Playing a major role in saving the planet could make us rich

If you’ve ever been tempted by the thought that Australia forging our future by becoming a global “superpower” is a nice idea but probably not a realistic one, I have big news. New evidence shows it’s the smart way to fund our future.

Last week, while we were engaged in a stupid argument over whether the Future Fund should continue growing forever and earning top dollar by being invested in other countries’ futures rather than our own, few people noticed a report much more germane to our future.

The Superpower Institute – set up by the man who first had the idea, Professor Ross Garnaut, with former competition watchdog Rod Sims – put its money where its mouth was and produced hard evidence that the idea could work.

It employed Dr Reuben Finighan to test and extend Garnaut’s argument with a detailed analysis of the future energy supply and demand in five potential importing countries, which together account for more than half of annual global greenhouse gas emissions: China, Japan, South Korea, India and Germany.

Finighan’s report, The New Energy Trade, provides world-first analysis of likely international trade in clean energy and finds Australia could contribute up to 10 per cent of the world’s emissions reductions while generating six to eight times larger revenues than those typical from our fossil fuel exports.

He demonstrates that, though Australia’s present comparative advantage in producing fossil fuels – coal and natural gas – for export will lose its value as the world moves to net zero carbon emissions, it can be replaced by a new and much more valuable comparative advantage in exporting energy-intensive iron and steel, aluminium and urea, plus green fuels for shipping, aviation and road freight, with our renewable energy from solar and wind embedded in them.

Unusually, Finighan’s focus is on the role that international trade will need to play in helping the world reach net zero emissions at minimum cost to the economy. He reminds us that the world’s present high standard of living could not have been achieved without the use of fossil fuels, which required extensive trade between the countries that didn’t have enough oil, coal and gas of their own, and those countries that had far more than they needed for their own use.

Our participation in this trade, of course, explains much of our success in becoming a rich country. It will be the same story in the net-zero world, with much trade in renewable energy between those countries that can’t produce enough of their own at reasonable cost, and those countries with abundant ability to produce solar and wind power at low cost.

Again, we have the potential to be a low-cost producer of renewable energy, exporting most of it to the world and earning a good living from it. Finighan says countries with the most abundant and thus cheapest renewable energy available for export are those whose solar and wind resources are more intense, less seasonal and that have abundant land relative to the size of their population and economy.

Those few countries include us. Garnaut says we’re the country with by far the largest capacity to export to the densely populated, highly developed countries of the northern hemisphere. Finighan finds we can produce “essentially limitless low-cost green electricity”.

The required solar and wind farms would occupy about 0.6 per cent of our land mass. Include the space between the wind turbines and that rises to a shocking 1.1 per cent.

To put this in the sign language of economists, on a diagram plotting what would happen to our cost of supply as (world) demand increased, the curve would start very low and stay relatively flat.

But, Finighan points out, there’s one big difference between the old trade in dirty energy and the new trade in clean energy. Whereas fossil fuels are cheap to transport, shipping clean energy is prohibitively expensive.

Remember that a key strategy in the global move to net-zero is to produce electricity only from renewable sources, then use it to replace as many uses of fossil fuels as possible, including gas in households and industry, and petrol in cars.

You can’t export electricity, but transforming it into hydrogen or ammonia requires huge amounts of electricity, thus involving much loss of energy and increased cost. So it’s cheaper to use locally made electricity to produce energy-intensive products such as iron, aluminium, urea and so forth locally, before exporting them.

That is, the world trade in clean energy will mainly involve that energy being embedded in “green” products. This means, for the first time ever, making certain classes of manufacturing part of our comparative advantage.

Finighan finds that, by ignoring the role trade will play in the process of decarbonisation, and thus the need for countries with limited capacity to produce their own renewables to import them in embedded form, earlier studies, including those by the International Energy Agency, have underestimated how much more electricity production the world will need.

In examining the likely energy needs of the five large economies – four in Asia and one in Europe – he projects large shortfalls in their local supply of electricity. By mid-century, Japan, South Korea and Germany will have shortfalls of between 37 and 66 per cent. Because of their later targets for reaching net-zero, China’s greatest shortfall won’t occur until 2060, and India’s until 2070.

These calculations take full account of the role of nuclear energy. It’s one of the most expensive means of generating clean energy. Unlike renewable technology, it’s become much more costly over time, not only in the rich economies but also in those such as India.

Nuclear will play a minor role even in countries where heavy government subsidies render it competitive, such as China. Even if China triples its recent rate of building nuclear, it may contribute only 7 per cent of electricity supply by 2060.

In those shortfalls, of course, lies a massive potential market for Australia’s exports of green manufactures. So, to mix metaphors, the dream of us becoming a superpower turns out to have legs. All the Labor government and the Coalition opposition have to do now is extract the digit.

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Our politicians aren't acting their age. That's a good thing

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

If I told you someone, especially a politician, wasn’t acting their age, you might safely assume that’s a bad thing. What childish behaviour have they indulged in this time, you might ask.

But this week, it’s a compliment. The fountain of youth still evades us, and there’s no great anti-ageing commission – AAC, not to be confused with the ACCC – on the way. But the focus in Canberra has switched, at least for a minute, to something that’s flown under the radar for too long.

Treasurer Jim Chalmers on Thursday – at last – said something a lot of us, especially young people, have lived and known well: “there is an element of intergenerational unfairness in our economy”.

The culprit? A three-letter word that sends most of us to sleep, but here it is: tax. No one really likes it, but there’s a collective understanding – served with a hearty side of grumbling – that it’s a necessary part of our economy.

A good tax system, however, is supposed to be fair. And it’s meant to make our country fairer, too.

Tax as it stands now stacks the cards against young people: the very people we need to be supporting to become the backbone of our economy – including hospitals, aged care homes, and schools – as the rest of the country ages.

What’s unfair about our tax system? Didn’t generations before us get put through the same wringer? Well, not really.

If our economy is a board game, the rules have changed. So has the starting point for our newest players.

Young people today graduate from university or TAFE with bigger study debts than their parents had, face house prices more than 16 times the average household income (rather than nine times the average household income 25 years ago) and wages that have only started clawing back losses from inflation in the past year.

To then have a tax system that pulls the ladder out-of-reach of young people is bad – for all of us.

Grattan Institute chief executive Aruna Sathanapally, in a speech last week, put it like this: “Intergenerational equity is not a zero-sum game.”

We may never have it perfect, but it needs to be fair. Who wants to play or work hard in a game where your winnings are constantly whisked away?

But that’s what’s happening. Our tax and spending policies are leading to “unprecedented transfers from younger households to older households”, Sathanapally says.

