In 1980, Congress passed the Bayh-Dole Act, which let universities keep ownership of inventions made with federal money. The logic was straightforward: if the university holds the patent, it has a reason to go find someone who'll turn it into a product.
It worked, sort of. The Cohen-Boyer recombinant DNA patents, held jointly by Stanford and the University of California, earned the two institutions about $255 million over the life of the licensing program, and the technology underneath them supported more than $35 billion in downstream product sales. Florida has Gatorade. Every research university now has a tech transfer office, and the good ones are genuinely skilled at what they do.
But look at the sector rather than the winners and the picture inverts. A large share of tech transfer offices never cover their own costs, and by some analyses most don't. Revenue follows a brutal power law where one or two blockbusters underwrite decades of operations, and everything else in the portfolio is a cost line: filing fees, attorney hours, and maintenance payments that recur for the life of the patent whether anyone licenses it or not.
An office with a dozen staff and several hundred disclosures a year has to make choices about where those hours go. That's not a criticism, it's arithmetic. If a discovery has a plausible buyer already in view, it gets the attention. If it doesn't, it sits in the portfolio accruing cost until someone decides to stop paying the maintenance fees.
The work that dies this way is rarely bad work. Usually it's early, or it's aimed at a market too small to interest a company with a nine-figure development budget, or it's simply strange enough that the phone call would have to be made to someone nobody in the office knows.
Economists have a name for what's happening: a matching problem. There is capital that would fund this research and there are people who would want it to exist, and the two never meet because the cost of finding each other exceeds the value either would capture.
Nearly every other domain eventually built infrastructure to solve exactly this. It's why obscure books stayed in print once search got good, and why assets too small for any exchange listing still trade.
Science never got that layer. Funding a discovery today works about the way selling a house worked in 1955: someone has to know someone, and if they don't, the thing just doesn't happen.
We think that's the actual bottleneck, and it's an infrastructure problem rather than a scientific one. Representing IP onchain makes a discovery visible and fundable to anyone who cares about it, instead of only to whoever the office had time to call. That's the whole idea.
The blockbusters were never at risk. It's the rest of the portfolio worth worrying about.