The economy is just the means to an end. So, is it working?

We spend a lot of time hearing, reading and arguing about The Economy, and we’ll be doing a lot more of all that after we’ve seen Tuesday night’s federal budget.

But while we’re waiting, let’s take a moment to make sure we know what we’re talking about. What’s the economy for? How does it work? What does it do? Who owns it? Who runs it?

Why am I suddenly so deep and meaningful? Because Dr Shane Oliver, AMP’s chief economist, has written a note saying the economy doesn’t seem to be giving us what we want.

As individuals, it’s easy to think of the economy as something that’s outside ourselves, something that does things to us, over which we have little control.

As individuals, that’s true. But if you take us altogether, it’s not true. Why not? Because if you took all the people out of the economy, there wouldn’t be an economy. What’s more, you wouldn’t need one.

You’d be left with a lot of homes and other buildings, roads, cars and machines that had been abandoned, were just sitting there and so were worthless.

So, in that sense, the economy belongs to all of us because it is us. It’s most of us getting up each morning, going to work and earning a living, and all of us spending what’s been earnt.

Most of us have paid work, some of us do unpaid work, while some of us are still getting an education and others are too old or sick to work. But all of us consume.

So don’t think of the economy as high finance beyond your understanding. It’s actually as basic as you can get. This is why it’s important to remember the economy is just a means to an end.

At its most elemental, the end we’re seeking is for the economy to provide us with food, clothing and shelter, plus a few luxuries. But all of us want to do more than barely subsist. We want our lives to bring us enjoyment.

Economists say we want all our earning and spending to bring us “utility”. A better word would be satisfaction. But it’s no stretch to say what we want from our lives is happiness. And it’s on happiness that Oliver finds we aren’t doing as well as we should be.

All this is why the best way to think about the economy is that it belongs to all of us. Legally, however, most of the capital – whether physical or financial – is owned by companies, big and small. So most of us are employed by companies.

Where does government fit in? Apart from employing a lot of workers, it owns most of the roads and other public infrastructure. It makes the laws that limit what businesses (and the rest of us) are permitted to do and the way we do it.

Governments discourage some business activities and – as we’ve seen with the Albanese government’s recent announcements – seek to encourage others.

But the central bank also uses its control over short-term interest rates to “manage” the strength of the private sector’s total demand for goods and services, encouraging it when unemployment is high, and – as now – discouraging it when inflation is high.

As well, the federal government uses its budget – government spending on one side, taxes on the other – to discourage or encourage private demand. Hence, all the fuss next week.

But how are we, and other rich countries, going in our efforts to use our economic activity – earning and spending – to keep us happy and getting happier? Not well, according to Oliver’s research.

For Australia, he finds that, though our real annual gross domestic product per person has increased fairly steadily over the past 20 years, the average score we give ourselves on our satisfaction with our lives (as surveyed by the World Happiness Report) has actually been falling over the same period.

It’s a similar story for the United States, where its real GDP per person has risen steadily since 1946, while the proportion of Americans describing themselves as “very happy” has fallen slowly over most of that period.

In particular, he finds that younger people in the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand are the least happy age group. This is a major change from 20 years ago.

Why is this happening? We can all have our own theories, but I think the big mistake many of us – and certainly, most economists – make is to focus on improving our material standard of living: using our increasing income to buy bigger and better things. Homes, cars, smartphones, whatever.

Trouble is, our materialism puts us on a “hedonic treadmill”. We think buying a bit more stuff will make us happier and, at first, it does. But pretty soon the thrill wears off – we get used to our higher standard of living – and tell ourselves it’s actually the next new thing that will make us happy.

Many people use their pursuit of promotions and higher income to make them happier by raising their social status. But this, too, is a step up you can get used to. And, in any case, it’s a zero-sum game. If passing you on the status ladder makes me happier, why won’t being passed by me make you less happy?

Actually, as I explained in a book I wrote some years back, there’s a lot of evidence that what’s better at giving us lasting satisfaction is the quality of our relationships with partners, family and friends. Beats just buying more stuff or getting a promotion.

And while it’s true that the economy, and our small role in it, can be seen as just a means to an end, it turns out that “extrinsic” benefits – such as wanting to earn money because of the nice things it buys – aren’t as satisfying as “intrinsic” benefits: such as finding a job you enjoy doing, not just do for the money it brings.

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When politicians talk of 'security', be on your guard

I doubt if you’re waiting with bated breath for next Tuesday night’s federal budget but, since it’s the big set-piece event of my year, I’ve started limbering up. I’ve set my bulldust detector to ping every time I see or hear the word “security”. May I suggest you do the same?

We’ve been hearing a lot of that word lately, particularly from Anthony Albanese and his treasurer, Jim Chalmers. It comes with many adjectives – energy security, food security and, of course, national security – and with many spooky euphemisms: risk, strategic, sensitive, critical and sovereign, not to mention the spookiest of them all, terrorism.

In Albanese’s landmark speech on A Future Made in Australia, he assured us that “strategic competition is a fact of life”. “Nations are drawing an explicit link between economic security and national security,” he told us.

