The Slack Wire

I Was Born on the Wrong Continent

2012-01-23T13:30:00.000-08:00

... because I want to vote for this guy:

François Hollande, the leading challenger for the French presidency, has described the banking industry as a faceless ruler and his “true adversary”. As he launched in earnest his campaign to become France’s first socialist head of state since the mid-1990s, Mr Hollande said he would seek a Franco-German treaty to overturn the “dominance of finance” and re-orient Europe towards growth and big industrial projects.

At a rally on the outskirts of Paris in front of thousands of supporters on Sunday afternoon, he said: “My true adversary does not have a name, a face, or a party. He never puts forward his candidacy, but nevertheless he governs. My true adversary is the world of finance.” ... Mr Hollande promised, if elected, to separate the investment activities of French banks from their other operations, ban them from tax havens and establish a “public” credit rating agency for Europe. He also promised higher taxes for people earning more than €150,000 a year and attacked the “new aristocracy” of today’s super-rich. A financial transaction tax would be introduced, with France acting with other European countries willing to participate....

In a powerful speech that advisers said he had written himself over the weekend, the socialist candidate came out fighting, looking to make an impression on the broader French public by taking aim at some carefully chosen national bêtes noires. These included globalisation, unemployment and shrinking domestic industry. But uppermost were bankers....

“I have always followed the line on which I was fixed,” he said. “I am a socialist. The left did not come to me through heritage. It was necessary for me to move towards it.”

Certain leftists I know will say this is just populist bluster, that nothing is finance's fault, and that this kind of language is just a distraction from genuine radical politics. But it's not all bluster: As Arin D. points out, French bankers seem to have been born on the wrong continent, too.

Maybe we can arrange a swap?

"Real" Isn't Real

2012-01-13T16:17:00.000-08:00

Sorry, no, it's not about Lacan.

For a while, I've tried to avoid the common economic usage of calling the change in an observed variable, minus inflation, the "real" change. I prefer a more neutral and descriptive term like "inflation-adjusted."

What we call nominal quantities really are real, in a sociological sense: they exist, they're directly observable.Your mortgage or car loan requires a schedule of payments in dollars, in some fixed proportion to the value (also in dollars) of the original loan. Those are actual numbers you can see in your contract. The S&P 500 index is at at 1,286; a year ago it was at 1,282. Those are actual numbers you can look up in any financial website. You paid $2.50 for a tube of toothpaste; the bills and coins actually changed hands. Whereas the "real" values of all these numbers are constructions, estimated after the fact (and then re-estimated), involving more or less arbitrary choices and judgement calls. There's no fact of the matter there at all.

To begin with, you have to choose your price index. It's often not obvious whether the consumer price index, the GDP deflator, or some other index is most conceptually appropriate. [1] And it makes a difference! Just among the most important published price indexes, we see the increase in the price level over the past 50 years ranging from five times, to nearly eight times. Anyone who tells you something like, a dollar in 1960 "is equal to" 13 cents in 2010 is confused, or at least grossly simplifying.

And then there are the differences that don't show up in the published indexes. The CPI is intended to be a price index for all urban consumers, but not every consumer is urban and not all urbs are equal. Robert Gordon estimates that the bulk of the college wage premium goes away if you correct for the higher cost of living in areas where college graduates live. Of course this only makes sense if college grads have to live in pricey urban areas in order to get their college wages. If you instead assumed that the cost of living is higher in urban areas because of various non-market amenities, which college graduates have a particular taste for, then Gordon's correction would be inappropriate. [2] So again, while nominal values are real, in the sense that they observably exist, "real" values depend on assumptions about various unobservables.

And then there's the after-the-fact adjustments which price indexes are always subject to. (As are nominal aggregates, to be fair, but to a much less extent, and almost always due to better data rather than conceptual changes.) That was what got me thinking about this today, in fact: rereading Dean Baker's comments on the Boskin Commission. [3] Dean points out that if you take the Commission's methodology seriously, you'd have to make even bigger downward adjustments to inflation in earlier periods, implying that when people in the postwar years thought the economy was threatened by inflation, it was "really" experiencing deflation:

If the size of the current annual overstatement [of the increase in the CPI] is 1.1 percentage points, the the annual overstatement may have exceeded 2.0 percentage points in past years, meaning that, at many times when there was public concern about inflation, the economy was actually experiencing deflation. ... Extrapolating the commission's adjustment backwards implies that, throughout the 1950s and into the 1960s, prices were actually falling. This was a period when the president appointed a council to set wage-price guidelines to keep inflation in check.

It's a problem. Obviously using just nominal values is deceptive in many cases, and there are plenty of cases where deflating by some standard index gives a more meaningful number. But one shouldn't suppose that it is "real." And certainly one can't suppose, as the formalism of economics implicitly or explicitly does, that there are quasi-physical quantities of "utility" out there which the appropriate price deflators can convert dollar values into.

We have to think more critically about how the categories of economics join up with social and individual reality. Where goods exchange for each other in markets, they have a quantitative relationship: so much of this is, in some sense, "the same as" so much of that. (There's a reason why Capital Volume I begins how it does, tedious as people sometimes find it.) But that relationship comes into existence in the process of exchange, it didn't exist until then. So as soon as we are talking about goods that don't exchange for each other, say because they exist at different moments, we can no longer regard them as being quantitatively comparable. In this sense, nominal figures are real, since they really describe the quantitative relationship of some stock or flow with others existing in the same pay community. They are observable and are have direct consequences. Not so "real" figures, which depend on the implicit assumption that the only point of contact between the economy and human reality is the mix of goods that is consumed, and that there is a fixed consumption function that converts that mix into a quantity of utility. Without that assumption, there is no basis on which to say that two baskets of goods that can't be traded for each other have any definite quantitative relationship.

Labor might seem to be a better universal standard than utility. There's a reason Keynes made employment his standard measure of economic performance, and wanted to measure output in terms of wage-units. (And it's certainly not because he thought the problems with capitalism originated in the labor market.) And there's a reason why Adam Smith subtitled his chapter on "the Real and Nominal Prices of Commodities" (I don't know how far back the distinction goes, maybe he made it first), "their Price in Labour, and their Price in Money." Well, I don't want to get into the labor theory of value here, except to say that I don;t think any other standard of "real" quantities is any more securely founded. My point is just that it may be, for questions we cannot answer with dollar values, there is no better, objective set of values we can use in their place. At that point we have to think about the various complex ways in which the system of monetary values interacts with the social reality in which it is embedded. For instance, the ways in which the costs of unemployment are not reducible to foregone output and income. The reproduction of society, let's say, has quantitative, law-like moments; those moments are greatly distended under capitalism, but they still aren't everything.

I'll keep on adjusting nominal figures for inflation; what else can you do? But let's not call them real.

[1] It's worth noting that writers in the Marxist tradition are often more sensitive to the differences between price indexes than are either (Post) Keynesian or mainstream economists. The possibility of a systematic divergence between the price of wage goods and the price of output as a whole was a question Marx gave a lot of thought to.

[2] I.e., the premium on urban areas implies there's some desirable thing there that's not being measured, but is it a consumer good or an intermediate good?

[3] Not for fun, for course prep, for my macro course, which I'm hoping to make fodder for blogging this spring. Thus the tag.

The Bergeron Solution

2012-01-03T21:35:00.000-08:00

Does anybody else remember that Kurt Vonnegut story "Harrison Bergeron"? (It's an early one; he reused the conceit, I think, in one of his novels -- The Sirens of Titan maybe?) The idea is that in a future egalitarian dystopia, perfect fairness is achieved by subjecting everyone to penalties corresponding to their talents -- the physically fit have to wear burdensome weights, smart people like you and me and Kurt have earphones subjecting us to distracting noises, and so on.

As a story, it's not much -- sort of a Simple English version of The Fountainhead. But I thought of it when I read this post from Nick Rowe last month. Microeconomics isn't normally my bag, but this was fun.

Suppose we have a group of similar people. One of them has to do some unpleasant or dangerous job, defending the border against the Blefuscudians, say. Has to be one person, they can't rotate. So what is the welfare-maximizing way to allocate this bad job? Have a draft where someone is picked by lot and compelled to do it, or offer enough extra pay for it that someone volunteers? You'd think that standard micro would say the market solution is best. But -- well, here's Nick:

The volunteer army is fair ex post. The one who volunteers gets the same level of utility as the other nine. ... The lottery is unfair ex post, because they all get the same consumption but one has a nastier job. That's obvious. What is not obvious, until you think about it, is that ... the lottery gives higher expected utility. That's the result of Theodore Bergstrom's minor classic "Soldiers of Fortune" paper.

The intuition is straightforward. Think about the problem from the Utilitarian perspective, of maximising the sum of the ten utilities. This requires equalising the marginal utility of consumption for all ten men. ... The volunteer army gives the soldier higher consumption, and so lower marginal utility of consumption, so does not maximise total utility. ....

If we assume, as may be reasonable, that taking the job reduces the marginal utility of consumption, that strengthens the advantages of the lottery over the volunteer army. It also means they would actually prefer a lottery where the soldier has lower consumption than those who stays home. The loser pays the winners, as well as risking his life, in the most efficient lottery.

It's a clever argument. You need to pay someone extra to do a crap job. (Never mind that those sorts of compensating differentials are a lot more common in theory than in the real world, where the crappiest jobs are also usually the worst paid. We're thinking like economists here.) But each dollar of consumption contributes less to our happiness than the last one. So implementing the fair outcome leaves everyone with lower expected utility than just telling the draftee to suck it up.

Of course, this point has broader applications. I'd be shocked if some version of it hasn't been deployed as part of an anti-Rawlsian case against social insurance. Nick uses it to talk about CEO pay. That's the direction I want to go in, too.

We all know why Bill Gates and Warren Buffett and Carlos Slim Helu are so rich, right? It's because ~~they sit on top of a vast machine for transforming human lives into commodities~~ market income is equal to marginal product, and Buffet and Gates and Slim and everybody named Walton are just so damn productive. We have to pay them what they're worth or they won't produce all this valuable stuff that no one else can. Right?

The problem is, even if the monstrously rich really were just as monstrously productive, that wouldn't make them utility monsters. Even if you think that the distribution of income is determined by the distribution of ability, there's no reason to think that people's ability to produce and their ability to derive enjoyment from consumption coincide. Indeed, to the extent that being super productive means having less leisure, and means developing your capacity for engineering or order-giving rather than for plucking the hour and the day virtuously and well, they might well be distributed inversely. But even if Paul Allen really does get an ecstasy from taking one of his jets to his helicopter to his boat off the coast of Southern France that we plebes, with our puny so-called vacations [1], can't even imagine, the declining marginal utility of consumption is still going to catch up with him eventually. Two private jets may be better than one, but surely they're not twice as good.

And that, if you believe the marginal product story, is a problem. The most successful wealth-creators will eventually reach a point where they may be as productive as ever, but it's no longer worth their while to keep working. Look at Bill Gates. Can you blame him for retiring? He couldn't spend the money he's got in ten lifetimes, he can't even give it away. But if you believe his salary up til now has reflected his contribution to the social product, his retirement is a catastrophe for the rest of us. Atlas may not shrug, but he yawns.

Wealth blunts the effects of incentives. So we want the very productive to have lots of income, but very little wealth. They should want to work 12 hour days to earn more, but they shouldn't be tempted to cut their hours back to spend what they already earned. It seems like an insoluble problem, closely related to Suresh's superstar doctor problem, which liberalism has no good answer to. [2]

But that's where we come to Harry Bergeron. It's perfectly possible for superstar doctors to have both a very high income and very low wealth. All that's required is that they start in a very deep hole.

If we really believed that the justification for income disparities is to maintain incentives for the productive, we'd adopt a version of the Bergeron plan. We'd have tests early in life to assess people's innate abilities, and the better they scored, the bigger the bill we'd stick them with. If it's important that "he who does not work, neither shall he eat," [3] it's most important for those who have the greatest capacity to work. Keep Bill Gates hungry, and he might have spent another 20 years ~~extracting rents from network externalities~~ creating value for Microsoft's shareholders and customers.

There's no shortage of people to tell you that it might seem unfair that Paul Allen has two private jets in a world where kids in Kinshasa eat only every two days, but that in the long run the tough love of proper incentives will make more pie for everyone. Many of those people would go on to say that the reason Paul Allen needs to be encouraged so strenuously is because of his innate cognitive abilities. But very few of those people, I think, would feel anything but moral outrage at the idea that if people with Allen's cognitive capacities could be identified at an early age, they should be stuck with a very big bill and promised a visit from very big bailiffs if they ever missed a payment. And yet the logic is exactly the same.

Of course I'm not endorsing this idea; I don't think the rich, by and large, have any special cognitive capacities so I'm happy just to expropriate them; we don't have to work them until they drop. (People who do believe that income inequality is driven by marginal productivity don't have such an easy out.)

But it's funny, isn't it: As a society we seem to be adopting something a bit like the Bergeron Solution. People who are very productive, at least as measured by their expected salaries, do begin their lives, or at least their careers, with a very big bill. Which ensures that they'll be reliable creators of value for society, where value is measured, as always, in dollars. God forbid that someone who could be doctor or lawyer should decide to write novels or raise children or spend their days surfing. Of course one doesn't want to buy into some naive functionalism, not to say conspiracy theory. I'm not saying that the increase in student debt happened in order that people who might otherwise have been tempted into projects of self-valorization would continue to devote their lives to the valorization of capital instead. But, well, I'm not not saying that.

[1] What, you think that "family" you're always going on about could provide a hundredth the utility Paul Allen gets from his yacht?

[2] That post from Suresh is where I learned about utility monsters.

[3] I couldn't be bothered to google it, but wasn't it Newt's line back in the day, before Michele Bachman picked it up?

What We Talk About When We Don't Talk About Demand

2011-12-16T23:13:00.000-08:00

There sure are a lot of ways to not say aggregate demand.

Here's the estimable Joseph Stiglitz, not saying aggregate demand in Vanity Fair:

The parallels between the story of the origin of the Great Depression and that of our Long Slump are strong. Back then we were moving from agriculture to manufacturing. Today we are moving from manufacturing to a service economy. The decline in manufacturing jobs has been dramatic—from about a third of the workforce 60 years ago to less than a tenth of it today. ... There are two reasons for the decline. One is greater productivity—the same dynamic that revolutionized agriculture and forced a majority of American farmers to look for work elsewhere. The other is globalization... (As Greenwald has pointed out, most of the job loss in the 1990s was related to productivity increases, not to globalization.) Whatever the specific cause, the inevitable result is precisely the same as it was 80 years ago: a decline in income and jobs. The millions of jobless former factory workers once employed in cities such as Youngstown and Birmingham and Gary and Detroit are the modern-day equivalent of the Depression’s doomed farmers.

This sounds reasonable, but is it? Nick Rowe doesn't think so. Let's leave aside globalization for another post -- as Stieglitz says, it's less important anyway. It's certainly true that manufacturing employment has fallen steeply, even while the US -- despite what you sometimes here -- continues to produce plenty of manufactured goods. But does it make sense to say that the rise in manufacturing productivity be responsible for mass unemployment in the country as a whole?

There's certainly an argument in principle for the existence of technological unemployment, caused by rapid productivity growth. Lance Taylor has a good discussion in chapter 5 of his superb new book Maynard's Revenge (and a more technical version in Reconstructing Macroeconomics.) The idea is that with the real wage fixed, an increase in labor productivity will have two effects. First, it reduces the amount of labor required to produce a given level of output, and second, it redistributes income from labor to capital. Insofar as the marginal propensity to consume out of profit income is lower than the marginal propensity to consume out of wage income, this redistribution tends to reduce consumption demand. But insofar as investment demand is driven by profitability, it tends to increase investment demand. There's no a priori reason to think that one of these effects is stronger than the other. If the former is stronger -- if demand is wage-led -- then yes, productivity increases will tend to lower demand. But if the latter is stronger -- if demand is profit-led -- then productivity increases will tend to raise demand, though perhaps not by enough to offset the reduced labor input required for a given level of output. For what it's worth, Taylor thinks the US economy has profit-led demand, but not necessarily enough so to avoid a Luddite outcome.

Taylor is a structuralist. (The label I think I'm going to start wearing myself.) You would be unlikely to find this story in the mainstream because technological unemployment is impossible if wages equal the marginal product of labor, and because it requires that output to be normally, and not just exceptionally, demand-constrained.

It's a good story but I have trouble seeing it having much to do with the current situation. Because, where's the productivity acceleration? Underlying hourly labor productivity growth just keeps bumping along at 2 percent and change a year. Over the whole postwar period, it averages 2.3 percent. Over the past twenty years, 2.2 percent. Over the past decade, 2.3 percent. Where's the technological revolution?

Just do the math. If underlying productivity rises at 2 percent a year, and demand constraints cause output to stay flat for four years [1], then we would expect employment to fall by 8 percent. In other words, lack of demand explains the whole fall in employment. [2] There's no need to bring in structural shifts or anything else happening on the supply side. A fall in demand, plus a stable rate of productivity increase, gets you exactly what we've seen.

It's important to understand why demand fell, but from a policy standpoint, no actually it isn't. As the saying goes, you don't refill a flat tire through the hole. The important point is that we don't need to know anything about the composition of output to understand why unemployment is so high, because the relationship between the level of output and employment is no different than it's always been.

But isn't it true that since the end of the recession we've seen a recovery in output but no recovery in employment? Yes, it is. So doesn't that suggest there's something different happening in the labor market this time? No, it doesn't. Here's why.

There's a well-established empirical relationship in macroeconomics called Okun's law, which says that, roughly, a one percentage point change in output relative to potential changes employment by one a third to a half a percentage point. There are two straightforward reasons for this: first, a significant fraction of employment is overhead labor, which firms need an equal amount of whether their current production levels are high or low. And second, if hiring and training employees is costly, firms will be reluctant to lay off workers in the face of declines in output that are believe to be temporary. For both these reasons (and directly contrary to the predictions of a "sticky wages" theory of recessions) employment invariably falls by less than output in recessions. Let's look at some pictures.

These graphs show the quarter by quarter annualized change in output (vertical axis) and employment (horizontal axis) over recent US business cycles. The diagonal line is the regression line for the postwar period as a whole; as you would expect, it passes through zero employment growth around two percent output growth, corresponding to the long-run rate of labor productivity growth.

1960 recession

1969 recession

1980 and 1981 recessions

1990 recession

2001 recession

2007 recession

What you see is that in every case, there's the same clockwise motion. The initial phase of the recession (1960:2 to 1961:1, 1969:1 to 1970:4, etc.) is below the line, meaning growth has fallen more than employment. This is the period when firms are reducing output but not reducing employment proportionately. Then there's a vertical upward movement at the left, when growth is accelerating and employment is not; this is the period when, because of their excess staffing at the bottom of the recession, firms are able to increase output without much new hiring. Finally there's a movement toward the right as labor hoards are exhausted and overhead employment starts to increase, which brings the economy back to the long-term relationship between employment and output. [3] As the figures show, this cycle is found in every recession; it's the inevitable outcome when an economy experiences negative demand shocks and employment is costly to adjust. (It's a bit harder to see in the 1980-1981 graph because of the double-dip recession of 1980-1981; the first cycle is only halfway finished in 1981:2 when the second cycle begins.)

There's nothing exceptional, in these pictures, about the most recent recession. Indeed, the accumulated deviations to the right of the long-term trend (i.e., higher employment than one would expect based on output) are somewhat greater than the accumulated deviations to the left of it. Nothing exceptional, that is, except how big it is, and how far it lies to the lower-left. In terms of the labor market, in other words, the Great Recession was qualitatively no different from other postwar recessions; it was just much deeper.

I understand the intellectual temptation to look for a more interesting story. And of course there are obviously structural explanations for why demand fell so far in 2007, and why conventional remedies have been relatively ineffective in boosting it. (Tho I suspect those explanations have more to do with the absence of major technological change, than an excess of it.) But if you want to know the proximate reason why unemployment is so high today, there's a recession on still looks like a sufficiently good working hypothesis.

[1] Real GDP is currently less than 0.1 percent above its level at the end of 2007.

[2] Actually employment is down by only about 5 percent, suggesting that if anything we need a structural story for why it hasn't fallen more. But there's no real mystery here, productivity growth is not really independent of demand conditions and always decelerates in recessions.

[3] Changes in hours worked per employee are also part of the story, in both downturn and recovery.

The Mind of the Master Class

2011-12-04T20:21:00.000-08:00

In comments, Arin says,

my view of the world is that there were (at least) two distinct phases ... First was the emergence of a market for corporate control through hostile takeovers in the 1980s, which may have changed managerial incentives to basically ward off such possibilities. However, it didn't lead to greater power of shareholders over management ... consolidation and mergers over time ended up actually increasing managerial prerogatives. However, it was of course a very different type of management ... one whose incentives were quite aligned with short term capital gains which were also potentially helpful to ward off challenge for control... So yes, the market for corporate control changed the world - but ironically it changed it by passing more rents to managers, not less.

I don't know that I agree -- or at least, it depends what you mean by managerial prerogatives. Relative to workers, to consumers, to society at large? Sure. Relative to shareholders? I'm not so sure. But let's say Arin is right. I don't think it fundamentally changes the story. What I'm talking about isn't fundamentally a conflict between two different groups of people, but between two functions. Capital, as we know, is a process, value in a movement of self-expansion: M-C-C'-M'. The question is whether capital as a sociological entity, as something that act on its own interests, is conscious of itself more in the C moments or in the M moments. Do the people who exercise political power on behalf of capital think of themselves more as managers of a production process, or as stewards of a pool of money? The point is that sometime around 1980, we saw a transition from the former to the latter. Whether that took the form of an empowering of the money-stewards at the expense of the production-managers, or of everyone in power thinking more like a money-steward, is less important.

I heard a story the other day that nicely illustrates this. Back in the Clinton era, a friend of a friend was on a commission to discuss health care reform, the token labor guy with a bunch of business executives. So, he asked, why don't the Big Three automakers and other old industrial firms support some kind of national health insurance? Just look at the costs, look at how much you could save if you focus on making cars instead of being a health insurer. Well yes, the auto executives at the meeting replied, you make a good point. But you know, our big focus right now is on reducing the capital gains tax. Let's deal with that first, and then we can talk about health insurance.

If you're an executive in neoliberal America, you're an owner of financial assets first and foremost, and responsible for the long-term interests of the firm you manage second, third or not at all.

Netflix Disgorges the Cash

2011-11-23T23:09:00.000-08:00

For a great example of what I've been talking about, check out this Dealbreaker post on how Netflix spent the past two years buying back its own stock, and then just this past Monday turned around and announced that it was selling stock again. Matt Levine:

NFLX bought 3.5 million shares of stock at an average price of $117 in 2010-2011, at a total cost of $410 million, and paid for it by issuing 5.2 million shares of stock at an average price of $77 in November 2011, for total proceeds of $400 million – minus $3 million that we pay to Morgan Stanley and JPMorgan to place the deal. So 1.7 million extra shares outstanding for net proceeds of negative $13mm or so.

The comical thing about this from the point of view of the financial press is the buy-high, sell-low side of it. And of course whoever was on the other side of Netflix's share repurchases this past summer, when the stock was at four times its current value, must be laughing right now. But as Levine says, this is what the system is set up to do:

Most companies are rewarded for squeezing every last penny out of EPS [earnings per share] – in executive bonuses, sure, but also in stock price more broadly. It’s what investors want. ... So with Netflix: when things are good and it’s rolling in cash, it pushes up its price by buying. When things are bad and it needs cash, it pushes down its price by selling. And its incentives are neatly aligned to do so: when things are good, it needs one more penny of EPS; when things are terrible – hell, who cares about dilution when you’re unprofitable anyway? (It’s a good thing!)

Another way of looking at this, tho, is that buying its own shares high and selling them low is exactly how a firm should behave if shareholders really are the residual claimants, operationally and not just in principle. In the textbook this doesn't really come out, since "shareholder as residual claimant" is just a first-order condition imposed on some linear equations. But if you take it seriously as a claim that shareholders own every incremental dollar that the firm earns or raises, and that management is a not just the solution to an Euler equation but a distinct group of people who may have their own views on the interests of the firm, then shareholders should want businesses to behave just like Netflix -- pay out more when more is coming in, and then ask them for some back when more needs to go out. Can't be a residual claimant if you don't claim your residuals.

Now, financing investment is going to be more costly when it involves selling and repurchasing shares, compared to if you'd just kept the savings-investment nexus inside the firm in the first place. And these transactions were also disastrous for the firm's long-term shareholders -- in effect, they transferred $400 million from people who continued holding the stock to those who sold in 2010 and 2011. So in this case, a system designed to maximize shareholder value didn't even deliver that. Shareholders would have done better with management who said, Screw the shareholders, we're going to build the best, biggest online movie rental company we can. If you own our stock just sit back, shut up, and trust that you'll get your payoff eventually.

As the man says, "When the capital development of a country becomes a by-product of the activities of a casino, the job is likely to be ill-done."

On Other Blogs, Other Wonders

2011-11-17T22:06:00.000-08:00

1. Are Banks Necessary?

Ashwin at Macroeconomic Resilience had a very interesting post last month arguing that the fundamental function of banks -- maturity transformation -- is no longer required. Historically, the reason banks existed was to bridge the gap between ultimate lenders' desire for liquid, money-like assets and borrowers' need to fund long-lived capital goods with similarly long-term liabilities. Banks intermediate by borrowing short and lending long; in some sense, that's what defines them. But as Ashwin argues, today, on the one hand, we have pools of longer-term savings for which liquidity is not so important, at least in principle, in the form of insurance and pension funds, which are large enough to meet all of businesses' and households' financing needs; while on the other hand the continued desire for liquid assets can be met by lending directly to the government which -- as long as it controls its own currency -- can't be illiquid and so doesn't have to worry about maturity mismatch. It's a very smart argument; my only quibble is that Ashwin interprets it as an argument for allowing banks to fail, while it looks to me like an argument for not having them in the first place.

Another way of reaching the same conclusion, in line with recent posts here, is that you can avoid much of the need for maturity transformation, and the other costs of intermediation, including the rentiers' vig, if business investment is financed by the business's own saving. In comments to the Macroeconomic Resilience post, Anders (I don't think the same Anders who comments here) points to some provocative comments by Izabella Kaminska in a Financial Times roundtable:

An FT view from the top conference, with Martin Wolf moderating. He said an interesting thing re. all the cash on the balance sheets of American corporates. That for many US corporates, banks have become completely redundant, they just don’t need them. ... The rise of the corporate treasury, investing wisely on its own behalf. Banks have failed at the one job they were supposed to do well, which was credit intermediation... No wonder banks have sought ever more exotic creative financing options .. their traditional business is dying. They’re not lending, can’t lend. So corporates are inadvertently acting by piling up cash reserves to solve that problem.... [You] see lots of examples of Corporates who don’t trust banks. … it’s amazing to think that we have come this far in the last two years… to a point where people like Larry Fink are suggesting banks are pointless.

This is part of the story of Japan's Lost Decade that Krugman doesn't talk about much, but that Richard Koo puts right at the heart of the story: By the mid 1980s, Japanese corporations could finance almost all of their investment needs internally, but the now-redundant banking system didn't shrink, but found a reason for continued existence in financing real estate speculation. Banks may be pointless, but that doesn't mean they'll go away on their own.

2. Are Copyrights Necessary?

I'm surprised there hasn't been more discussion in the blogosphere of this new working paper by Joel Waldfogel on copyright and new music production. (Summary here.) Has Yglesias even mentioned it? It's totally his thing: an empirical study of whether file-sharing has reduced the amount of good music being produced, where "good" is measured by radio airplay, and various critics' best-of lists. Which, whatever, but you've got to measure it somehow, right? And, oh yeah, the answer is No:

We find no evidence that changes since Napster have affected the quantity of new recorded music or artists coming to market. ... While many producers of recorded music have been made worse off by changes in technology, there is no evidence that the volume of high-quality music, or consumers, have suffered.

Information wants to be free.

3. It's an Honor Just to Be Nominated

Hey, look, someone at everyone's favorite site for d-bags with PhDs, econjobrumors.com, has started a thread on the worst economics blogs. And the first blog suggested is ... this one. "Krugnuts times 11," he says. I think that'll be the new tagline.

Anti-Mankiw

2011-11-15T15:14:00.000-08:00

Elsewhere on the World Wide Web: Some UMass comrades have revived the internet tradition of the grudge blog with this interesting new blog, with the Stakhanovite goal of refuting (tho thankfully not fisking) every post Greg Mankiw makes. It's an ambitious goal, especially since the average wordcount ratio of an anti post to its underlying Mankiw post is running around 50:1. But they're managing so far. You should read it. And if anyone wants to take a swing at the pinata, I think they may still be looking for new contributors.

So why aren't I contributing? Mainly because time is scarce and I am very lazy, so blogging-wise I'm tapped out just keeping up a trickle of content here. But also, to be honest, because I have some qualms about the anti-ness of the left in economics generally. Anti-Mankiw is a great project, and I have nothing but admiration for the students who walked out of Mankiw's class. But there's a certain assumption here that we on the left have a well-developed alternative economics, which the Mankiws of the world are ignoring or suppressing. If only that were true.

Right now I'm teaching macro, and I’m presenting basically the same material as everyone else. ISLM, AS/AD, and their open economy equivalents. How come? Well, partly because I feel a certain professional duty. Students signed up for a course in intermediate macroeconomics, not in J.W. Mason Thought. (That will be next semester.) But mainly because it’s the path of least resistance. I don’t know any good textbook that presents the fundamentals of macroeconomics from a genuinely Keynesian or radical perspective. And working up a course by myself would be vastly more work, and I don't think I could do it justice. A downward sloping AD curve, let's say, is absurd. There's no real economy on earth in which the main effect of deflation is to stimulate demand via a real balance or "Keynes" effect. It pains me to even put it on the board. But what's the counterhegemonic model of inflation I should be teaching in its place?

It’s not just me. I know a number of people who are unapologetic Marxists in their own work, yet when they teach undergraduate macroeconomics, they use Blanchard or some similarly conventional text. It’s a structural problem. I don’t mean to defend Mankiw, but in some ways I think those of us on the left of the profession are more to blame for the state of undergraduate economics education. We spend too much time on critiques of the mainstream, and not nearly enough developing a systematic alternative. Some people criticize radical economists for just talking to each other, but personally I think we don’t talk to each other nearly enough.

The anti-Mankiw that's needed, it seems to me, isn't a critique, but an alternative; as long as we're arguing with him, he still gets to decide what we're talking about. That's one reason I prefer to spend my time debating people like Krugman, DeLong, John Quiggin, and Nick Rowe, who I respect and learn from even when I don't agree with them. (Another reason is that attention is a precious resource and I prefer giving the bit I get to allocate to people and ideas that deserve it.)