Analysis from Grattan in 2019 showed a working-age household earning $100,000 would pay about 2½ times as much tax as a household over 65 earning the same amount.

While households over 65 have grown their income, they’ve also been shielded from paying their fair share of tax. That’s thanks to a bunch of policies that have ground down taxes for some types of income but not others.

If you’ve held an asset – such as an investment property – for at least a year, you could sell it and get 50 per cent off the tax you pay on its capital gains. If you bought the property before 1985, you’d pay no tax at all on your (probably very handsome) profit.

And if you’re drawing down on your super, it’s tax-free to withdraw after the age of 60 (after being taxed at a concessional rate of 15 per cent while you’ve been contributing to it).

But most young people don’t own a property they can sell – or even live in – and would have missed out on the windfall gains of the past few decades that have seen house prices shoot through the roof. And withdrawing from super isn’t really an option.

A bulk of young people’s income comes from wages that attract no tax discounts. And as our population ages, our reliance on taxing wages will probably worsen.

Why can’t young people just work their way up to things such as home ownership? Well, it’s a tough ask to save for a deposit when, on top of income tax, young people are paying off huge study loans and facing rents that have risen much faster than inflation or wage growth.

Income taxes have ballooned as a share of our economy – from about 8 per cent of gross domestic product (GDP) in the early 1960s to 14 per cent in the 1980s, and more than 18 per cent in 2023. And while in the 1950s, income from “personal exertion” – or wages – was subject to lower tax rates than income from investments, there’s now no such distinction.

In fact, those who invest in housing can be negatively geared, meaning if they make a loss on their investment property because the rent they earn on it is less than the costs of owning the property (including interest they pay on their mortgage), they can reduce their taxable income. That’s even if the property is quietly growing in value.

At the same time, zoning rules are pushing young people to the edges of our cities, further away from their work and study, and pushing up house prices in leafy suburbs.

The upshot of all this is that young people are having a harder time than older generations – so much so that the generation born in the 1990s, aged between 25 and 34 today, are the first not to enjoy higher incomes than their predecessors.

And according to Grattan, the wealth disparity between older and younger Australians has worsened. In 1994, those aged 65 to 74 had about three times the wealth of those aged 25 to 34. By 2020, that gap had increased to nearly five times.

While not all older Australians are wealthy, it was mostly older, wealthier households that continued saving and spending on discretionary items as inflation and interest rates spiked in the past few years. Younger Australians mostly cut back on spending and drained their savings.

It’s only recently that politicians have paid more attention to the plight of young people. That’s probably because, despite nearly 40 per cent of our population being aged under 40, fewer than 10 per cent of our federal MPs fit that bill.

Independent MP Allegra Spender this week launched her green paper on tax, pointing out that younger Australians were being left behind, unable to grow their financial security in line with other generations. “This creates a society of haves and have-nots, where your family wealth, and access to the bank of mum and dad, is essential to get ahead,” she said.

If we want a society that gives everyone the chance to work hard and get ahead, and move away from a game determined by a roll of the dice on who our parents are and how much wealth they can pass on to us, we need to shake up our tax settings.

It’s been a long time coming, but if our policymakers can step into the shoes of younger Australians and speak for their interests – as they’ve started to do – we’ll all be better off.O

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How climate-denier Trump may leave China to save the planet

To a sensible person, the most worrying aspect of the re-election of Donald Trump is his refusal to take climate change seriously. He says it’s a hoax and a scam.

There’s no denying that Trump’s decision to again withdraw America from the 2015 Paris Agreement to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and limit the global average temperature increase to below 2 degrees is a setback.

It could tempt many other countries to give up their own efforts to reduce emissions. If the mighty United States has stopped trying, why should we bother? It could dishearten the rest of us, but I doubt it will.

On the contrary, it could prompt us step up our own efforts – something we needed to do even without the US government’s withdrawal. It will certainly stiffen the resolve of the Chinese, who’ve just been handed the vacant position of moral leadership of the world on climate action.

Which is funny when you remember the Yanks’ bipartisan obsession with stopping China usurping their place as the world’s top dog. Will they really take this lying down?

The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that our shift to clean energy is now unstoppable. For a start, as each day passes, we see more evidence around us that climate change is already upon us, not something that may or may not happen sometime in the future.

Who can forget the footage of Spain’s flooding? All those nice cars washed up in a muddy heap at the end of the street. An entire year’s rainfall in eastern Spain in less than 24 hours, leaving more than 200 people dead.

Our TV news is now dominated by stories of extreme weather events of every kind: cyclones, bushfires, floods, deadly heatwaves and droughts. How long before we see regular footage of houses falling into the sea? Not to worry, it’s all a scam. They fake the photos.

For another thing, the switch to clean energy is well under way in most countries, and it’s too late to stop it. In some developing countries – China, for instance – the move away from dirty fossil fuels, particularly coal, is being propelled by a popular revolt against air pollution.

Elsewhere, it’s being driven by straight economics: the rapidly declining prices of solar panels, wind turbines and electric vehicles. Why would anyone ever build another coal-fired power station?

Anyone who opens a new coal mine is taking a bet that it won’t become a worthless “stranded asset” long before it reaches the end of its useful life. I read that, had it not been for Russia’s attack on Ukraine, the world prices for oil and gas would have begun falling as demand for them declined.

Note, too, that there are limits to a US president’s ability to stop the move to renewables and efforts to reduce emissions. Emissions reduction is mainly a matter for the state governments. Some of them – including huge California – will persevere with their reduction schemes.

President Joe Biden’s dishonestly named Inflation Reduction Act of 2022 actually provides billions of dollars in subsidies for the manufacture of solar panels, wind turbines and batteries in America. Trump plans to abolish it, but a lot of money has already been spent and – whether by accident or design – it’s largely being invested in Republican states and congressional districts. He may not be allowed to cut it off.

And all that’s before we get to China – the great villain and hero of climate change. Although the vast mass of greenhouse gases in our atmosphere was put there by America and the other rich countries burning fossil fuels for the past century or two, when you come to the annual addition to the stock of harmful gases it’s a different story.

Although the Americans still fancy themselves as having the world’s biggest economy (actually, if you measure it more accurately, they’ve already been overtaken by China), and although their emissions per person are still far higher than China’s, they only come second in the comp to add the most to emissions.

Because China’s population is four times the size of America’s, and its economy has been growing much faster than America’s, China accounts for 30 per cent of the world’s annual emissions, compared with America’s 11 per cent. (Then comes India with 8 per cent, and the 27 countries of the European Union with 6 per cent.)

So what China does matters far more than what the US does. And China is big on both sides of the ledger. According to The Economist, its emissions rose by about 6 per cent last year. About half that comes from its power sector, mainly burning coal. Another third comes from factories, particularly steel foundries. Then come emissions from cars and lorries.