“We must recognise there is a new and widespread willingness to make economic interventions on the basis of national interest and national sovereignty,” he said. His government would be guided by three principles, the second of which was that “we need to be more assertive in capitalising on our comparative advantages and building on sovereign capability in areas of national interest”.

His government would be “securing greater sovereignty over our resources and critical minerals”.

Indeed so. When Chalmers announced the government’s new foreign investment rules last week, they seemed to be all about security.

“By providing more clarity around sensitive sectors and assets,” Chalmers said, “our reforms will give businesses and investors greater certainty while safeguarding our national security.

“National security threats are increasing due to intensifying geopolitical competition and risks to Australia’s national interests from foreign investment have evolved at the same time as competition for global capital is becoming more intense.”

The reforms to our foreign investment rules would “boost economic prosperity and productivity, while strengthening our ability to protect the national interest in an increasingly complex economic and geostrategic environment.

“We are dedicating more resources to screening foreign investment in critical infrastructure, critical minerals, critical technology, those that involve sensitive data sets, and investment in close proximity to defence sites, to ensure that all risks are identified, understood and can be managed – balancing economic benefits and security risks,” Chalmers said.

And a bolstered foreign investment compliance team will use the minister’s “call-in power” to review investments that come to pose a national security concern.

My goodness. If you were the excitable type (which I’m not), you could wonder whether the economy’s being put on a war footing. Or maybe it’s that Treasury’s been taken over by Defence and Foreign Affairs. Or ASIO.

Of course, it may be that the government and its spooks know something terrible they’re not telling us. Perhaps some foreign enemy is, as we speak, preparing to do us in.

But if you’ve spent years studying the behaviour of politicians (which I have), you wonder if it’s something less life-threatening and more self-serving. Is there an election coming up, for instance? Do voters have complaints about the economy that you’d like to draw attention away from?

The independent economist Saul Eslake says that, as the government seeks to use “national security” and “economic security” as a rationale for a major shift in economic policy, two things concern him deeply.

First, the tendency to use “security” as a justification for a policy initiative opens the door to interventions that are, in the infamous phrase of former Treasury secretary Dr Ken Henry, “frankly, bad”. Decisions that, without the “security” label, wouldn’t pass muster.

Second, grounding a policy decision in “security” gives politicians an excuse to shut down any questioning of the justification for that decision.

“When governments say something is a matter of ‘national security’, they usually refuse to say why it is; that it would be wrong to allow grubby considerations of ‘cost and benefit’ to interfere with their judgments about ‘security’, or even that it is borderline unpatriotic to question a decision made on ‘security’ grounds,” Eslake says.

It’s not the first time Eslake has expressed such concerns. Here’s a quote from an article he wrote in this august organ in late 2011.

“If you want a government to do something that entitles you to some form of protection from competition (especially overseas competition), some kind of subsidy or tax break, or some other privilege not enjoyed by ordinary folk, but you know that your proposal wouldn’t pass any kind of rigorous, independent, arms-length scrutiny ... then your best chance of getting what you want is to succeed in portraying it as being somehow essential in order to enhance some form of ‘security’,” he wrote.

Sometimes I even wonder how AUKUS – the wisdom of which many defence experts quietly doubt – came about. How much of it was the Americans’ idea, and how much was ours?

What we do know is that, without any prior debate, Scott Morrison suddenly unveiled it as a fait accompli and great coup. Had Labor opposed it, we’d have been straight into a khaki election.

But Labor accepted it without demur and the costs or benefits we’ll discover over the next decade or two.

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Productivity isn't working, so why not try being more ethical?

Economists and business councils have been telling us for years that we must improve our productivity if we want to be more prosperous but, so far, they’ve had little success. Surely, there’s something else we could try?

As we’ll see, it’s something for Treasurer Jim Chalmers to ponder as he puts the finishing touches to next Tuesday’s budget.

Economists have many strengths, but they don’t win many prizes for thinking outside the box. Productivity is the obvious way to increase our prosperity but, despite all the admonition, for years it’s been hard to achieve, both here and in the other rich economies. It’s clear there’s a lot economists don’t know about how productivity is improved.

So, is there nothing else we could do to improve the way the economy works and the satisfaction it brings us? Of course there is – particularly when you remember this isn’t just about dollars and cents. Don’t you think life would be better if we could do all our earning and spending in an economy that generated less angst?

I’m indebted to Dr Simon Longstaff of the Ethics Centre for reminding me that behaving more ethically would be a good way to get better results from the economy.

Huh? How does that work? Let me tell you.

Ethics is a set of beliefs about the right way for people and organisations to behave, particularly in their relations with other people. Often, the right thing for us to do in particular circumstances is obvious.

It’s obvious, for example, that we should (almost) always obey the law. It’s just that obeying the law isn’t always convenient or inexpensive. And sometimes when our own interests are top of mind, it’s hard to see what’s obvious to everyone else.

In any case, because differing groups of people have differing beliefs and motives and objectives, ethical dilemmas – deciding what’s the right thing to do in all the circumstances – are common, particularly in business. That’s why we have a new profession of ethicists offering advice to organisations, of which Longstaff is the most prominent.

But what’s that got to do with the economy?