It’s true that the ideological policing in economics is very tight—but mainly at the top end, and even there mostly not at the level of undergraduate teaching. As far as I can tell, most places nobody cares what you do in the classroom; there’s already plenty of space for alternatives at schools that aren't Harvard. But people mostly aren’t using that space. In my experience, even when people want to bring a “radical” perspective to undergraduate econ, that means presenting the mainstream models and then dissecting them, which preserves the mainstream view as the default or starting point, when it doesn't just leaves students confused. "Radical" economics almost never seems to mean simply teaching economics the way we radicals think it should be taught.

So yes, Occupy Mankiw, by all means. But maybe we should also think more about the classrooms we’re already occupying. Or as a graffito that should be familiar to the male fraction of anti-Mankiw says:

Start your own hit band or stop bitching

EDIT: If anyone reading this wants to suggest good models or resources for what an undergrad economics course ought to look like, I'd be thrilled to hear them.

FURTHER EDIT: Lots of suggestions. I need to walk back a little: There are more good alternatives to Mankiw & co. than you'd guess reading this post. But the key point is still, we need to move past critique and develop our own positive views. As long we're responding to him, he's setting the terms of the conversation. Read about, say, Paul Sweezy in the 1940s -- he was so admired not because he had such a cutting critique, but because he so clearly and confidently offered an alternative. (And because he was so charming and good-looking, but that sort of goes with it, I think.) We'll be getting somewhere when, instead of rushing to rebut everything Mankiw says, we can say, "Oh, is that guy still writing? Well, forget about him -- here's the good stuff."

So, the good stuff.

I should have mentioned two excellent macro texts that, while they are too advanced for the students I'm teaching now, really comprehensively describe the state of the art alternative approaches to macro: Michl and Foley's Growth and Distribution and Lance Taylor's Reconstructing Macroeconomics. If, like me, you;re more more interested in short-term dynamics than growth models, you might get a little more out of the Taylor book, but both are very good.

In comments, NKlein suggests Godley and Lavoie's Monetary Economics: An Integrated Approach, which I know other people recommend but I'm afraid I haven't read (tho it's on my Kindle), and mentions that Randy Wray and Bill Mitchell are working on a new textbook. I believe Wray currently teaches undergraduate macro at Kansas City using Keynes' General Theory as the primary textbook, which is not a terrible idea (tho it would probably depend on the students.)

A lot of people like Understanding Capitalism, by Sam Bowles, Richard Edwards and Frank Roosevelt. Sam's microeconomics textbook is also supposed to be good, if, god forbid, you have to teach that. (But the orthodox-heterodox divide doesn't really exist in micro, I don't think.)

Meanwhile, over on anti-Mankiw itself, Garth suggested -- more or less simultaneously with this post -- Steve Cohn's Reintroducing Macroeconomics, and linked to a long list of heterodox texts. I'm only familiar with a few of the books on the list, altho most of the ones I do know are grab-bags of critical essays, which is not quite what I'm looking for. But clearly there's a lot out there.

The Capitalist Wants an Exit

2011-11-06T00:25:00.000-07:00

Like a gratifyingly large proportion of posts here, Disgorge the Cash! got a bunch of great comments. In one of the last ones, Glenn makes a number of interesting points, some of which I disagree with. Among other things, he asks why, if businesses really have good investment projects available, rational investors would demand that they pay out their cashflow instead. Isn't it more logical to suppose that payouts are rising because investment opportunities are scarcer, rather than, as the posts suggests, that firms are investing less because they are being compelled to pay out more?

One standard answer would be information asymmetries. If firms have private information about the quality of their investment opportunities, it may be more efficient to have capital-allocation decisions made within firms rather than by outside lenders. The cost of being unable to shift capital between firms may be less than the cost of the adverse selection that comes with information asymmetries. That's one answer. But here I want to talk about a different one.

Capital in general, and finance in particular, places a very high value on liquidity. But if wealth owners insist on the freedom to reallocate their holdings at a moment's notice, and need the promise of very high returns to let them be bound up in something illiquid, then investment in the aggregate will be inefficiently low. As Keynes famously wrote,

Of all the maxims of orthodox finance none, surely, is more anti-social than the fetish of liquidity, the doctrine that it is a positive virtue on the part of investment institutions to concentrate their resources upon the holding of "liquid" securities. It forgets there is no such thing as liquidity of investment for the community as a whole.

Or as Tom Geoghegan recalls, from the last days of the old regime in the late 1970s,

Once a friend of mine from Harvard Business School came to visit, and I took him to South Works, just to see it.

"Wow," he said. "I've never seen so much capital just lying on the ground. At B School we used to laugh at how conservative these big steel companies are, but then you could come out and see all this capital, just lying on the ground..."

Capitalists, in general, do not like to see their capital just lying on the ground. They prefer it to be abstract, intangible, liquid.

There's no question that the shareholder revolution of the 1980s had a strong distributional component. Rentiers thought that workers were getting to much of "their" money. But if we're looking specifically at the conflict between shareholders and management -- as much a conflict between worldviews as between distinct groups of people -- then I think "the fetish of liquidity" is central.

As Keynes understood, liquidity is what stock markets are for. What they're not for, is raising funds for investment. That wasn't why they were invented (the publicly traded corporation is a relatively recent innovation), and it's not what they've been used for. Apart from a few years in the 1920s and a few more in the late 1990s, stock issues have never been an important source of investment finance for firms.

Let's talk about Groupon. Huge IPO, raised $700 million, the biggest offering in years. So, those people who bought shares, they're getting ownership of the company in return for providing it much needed funds for expansion, right?

Except that "Groupon has been shouting until it’s blue in the face that it doesn’t need the IPO cash, that it’s fine on the cash front, that the IPO is just a way of going public, and is not really about the money-raising at all." Cashflow is more than enough to finance all their foreseeable expansion plans. So why go public at all, then?

Because their existing investors want cash. That's why. Pre-IPO, Groupon was already notorious for using venture capitalist funds to cash out earlier investors.

Groupon is a very innovative company, and this is one of its most important innovations — the idea that the founder can and even should be able to cash out to the tune of millions of dollars very early on in the company’s lifecycle, while it is still raising new VC funds.... Historically, VC rounds have been about providing capital to companies which need it; in Groupon’s case, they’re more about finding a way to cash out early investors

But the venture capitalists need to be cashed out in their turn. After CEO Andrew Mason turned down offers from Yahoo and then Google to purchase the company, his VC bankers became increasingly antsy about being stuck owning a business, even a business selling something intangible as internet coupons, rather than safe pure money. Thus the IPO:

The board — and Groupon's investors — had a message for Mason, though. Someday, he was going to have to either accept an offer like that one he had just turned down, or take this company public.

One investor recounts the conversation: "We said, okay Andrew, you took venture capital, and remember venture capitalists want an exit. It doesn't have to be tomorrow but you always have to be thoughtful when a company comes to buy your company, because it's not just you, it's your employees, options, investors and alike."

That's what Wall Street is for: to give capitalists their exit.

The problem finance solves is not how to allocate society's scarce savings between competing investment opportunities. In modern conditions, it's the opportunities that are scarce, not the savings. (Savings glut, anyone?) The problem is how to separate the rents that come from control of a strategic social coordination problem from the social ties and obligations that go with it. The true capitalist doesn't want to make steel or restaurant deals or jumbo jets or search engines. He wants to make money. That's been true right from the beginning. It's why we have stock markets in the first place.

Historically the publicly-owned corporation came into being to allow owners (or more typically, their heirs) to delink their fortunes from particular firms or industries, and not as a way of raising capital.

In her definitive history of the wave of mergers that first established publicly-traded corporations (outside of railroads), Naomis Lamoreaux is emphatic that raising funds for investment was not an important motivation for adopting the new ownership form. In contemporary accounts of the merger wave, she says, "Access to capital is not mentioned." And in the hearings by the U.S. Industrial Commission on the mergers, "None of the manufacturers mentioned access to capital markets as a reason for consolidation." Rather, the motivation for the new ownership form was a desire by the new capitalist elite to separate their wealth and status from the fortunes of any particular firm or industry:

after the founder's death or retirement, ownership dispersed among heirs "who often were interested only in receiving income" from the company rather than running it. Where the founder was able to consolidate family control, as in Ford or Rockefeller,

the shift to public ownership was substantially delayed.

The same point is developed by historians Thomas Navin and Marian Sears:

A pattern of ownership somewhat like that in the cotton textile industry of New England might eventually have come to prevail: ownership might have spread, but to a limited degree; shares might have become available to outsiders, but to a restricted extent. It was the merger movement that accelerated the process and intensified it - to a smaller extent in the earlier period, 1890-1893, to a major degree in the later period, 1898-1902. As a result of the merger movement, far more people parted with their ownership in family businesses than would otherwise have done so; and doubtless far more men of substance (nonindustrialists with investable capital) put their funds into industry than would otherwise have chosen that type of investment. ...

[As to] why individual stockholders saw an advantage in surrendering their ownership in a single enterprise in favor of participation in a combined venture ..., one of the strong motivations apparently was an opportunity to liquidate part of their investment, coupled with the opportunity to remain part owners. At least this was a theme that was played on when stockholders were asked to join in a merger. The argument may have been used that mergers brought an easing of competition and an opportunity for enhanced earnings in the future. But the trump card was immediate liquidity.

The comparison with New England is interesting. Indeed, in the first half of the 19th century a very different kind of capitalism developed there, dynastic not anonymous, based on acknowledging the social ties embodied in a productive enterprise rather, than trying to minimize them. But historically the preference for money has more often won out. This was even more true in the early days of capitalism, in the 17th century. Braudel:

it was in the sphere of circulation, trade and marketing that capitalism was most at home; even if it sometimes made more than fleeting incursions on to the territory of production.

Production, he continues, was "foreign territory" for capitalists, which they only entered reluctantly, always taking the first chance to return to the familiar ground of finance and long-distance trade. Of course this changed dramatically with the Industrial Revolution. But there's an important sense in which it's still, or once again, true.

Are Wages Too High?

2011-10-29T11:53:00.000-07:00

Here's a good one for the right-for-the-wrong-reasons file.

David Glasner is one of an increasing number of Fed critics who would like to see a higher inflation target. Today, he takes aim at a Wall Street Journal editorial that claims that the real victims of cheaper money wouldn't be, you know, people who own money -- creditors -- as one might think, but working people. Higher inflation just means lower real wages, says the Journal. Crocodile tears, says Glasner -- since when does the Journal care about wage workers? So far, so good, says me.

"What makes this argument so disreputable,"he goes on,

is not just the obviously insincere pretense of concern for the welfare of the working class, but the dishonest implication that employment in a recession or depression can be increased without an, at least temporary, reduction in real wages. Rising unemployment during a contraction implies that real wages are, in some sense, too high, so that a falling real wage tends to be a characteristic of any recovery, at least in its early stages. The only question is whether the falling real wage is brought about through prices rising faster than wages or by wages falling faster than prices. If the Wall Street Journal and other opponents of rising prices don’t want prices to erode real wages, they are ipso facto in favor of falling money wages.

And here we have taken a serious wrong turn.

Glasner is certainly not alone in thinking that rising prices are associated with falling real wages, and vice versa. And he's also got plenty of company in his belief that since the wage is equal to the marginal product of labor, and marginal products should decline, in the short run higher employment implies a lower real wage. But is he right? Is it true that if employment is to rise, "the only question" is whether wages fall directly or via inflation? Is it true that unemployment necessarily means that wages are too high?

Empirically, it seems questionable. Let's look at unemployment and wages in the past few decades in the United States. The graph below shows the real hourly wage on the x-axis and the unemployment rate on the y-axis. The red dots show the two years after the peak of unemployment in each of the past five recessions. If reducing unemployment always required lower real wages, the red dots should consistently make upward sloping lines. The real picture, though, is more complicated.

As we can see, the early 2000s recovery and, arguably, the early 1980s recovery were associated with falling real wages. but in the early 1990s, employment recovered with constant real wages -- that's what the vertical line over on the left means. And in the two recessions of the 1970s, the recoveries combined falling unemployment with strongly rising real wages. If we look at other advanced countries, it's this last pattern we see most often. (I show some examples after the fold.) So while rising employment is sometimes accompanied by a falling real wage, it is clearly not true that, as Glasner claims, it necessarily must be.

This is an important question to get straight. There seems to be a certain convergence happening between progressive-liberal economists and neo-monetarists like Glasner on the desirability of higher inflation in general and nominal GDP targeting in particular. There's something to be said for this; inflation is the course of least resistance to cancel the debts. But we in the party of movement can't support this idea or make it part of a broader popular economic program if it's really a stalking horse for lower wages.

Fortunately, the macroeconomic benefits of a rising price level don't depend on a falling real wage.
More broadly, the idea that reducing unemployment necessarily means reducing wages doesn't hold up. It's wrong empirically, and it involves a basic misunderstanding of what's going on in recessions.

Yes, labor is idle in a recession, but does that mean its price, the wage, is too high? There is also more excess capacity in the capital stock in a recession; by the same logic, that would mean profits are too high. Real estate vacancy rates are high in a recession, so rents must also be too high. In fact, every factor of production is underutilized in recessions, but it's logically impossible for the relative price of all factors to be too high. A shortfall in demand for output as a whole (or excess demand for the means of payment, if you're a monetarist) doesn't tell us anything about whether relative prices are out of line, or in which direction. If we were seeing technological unemployment -- people thrown out of work by the adoption of more capital-intensive forms of production -- then there might be something to the statement that "unemployment ... implies that real wages are, in some sense, too high." But that's not what we see in recessions at all.

Glasner is hardly the only one who thinks that unemployment must somehow involve excessive wages. If he were, he'd hardly be worth arguing with. It's a common view today, and it was even more common before World War II. Glasner quotes Mises (yikes!), but Schumpeter said the same thing. More interestingly, so did Keynes. In Chapter Two of the General Theory, he announces that he is not challenging what he calls the first postulate of the classical theory of employment, that the wage is equal to the marginal product of labor. And he draws the same conclusion from this that Glasner does:

with a given organisation, equipment and technique, real wages and the volume of output (and hence of employment) are uniquely correlated, so that, in general, an increase in employment can only occur to the accompaniment of a decline in the rate of real wages. Thus I am not disputing this vital fact which the classical economists have (rightly) asserted... [that] the real wage earned by a unit of labour has a unique (inverse) correlation with the volume of employment. Thus if employment increases, then, in the short period, the reward per unit of labour in terms of wage-goods must, in general, decline... This is simply the obverse of the familiar proposition that industry is normally working subject to decreasing returns... So long, indeed, as this proposition holds, any means of increasing employment must lead at the same time to a diminution of the marginal product and hence of the rate of wages measured in terms of this product.

So, wait, if Keynes says it then it can't be a basic misunderstanding of the principle of aggregate demand, can it? Well, here's where things get interesting.

Keynes didn't participate much in the academic discussions following the The General Theory; the last decade of his life was taken up with practical policy work. (As Hyman Minsky observed, this may be one reason why many of his more profound ideas never made into postwar Keynesianism.) But he take part in a discussion in the pages of the Quarterly Journal of Economics, in which the "most important" contribution, per Keynes, was from Jacob Viner, who zeroed in on exactly this question. Viner:

Keynes' reasoning points obviously to the superiority of inflationary remedies for unemployment over money-wage reductions. ... there would be a constant race between the printing press and the business agents of the trade unions, with the problem of unemployment largely solved if the printing press could maintain a constant lead... [But] Keynes follows the classical doctrine too closely when he concedes that "an increase in employment can only occur to the accompaniment of a decline in the rate of real wages." This conclusion results from too unqualified an application of law-of-diminishing-returns analysis, and needs to be modified for cyclical unemployment... If a plant geared to work at say 80 per cent of rated capacity is being operated at say only 30 per cent, both the per capita and the marginal output of labor may well be lower at the low rate of operations than at the higher rate, the law of diminishing returns notwithstanding. There is the further empirical consideration that if employers operate in their wage policy in accordance with marginal cost analysis, it is done only imperfectly and unconsciously...

Viner makes two key points here: First, it is not necessarily the case that the marginal product of labor declines with output, especially in a recession or depression when businesses are producing well below capacity. And second, the assumption that wages are equal to marginal product is not a safe one. A third criticism came from Kalecki, that under imperfect competition firms would not set price equal to marginal cost but at some markup above it, a markup that will vary over the course of the business cycle. Keynes fully agreed that all three criticisms -- along with some others, which seem less central to me -- were correct, and that the first classical postulate was no better grounded than the second. In what I believe was his last substantive economic publication, a 1939 article in the Economic Journal, he returned to the question, showing that it was not true empirically that real wage fall when employment rises and exploring why he and other economists had gotten this wrong. The claim that higher employment must be accommpanied by a lower real wage, he wrote, "is the portion of my book which most needs to be revised." Indeed, it was the only substantive modification of the argument of the General Theory that he made in his lifetime.

I bring all this up because -- well, partly just because I think it's interesting. But it's worth being reminded, how much of our current economic debate is recapitulating what people were figuring out in the 1930s. And it's interesting to see how just how seductive is the idea that high unemployment means that "real wages are, in some sense, too high." Even Keynes had to be talked out of it, even though it runs counter to the logic of his whole system, and even though there's no good theoretical or empirical reason to believe it's true.

Right, back to empirics. Here are a few more graphs, showing, like the US one above, unemployment on the vertical axis and real hourly wages on the horizontal. Data is from the OECD.

The first picture shows five Western European countries in the decade before the crisis. The important part is the left side; what you see there is that in all five countries unemployment fell sharply in the late 90s/early 2000s, even while real wages increased. In Belgium, for example, unemployment fell from 10 percent to a bit over six percent between 1996 and 2002, at the same time as real wages rose by close to 10 percent. The other four (and almost every country in the EU) show similar patterns.

The second one shows Korea. The 1997 Asian crisis is clearly visible here as the huge spike in unemployment in the middle of the graph. But what's relevant here is the way it seems to slope backward. That's because real wages fell along with employment in the crisis, and rose with employment in the recovery. Over the same period that unemployment comes back down from 8 to 4 percent, the real wage index rises from 70 to 80. This is the opposite of what we would expect in the Glasner story.

The third one shows Australia and New Zealand. Australia shows two periods of sharply falling unemployment -- one in the 1980s accompanied by flat wages (a vertical line) and one in the 1990s accompanied by rising wages. Of all these countries, only New Zealand's recoveries show a pattern of falling unemployment accompanied by falling real wages -- clearly after 1992, and for a quarter or two in 2000.

You may object that these are mostly small open economies. So while the real wage is deflated by the domestic price level, the real question is whether labor costs are rising or falling relative to trade partners. If employment and wages are rising together, that probably just means the currency is depreciating. I don't think this is true either. Countries often improve their trade balance even when real wages as measured in a common currency are rising, and conversely. That's "Kaldor's paradox" -- countries with persistently strengthening trade balances tend to be precisely those with rising relative labor costs. But that will have to wait for a future post.

UPDATE: In comments, Will Boisvert calls the graphs above the worst he's ever seen. OK!

So, here is the same data presented in a hopefully more legible way. The red line is unemployment, the blue line is the real hourly wage. The key question is, when the red line is falling from a peak, is the blue line falling too, or at least decelerating? And the answer, as above, is: Sometimes, but not usually. There is nothing dishonest in the claim that, in a recession, unemployment can be reduced without a decline in the real wage.

"Ten People Acting Together Can Make a Hundred Thousand Tremble Separately"

2011-10-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

Suresh's excellent post on the Occupy Wall Street movement reminded me of Hannah Arendt's On Revolution. It's a funny book; I don't know if it's much read today. One of its innovations, or eccentricities, is to place the American Revolution not just in the revolutionary tradition, but right at its center. Another is the focus on the idea of "public happiness" -- the idea that there's a distinct kind of wellbeing that comes from participation in collective decisionmaking. And most relevant to the current conversation, is its emphasis on the role of local councils -- non-elected but representative -- in every revolutionary situation, from 18th century New England town meetings to the soviets of 1918. These have independently developed, she argues, the"federal principle" -- the idea that democratic politics consists not in selecting leaders who then exercise power on behalf of the public, but rather of local bodies delegating specific tasks to more centralized bodies.

The connection to the Occupy movement is perhaps obvious, though Arendt isn't one of the writers people usually associate with this kind of politics. Her insistence that broad participation in public life is an end in itself, even the highest end, is a nice corrective to people who are impatient with the inward-looking nature -- meetings about meetings! -- of a lot of conversations around OWS. And the General Assembly structure looks different when you imagine them as proto-soviets. Of course the US today isn't anywhere close to a revolutionary situation, and one can't imagine General Assemblies exercising dual power. Or more precisely, there's no way anything like that will happen; people are imagining it, that's the point. Maybe the best evidence that Arendt is onto something important is that her book, written in the 1960s mostly about the politics of the 1780s, has distinct echoes not just of OWS, but of popular movements around the world, like the idea of "delegation" rather than "representation" coming out of Venezuela and Bolivia.

I think the connection is interesting enough,it's worth putting some long quotes from On Revolution here. Which requires us to deploy the new-to-Slackwire technology of the fold. So, after it, Arendt.

While the [French] Revolution taught the men in prominence a lesson of happiness, it apparently taught the people a first lesson in "the notion and taste of public liberty". An enormous appetite for debate, for instruction, for mutual enlightenment and exchange of opinion, even if all these were to remain without immediate consequence on those in power, developed in the sections and societies... It was this communal council system, and not the electors' assemblies, which spread in the form of revolutionary societies all over France. Only a few words need to be said about the sad end of these first organs of a republic which never came into being. They were crushed by the central and centralized government, not because they actually menaced it but because they were indeed, by virtue of their existence, competitors for public power. No one in France was likely to forget Mirabeau's words that "ten men acting together can make a hundred thousand tremble apart." ...

"As Cato concluded every speech with the words, Carthago delenda est, so do I every opinion, with the injunction, 'divide the counties into wards'." Thus Jefferson once summed up an exposition of his most cherished political idea... Both Jefferson's plan and the French societes revolutionaires anticipated with an utmost weird precision those councils, soviets and Rate, which were to make their appearance in every genuine revolution throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Each time they appeared, they sprang up as the spontaneous organs of the people, not only outside of all revolutionary parties but entirely unexpected by them and their leaders. Like Jefferson's proposals, they were utterly neglected by statesmen, historians, political theorists, and, most importantly, by the revolutionary tradition itself. Even those historians whose sympathies were clearly on the side of revolution... failed to understand to what an extent the council system confronted them with an entirely new form of government, with a new public space for freedom which was constituted and organized during the course of the revolution itself. ...

The ward system was not meant to strengthen the power of the many but the power of "every one" within the limits of his competence [shades of Hardt and Negri]; and only by breaking up "the many" into assemblies where every one could count and be counted upon "shall we be as republican as a large society can be". In terms of the safety of the citizens of the republic, the question was how to make everybody feel "that he is a participator in the government of affairs, not merely at an election one day in the year, but every day"...

If the ultimate end of revolution was freedom and the constitution of a public space where freedom could appear, the constitutio libertatis, then the elementary republics of the wards, the only tangible place where everyone could be free, actually were the end of the great republic whose chief purpose in domestic affairs should have been to provide the people with such places of freedom and to protect them."

Shorter Hannah Arendt: We are our demands.

Demands, Democratization, and OWS

2011-10-22T17:32:00.001-07:00

In formal political economy, Acemoglu and Robinson have a famous theory of democratization, which might illuminate the splits inside OWS. Non-democracies are characterized by elite control of the policy making process. Occasionally, non-elites are able to solve their collective action problems and temporarily threaten the elites with rebellion. Elites can respond to this threat by repressing, temporarily reforming, or democratizing. When a movement is weak, it can be easily repressed. If it is a bit stronger but not overwhelmingly powerful, elites might alter a few policies here and there, but not change the identity of who gets to decide future policies. Because politics is fickle and promises aren't worth anything unless they are institutionalized, the temporary policy changes won by a political movement aren't going to last unless the identity of the people deciding policy in the future changes. A sad example of a regime's worthless promises is the 1381 Wat Tyler peasant rebellion, where the king promised amnesty to the anti-landlord rebels, only to have them hanged once they put down their arms. Zuccotti square is our pitchfork, and we shouldn't put it down for non-credible promises from our elites. But what is a credible promise? What could we demand that would last and work well after we've gone back to normal life (in my case referee reports and regressions)?

In Acemoglu and Robinson, when protesting citizens have enough political power, they demand and win democracy instead of just redistribution. In this way, democracy is a commitment device, ensuring that non-elites get to decide policies even after they have demobilized from the streets. If one admits that de jure U.S. politics, while democratic in form, has certain parts of it (e.g. monetary policy, financial regulation, tax policy) captured by elites regardless of the politician in power, then this democratization model becomes pretty applicable. Perhaps it took Obama's election and subsequent ineffectiveness to really communicate the extent of elite capture of U.S. politics, although the evidence has been accumulating for decades. In any case, many of the folks in Zuccotti square think that electoral politics is completely run by the rich, and so it takes street politics to force reform. The problem is, as in Acemoglu and Robinson, that mobilization is generally temporary: you don't get people protesting on the streets for years. A lasting victory would depend on converting this mobilization into institutions and durable policy gains.

The claim that OWS is partially a democratization movement has been made by Hardt and Negri. I think they are right, because from the inside it exhibits the fractures that all democratization movements face. Social democrats want the movement to cash in the temporarily political energy for economic policies to generate economic growth right now. I understand this, as political power via the street mobilization and media is fleeting and there is a worry that we will lose it before we actually secure anything at all. But the radicals claim a bigger, better demand: "real" democracy. The ability to set policy is worth much more than any particular policy, and democracy is the institutional setup that gives everybody the ability to participate in setting policy.

So radicals want the movement to continue to try and build political power so that we can demand not just financial transactions taxes or even a jobs program, but all that and the ability to have a say over all kinds of other decisions, from incarceration to the environment. This is why the overarching concern for the anarchists is to build the organizational architecture of the occupation, growing its semiotic and spatial reach. This makes the whirring of activity around Zuccotti square an amplifier for all the popular economic justice struggles, from Sotheby's workers to anti-foreclosure activism to movements to democratize the Fed. I like the metaphor of OWS as a wildlife garden for a left political ecology, which is attracting and cultivating a biosphere of demands, grievances, ideologies and cultural practices to evolve a stronger left. This is also why we are sometimes accused of having a "grab bag" of disconnected issues: its because one of the promises of the movement is power for the majority over all kinds of decisions, instead of making demands from the incompetent and decadent elites that currently make those decisions. Its part of the idea that this is just the beginning; we have a long winter and a longer struggle ahead, and need to use this moment to set ourselves up for building more political power in the medium run. So we're not going to coalesce and harden into "demands", but instead continue to nurture a culture of a thousand different demands and recruit people and develop a hegemonic agenda (that we don't have yet!). But the promise of that power and hegemony is grander: democratic control over policy making writ large. Occupy Everything, until we get all our demands and we don't have to make any more.

Disgorge the Cash!

2011-10-11T22:59:00.000-07:00

It's well known that some basic parameters of the economy changed around 1980, in a mutation that's often called neoliberalism or financialization. Here's one piece of that shift that doesn't get talked about much, but might be relevant to our current predicament.


Source: Flow of Funds

The blue line shows the after-tax profits of nonfinancial corporations. The dotted red line shows dividend payments by those same corporations, and the solid red line shows total payout to shareholders, that is dividends plus net share repurchases. All three are expressed as a share of trend GDP. The thing to look at it is the relationship between the blue line and the solid red one.

In the pre-neoliberal era, up until 1980 or so, nonfinancial businesses paid out about 40 percent of their profits to shareholders. But in most of the years since 1980, they've paid out more than all of them. In 2006, for example, nonfinancial corporations had after-tax earnings of $800 billion, and paid out $365 billion in dividends and $565 in net stock repurchases. In 2007, earnings were $750 billion, dividends were $480 billion, and net stock repurchases were $790 billion. (Yes, net stock repurchases exceeded after-tax profits.) In 2008 it was $600, $470, and $340 billion. And so on. [1]

It was a common trope in accounts of the housing bubble that greedy or shortsighted homeowners were extracting equity from their houses with second mortgages or cash-out refinancings to pay for extra consumption. What nobody mentioned was that the rentier class had been doing this longer, and on a much larger scale, to the country's productive enterprises. At the top of every boom in the neoliberal era, there's been a massive round of stock buybacks, which you could think of as shareholders cashing out their bubble wealth. It's a bit like the homeowners "using their houses as ATMs" during the 2000s. The difference, of course, is that if you took too much equity out of your house in the bubble, you're the one stuck with the mortgage payments today. Whereas when shareholders use businesses as ATMs, those businesses' workers and customers get to share the pain.

One way of thinking about this increase in the share of profits flowing out of the firm, is in terms of changing relations between managers and the owning class. The managerial capitalism of Galbraith or Berle and Means, with firms pursuing a variety of objectives and "owners" just one constituency among many, really existed, but only in the decades after World War II. That, anyway, is the argument of Dumenil and Levy's Crisis of Neoliberalism. In the postwar period,

corporations were managed with concerns, such as investment and technical change, significantly distinct from the creation of "shareholder value." Managers enjoyed relative freedom to act vis-a-vis owners, with a considerable share of profits retained within the firm for the purpose of investment. ... Neoliberalism put an end to this autonomy because it implied a containment of capitalist interests, and established a new compromise at the top of the social hierarchies... during the 1980s, the disciplinary aspect of the new relationship between the capitalist and the managerial classes was dominant... after 2000, managers had become a pillar of Finance.

When I've heard Dumenil talk about this development, he calls the new configuration at the top a "loving marriage"; the book says, less evocatively, that today

income patterns suggest that a process of "hybridization" or merger is underway. ... The boundary between high-ranking managers and the capitalist classes is blurred.

The key thing is that at one point, large businesses really were run by people who, while autocratic within the firm and often vicious in defense of their privileges, really did identify with the particular businesses they managed and focused their energy on their survival and growth, and even on the sheer disinterested desire to do their kind of business well. You can find a few businesses that are still run like this -- I've been meaning to write a post on Steve Jobs -- but by far the dominant ethos among managers today is that a business exists only to enrich its shareholders, including, of course, senior managers themselves. Which they have done very successfully, as the graph above (or a look at the world outside) shows.

