Right on Red. In this beautiful country, you can drive your car through a red light. You can legally break the law. And boy, does it feel sweet.
As any driver knows, there is no pain like seeing an open road blocked by a red light. You sit. You wait. Seconds become hours. Your common sense screams at the injustice: “there is no reason for me to stop, the road is clear!” Your car, once a vessel of movement, transforms into a prison. The air smells, the body aches and your mind wanders—to the light itself. You notice the bulb lids that prevent an impossible sunburn, the hue of red that feels unnecessarily inflammatory, and the fragile clip that allows the light to violently shake as it fights the expressway breeze. Your mind snaps back to the vacant road. “Darn you!” you cry at the faceless bureaucrat who also programmed these lights to flagrantly disregard the traffic conditions. You curse this unseen perpetrator who hijacked your attention and stole your time.
In the 1970s, America righted this wrong by adopting Right on Red nationwide. No longer a captive to arbitrary countdowns, drivers today can decide for themselves when it is safe to turn right. The law gave people back their agency, their time, their freedom. And, yet, it does more. Disregarding a red light delivers a special euphoria that reminds me of when I bought my first beer. Having turned eighteen mere hours before, I skipped to the entrance of my local pub. With a shove of my shoulder, I pushed through the door and stumbled into the darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted to reveal a sea of ugly faces staring at me, while cradling pints of golden elixir. My stomach churned. I plotted the shortest path to the bar before exchanging a clammy $10 bill for a pint of my own. After a gulp and clink - the bar seemingly rising up to try to break my glass - the locals averted their gaze in unison like a flock of birds. “Ahh!” I sighed, savoring the taste and releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My first drink wasn’t illegal, but it sure felt like it was. When I turn right on red and open the throttle in celebration, I get that same rush of dopamine. I feel rebellious, naughty.
I call Right on Red America’s greatest invention not for its first-order effects but for its second-order ones. That mischievous feeling is a gateway drug for entrepreneurship. It is the invention of invention. Right of Red highlights that even the world’s most ubiquitous rule - that one must stop at a red light - can be broken. America could have installed blinking red lights, but they didn’t. Instead today, every traffic stop is a reminder: the world is bendable. Rules can be rewritten. It reminds us that America is exceptional, that you are exceptional. Armed with agency, freedom and a taste for the thrill, is it any wonder that America produces millions of entrepreneurs and is the epicenter of global innovation?
The next time you roll up to a red light, hear Uncle Sam whisper in your ear: Rules are meant to be broken. Go on - make the turn. Don’t stop here.