Well, let’s be clear. The only reason we should need to do the right thing is that it’s the right thing to do. And the only reward we should expect is being able to sleep well at night in the knowledge that we’re treating people justly, often at some cost to ourselves.

However, as Deloitte Access Economics has demonstrated in a report for the Ethics Centre, there is a strong “business case” for behaving ethically. A case that makes sense not just for individuals and businesses, but also for the treasurers and Treasuries responsible for improving the way the economy’s working.

The case rests on an obvious, but often forgotten truth: market economies rely on a high degree of trust. Trust between buyers and sellers. Trust that you’re not selling me a dud. Trust that your cheque won’t bounce.

Trust that you’ll let me return it if there’s a problem. Trust that you’ll honour your promise to service the thing for the next X years. Trust that you won’t pinch someone else’s bag from the airport carousel. Trust that you’ll repay the money I lent you.

Trust that if I let you check yourself out at my supermarket, you won’t slip in a few things you didn’t ring up. Trust that if I work for you, you’ll treat me fairly. Trust that the law will back me up if you do the wrong thing.

Point is, the more confident we are that we can trust each other – trust the businesses we deal with – the more smoothly and cheaply the economy runs and the more business gets done. When we have to spend a lot of money on security and making sure we’re not ripped off, the costs mount up, and we end up not doing all the transactions we could.

So, how do we get more trust into the economy? How do workers, employers and businesses get themselves a good reputation? By always behaving ethically. (I could say this also applies to politicians, but that would be pushing it.)

Research by Access Economics finds evidence that fewer unethical decisions lead to better mental and physical health for individuals. And evidence that unethical behaviour leads to poorer financial outcomes for business. And evidence that ethical behaviour results in higher wages.

But Access also reminds us of the evidence that our ethical standards could be a lot higher than they are. The World Values Survey finds that only a bit over half of Australians think most people can be trusted. The Governance Institute finds that, on a scale running from minus 100 to plus 100, Australia ranks at plus 45, or “somewhat ethical”.

Then there’s the string of royal commissions finding unethical or even illegal behaviour in institutional responses to child abuse, misconduct in the banking industry, and aged care. And that’s before we get to the epidemic of “wage theft” that so many otherwise respectable big businesses have had to admit to – all of it purely accidental, apparently.

OK, OK, we could do a lot better, with that producing tangible economic benefits. But how? Well, one approach would be for economists and econocrats to switch their sermonising from productivity to ethical behaviour.

Perhaps not. What would help is for ethical questions to get a lot more of our attention. As sociologists understand, but most economists don’t, businesses – like the rest of us – tend to want to do what others are doing. If we’re all being ethical, I don’t want to be seen as uninterested in ethical behaviour.

If we could give ethics a higher profile, we’d probably get more of it. If expert advice on ethical problems was more readily available, more would be asked for. If there were more training and meetings and conferences on the topic, more decisions would be examined for their ethical implications.

Longstaff’s Ethics Centre has a proposal to improve our “ethical infrastructure” by teaming up with the universities of Sydney and NSW to establish an Australian Institute of Applied Ethics, which would be open to receiving requests from governments and the private sector to report on major ethical questions facing the nation. It would be a bit like the Productivity Commission or the Australian Law Reform Commission, but it would not be a government body.

It would also contribute to education, training and leadership development, building the practical skills of good decision-making on ethical issues in the private and public sectors.

Copying the pattern used to establish the hugely successful Melbourne-based Grattan Institute, the proposal is for the federal government to contribute $30 million towards a $40 million one-off endowment. The new institute would be funded from the earnings on this endowment, plus earnings from providing education, training and other services.

We’ll learn on budget night whether Chalmers and his boss are acting on this sensible idea for achieving a better economy, or whether they will be content with more platitudes on the need for greater productivity.

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Is a Future Made in Australia a good or bad idea? Maybe a bit of both

What exactly is a Future Made in Australia? You can read the long speech Anthony Albanese made about it and still not be sure. My guess is it’s a slogan designed by spin doctors to mean whatever you’d like it to mean.

As I wrote on Monday, what I hope it means is that the government intends to secure our economic future by ensuring all the income we’re going to lose from the world’s decision to stop buying our exports of fossil fuels is replaced by us using our new-found comparative advantage of being able to produce renewable energy more cheaply than most other countries.

We can produce masses of the stuff but, because it’s expensive to export, we can set up new industries which use the renewable energy to produce green iron, green aluminium and various other green minerals and then sell them to the world.

Because such industries don’t yet exist, the businesses that start them will inevitably make mistakes from which later businesses will learn. So it makes hard-headed economic sense for the government to cover much of the cost of this learning-by-doing “positive externality” – this spillover benefit to the wider economy for which the original businesses will go unrewarded.

If that’s what Albanese means by making our economic future, he deserves all the support and encouragement the rest of us can give him.

But I fear his slick slogan was designed to remind people of the old goal of trying to ensure that as many as possible of the goods we consume are Made in Australia.

This was our aim for about half a century until, in the 1980s, the Labor government of Bob Hawke and Paul Keating rolled back the import duties protecting our inefficient manufacturing industry and opened our economy to the world.

But why would Albo and his smart economists, Jim Chalmers and Chris Bowen, want to reverse the bipartisan policy of the past 40 years and take us back to the future?