In terms of the specific process by which this cam about, the best guide is chapter 6 of Doug Henwood's Wall Street (available for free download here.) [2] As Doug makes clear, the increased payouts to shareholders didn't just happen. They're the result of a conscious, deliberate effort by owners of financial assets to reassert their claims on corporate income, using the carrot of high pay and stock for mangers and the stick of hostile takeovers for those who didn't come through. Here's Michael Jensen spelling out the problem from finance's point of view:

Conflicts of interest between shareholders and managers over payout policies are especially severe when the organization generates substantial cashflow. The problem is how to motivate managers to disgorge the cash rather than investing it at below the cost of capital or wasting it on organization inefficiencies [by which Jensen seems to have mostly meant high wages].

Peter Rona, also quoted in Wall Street, expresses the same thought but in a decidedly less finance-friendly way: Shareholders "take pretty much the same view of the corporation as a praying mantis does of her mate."

You don't see the overt Jensen-type arguments as much now that management at most firms is happy to disgorge all of its cash and then some. But they're not gone. A while back I saw a column in the business press -- wish I could remember where -- expressing outrage at Apple's huge cash reserves. Because they should be investing that in new technology, or expanding production and hiring people? Of course not. It's outrageous because that's the shareholders' money, and why isn't Apple handing it over immediately. More than that, why doesn't Apple issue a bunch of bonds, as much as the market will take, and pay the proceeds out to the shareholders too? From the point of view of the creatures on Wall Street, a company that prioritizes its long-term growth and survival is stealing from them.

UPDATE: Ah, here's the piece I was thinking of: Forget iPad, it's time for iGetsomemoneyback. From right before the iPad launch, it's a gem of the rentier mindset, complete with mockery of Apple for investing in this silly tablet thing instead of just handing all its money to Wall Street.

Why is Apple hoarding its cash? A company spokesman explains: "We have maintained our cash and strong balance sheet to preserve the flexibility to make strategic investments and/or acquisitions." ... Steve Jobs really doesn't need an acquisitions warchest of around $30 billion ... He should start handing back this money to stockholders through dividends. ... The money belongs to stockholders: Give. Indeed Jobs should go further. Apple should -- gasp -- start borrowing, and hand that money back, too.

Disgorge the cash!

SECOND UPDATE: Welcome to visitors from Dealbreaker, Felix Salmon and Powerline. If you like this, other posts here you might like include Selfish Masters, Selfless Servants; The Financial Crisis and the Recession; What Do Bosses Want?; and in sort of a different vein, Satisfaction.

[1] There's something very odd going on in the fourth quarter of 2005: According to the Flow of Funds, dividend payments by nonfinancial firms dropped to essentially zero. The shortfall was made up in the preceding and following quarters. I suspect there must be some tax change involved. Does anybody (Bruce Wilder, maybe) have any idea what it is?

[2] John Smithin's Macroeconomic Policy and the Future of Capitalism is also very good on this; it's subtitle ("the revenge of the rentiers") gives a better flavor of the argument than the bland title.

This Is What Democracy Looks Like

2011-10-03T23:20:00.000-07:00

I haven't Occupied Wall Street, have you?

The protests are great -- more anger, please! -- but I don't have any particular insight into them. And those of us without first-hand knowledge should probably defer to those who do. Except, I want to think critically about one common criticism of the protests: that they lack a clear statement of what they're about.

It's not clear how much this is really true. But still, one can say, isn't there something circular about the idea of "Occupy Wall Street"? It's not identified as a movement against bank bailouts or foreclosures, or for jobs or free elections or socialism. It's a movement to, well, occupy Wall Street -- a protest to hold a protest.

I think there's an important sense in which this is true. And in which it's always true -- in which, indeed, it's the whole point.

If you've ever been to one of these things, you know that the most successful chants are the self-referential ones, like "Whose streets/Our streets!" and "This is what democracy look like." (Or "We're here, we're queer" and "We shall not be moved.") Whatever the ostensible reason for the protest, the real content is always simply We Are Here.

This is most obvious, and most powerful, when the participants are people who are not supposed to be political agents or be seen in public at all: The early civil rights and gay rights protests, undocumented immigrants today. The message is, We exist. Think of the Memphis sanitation workers strike, with its signs reading, "I AM A MAN." But it also works if the "here" is a setting that is not supposed to be political. The flipside, as everyone knows, is that a protest of recognized citizens at a place and time designated by the authorities is politically meaningless.

Most of us very seldom experience ourselves as political agents, in the sense of being active participants in the collective decision-making of our community. For better or worse, most of the time we delegate collective decision-making to specialists who represent us more or less faithfully, as the case may be. The only reason for protest -- for any kind of mass politics -- is that this system has broken down. The message of any protest is: There is a political subject, a We, that is not being represented. This, in the broadest possible way, is what the "99%" rhetoric is saying, and why it resonates. At some point, if a when movements like this are successful, some new more legitimate form of representation will be established, as people form new collective identities and new norms of collective action. But it's foolish to criticize an assertion of the failure of representation for not itself being an effective representative, with a specific set of demands and a strategy to carry them out.

It's a long time since I read any Habermas, but he has a passage somewhere about how politics is necessarily an open-ended discussion, a process for deciding a question that could in principle be resolved in many ways. So anything that becomes routine, that becomes part of the regular process of social reproduction, is no longer political. You can find a similar argument in Hannah Arendt, and Luciano Canfora makes it very powerfully. Democracy, he says, isn't a form of government, like in civics class and Civilization. It's something that happens, occasionally and intermittently. Any mechanism can be captured; you can't institutionalize rule by the non-rich, as long as there are rich. To assert ourselves we have to heckle from the sidelines, or once in a while storm the field.

With a legitimate system of political representation, the question is what we should do and how to do it. Without one, we first have to establish that "we" exist.

UPDATE: Once you start looking for this stuff, it's amazing how consistent it is. Pull up a photo of the protests at random, and there's at least even odds you'll see a sign with some self-referential message: "I am a human being, not a commodity," "We are the 99%", etc. Here's a particularly nice example:

"We" are made up of the people here with signs. Exactly.

UPDATE 2: Matt Stoller, who's actually spent time there, says the same thing:

What do the people at #OccupyWallStreet actually want? What are their demands? For many people, this is THE question. So let me answer it. What they want, is to do exactly what they are doing. They want to occupy Wall Street. They have built a campsite full of life, where power is exercised according to their voices. It’s a small space, it’s a relatively modest group of people at any one time, and the resources they command are few. But they are practicing the politics of place, the politics of building a truly public space. They are explicitly rejecting the politics of narrow media, the politics of the shopping mall. To understand #OccupyWallStreet, you have to get that it is not a media object or a march. It is first and foremost, a church of dissent, a space made sacred by a community. ... There's no way to agree or disagree with a church or a carnival.

Quasi-Monetarism: A Second Opinion

2011-09-27T20:36:00.000-07:00

(Anush Kapadia, who knows this stuff much better than me, writes in with some comments on the last few posts. I accept this as a friendly amendment, and don't disagree with any of it. I agree with particular enthusiasm with the points that we should be talking about liquidity, not money; that the the link between any quantifiable money stock and real activity had broken down by the early 1980s if not before (my point was only that it wasn't entirely obvious until the great financial crisis); that to make sense of this stuff you need a concrete, institutionally grounded account of the financial system; and that for that, a very good place to start is Perry Mehrling's work.)

Some cavils:

The meaningfulness of monetary aggregates depends on the configuration of the credit system. In a world of tight banking regulations, the monetarist assumption that "there's a stable relationship between outside money and inside money" worked fine precisely because regulations made it so. Once those regulations break down, the relationship between outside and and inside money transforms. As the mainstream understands, "the rapid pace of financial innovation in the United States has been an important reason for the instability of the relationships between monetary aggregates and other macroeconomic variables" (Bernanke, "Monetary Aggregates and Monetary Policy at the Federal Reserve: A Historical Perspective," FRB 2006).

Thus your claim that "Between 1990 and 2008, this [monetarist] story isn't glaringly incompatible with the evidence" is not entirely true. Post-deregulation, money demand ("velocity") became quite unmeasurable, breaking the link between the two sides of the quantity equation. "Behavior" had already changed significantly by the late 1960s, i.e. just as the monetarists were gaining the upper hand in the battle of ideas. (Note that the Fed eventually stopped measuring M3; but not everyone did: http://www.shadowstats.com/charts/monetary-base-money-supply).

Eventually, in response to this breakdown, the Fed quits its ill-conceived monetarist experiment and targets price rather quantity, specifically the Fed Funds rate. Thus "changing the stock of base money" has not been "the instrument of central banks, at least in theory, since the early 20th century." Since the empirical and theoretical tractability of "the money supply" gave way, monetary control moved to the price of central-bank refinance, i.e. "the price of liquidity." [1]

Price-based control works by acting on the leverage capacity of the balance sheets "downstream," most immediately those in the primary dealer system. (Mehrling, New Lombard Street). Modulation of this capacity is effected through changes in the price of refinance---the bailout price---for these dealers, thereby changing their bid-ask spread. So changes in the prices of the assets in which they make markets are a key transmission mechanism to changes in interest rates.

The effect interest rates have on investment and/or consumer demand itself depends on the configuration of the credit system, i.e. how investment and consumption are financed. The price of credit might not be as important as its quantity for investment, but the former might be very important for consumption and thus aggregate demand.
So you can get a recession thanks to insufficient aggregate demand if you have a credit system that ties consumption to finance. The reason is the same as that which enables what Mehrling calls "monetary policy without sticky prices," i.e. the leverage capacity of (in this case, consuming) balance sheets. If people are stuffed with debt, their "excess demand for money" basically represents a demand for liquidity to pay down their debts. Extra income will go first and foremost towards deleveraging rather than consumption; this of course is Richard Koo's Minsky-flavored lesson from Japan.

Given the current configuration of the system, a coordination problem of the kind referred to would mean that those with spare lending capacity can't find those with spare borrowing capacity. Yet in sectoral terms, its only households that are truly overleveraged: government is only political so and business are relatively okay. The problem is to get the big balance sheet with the spare capacity online again; of course, that is a political problem.[2] Boosting liquidity qua "the money supply" will simply pass through to paying down debts before it starts to affect consumption and thereby investment. In short, we might be some time, especially if we abstract away from the institutional configuration of the credit system.

[1] This signaled a return to pre-WWI "banking school" methods employed by the Bank of England, modulo differences in the respective credit systems: commercial paper for the trade-credit-based English system and government paper for the postwar US system. The Fed in our own period seems to be feeling its way to dealing in paper other than the government's (QE I), something that is appropriate given the importance of non-government debt in the present system.

[2] Incidentally, Morris Copeland's analogy of the credit system as an electric grid works much better than Fisher's "currency school" vision of money as a liquid. See http://www.nber.org/books/cope52-1.

What's the Matter with (Quasi-)Monetarism?

2011-09-16T17:57:00.000-07:00

Let's start from the top.

What is monetarism? As I see it, it's a set of three claims. (1) There is a stable relationship between base money and the economically-relevant stock of money. [1] That is, there's a stable relationship between outside money and inside money. (2) There is a stable velocity of money, so we can interpret the equation of exchange MV = PY (or MV = PT) as a behavioral relationship and not just an accounting identity. Since the first claim says that M is set exogenously by the monetary authority, causality in the equation runs from left to right. And (3), the LM aggregate supply curve is shaped like a backward L, so that changes in PY show up entire in Y when the economy is below capacity, and entirely in changes in P when it is at capacity.

In other words, (1) the central bank can control the supply of money; (2) the supply of money determines the level of nominal output; and (3) there is a single strictly optimal level of nominal output, without any tradeoffs. The implication is that monetary policy should be guided by a simple rule, that the money supply should grow at a fixed rate equal to (what we think is) the growth rate of potential output. Which is indeed, exactly what Friedman and other monetarists said.

You can relax (3) if you want -- most monetarists would probably agree that in practice, disinflation is going to involve a period of depressed output. (Altho on the other hand, I'm pretty sure that when monetarism was officially adopted as the doctrine of the bank of England under Thatcher, it was claimed that slowing the growth of the money supply would control inflation without affecting growth at all. And the hedge-monetarism you run into today, that insists the huge growth in base money over the past few years could show up as hyperinflation without warning, seems to be implicitly assuming a backward-L shaped LM AS curve as well.) But basically, that's the monetarist package.

So what's wrong with this story? Here's what:

The red line is base money, the blue line is broad money (M2), and the green line is nominal GDP. The monetarist story is that red moves blue, and blue moves green. Between 1990 and 2008, this story isn't glaringly incompatible with the evidence. But since then? It's clear that the money multiplier, as we normally talk about it, no longer has any economic reality. There might still be tools out there to control the money supply. But changing the stock of base money -- the instrument of central banks, at least in theory, since the early 20th century -- is no longer one of them. Monetary policy as we knew it is dead. The divergence between the blue and green lines is less dramatic in this graph, but if anything it's even more damning. While output and prices lurched downward in the great Recession, the money supply just kept chugging along. Milton Friedman's idea that stable growth of the money supply is a sufficient condition for stable growth of nominal GDP looks pretty definitively refuted.

So that's monetarism, and what's the matter with it. How about quasi-monetarism? What's the difference from the unprefixed kind?

Some people would say, There is no difference. Quasi-monetarist is just what we call a New Keynesian who's taken off his Keynes mask and admitted he was a Friedmanite all along. And let's be honest, that's sort of true. But it's like one of those episodes in religious history where at some point the disciples have to acknowledge that, ok, the prophecies don't seem to have exactly worked out. Which means we have to figure out what they really meant.

In this case, the core commitment is the idea that if PY is too low (we're experiencing a recession and/or deflation) that means M is too low; if PY is too high (we're experiencing inflation) that means M is too high. In other words, when we talk about insufficient aggregate demand, what we're really talking about is just excess demand for money. And therefore, when we talk about policies to boost demand, we're really just talking about policies to boost the money stock. (Nick Rowe, as usual, is admirably straightforward on this point.) But how to reconcile this with the graph above? You just have to replace some material entities with spiritual ones: The true M, or V, or both, is not visible to mortal eyes. Let's say that velocity is exogenous but not stable. Then there is still a unique path of M that would guarantee both full employment and stable prices, but it can't be characterized as a simple growth rate as Friedman hoped. Alternatively, maybe the problem is that the monetary authority can only control M clumsily, and can't directly observe how far off it is. (This is the DeLong version of quasi-monetarism. The assets that count as M are always changing.) Then, there may still be the One True Growth Rate of M just as Friedman promised, but the monetary authority can't reliably implement it. Or sublunary M and V could both depart from their platonic ideals. In any case, the answer is clear: Since it's hard to get MV right, your rule should be to target a steady growth rate of PY (nominal GDP). Which is, indeed, exactly what the quasi-monetarists say. [2]

So what's the alternative? I've been arguing that one alternative is to think of recessions as coordination failures, which could happen even in an economy without money. I'm honestly not sure if that's going to turn out to be a productive direction to go in, or not. But in terms of the monetarist framework, the alternative is clear. Say that V is not only unstable, but endogenous. Specifically, say that it varies inversely with M. In this case, it remains true -- as it must; it's an accounting identity -- that MV = PY. But nonetheless there is nothing you can do to M, that will affect P or Y. (This situation, by the way, is what Keynes meant by a liquidity trap. It wasn't about the zero lower bound.)

This, I think, is what we actually observe, not just right now, but in general. "The" interest rate is the price of liquidity, that is, the price of money. [3] And what kinds of activity are sensitive to interest rates? Well, uh ... none of them. None, anyway, except for housing. When an economic unit is deciding on the division of its income between currently-produced goods and services vs. money, the price at which they exchange just doesn't seem to be much of a consideration. (Again, except -- and it's an important exception -- when the decision takes the form of purchasing housing services from either an existing home, or a new one.) Which means that changes in M don't have any good channel to produce changes in P or Y. In general, increases or decreases in M will just result in pro rata decreases or increases in V. Yes, it may be formally true that insufficient demand for goods equals excess demand for money; but it doesn't matter if there's no well-defined money demand function. A traditional Keynesian expenditure function (Z = A + cY) cannot be usefully simplified, as the quasi-monetarists would like, by thinking of it as a problem of maximizing the flow of consumption subject to some real balance constraint.

So, monetarism made some strong predictions. Quasi-monetarism admits that those predictions don't hold up, but argues that the monetarist model is still the right one, we just can't observe the variables in it as directly as early monetarists hoped. On some level, they may be right! But at some point, when the model gets too loosely coupled with reality, you'll want to stop using it. Even if, in some sense, it isn't wrong.

Which is all to say that, even if I can't find a way to disprove it analytically, I just can't accept the idea that the question of aggregate demand can be usefully reduced to the question of the supply of money.

[1] The simplest form of the first claim would be that the money multiplier is equal to one: Outside money is all the money there is. Something like this was supposed to be true under the gold standard, tho as the great Robert Triffin points out, it wasn't really. Over at Windyanabasis, rsj claims that Krugman, a closet quasi-monetarist, implicitly makes this assumption.

[2] In practice, despite the tone of this post, I'm not entirely sure they're wrong. More generally, Nick Rowe's clear and thorough posts on this set of questions are essential reading.

[3] I've learned from Bob Pollin never to write that phrase without the quotes. There are lots of interest rates, and it matters.

Are Recessions All About Money: Quasi-Monetarists and Babysitting Co-ops

2011-09-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

Today Paul Krugman takes up the question of the post below, are recessions all about (excess demand for) money? The post is in response to an interesting criticism by Henry Kaspar of what Kaspar calls "quasi-monetarists," a useful term. Let me rephrase Kaspar's summary of the quasi-monetarist position [1]:

1. Logically, insufficient demand for goods implies excess demand for money, and vice versa.
2. Causally, excess demand for money (i.e. an increase in liquidity preference or a fall in the money supply) is what leads to insufficient demand for goods.
3. The solution is for the monetary authority to increase the supply of money.

Quasi-monetarists say that 2 is true and 3 follows from it. Kaspar says that 2 doesn't imply 3, and anyway both are false. And Krugman says that 3 is false because of the zero lower bound, and it doesn't matter if 2 is true, since asking for "the" cause of the crisis is a fool's errand. But everyone agrees on 1.

Me, though, I have doubts.

Krugman:

An overall shortfall of demand, in which people just don’t want to buy enough goods to maintain full employment, can only happen in a monetary economy; it’s correct to say that what’s happening in such a situation is that people are trying to hoard money instead (which is the moral of the story of the baby-sitting coop). And this problem can ordinarily be solved by simply providing more money.

For those who don't know it, Krugman's baby-sitting co-op story is about a group that let members "sell" baby-sitting services to each other in return for tokens, which they could redeem later when they needed baby-sitting themselves. The problem was, too many people wanted to save up tokens, meaning nobody would use them to buy baby-sitting and the system was falling apart. Then someone realizes the answer is to increase the number of tokens, and the whole system runs smoothly again. It's a great story, one of the rare cases where Keynesian conclusions can be drawn by analogizing the macroeconomy to everyday experience. But I'm not convinced that the fact that demand constraints can arise from money-hoarding, means that they always necessarily do.

Let's think of the baby-sitting co-op again, but now as a barter economy. Every baby-sitting contract involves two households [2] committing to baby-sit for each other (on different nights, obviously). Unlike in Krugman's case, there's no scrip; the only way to consume baby-sitting services is to simultaneously agree to produce them at a given date. Can there be a problem of aggregate demand in this barter economy. Krugman says no; there are plenty of passages where Keynes seems to say no too. But I say, sure, why not?

Let's assume that participants in the co-op decide each period whether or not to submit an offer, consisting of the nights they'd like to go out and the nights they're available to baby-sit. Whether or not a transaction takes place depends, of course, on whether some other participant has submitted an offer with corresponding nights to baby-sit and go out. Let's call the expected probability of an offer succeeding p. However, there's a cost to submitting an offer: because it takes time, because it's inconvenient, or just because, as Janet Malcolm says, it isn't pleasant for a grown man or woman to ask for something when there's a possibility of being refused. Call the cost c. And, the net benefit from fulfilling a contract -- that is, the enjoyment of going out baby-free less the annoyance of a night babysitting -- we'll call U.

So someone will make an offer only when U > c/p. (If say, there is a fifty-fifty chance that an offer will result in a deal, then the benefit from a contract must be at least twice the cost of an offer, since on average you will make two offers for eve contract.) But the problem is, p depends on the behavior of other participants. The more people who are making offers, the greater the chance that any given offer will encounter a matching one and a deal will take place.

It's easy to show that this system can have multiple, demand-determined equilibria, even though it is a pure barter economy. Let's call p* the true probability of an offer succeeding; p* isn't known to the participants, who instead form p by some kind of backward-looking expectations looking at the proportion of their own offers that have succeeded or failed recently. Let's assume for simplicity that p* is simply equal to the proportion of participants who make offers in any given week. Let's set c = 2. And let's say that every week, participants are interested in a sitter one night. In half those weeks, they really want it (U = 6) and in the other half, they'd kind of like it (U = 3). If everybody makes offers only when they really need a sitter, then p = 0.5, meaning half the contracts are fulfilled, giving an expected utility per offer of 2. Since the expected utility from making an offer on a night you only kind of want a sitter is - 1, nobody tries to make offers for those nights, and the equilibrium is stable. On the other hand, if people make offers on both the must-go-out and could-go-out nights, then p = 1, so all the offers have positive expected utility. That equilibrium is stable too. In the first equilibrium, total output is 1 util per participant per week, in the second it's 2.5.

Now suppose you are stuck in the low equilibrium. How can you get to the high one? Not by increasing the supply of money -- there's no money in the system. And not by changing prices -- the price of a night of baby-sitting, in units of nights of baby-sitting, can't be anything but one. But suppose half the population decided they really wanted to go out every week. Now p* rises to 3/4, and over time, as people observe more of their offers succeeding, p rises toward 3/4 as well. And once p crosses 2/3, offers on the kind-of-want-to-go-out nights have positive expected utility, so people start making offers for those nights as well, so p* rises further, toward one. At that point, even if the underlying demand functions go back to their original form, with a must-go-out night only every other week, the new high-output equilibrium will be stable.

As with any model, of course, the formal properties are less interesting in themselves than for what they illuminate in the real world. Is the Krugman token-shortage model or my pure coordination failure model a better heuristic for understanding recessions in the real world? That's a hard question!

Hopefully I'll offer some arguments on that question soon. But I do want to make one logical point first, the same as in the last post but perhaps clearer now. The statement "if there is insufficient demand for currently produced goods, there must excess be demand for money" may look quite similar to the statement "if current output is limited by demand, there must be excess demand for money." But they're really quite different; and while the first must be true in some sense, the second, as my hypothetical babysitting co-op shows, is not true at all. As Bruce Wilder suggests in comments, the first version is relevant to acute crises, while the second may be more relevant to prolonged periods of depressed output. But I don't think either Krugman, Kaspar or the quasi-monetarists make the distinction clearly.

EDIT: Thanks to anonymous commenter for a couple typo corrections, one of them important. Crowd-sourced editing is the best.

Also, you could think of my babysitting example as similar to a Keynesian Cross, which we normally think of as the accounting identity that expenditure equals output, Z = Y, plus the behavioral equation for expenditure, Z = A + cY, except here with A = 0 and c = 1. In that case any level of output is an equilibrium. This is quasi-monetarist Nick Rowe's idea, but he seems to be OK with my interpretation of it.

FURTHER EDIT: Nick Rowe has a very thoughtful response here. And my new favorite econ blogger, the mysterious rsj, has a very good discussion of these same questions here. Hopefully there'll be some responses here to both, soonish.

[1] Something about typing this sentence reminds me unavoidably of Lucky Jim. This what neglected topic? This strangely what topic? Summary of the quasi-what?

[2] Can't help being bugged a little by the way Krugman always refers to the participants as "couples," even if they mostly were. There are all kinds of families!

Are Recessions All About Money?

2011-08-31T12:56:00.000-07:00

There is a view that seems to be hegemonic among liberal economists, that recessions are fundamentally about money or finance. Not just causally, not just in general, but always, by definition. In this view, the only sense in which one can speak about aggregate demand as a constraint on output, is if we can identify excess demand for some non-produced financial asset.

In the simplest case, people want to hold a stock of money in some proportion to their total income. Money is produced only by the government. Now suppose people's demand for money rises, and the government fails to increase supply accordingly. You might expect the price of money to rise -- that is, deflation. But deflation doesn't restore equilibrium, either because prices are sticky (i.e., deflation can't happen, or not fast enough), or because deflation itself further raises the demand for money. It might do this by raising precautionary demand, since falling prices make it likely that businesses and households won't be able to meet obligations fixed in money terms and will face bankruptcy (Irving Fisher's debt-deflation cycle). Or deflation might increase demand for money by because it redistributes income from net borrowers to net savers, and the latter have a higher marginal demand for money holdings. Or there could be other reasons. In any case, the price of money doesn't adjust, so government has to keep its quantity growing at the appropriate rate instead. From this perspective, if we ever see an economy operating bellow full capacity, it is true by definition that there is excess demand for some money-like asset.

This sounds like Milton Friedman. It is Milton Friedman! But it also seems to be most of the liberal macroeconomists who are usually called Keynesians. Here's DeLong:

there was indeed a "general glut" of newly-produced commodities for sale and of workers to hire. But it was also the case that the excess supply of goods, services, and labor was balanced by an excess demand elsewhere in the economy. The excess demand was an excess demand not for any newly-produced commodity, but instead an excess demand for financial assets, for "money"...

How, exactly, should economists characterize the excess demand in financial markets? Where was it, exactly? That became a subject of running dispute, and the dispute has been running for more than 150 years, with different economists placing the cause of the "general glut" that was excess supply of newly-produced goods and of labor at the door of different parts of the financial system.

The contestants are:

Fisher-Friedman: monetarism: a depression is the result of an excess demand for money--for those liquid assets generally accepted as means of payment that people hold in their portfolios to grease their market transactions. You fix a depression by having the central bank boost the money stock...

Wicksell-Keynes (Keynes of the Treatise on Money, that is): a depression happens when there is an excess demand for bonds... You fix a depression by either reducing the market rate of interest (via expansionary monetary policy) or raising the natural rate of interest (via expansionary fiscal policy) in order to bring them back into equality....

Bagehot-Minsky-Kindleberger: a depression happens because of a panic and a flight to quality, as everybody tries to sell their risky assets and cuts back on their spending in order to try to shift their portfolio in the direction of safe, high-quality assets... You fix a depression by restoring market confidence and so shrinking demand for AAA assets and by increasing the supply of AAA assets....

From the perspective of this Malthus-Say-Mill framework Keynes's General Theory is a not entirely consistent mixture of (1), (2), and (3)...Note that these financial market excess demands can have any of a wide variety of causes: episodes of irrational panic, the restoration of realistic expectations after a period of irrational exuberance, bad news about future profits and technology, bad news about the solvency of government or of private corporations, bad government policy that inappropriately shrinks asset stocks, et cetera. Nevertheless, in this Malthus-Say-Mill framework it seems as if there is always or almost always something that the government can do to affect asset supplies and demands that promises a welfare improvement

That's an admirably clear statement. But is it right? I mean, first, is it right that demand constraints can always and only be usefully characterized as excess demand for some financial asset? And second, is that really what the General Theory says?

The first answer is No. Or rather, it's true but misleading. It is hard to talk sensibly about a "general glut" of currently produced goods except in terms of an excess demand for some money-like financial asset. But recessions and depressions are not mainly characterized by a glut of currently produced goods. They are characterized by an excess of productive capacity. Markets for all currently-produced goods may clear. But there is still a demand constraint, in the sense that if desired expenditure were higher, aggregate output would be higher. The simple Keynesian cross we teach in the second week of undergrad macro is a model of just such an economy, which makes sense without money or any other financial asset. (And is probably more useful than most of what gets taught in graduate courses.) Arguably, this is the normal state of modern capitalist economies.

I'll come back to this in a future post, hopefully. But it's important to stress that the notion of aggregate demand limiting output, does not imply that any currently-produced good is in excess supply. [1]

Meanwhile, how about the second question -- in the General Theory, did Keynes see demand constraints as being fundamentally about excess demand for money or some other financial asset, with the solution being to change the relative price of currently produced goods, and that asset? Again, the answer is No.

In his explanation of the instability of capitalist economies, Keynes always emphasizes the fluctuations in investment demand (or in his terms, the marginal efficiency of capital schedule). Investment demand is based on the expected returns of new capital goods over their lifetime. But the distribution of future states of the world relevant to those returns is not just stochastic but fundamentally unknown, so expectations about profits on long-lived fixed capital are essentially conventional and unanchored. It is these fluctuations in expectations, and not the demand for financial assets as expressed in liquidity preference, that drives booms and slumps. Keynes:

The fact that a collapse in the marginal efficiency of capital tends to be associated with a rise in the rate of interest may seriously aggravate the decline in investment. But the essence of the situation is to be found, nevertheless, in the collapse of the marginal efficiency of capital... Liquidity preference, except those manifestations which are associated with increasing trade and speculation, does not increase until after the collapse in the marginal efficiency of capital.

It is this, indeed, which renders the slump so intractable. Later on, a decline in the rate of interest will be a great aid to recovery and probably a necessary condition of it. But for the moment, the collapse in the marginal efficiency of capital may be so complete that no practicable reduction in the rate of interest will be enough [to offset it]. If the reduction in the rate of interest was capable of proving an effective remedy by itself, it might be possible to achieve a recovery without the elapse of any considerable interval of time and by means more or less directly under the control of the monetary authority. But in fact, this is not usually the case.

In this sense, Keynes agrees with the Real Business Cycle theorists that the cause of a decline in output is not fundamentally located in the financial system, but a fall in the expected profitability of new investment. The difference is that RBC thinks a decline in expected profitability must be due to genuine new information about the true value of future profits. Keynes on the other hand thinks there is no true expected value in that sense, and that our belief about the future are basically irrational. ("Enterprise only pretends to itself to be actuated by the statements in its prospectus ... only a little more than an expedition to the South Pole, is it based on an exact calculation of benefits to come.") This is an important difference. But the key point here is the bolded sentences. Keynes considers DeLong's view that the fundamental cause of a downturn is an autonomous increase in demand for safe or liquid assets, and explicitly rejects it.

The other thing to recognize is that Keynes never mentions the zero lower bound. He describes the liquidity trap as theoretical floor of the interest rate, which is above zero, but nothing in his argument depends on it. Rather, he says,

The most stable, and least easily shifted, element in our contemporary economy has been hitherto, and may prove to be in the future, the minimum rate of interest acceptable to the generality of wealthowners. (Cf. the nineteenth-century saying quoted by Bagehot, that "John Bull can stand many things, but he cannot stand 2 percent.") If a tolerable level of employment requires a rate of interest much below the average rates which ruled in the nineteenth century, it is most doubtful whether it can be achieved merely by manipulating the quantity of money.