But although China is still building new coal-fired power stations, it has installed more renewable power than any other country, and is using big subsidies to encourage the trend. Chinese companies make 90 per cent of the world’s solar cells, used to make solar panels, 60 per cent of the world’s lithium-ion batteries and more than half of the world’s electric vehicles, The Economist tells us.

It’s because of China’s massive production of these things – for its own use and for export – that the move to renewables has become so much cheaper in other countries.

The rapid increase in China’s production of renewable energy makes it likely its emissions will soon stop rising, even before the government’s 2030 target date. So the next step is for it to start reducing annual emissions in pursuit of its pledge to eliminate net carbon emissions by 2060.

That won’t be easy, of course. But my guess is the Chinese will take great delight in showing the world how decadent the US has become.

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Memo to RBA: If wages growth isn't the problem, what is?

 I can’t help wondering if the Reserve Bank isn’t misreading the economy. And it seems I’m not alone.

When you’re seeking to manage the economy through its ups and downs, it’s critically important to diagnose its problems correctly. If you’ve misread the symptoms, you can make things worse rather than better. Or, for instance, you can single out citizens who had the temerity to borrow heavily to buy their home and subject them to needless punishment.

Last week, several things made me start wondering if the Reserve needs a rethink. The first was a paper by America’s highly regarded Brookings Institution, that I should have got onto in August.

The world’s central banks – including ours – have concluded that this unexpected burst of inflation is explained partly by temporary disruption to the supply of goods caused by the pandemic (and Russia’s attack on Ukraine), and partly by excessive demand following the authorities’ excessive economic stimulus to counter the lockdowns.

Sorry, not true says the Brookings study, which looked at new data.

“The vast majority of the COVID-19 inflation surge is accounted for by supply-linked factors, especially a rise in company [profit] margins that followed severe delivery delays at the height of the pandemic. Demand-linked factors, notably indicators of labour market overheating, play almost no role.

“As a result, the argument that policy stimulus was excessive is weak,” the study says. And, since company profit margins have yet to return to their previous level, this suggests the inflation rate has yet to fall as the effects of the pandemic continue to unwind. If so, the US Federal Reserve may have overtightened.

Now, all that refers to the US economy and may not apply to ours. May not, but I doubt it.

Despite four successive quarters in which the economy’s rate of growth in “aggregate demand” has been very weak, our Reserve is delaying a reduction in interest rates because, it says, the level of demand is still higher than the level of supply. If so, the rate of inflation may not keep falling, or may even start rising.

How does the Reserve know the level of supply is too low? Mainly by looking at the measure of idle capacity in the jobs market – aka the rate of unemployment.

So, when we saw the figures for October last week, and they showed unemployment still stuck at an exceptionally low 4.1 per cent, no higher than it was in January, it wasn’t surprising that many concluded the Reserve wasn’t likely to start cutting the official interest rate until May next year.

But hang on. One good measure of the job market’s ability to supply more labour as required is the “participation rate” – the proportion of the working-age population willing to participate in the paid labour force by either having a job or actively seeking one.

Now, the econocrats have been predicting that the ageing of the population would cause the “part rate” to start falling for at least the past 20 years. But in that time, it has kept going up rather than down, and is now higher than ever. Last week’s figures show it’s risen by a strong 0.5 percentage points to 67.2 per cent over just the past year.

So where’s the evidence the economy’s reached the end of its capacity to supply more workers?

My guess is that all the Reserve’s unaccustomed talk about the level of supply being too low relative to demand is just a way for it to avoid admitting that its judgment about when to start cutting interest rates is still – as it has been for all macroeconomists for the past 40 years – heavily reliant on its calculation of the present NAIRU: the “non-accelerating-inflation rate of unemployment”, which is the lowest the unemployment rate can fall before shortages of labour cause wage inflation to start going back up.

I think the Reserve’s reluctance to cut is driven by its (undisclosed) calculation that the NAIRU is well above 4.1 per cent. But earlier this month, Treasury secretary Dr Steven Kennedy told a parliamentary committee that, though such calculations are “uncertain”, Treasury estimates that the NAIRU is “around 4.25 per cent, close to the current rate of unemployment”.

Another thing we learnt last week was that a key measure of the rate at which wages are rising, the wage price index, rose by 0.8 per cent during the September quarter, causing the annual rate to fall from 4.1 per cent to 3.5 per cent.

According to Adam Boyton and other economists at the ANZ Bank, this caused the six-month annualised rate of wages growth to be unchanged at 3.2 per cent. “Wages growth has slowed across awards, enterprise bargaining agreements and individual agreements, pointing to a broad-based slowdown,” they said.

This – combined with the lack of increase in the rate of unemployment over the past year, and allowing for the delay before what’s happening to unemployment affects wage rates – has led these economists to conclude the NAIRU is closer to 3.75 per cent.

Finally, Westpac chief economist Dr Luci Ellis noted last week that another measure of wages pressure, the cost of labour per unit (which takes account of changes in the productivity of workers), has fallen from an annualised rate of 7 per cent to 3.5 per cent in just the six months to September.

She said that even if the annual improvement in the productivity of labour averages a touch below 1 per cent, which would be worse than our recent performance, annual wages growth averaging 3.2 per cent – as it has for the past three quarters – is “well and truly consistent with inflation averaging 2.5 per cent or below”.

Get what all this says? Ever since the Reserve began raising interest rates in May 2022, it has worried about the possibility of excessive growth in wages keeping inflation above the Reserve’s target zone. In all that time, and particularly now, it’s shown absolutely no sign of doing so. Neither shortages of labour nor the (much reduced) power of the unions has caused a problem.

The Reserve needs to lose its hang-up about wages and think harder about the need to ease the pain on innocent bystanders.

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How can jobs and joblessness both be going up?

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

Despite more than two years of higher interest rates, meant to slow down spending and activity in the economy, unemployment in Australia remains unusually low.

The nation’s chief number-crunchers, the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS), said there were 16,000 more people employed in October, while the number of unemployed climbed by 8000. The unemployment rate stayed at 4.1 per cent for the third month in a row – still very low by the standards of the past 50 years as well as earlier slowdowns.

You might think when employment rises, unemployment has to fall by the same amount – and vice versa. But here’s the thing: they can both rise or fall at the same time.

How is this possible? Because there’s a third factor: the proportion of people who choose to be in the labour force – either by having a job or actively looking for one. If someone is looking for work and doesn’t have any, it means they’re unemployed, but they’re still counted as part of the labour force.

