The economy doesn’t work well without good public servants

You’d hope that one of the big things Scott Morrison learnt in 2020 was to have more respect and trust in his public servants. After all, they must get much of the credit for helping him – and the premiers – respond to the pandemic far more successfully than most other rich countries. What Morrison did right was take their advice.

Morrison began his time as Prime Minister by making his disrespect and distrust of public servants crystal clear. He was blunt in telling them he didn’t need their advice on policy matters, just their full cooperation in faithfully implementing the decisions he and the Cabinet made.

The Coalition has continued its Labor predecessor’s practice of imposing annual “efficiency dividends” – fixed percentage cuts in the money allocated to pay public servants’ wages and admin costs – which by now amount to annual rounds of redundancies, with those more senior public servants with policy experience being the ones most likely to get the heave-ho.

This has robbed the public service – and its political masters – of much benefit from its institutional memory of what works and what doesn’t. The government prefers to get its advice from the young people with political ambitions employed to help in ministers’ offices.

These young punks act as intermediaries between the minister and his department. Their great attraction is their loyalty to the party. They tend to be a lot stronger on political tactics than policy detail.

In a quite wasteful way, when the government has felt the need for advice on tricky policy matters it now pays top dollar for a report from one of the big four accounting firms busy turning themselves into management consultants (which is more lucrative).

Where does a bunch of auditors and tax agents find the expertise to advise on quite specialised issues of public policy? They hire – at much higher salaries - some of the redundant public servants who know all there is to know on particular topics.

Despite the expense to taxpayers, one reason the government likes to pay outsiders for advice is that, like all profit-making businesses, the consultants make sure they tell their paying customers what they want to hear, not necessarily what they need to be told.

By now, most big businesses have learnt it’s smarter to keep their core functions and expertise in-house, but the Liberals prefer to pay outsiders because they neither trust public servants nor like them. They don’t like them because they see them as members of the Labor “public” tribe, not their own Liberal “private” tribe. Private good; public bad.

The Libs don’t trust public servants for same reason: how could supporters of their rival tribe give them honest, helpful advice? Plus a bit of paranoia. Whenever Labor’s in office, the Libs sit fuming in opposition, watching the public servants working hard to help the government pursue its policy preferences and keep it out of trouble, and conclude the shiny-bums are doing it because of their partisan sympathies.

The Libs’ paranoid tribalism blinds them to the plain truth that the public service takes professional pride in wholeheartedly supporting the government of the day, while suppressing their personal political preferences.

In recent times, much of the Libs’ hostility towards public servants stems from John Howard. It was Howard – aped by Tony Abbott – who instituted the practice of beginning their term in office by sacking a bunch of department heads considered to be Labor-sympathisers (or in Abbott’s case, to be so hopeless they actually believed all that Labor bulldust about climate change).

This was retaliation, but also a knowing attempt to “encourage the others”. And it’s worked well in discouraging senior bureaucrats from giving ministers advice they don’t want to hear. But in a leader, surrounding yourself with yes-persons is a sign of weakness. If such a minister stuffs up, don’t be surprised.

You couldn’t have picked a crisis more likely to bust the Libs out of their I-don’t-need-any-advice hang-up than the pandemic. There’s no recent precedent and it’s full of technicalities. Anyway, who thinks they’re smart enough to tell a doctor they’re wrong?

By contrast, every Liberal pollie thinks they know at least as much, and probably more, about the economy as any economist. Economics is much more mixed up with politics than are the principles of human health.

But get this: Morrison wouldn’t have dared to accept the medicos’ advice to lock down the economy without Treasury’s assurance that it could throw together the measures – particularly JobKeeper and the JobSeeker supplement – that would hold most of the show together until the economy could be unlocked. As has happened. Treasury is back in the good books.

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Lure of globalisation battles our instinctive tribalism

What has caused the rise in populism that's threatening the mainstream political parties around the developed world, including here?

Economists tend to explain it essentially in economic terms – the bottom has been given a rough deal for years, and finally is rising up – but other scholars see it much more in social and cultural terms: people objecting to being overrun by incomers. Immigrants, asylum seekers, Mexicans, Muslims, Asians.

In his new book for the Lowy Institute, Choosing Openness, Parliament's most accomplished economist, Dr Andrew Leigh, also Labor's shadow assistant treasurer, readily acknowledges the role of xenophobia in explaining why "openness makes us uncomfortable".

He sees our fear of foreigners as part of our evolutionary make-up, and I don't doubt he's right.

Drawing on the work of British anthropologist Robin Dunbar, he argues that "for most of history, humans lived in groups of about 150 people" – a figure known as "Dunbar's number".

Such groups were big enough for some specialisation, but small enough for everyone to know and trust everyone else. People were born, mated, hunted and died within their small community.

"In this environment, there were two kinds of people: those in your tribe and those not in your tribe," Leigh says.

"It made sense to take care of your tribal members. You shared a lifelong relationship with them. Thanks to inbreeding, the rest of the tribe probably looked a lot like you and you certainly all dressed alike.

"Conversely, outsiders were likely to look a bit different and were probably dangerous. While some groups traded, killing was extremely common."

One in seven people in these kinds of societies met their end as a result of violence by another person, he says.

For about 99 per cent of the time that homo sapiens have been on the planet, most of us have lived in small groups. As a species, that is what we evolved to do.

"Each of us is here today because our primitive ancestors were skilled at either fighting outsiders or avoiding conflict. The rule that 'different equals dangerous' kept our forebears alive."

But while hunkering down in the face of difference might have been a useful evolutionary strategy in the past, the growth of cities changed the equation, Leigh argues.

Cities are bound together by not by familial relationships, but by rules and norms of acceptable behaviour.

For hundreds of years, the most productive cities have been those that welcome visitors. In a primitive tribe, a dislike of difference can keep you alive. In a city, it's likely to just make you poorer.

"In this sense, a distrust of diversity is a bit like wisdom teeth – an evolutionary vestige that once helped us grind up plants, but now are more likely to take us on a trip to the dentist's chair."

Today's backlash against openness, Leigh argues, shows how humans' natural discomfort with difference can be exploited for political gain.

In a seminal study of the politics of hatred, the Harvard authority on urban economics Edward Glaeser noted that the key to building a powerful coalition around hate is to focus voters' anger on an "out group" that is sufficiently large to be taken seriously as a threat, but too small to be electorally decisive.

Remind you of any redheads you know?

So Leigh says that populism – the idea that politics is a conflict between the pure mass of people and a small vile elite – is the product of four main forces.

First, slow growth in living standards when the proceeds of economic growth haven't been shared.

"In societies where prosperity is broadly shared, a cosmopolitan outlook steadily replaces traditional values of religion, deference to authority, and an exclusive focus on the security of our family and tribe," he says.

Second, populism is fostered by the pace at which society and technology are changing. Voters may turn to extreme politics as a way of saying "Stop the world – I want to get off."

Third, populism has benefited from canny political entrepreneurs – Duterte, Erdogan, Trump – able to generate massive free media coverage by attacking rivals and breaking taboos.

Fourth, populism has grown because of a loss of faith in mainstream centrist parties. (Their ever-declining standards of behaviour would have nothing to do with this, of course.)

In the late 1960s, seven out of 10 Australians said they always voted for the same party. Today, the share of party loyalists is down to four in 10.

Seems to me that, though much of the problem is manifest in fear of foreigners, the best way to strengthen cosmopolitan values is to ensure the benefits of globalisation and technological change are shared more fairly.

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