This is an important part of the argument, but it tends to get ignored by mainstream Keynesians, who assume that monetary authority can reliably set "the" interest rate. But as we see clearly today, this is not a good assumption to make. Well before the policy rate reached zero, it had become effectively disconnected from the rates facing business borrowers. And of course the hurdle rate from the point of view of the decisionmakers at a firm considering new investment isn't just the market interest rate, but that rate plus some additional premium reflecting what Keynes (and later Minsky) calls borrower's risk.

So, Keynes thought that investment demand was subject to wide, unpredictable fluctuations, and probably also a secular downward trend. He doubted that very large movements in the interest rate could be achieved by monetary policy. And he didn't think that the moderate movements that could be achieved, would have much effect on investment. [2] Where did that leave him? "Somewhat skeptical of the success of a merely monetary policy directed toward influencing the rate of interest" at stabilizing output and employment; instead, the government must "take an ever greater responsibility for directly organizing investment."

Of course, DeLong could be misrepresenting Keynes and still be right about economic reality. But we need to at least recognize that aggregate demand is logically separate from the idea of a general glut; that the former, unlike the latter, does not necessarily involve excess demand for any financial asset; and that in practice supply and demand conditions in financial markets are not always the most important or reliable influences on aggregate demand. Keynes, at least, didn't think so. And he was a smart guy.

[1] The other point, to anticipate a possible objection, is that the investment decision does not involve allocation of a fixed stock of savings between capital goods and financial assets.

[2] The undoubted effectiveness of monetary policy in the postwar decades might seem to argue against this point. But it's important to recognize -- though Keynes himself didn't anticipate this -- that in practice monetary policy has operated largely though its effect on the housing market, not on investment.

Don't Let Nobody Walk All Over You

2011-08-24T09:32:00.000-07:00

Here's a heartening story from the old neighborhood:

An 82-year-old great-grandmother cried tears of joy Friday as nearly 200 neighbors rallied in her support on the day she was to be evicted. Mary Lee Ward was granted a reprieve when the owner of the Brooklyn house where she lives agreed to continue meeting with her lawyers next week. "You have to stick with it when you know your right," Ward told the cheering crowd. "Don't let nobody walk all over you."

Ward, who fell victim in 1995 to a predatory subprime mortgage lender that went under in 2007, has been battling to stay in the Tompkins Avenue home for more than a decade. A city marshal was supposed to boot Ward from the one-family frame house Friday, but didn't show as her lawyers sat down with an assemblywoman and the home's owner. ... "I hope they realize that they can never really win," Ward said. "I will not compromise."

Why don't we see more of this kind of thing? There are millions of families with homes in foreclosure, and millions more heading that way. Being forcibly evicted from your home has got to be one of the most wrenching experiences there is. And yet as long as you're in the house, you have some real power. And the moral and emotional claims of someone like Ward to her home are clear, regardless of who holds the title. Someone just has to organize it. Here, I think, is where we are really suffering from the loss of ACORN -- these situations are tailor-made for them.

Still, there is some good work going on. I was at a meeting recently of No One Leaves, a bank tenant organization in Springfield, MA. Modeled on Boston's City Life/Vida Urbana, this is a project to mobilize people whose homes have been foreclosed but are still living in them. Homeowners who still have title have a lot to lose and are understandably anxious to meet whatever conditions the lender or servicer sets. But once the foreclosure has happened, the homeowner, paradoxically, is in a stronger negotiating position; if they're going to have to leave anyway, they have nothing to lose by dragging the process out, while for the bank, delay and bad publicity can be costly. So the idea is to help people in this situation organize to put pressure -- both in court and through protest or civil disobedience -- on the banks to agree to let them stay on as tenants more or less permanently, at a market rent. In the longer run, this will discourage foreclosures too.

It's a great campaign, exactly what we need more of.

But there's another important thing about No One Leaves: They're angry. The focus isn't just on the legal rights of people facing foreclosure, or their real chance to stay in their homes if they organize and stick together, it's on fighting the banks. There's a very clear sense that this is not just a problem to be solved, but that the banks are the enemy. I was especially struck by one middle-aged guy who'd lost the home he'd lived in for some 20 years to foreclosure. "At this point, I don't even care if I get to stay," he said. "Look, I know I'm probably going to have to leave eventually. I just want to make this as slow, and expensive, and painful, for Bank of America as I can." Everyone in the room cheered.

Liberals hate this sort of thing. But it seems to be central to successful organizing. Back when I was at the Working Families Party, one of the things the professional organizers always talked about was the importance of polarizing -- getting people to articulate who was responsible for their problems, who's the other side. It was a central step in any house visit, any meeting. And from what I could tell, it worked. I mean, it's foolish of someone like Mary Lee Ward to say, "I will not compromise," isn't it? Objectively, compromise is how most problems get solved. But if she didn't have a clear sense of being on the side of right against wrong, how would she have the energy to keep up what, objectively, was very likely to be a losing fight, or convince her neighbors to join her? Somebody or other said there are always three questions in politics. You have to know what is to be done --- the favorite topic of intellectuals. But that's not enough. You also have to know which side you are on, but that's not enough either. Before you devote your time and energy to a political cause, you have to know who is to blame.

A while back I had a conversation with a friend who's worked for the labor movement for many years, one campaign after another. If you know anyone like that, or have been part of an organizing drive yourself, you know that in the period before a union representation vote, an American workplace is a little totalitarian state. (Well, even more than usual.) Spies reporting on private conversations, mandatory mass meetings, veiled and open threats, punishment on the mere suspicion of holding the wrong views, no due process. And yet people do still vote for unions and support unionization campaigns, even when being fired would be a a personal catastrophe. Why, I asked my friend. I mean, union jobs do have better pay, benefits, job security -- but are they that much better, that people think they're worth the risk? "Oh, it's not about that," he said. "It's about the one chance to say Fuck You to your boss."

Hardt and Negri have a line somewhere in Empire about how, until we can overcome our fear of death, it will be "carried like a weapon against the hope of liberation." When I first read the book, I thought that was pretty strange. But now I think there's something important there. Self interest, even enlightened, only takes you so far, because when you're weak, your self-interest is very often going to be in accomodation to power. I'm not sure I'd go as far as Hardt and Negri, that we have to lose our fear of death to be free moral agents. But it is true that we can't organize collectively to assert our rights in our homes and our jobs as long as we're dominated individually by our fear of losing them. Some other motivation -- dignity, pride, anger or even hatred -- is needed to say, instead, that nobody is going to walk all over you.

A History of Debt/GDP

2011-08-12T21:38:00.000-07:00

"Probably more uninformed statements have been made on public-sector debt and deficits," says Willem Buiter, "than on any other subject in macroeconomics. Proof by repeated assertion has frequently appeared to be an acceptable substitute for proof by deduction or proof by induction."

It's hard to disagree.

But at least we know where an informed discussion starts. It starts from the least controversial equation of macroeconomics, the law of motion of public debt:

b is the ratio of public debt to GDP, d is the ratio of primary deficit to GDP, i is the nominal interest rate, g is the real growth rate of GDP, and pi is inflation. In principle this is true by definition. (In practice things aren't alway so simple.) The first thing you realize, looking at this equation, is that contrary to the slack-jawed bleating of conventional opinion, there's no necessary connection between the evolution of public debt and government spending and taxes. Interest rates, growth rates and inflation are, in principle, just as important as the primary balance. Which naturally invites the question, which have been more important in practice?

There have been various efforts to answer this question for different countries in different periods, but until recently there wasn't any systematic effort to answer it for a broad sample of countries over a long period. I was thinking of trying to do such an exercise myself. But it looks like that's not necessary. As Tom M. points out in comments, the IMF has just undertaken such an exercise. Using the new Historical Public Debt Database, they've decomposed the debt-GDP ratios of 174 countries, from 1880 to the present, into the four components of the law of motion. (Plus a fifth, discussed below.) It's an impressive project. Ands far as one can tell from this brief presentation, they did it right. Admittedly it's a laconic 25-page powerpoint, but there's not even the hint of a suggestion that microfoundations or welfare analysis would contribute anything. The question is just, how much has each of the components contributed to shifts in debt-GDP ratios historically?

As I've noted here before, the critical issue is the relationship between g and i, or (g + pi) and i as I've written it here. On this point, the IMF study gives ammunition to both sides.

From roughly 1895 to 1920, and from 1935 to 1980, nominal growth rates (g + pi) generally exceeded nominal interest rates. From 1880 to 1895, from 1920 to 1935, and from 1980 to the present, interest mostly exceeded growth. It's impossible, looking at this picture, to say one relationship or the other is normal. Lernerian-Keynesians will say, why can't the conditions of the postwar decades be reproduced by any government that chooses to; while the orthodox (Marxists and neoclassicals equally) will say the postwar decades were anomalous for various reasons -- financial repression, limited international mobility of capital, exceptionally strong growth. The historical evidence doesn't clearly resolve the question either way.

Given the unstable relationship between g and i, it's not surprising there's no consistent pattern in episodes of long-term reduction in debt-GDP ratios. I had hoped such episodes would turn out to be always, or almost always, the result of faster growth, lower interest rates, and higher inflation. This is basically true for the postwar decades, when the biggest debt reductions happened. Since 1980, though, it seems that countries that have reduced their debt-GDP ratios have done it the hard way, by taxing more than they spent. Over the whole period since 1880, periods of major (at least 10 percent of GDP) debt reduction has involved primary surpluses and g > r in about equal measure.

Another interesting point is how much the law of motion turns out to have exceptions. The IMF's version of the equation above includes an additional term on the right side: SFA, or stock-flow adjustment, meaning the discrepancy between the flow of debt implied by the other terms of the equation and the stock of debt actually observed. This discrepancy turns out to be often quite large. This could reflect a lot of factors; but for recent episodes of rising debt-GDP ratios (in which SFA seems to play a central role) the obvious interpretation is that it reflects the assumption by the government of the banking system's debts, which is often not reflected in official deficit statistics but may be large relative to the stock of debt. The extreme case is Ireland, where the government guarantee of the financial system resulted in the government assuming bank liabilities equal to 45 percent of GDP. To the extent this is an important factor in rising public debt generally -- and again, the IMF study supports it -- it suggests another reason why concern with balancing the long-term budget by "reforming" Medicare, etc., is misplaced. One financial crisis can cancel out decades of fiscal rectitude; so if you're concerned about what the debt-GDP ratio will be in 2075, you should spend less time thinking about public spending and taxes, and much more time thinking about effective regulation of the financial sector.

The bottom line is, the dynamics of public debt are complicated. But as always, intractable theoretical controversies become more manageable, or at least more meaningful, when they're posed as concrete historical questions. Good on the IMF for doing this.

A History of Catastrophes

2011-08-10T14:23:00.000-07:00

Schumpeter says:

Even if he confines himself to the most regular of commodity bills and looks with aversion on any paper that displays a suspiciously round figure,the banker must not only know what the transaction is which he is asked to finance and how it is likely to turn out, but he must also know the customer, his business, and even his private habits, and get, by frequently "talking things over with him," a clear picture of his situation. ... However, this is not only highly skilled work, proficiency in which cannot be acquired in any school except that of experience, but also work which requires intellectual and moral qualities not present in all people who take to the banking profession.

... In the case of bankers, however, failure to be up to what is a very high mark interferes with the working of the system as a whole. Moreover, bankers may, at some times and in some countries, fail to be up to the mark corporatively: that is to say, tradition and standards may be absent to such a degree that practically anyone, however lacking in aptitude and training, can drift into the banking business, find customers, and deal with them according to his own ideas. In such countries or times, wildcat banking develops. This in itself is sufficient to turn the history of capitalist evolution into a history of catastrophes.

From Business Cycles: A Theoretical, Historical and Statistical Analysis of the Capitalist Process.

What a magnificent book! Leaving my heavily-annotated copy on the NYC subway is one of my great regrets in life, bookwise. It doesn't seem to be in print now. Does anybody still read it?

We Are All Austerians Now

2011-08-06T12:11:00.000-07:00

Mark Thoma:

we must cut spending and raise taxes to get the debt under control

I'm sorry, but This. Is. Not. True.

If you look at future debt-GDP ratios and think they are too high, how can you reduce them?

1. You can improve the primary balance by raising taxes and/or reducing spending.

2. You can raise the growth rate.

3. You can lower the real interest rate on government debt.

4. You can raise inflation. (This may also help with 3, depending what we think of Fisher's law.)

EDIT: 5. You can default. (Thanks, Bruce Wilder.)

One is not the only choice. We can, of course, debate which of these choices offers the best tradeoff between feasibility and desirability. But it is not true that reducing the long-run debt-GDP ratio necessarily involves reducing spending or raising taxes. And anyone who want a rational discussion of fiscal issues, needs to stop lying to people that it is.

How bad things are, can be seen by the fact that someone as smart as Barkely Rosser has been convinced that a reluctance to raise taxes is the problem for aggregate demand. When the debate comes down or whether we should raise taxes or cut spending, the real question has been answered, and answered wrong. At that point it's just a question of what flavor of austerity we want. Thank god at least there's still Daniel Davis.

If we wanted to move this debate forward, the next step would be to look at periods when the long term debt-GDP ratio was reduced in rich countries. How much was due to the primary balance that Thoma takes for granted is the only solution, how much was due to faster growth, how much to lower interst rates and how much to higher inflation?

A Brief History of the Academic Left

2011-08-02T22:45:00.001-07:00

How the Other Side Thinks

2011-08-02T22:44:00.000-07:00

At least someone is happy about the debt-ceiling deal:

Low government debt yields may reflect concern about the health of the economy and the drag spending cuts would have on gross domestic product.

Reductions are “going to be good for Treasuries, ironically, because it’s bad for the economy,” Tad Rivelle, the head of fixed-income investment at Los Angeles-based TCW Group Inc., which manages about $115 billion, said in an interview last week. “It ought to further restrain economic growth by in effect withdrawing a good deal of fiscal stimulus.”

By "good for Treasuries," he means good for people who own Treasuries.

This brings out a point I've been thinking about for a while. Marxist and mainstream economists don't agree on much, but one view they do generally share is that under capitalism, growth is the central objective pursued by the state. Maybe we should not take that for granted.

For individual capitals, growth, endless accumulation, is a necessity imposed by the pressure of competition. And when the individual capitalist tries to influence the state they are generally looking for measures to help them grow faster. They have to, it's a condition of their survival. But insofar as the capitalist class as a whole (or some substantial fraction of it) exercises political agency, they're not subject to competition. An individual capital needs to grow as fast as possible so as not to be overtaken by its rivals; but for capital as a whole, there is no equivalent pressure. What capital as a whole needs from the state is to maintain its basic conditions of existence and secure its political dominance. And that may well be as well achieved through slower growth, as through faster. Directly, because the labor supply is liable to be dangerously depleted by rapid growth. More broadly, because growth is inherently chaotic, unpredictable and destabilizing. This isn't in the textbooks but you can learn it from Schumpeter just as well as from Marx. Or from just from looking around.

There's a long line of arguments, going back to Marx's reserve army of the unemployed, via Kalecki's "Political Aspects of Full Employment," formalized in the postwar period as Goodwin cycles or Crotty and Boddy's political business cycles, and most fully developed in Glyn et al.'s Capitalism Since 1945, that periods of low unemployment can't be sustained under capitalism, because they put upward pressure on wages and more broadly leave workers overly confident and politically empowered. Greenspan, bless his shriveled soul, was onto something important when he insisted in the late 1990s that the Fed could tolerate low unemployment without raising interest rates only because workers were intimidated by downsizing and the loss of job security.

Now, these are cyclical arguments. And the US hasn't had a cycle of this kind since the 1980s. The last couple of downturns haven't been about wages, at least overtly, but about asset bubbles and oil prices. But even if this recession wasn't caused by the Fed raising interest rates to choke off wage growth (and clearly it wasn't) capital and its political representatives could take advantage of it opportunistically to force down the wage share. One wouldn't deliberately provoke a deep recession just to reduce wages, because of the political risks; but if one stumbles into it and the politics turn out to be manageable, why let a good crisis go to waste?

More broadly, if high growth rates are risky for capital, and if they were only politically necessary thanks to competition with the Soviet Union (this is an important argument that's not quite spelled out in the Glyn book), then we shouldn't be shocked if the post-Cold War state ends up preferring growth-reducing policies. Brad DeLong has been complaining lately about the failure, as he sees it, of the state to live up to its role as the committee to manage the collective affairs of the bourgeoisie. But maybe he just hasn't been invited to the meetings.

UPDATE: Yglesias makes a similar argument in a less provocative way. Before the 1980s, we had episodes of high inflation, and no episodes of sustained high unemployment. Since the 1980s, we've had no episodes of high inflation, but we've had repeated episodes of sustained high unemployment. The obvious interpretation, which I share with Ygelsias, is that the Phillips Curve is not vertical even over the long run -- there is a secular tradeoff between employment and price stability, and since Volcker the Fed's preferences have shifted toward the price-stability side. Why this is the case is a different question, but it seems safe to say it has to do with the diverging interests of workers and owners and their respective political strength.

It's Not About the Deficits

2011-07-31T22:44:00.000-07:00

I was going to write something about tonight's debt-celing deal. "Reduces Domestic Discretionary Spending to the Lowest Level Since Eisenhower," says the White House in triumphant title case. Yay! No more EPA, no more civil rights enforcement, no more federal spending on housing or child care or clean energy. They didn't need them in the Eisenhower era, so why should we?

It makes me mad. And it's not good to write when you're mad. As the man says,

Hatred, even of baseness,
Distorts the features.
Anger, even against injustice,
Makes the voice grow hoarse.

So instead of this appalling deal, let's talk about the trajectory of the debt historically. Specifically, this very interesting take from the always-interesting Willem Buiter:

The last time the US sovereign radically lowered the ratio of public debt to GDP was between 1946 (the all-time high for the Federal debt burden at 121.20 percent) and 1974 (its post-World War II low at 31.67 percent). Arithmetically, of the 89.53 percentage points reduction in the Federal debt burden, inflation accounted for 52.63pp and real GDP growth accounted for 55.86 pp. Federal surpluses accounted for minus 20.51pp. …

Longer average maturity and occasionally sharp bursts of inflation helped erode the real burden of the Federal debt between 1946 and 1974, but so did financial repression – ceilings on nominal interest rates. ... Until the Treasury-Federal Reserve Accord of March 1951, the Federal Reserve System was formally committed to maintaining a low interest rate peg on Treasury bonds – a practice introduced in 1942 when the Fed pegged the interest rate on Treasury bills at 0.375 percent. This practice was continued after the war despite a 14 percent rate of CPI inflation in 1947 and an 8 percent rate in 1948. The rate on 3-month Treasury Bills remained at 0.375 percent until June 1947 and did not reach 1.40 percent until March 1951.

Even after the Treasury-Federal Reserve Accord, there remained financial repression in the form of ceilings on bank lending and borrowing rates like Regulation Q, which prohibited the payment of interest on demand deposits. Without financial repression and with a relatively short average debt maturity, it would take high US rates of (unanticipated) inflation to bring down the burden of the debt appreciably.

This is the key point that comes out of the relationships that govern the evolution of the federal debt: Deficits/surpluses are just one factor, along with growth rates, interest rates, and inflation, that determine the trajectory of the debt. There's no a priori reason to think that long-term shifts in the debt-GDP ratio are more likely to come about through changes in the government's fiscal stance rather than one of the other three variables; and there's historical evidence that in practice growth, inflation and interest rates usually matter more. At some point I'll do an exercise similar to Buiter's. But in the meantime, I'm happy to take it from him -- the dude is the chief economist at Citibank -- that, in the the postwar decades, growth and inflation contributed about equally to the very large reduction in the US debt-GDP ratio, while fiscal discipline contributed less than nothing.

So if you wanted to follow the postwar US in reducing the debt-GDP ratio over a long period -- it's not entirely clear why you would want to do this -- you should be thinking about faster growth, higher inflation and policies to hold down interest rates (aka "financial repression"), not higher taxes and lower spending. Anyone who says, "The growth of the debt is unsustainable, therefore we need to move the federal budget toward balance" doesn't know what they're talking about.

Or, they're talking about something else.

You can interpret Obama's relentless pursuit of defeat in the budget-ceiling fight in psychological terms. But it seems more parsimonious to at least consider that he's simply an honest servant of the country's owners, who see the crisis as a once-in-a-lifetime chance to roll back the social wage. Raising the Medicare eligibility age wouldn't have done anything much to reduce the long-term debt-GDP ratio. But it definitely would reduce the number of people with Medicare.

UPDATE: This post is evidently the kind of thing Matt Yglesias has in mind when he says he's

frustrated by lefties who seem to see the unprecedented Republican obstruction the President is dealing with as part of an 11-dimensional chess game through which Obama “really” wants his progressive initiatives to be frustrated at every term.

But this gets the n-dimensional chess metaphor backward, I think. The whole reason people claim Obama is playing a deeper or more complex game is to argue that even when his actions don't seem to get him closer to his supposed goals, he really is getting there but by some devious route. But if your theory, as here, is that the actual outcome was the intended outcome, you don't need to assume any deviousness. If I sacrifice my knight for no apparent gain, then maybe I have some complex plan you don't see -- that's the extra dimensions. But if I'm playing to lose, no extra dimensions are needed to explain my bad move. Yglesias's frustration here would apply to lefties who argued that Obama's big progressive victories were really serving a conservative agenda. And there are certainly people who would argue that -- if there were any big progressive victories to argue about.

Bottom Rail, Moving Up

2011-07-26T14:41:00.000-07:00

David Harvey observed recently that this crisis was the first in modern times in which the periphery has not borne a disproportionate share of the costs. Dani Rodrik's recent posts make a similar point.

And it's true -- over the past 40 years, we've seen repeated episodes when growth has slowed in the rich world, and collapsed catastrophically in the South. Neoliberalism has meant the tools the North uses to ameliorate slumps have been forbidden to poor countries. As my friend Doug Henwood says, in each of the crises of the past two decades, "the First World banks got a Minsky bailout while the Third World suffered a Fisher deflation." But this time really seems to be different.

It's interesting to compare the last of those episodes, the Asian crisis of 1997, with the most recent crisis.

Whatever you think the underlying causes of the 1997 crisis were (people sure liked saying “crony capitalism”) the basic facts are straightforward. East and Southeast Asia experienced a “sudden stop” of previously large financial inflows, leaving them unable to meet their foreign-currency obligations. As a result they were forced to abandon their currency pegs, abruptly raise interest rates to unheard-of levels, and eliminate their trade deficits with extreme prejudice. The result was severe economic disruption and brutal recessions. Indonesia, for example, didn't regain its pre-crisis level of output for a full five years.

Fast forward ten years, and the same region is a bright spot in the global growth picture. What people don't realize, though, is that many Asian countries experienced a sudden stop of financial inflows in 2007-08 even larger than the one that caused so much destruction in 1997. Add to that a collapse in export earnings as demand in the rich countries fell, and Asian countries faced a substantially larger shock to foreign exchange earnings in 2007-2008 than ten years before.

Change in Gross Flows as Percent of Peak GDP
	1997Q2-1997Q4		Peak-2008Q4
	Portfolio Inflows	All Forex Inflows	Portfolio Inflows	All Forex Inflows
Indonesia	-10.6	-18.5	-6.1	-9.7
Korea	-5.9	-18.0	-10.1	-29.5
Phillipines	-5.4	-15.9	-9.3	-30.1
Thailand	-2.5	-12.4	-6.2	-22.4

Source: IMF International Financial Statistics.

Notes: [1]

As the table shows, several of the newly industrializing countries of East Asia experienced a shock to their balance of payments in 2007-08 about double that of 1997. So why did the earlier shock have so much larger effects?

“Floating exchange rates” is the wrong answer. (“Fiscal responsibility” is worse, it's not even wrong.) As captured in the well-known J-curve, even when exchange rates move in the right direction, they initially have the wrong effects on trade flows. Even in the most optimistic case it takes at least a year before a depreciation begins to improve the trade balance. Anyway, in the crisis this time, Asian exchange rates didn't fall.

In the short run at least, trade flows respond to movements in incomes, not relative prices. Replacing the trade-price relationship with a trade-income relationship is probably the key contribution of Post Keynesian analysis to the study of international finance and trade. [2] Combined with the notion of liquidity constraints -- despite what the textbook says, the supply of credit is not infinitely elastic at “the” interest rate -- this means there are situations where a country needs to rapidly improve its balance of payments and the only tool available (once direct import restrictions are ruled out) is to reduce income, often by some large multiple of the gap to be closed. [3] In a nutshell, that's what happened in 1997. So why not this time?

The answer is that the Asian countries entered this crisis, unlike the last one, with large current account surpluses and foreign-exchange reserves. Countries that can respond to a negative shock to foreign exchange inflows by reducing their own accumulation of foreign assets or spending down their reserves, don't have to reduce imports by pushing down income and output. Instead, they could and did raise domestic incomes via stimulus programs and interest-rate cuts, to offset the fall in export demand. And this is not only good news for them, it also dampens the process by which trade-induced contractions would otherwise propagate across borders.

Indeed, it's probably precisely to be ready for this contingency that Asian countries committed themselves to running surpluses in the first place. There's an old Martin Wolf column making this argument, which I'll add to this post when/if I find it. It's made more systematically in a couple recent articles by Jorg Bibow. (Bibow's work is about the best I've seen on the whole question of “global imbalances”.) He argues that current account surpluses and reserve accumulation should be seen as a form of “self-insurance” by countries that have become disillusioned with the IMF as a provider of insurance against balance-of-payments shocks (its supposed raison d'etre). Bibow is fairly critical of this approach, which is natural from the point of view of someone steeped in Keynes' ideas of a rational international order. We don't, after all, think it would be such a great thing if people dispensed with health insurance and saved up money for future health expenses instead. But if your insurer insisted that you donate at least a kidney before they'd approve a blood transfusion, self-insurance might look like a better option.

There's a couple important points here. First, the economic point:

The direct effects of trade flows on aggregate demand are usually dwarfed by the indirect effects, as government spending and investment adjust to accommodate the balance of payments constraint. This is why trade is not, in a Keynesian framework, a zero-sum game, and why the mewling of American economists about Asian "mercantilism" so misses the point. When capital flowed out of Asia in 1997, the whole development process had to be thrown into reverse in order to make up the shortfall in foreign exchange. That's what happens when you're pushed up against your balance of payments constraint. It didn't haVppen this time because of their past ten years of self-insurance. In the US, on the other hand, the external balance doesn't constrain expansionary fiscal policy at all, only the stupidity of our politics does.

Maybe even more important, the political point. How is it that these countries managed to reject the siren song of the Washington Consensus? After all, it promised (1) development would be so much faster with access to the savings of the rich world via unfettered financial flows; (2) if something did go wrong, the IMF loans were always available to bridge short-term foreign-exchange shortfalls; and, implicitly, (3) if things fell apart completely, unrestricted financial flows would ensure that elites could extract their wealth from a wrecked economy.

Around 1990, when I was first becoming aware of politics, we took it for granted that the IMF was one of the great forces for evil in the world. And you know what? I think we were right.

Which makes it all the more remarkable that some substantial fraction of the world has managed to tear itself free of those usurers. In principle, there's the potential for progressive struggle whenever the sociological basis of a form of political consciousness requires it to cohere somewhere beneath the top of a value chain. But in practice, it's hard to do. Much easier for the representatives of a subordinate class or geography to constitute themselves as an agent of the elites above rather than the masses below. So while self-insurance via reserve accumulation might seem like a small step towards socialism, I think it's kind of a big deal. Economically, you have to recognize that Asian economies are not in depression now thanks to prudential state action, not the pseudo-logic of "conditional convergence". And politically it's even more remarkable, in the scale of things, that Asian elites have been able even to this extent to identify themselves with their national economies rather than the global owning class.

[1] "All Forex Inflows" is the sum of gross portfolio inflows, inward FDI, other inward investment and exports. (The gross numbers are conceptually the correct ones, for reasons I can't explain here but hopefully are obvious.) The peak quarter is 1997Q2 for the 1997 crisis. For the recent crisis it is 2008Q2 for Indonesia, 2007Q4 for Korea, 2007Q2 for the Philippines and 2008Q1 for Thailand. The IMF does not have data for Malaysia prior to 1999.

[2] As on so many topics, Joan Robinson's contribution is essential and mostly unacknowledged.

[3] The ratio of the necessary fall in output to the balance of payments gap to be closed is equal to one over the marginal propensity to import. Countries in this situation almost always sharply raise the domestic rate of interest, which theoretically helps attract short-term financial flows to bridge the gap, but in practice is mostly just a mechanism to reduce domestic incomes.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Default

2011-07-25T06:38:00.000-07:00

If the debt-ceiling negotiations (summarized here) drag on to the point where there is real doubt about the full repayment of Treasury securities, would that be a disaster? Or could it actually raise output and employment?

Nick Rowe has a very smart argument for the latter, on straightforward Keynesian grounds:

Take the standard ISLM model... Draw the LM curve horizontal; either because the central bank conducts monetary policy by setting a rate of interest, or because the economy is stuck in a liquidity trap where money and government bonds are perfect substitutes. Now let's hit it with a shock.

The shock is that all the bond rating agencies downgrade the rating on government bonds. Specifically, the rating agencies say that whereas the previous default risk was zero, there is now a 1% chance per year that the government will renege on 100% of all promises to pay money on its bonds. (Or a 10% chance per year of reneging on 10% of repayments, whatever.) And assume that everybody believes the rating agencies. Further assume that the central bank holds the interest rate on government bonds constant... What happens?

My answer to this question is the same as the standard textbook answer to the question where the shock is an increase in expected inflation by 1%. ... And if you: did believe in the ISLM model; and did believe that the economy was stuck in a liquidity trap; and did believe the economy needed an increase in Aggregate Demand; and did believe that fiscal policy either should or could not be used, for whatever reason; you would say that this increase in expected inflation is a good thing. At first sight, the answer to the question "what is the effect of a 1% increase in perceived risk on government bonds?" is exactly the same as the answer to the question "what is the effect of a 1% increase in expected inflation?". ... Both result in the same 1% fall in the real risk-adjusted rate of interest on private saving and investment and the same rise in AD and real income.

This is one of those points that seems bizarre and counterintuitive when you first hear it and completely obvious once you've thought about it for a moment. Suppose a bond already pays zero interest; how can its yield go lower? One way is for inflation to get higher, so the principal repayments are expected to be worth less. But another is for the default probability to rise, which also reduces the expected value of the principal repayments. At the level of abstraction where a lot of these debates happen, for important purposes the two should be identical. If you believe the zero lower bound story -- that monetary policy would have brought unemployment down to normal levels by now, if it were just possible to reduce the federal funds rate below zero -- then you should support a (temporarily) nonzero default risk on government debt for the exact same reason that you support (temporarily) higher inflation -- it creates the economic equivalent of negative interest rates.