Usually, more people start seeking a job if the economy and the jobs market are both thriving. Why? Because they believe there’s a better chance of finding a job. By the same logic, if the economy is slowing and the jobs market is worsening, people are less likely to even try searching for a job. The labour force can also grow if the population blossoms, but generally, the better the economy and jobs market, the more people will choose to “participate” in the labour force, helping to fatten it up.

So if the Reserve Bank has pumped the brakes on the economy, and consumer spending is still weak, how has the participation rate increased?

Partly, it’s because overall spending in the economy – including spending by the government – is fuelling demand and keeping it above the level the economy can supply without pushing its limited resources, and therefore price pressures. It’s a good thing that people who want a job still have a good chance of finding one, but the relatively low unemployment rate will discourage the bank from starting to cut interest rates too soon.

That’s because a low unemployment rate is one of the signs of an economy running hot, and therefore at risk of facing inflationary pressures. The bank will be worried demand for goods and services hasn’t weakened enough, and that it might even start soaring. That would throw a spanner in the works for their crusade against inflation.

But what exactly is unemployment? It’s measured as the proportion of unemployed people in the labour force. Or, put another way: the proportion of unemployed people out of all the employed and unemployed people in the economy.

Then there’s the participation rate, which we can calculate by looking at all our “working age” people (in Australia, this is everyone over the age of 15 – including those who, really, are probably too old to work) and the proportion who are in the labour force (working or looking for a job). In most other places, working age is defined as those aged 15 to 64.

If more working-age people decide to start looking for work, it’s possible to have both more people unemployed (the jobseekers who don’t find a job) and more people employed (those who do), as well as a higher participation rate: more working age people, well, working – or looking for a job.

We can also look at the split between full-time and part-time workers. If there are more full-time workers, that’s a sign of a strong labour market. A growing share of part-time workers, meanwhile, is usually a warning that the market for labour is weakening. Over the past year, the share of part-time workers has fallen from about 42 per cent to 31 per cent. More people, and a greater proportion, are working full-time than they were a year ago.

Part-time jobs aren’t necessarily worse than full-time jobs. For some people – such as students, semi-retired people and parents of young children – a part-time job aligns perfectly with their life stage or preferences. It’s only a problem for those who want a full-time job but can only find a part-time one.

Anyone who does at least an hour of work every week is counted as employed. That’s been the case for decades and conforms with the international statistics conventions set down by the United Nations' International Labour Organisation in Geneva.

But it does mean we tend to understate the full extent of joblessness. Our measure of unemployment ignores the people who have had to settle for a part-time job when they’d much rather have a full-time job. This is especially the case as part-time employment has risen since the 1960s.

It’s why the bureau has, in recent decades, been calculating the rate of under-employment: the proportion of people in the labour force who have been working, but would have preferred to work more hours a week than they were able to find.

By adding together the underemployment rate and the unemployment rate, we get the underutilisation rate. This gives us a broader measure of unemployment and the health of our labour market. In October, the underutilisation rate was 10.4 per cent: a touch higher than at the same time last year.

How do we know all these numbers? The ABS conducts a monthly survey. It has a very big sample of households across Australia – usually about 26,000 – and someone from each of these households is asked about the labour force status of each person over the age of 15 under their roof.

The survey sample is split into eight groups, with each group staying in the survey for eight months. One group rotates out every month and is replaced by a new group rotating in. The ABS collects the information through trained interviewers who survey households either face to face or over the phone, and sometimes via an online self-completion form, asking about 70 questions.

While these measures aren’t perfect, and can be confusing, they act as a thermometer for our jobs market. There’s no doubt the pulse is weakening, but so far, there’s enough sign of strength to keep most of us from getting worked up.

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Education is leading the two sides of politics to change sides

A strange thing is happening in politics. People who in earlier times could have been expected to vote for the right-wing party are now more likely to be supporting the party on the left, while those who would have voted for the left in times past are now more inclined vote for the right.

This is something the insiders – the political scientists, pollsters and party professionals – know all about, but the politicians prefer not to admit. So it’s news to the rest of us.

You could see it alluded to in all the learned explanations of why Donald Trump romped home in the presidential election that was too close to call. But you can also see it in our own elections. Indeed, it’s a “secular” (long-term) trend occurring in the politics of most rich countries.

Did you see some commentator saying the Republicans were now the party of the working class? What! It’s truer than it sounds. Our own Farrah Tomazin wrote that the election saw “the realignment of the Republicans as a party that appeals to the working class while the Democrats have increasingly become the party of college-educated, upper-income suburban voters, especially women”.

A distinguished American professor of anthropology added that “Trump voters trend older, white, rural, religious and less educated”. It seems most “voters of colour” still voted Democrat, but enough Latinos and others defected to Trump to give him an easy win.

And, as I say, you see a similar role reversal going on here in Oz. Professor Ian McAllister of the Australian National University, who oversees its Australian Election Study, a large sample survey of voters following every federal election, says we’ve been gradually moving the same way since the 1990s.

His study, following the federal election in May 2022, found it showed a continuation of “major sociodemographic shifts in voting patterns based on gender, generation and social class, with significant implications for the future of the major parties”.

Historically, the two big parties represented the rival interests of voters playing different roles in the economy. Labor looked after the workers supplying their labour, while the Liberals looked after those small and big businesspeople supplying their capital.

The standard division between the working, middle and upper classes was based on people’s occupational status: blue-collar, white-collar, owners and managers.

But that economy-based division is being replaced by more people voting according to their social values and identity. McAllister says this shift is being driven by rising levels of education. Whether someone has a university education is now the best single predictor of how they vote.

As a general rule, those people with a university degree end up with values and preferences that are quite different from those of people who don’t have a degree, or left school early.

So, just as college-educated Americans are more likely to vote Democrat, Australians with a degree are more likely to vote Labor. People without tertiary education are more likely to vote Republican, Liberal or National Party.

It follows – again as a broad generalisation – that the more highly educated are more likely to live nearer the centre of big cities, where the better-paid jobs tend to be, while the less highly educated are more likely to be found in the outer suburbs and the regions.

Over the 34 years to 2023, the proportion of adults with a university degree has risen from 8 per cent to almost one-third. Each year, more than half of students completing high school go on to uni.

So, as each year passes, people in the oldest generation, who are less likely to be graduates, die, while the youngsters taking their place in the electorate are more likely to be graduates.

In his report on the 2022 federal election, McAllister found that Labor still attracted more working-class votes, although its share of them had fallen to just 38 per cent. The Coalition lost votes from university-educated voters, high-income voters and home owners – groups that, in the previous election, were more likely to have supported it.

A much higher proportion of girls are going on to uni these days, which helps explain why more women vote Labor than for the Coalition. And higher education does much to explain why Labor’s support is much stronger among younger voters.