Well, some polling produced this week by Essential Report offers some big clues. Asked to what extent they supported or opposed the Future Made in Australia policy, 30 per cent of respondents said neither. I take this to mean most hadn’t heard of it, or weren’t sure what it involved.

But 51 per cent supported the policy, leaving only 19 per cent opposing it. Unsurprisingly, Labor voters were more supportive than Liberal voters. But this is surprising: two-thirds of Greens voters supported it.

Why so much support for the government policy with a snappy name but so little detail? More clues followed. Fully 70 per cent of respondents agreed with the statement that “the pandemic showed we cannot be wholly reliant on global supply chains”.

And 63 per cent agreed that “it was a mistake to allow the Australian car industry to close,” with 43 per cent agreeing that “the days of globalisation, where we just imported cheap goods from overseas are over”.

Against that, however, only 37 per cent agreed that “it is not the government’s job to support Australian businesses that can’t compete overseas,” and only 34 per cent that “the market will make the best decisions and government should stay out of the way.”

Get it? There’s strong support for the goal of self-sufficiency and making as much as we can locally – keeping the jobs and the profits at home, not sending them abroad.

It’s noteworthy, too, that support for Made in Australia is much stronger among those aged 55 and above than among those aged 18 to 34. Believing that a country must make things, not just deliver services is, thankfully, more a hangup of the old.

So, if Albo and his spin doctors see benefit in playing to the Bring Back Manufacturing crowd, it wouldn’t be so surprising.

Just so long as you don’t forget this: keeping the jobs at home seems no more than common sense but, when you think it through, you see it’s a great way to be poorer, not richer.

One of the main ways humans have made themselves richer over the centuries is what economists call “the division of labour” and the rest of us call specialisation.

We can use the same amount of labour to produce more goods and services by having workers specialise in doing what they do best. By now, the process of specialisation – which no doubt has yet further to run – has reached the point of specialisation within specialties.

But obviously, specialisation can’t work without exchange: I sell my stuff to you; you sell your stuff to me. And what makes economic sense for individuals also makes sense for countries. We don’t maximise our material prosperity by stopping specialisation and exchange at the border.

Countries also need to specialise in what they do best, exchanging their surplus production with other countries specialising in what they do best. Economists call this pursuing our “comparative advantage”.

Autarky – the pursuit of national self-sufficiency – seems like a good idea, but one of the most useful things economists do for the community is to explain why, contrary to common sense, self-sufficiency is a great way to be poorer than we need to be.

It’s a dumb idea because it involves wilfully forgoing the benefits of specialisation and the “gains from trade”. When we insist on making items we aren’t good at, those things will cost more that importing the same goods from those countries better at it than we are.

So we end up forcing Australians to buy the inferior and more expensive locally made goods by imposing a special tax or “duty” on the imports. This leaves us less money to spend on other locally made goods and services. So jobs created in the inefficient part of the economy come at the expense of jobs in the efficient part, causing us to be less well-off than we could be. Well done.

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It's not perfect, but our health system is one of the best

When it comes to self-belief, Australians are funny. We have no doubt that Australia punches well above its weight in almost every sport. And our Diggers are braver and more dependable than the rest. In other departments, however, we don’t rate ourselves highly.

Australians pay among the lowest taxes of all developed nations, but the belief that we’re among the highest taxed is so widely believed it’s impervious to facts.

Take the latest headline that we’ve been “flattened by the biggest tax increase in the world”. “There, I knew it,” I hear you mutter. Well, not quite.

It’s true, as the story said, that in 2023 working Australians suffered the biggest increase in their average tax rates in the developed world, according to figures issued by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development.

The increase was caused by bracket creep and the Morrison government’s sneaky decision to end the “low- and middle-income tax offset” (a move that never made it to a press release, meaning most of the media didn’t notice and didn’t tell their audience about).

But that doesn’t in any way confirm our belief that we’re highly taxed. It may have been true last year, but it will be far from true this year as the huge stage 3 tax cuts take effect in July.

Nor is it confirmed by the repeated assertion that we are more dependent on income tax than any of the other OECD countries. This is literally true, but only because, unlike almost all the others, we don’t impose separate social security contribution taxes on the incomes of workers and employers.

The more important point, however, is that so far we’ve been talking only about the biggest and most noticeable of our taxes, personal income tax. Surely you don’t think that’s the only tax we pay?

What about a little thing called the goods and services tax? (Or, to other rich countries bar the United States, value-added tax.) Our tax rate of 10 per cent is way lower than even the Kiwis’, let alone all the Europeans’. They’re up in the 20s.

No, all told, we pay less tax than almost all the others. But how would you rate us on, say, healthcare? My guess is most people’s answer would be, at best, nothing to write home about.

Wrong. We keep hearing about problems with Medicare, but every country’s healthcare system has its shortcomings. New research by the Productivity Commission – hardly known for its boosterism – has found that our health system “delivers some of the best value for money of any in the world”.

The commission has been measuring the productivity of our healthcare system – roughly, what we get for what we pay – and, for the first time, taking account of changes in the quality of that care.