There are lots of caveats in practice. (There are almost always lots of caveats.) And if you're a ZLB skeptic -- if you don't believe even a negative interest rate would be effective in boosting demand -- then default risk won't help much either. But analytically, it's still an important point. Among other things, it helps explain why the threat of default has not moved the price of Treasury securities at all.
I'd assumed, up until now, that it was because asset owners took it for granted that the debt ceiling would, in fact, be raised, or that if not debt payments would be prioritized over everything else.

I still suppose that's true. But here's a more general reason. Another way of thinking of the zero lower bound phenomenon is that the government's commitment to issue zero-interest liabilities in the form of cash and reserves sets a ceiling on the price of its liabilities (remembering that price and yield move inversely.) This price ceiling means there is excess demand. So if you have some exogenous factor that would normally lower the price of Treasuries, it doesn't do so; at the margin, it just reduces the backlog of frustrated buyers at the current price.

Cool.

UPDATE: And here, right next to the Rowe piece in Google Reader, is an FT Alphaville item about how settlement failures (not delivering a security at the date contracted) seem to be becoming increasingly deliberate in secondary markets for Treasuries, as a form of "unconventional financing." It's not an exact analogy, but there's an important parallel: In private financial markets, when an interest rate is stuck at zero, how completely a debt is honored becomes the natural margin on which terms adjust.

Trying to Be for Nuclear Power When It Blows Up in Your Face

2011-07-16T00:12:00.001-07:00

by Will Boisvert

Call me perverse, but ever since the Fukushima plant blew up and started spewing radiation into a depopulated countryside, I’ve been talking up nuclear power. In my estimation, nuclear is the only carbon-free energy source that can power the economy—wind and solar are too feeble and fickle—and we can’t stop global warming without it. But that’s a debate for another time, as are questions of costs, nuclear waste, and peak uranium. Nuclear stands up well on all these points, but here I’ll consider just the issue of safety because the association with apocalyptic, trans-historical death and devastation is what really motivates opposition to nukes. To me, that’s ironic, because safety is actually one of nuclear’s strongest suits, exploding plants and all. When you do the math, nuclear risks—Chernobyls and Fukushimas included—are modest in comparison with other risks that we take for granted. In particular, nuclear power is safer—far safer, statistically, by orders of magnitude—than the fossil-fuel-dominated power system we have now.

Coal vs. Nukes: The Body Count

The crux of the issue is a comparison of the safety and health impacts of coal-fired power plants and nuclear power plants. Global electricity generation is dominated by coal plants, which produce about 42 percent of the world’s supply, three times nuclear’s share. Replacing coal-generated power is a key step in decarbonizing the energy system, and it’s a task that nuclear is uniquely suited to accomplish. So how do the two energy sources stack up in terms of safety? Coal produces a steady stream of toxic emissions, while dangerous nuclear emissions come in waves, the main one being the Chernobyl disaster, the only nuclear accident before Fukushima to have killed appreciable numbers of civilians. Chernobyl was as bad as a nuclear catastrophe gets—an explosion and uncontained fire raging in the exposed heart of a reactor that lofted huge amounts of radioactive gas and soot into the sky for days. (I’ll argue below that Fukushima is nowhere near as bad.) So the key comparison to make is between the Chernobyl disaster and the steady-state performance of coal-fired power plants. And it turns out to be an open-and-shut case: when you put nuclear’s radioactive emissions, Chernobyl and all, beside the air pollution emitted by coal-burning plants, coal kill many times more people than does nuclear power.

First, the toll from coal. According to recent studies by the Clean Air Task Force and the American Lung Association, about 13,000 people die each year in the United States from air pollution from coal-burning power plants. It’s much worse in China; depending on the estimate, 300,000 to 700,000 people a year die from outdoor air pollution there, much of it from coal-burning boilers in power plants and factories. Worldwide, the World Health Organization estimates that about 1.2 million people die each year from outdoor air pollution. I couldn’t find a precise figure for the portion of those deaths caused by coal-fired power plants, but assuming that it’s the same as in the United States, 19 percent, then coal power is killing about 230,000 people a year. If you add in emissions from oil-fired power plants and the extensive water pollution from coal-burning, the toll from fossil-fueled electricity is higher still.

Now let’s look at Chernobyl. According to a 2008 study by the UN Scientific Committee on the Effects of Atomic Radiation, Chernobyl will have killed about 9,000 people once the radioactivity decays away, almost all of them cancer victims. Anti-nukes dispute that number with arguments both silly (conspiracies at the UN) and cogent (UNSCEAR left out some populations that got light dustings of Chernobyl fallout). Lisbeth Gronlund of the anti-nuke Union of Concerned Scientists recently estimated that the final Chernobyl death toll will be about 27,000, a number that’s in line with a mid-range consensus. At the high end, a recent book by Yablokov et al, Chernobyl: The Consequences of the Catastrophe for People and the Environment, which has been widely cited by greens, puts the Chernobyl cancer toll through the year 2056 at up to 264,000 deaths. (The Yablokov study has been strongly criticized by radiation scientists (see Radiation Protection Dosimetry (2010) vol 1 issue 1 pp. 97-101) and other commentators, including Gronlund.)

Why the huge discrepancies on Chernobyl figures? Well, it’s hard to get firm empirical evidence of the Chernobyl cancer toll, because radiation is such a weak carcinogen that it’s effects at low doses can’t be distinguished from statistical noise. Epidemiological studies that count excess cancer deaths usually find no statistically significant increase above the normal background incidence. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they are not there, just that it’s impossible to discern some thousands of possible Chernobyl cancer deaths amid millions of ordinary cancer deaths. So cancer fatalities have to be estimated by multiplying estimates of the radiation dose that people received by an assumed risk factor extrapolated from studies of people who received large doses, like Hiroshima survivors. Gronlund, for example, starts by taking UNSCEAR’s estimate of the total dose of Chernobyl radiation incurred by everyone in the world, 465,000 person-Sieverts. She then multiplies that dosage by a risk factor, taken from the National Academy of Science’s Report on the Biological Effects of Ionizing Radiation (BEIR-VII), of 570 cancer fatalities for every 100,000 people who each receive a dose of 100 milli-Sieverts (100 mSv). (That works out to 570 cancer deaths per 10,000 person-Sieverts; multiply 570 deaths/10,000 person-Svs by 465,000 person-Svs and you get 26,505 total deaths.) Gronlund’s method is pretty standard, but such calculations can yield wildly varying results depending on underlying guesstimates of the dosage and risk factor. (Pro-nukes even insist that there is a threshold below which small radiation doses pose no cancer risk.)

But the controversy over the precise Chernobyl numbers is academic, in my view, because they all tell the same basic story: the catastrophic failure of nuclear power at Chernobyl was nowhere near as bad as the yearly routine of the fossil-fueled power system. In the 25 years since the Chernobyl accident in 1986, for example, coal-plant air pollution has killed over 325,000 people in the United States alone. That’s a substantially larger number than Yablokov’s exaggerated estimate for Chernobyl cancer deaths in the entire world through 2056. To put it another way, if you accept Yablokov’s estimate, there is less than a one-in-25 chance that, next year, a Chernobyl-scale nuclear disaster will kill a quarter of a million people; there is a dead certainty that coal power will kill that many. Even when you adjust for the larger number of coal plants, the risks of nuclear catastrophe are still much smaller than those of business-as-usual coal. And if you accept Gronlund’s consensus estimate of 27,000 Chernobyl deaths, which I do, then you have to conclude that the risks from nuclear catastrophe pale to insignificance. Gronlund’s figures suggest that the lingering effects of Chernobyl fallout was killing on average about a thousand people per year from 1986 to 2005; the remaining undecayed radiation is now killing perhaps a few hundred people a year. These numbers hardly register beside the hundreds of thousands of people killed every year in the fossil-fuel holocaust.

Besides Chernobyl-style spews, there is also the question of radioactivity released during normal operations, like the tritium leaks that greens regularly sound the alarm over. Nukes do routinely emit traces of radioactivity, but the amounts are so small that health risks are minuscule to none. The most comprehensive epidemiological study, by the National Cancer Institute, found no statistically significant excess cancer risk in counties with nuclear plants. Indeed, we can estimate the tininess of the risk by using Gronlund’s method. According to the EPA, the average American gets a radiation dose of less than 0.001 mSv (0.1 millirem) per year from nuclear power plants. Multiply that by 300,000,000 Americans and the BEIR-VII risk factor of 570 cancer deaths per 100 mSv dose per 100,000 people exposed, and you get a maximum of 17 Americans dying of cancer every year from routine nuclear plant radiation—less than half a day’s worth of American coal-pollution fatalities. A final irony is that coal plants actually release much more radioactive material into the environment than do nuclear plants under normal conditions. Embedded in the millions of tons of coal a single plant burns every year are hundreds of pounds of radioactive uranium, thorium and radon, which go up the smokestacks and into our lungs or get dumped in ash-heaps where they lie open to the elements and leach into streams and ground water. (McBride, J. P., et. al., Radiological Impact of Airborne Effluents of Coal and Nuclear Plants”; Science, 12/8/1978. Cited in http://www.ornl.gov/info/ornlreview/rev26-34/text/colmain.html).

How Bad is Fukushima?

Fukushima has all the trappings of the nuclear nightmare scenario: creaky old reactors, it-can’t-happen-here hubris, corporate perfidy, Keystone Cops bumbling, explosions, spews and refugees. Despite all that, the expert consensus is that Fukushima is nowhere near as bad as Chernobyl. It’s easy in hindsight to castigate the nuclear establishment that lapsed so spectacularly at Fukushima, but there’s a more obscure yet equally important lesson there: because of steady advances in design and emergency response, nuclear disasters aren’t as disastrous as they used to be. That’s in part because light-water reactors like Fukushima’s are much better designed than the flimsy, volatile RBMK reactor at Chernobyl. LWRs have a “negative void coefficient,” which means that when the cooling water ran out, the fission chain reaction shut down. At Chernobyl, the RBMK’s positive void coefficient meant that a transient loss of coolant made the chain reaction speed up uncontrollably until the reactor itself exploded. Also, LWRs do not have combustible graphite in their cores to fuel a fire, as the RBMK did. Most importantly, unlike the RBMK, the Fukushima reactor had strong containment structures to curb the radioactive release (although, alas, not strong enough to entirely contain it). A second factor is that, unlike the Soviets, the Fukushima authorities did disaster-response by the book; for example, timely evacuations, distribution of potassium iodide and bans on milk-drinking mean that the Japanese will avoid the spike in thyroid cancers seen at Chernobyl.

The result of improved design and emergency response was that Fukushima’s three meltdowns generated a smaller and less damaging spew than did Chernobyl’s single reactor explosion. Estimates put the total release of Fukushima radioactivity at 770,000 tera-becquerels, about 15% of the Chernobyl spew of 5.2 million TBq. Extrapolating naively from Gronlund’s Chernobyl death toll of 27,000, we might expect perhaps 4,000 total cancer fatalities from the Fukushima spew. There’s reason to hope for even fewer casualties. Dozens of Chernobyl emergency workers died from acute radiation poisoning, which has killed no one in Japan. And much of the Fukushima radioactivity blew out to sea or was dumped into the Pacific where it will be infinitely diluted and harm nobody. Still, let’s chew a bit on that 4,000 figure. Fukushima Daiichi has been churning out 4.7 gigawatts of power since 1979. Coal power in the United States generates about 314 GW of power and causes roughly 13,000 deaths per year from air pollution, or about 41 deaths per GW per year. So if Fukushima had been a 4.7 GW coal-fired plant operating over the past 31 years, it probably would have killed about 6,000 people from air pollution. Thus, even counting the meltdown casualties, Fukushima Daiichi likely saved thousands of lives on balance over its operating lifetime by abating coal emissions

It’s too soon to know exactly what the health effects of the Fukushima spew will be. Scientists will make estimates from detailed surveys of radiation exposure, and then monitor everyone for decades to try to empirically detect increased cancer incidence. But back-of-the envelope calculations suggest that the effects will be small. Clean-up work at the plant, for example, isn’t quite the suicide mission it’s made out to be. As of June 18, the 3,514 workers who have worked on the cleanup since the tsunami had received a collective radiation exposure of 114 person-Sieverts, a dose that would cause 7 cancer fatalities among them over a lifetime. If they continue at that dose rate and it takes a year to bring the reactors to cold shut-down, they might incur 28 excess cancer fatalities over the 700 that would normally occur. If we assume that the roughly 90,000 Fukushima evacuees also somehow received the average three-month dose of a cleanup worker before they fled—a huge overestimate—that would result in 166 extra cancer deaths over the 18,000 they would normally suffer.

Judging by the Japanese government’s radiation data, radiation in the rest of Japan should be a marginal concern. As of July 8, monitoring posts in Fukushima prefecture outside the 20 km evacuation zone were showing an average outdoor radiation reading of 0.61 micro-sieverts/ hour, higher than the normal background reading of about 0.04 uSv/ hour. Those readings are gradually falling, but currently they would add up to an extra radiation exposure above background of 5 milli-sieverts in a year. How dangerous is that? By comparison, residents of Denver get an extra 8 mSv of radiation per year over what they would receive living on the East Coast, because of the mile-high elevation and a local abundance of radon gas. So, outside the EZ, Fukushima Prefecture is substantially less radioactive than Denver. Elsewhere in Japan radiation has returned to normal background levels—and indeed was never elevated in most places—except in Miyagi and Ibaraki prefectures, where radiation readings are slightly elevated but way below Denver levels. There are no detectable quantities of radioactive isotopes in the drinking water anywhere in Japan outside Fukushima.

Inside the 20 km evacuation zone, and in a small plume to the northwest, radiation levels are much higher. The EZ is largely empty now, but it’s illuminating to try to estimate what the health effects would be if people were still living there. That exercise can give us a more realistic understanding of the scale of the disaster and of the various mechanisms that attenuate the harm it will cause; it shows us why radiation spews loom small in epidemiological studies of disease and mortality. Let’s look at the 10-20 km band of the EZ, where outdoor ambient radiation levels—the “external dose” of radiation that comes from outside the body—averaged 6.4 micro-sieverts/hr as of July 10. A person receiving that external dose rate for an 80-year Japanese life expectancy would get a total dose of 4.5 sieverts. That’s a lot of radiation; it would cause 25,000 extra cancer deaths per 100,000 people in addition to the roughly 20,000 that would normally occur, and thus more than double the cancer risk to an individual—raising it about as much as smoking does. But, for several reasons, actual radiation exposures will be much smaller. First, radioactive decay constantly reduces the quantity of ambient radionuclides. Almost all the radiation comes from soil depositions of cesium-134, with a half-life of 2 years, and cesium-137, with a half-life of 30 years, each of which is currently generating about half the radiation. As these isotopes decay, radiation exposures will dwindle accordingly. When you do the math—sorry, that means integrals of exponential functions—the estimated individual dose over 80 years drops to just 1.32 Sv (causing 7,500 cancer deaths per 100,000 people). There’s also soil migration: dirt blocks radiation, so as the radioactive cesium gradually percolates down beneath the surface of the ground, it stops irradiating people. Assuming very conservatively that soil migration attenuates ambient radiation by at least 5 % every ten years, the effect further reduces the dose—more integrals!—to 0.97 Sv, (5500 deaths). Then, because floors and walls also block radiation and people generally keep soil out of buildings, the external dose people receive indoors is much lower than their outdoor exposure by a factor of 4 or more. Assuming that people spend at least three quarters of their time indoors, we should therefore cut the external dose estimate by 56% to 0.42 Sv (2400 deaths.) On the other side of the ledger, we have to add in the internal doses from radionuclides lodged inside the body when people ingest contaminated food and water or inhale radioactive dust. Chernobyl data suggest that these internal doses might be a third as much as the external dose, so that raises the total dose to 0.56 Sv (3200 deaths per 100,000 people living there 80 years.) Okay, let’s stop now. There are other radio-abatement wrinkles that I don’t know how to model, but this is a serviceable ball-park estimate: spending one’s life in the 10-20 km band of the EZ elevates one’s cancer risk by perhaps 16%. In the 5-10 km band, radiation is averaging 10 uSv/hr, for a lifetime cancer risk of about 25% above normal; and in the 2-5 km band it’s running at 27 uSv/hr for a 68% elevated cancer risk. These are rough projections based on cautious assumptions that greatly overstate the risk; at this point we should just say that living in the EZ would impose a significant extra risk of cancer because of the radiation, but one that’s substantially less than the risk from smoking. That makes the Fukushima spew a serious local health problem, not an apocalyptic one.

So even the EZ is something less than the radiological moonscape of anti-nuke hysteria. There are certainly large tracts of land there that are dangerously radioactive and should be fenced off for years; there are also cool spots that are half as radioactive as Denver. Time will tell when and how much of this area can be reoccupied. But the creation of vast exclusion zones is also a feature of coal power, through mining—and even more so of renewable technologies, like the solar power that the Japanese government said it would turn to after the tsunami. The 20-km Fukushima EZ encompasses 226 square miles of land (half of it is sea). Compare this with the size of a solar plant that could equal Fukushima Daiichi’s 4.7 gigawatt output and 90% capacity factor. The Martin Next Generation Solar Energy Center in Florida, for example, generates 75 megawatts from 500 acres of solar mirrors, with a capacity factor of 24%, outputting 155,000 megawatt-hours per year (pretty good for a solar plant). To generate the 37,000 gigawatt-hours per year of a Fukushima Daiichi, a similar solar plant would need to cover 186 square miles–an exclusion zone that’s 83 % of the size of Fukushima’s, literally paved with mirrors sitting atop bulldozed, scraped-bare soil. And that’s every solar plant, not just the rare one that gets hit by a tsunami.

We’ll have to wait for detailed radiological surveys to get precise estimates of radiation depositions, doses and health effects. Still, it’s hard to see Fukushima fatalities exceeding a few thousand all told; they will likely be a small fraction of that. (And we will have to take them on faith, since civilian casualties will be far too few for epidemiological studies to discern.) That’s a tragedy, certainly, but it pales beside the contemporaneous death toll from coal pollution, which killed a thousand Americans and going on twenty thousand people worldwide in just the first month after the tsunami, as it does every month. The worst health effects of Fukushima will therefore stem from public anxiety that shuts down or slows the construction of nuclear plants, the only technology that can replace fossil fuels. Germany, for example, immediately closed its seven oldest nukes, which had been running trouble-free for decades. The resulting shortfall in electricity will be made up largely by burning more natural gas and coal, and by importing power from French nuclear plants.

The Banality of Radiation

When we shift the focus away from comparative mass body counts, we get a less fraught perspective on nuclear power as an ordinary and rather modest item on the list of marginal everyday risks. I could compare it to car crashes or beer or nitrite-laden barbecue. Instead, I’ll just compare it to other sources of radiation in which we blithely wallow even though they give us drastically larger doses than we get from nuclear plants.

Americans absorb an average radiation dose of 620 millirems (620 mrem) per year from natural and man-made sources. (A sievert is 100 rems.) The biggest sources are radon gas (200 mrem, including 9 mrem carried in with household natural gas) and medical procedures (about 300 mrem, some of which comes from just standing near radiotherapy patients.) 39 mrem comes from naturally occurring radioactive potassium inside your body. (Because bananas concentrate potassium, they are slightly radioactive at about 0.01 mrem per banana.) Moving to Colorado increases your cosmic radiation dose by about 67 mrem and your radon dose by a whopping 800 mrems. Everything that comes out of the ground is a bit radioactive, so if you live in a brick house instead of a wooden house you get an extra 7 mrem. TV and computer screens contribute 1 mrem. A coast-to-coast airplane ride gives you 2 mrem per flight—high elevation spells high radiation—so flight attendants get a bigger occupational radiation dose than do nuclear plant workers. All of these everyday radiation doses dwarf the 0.1 mrem per year that we get from nuclear plants without rousing any concern at all.

Indeed, we avidly seek out radiation as a cosmetic. Ultraviolet light from sunlight and tanning beds has similar effects to ionizing radiation: a sun-burn is an acute radiation burn, and skin cancers caused by UV light kill thousands of people every year. Yet greens do not march on tanning salons, and we all blissfully bare ourselves to the nuclear furnace in the sky. We think of radiation as the stuff we crawl into cellars like rats to escape after a nuclear holocaust; we should as well think of it as the stuff prom queens bask in to get a healthy glow.

Better yet, we should simply think of radiation from nukes as an ordinary form of pollution, much like smoke-stack and tail-pipe fumes: at high doses it can kill; at modest doses it poses modest long-term risks; at tiny doses it is innocuous. We should regulate and abate it, as we would any pollutant. But we should also recognize that nuclear plants emit far less harmful pollution than competing power sources. Considerations of public health, as well as concerns about the slow-motion tsunami from melting ice caps, therefore dictate that we build nukes as fast as possible. We need a thirty-fold buildup of nuclear plants to nuclearize the energy supply, so let’s assume the average death rate from nuclear spews, currently under a thousand a year, scales accordingly to 30,000 a year. (There’s reason to anticipate that the nuclear industry will steadily improve upon that standard.) Sounds pretty gruesome, but what we get in exchange is the eradication of the combustion pollution that kills three million people every year—not just coal emissions but automobile exhaust (eliminated by electric cars) and smoke from coal- and wood-fired stoves in the third world (eliminated by electric ranges). () Again, it’s an open-and-shut case: a complete switch-over from our current energy system to nuclear power would reduce the number of lives lost to energy production by 99 percent, a level of safety that no technology exceeds. (Even wind turbines have their catastrophic risks.) Nukes afford us prodigious amounts of clean energy—energy that liberates us from the manifold and very deadly ravages of fossil-fuel combustion.

The Faustian Bargain: Nuclear Power and the Modern Predicament

Unfortunately, statistical arguments haven’t settled this debate. In part that’s because very rare catastrophic risks loom larger in people’s minds than statistically more dangerous routine risks. But deeper irrationalities are at play. Radiation and air pollution are identical in their effects—neither will make you drop dead, both may increase your risk of getting lung cancer 20 year down the road—yet we flee in panic from one while shrugging off the other. Psychology thus plays a huge role in shaping attitudes. Fallout is indelibly linked to nuclear war, while the hazmat suits of radiological emergencies evoke deadly pandemics. The very invisibility of radiation feeds the paranoid imagination; if it smoked and billowed it would seem less insidious.

Worse, nuclear power has become a towering symbol, especially on the environmentalist left, of the whole miasmatic sickness of advanced technological society. Greens think of global warming not just as a crisis to be solved but as a cosmic retribution for all the ills of modernity, the grand internal contradiction that will finally destroy industrial capitalism. The appeal of wind and solar to left romantics is that they promise to return us to a state of pastoral innocence by recasting civilization around a deep harmony with the natural elements, using human-scaled technologies that foster the sublime egalitarian community of the decentralized grid. Nuclear power clashes with this vision of social and redemption through sustainability. It is a font of unnatural elements, the antithesis of everything organic; it is the spawn of the military-industrial complex and the perpetuator of the centralized power of corporate elites and Big Brother; it is the glib technological fix that puts off, and thus immeasurably worsens, the inevitable day of reckoning for a heedlessly overconsuming society. Hence the hostility on the part of most greens to a proven technology that offers enormous environmental benefits. To greens, a world saved by nuclear power is a world that’s not worth saving.

The underlying religious aspects of this mindset are captured in the ubiquitous green trope of nuclear power as a “Faustian bargain.” It’s an apt metaphor, suggesting the pursuit of unlimited power dredged from the underworld. Nuclear fission, the closest thing we have to hell-fire, certainly fits it, as does the trade-off between fleeting electricity and eternal waste. Nor are the overtones of hubris, sorcerer’s apprenticeship and always-pending catastrophe entirely misplaced. The lessons of Fukushima point to obvious and inexpensive fixes: build taller seawalls, raise high the diesel generators, vent the hydrogen gas. New plant designs are safer than the Fukushima models; they have bigger, stronger containment vessels and passive cooling systems that don’t need electricity. Nevertheless, engineers aren’t perfect, so nuclear power can never be perfectly safe. If we build nukes as frantically as I think we should, then in another twenty-five years—hopefully longer—there will be another Fukushima; the devices of man will fail and the devil will claim his due.

And yet we cannot reject the Faustian bargain, which is inseparable from progress itself. Consider air travel, another safe industry built around an intrinsically disastrous technology. (And a classically Faustian one in that it arrogates to mortals the divine power of flight.) Whenever I fly, I am filled with horror at the implications. I’m riding along seven miles in the sky, hurled forward at 500 miles per hour by an inferno of explosive gas. A single hair-line crack, missed by a hung-over mechanic, could cause any one of dozens of fan-blades to shatter and blow apart the engine. I pray that if that happens the supersonic shrapnel will kill me instantly and spare me the long, unbearable plunge to earth. And catastrophe can take a thousand other guises: a terrorist’s bomb, a depressed pilot, an electrical short, a flock of birds. But as I mull all this, hoping that my muscle rictus will somehow hold the plane together, all around me people are chatting, stewardesses are doling out snacks, toddlers are skipping up and down the aisle.

That’s what it means to live in the modern world. Daily life depends on the harnessing in delicate equipoise of titanic energies that would turn and annihilate us if they slipped the leash for but an instant. And occasionally they do: the plane crashes, the reactor spews. But dire as the menace of technology is, we embrace it out of necessity and convenience, and because the age-old demons of poverty and backwardness and powerlessness are worse than any of our own making. We understand that the Faustian bargain is a good one, struck at a fair price. When things go wrong we sift the wreckage for lessons and, if the stats warrant, carry on. So with air travel, and so with nuclear power: disasters will continue to happen, but they will become less frequent and destructive as engineers and regulators learn from past mistakes; the risks and harms, already small, will shrink further (but never entirely disappear). That’s what progress looks like, and we shouldn’t turn away from it. If we let irrational fears stymie this most important of technologies, and let imagined risks obscure real ones, we’re in for a hellish future.

Guest Post from Will Boisvert

2011-07-16T00:12:00.000-07:00

Just above this is a long post by Will Boisvert on the relative risks of nuclear power in the light of the Fukushima disaster. It's very long, but (in my opinion) very worth reading. I haven't seen any comparably thorough discussion elsewhere.

For whatever it's worth, while I'm not competent to evaluate every specific factual claim here, on the big picture I'm convinced. Boisvert is right. The practical alternative to nuclear power is fossil fuels, and by every metric fossil fuels are much worse, even setting climate change aside. (Include climate change and fossil fuels are much, much, much worse.) There are quite a few people I respect who don't agree; I hope they'll read these piece and take its arguments seriously. The takeaway: "Even if you accept [the worst-case estimates of the death tolls from past nuclear disasters], there is less than a one-in-25 chance that, next year, a Chernobyl-scale nuclear disaster will kill a quarter of a million people; there is a dead certainty that coal power will kill that many."

I hope Will will post more here in the future, but as always, who knows.

Some Thoughts on Negotiation

2011-07-11T18:52:00.000-07:00

I don't claim to be any expert on the negotiating table. But I was, about ten years ago, the lead negotiator for my graduate employee union (~3,000 members.) I've spent plenty of time around unions, before and since. And in my years at the Working Families Party, where I was the designated wonk, I inevitably had some involvement with negotiations over the terms of bills. From which I derive an observation that's perhaps relevant to the debt-ceiling talks.

The principals are never at the table.

Maybe because they're busy; very likely because they're diffuse; or maybe they're only constituted through the negotiating process. In any case, there are not one but three negotiations going on: between the two agents at the table, and between each of those agents and their respective principals.

So for instance, the question for me as Local 2322 representative was not just what I think of this deal, but whether I can sell it to the membership. Even worse when you're trying to nail down health care legislation; the union at least has a defined membership roll but the coalition exists only insofar as there's a chance of passing something. In either case, your problem as a negotiator is the same: When you go back to your constituents, you have to convince them that the deal (1) is good enough and (2) is the best you could have got. What I'm talking about here is the tension between 1 and 2.

Let's say you've got some big demand -- a 20 percent pay raise, let's say. And let's say, miraculously, the employer agrees to this the first day of negotiations. This tells you two things: First, the deal you have now is better than you expected; but also, that the payoff to continued negotiations might be better than expected too. If they gave you this for just sitting down, they must be desperate; who knows what they would give if you could really hold their feet to the fire. So it's not actually easier for you to convince your principals to ink a deal at this point. You've got an easier time selling them on (1), but a harder time selling them on (2).

Now you might say this is irrational, unfortunate, people should know how to say, Yes. But I don't agree. The principal is not negotiating not just this once. So knowing which agents, or which kinds of agents, are reliable may be every bit as important as getting the best possible deal in this round. So they're observing, Did the negotiators keep pushing until the other side was ready to walk away, as much or more as, Is the outcome acceptable. From the principals' point of view, an early concession from the other side is a signal that this side's agents need to ask for more to prove they are doing their jobs.

In this sense, even if you (the agent now, like Obama) are happy to agree with everything the other agents have proposed to you, it's in your shared interest (yours and theirs) to only concede it at the last moment, and in return for the most costly concessions, to help them sell it to their principals.

Bottom line: Even if you intend to concede X, it's in everyone's best interest - including the negotiators on the other side -- that you don't give up X until the last possible minute. Conceding it early actually makes it harder for the other side to accept. This sounds like a paradox but I think it's really a perfectly logical and inevitable implication of the negotiating situation.

It's a broadly-applicable problem in economics, that a change in price has opposite effects if it's considered once and for all vs if it's considered as a proxy for future changes. Whatever the model says, one has to think a change in prices might continue. This is how bubbles get started. Just so, politically, current concessions makes the current deal look better -- statically. But the relevant question is, do they make the current deal look better, with respect to some future deal? To the extent that conceding now makes both look better, that effect is indeterminate.

So, Obama's a bad negotiator, then? Maybe. I have to admit, there;s something appealing, in a poetic-justice sense, to the idea that the decline of the labor base of the Democratic Party has led to a fatal loss of practical negotiating skills. The other, more obvious possibility, is that he is not trying to get the best outcome for the Democrats in the sense that most people understand it -- that he shares the Republicans' essential goals. But I might put it a little differently -- Obama's bargaining position is weak precisely because of his independence, the fact that he doesn't answer to anyone. Digby asks, quite reasonably, if we have any idea at this point what the President's principles are. I might put it a little differently: it's who are his principals.

Red Light, Green Light, Who Cares?

2011-07-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

Interesting piece in the FT on Chinese inflation, and the persistent divergence between inflation as measured by the CPI and the GDP deflator. (The differences between price indices is something we could pay more attention to in general.) But I was struck by an odd juxtaposition. First, we get a quote from some analyst saying that the GDP deflator is overstating inflation:

In the last three months of 2010, the deflator made inflation out to be 7.3%, compared with 4.7% using the CPI. ... if the 7.3% inflation the GDP deflator calculates is an overestimation, this has to mean that real GDP growth is higher than the 9.8% Beijing officially clocked for the last quarter—which is dangerously high, strengthening the fear of overheating China bears have been raising of late.