McAllister has found that, as the Millennials get older – some are now in their early 40s – they’re less likely to drift to the right the way earlier generations did as they aged.

You might see the Liberals’ loss of six heartland seats to the teals as a clear example of the secular trend we’re discussing: Liberal voters who cared about climate change, a federal anti-corruption commission and more women in parliament, switching their vote to the teals.

But McAllister found it was more complicated than that. Only about one-fifth of former Liberal voters changed their vote. What got the teals across the line was strategic voting by those seats’ minority Labor and Greens voters. Knowing their party was never going to win, they threw their weight behind the teals, who did have a chance of winning.

As voters around the rich world become less likely to vote according to their economic class and more likely to vote according to their social and cultural values, political scientists have developed a fancy new theory that characterises parties on the left as GAL and parties on the right as TAN.

GAL stands for green, alternative (relaxed about gender fluidity, for instance) and libertarian (“my body, my choice”). TAN stands for traditional (“I liked it the way it was” and “the world should be run by men”), authoritarian (“we need strong leadership”) and nationalist (“why are they letting in all those strange immigrants?”).

So when, in coming months, you see Peter Dutton banging on about inflation, all those terrible immigrants and all the crime on the streets, and campaigning hard in the outer suburbs and regions, the media will tell you he’s borrowing from the Trump playbook. But now you’ll know there’s a lot more to it.

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Will Trump be disastrous for our economy? I doubt it

When, in its wisdom, the American electorate does something really stupid, it’s tempting to predict death and disaster for the whole world, including us.

But though the Yanks are embarking on a bout of serious self-harm – and this will have costs for the rest of the world economy – let’s not kid ourselves that we’ll be prominent in the firing line.

Leaving aside Donald Trump’s climate change denial – a topic I’ll get to another day – his most damaging stated economic policy is to make America great again by imposing a tariff (import duty) of 10 to 20 per cent on all America’s imports except imports from China, which will cop 60 per cent.

This is rampant populism – it sounds like a great idea to those who understand nothing about how economies work but it will make the US economy worse rather than better. Trump claimed this new tax would be paid by the foreign suppliers but, in reality, it will be paid by those American consumers and businesses that continue to buy imported items.

So the man who got elected because the punters hate inflation will be acting to worsen inflation. This isn’t likely to do much to increase the demand for locally made manufactures but, to the extent that it does, automation and digitisation will mean it does little to create more jobs in manufacturing.

Another reason protectionism doesn’t work is that America’s major trading partners – particularly China and Europe – are likely to retaliate by imposing tariffs on their imports from America. We know from history that trade wars end up leaving both sides worse off.

So the United States will suffer most, although all countries that trade with it will suffer to some extent. But get this: the US is not one of our major trading partners. It takes only about 5 per cent of our exports. Our big partners are China, Japan and South Korea.

Like many ignorant Americans, Trump believes any country that runs a bilateral trade surplus with the US must be doing so because they’re cheating in some way. Not a problem for us: we import more from the Yanks than we export to them. It’s China and the Europeans Trump will be going after, not us.

To the extent that Trump hurts the Chinese economy – as part of the Americans’ bipartisan obsession with trying to prevent China usurping their place as the world’s top dog – that will have an adverse flow-on to us.

But the Chinese have their own ways of fighting back. In any case, the greatest risk to our economy is not from what the Yanks do to the Chinese but from what the Chinese stuff up on their own account.

While it’s clear Trump is well placed politically to press on with implementing the crazy policies he has promised, that doesn’t mean he’ll do everything he’s said he’ll do to the full extent that he’s said. For instance, why would he tax all imports of goods and services when it’s manufactures he’s really on about? Also, not everything he tries to do will be done in next to no time.

We know the man. He’s nothing if not capricious. Dead keen one minute, moved on the next. And as someone who sees himself as the great dealmaker, he’s highly transactional. A 20 per cent tariff may be just the list price before the bargaining starts. ANZ Bank economists say the average tariff on Chinese goods will go from 13 per cent to 22 per cent, not 60 per cent.

The truth is that we’re too small to figure largely in Trump’s thinking. And why kick the US lapdog we’ve made ourselves?

Trump has made much of his promise to deport the many millions of undocumented immigrants. Most of these people are doing jobs Americans don’t want to do. Getting rid of them would reduce the size of the economy while increasing inflation as employers offer higher wages to attract other people to unattractive jobs.

But not to worry. It’s hard to see just how he’d round up all these people without calling out the military. It’s much easier to see him limiting himself to trying harder to stop more people crossing the Mexican border. In this case, the reduction in the economy and the rise in costs would be smaller.

So far, his policies on tariffs and immigration seem likely to increase America’s rate of inflation while reducing its economic activity. Great idea. But then we come to his promises for big tax cuts.

He says he wants to cut the rate of company tax and “extend” his 2017 personal income tax cuts, which greatly favoured the high-income earners more likely to have been too smart to have voted for him.

In principle, you’d expect tax cuts to be expansionary and thus possibly inflationary. But note this: according to a strange American custom, the personal tax cuts enacted in 2017 are due to expire at the end of next year.

So extending them means not that everyone gets a tax cut, but everyone avoids a tax increase. The troops’ after-tax income is unchanged. But, of course, the budget deficit is now worse than previously projected.

One thing we can be sure of is that Trump’s not a man to worry about deficits and debt. Republican congresspeople do have a history of worrying about such matters – but only when those irresponsible Democrats are in charge.

The Yanks do have many of the smartest academic economists in the world and, as the US government’s annual interest payments get to be bigger than its spending on defence, they’re starting to wonder how long America’s fiscal insouciance can continue before something goes wrong. But the reckoning is unlikely to come in the next four years.

All told, it does seem that Trump’s policies will cause America’s inflation and interest rates to be higher than they would have been had Kamala Harris won the presidency. But what doesn’t follow is that this will have much effect on our inflation and interest rates, and on our Reserve Bank’s decision about when to start cutting rates to prevent us having an accidental recession.

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How we measure recessions is wrong. There's a better way to do it

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

Of all the scary words in economics, recession is probably among the worst. Not just because of the bad times we link it with, but because of the way it’s measured.

What if I told you the way we measure recession is wrong? Or at least that we need to give it a rethink?

The widely used rule for a recession is “two consecutive quarters of negative economic growth”. That means two sets of back-to-back periods (of three months each) where gross domestic product – or GDP: the amount of goods and services that we’re producing and selling – shrinks.

Under that definition, Australia has been in a recession only once since 1991, and that was shortly after the pandemic and its lockdowns hit.

The idea is this: if we’re making and buying less, that must mean we’re having a hard time. And if it happens for six months, that must mean we’re becoming really worse off!