In principle, the system covers all our spending on healthcare: public and private; hospitals, GPs and specialists, whether paid for by taxpayers, health insurance or directly out of our pockets.

Over this century, our total spending on healthcare has risen from 8 per cent of national income to about 10 per cent – meaning it’s grown much faster than the economy has, including the growth in our population.

The continued rise in the average age of our population, the growing burden of chronic diseases and our expectations that governments will keep spending more to improve our health means our spending on healthcare will continue to grow faster than on most other things.

This being so, it’s important to check that the increased spending is leading to better health. The researchers were able to check the performance of only part of the system: the treatment of cancers, cardiovascular diseases, blood and metabolic disorders, endocrine (organs and glands) disorders, and kidney and urinary diseases.

These account for about a third of healthcare spending. The study found that, after allowing for changes in quality, the “multifactor” (that is, combining labour and physical capital) productivity of this care improved by about 3 per cent a year over the six years to 2017-18.

If that doesn’t impress you, it should. It compares with productivity improvement of just 0.8 per cent a year in the whole market sector of the economy.

Importantly, all the healthcare improvement came from improved quality in the treatment of ailments. This arose from technological advances in how they are treated, rather than from simply doing more with less. And the gain was in lives saved rather than the reduced illness of people living with those diseases.

But here’s the kicker. When the commission compared the level of our productivity with that of 27 other rich countries (after allowing for differences in risk factors, such as obesity – the big one – smoking, diet, alcohol and age) it found we came third, beaten only by Iceland and Spain.

Coming a distant last was the United States. The Yanks win two prizes: one for the most expensive system, the other for coming last on value for money. Why? Because their system is designed to maximise medicos’ incomes. At which they take away another prize.

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How Albanese can make Australia's future the smart way

Thank goodness we’ve finally got someone saying something sensible about Anthony Albanese’s Future Made in Australia. So far, it’s been a phoney war between the old fogeys from the Productivity Commission – all government subsidies are rent-seeking – and the Bring Back Manufacturing Brigade, pushing the notion that making goods is more economically virtuous than providing services and quoting bulldust measures of “economic complexity” to prove it.

The man talking sense – adroitly picking his way through the blind ideology, partisanship and rent-seeking to find the sound economics – is Rod Sims, former chair of the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission and now chair of Professor Ross Garnaut’s brainchild, the Superpower Institute. Sims spoke to the Melbourne Economic Forum last week.

For reasons I’ll explain another day, the Productivity Commission old-timers are right to insist that the basic principles of economics haven’t changed. We must resist the false promise of self-sufficiency and stick to doing the things we’re particularly good at – our “comparative advantage” – which, throughout our history, has included exploiting our “natural endowment” of some of the most valuable deposits of minerals and fossil fuels in the world.

On the other hand, though the basic economic principles haven’t changed, the Back to Manufacturing Brigade is right – or half right – in saying that the circumstances in which the world economy now finds itself have changed radically.

This is not because, in its present period of craziness, the United States has turned protectionist, staging a trade war with China and subsidising various local industries. Others acting contrary to their own best interests – their comparative advantage – is not a sign that we should go crazy too.

No, the big change is the world’s grudging realisation that if we want to stop global warming, we must cease burning fossil fuels and switch to renewables. The move to net zero emissions of greenhouse gases by 2050 will surely be the biggest and fastest structural change the industrialised world has ever experienced.

The implications of this euphemistically named “transition” are huge for every economy, but for ours, they are monumental. Why? Because, as Sims points out, Australia is the world’s largest exporter of coal and gas, combined.

What everyone knows but doesn’t seem to get is that, within a decade or two, our economy will have been hit by a meteor. The world will have stopped buying our fossil fuels. It will have taken a huge chunk of our natural endowment and declared it worthless.

So, our greatest comparative advantage is in the process of ceasing to exist. This is what Albanese lacked the courage to say in his happy-clappy speech about a Future Made in Australia.

This is what the generals busy fighting the last war don’t get. This is why their implication that the government should sit back and see how the market reacts to this sudden drop in our standard of living is bad economics.

What we must do is something we’ve never needed to do before: hunt around in our natural endowment to find something else offering us a new comparative advantage. This is why we’re so heavily indebted to Garnaut for being the first to realise and trumpet the news that, in a decarbonised world, all our sun and wind have suddenly gone from being of little value to hugely valuable.

Australia has much more sunlight than most other countries and as much wind as the best of them. What makes this so valuable is that it’s so expensive to turn renewable energy into a form that can be exported.

Sims demonstrates the value of our new comparative advantage with the example of iron metal. At present, we export iron ore, the metallurgical coal used to reduce the iron ore to iron metal, and both the thermal coal and gas, which can provide the heat to make the iron metal.

We export the ingredients and let others bake the cake because that’s what makes economic sense. In the coming zero-carbon world, however, it will make economic sense to produce green iron in Australia.

Green iron is likely to need green hydrogen in place of the coking coal that turns the ore into metal. However, making green hydrogen requires a massive amount of renewable energy to power the electrolysers that split water into hydrogen and oxygen.