Then we get another analyst saying no, the deflator is understating inflation:

Our guess is that the GDP deflator which probably averaged over 10% last year is now running at around 11%. The natural implication of that, of course, is that real Chinese GDP could be much lower than officially stated. And that inflation, as a result, is indeed a much greater concern for authorities than is currently being implied.

So if inflation is lower than the official number, that's a reason to step on the brakes. And if inflation is higher than the official number, that's a reason to step on the brakes too.

It's almost like support for austerity aren't really motivated by concerns about inflation (or interest rates). But what else could it be?

Fiscal Arithmetic: The Blanchard Rule

2011-06-28T22:08:00.000-07:00

When we left off, we'd concluded that the relationship between g, the growth rate of GDP, and i, the after-tax interest rate on government debt, was central to the evolution of public debt. When g > i, any primary deficit is sustainable, in the sense that the debt-GDP ratio converges to a finite value; when i > g, no primary deficit is sustainable, and a primary surplus, while formally sustainable at a certain exact value, occupies a knife-edge. Which invites the natural question, so which is bigger, usually?

There are articles that discuss this (tho not as many as you might think). Here's a good recent article by Jamie Galbraith; I also like this one by Tony Aspromourgos, and "The Intertemporal Budget Constraint and the Sustainability of Budget Deficits" by Arestis and Sawyer. (I'm sorry, I can't find a version of it online). An earlier and more mainstream, but for our current purposes especially interesting, take is this piece by Olivier Blanchard. Blanchard says:

If i - g were negative, the government would no longer need to generate primary surpluses to achieve sustainability. ... The government could even run permanent primary deficits of any size, and these would eventually lead to a positive but constant level of debt... Theory suggests that this case, which corresponds to what is known as 'dynamic inefficiency', cannot be excluded, and that in such a case, a government should, on welfare grounds, probably issue more debt until the pressure on interest rates made them at least equal to the growth rate.

So much depends on whether the growth rate exceeds the interest rate, or not. Well, so, does it?

The funny thing about this passage in context is that Blanchard acknowledges that over most of the postwar period, the growth rate has exceeded the interest rate. But, he says, the professional consensus is that interest rates ought to equal or exceed growth rates, so he'll stick with that assumption for the rest of the article. (There's almost a genre of economics articles that freely admit a key assumption doesn't seem to be consistently satisfied in practice, but then blithely go on assuming it. The Marshall-Lerner-Robinson condition is a favorite in this vein.) But we're not here to mock; we're here to call the Blanchard rule, the prescription that if i < g, the federal deficit ought to be higher.

Below are graphs of the growth rate and after-tax 10-year government bond rate for 10 OECD countries. Both are deflated by the CPI; the tax rate is the ratio of central government taxes to GDP. This is probably a bit high, but on the other hand the average maturity of government debt is less than 10 years in many OECD countries -- in the US it is currently around 4.7 years -- so these two biases might more or less cancel each other out, leaving the red line close to the economically relevant interest rate. Source is the OECD statistics site. I've excluded 2008-2010 since the Great Recession pulls growth rates sharply down in a (let's hope!) misleading way. The lighter black line is the growth trend.

Click them to make them bigger!

Clearly we can't exclude the relevance of the Blanchard rule; for much of the time, for many rich countries, the growth rate of GDP has exceeded the 10-year interest rate. At other times, interest has exceeded growth. What we see in most cases is a fairly stable growth rate, combined with an interest rate that jumps sharply up around 1980 and then drifts downward from somewhere in the 1990s. At some point soon, I hope, I'll produce decompositions of the change in the fiscal position into the interest rate, the growth rate, changes in taxes and expenditure induced by the growth rate, and autonomous changes in taxes and spending. I suspect the first will be the most important, and the last the least. But in the meantime, we can say just looking at these graphs that changing interest rates are an important component of fiscal dynamics, so it's wrong to think just in terms of the primary balance.

Which suggests -- coming back to the earlier debate with John Quiggin -- that if we are concerned with the long-term fiscal position, we should spend at least as much time worrying about policies that affect the interest rate on government debt relative to the growth rate, as we should about taxes relative to expenditures. And we should not assume a priori that a primary deficit is unsustainable.

Trade: The New Normal Was the Old Normal Too

2011-06-25T00:07:00.000-07:00

Matthew Yglesias is puzzled by

the fundamental weirdness of having so much savings flowing uphill from poor, fast-growing countries into the rich, mature economy of the United States. It ought to be the case that people in fast-growing countries are eager to consume more than they produce, knowing that they’ll be much richer in the near future. And it ought to be the case that people in rich countries are eager to invest in poor ones seeking higher returns. But it’s not what was happening pre-crisis and it’s not what’s been happening post-crisis.

He should have added: And it's not what's ever happened.

I'm not sure what "ought" is doing in this passage. If it expresses pious hope, fine. But if it's supposed to be a claim about what's normal or usual, as the contrast with "weirdness" would suggest, then it just ain't so. Sure, in some very artifical textbook models savings flow from rich countries to poor ones. But it has never been the case, since the world economy came into being in the 19th century, that unregulated capital flows have behaved the way they "ought" to.

Albert Fishlow's paper "Lessons from the Past: Capital Markets During the 19th Century and the Interwar Period" includes a series for the net resources transferred from creditor to debtor countries from the mid-19th century up to the second world war. (That is, new investment minus interest and dividends on existing investment.) This series turns negative sometime between 1870 and 1885, and remains so through the end of the 1930s. For 50 years -- the Gold Standard age of stable exchange rates, flexible prices, free trade and unregulated capital flows -- the poor countries were consistently transferring resources to the rich ones. In other words, what Yglesias sees as the "fundamental weirdness" of the current period is the normal historical pattern. Or as Fishlow puts it:

Despite the rapid prewar growth in the stock of foreign capital, at an annual average rate of 4.6 percent between 1870 and 1913, foreign investment did not fully keep up with the reflow of income from interest and dividends. Return income flowed at a rate close to 5 percent a year on outstanding balances, meaning that on average creditors transferred no resources to debtor nations over the period. ... Such an aggregate result casts doubt on the conventional description of the regular debt cycle that capital recipients were supposed to experience. ... most [developing] countries experienced only brief periods of import surplus [i.e. current account deficit]. For most of the time they were compelled to export more than they imported in order to meet their debt payments.

A similar situation existed for much of the post World War II period, especially after the secular increase in world interest rates around 1980.

There is a difference between the old pattern (which still applies to much of the global south) and the new one. Then, net-debtor poor countries ran current account surpluses to make payments on their high-yielding liabilities to rich countries. Now, net-creditor (relatively-) poor countries run current account surpluses to accumulate low-yielding assets in rich countries. I would argue there are reasons to prefer the new pattern to the old one. But the flow of real resources is unchanged: from the periphery to the center. Meanwhile, those countries that have successfully industrialized, as scholars like Ha-Joon Chang have shown, have done so not by accessing foreign savings by connecting with the world financial system, but by keeping their own savings at home by disconnecting from it.

It seems that an unregulated international finance doesn't benevolently put the world's collective savings to the best use for everyone, but instead channels wealth from the poor to the rich. That may not be the way things ought to be, but historically it's pretty clearly the way things are.

Some Fiscal Arithmetic

2011-06-10T22:46:00.000-07:00

If we're going to discuss fiscal policy, we should be clear on the accounting relationships involved. So, here are some basic equations describing how the public debt evolves over time. I should say up front that the relationships I'm describing here, while they suggest an unorthodox skepticism about worries about debt "sustainability," are themselves totally orthodox and noncontroversial. And they don't make any behavioral assumptions -- they're true by definition.

We're interested in the ratio of debt to GDP. What will this be at some time t?

Well, it will be equal to the ratio in the previous period, increased by rate of interest, and decreased by the rate of growth of GDP, (remember, we are talking about the debt-GDP ratio; increasing the denominator makes a fraction smaller), plus the previous period's primary deficit, that is, the difference between spending on everything besides interest, and revenues.

Let b be the government debt and d the primary deficit (i.e. the deficit exclusive of interest payments), both as shares of GDP. Let i be the after-tax interest rate on government borrowing and g the growth rate of GDP (both real or both nominal, it doesn't matter). Then we can rewrite the paragraph above as:

We can rearrange this to see how the debt changes from one period to the next:

Now, what happens if a given primary deficit is maintained for a long time? Does the debt-GDP ratio converge to some stable level? We can answer this question by setting the left-hand side of the above equation to zero. That gives us:

What does this mean? There are three cases to consider. If the rate of GDP growth is equal to the interest on government debt net of taxes, then the only stable primary balance is zero; any level of primary deficit leads to the debt-GDP rate rising without limit as long as its maintained. (And similarly, any level of primary surpluses leads to the government eventually paying off its debt accumulating a positive net asset position that grows without limit.) If g > i, then for any level of primary deficit, there is a corresponding stable level of debt; in this sense, there is no such thing as an "unsustainable" deficit. On the other hand, if g < i, then -- assuming debt is positive -- a constant debt requires a primary surplus.

There is a further difference between the cases. When g > i, the equilibrium is stable; if for whatever reason the debt rises or falls above the level implied by the long-run average primary deficit, it will move back toward that level over time. But when g < i, if the debt is one dollar too high, it will rise without limit; if it is one dollar too low, it will fall without limit, to be eventually replaced by an endlessly growing positive net asset position.

So, which of these three cases is most realistic? Good question! So good, in fact, I'm going to devote a whole nother post to it. The short answer: sometimes one, sometimes another. But in the US, GDP growth has exceeded pre-tax interest on 5-year Treasuries (the average maturity of US debt is around 5 years) in about 50 of the past 60 years.

The discussion up to now has been in terms of the primary balance. But nearly all public discussions of fiscal issues focus on the total deficit, which includes interest along with other categories of spending. We can rewrite the equations above in those terms, adding a superscript T to indicate we're talking about the total deficit. In these equations, g is the nominal growth rate of GDP.

Again, we define equilibrium as a situation in which the debt-GDP ratio is constant. Then we have:

In other words, any total deficit converges to a finite debt-GDP ratio. (And for every debt-GDP ratio, there is a total deficit that holds it stable.) So defining a sustainable total deficit requires picking a target debt-GDP ratio. Let's say we expect nominal GDP growth to average 5% in the future. (That's a bit low by historical standards, but it's what the CBO assumes in its long-run budget forecasts.) Then 2010's deficit of 8.8% of GDP implies a long-run debt-GDP ratio of about 175% -- a number toward the top of the range observed historically in developed countries. 175% too high? Get the long-run average deficit down to 4%, and the debt-GDP ratio converges to 80%. Deficit of 3% of GDP, debt of 60% of GDP. (Yes, the Maastricht criteria apparently assume 5% growth in nominal GDP.) It is not at all clear what the criteria are for determining the best long-run debt-GDP ratio, but that's what you've got to do before you can say whether the total deficit is too high -- or too low.

One last point: An implication of that last equation above is that if the total deficit averages zero over a long period, the debt-GDP ratio will also converge to zero. In other words, "Balance the budget over the business cycle" is another way of saying, "Pay off the whole federal debt." Yet I doubt many of the people who argue for the former, would support the latter. Which only shows how important it is to get the accounting relationships clear.

EDIT: I should stress: There is nothing original here. Any economist who does anything remotely related to public finance would read this and say, yes, yes, so what, of course -- or at least I sure hope they would. But you really do have to be clear on these relationships for terms like "sustainable" to have any meaning.

For instance, let's go back to that Peterson budget summit. As far as I can tell, five of the six organizations that submitted budget proposals used the CBO's assumptions for growth and interest rates. (EPI tweaked them somewhat.) But given those assumptions, only two of the budgets -- EPI and AEI -- actually stabilize the debt-GDP ratio. (Interestingly, they do so at about the same level -- 70% of GDP for AEI, and 80% of GDP for EPI.) The other four budgets describe a path on which the entire federal debt is retired, and the federal government accumulates a net asset position that grows without limit relative to GDP. Personally, I am all for public ownership of the means of production. But I didn't realize that's what people had in mind when they called a budget "sustainable". Of course, presumably that is, indeed, not what the people at CAP, Heritage, or the Roosevelt Campus Network had in mind; presumably they just didn't think through the long-term implications of their budget numbers. Which is sort of the point of this post.

UPDATE: ... and not 12 hours after I post this, here's John Quiggin at Crooked Timber writing that the US needs "a substantial increase in tax revenue in the long term" and backing it up with the claim,"I assume [the optimal debt-GDP ratio is] finite, which would not be the case under plausible scenarios with no new revenue and maintenance of current discretionary expenditure relative to national income." As we've seen , given the historic pattern where GDP growth is above the interest rate, this statement is simply false.

Of course, John Q. might be assuming this historic relationship will be reversed in the future. But then you could just as logically say that the interest rate is too high, or inflation is too low, as that higher taxes are needed. The view that it must be taxes that adjust implicitly assumes that that longer term interest rates aren't responsive to policy, and that deliberately raising inflation can't even be discussed. In other words, while surpluses later is often presented as part of an argument for deficits now, the case for surpluses in the future rests on premises that also largely rule out more aggressive monetary stimulus in the present.

Help, I'm Stuck in a Fortune Cookie Factory

2011-06-09T20:11:00.000-07:00

Remember that old joke?

The Slack Wire was hit by a bunch of spam comments just now, which I promptly deleted. Whatever, it's a blog, happens every day, right? The usual, a bunch of links to sites selling dresses, shoes, thermometers. (Thermometers?)

Except: the text accompanying the links was not the usual spamglish ("Thank You for a Most interesting discution") or - what the cleverer spambots do - quotes from earlier comments. It was: "This is my job. I am so sorry."

I'm sorry too, "Amanda." All the wonderful new forms of creative intellectual work that could be opened up by the Internet, and we've stuck you doing this.

An Ant Not Even Thinking About Pissing on Cotton

2011-06-08T21:11:00.000-07:00

Over at Crooked Timber, they're discussing Martha Nussbaum's new book on "Why Democracy Needs the Humanities." Sounds like a real stinker. (Altho the thread has alerted me to the fact that I urgently need to read Randall Jarrell's Pictures from an Institution, so I guess Nussbaum is to thank for that.) Lots of good criticism of the book, there and at the discussion CT is responding to, but most everyone seems to accept at least the premise that there is a crisis in the humanities -- a "silent crisis," says Nussbaum. Or as representative CT commenter puts it, "you won’t be able to get a BA degree from a land-grant university in twenty years."

Really? This must be an extrapolation from the past 20 years, yes? So, ok, what's happened to the humanities since 1990?

Here are the numbers, from the 2010 Digest of Education Statistics:

The federal government doesn't designate particular subjects as "liberal arts," as far as I know, so I've presented two possible definitions. The blue line is the narrower one: English, visual & performing arts, foreign languages, philosophy, and area/ethnic/gender studies. The red line includes all those, plus social sciences, psychology, interdisciplinary studies, and architecture.

What do we see? Well, there was a decline in the share of humanities degrees in the 1970s. But there was some recovery in the 1980s, and since 1990, the proportion has been flat: around 20% (for the broad measure) or a bit over 10% (for the narrow -- basically English and its satellites -- measure). Whether these proportions ought to be higher, I couldn't say; but if crisis means a situation that can't persist, then this is clearly not a crisis. Or at least, it's a really, really silent one.

Political Economy 101

2011-06-06T11:18:00.000-07:00

When he's right, he's right:

everything we’re seeing makes sense if you think of the Right as representing the interests of rentiers, of creditors who have claims from the past — bonds, loans, cash — as opposed to people actually trying to make a living through producing stuff. Deflation is hell for workers and business owners, but it’s heaven for creditors. ... thinking of what’s happening as the rule of rentiers, who are getting their interests served at the expense of the real economy, helps make sense of the situation.

Or, almost right. Because it isn't just the Right...

EDIT: It's interesting to note how reflexively DeLong shied away from this thought when it occurred to him a while back, with the ludicrous-on-its-face argument that only "coupon-clippers with their portfolios 100% in government bonds" could have an interest in deflation. The existence of rentiers as a distinct social class is an unthought in respectable circles. Which shows how impressively disrespectable Krugman is becoming.

The Beatings Will Continue...

2011-06-05T21:33:00.000-07:00

This may be the answer to this.

Shorter DeLong:

It is perfectly obvious that the cause of the Great Recession was an insufficient supply of government debt. And it is perfectly obvious that we need to reduce the supply of government debt.

Let me spoil the joke by explaining it.

The argument that the collapse in demand for currently produced goods and services in 2007-2009 was due to an excess demand for AAA assets, i.e. government debt, is a useful one, as far as it goes. But the strange thing is that the New Keynesians making it don't seem to think it conveys any information about the long-term fiscal position. Presumably, if we'd known about the coming excess demand for government debt, we'd have wanted higher deficits throughout the 2000s, instead of having to ramp them up suddenly at the end of the decade. And presumably, the circumstances that led to higher demand for government debt in 2007-2009 can be expected to recur. So maybe we want to prepare for them going forward? But no, we still need the debt-GDP ratio to be "sustainable" -- a term which is never defined, except it's always lower than where we are now. The fact that the ratio was too low, rather than too high, in the recent past somehow fails to imply that it could be too low, rather than too high, in the future.

Let me come at this another way. Check out the entrants in the Peterson Institute budget beauty contest. All of them are considered by the judges to have ~~rocked the swimsuit competition~~ "put the federal debt on a sustainable trajectory through 2035." But what does this mean? The fiscal positions at the end date range from a surplus of 0.8% of GDP to a deficit of 3.7%. Debt-GDP ratios range from 30% to 81.7%. The highest-deficit entrant (EPI's, for what it's worth) is near the very high end of the historical range, and essentially identical to the CBO's current-policy baseline. If current policy is sustainable, why are we having this conversation? But of course, Peterson gives no indication how "sustainable" is being defined (or for that matter what they're assuming about GDP growth and the interest rate on government debt, quite important for these exercises).

Mainstream discourse on budget deficits (as with inflation) combines an absolute conviction that the current debt-GDP ratio is too high, with a complete lack of principles for telling us what the optimal ratio might be.

Some Should Do One, Others the Other

2011-06-04T18:03:00.000-07:00

A friend writes:

In August 1968 I was on an SDS trip to Cuba, one of about 30 student activists from around the US. One day we went to the mission of the Provisional Revolutionary Government of South Vietnam in Havana (it had been called the National Liberation Front but had recently taken on a new name). We decided to see if the NLF, as we called them, could settle some debates in the US antiwar movement. After exchanging pleasantries with the representative of the PRG/NLF, we had the following exchange.

SDS students: We have a debate in the antiwar movement. Some of us think we should organize militant, obstructive demonstrations that are openly in support of victory for the NLF. Others argue we should organize much larger, peaceful, legal demonstrations around the demand of immediate US withdrawal from Vietnam. Which should we do?

PRG/NLF rep: Some of you should do one, and others should do the other.

SDS students: We have another debate in the antiwar movement. When a male antiwar activist gets a draft induction notice, some of us think he should refuse to serve, either going to jail or going to Canada. Others of us argue that he should quietly go into the military to organize among the soldiers for an end to the war. Which should we do?

PRG/NLF rep: Some of you should do one, and others should do the other. And when an antiwar activist goes into the military and ends up in Vietnam, there are ways to arrange contact between the activist and the local NLF fighters.

After that exchange, I began to see why the NLF was so successful in their struggle to force the US out of Vietnam.

Here is a parable for the Left! How many pointless debates about tactics could be avoided if someone just said, "Some of you should do one, and others should do the other." Except in the case of a specific, finite resource, and a decision-making body able to allocate it, the merits of one approach aren't an argument against another.

Peaceful demonstrations, or direct action? Challenge foreclosures in court, or block them in the street? Work within the Democrats, or build a third party? Support organizing and contract fights by AFL-CIO unions, or help build rank-and-file insurgencies? Try to shift the Obama administration from the inside, or pressure it from the outside? Debate the economics mainstream, or build a heterodox alternative? Nationalize the banks, or shoot the bankers? Fight for women's access to male-dominated professions, or for greater social recognition of traditionally female activities? Well-funded public universities, or an end to credentialism? Green capitalism, or cooperatives? Theory, or practice? Recycle, reuse, or reduce? Some of us should do one. And others should do the other.

Anything We Can Do, We Can Afford

2011-06-02T17:22:00.000-07:00

John Maynard Keynes, in a 1942 BBC address:

Let us not submit to the vile doctrine of the nineteenth century that every enterprise must justify itself in pounds, shillings and pence of cash income ... Why should we not add in every substantial city the dignity of an ancient university or a European capital ... an ample theater, a concert hall, a dance hall, a gallery, cafes, and so forth. Assuredly we can afford this and so much more. Anything we can actually do, we can afford. ... We are immeasurably richer than our predecessors. Is it not evident that some sophistry, some fallacy, governs our collective action if we are forced to be so much meaner than they in the embellishments of life? ...

Yet these must be only the trimmings on the more solid, urgent and necessary outgoings on housing the people, on reconstructing industry and transport and on replanning the environment of our daily life. Not only shall we come to possess these excellent things. With a big programme carried out at a regulated pace we can hope to keep employment good for many years to come. We shall, in fact, have built our New Jerusalem out of the labour which in our former vain folly we were keeping unused and unhappy in enforced idleness.

(Collected Works XXVII)

Relevant today, obviously: Thirteen million people unemployed, 25 percent of industrial capacity idle, and capital, if the interest rate is any guide, more abundant than it's been in decades. If our masters were only interested in what's best for everyone, as they always claim, now would be the moment for new bridges, hospitals, subways, colleges, and public housing, and for parks, theaters, museums, and cafes. Not to mention wind farms. A recession isn't the time to trim sails and take short views, it's the time to go long. So let's build that New Jerusalem.

Glorious Counterrevolution

2011-05-29T16:15:00.000-07:00

It's September of 2007. Though almost no one realizes it, the so-called Great Moderation is ending. The housing bubble has just peaked, a rolling financial conflagration has already started, and the US economy is descending into its steepest downturn since the 1930s.

And a well-known economist is saying:

One of the most striking facts about macropolicy is that we have progressed amazingly. ... In my opinion, better policy, particularly on the part of the Federal Reserve, is directly responsible for the low inflation and the virtual disappearance of the business cycle in the last 25 years. ..

The story of stabilization policy of the last quarter century is one of amazing success. We have seen the triumph of sensible ideas and have reaped the rewards in terms of macroeconomic performance. The costly wrong turn in ideas and macropolicy of the 1960s and 1970s has been righted and the future of stabilization looks bright.

Who is it?

Must be one of those smug right-wing Chicago types, right? Maybe Robert Lucas, whose claim that the “central problem of depression-prevention has been solved” was so widely mocked when the crisis broke out?

Nope. It's Christina Romer, soon to be Obama's top economist.

As Obama's CEA chair, by all accounts Romer led the pro-stimulus forces in the administration against the forces of austerity. Yet there she is, in Berkeley in 2007, speaking without irony of the "glorious counterrevolution" against Keynes in the 1980s:

The 1960s represented the beginning of a long dark period for macroeconomic policy.... [But] since 1985, inflation has been below 4% every single year and has averaged just 2.5%. Real short-run macroeconomic performance has been similarly splendid. … As someone who started her career saying there had not been a stabilization of the postwar economy, I now have to admit there most certainly has been – it just started in 1985, not 1947. ..

What stops this story from being a good morality play is that good hasn’t triumphed entirely. At the same time that we have seen a glorious counterrevolution in the ideas and conduct of short-run stabilization policy, we have seen a remarkable lack of progress in long-run fiscal policy. In this area, the legacy of 1960s beliefs is still very much with us and may threaten the long-run stability of the American economy. ... The revolutionary idea of the 1960s concerning long-run fiscal policy was that it was not important to balance the budget even over a period of several years. Rather, persistent budget deficits could actually be desirable because they would lower unemployment and move the economy toward a more desirable path for real output.

In other words, there is one flaw in the amazingly amazing progress in economic policy since the 1980s. It's not rising private debt, financial deregulation, or stagnant wages and soaring income inequality, none of which she mentions. It's that people need to worry more about the federal debt.

True, she admits, there's no concrete evidence for any economic costs to public indebtedness over its historic range.[1] But that shouldn't stop us worrying:

The consequences of persistent deficits may only be felt over a very long horizon. … It is also possible that the effects of persistent deficits are highly nonlinear. Perhaps over a wide range, deficits and the cumulative public debt really do have little impact on the economy. But, at some point, the debt burden reaches a level that threatens the confidence of investors. Such a meltdown and a sudden stop of lending would unquestionably have enormous real consequences.

Maybe. But ideas have consequences, too. For instance, Romer's argument here is the same argument, almost verbatim, that would be used by her opponents in the administration just a year and a half later, when she was pushing for a larger stimulus:

Romer’s analysis, deeply informed by her work on the Depression, suggested that the package should probably be more than $1.2 trillion. The memo to Obama, however, detailed only two packages: a five-hundred-and-fifty-billion-dollar stimulus and an eight-hundred-and-ninety-billion-dollar stimulus. Summers ... argued that the stimulus should not be used to fill the entire output gap; rather, it was “an insurance package against catastrophic failure.” ... He believed that filling the output gap through deficit spending was important, but that a package that was too large could potentially shift fears from the current crisis to the long-term budget deficit, which would have an unwelcome effect on the bond market. In the end, Summers made the case for the eight-hundred-and-ninety-billion-dollar option.

That's Ryan Lizza via Paul Krugman; in Krugman's version, Romer is the hero. But what he doesn't say is that the arguments being deployed against her here are ones she herself was making just a year or two earlier: Shortfalls in demand are less dangerous than policymakers think, but deficits are much more so; and thanks to nonlinearity you can't wait until there's some visible cost to deficit spending to curtail it.

Now, let's be fair: We'd all be better off if Romer had won her debate with Orszag and Summers. (And if Summers had then been remanded to a job in chicken manure management.) Still, it's important to remember how small is the gap between the wings of mainstream economics, despite the vitriol.

In her Berkeley address, Romer says

The reason that I have talked in some detail about the economic beliefs that policymakers held in the 1950s is that I believe the policies they undertook and the economic outcomes derived largely from those beliefs.

I agree. In 2007, Christina Romer was using her podium to say that we don't need to worry about major recessions, that the greatest mistake in economic policy in recent decades was faith in fiscal policy, and that the most important intellectual task for macroeconomists is to convince policymakers of the dangers of budget deficits. Now, those same arguments are being used to tell us we should accept 9-10% unemployment as far as the idea can see. If we didn't want to end up here, we should have started somewhere else.

[1] Here is, literally, the entirety of her argument on the costs of higher deficits: "On the idea that persistent deficits don’t matter, I think there is widespread consensus that that is not true. There may be differences in our estimates of the size of the eventual effects, but most economists agree that deficits over decades unquestionably reduce national saving and have consequences for long-run standards of living.” No names, no cites, no data, no examples. Just, “most economists agree.”

Keynes Quote of the Day

2011-05-25T16:30:00.000-07:00

From Britain's Industrial Future:

The notion that the only way to get enough effort out of the brain-worker is to offer him unfettered opportunities of making an unlimited fortune is as baseless as the companion idea that the only way of getting enough effort out of the manual worker is to hold over him the perpetual threat of starvation and misery for himself and those he loves. It has never been even supposed to be true, at all events in England, of the soldier, the statesman, the civil servant, the teacher, the scientist, the technical expert.

And to think this was the Orange Book of 1928! Times have changed.

They sure have. Then, it seemed like the move away from institutions based on material incentives to institutions based on intrinsic motivation was well underway, or at least realizable. While today -- perhaps in Britain even more than the US -- the tide is running strong the other way, with the good and great eager to get teachers and technicians, if not yet soldiers and statesmen, onto the unlimited-fortune/starvation-and-misery plan.

The context of the quote is interesting, too -- it's part of a larger argument for the "more or less comprehensive socialization of investment" Keynes would continue to argue for in the General Theory. Since managers of private firms already work for "a certain salary, plus the hope of promotion or bonus," nothing would change if their businesses were publicly owned: "The performance of functions by Public Concerns in place of privately owned Companies and Corporations would make but little difference to the ordinary man." If soi-disant hard Keynesians read more Keynes, they would find a much more radical vision there than countercyclical fiscal policy.

(via Jim Crotty's unpublished book on Keynes. Encouraging him to get that thing out is high up on my list of life goals. Britain's Industrial Future was officially written by a committee of Liberal grandees headed by Lloyd George. But this passage was written by Keynes, Crotty says, and he would know.)

Think Global, Act Local, American Style

2011-05-22T14:55:00.000-07:00

Via Christian P., the free-market solution to climate change:

Picture's from Vicksburg, Mississippi. The only thing that would make it better, is if there were a golf course in there.

Leaping Lizards

2011-05-22T14:10:00.000-07:00

At a party last night, I ran into a biologist who studies lizards. So we got to talking, as you do, about bipedalism. The habit of running on two legs has arisen in several different lineages of lizards, but why did it evolve? Speed, energetic efficiency, heat loss, vision, or that all-purpose explanation sexual selection? or maybe, like us and the birds, they've got something better to do with their front limbs?

None of the above, says the biologist. Sure, there are bipedal lizards. But very likely, bipedalism in lizards did not evolve.

Wait, how's that?

Aerts et al., Bipedalism in Lizards:

The exact advantages of bipedal locomotion in lizards remain debated. Earlier claims that bipedalism would increase maximal running speed or would be energetically advantageous have been questioned. Here, we use ‘whole body’ mechanical modelling to provide an alternative solution to the riddle. The starting point is the intermittent running style combined with the need for a high manoeuvrability characterizing many small lizard species. Manoeuvrability benefits from a caudal [rearward] shift of the centre of mass of the body (body-COM), because forces to change the heading and to align the body to this new heading do not conflict with each other. The caudally situated body-COM, however, might result in a lift of the front part of the body when accelerating ... [leading to] observable distances passively covered bipedally as a consequence of the acceleration. In this way, no functional explanation of the phenomenon of lizard bipedalism is required and bipedalism can probably be considered non-adaptive in many cases.

In other words, if you, being a lizard, need to change direction quickly when you're running, it's better to have your center of mass situated in the back, near your pelvis. That makes it easier to swing the front of your body around when you turn. But a side effect of having your center of gravity toward your back end is that your front end tends to rise when you accelerate sharply, as, being a lizard, you often do. (You, being a person now, have experienced this if you've ridden a bike up a steep hill. Conversely, brake suddenly, the back end of the bike goes up.) Air resistance adds to this effect, as does the fact that one of the ways the center of gravity is moved backwards is an overdevelopment of the rear legs relative to the front ones. The result is that lizards evolved for junk in the trunk end up sometimes running on their rear legs, even if that was not selected for at all.