Here’s the thing, though. GDP is already a flawed measure at the best of times. Sure, it can give us an indication of how much we’re pumping out on the assembly line or purchasing at the checkout. But that doesn’t tell us anything about other measures of our wellbeing: environmental damage, our health or education outcomes.

It also doesn’t tell us how growth is shared: an expanding economy doesn’t mean everyone is getting better off. All or most of it could just be flowing to the already well-off.

Right now, as much as a lot of us feel worse off, we’re technically not in a recession. Looking purely at GDP, the Australian economy has managed to tread water.

In the September quarter (and the one before that, and the one before that), GDP grew by a tiny 0.2 per cent – but it was still above zero: close to a recession, but no cigar.

It helps if we split that figure up by population. When we consider the boom in our population over the past couple of years, we have, indeed, gone backwards. For the past year and a half, GDP growth per person has consistently fallen every quarter.

But to better measure and identify recessions, which we tend to see as a signal for economic pain, we should look to the labour market.

Why? Because that’s where most of the impact of a recession is felt: think about job losses and how hard it is to find a job when the economy is tanking, as well as the impact our jobs have on our lives.

Over the past year, our biggest banks have said our strong labour market has helped people muddle through the cost-of-living crisis. We can change our spending habits to keep up with mortgage repayments or work extra hours to keep up with our rent. It’s not fun, but it’s possible.

Lose your job, though, and life is much harder. It can put people under serious financial stress and damage their mental health.

Enter American economist Dr Claudia Sahm. The tool she developed – called the “Sahm rule” – helps to warn when an economy is entering a recession. It has missed the mark only twice in the past 11 US recessions.

The Sahm formula looks at monthly unemployment data to track how quickly the national unemployment rate has risen compared to the past year. Specifically, it compares the current three-month moving average of the national unemployment rate with the lowest value it has hit in the previous 12 months.

If the current rate is at least 0.5 percentage points higher than the lowest point in the previous year, it means we’re in the early stages of a recession. Measures such as the Sahm rule help us identify weaknesses in our economy and the risk of a recession early. That’s because jobs data is more frequently reported than GDP.

Sahm says changes in the labour market are crucial in understanding the state of the economy.

“If you were put on a desert island and could only have one variable to say what’s going on in the US economy, unemployment is the one you want,” she says. “It really says a lot about whether we’re in good times or bad.”

Sahm’s formula came about in 2019 while she was searching for a better way to fight the next recession. “I had just watched for a decade how hard the Great Recession was on families,” she says. “The goal was to have something people could understand that was very simple, easy to track and really accurate. Your best shot at fighting a recession is to move quickly.”

According to Sahm’s rule, Australia has been in the early stages of a recession for at least one month this year (although the Reserve Bank has argued the Sahm rule should be triggered at 0.75 per cent rather than 0.5 per cent).

When developing the rule, Sahm says she knew from the beginning that examining unemployment would be key. “I already knew, just from my work experience, even small increases in the unemployment rate are a bad sign,” she says.

Australia’s labour market has been remarkably resilient, with the most recent unemployment rate in September coming in at a historically low 4.1 per cent. But we’ve been in – or close to – the danger zone for the past few months.

Why does this matter? Getting on the front foot is important, especially for policymakers such as the government and central banks, to limit the fallout from an economic slowdown.

Independent economist Saul Eslake has long believed the common definition of a recession is flawed. He points to the two consecutive quarters of negative GDP growth in Australia in 1977: “Nobody thinks that was a recession,” he says.

On the other hand, Australia didn’t see two consecutive quarters of negative GDP growth during either the global financial crisis or the tech wreck in the early 2000s. But Eslake says Australia arguably faced minor recessions during both those periods.

His own metric for a recession, like Sahm’s, focuses on the labour market. He says a recession should be when unemployment rises by more than 1.5 percentage points in 12 months.

“The biggest impact of a recession is on those who lose their jobs or take a long time to find them,” he says.

“There’s evidence that people who lose their jobs during a recession, or enter the workforce as school-leavers or university graduates during a recession, take longer than normal to find a job.”

This then has a “scarring” effect. Those who lose their jobs or have difficulty finding one tend to end up earning less over the rest of their working lives.

The better we are at identifying a recession, the better we can be at protecting jobs and longer-term livelihoods.

Of course, it may not be as simple as just monitoring the jobs market. In the US, for example, the National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) considers a range of measures beyond GDP – including personal income, employment, wholesale and retail sales – when deciding whether to declare a US recession.

And even Sahm says her rule has limitations, especially as we’ve seen big changes in the supply of labour across many countries.

“This particular economic cycle has challenged simplicity in a way that means these simple rules need some kind of extra check,” she says.

But whether we go with a measure that is simpler than the NBER gauge, more complex than the Sahm rule, or timelier than GDP, it’s clear the focus needs to be more on jobs.

If there’s one job our economic leaders have, it’s to keep us, as much as possible, in ours.

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You can blame Albanese for all our woes - except the cost of living

I try not to be a pollie basher – we get the politicians we deserve – but I can’t remember a time when I’ve been more disillusioned and disheartened by the performance of both major parties. It’s fair to criticise them on every topic except the one that obsesses us: the cost-of-living crisis.

Let’s start with that. For several years, we had prices rising at a rate that was actually lower than the Reserve Bank and economists regarded as healthy: less than 2 per cent a year. But then, in the months before the federal election in May 2022, at which Scott Morrison and crew were tossed out, prices took off.

By the end of that year, consumer prices had risen by almost 8 per cent. As you remember, the Reserve Bank began trying to get inflation back under control the only, crude way it knows: to discourage households from spending so much by using higher interest rates – particularly on home loans – to leave us with less to spend on other things.

Why did the Reserve Bank start raising rates during the election campaign, rather than waiting until it was over? Because it foresaw that a change of government was likely and didn’t want anyone getting the idea that it was the new government that had caused the problem.

By the same token, it’s hard to blame the surge in prices on the Morrison government. Prices took off in all the rich economies for much the same reasons. First, because the pandemic caused major disruption to supply of many goods, and because Russia’s attack on Ukraine disrupted world gas and oil markets.

But second, because the efforts to prop the economy up during the lockdowns – by slashing interest rates almost to zero, and the shedloads of government spending on the JobKeeper scheme, the temporary doubling of unemployment benefits, and on many other things – proved to be wildly excessive. When people started spending all that extra money, demand for goods and services grew faster than businesses’ ability to supply them, so they whacked up their prices.

You could blame this gross miscalculation on Morrison & Co – except that it was the first pandemic the world had seen in a century, the medicos had no idea how bad it would be or how long it would take to develop a vaccine, and like all governments everywhere, our government and its econocrats decided it would be safer to do too much than too little.