So green iron should be made in Australia because the economics has been turned on its head. If it costs, say, $100 to mine a tonne of metallurgical coal in Australia, you can send it to China for just an extra $5 or $10. But if hydrogen costs $100 to make here in Oz, it will cost at least another $100 to ship it to China.

With hydrogen, you need to turn it into ammonia, at great expense, to be able to ship it, and then you need to turn it back into hydrogen at the other end. This is complex and will involve much leakage.

So renewable energy should be used close to where it’s produced. Sims says all overseas studies he’s seen suggest that Australia is likely to be the cheapest place in the world to make green iron. Those trying to make green iron by importing hydrogen will be uncompetitive.

It should be the same story for green aluminium, green fertiliser, green silicon and green aviation fuel. We will be able to export our masses of surplus renewable energy embedded within those many products.

So, yes, we can have a lot more manufacturing in our future. And the best place for this further processing will be close to the regional sources of sun and wind-produced electricity.

But while green iron-making technology is proven, it’s not yet been done at scale, Sims says. Those who go first will inevitably make mistakes, from which others will learn. Those mistakes will be costly for the first mover but hugely beneficial to those who come after.

In other words, this learning by doing is a “positive externality” – a benefit to other businesses and the community generally for which the first business isn’t rewarded.

This is the hard-headed economic justification for temporary government grants to firms starting out in industries directly related to the exploitation of our new-found comparative advantage.

(The key “negative externality” relevant to the transition to renewable energy is the cost to the environment from the use of fossil fuels to make steel and many other things that the relevant businesses aren’t required to pay for, thus putting renewable energy producers at a price disadvantage – something the former Productivity Commission bosses keep forgetting to mention.)

But, Sims rightly warns, if all the Made in Australia talk means subsiding businesses making solar panels, wind farm components, batteries and electrolysers – in none of which we have a comparative advantage – then there’s no way we’ll become a superpower, and the extra manufacturing jobs will come at the expense of jobs in all other industries. Labor voters and the ACTU take note.

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Sorry, it's not gallantry that wins wars, it's economic might

Welcome to the Anzac long weekend (sort of). This column is brought to you by your friendly economists, who want to get one thing straight: whatever their causes, wars are usually won by the side with the most economic resources.

This is just one of the many fascinating things you learn from a new book, The Shortest History of Economics, written by Dr Andrew Leigh, former economics professor turned minister in the Albanese government. (The book’s name is misleading. It’s really the shortest account of the part the economy has played in the world’s history. Well worth a read.)

Leigh says the first industrial-scale war following the Industrial Revolution was America’s Civil War during the first half of the 1860s.

“With the use of mass-produced weapons, railroads, steamships and telegraphs, the Civil War was industrial in its scale, and in its carnage,” he says. More than 600,000 combatants – one in five soldiers – lost their lives.

A striking thing about that war was the imbalance of resources between the two sides, strong support for the saying that God is usually on the side with the bigger battalions.

At the outset, the North had a population of 21 million – more than twice the South’s. The South was primarily an agricultural economy, with the North producing 90 per cent of the country’s manufactured goods, including 97 per cent of its firearms.

What’s surprising is that the South held out as long as it did. The war was prolonged by the North’s poor military tactics.

From an economic perspective, wars are often financed by printing money, with ultimate inflationary consequences. The South used this to fund 60 per cent of its costs, whereas the North needed only 13 per cent.

To economists, a significant effect of World War I was that it brought a hasty end to the world’s first experience of globalisation, with greatly increased trade and migration between Europe and the “new world”, fostered by the advent of steel-hulled steamships and the telegraph, and the absence of boring things like passports and visas.

Not until after the Great Depression and World War II did the barriers keeping countries apart begin falling back, thanks to advances in air travel, shipping, containerisation and telecommunications, plus reductions in import protection and banking regulations.

Today, many people believe that greater trade, tourism and other economic contact between countries reduce the likelihood of war. I think there’s truth to this, but the strong commercial ties between the combatants in World War I didn’t stop it happening.

Did you know that, at the outbreak of war in 1914, most of Germany’s shipping trade was insured by Lloyd’s of London?

The Allied powers (Britain, France, Russia and their allies) had far more resources than the Central powers (the German Empire, the Austro-Hungarian Empire and their allies). The Allied powers had five times the population, 11 times the territory and three times the income, according to Leigh.

That the conflict took four years and claimed about 20 million lives reflects the ineptitude of the generals and the intransigence of the political leaders, he says. But the side with the larger economic base won.

Moving on to World War II, which started in 1939 and ran for six years, its outcome, too, could have been predicted from the economic fundamentals.

Compared with the Axis powers (Germany, Italy, Japan and their allies), the Allied powers (Britain, France and their allies) had more than twice as many people, more than seven times as much territory, and a combined income that was 40 per cent higher, Leigh tells us.

Germany did well at first, thanks to the skill of its generals, such as Erwin Rommel, but the war proved primarily a contest of industrial production, Leigh says, and the Allied powers had more resources at their disposal.

This was true even midway through the war because, although Germany had annexed much of Europe, the United States and the Soviet Union had joined the conflict on the side of the Allies. In 1942, the Allied powers still retained a decisive advantage in people, territory and income, he says.

Consider aircraft carriers. Although Japan fully understood their great strategic value, the Allies built nine-tenths of the carriers produced during the war.