(The linked article is based on experiments with a mechanical model of a lizard. According to dude at the party, the same conclusions are suggested by observations of lizard bipedalism in nature.)

I'm writing about this partly just because it's cool (go science!) but also because it's a nice illustration of an aspect of evolution that's not widely understood, especially, perhaps, by some of its more aggressive proselytes. Darwinism is certainly correct, on some level: on the level that the appearance of design in an organism in no way implies the existence of a designer. But the statement that complex adaptive traits are the result of natural selection, while true, tells us much less than it seems to at first glance, because it's seldom obvious what constitutes a "trait"; even more seldom what universe of alternatives it was selected from. In this case, we, proud bipeds, see a lizard running on its hind legs and think, that's a trait; whereas, dancers and gymnasts perhaps aside, we're not much conscious of where our center of mass is. But what we see as a trait isn't necessarily what evolution sees; not everything in Borges' encyclopedia is selected on. Perhaps the majority of what we see as traits are, as in this case, spandrels.

Needless to say, this is especially true when the organisms are human beings and the alleged trait is something psychological, especially something relating to sex and gender roles. A true evolutionary explanation should provide both concrete evidence (not just a just-so story) for the selective advantage of the supposed trait, and an account of the specific developmental pathways through which it arises; at least it should have one of the two. But in many of the "evolutionary" stories that people get most excited about, both are entirely lacking. Certainly when it comes to higher brain functions, with the exception of vision, the only statement genuinely grounded in evolutionary biology is, "We don't know."

How Many Rooms Does a Man Need?

2011-05-17T21:27:00.000-07:00

I'm generally a big fan of Rick Bookstaber. His posts have a depth and originality that's rare among economics blogs. But he goes seriously off the rails with this one, on commodity prices. In the long term, he argues, they are bound to fall, because a paradigm shift is underway:

with the increased focus on technology – where we spend more and more of our time on our cell phone, doing emails, watching DVDs and surfing the web – there is less of a difference between how the super rich and the reasonably well off spend their time hour by hour during their typical days. ... in the not-so-distant future the main items we will demand, beyond food, clothing and shelter, are “game systems”...

Our demand for housing and transportation, two of the biggest commodity hogs, will be lower. McMansions will be totally passe. It should already be dawning on people that most all of our non-sleeping hours at home are spent in the kitchen and its adjacent family room. Living rooms and dining rooms are relics.

This is a classic example of what we might call Dow 36,000 syndrome, after the perfectly timed punchline to the tech bubble, which argued that stocks were no riskier than bonds and should be priced accordingly, people just hadn't realized it yet. The syndrome consists of coming up with a theory that implies people will behave quite differently than they do, and then, rather than concluding there must be something wrong with the theory, predicting that people will start behaving in accord with it any day now. There's no explanation for why people haven't followed the theory up til now, just the assurance that they're about to, just wait. Tomorrow, tomorrow, people will realize stocks should be priced like bonds. And they'll realize there's no reason to have a bigger house than you need for your daily routine.

I don't think so.

I happen to be sitting, as I type this, in a bedroom in John D. Rockefeller's old 40-room mansion in Pocantico.I don't know how much time he spent in most of those rooms ... or in the enormous coachhouse down the hill ... or in the "Orangerie, modeled after the original at Versailles" ... or in the guesthouse, the consumption value of which presumablydidn't much depend on the fact that it was initially exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art and then disassembled and shipped to the estate.

There may be a paradigm shift that leads to decreasing demand for commodities. I hope so; sooner or later, there needs to be. But Bookstaber, smart as he is, is being too much of an economist here. Anyone who thinks that the consumption of the rich (or of those in status competition with the rich) can be derived from some rational assessment of what a person needs, has not grokked what being rich is about.

Krugman: Irish Monk or Norse Raider?

2011-05-17T12:02:00.000-07:00

Paul Krugman is fond of describing the current state of macroeconomics as a dark age -- starting around 1980, the past 50 years' progress in economics was forgotten. True that. If we want to tell a coherent story about the operation of modern capitalist economies, we could do a lot worse than start with the mainstream macro of 1978.

Thing is, as Steve Keen among others has pointed out, liberal New Keynesians like Krugman are every bit as responsible for that Dark Age as their rivals at Chicago and Minnesota. Case in point: His widely-cited 1989 paper on Income Elasticities and Real Exchange Rates. The starting point of the paper is that floating exchange rates have not, in general, adjusted to balance trade flows. Instead, relative growth rates have roughly matched the growth in relative demand for exports, so that trade flows have remained roughly balanced without systematic currency appreciation in surplus countries or depreciation in deficit countries. Krugman:

The empirical regularity is that the apparent income elasticities of demand for a country's imports and exports are systematically related to the country's long-term rate of growth. Fast-growing countries seem to face a high income elasticity of demand for their exports, while having a low income elasticity of demand for imports. The converse is true of slow-growing countries. This difference in income elasticities is, it turns out, just about sufficient to make trend changes in real exchange rates unnecessary.

The obvious explanation of this regularity, going back at least to 1933 and Roy Harrod's International Economics, is that many countries face balance-of-payments constraints, so their growth is limited by their export earnings. Faster growth draws in more imports, forcing the authorities to increase interest rates or take other steps that reduce growth back under the constraint. There are plenty of clear historical examples of this dynamic, for both poor and industrialized countries. The British economy between the 1940s and the 1980s, for instance, repeatedly experienced episodes of start-stop growth as Keynesian stimulus ran up against balance of payments constraints. Krugman, though, is having none of it:

I am simply going to dismiss a priori the argument that income elasticities determine economic growth... It just seems fundamentally implausible that over stretches of decades balance of payments problems could be preventing long term growth... Furthermore, we all know that differences in growth rates among countries are primarily determined in the rate of growth of total factor productivity, not differences in the rate of growth of employment; it is hard to see what channel links balance of payments due to unfavorable income elasticities to total factor productivity growth. Thus we are driven to a supply-side explanation...

Lucas or Sargent couldn't have said it better!

Of course there is a vast literature on balance of payments constraints within structuralist and Post Keynesian economics, exploring when external constraints do and do not bind (see for instance here and here), and what channels might link demand conditions to productivity growth. [1] Indeed, Keynes himself thought that avoiding balance-of-payments constraints on growth was the most important goal in the design of a postwar international financial order. But Krugman doesn't cite any of this literature. [2] Instead, he comes up with a highly artificial model of product differentiation in which every country consumes an identical basket of goods, which always includes goods from different countries in proportion to their productive capacities. In this model, measured income elasticities actually reflect changes in supply. But the model has no relation to actual trade patterns, as Krugman more or less admits. Widespread balance of payments constraints, the explanation he rejects "a priori," is far more parsimonious and realistic.

But I'm not writing this post just to mock one bad article that Krugman wrote 20 years ago. (Well, maybe a little.) Rather, I want to make two points.

First, this piece exhibits all the pathologies that Krugman attributes to freshwater macroeconomists -- the privileging of theoretical priors over historical evidence; the exclusive use of deductive reasoning; the insistence on supply-side explanations, however implausible, over demand-side ones; and the scrupulous ignorance of alternative approaches. Someone who at the pinnacle of his career was writing like this needs to take some responsibility for the current state of macroeconomics. As far as I know, Krugman never has.

Second, there's a real cost to this sort of thing. I constantly have these debates with friends closer to the economics mainstream, about why one should define oneself as "heterodox". Wouldn't it be better to do like Krugman, clamber as far up the professional ladder as you can, and then use that perch to sound the alarm? But the work you do doesn't just affect your own career. Every time you write an article, like this one, embracing the conventional general-equilibrium vision and dismissing the Keynesian (or other) alternatives, you're sending a signal to your colleagues and students about what kind of economics you think is worth doing. You're inserting yourself into some conversations and cutting yourself off from others. Sure, if you're Clark medal-winning Nobelist NYT columnist Paul Krugman, you can turn around and reintroduce Keynesian dynamics in some ad hoc way whenever you want. But if you've spent the past two decade denigrating and dismissing more systematic attempts to develop such models, you shouldn't complain when you find you have no one to talk to. Or as a friend says, "If you kick out Joan Robinson and let Casey Mulligan in the room, don't be surprised if you spend all your time trying to explain why the unemployed aren't on vacation."

[1] "In practice there are many channels linking slow growth imposed by a balance of payments constraint to low productivity, and the opposite, where the possibility of fast output growth unhindered by balance-of-payments problems leads to fast productivity growth. There is a rich literature on export-led growth models (including the Hicks supermultiplier), incorporating the notion of circular and cumulative causation (Myrdal 1957) working through induced investment, embodied technical progress, learning by doing, scale economies, etc. (Dixon and Thirlwall, 1975) that will produce fast productivity growth in countries where exports and output are growing fast. The evidence testing Verdoorn's Law shows a strong feedback from output growth to productivity growth."

[2] Who was it who talked about "the phenomenon of well-known economists 'rediscovering' [various supply-side stories], not because they’ve transcended the Keynesian refutation of these views, but because they were unaware that there had ever been such a debate"?

Bond Market Vigilantes: Invisible or Inconceivable?

2011-05-10T14:08:00.000-07:00

Brad DeLong is annoyed with people who are scared of invisible bond-market vigilantes. And he's right to be annoyed! It's extraordinarily silly -- or dishonest -- to claim that the confidence of bondholders constrains fiscal policy in the United States. As he puts it, "Any loss of confidence in the long-term fiscal stability of the United States of America" is an "economic thing that does not exist."

So he's right. But does he have the right to be right?

I'm going to say No. Because the error he is pointing to, is one that the economics he teaches gives no help in avoiding.

The graduate macroeconomics course at Berkeley uses David Romer's Advanced Macroeconomics, 3rd Edition. (The same text I used at UMass.) Here's what it says about government budget constraints:

What this means is that the present value of government spending across all future time must be less than or equal to the present value of taxation across all future time, minus the current value of government debt. This is pretty much the starting point for all mainstream discussions of government budgets. In Blanchard and Fischer, another widely-used graduate macro textbook, the entire discussion of government budgets is just the working-out of that same equation. (Except they make it an equality rather than an inequality.) If you've studied economics at a graduate level, this is what government budget constraint means to you.

But here's the thing: That kind of constraint has nothing to do with the kind of constraint DeLong's post is talking about.

The textbook constraint is based on the idea that government is setting tax and spending levels for all periods once and for all. There's no difference between past and future -- the equation is unchanged if you reverse the sign of the t terms (i.e. flip the past and future) and simultaneously reverse the sign of the interest rate. (In the special case where the interest rate is zero, you can put the periods in any order you like.) This approach isn't specific to government budget constraints, it's the way everything is approached in contemporary macroeconomics. The starting point of the Blanchard and Fischer book, like many macro textbooks, is the Ramsey model of a household (central planner) allocating known production and consumption possibilities across an infinite time horizon. (The Romer book starts with the Solow growth model and derives it from the Ramsey model in chapter two.) Economic growth simply means that the parameters are such that the household, or planner, chooses a path of output with higher values in later periods than in earlier ones. Financial markets and aggregate demand aren't completely ignored, of course, but they're treated as details to be saved for the final chapters, not part of the main structure.

You may think that's a silly way to think about the economy (I may agree), but one important feature of these models is that the interest rate is not the cost of credit or finance; rather, it's the fixed marginal rate of substitution of spending or taxing between different periods. By contrast, that interest is the cost of money, not the cost of substitution between the future and the present, was maybe the most important single point in Keynes' General Theory. But it's completely missing from contemporary textbooks, even though it's only under this sense of interest that there's even the possibility of bond market vigilantism. When we are talking about the state of confidence in the bond market, we are talking about a finance constraint -- the cost of money -- not a budget constraint. But the whole logic of contemporary macroeconomics (intertemporal allocation of real goods as the fundamental structure, with finance coming in only as an afterthought) excludes the possibility of government financing constraints. At no point in either Romer or Blanchard and Fischer are they ever discussed.

You can't expect people to have a clear sense of when government financing constraints do and don't bind, if you teach them a theory in which they don't exist.

EDIT: Let me spell the argument out a little more. In conventional economics, time is just another dimension on which goods vary. Jam today, jam tomorrow, jam next week are treated just like strawberry jam, elderberry jam, ginger-zucchini jam, etc. Either way, you're choosing the highest-utility basket that lies within your budget constraint. An alternative point of view – Post Keynesian if you like – is that we can't make choices today about future periods. (Fundamental uncertainty is one way of motivating this, but not the only way.) The tradeoff facing us is not between jam today and jam tomorrow, but between jam today and money today. Money today presumably translates into jam tomorrow, but not on sufficiently definite terms that we can put it into the equations. (It's in this sense that a monetary theory and a theory of intertemporal optimization are strict alternatives.) Once you take this point of view, it's perfectly logical to think of the government budget constraint as a financing constraint, i.e. as the terms on which expenditure today trades off with net financial claims today. Which is to say, you're now in the discursive universe where things like bond markets exist. Again, yes, modern macro textbooks do eventually introduce bond markets -- but only after hundreds of pages of intertemporal optimization. If I wrote the textbooks, the first model wouldn't be of goods today vs. goods tomorrow, but goods today vs. money today. DeLong presumably disagrees. But in that world, macroeconomic policy discussions might annoy him less.

More Anti-Krugmanism

2011-05-06T11:22:00.000-07:00

[Some days it feels like that could be the title for about 40 percent of the posts on here.]

Steve Keen takes up the cudgels. (Via.)

There is a pattern to neoclassical attempts to increase the realism of their models... The author takes the core model – which cannot generate the real world phenomenon under discussion – and then adds some twist to the basic assumptions which, hey presto, generate the phenomenon in some highly stylised way. The mathematics (or geometry) of the twist is explicated, policy conclusions (if any) are then drawn, and the paper ends.

The flaw with this game is the very starting point, and since Minsky put it best, I’ll use his words to explain it: “Can 'It' – a Great Depression – happen again? And if 'It' can happen, why didn't 'It' occur in the years since World War II? ... To answer these questions it is necessary to have an economic theory which makes great depressions one of the possible states in which our type of capitalist economy can find itself."

The flaw in the neoclassical game is that it never achieves Minsky’s final objective, because the “twists” that the author adds to the basic assumptions of the neoclassical model are never incorporated into its core. The basic theory therefore remains one in which the key phenomenon under investigation ... cannot happen. The core theory remains unaltered – rather like a dog that learns how to walk on its hind legs, but which then reverts to four legged locomotion when the performance is over.

Right.

Any theory is an abstraction of the real world, but the question is which features of the world you can abstract from, and which, for the purposes of theory, are fundamental. Today's consensus macroeconomics [1] treats intertemporal maximization of a utility function (with consumption and labor as the only arguments) under given endowments and production functions, and unique, stable market-clearing equilibria as the essential features that any acceptable theory has to start from. It treats firms (profit-maximizing or otherwise), money, credit, uncertainty, the existence of classes, and technological change as non-essential features that need to be derived from intertemporal maximization by households, can be safely ignored, or at best added in an ad hoc way. And change is treated in terms of comparative statics rather than dynamic processes or historical evolution.

Now people will say, But can't you make the arguments you want to within standard techniques? And in that case, shouldn't you? Even if it's not strictly necessary, isn't it wise to show your story is compatible with the consensus approach, since that way you'll be more likely to convince other economists, have more political influence, etc.?

If you're a super smart micro guy (as are the two friends I've recently had this conversation with) then there's probably a lot of truth to this. The type of work you do if you genuinely want to understand a labor market question, say, and the type of work you do if you want to win an argument within the economics profession about labor markets, may not be exactly the same, but they're reasonably compatible. Maybe the main difference is that you need fancier econometrics to convince economists than to learn about the world?

But if you're doing macroeconomics, the concessions you have to make to make your arguments acceptable are more costly. When you try to force Minsky into a DSGE box, as Krugman does; or when half of your paper on real exchange rates is taken up with models of utility maximization by households; then you're not just wasting an enormous amount of time and brainpower. You're arguing against everyone else trying top do realistic work on other questions, including yourself on other occasions. And you're ensuring that your arguments will have a one-off, ad hoc quality, instead of being developed in a systematic way.

(Not to mention that the consensus view isn't even coherent on its own terms. Microfoundations are a fraud, since the representative household can't be derived from a more general model of utility maximizing agents; and it seems clear that intertemporal maximization and comparative statics are logically incompatible.)

If we want to get here, we shouldn't start from there. We need an economics whose starting points are production for profit by firms employing wage labor, under uncertainty, in a monetary economy, that evolves in historical terms. That's what Marx, Keynes and Schumpeter in their different ways were all doing. They, and their students, have given us a lot to build on. But to do so, we [2] have to give up on trying to incorporate their insights piecemeal into the consensus framework, and cultivate a separate space to develop a different kind of economics, one that starts from premises corresponding to the fundamental features of modern capitalist economies.

[1] I've decided to stop using "mainstream" in favor of "consensus", largely because the latter term is used by people to describe themselves.

[2] By "we," again, I mean heterodox macroeconomists specifically. I'm not sure how much other economists face the same sharp tradeoff between winning particular debates within the economics profession and building an economics that gives us genuine, useful knowledge about the world.

Toward a Unified Theory of Anti-Krugmanism

2011-04-30T16:33:00.000-07:00

You know, there's a fundamental parallel between what's wrong with Krugman's takes on monetary policy and on trade.

In the first case, his argument is that the interest rate (a price, administered to be sure) would normally equilibrate savings and investment at something like full employment. It's the barrier to that price's adjustment in the form of the zero lower bound that causes income to adjust instead, leading to the Great Recession (and the need for fiscal policy). Similarly trade flows are normally equilibrated by the adjustment of the exchange rate, a price. It's barriers to that price's adjustment, in the form of the Euro and the RMB-dollar peg, that cause income to adjust instead, leading to austerity in peripheral Europe and unemployment in the United States.

From a Post Keynesian perspective, these are kludges that get good conclusions from bad premises.

From a Post Keynesian (or for that matter Keynesian straight-up) perspective, flexible interest rates and exchange rates have never reliably delivered macroeconomic balance. Income adjustments aren't a once-in-a-lifetime feature of the current conjuncture, they're a routine and central feature of capitalism.

New Keynesian economists like Krugman can see that macroeconomic reality today doesn't conform to the textbook, where prices smoothly converging to market-clearing levels. (Well, maybe to the 1978 edition.) But they're not going to throw the textbook away, so the departures are explained as a series of ad hoc special cases. And so the textbook has a way of sneaking back in whenever their attention is elsewhere. That's why Krugman insists something big changed when the federal funds rate hit zero, even though the federal funds rate has been more or less disconnected from most longer rates for a decade or more. And that's why he insists that the Asian crisis countries were better off than Greece, etc. because they could devalue their currencies instead of resorting to austerity, when it seems clear that devaluations contributed little to Asian countries' improved current account balances after 1997; they drastically cut domestic spending, just as peripheral Europe is being forced to. When he's looking right at a non-price adjustment mechanism, he can see it; but wherever he's not looking, he assumes that prices are doing their thing.

Or at least that's how it looks to me.

What's Good Enough for GE Is Good Enough for America

2011-04-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

[Originally posted at New Deal 2.0.]

S&P's threat to downgrade the US government's credit rating has been dismissed by economist-bloggers as a political intervention by bondowners and compared to "adorable children wearing their underpants outside their trousers." As far as the chances of the US someday defaulting on its debt go, the announcement has zero informational value.

Still, it's true that federal debt held by the public has reached 60 percent of GDP, while tax revenues remain around 20 percent of GDP. 60 percent of GDP is a lot! And double, nearly triple, tax revenue! What would we call a company with outstanding debt double or even triple its revenues, and expected to keep the highest bond rating?

We could call it General Electric.

As recently as 2007, GE had an S&P rating of AAA with outstanding debt at over three time revenues. Or we could call it the Tennessee Valley Authority; TVA managed outstanding debt of 3.9 times revenue in the late '90s (it's since come down a bit), and S&P never downgraded its bond rating from AAA. Or, we could call it Hydro Quebec, with debt of over 4.5 times revenues (altho, admittedly, its S&P rating is only A+). Or the natural gas and energy supplier TransCanada, with debt equal to 2.2 time revenues and an A rating from S&P. Even Transocean, which operated the Deepwater Horizon rig for BP, managed an A- rating prior to the spill, with a debt-revenue ratio similar to what the federal government has now.

Now, it's perfectly sensible for a big utility, with its high proportion of long-lived fixed capital and stable revenue streams, to carry a lot of debt. If I ran Hydro Quebec (and converting the company to a worker- and consumer-owned cooperative wasn't an option), I'd take on a lot of debt too. But here's the point. If the question is, what if the government had to fund itself like a private business, the answer isn't necessarily that it would do anything different from what it's doing now.

In the real world, of course, there are lots of differences between the government of the United States and a private business. The federal government issues the currency that its debt is denominated in. It has effectively unlimited authority to increase taxes on the private sector. And its liabilities are the most important store of value and means of payment for the private sector. (When Alan Greenspan said that the financial system would have a real problem without holdings of federal debt, he may have been arguing in bad faith, but he wasn't wrong.) And of course, the US government is responsible for output and employment in the economy as a whole, and not just for its own balance sheet. All these differences mean that it makes sense for the US government to carry more debt than a private business. If GE or Transocean are safe bets for lenders with debt of two or three times revenue, then the federal government must be ultra ultra safe. Which, interestingly enough, is just what the bond market says.

So perhaps we can get away from the "oooh, that's a really big number!" school of analysis of federal borrowing. And instead ask what levels of federal deficit and outstanding debt are most compatible with economic growth and financial stability. For the foreseeable future, I'd suggest, the answer has a lot more to do with the role of government spending in aggregate demand, and with government debt as a risk-free asset for the private sector, than with the level of debt that's "sustainable". Because if you think there are more states of the world where TVA or GE make their payments to bondholders than where the US government does, you must be smoking something from S&P's private stash.

UPDATE: This excellent post from Mike Konczal makes the same point more systematically.

Nelson Algren, Asshole

2011-04-23T21:44:00.000-07:00

Never Come Morning is my favorite American novel, full stop. But this here is a remarkably bitchy memoir/parody.

Mailer as Norman Manlifellow, "the boyish author of The Elk Paddock or Look Ma, My Fly Is Open? Ok, heavy-handed but ok. Alfred Paperfish must be Edmund Wilson, and his wife with "just time for a quickie" is Mary McCarthy. Leon Urine, author of The Whole World Looks Jewish When You're in Love, Roth maybe? Ginny Ginstruck? I don't know, an editor or agent, a woman anyway, certainly someone he didn't like. But Baldwin as Giovanni Johnson, lisping in cliche Gay and singing Dis train don't carry no gamblers, that's not funny, sorry, no. The parts that are genuinely respectful only make the nasty bits nastier. And a speech about how Negroes have been "'knocked down, strung up, run over, banjaxed, castrated, jillflirted, stomped, harassed, jeered at, vilified, despised, warped' -- he paused to change fingers, as he tires easily..." No, again not funny. Black men really were castrated. It isn't funny even if you juxtapose it with a couple nonsense words.

Algren, beautiful writer, bitter man.

Selfish Masters, Selfless Servants

2011-04-19T15:25:00.001-07:00

Via Mike the Mad Biologist, a Confucian parable for the financial crisis:

Mencius replied, "Why must your Majesty use that word 'profit?' What I am provided with, are counsels to benevolence and righteousness, and these are my only topics.
"If your Majesty say, 'What is to be done to profit my kingdom?' the great officers will say, 'What is to be done to profit our families?' and the inferior officers and the common people will say, 'What is to be done to profit our persons?' Superiors and inferiors will try to snatch this profit the one from the other, and the kingdom will be endangered....

Indeed, there are deep contradictions hidden in that word "profit." Reminds me of a classic article on corporate governance, Bruce Greenwood's Enronitis: Why Good Corporations Go Bad.

The Enron problem is ... the predictable result of too strong of a share-centered view of the public corporation... Corporate law demands that managers simultaneously be selfless servants and selfish masters. On the one hand, it directs managers to be faithful agents, setting aside their own interests entirely in order to act only on behalf of their principals, the shares. On the other hand, in the service of this extreme altruism, they must ruthlessly exploit everyone around them, projecting on to the shares an extreme selfishness that takes no account of any interests but the shares themselves. Having maximally exploited their fellow human corporate participants, managers are then expected to selflessly hand over their gains...

Altruism and rationally self-interested exploitation are extreme and radically opposed positions, psychologically and politically. ... For managers, one easy resolution of these tensions is a simple, cynical selfishness in which managers see themselves as entitled, and perhaps even required, to exploit shareholders as ruthlessly as they understand the law to require them to exploit everyone else. ...

Internally, the share-centered paradigm is just as self-destructive. Corporations succeed because they are not markets and do not follow market norms of behavior. Rather, they operate under fiduciary norms as a matter of law and team norms as a matter of sociology. However, the share-centered paradigm of corporate law teaches managers to treat employees as outsiders and tools to corporate ends with no intrinsic value. Just as managers are unlikely to learn simultaneously to be selfish maximizers and selfless altruists, they are unlikely to be simultaneously cooperative team players and self-interested defectors. Thus, the share-centered view undermines the prerequisite to operating the firm in the interests of shareholders. ...

Managers constructing the firm as a tool to the end of share value maximization treat the people with whom they work as means, not ends. ...they learn as part of their ordinary life to break ordinary social solidarity. Learning to exploit ruthlessly is surprisingly difficult. ... But cynicism can be learned, and managers subjected to the powerful incentives of the share value maximization principle do eventually learn it. ... This training, however, surely creates cynics, not faithful agents. ... A manager whose lived experience is a pretense of selflessness (with respect to employees, customers and business partners) covering real disinterested exploitation (on behalf of shares) is unlikely to suddenly see himself as “in a position in which thought of self was to be renounced, however hard the abnegation” and voluntarily hand over these hard-won gains of competitive practice to his principal. If you can properly lie to your subordinates, why not lie to your superior as well? ... In the end, the cynicism of the share value maximization view must eat itself alive.

Something like Enronitis was clearly involved in the financial crisis. Indeed, some of the most famous controversies around the crisis hinge precisely on disputes about whether a transaction was between the parties linked by a fiduciary duty, or was an arm's-length one where predatory behavior was expected, and even a moral duty. You can get yourself out of legal trouble, as Goldman has in the case of the Paulson trade, by establishing that you were on the war-of-all-against-all side of the line; but obviously, a system where predatory and trust-based relationships are expected to exist side by side, or even to overlap, is not likely to be a sustainable one. (Of course if the goal of our rentier elite is simply to stripmine the postwar social compromise, then sustainability is moot.) Friedman's idea that a corporation's duty is "to make as much money as possible while conforming to the basic rules of the society" isn't coherent psychologically or logically, since it demands that management regard certain norms as absolutely binding and others as absolutely non-binding, without any reliable way of saying which is which.

Greenwood is talking about the "corporation as polis." But the same point applies to the polis as polis.

It may not be the benevolence that makes the butcher, baker or brewer hand over the beef, bread or beer. But it is benevolence-- or at least something other than self-interest -- that ensures that it's not full of E. coli. And if you say, well, it's just their self-interest in avoiding the penalties of the law, that begs the question of why the authorities enforce the law. Or as Hume famously observed,

as FORCE is always on the side of the governed, the governors have nothing to support them but opinion. It is therefore, on opinion only that government is founded; and this maxim extends to the most despotic and most military governments, as well as to the most free and most popular. The soldan of EGYPT, or the emperor of ROME, might drive his harmless subjects, like brute beasts, against their sentiments and inclination: But he must, at least, have led his mamalukes, or prætorian bands, like men, by their opinion.

Boris Groys develops a similar line of thought in The Communist Postscript:

The theory of Marxism-Lenisnism is ambivalent in its understanding of language, as it is in most matters. On the one hand, everyone who knows this theory has learnt that the dominant language is always the language of the dominant classes. On the other hand, they have learnt too that an idea that has gripped the masses becomes a material force, and that on this basis Marxism itself is (or will be) victorious because it is correct.

This is a particular instance of Groys' broader argument about the inherent power of rational speech:

The listener or reader of an evident statement can of course willfully decide to contradict the compelling effect of this statement... But someone who adopts such a counter-evident position does not really believe it himself. Those who do not accept what is logically evident become internally divided, and this division weakens them in comparison to those who accept and affirm the evidence. The acceptance of logical evidence makes one stronger; to reject it, conversely, makes one weaker.

Similarly, the decisionmaker who acts on norms consistently is stronger, in the long run, than the Enronitic manager whose honest service to "shareholder value" requires dishonest, strictly instrumental treatment of workers, customers, regulators, and the rest of humanity.

All of which is another way of saying that, despite the fantasies of libertarians, and cynics, that it's self-interest all the way down, we can't dispense with intrinsic motivation, analytically or in practice.

UPDATE: Added Groys quote. Had intended to include it in the original post, but I'd lent the book to someone...

Do Prices Matter?

2011-04-16T18:16:00.000-07:00

Do exchange rates drive trade flows? Yes, says ~~Dean Baker~~ David Rosnick. Prices matter:

What happens to the economy as the dollar falls? ...Over time, Americans notice that British goods have become more expensive in comparison to domestically produced goods. In other words, the price of U.S.-made sweaters becomes cheaper relative to the price of sweaters imported from Britain. This will lead us to buy fewer sweaters from Britain and more domestically manufactured sweaters.

At the same time, the British notice that American goods have become relatively inexpensive in comparison to goods made at home. This means it takes fewer pounds to buy a sweater made in the United States, so the British will buy more sweaters made in the United States and fewer of their domestically manufactured sweaters.

While American producers notice the increased demand for their exports, allowing them to raise their prices somewhat and still sell more than they had before the dollar fell. Similarly, for British exporters to continue selling they must lower prices.
Thus, as everyone eventually adjusts to the fall in the dollar, the trade deficit shrinks. This is not new economics by any stretch...

Indeed it's not. Changes in prices induce changes in transaction volumes that smoothly restore equilibrium, is the first article of the economist's catechism. But how much a given volume responds to a given price change, and whether the response is reliable and strong enough to make the resulting equilibrium relevant to real economies, are empirical questions. You could tell a similar parable about an increase in the minimum wage leading to a lower demand for low-wage labor, but as I'm sure ~~Dean~~ folks at CEPR would agree, that doesn't it mean it's what we actually see. You have to look at the evidence.