Since then, the passing of the international supply disruptions and the Reserve Bank’s many interest-rate increases have succeeded in getting the rate of price increase down a long way. But the bank won’t start cutting interest rates until it’s convinced our return to the 2 to 3 per cent inflation target zone will last.

Despite the unceasing criticism of a largely partisan news media, the Albanese government’s part in helping get inflation back under control has been as good as it’s reasonable to expect.

One reason it’s taking so long is that both the government and the Reserve Bank have been trying to avoid causing a huge rise in unemployment, and in this, they’ve been spectacularly successful. The proportion of the working-age population with jobs is at a record high.

So if it’s not fair to blame Albanese and his ministers for the cost-of-living crisis, why am I so critical and disapproving of the government – not to mention the opposition?

Because on almost every other matter Albanese has touched, he’s done far less than he should have. And in their time on the opposition benches, the Liberals and their Coalition partners have laboured mightily to make themselves more extreme and less electable.

As always, we turned to a new government in 2022 full of hope that it would make a much better fist of dealing with our many problems. And it’s always been true that Albanese and his people knew what needed doing. It’s just that, somewhere along the line, he seems to have lost his bottle.

He’s done a bit to tackle each of our big problems, but with one exception, he’s stopped short of doing nearly enough. Everything gets a lick and a promise.

The one exception has been the government’s significant efforts to reduce job insecurity – to improve the wages and conditions of less-skilled workers – for which we can thank the unions. Under the Labor Party’s constitution, the union movement holds a mortgage over the party and its members of parliament.

On everything else, Albanese seems to live in fear of annoying some interest group somewhere. So he always does something, but never enough. When business and other interest groups lobby the government privately to tone down its planned changes, he invariably obliges.

You can see this in the government’s changes to gambling advertising, Medicare bulk-billing, the adequate taxation of mining and gas, the National Anti-Corruption Commission (no public hearings), the housing crisis, vocational education and training, aged care and so forth.

But on no issue has Albanese failed so badly as on the one most vital to our future: climate change. Sure, he’s shored up the Coalition government’s “safeguard mechanism” and legislated the target of reducing emissions by 43 per cent by 2030. At the same time, however, he’s acted to secure the future of natural gas extraction and authorised expansion of three big coal mines.

It’s as though he’s taking an each-way bet. He seems desperate to stay in office, but has no great plans to govern effectively.

Meanwhile, under Peter Dutton, the Liberals and their pro-mining National Party colleagues have used their time in opposition to make themselves negative, divisive and utterly unworthy to take over from a weak government. Their one substantive policy is to be off with the nuclear fairies.

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We owe more than we realise to our best econocrats

If you believe, as all of us do, that governments need to be accountable to the voters who elect them, then someone has to care about the way those governments account for all the money they raise in taxes and charges, plus all the money they borrow. Governments spend this money on myriad services they provide and the huge array of infrastructure they build for us, ranging from police stations to grand spaghetti junctions.

Our politicians are meant to care about how – and how well – money is raised and spent, but the control of all that money and the recording of where it comes from and goes to is the responsibility of bureaucrats in federal and state treasuries and finance departments, not forgetting the central bank.

The budgets and financial statements they produce are intended to account publicly for all the money that passes through the governments’ hands, but the econocrats know that the system of accounting must also help ensure that governments and their departments and agencies are well managed. That the money they spend actually achieves its intended objectives, with little waste.

Whereas political journalists spend much of their time talking to the politicians we read about, as an economic journalist, I spend most time talking to the technocrats standing in the shadows behind them.

The pollies are never keen for the econocrats to take much of the media limelight, and that usually suits the bureaucrats fine. But while they all work hard in the voters’ interests, some of them do an outstanding job in protecting and advancing those interests.

One such person was Percy Allan, who died at 78 last month. He was secretary of the NSW Treasury for about 12 years under three premiers – Labor’s Neville Wran, the Liberals’ Nick Greiner and Labor’s Bob Carr. Allan was a contact of mine who later became a friend.

You may think of economists and accountants as being as boring as the work they do. But that’s not the way they think of themselves, and no one who knew Allan ever thought of him as dull.

As we were reminded during the pandemic, whereas the federal government raises most of the taxation, it’s the state governments that are responsible for delivering most of the government services we rely on.

The six states and two territories have much autonomy. They compete against and copy each other. But usually, it’s the biggest states, NSW and Victoria, that initiate change.

If you want boring, try this: Allan led the way in getting federal and state governments to adopt the accounting profession’s general accounting principles and also the public sector’s budget reporting and financial statistics standards.

It helps make governments’ budgets and financial statements more accountable and transparent if all governments follow the same set of rules, rather than them each doing things their own way. And for the rules to make sense.

Governments provide many figures for publication by the Australian Bureau of Statistics. It helps if those figures are calculated on the same, consistent basis, and if government figures fit with all the statistics provided to the bureau by the private sector.

Similarly, it helps if all the world’s governments use the same internationally agreed standards laid down by the International Monetary Fund and the United Nations Statistical Commission.

Private businesses have long been required to report their annual profit or loss, and their balance sheet of assets and liabilities on the last day of the year, on an “accrual” basis. That is, to make a great effort to ensure that the income reported for a particular period was earned during that period.

Likewise, to ensure the expenses reported for the period didn’t relate to other periods. Accountants call this making sure the income and expenses reported for a period actually “match”.

If that sounds obvious, it wasn’t the way federal and state government budgets and financial statements were prepared until Allan and others led the way in conforming to private sector and international accounting and statistical standards.

Until then, federal and state budgets and financial statements were calculated on a “cash” rather than accrual basis. Revenue was any money that hit the government’s bank account during the period, even if some of the money was people paying last year’s tax late or others paying next year’s early. Similarly, all money that left the government’s bank account during the year was counted regardless of the year to which it applied.

Has the penny dropped yet? Compared to the cash basis, the accrual basis makes it much harder for the company or the government to fudge their annual figures by switching incomings and outgoings between years.

Now get this. The federal government has used accrual accounting since the start of this century. But to this day, federal budget documents are written in a confusing mixture of the two accounting languages – cash and accrual. The budget deficit or surplus the treasurer tells us about is always the “underlying cash” balance.

Treasury will tell you cash is the more appropriate basis from a macroeconomic perspective. That is, when you want to judge the budget’s effect on the economy, or the economy’s effect on the budget.

Maybe. But what’s undeniably true is that, unlike the states, the feds’ retention of the cash basis makes it a lot easier for the government of the day to engage in creative accounting – which it often does.