The combatant nations differed in how much of their economies they devoted to the war effort. Italy never devoted more than a quarter of its gross domestic product to the war, whereas, at its peak, Japan was devoting more than three-quarters. Britain and Russia managed to deliver more than half their national output to the war, while the US devoted two-fifths.

Together, this gave the Allies a substantial advantage. They produced at least twice as many rifles, tanks, aircraft, mortars and warships. According to Leigh, the Axis powers were literally outgunned.

The overall damage to economies done by World War II was more devastating than in World War I, largely because the technology of killing had advanced so much in the intervening years.

In the air, the first war’s biplanes and zeppelins played a relatively minor role, whereas the second war saw squadrons of bombers devastating cities with incendiary – and ultimately atomic – bombs.

All up, World War II claimed three times as many lives as World War I had done.

But let’s finish on a more positive note. Leigh says the peace that followed World War II was more enduring, partly because countries learnt the lessons of the previous conflict. Through the Marshall Plan, the US provided $US13 billion to Western Europe, equivalent to about 3 per cent of the region’s annual economic output.

In Germany and Japan, the occupying powers put great emphasis on restoration, with the result that both became major industrial powers within a generation.

And economists, including Keynes, played a central role in building international economic institutions – including the Bretton Woods system of fixed exchange rates, the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank and the forerunner to the World Trade Organisation – that would sustain peace.

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Buildings as batteries. For net zero, we need bright ideas like this

There’s a joke about the economist who thought he saw a $20 note on the ground but didn’t reach down for it because he knew that, if there had been such a note, someone else would have picked it up long ago. Sometimes we don’t see what’s there to be seen because we aren’t expecting to see anything.

Have you ever been in the city at night, looked up to see all the office blocks with lights ablaze, and wondered why they were wasting so much electricity? Perhaps it’s because people are working late, or the cleaners are busy. In any case, it’s not lighting that uses so much power: it’s heating and cooling.

But your instincts are right. All those office blocks have an important part to play in our efforts to limit further climate change. How? Keep reading.

As every sensible person knows, but prefers not to think about, the most important single challenge we face as a nation is to play our part in achieving the global goal of reducing emissions of greenhouse gases to net zero by 2050.

This is far more important to our kids’ future than the housing calamity or the cost-of-living crisis, both which will pass soon enough.

And, as most people realise, the main strategy we’re pursuing to reduce emissions is to eliminate the use of coal and gas in the production of electricity, then use this clean power for as many of our energy needs as possible. The move to electric vehicles is a big part of this.

All of which is much easier said than done. We’re already getting much of our energy from renewable sources – solar and wind power – but we need a lot more of it. And we need it to be available before our ageing coal-fired power stations give up the ghost. We can use some gas to tide us over, but it too must go.

Another part of the problem is reconfiguring our huge system of “poles and wires” transmitting electricity around the country. We need high-voltage powerlines joining up the eastern states. Currently, powerlines mainly transmit from huge coal-fired power stations located near coal mines to the nearest big city.

Trouble is, the solar and wind farms replacing the old power stations are spread all over the place. And then there’s the need to link all the solar systems on people’s roofs into the network.

Further complicating the transition from fossil fuel to renewables is the problem all those looking for an excuse to do nothing love pointing to: what happens when the sun’s not shining and the wind’s not blowing?

The short answer is that we have to capture and store some of the free energy that’s coming while the sun is shining, so we can use it at times when it isn’t. Batteries are the obvious way to do this. But we can achieve the same effect by pumping a lot of water up a hill, then letting it run back down to power a generator at night. Or you can do something vaguely similar in an office block.

While we’re working on all this, however, climate change is making our summers hotter and increasing the demand for air conditioning. The way we see it at present, we have to increase the capacity of our electricity transmission network so we can cope with peak demand on a few very hot afternoons each year without blackouts.

But this extra capacity goes unused for all the other days of the year, which is wasteful. Surely there must be a cheaper way to avoid blackouts?

This is where Craig Roussac, founder of Buildings Alive, a company that helps commercial building managers to better manage their use of energy and so reduce their emissions, has had a bright idea, which he’s developed with Dr Richard Denniss, boss of the Australia Institute.

On hot summer days, building managers could turn their cooling a degree or so lower in the morning, then let the temperature rise slowly in the afternoon, while everyone else had their air conditioners going full blast.

Because the wholesale price of electricity jumps at times of peak demand, this would save the building owners money. Lower peaks being cheaper, this would reduce the average retail price being paid by the rest of us.

It would also reduce the need for new investment in transmission capacity – the cost of which is passed on to electricity users. Above all, it would immediately reduce emissions, at zero extra cost.

But if it’s such a smart idea, why aren’t people doing it already? Mainly because the electricity industry makes its living by selling more of the stuff, not less. But also because the energy efficiency ratings awarded to buildings don’t encourage businesses to change the timing of their demand.

Now, obviously, sorting out our office buildings would make only a small contribution towards achieving net zero. But the idea of changing the timing of our demand during peak periods could be spread to other classes of buildings, including apartment blocks and even detached houses.