So what's the evidence on this point? ~~Dean~~ Rosnick offers a gra ph showing two big falls in the value of the dollar after peaks in the mid-80s and mid-2000s, and falls in the trade deficit a few years later, in the early 90s and late 2000s. Early 90s and late 2000s ... hm, what else was happening in those years? Oh, right, deep recessions. (The early 2000s recession was very mild.) ~~Funny that the same guy who's constantly chastising economists for ignoring the growth and collapse of a huge housing bubble, when he turns to trade ... ignores a huge housing bubble.~~

Still, isn't the picture is basically consistent with the story that when the dollar declines, US imports get more expensive and fall, and US exports get cheaper and rise? Not necessarily: ~~Dean's~~ Rosnick's graph doesn't show imports and exports separately. And when we separate them out, we see something funny.

Click the graph to make it legible.

In a world where trade flows were mainly governed by exchange rates, a country's imports and exports would show a negative correlation. After all, the same exchange-rate change that makes exports more expensive on world markets makes imports cheaper here, and vice versa. But that isn't what we see at all. Except in the 1980s (when the exchange rate clearly did matter, but not in the way ~~Dean~~ Rosnick supposes; see Robert Blecker) exports and imports very clearly move together. And it's not just a matter of a long-term rise in both imports and exports. Every period that saw a significant fall in imports -- 1980-1984; 2000-2002; 2007-2009 -- saw a large fall in exports as well. This is simply not what happens in a world where prices (are the main things that) matter.

(This discrepancy between real-world trade patterns and the textbook vision applies to almost all industrialized countries, and always has. It was noticed long ago by Robert Triffin, who brought it up to argue that movements in relative price levels did not govern trade patterns under the gold standard, as Ricardo and his successors had claimed. But it is just a strong counterargument to today's conventional wisdom that exchange rates govern trade.)

So if changes in exchange rates don't drive trade, what does? Lots of things, many of them no doubt hard to measure, or to influence through policy. But one obvious candidate is changes in incomes. One of the big advances of the first generation of Keynesian economists -- people like Triffin, and especially Joan Robinson -- was to show how, just as prices (the wage and interest rates) fail to equilibrate the domestic economy, leaving aggregate income to adjust, relative prices internationally don't equilibrate the global economy, leaving output or growth rates to adjust. In the short run, business cycle-type fluctuations reliably involve changes in investment and consumer-durable purchases larger disproportionate to the change in output as a whole; given the mix of traded and non-trade goods for most countries, this creates an allometry in which short-run changes in output are accompanied by even larger short-run changes in imports and exports. For a country that runs a trade deficit in "normal" times, this means that recessions are reliably associated with smaller deficits and booms with larger ones. In the long run, there is also a reliable tendency for increments to income to involve demand for a changing mix of goods, with a greater share of demand falling on "leading sectors," historically manufactured goods. (The flipside of this is Engels' law, which states that the share of income spent on food falls as income rises.) Given that both a country's mix of industries and its trade partners are relatively fixed, this creates a stable relationship between relative growth rates and trade balance movements. Neither of these channels is perfectly reliable, by any means -- and the whole point of the industrial policy is to circumvent the second one -- but they are still much stronger influences on trade flows than exchange rates (or other relative prices) are.

So with that in mind, let's look at another version of the graph. This one shows the year-over-year change in the trade balance as a share of GDP, the same change as predicted by an OLS regression on total GDP growth over the past three years, and as predicted by the change in the value of the dollar over the past three years. [1]

It will be legible if you click it.

Not surprisingly, neither prediction gives a terribly close fit. But qualitatively, at least, the predictions based on GDP do a reasonable job: They capture every major worsening and improvement in the trade balance. True, they under-predict the improvement in the trade balance in the later 80s -- the Plaza Accords mattered -- but it's clear that if you knew the rate of GDP growth over the next three years, you could make a reasonably reliable prediction about the the behavior of the trade balance. Knowing the change in the value of the dollar, on the other hand,wouldn't help you much at all. (And just to be clear, this isn't about the particular choice of three years. Two years and four years look roughly similar, and at a one-year horizon exchange rates aren't predictive at all.)

Here's another presentation of the same data, a scatterplot comparing the three-year change in the trade balance to the three-year growth of GDP (blue, left axis) and three-year change in the exchange rate (red, right axis). Again, while the correlation is fairly loose for both, it's clearly tighter for GDP. All the periods of strongest improvement in the trade balance are associated with weak GDP growth, and vice versa; similarly all the periods of strong GDP growth are associated with worsening of the trade balance, and vice versa. There's no such consistent association for the trade balance and changes in the exchange rate.

If you want to be able to read the graph, you should click it.

The fit could be improved by using some measure of disposable income -- ideally adjusted for wealth effects -- in place of GDP, and by using some better measure of relative prices in place of the exchange-rate index -- altho there's some controversy about what that better measure would be. And theoretically, instead of just the three-year change, you should use the individual lags.

Still, the takeaway, if you're a policymaker, is clear. If you want to improve the trade balance, slower growth is the way to go. And if you want to boost growth, you probably are going to have to ignore the trade balance. Personally, I want door number two. I assume ~~Dean~~ Rosnick doesn't want door one. But what I'm not at all sure about, is what concrete evidence makes him think that exchange-rate policy opens up a third door.

[1] Technicalities. I separately regressed the changes in imports and exports (as a percent of GDP) over three years earlier, on the percentage change over the same period in GDP and in the Fed's trade-weighted major-partners dollar index, respectively. It's all quarterly data, downloaded from FRED. The graphs shows the predicted values from the two regressions. This is admittedly crude, but I would argue that the more sophisticated approaches are in some respects less appropriate for the specific question being addressed here. For example, suppose hypothetically that a currency devaluation really did tend to improve the trade balance, but that it also tended to raise GDP growth, raising imports and offsetting the initial improvement. From an analytic standpoint, it might be appropriate to correct for the induced GDP change to get a better estimate of the pure exchange-rate effect. But from a policy perspective, the offsetting growth-imports effect has to be taken into account in evaluating the effects of a devaluation, just as much as the initial trade-balance improvement. Maybe we should say: Academics are interested in partial derivatives, policymakers in total derivatives?

EDIT: Oops! How did I not notice that this article was by somebody named David Rosnick, not Dean Baker? Makes me feel a bit better -- I know Dean does share this article's basic view of trade and the dollar, but I would hope his take would be a little less dependent on textbook syllogisms, and a little more attentive to actual patterns of trade. Clothing from the UK is hardly representative of US imports; to the extent we do import any, it's like to be high-end branded stuff that is particularly price-inelastic.

FIRE in the Whole

2011-04-11T22:19:00.001-07:00

Maybe the most interesting paper at this past weekend's shindig at Bretton Woods was Duncan Foley's. [1] He argues, essentially, that it's wrong to include finance, real estate and insurance (FIRE) in measures of output. Excluding FIRE (and some other services) isn't just conceptually more correct, it has practical implications -- the big one being that an Okun's law-type relationship between employment and output is more stable if we define output to exclude FIRE and other sectors where value-added can't be directly measured.

It's a provocative argument. He's certainly right that the definition of GDP involves some more or less arbitrary choices about what is included in final output. (The New York Fed had a nice piece on this, a couple years ago, which was the subject of the one of the first posts on this humble blog.) However, I can't help thinking that Foley is wrong on a couple key points. Specifically:

While in other industries such as Manufacturing (MFG) there are independent measures of the value added by the industry and the incomes generated by it (value added being measurable as the difference between sales revenue and costs of purchased inputs excluding new investment and labor), there is no independent measure of value added in the FIRE and similar industries mentioned above. The national accounts “impute” value added in these industries to make it equal to the incomes (wages and profits) generated. Thus when Apple Computer or General Electric pay a bonus to their executives, GDP does not change (since value added does not change–the bonus increases compensation of employees and decreases retained earnings), but when Goldman-Sachs pays a bonus to its executives, GDP increases by the same amount.

This seems confused on a couple of points. First, unless I'm mistaken, value-added in FIRE is calculated exactly in the way he describes -- sale price of output minus cost of inputs. (The problem arises with government, where there is no sale price.) Second, I'm pretty sure there is no difference in the way wages are treated -- total incomes in a sector always equal the total product of the sector, by definition. There is a question of whether executive bonuses are properly considered labor income or capital income, but that's orthogonal to the issues the paper raises, and is not unique to FIRE. In any case, it is definitely not correct to say that higher compensation implies lower earnings in non-FIRE but not in FIRE.

It seems to me that there is a valid & important point here, but Foley doesn't quite make it. The key thing is that there is no way of measuring price changes in FIRE. That's what he should have said in place of the paragraph quoted above. The convention used in the national accounts is that the price of FIRE services rises at the same rate as the price level as a whole, so changes in nominal FIRE incomes relative total nominal income represent changes in FIRE's share of total output. But you could just as consistently say that FIRE output grows at the same level as output as a whole, and deviations in nominal FIRE expenditure represent relative changes in FIRE prices. [2] There's no empirical way of distinguishing these cases, it really is a convention. Doing it the second way would imply lower real GDP and higher inflation. I think this is the logically consistent version of Foley's argument. And it would motivate the same empirical points about Okun's Law, etc.

There's another argument, tho, which I don't quite have a handle on. Which is, what are the implications of considering FIRE services intermediate inputs rather than part of final output? If a firm pays more money to a software firm, that's considered investment spending and final output is corresponding higher. If a firm pays more money to a marketing firm, that's considered an intermediate good and final output is no higher, instead measured productivity is lower. I think that FIRE services provided to firms are considered intermediate goods, i.e. are already treated the way Foley thinks they should be. But I'm not sure. And there's still the problem of FIRE services purchased by households. There's no category of intermediate-goods purchases by households in the national accounts; any household expenditure is either consumption or investment, so contributes to GDP. This is a real issue, but again it's not unique to FIRE; e.g. why are costs associated with commuting considered part of final output when if a business provides transportation for its employees, that's an intermediate good?

He raises a third question, about the possibility that measured FIRE outputs includes asset transfers or capital gains. There is serious potential slippage between sale of financial services (part or GDP, conceptually) and sale of financial assets (not part of GDP).

Finally, it would be helpful to distinguish between services where measuring output is practically difficult but conceptually straightforward, and FIRE proper (and maybe insurance goes in the previous category). It seems clear that capital allocation as such should not be considered as part of final output. Whatever contribution it makes to total output (modulo the deep problems with measuring aggregate output at all) must come from higher productivity in the real economy. The problem is, there's no real way to separate the "normal service" component of FIRE from the capital-allocation and representation-of-capitalist-interests (per Dumenil and Levy; or you could say rent-extraction) components.

But whatever the flaws of the paper, it's pointing to a very important & profound set of issues. We can't bypass the conceptual challenges of GDP, as Matt Yglesias (like lots of other people) imagines, with the simple assertion that labor is productive if it produces something that people are willing to pay for. Producing a consistent series for GDP still requires deliberate decisions about how to measure price changes, and how to distinguish intermediate goods from final output. Foley is absolutely right to call attention to these problems, that most social scientists are happy to sweep under the rug [3]; he's right that they're especially acute in the case of FIRE; and I think he's probably right to say that to solve them we would do well to return to the productive/unproductive distinction of the classical economists.

[1] I wasn't there, but a comrade who was thought so. And he seems to be right, based on the papers they've got up on the website.

[2] Or you could say that FIRE output is fixed (perhaps at 0), and all changes in nominal FIRE output represents price changes. Again, this problem can't be resolved empirically, nor does it go away simply because you adopt a utility-based view of value.

[3] Bob Fitch had some smart things to say about the need to distinguish productive and unproductive labor.

The Financial Crisis and the Recession: Two Datapoints for the Skeptics

2011-04-09T23:36:00.000-07:00

One of the most dramatic features of the financial crisis, for those who were following it obsessively in the autumn of 2008, was the near-freezing up of the commercial paper market. Commercial paper is short-term debt sold in markets rather than advanced by banks. It's mostly very short maturity -- days, weeks or months, not years. It's generally cheaper than other forms of financing, but firms that rely on it need to be able to borrow more or less continuously. Doubts about their financial condition, or even the suspicion that other lenders might have doubts, can quickly push them up against their survival constraint. This is what happened to a number of financial institutions -- most spectacularly Lehman Brothers -- in the third quarter of 2008. The breakdown in the commercial paper market was one of the things that convinced people the financial universe was imploding, and taking the real economy down with it.

The story, implicit or explicit, was that the suddenly reduced or uncertain value of financial assets, and the seizing-up of the interbank markets, left banks unable or unwilling to hold the liabilities of nonfinancial businesses, i.e., to lend. These businesses found themselves unable to finance new investment or even routine operations, leading to the Great Recession. This is essentially the same story that Milton Friedman told (and Peter Temin, among others, criticized), about the Great Depression, but it's also more or less the consensus view of the 2008-09 crisis among New Keynesian economists. For example:

A large decrease in the value of asset holdings of financial institutions resulted in dramatic intensification of the agency problems in those institutions ... Credit spreads widened and credit rationing became widespread. The diminished ability to finance the acquisition of capital goods resulted in huge cutbacks of all types of investment.

The same story was widespread in the business journalism world, with people like Andrew Ross Sorkin writing, "Commercial paper, the workaday stuff that lets companies make payroll, was suddenly viewed as radioactive -- and business activity almost stopped in its tracks." Most importantly, this was the view of the crisis that motivated -- or at least justified -- the choice of both the Bush and Obama administrations to make strengthening bank balance sheets their number one priority in the crisis. But is it right? There are reasons for doubt.

See, here's a funny thing. I haven't seen it discussed anywhere, but it's very interesting. The commercial paper of financial and nonfinancial firms, normally interchangeable, fared quite differently in the crisis. Up til then, both had tracked the federal funds rate closely, except in the early 90s (the last by-general-agreement credit crisis) when both had risen above it. But as the figure below shows, in the period around the Lehmann failure (the arrow on the graph) there an unprecedented gap opened up between the interest lenders demanded on commercial paper from financial versus nonfinancial companies.

(Data from FRED. Clicking the graph might make it more legible.)

The implication: The state of the interbank lending market isn't necessarily informative about the availability of credit to nonfinancial firms. It's perfectly possible that lots of big banks had made lots of stupid bets in the real estate market, and once this became known other banks were unwilling to lend to them. But they remained perfectly willing to lend to everyone else -- perhaps even on more favorable terms, since those funds had to go somewhere. The divergence in commercial paper rates is hardly dispositive, of course, but it at least suggests that the acute phase of the financial crisis was more of a problem for the financial sector specifically than for the economy as a whole

Second. Sorkin calls commercial paper "the workaday stuff that lets companies meet payroll." This kind of language was everywhere for a while -- that the financial crisis threatened to stop the flow of short-term credit from banks, and that without that even the most routine business functions would be impossible.

One of the central political-economic facts of our time is that public discussion of the economy is entirely dominated by finance. The interests of banks differ from those of other businesses on many dimensions; one of them is banks' dependence on short-term financing. Financial firms are defined by the combination of short-term liabilities and long-term assets; they need to borrow every day; that's why they're subject to runs. The fear of not being able to make payroll if you're cut off, even briefly, from financial markets, is perfectly reasonable, if you're a bank.

But if you're not?

In fact, short-term debt is large relative to cashflow only for financial firms. Nonfinancial firms don't finance operating expenses through debt, only investment. (And inventories and goods-in-progress, which are largely financed by credit from customers and suppliers, rather than from banks.) From Compustat:

Short-term debt as a fraction of total debt

Sector	Median	Mean
FIRE	0.56	0.55
Non-FIRE	0.16	0.23

Short-term debt as a fraction of cashflow

Sector	Median	Mean
FIRE	7.53	15.1
Non-FIRE	0.35	0.71

Short-term debt as a fraction of revenue

Sector	Median	Mean
FIRE	0.78	1.64
Non-FIRE	0.04	0.08

(FIRE is finance, insurance and real estate. Short-term here means maturities of less than a year. Cashflow is defined as profits plus depreciation.)

This isn't a secret; but it's striking how different are the financing structures of financial and nonfinancial firms, and how little that difference has penetrated into public debate or much of the economics profession. For the median financial firm, losing access to short-term finance would be equivalent to a 70 percent fall in revenues; few could survive. For the median nonfinancial firm, by contrast, loss of access to short-term finance would be equivalent to a fall in revenues of just 4 percent. Short-term finance is just not that important to nonfinancial firms.

So, the breakdown in short-term credit markets was largely limited to financial firms, and financial firms are anyway the only ones that really depend on short-term credit. I don't claim these two pieces of evidence are in any way definitive -- I've got a long paper on this question in the works, which, well, won't be definitive either -- but they are at least consistent with the story that the financial crisis, on the one hand, and the fall of employment and output, on the other, were more or less independent outcomes of the collapse of the housing bubble, and that the state of the banks was not the major problem for the real economy.

EDIT: For the life of me, I can't get either graphs or tables to look good in Blogger.

Summers on Microfoundations

2011-04-09T09:33:00.000-07:00

From The Economist's report on this weekend's Institute for New Economic Thinking conference at Bretton Woods:

The highlight of the first evening's proceedings was a conversation between Harvard's Larry Summers, till recently President Obama's chief economic advisor, and Martin Wolf of the Financial Times. Much of the conversation centred on Mr Summers's assessments of how useful economic research had been in recent years. Paul Krugman famously said that much of recent macroeconomics had been "spectacularly useless at best, and positively harmful at worst". Mr Summers was more measured... But in its own way, his assessment of recent academic research in macroeconomics was pretty scathing.
For instance, he talked about all the research papers that he got sent while he was in Washington. He had a fairly clear categorisation for which ones were likely to be useful: read virtually all the ones that used the words leverage, liquidity, and deflation, he said, and virtually none that used the words optimising, choice-theoretic or neoclassical (presumably in the titles or abstracts). His broader point—reinforced by his mentions of the knowledge contained in the writings of Bagehot, Minsky, Kindleberger, and Eichengreen—was, I think, that while it would be wrong to say economics or economists had nothing useful to say about the crisis, much of what was the most useful was not necessarily the most recent, or even the most mainstream. Economists knew a great deal, he said, but they had also forgotten a great deal and been distracted by a lot.
Even more scathing, perhaps, was his comment that as a policymaker he had found essentially no use for the vast literature devoted to providing sound micro-foundations to macroeconomics.

Pretty definitive, no?

And that's it it -- I promise! -- on microfoundations, methodology, et hoc genus omne in these parts, at least for a while. I have a couple new posts at least purporting to offer concrete analysis of the concrete situation, just about ready to go.

The Bond's Eye View of the Ivory Coast

2011-04-05T09:44:00.000-07:00

I joked a while back that any statement in the business press that something is good or bad needs to be followed with an implicit "for bondholders." But it's not really a joke. Here's the Financial Times with the view from the bonds of the civil war in the Ivory Coast:

[Laurent Gbagbo's] generals are negotiating a ceasefire at pixel time while the French think he’ll probably leave Ivory Coast within hours, after a heavy cost in bloodshed. But a brand new day for the Ivorian state?

If you’ve been watching the levitating prices on the country’s (defaulted) 2032 bond, you might think that. Having been rallying for some time, the bond is now priced more generously than before a $29m coupon payment failed in January... This is quite some faith in the ability — willingness — of Gbagbo’s successor, Alassane Ouattara, to resume debt service.

There it is: A new day for the Ivoirian state = resumption of debt payments.

But there's a more serious point here, too. The only people in the rich world who have both an interest in what happens in the Ivory Coast, and the resources to act on it, are the owners of Ivoirian government bonds.

Of course this isn't strictly true. There might be foreign owners of private Ivoirian assets. But in fact there doesn't seem to be many: Of the country's $11 billion in external debt, $8.5 billion, according to the BIS, is public and all the remaining $2.5 billion private debt is publicly guaranteed. And of course there are firms and speculators in the cocoa industry, but they aren't going to as interested in the Ivory Coast specifically, and more importantly, they don't have the same access to the peak institutions of capitalism. It's the Financial Times, not the Commodities Times or even the International Trade Times. So it's perfectly natural for the FT to take the bond's eye view; to a first approximation, the bondholders are the representatives of the capitalist class as a whole with respect to the Ivory Coast.

Why Do We Need Heterodox Economics Departments?

2011-03-31T13:47:00.000-07:00

A comrade writes:

Economics is too important to leave it to the mainstream. Economic ideas and economists are very powerful at shaping and influencing the societies in which we live. We, heterodox economists, are a minority and we need our voice be heard. I’m afraid that the radicalism of “I don’t care the mainstream, I do my own thing” is the most conservative strategy. It leaves us as college professors teaching mainstream stuff with a heterodox twist but without any significant influence in the real world. Please, don’t take this wrong. I respect and admire those who like teaching at colleges as a way of life. I’m just saying that as a collective output is a suicide. Our battle is at research universities, central banks, finance ministries, international institutions and think tanks, where the presence of mainstream economist is overwhelming. We need to challenge and persuade them and for that we need to know their theories and methods.

I disagree.

Of course we don''t want to be cloistered. But there are many possible channels by which our work can reach public policy, social movements and the larger world. Shifting the mainstream of economics is only one possible channel and not, in my judgment, the strongest or most reliable one.

To take a personal example: I recently agreed to do some research work for a couple of state-level minimum-wage campaigns,giving them numbers on the distribution of workers who would be covered by the bills by industry and firm size and the profitability of the major low-wage sectors in those states. The people organizing the campaigns are now using those numbers for position papers, talking points for canvassing, op-eds, etc. I even went down to Maryland a couple weeks ago to testify before the legislature.

Of course you need some basic knowledge of econometrics and the relevant literature to do this kind of work. But do you need the kind of knowledge you'd need to be a cutting-edge labor economist? No, obviously not; I'm not a labor economist of any sort. And yet, I would argue, this kind of direct work with practical political campaigns/organizations is at least as likely -- more likely, IMO -- to produce concrete policy changes and to shift the public debate, than an effort to master the techniques of mainstream labor economics, publish sufficiently on the minimum wage to move the consensus of the profession, and then count on the "official" representatives of the profession to pass the message on to policymakers. Fundamentally, I don't agree that our battle is at research universities, central banks, etc. Our jobs may be at those places. But our battle is with people engaged in practical political work and organizing. This isn't (just) a moral stand; I think the implicit assumption that the consensus of the economics profession is first shaped by the quality of the arguments made on various sides, and then transmitted to politics, is not applicable to the real world. If you want to contribute to political change, you need to be part of a political project; winning debates within the economics profession doesn't help. The recent history of macroeconomics shows that clearly, no?

There's a second point. The idea that we should be orienting our training around learning to persuade the mainstream assumes that "we" already know what we want to persuade them of. But that's not the case. On most of the big questions, we don't have any consensus on what the right answers are, even if we're confident they're not what's taught in most programs. And the project of developing an alternative economics is very different from the project of persuading people of an alternative economics. The second would require talking -- and having the tools to talk -- with others. But the first requires primarily talking among ourselves. And the first has to come first. Economics is hard! And Marxist, post-Keynesian, feminist, institutionalist economics is just as hard as mainstream economics. (Albeit in different ways -- less math, more fieldwork & history.) Unless we -- meaning we heterodox/radical economists -- are systematically building on each others' work, there will never be an alternative view to persuade the mainstream of. Which means there needs to be spaces for conversations within radical economics, where we can critique and develop our own approaches, and for getting the training necessary to take part in those conversations.

All of us tend to exaggerate our own intellectual autonomy. (It's a legacy of the Enlightenment.) We think we're rational beings, who know what we want and choose the best tools to get it. But , means and ends don't always separate so cleanly. You say you want a prestigious position only in order to have a better platform from which to advance progressive ideas, but soon enough the means becomes the ends. (I've seen it happen!) There can't be left ideas without a sociological left -- without a group of people who feel some objective connection with each other, have shared experiences and interests, share a common identity. Because ideas will accomodate to the situation of the person who holds them. (Erst kommt das Fressen, dann die Moral.) We all think, no not me, but yes us too. If there aren't at least a few settings in which specifically radical economics is professionally rewarded, we shouldn't take it for granted that it will continue to exist.

On Other Blogs, Other Wonders

2011-03-24T10:05:00.000-07:00

... or at least some interesting posts.

1. What Kind of Science Would Economics Be If It Really Were a Science?

Peter Dorman is one of those people who I agree with on the big questions but find myself strenuously disagreeing with on many particulars. So it's nice to wholeheartedly approve this piece on economics and the physical sciences.

The post is based on this 2008 paper that argues that there is no reason that economics cannot be scientific in the same rigorous sense as geology, biology, etc., but only if economists learn to (1) emphasize mechanisms rather than equilibrium and (2) strictly avoid Type I error, even at the cost of Type II error. Type I error is accepting a false claim, Type II is failing to accept a true one. Which is not the same as rejecting it -- one can simply be uncertain. Science's progressive character comes from its rigorous refusal to accept any proposition until every possible effort to disprove it has failed. Of course this means that on many questions, science can take no position at all (an important distinction from policy and other forms of practical activity, where we often have to act one way or another without any very definite knowledge). It sounds funny to say that ignorance is the heart of the practice of science, but I think it's right. Unfortunately, says Dorman, rather than seeing science as the systematic effort to limit our knowledge claims to things we can know with (near-)certainty, "economists have been seduced by a different vision ... that the foundation of science rests on ... deduction from top-level theory."

The mechanisms vs. equilibria point is, if anything, even more important, since it has positive content for how we do economics. Rather than focusing our energy on elucidating theoretical equilibria, we should be thinking about concrete processes of change over time. For example:

Consider the standard supply-and-demand diagram. The professor draws this on the chalkboard, identifies the equilibrium point, and asks for questions. One student asks, are there really supply and demand curves? ... Yes, in principle these curves exist, but they are not directly observed in nature. ...

there is another way the answer might proceed. ... we can use them to identify two other things that are real, excess supply and excess demand. We can measure them directly in the form of unsold goods or consumers who are frustrated in their attempts to make a purchase. And not only can we measure these things, we can observe the actions that buyers and sellers take under conditions of surplus or shortage.

One of the best brief discussions of economics methodology I've read.

2. Beware the Predatory Pro Se Borrower!

In general, I assume that anyone here interested in Yves Smith is already reading her, so there's no point in a post pointing to a post there. But this one really must be read.

It's a presentation from a law firm representing mortgage servicers, with the Dickensian name LockeLordBissell, meant for servicers conducting foreclosures that meet with legal challenges. That someone would even choose to go to court to avoid being thrown out of their house needs special explanation; it must be a result of "negative press surrounding mortgage lenders" and outside agitators on the Internet. People even think they can assert their rights without a lawyer; they "do not want to pay for representation," it being inconceivable that someone facing foreclosure might, say, have lost their job and not be able to afford a lawyer. "Predatory borrowers" are "unrealistic and unreasonable borrowers who are trying to capitalize on the current industry turmoil and are willing to employ any tactic to obtain a free home," including demands to see the note, claims of lack of standing by the servicer, and "other Internet-based machinations." What's the world coming to when any random loser has access to the courts? And imagine, someone willing to employ tactics like asking for proof that the company trying to take their home has a legal right to it! What's more, these stupid peasants "are emotionally tied to their cases [not to mention their houses]; the more a case progresses, the less reasonable the plaintiff becomes." Worst of all, "pro se cases are expensive to defend because the plaintiff’s lack of familiarity with the legal process often creates more work for the defendant."

If you want an illustration of how our masters think of us, you couldn't ask for a clearer example. Our stubborn idea that we have rights or interests of our own is just an annoying interference with their prerogatives.

Everyone knows about bucket lists. At the bar last weekend, someone suggested we should keep bat lists -- the people whose heads you'd take a Louisville slugger to, if you knew you just had a few months to live. This being the Left Forum, my friend had "that class traitor Andy Stern" at the top of his list. But I'm putting the partners at LockeLordBissell high up on mine.

3. Palin and Playing by the Rules

Jonathan Bernstein, on why Sarah Palin isn't going to be the Republican nominee:

For all one hears about efforts to market candidates to mass electorates (that's what things like the "authenticity" debate are all about), the bulk of nomination politics is retail, not wholesale -- and the customers candidates are trying to reach are a relatively small group of party elites.... That's what Mitt Romney and Tim Pawlenty have been doing for the last two-plus years... It's what, by every report I've seen since November 2008, Sarah Palin has just not done.

Are you telling me that [Republican Jewish Committee] board members are going to be so peeved that Sarah Palin booked her Israel trip with some other organization that they're [going to] turn it into a presidential nomination preference, regardless of how Palin or any other candidate actually stands on issues of public policy?

Yup. And even more: I'll tell you that it's not petty. They're correct to do so. ... if you're a party leader, what can you do? Sure, you can collect position papers, but you know how meaningless those are going to be.... Much better, even if still risky, is assessing the personal commitment the candidates have to your group. What's the rapport like? Who has the candidate hired on her staff that has a history of working with you? Will her White House take your calls? ...

It's how presidential nominees are really chosen. ... Candidates do have to demonstrate at least some ability to appeal to mass electorates, but first and foremost they need to win the support of the most active portions of the party.

It's not a brilliant or especially original point, but it's a very important one. My first-hand experience of electoral politics is limited to state and local races, but I've worked on quite a few of those, and Bernstein's descriptions fits them exactly. I don't see any reason to think national races are different.

It's part of the narcissism of intellectuals to imagine politics as a kind of debating society, with the public granting authority to whoever makes the best arguments -- what intellectuals specialize in. And it's natural that people whose only engagement with politics comes through the mass media to suppose that what happens in the media is very important, or even all there is. But Bernstein is right: That stuff is secondary, and the public comes in as object, not subject.

Not always, of course -- there are moments when the people does become an active political subject, and those are the most important political moments there are. But they're very rare. That's why someone like Luciano Canfora makes a sharp distinction between the institutions and electoral procedures conventionally referred to as democracy, on the one hand, and genuine democracy, on the other -- those relatively brief moments of "ascendancy of the demos," which "may assert itself within the most diverse political-constitutional forms." For Canfora, democracy can't be institutionalized through elections; it's inherently "an unstable phenomenon: the temporary ascendancy of the poorer classes in the course of an endless struggle for equality—a concept which itself widens with time to include ever newer, and ever more strongly challenged, ‘rights’". (Interestingly, a liberal like Brad DeLong would presumably agree that elections have nothing to do with democracy, but are a mechanism for the circulation of elites.)

I don't know how far Bernstein would go with Canfora, but he's taken the essential first step; it would be a good thing for discussions of electoral politics if more people followed him.

EDIT: Just to be clear, Bernstein's point is a bit more specific than the broad only-elites-matter argument. What candidates are selling to elites isn't so much a basket of policy positions or desirable personal qualities, but relationships based on trust. It's interesting, I think it's true; it doesn't contradict my gloss, but it does go beyond it.