Another reform Allan was proud of was the “corporatisation” of various businesses the state government owns: the railways, the buses, water and sewerage, electricity generation and distribution, the ports and so forth.

Allan wanted all government-owned businesses to run, and be accounted for, as though they were commercial undertakings. When so many of them are natural monopolies, this has its dangers.

But when state-owned businesses aren’t run like businesses, they’ll tend to be run for the convenience of employees rather than customers, with overstaffing and other wastefulness.

So, better to have transparent accounting, leading to greater efficiency and higher profits going back to the government, to be spent on additional services without the need for higher taxes.

Linked to this was Allan’s role, during the term of the reforming Greiner government, in setting up the NSW Independent Pricing and Regulatory Tribunal to ensure the prices charged by government-owned businesses rose by no more than could be justified.

But one of Allan’s greatest achievements was achieved long after he’d left NSW Treasury. He founded and ran the Evidence Based Policy Research Project, in which a right-leaning and a left-leaning think tank have been commissioned to examine more than 100 federal or state bills to assess whether they stack up.

Most have been found not to. Allan had a big win when the NSW upper house passed a standing order that all government bills answer a public interest questionnaire. The project has been taken over by the Susan McKinnon Foundation.

My mate Percy Allan devoted his life to trying to make the world work better. We all owe him thanks.

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How weak competition forces up food prices along the supply chain

By Millie Muroi, Economics Writer

The first most of us see of our groceries is the end product – after all the planting, growing, shipping and packaging has happened. So when we’re hit with a big bill at the checkout, it’s easy to blame supermarkets for the expensive beef, carrot or turnip that ends up on our forks.

We know Coles and Woolies have received raps on their knuckles for their behaviour recently, including alleged false discounts to lure in customers. But it’s not just customers or the competition watchdog dishing out their disdain. And it’s far from just the supermarkets that have pointed questions to answer.

Dr Andrew Leigh, former economics professor and now assistant minister for competition and treasury, has had a deep-dive into the topic. It turns out the list of possible culprits when it comes to the costly lack of competition is longer than just the supermarkets – and it’s our farmers bearing the brunt of it.

Basically, while our household budgets are getting pushed by pricier produce, farmers are getting squeezed. They’re not just facing higher prices when it comes to key ingredients such as fertiliser and machinery, but also higher costs and unfair terms once their produce is ready to be processed, shipped off and sold.

How do we know this? There are a few key signs.

Concentration is one. “Industries with plenty of competitors tend to deliver better prices, more choices and stronger productivity growth,” Leigh said in a speech this week.

The fewer players there are in a market, the less competitive it tends to be. Less competition usually means lower wages, less choice for consumers and less innovation, with dominant businesses able to charge higher prices than they might otherwise be able to, since they don’t have to worry so much about being undercut or fighting to win over customers with bargains.

Analysis by economic research institute e61 last year found all Australian industries were more concentrated than those in the US, especially in mining, finance and utilities, in which the top four firms have more than 60 per cent market share.

Generally, we see a market as “concentrated” if the biggest four firms control one-third or more of it. In 2016, Leigh and his colleague Adam Triggs found more than half of industries in the Australian economy were concentrated markets. Since then, concentration in Australia has become worse.

Farming, though, is surprisingly competitive – at least for most commodities. So why are we still seeing higher prices at the check-out?

Part of it is thanks to supply chain issues, especially during the pandemic, which meant we couldn’t get as many materials and produce from overseas, reducing supply and driving up prices. Then there’s always the temperamental weather, which can dramatically cut harvests.

But it’s a growing domestic issue which is causing headaches for farmers.

Before anything even springs out of the ground or fattens up in a paddock, farmers are dealt a tricky hand. The largest four fertiliser companies, for example, control nearly two-thirds of the market and the top four hardware suppliers control roughly half of the market, according to Leigh’s analysis of data from IBIS World.

From high-tech harvesters to tractors and seeding equipment, machinery is a big cost paid by farmers. That means when there’s a lack of options and farmers aren’t able to shop around as much, their hip-pockets – and ours – are worse off.

If you think that lack of choice is bad, Leigh says it’s even worse when farmers go to repair and service their equipment.

Farming machinery makers have a lot of power – even more than carmakers – thanks to warranties forcing farmers to go to a specific dealer for servicing, and tech restrictions holding farmers back from accessing the parts, manuals and diagnostic software they need to make repairs themselves.

Then there are seeds. From these little things, big costs can grow. One paper from the US Department of Agriculture’s Economic Research Service in 2023 found the seed sector had become more concentrated. Between 1990 and 2020, the average seed price soared 270 per cent, and 463 per cent for genetically modified types.

The huge price increase partly accounts for the fact seeds have become better – for example, GMO varieties which have made farming more productive. But as Leigh points out, “there are not many other industries where the price of a key input has grown five-fold in 30 years.”

But that’s not all. Once the cattle has been raised or the blueberries grown, farmers have little choice or bargaining power when it comes to processing, transporting and selling produce.

When it comes to slaughtering cattle, the top five Australian processors accounted for about 57 per cent of the market in 2017, meaning cattle farmers had little choice in the prices and options they accepted. For fruit and vegetable processing, the biggest four companies hold about one-third of the market.

When the produce is ready to be sent out, farmers have even less choice. Two companies – ANL and Maersk – account for 85 per cent of the shipping freight industry in Australia, and four companies control 64 per cent of the market if farmers want to send things via rail.

Farmers, especially those who produce at a smaller scale, often become the “meat in a market concentration sandwich”. 

Farmers, especially those who produce at a smaller scale, often become the “meat in a market concentration sandwich”. Credit:Louise Kennerley

As Leigh points out, the risk of spoilage further limits viable options available to farmers.

Then there’s the supermarket sector, where Coles and Woolies control about two-thirds of the market – a higher share than every OECD country except New Zealand and Norway.

Concentration at all these points means farmers are at greater risk of facing power imbalances, which show up in things such as unfair contracts, where terms are obviously lopsided. Bigger players in these concentrated industries can generally muscle in with terms which are worse for farmers, such as restricting them from raising issues or selling things at unfairly cheap prices.

All of this not only puts pressure on farmers, but can reduce their ability and incentive to invest in improving their product and the way they do things.

As Leigh puts it, farmers, especially those who produce at a smaller scale, often become the “meat in a market concentration sandwich”.

There’s no easy fix in all this, but preventing too many mergers, where companies combine and gobble each other up to become even bigger, is key to promoting competition.

Of course, bigger companies are not always worse. Their scale can allow them to do things more cheaply. But too little competition can lead to pumped-up prices which flow all the way through from more expensive seeds and fertiliser to the prices charged by supermarkets.

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