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ATTENTION ECONOMICS TEACHERS: change in the mechanics of controlling the cash rate

 You need to read this very clear explanation by Isaac Gross of Monash:

Copy and paste:

      https://bit.ly/441sCOY 

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My speech at Sydney University's Great Hall

I’m too old to suffer from impostor syndrome, but the thought has occurred to me that, had the University of Sydney’s officials taken a look at my academic transcript at Newcastle University, and seen how much trouble I had persuading that uni to give me a pass degree, we’d be holding this gathering down at Ralph’s cafe in the women’s gym.

The truth is that I had a lot of trouble passing a subject called economics, which I couldn’t make any sense of – perhaps because it didn’t interest me greatly. I failed a subject called international economics but, since it was the last subject I had to go, my lecturer was prevailed upon to give me a conceded pass.

So I have to tell you I’m a bit bemused by a university, of all institutions, making such a fuss about me and my job. I’ve spent much of my time urging the people I’ve helped to hire and train as economic journalists not to write like an academic. Keep it simple, I’d say. Don’t try to impress people with big words. Try to be understood, not to mystify. Now, obviously, that’s not the right advice to be giving an academic.

In my job, I’m paid to have an opinion on everything. And I’m paid to give free advice to everyone, from the prime minister down. And I’m now so much older than my boss I’m allowed to give him – and sometimes her – free advice. She or he, of course, is paid to pretend she greatly values that advice.

So while I’m here in this hallowed hall of learning, let me give the academics two bits of free advice. Some years ago, the federal government’s chief scientist paid good money to get one of those now-infamous four firms of accountants-turned-consultants to fudge up a dollar figure for the value of science to the economy. One of my proteges, filling in for me while I was on holidays, Gareth Hutchens, these days a columnist at the ABC, wrote a piece saying the chief scientist had to be kidding. Anyone who wasn’t smart enough to know that our material prosperity was built on technological advance, and that technological advance rested on a bed of pure science, wasn’t someone who’d be impressed by any magic number. Gareth was right, of course.

The point is, academics should never yield to intimidation by those who can see no further than immediate income. Academics must never be ashamed to proclaim their belief in the value of knowledge for its own sake. Knowledge doesn’t have to have a monetary value to be of value. Humans are an inquisitive species. We’d like to know whether the universe is expanding for no better reason than that we’d like to know. And thanks to the material prosperity science has brought us, we can afford to pay some scientist to find out for us.

My second bit of free advice is that universities should never be ashamed of their preoccupation with theory rather than practice. Every profession needs its theory. We develop theories to help us make some order, some meaning, out of the seeming chaos we see around us.

If you look at what I write about the economy, I think you’ll find I write about economic theory a lot more than other economic commentators do. Why? Because I think theory is important. Academic economists will complain that I’m often very critical of economic theory. Why? Because I think theory is important. The great sin in academic economics is to stop seeking the truth because you think you’ve already found it.

I want to talk now about the little-discussed paradox of the commercial news media. On one hand, most news outlets are in the business of selling their news to make a profit, just like all businesses. On the other, the commercial news media play a vital role in our democracy, informing citizens about the actions of governments and holding governments to account. We rarely think about this paradox, but the truth is, it was ever thus. We had newspapers before we had democracy.

Today we talk about public-interest journalism, but I like to think of it as the commercial media’s “higher purpose”. Making enough profit to keep our shareholders happy is the obvious part, but we must keep our eyes focused on the more important part, our self-appointed duty to ensure our readers are kept fully informed about all the things our governments are doing – and not doing.

There’s an old saying in journalism: news is anything somebody somewhere doesn’t want you to know about. Governments have a lot of things they do want the public to know about what they’re doing. And their spin doctors are always trying to induce the news media to help them get the good news out to the voters. Governments have a near monopoly on news about their own doings. When they want something known, they can just put out a press release. Or, maybe a better idea would be for me to leak it to you exclusively – provided you give it a lot of prominence, and provided you run it uncritically. Why would the media agree to such a restriction on their freedom to fully inform their readers? Because if I play along today, you might give me another leak tomorrow. And that will make me look a lot more successful than my competitors.

Small problem: what about the reader? Is this the way to keep them fully informed and ensure they’re never misinformed? What if I’m so busy trying to be the best at extracting from the government news the government wants our readers to know about that I neglect my duty to dig out all the news the government doesn’t want our readers to know about?

Now, let me be clear. In saying this critical stuff, I don’t want you thinking I’m having a go at my own masthead. I’m giving my free advice to all mastheads. The mastheads formerly known as Fairfax aren’t perfect. No one knows that better than I do. But there are other outlets that have strayed a lot further from perfection than we have. Naturally, I won’t name those other Australian news outlets.

The digital revolution has hugely changed the news media. Once I’m retired, I’ll give in to the thought that it was all much better in my day. But while my day is still the present day, I can see the things that are better than they were. These days, the mastheads our envious competitors like to dismiss as “the Nine newspapers” devote more resources to investigative journalism than we ever have. Maybe because of the digital world we now inhabit, generating your own news makes more commercial sense. What I’d add is that we need to make all our ordinary news more investigative. More questioning of all the messages some interest group or another wants us to pass on to our readers.

Another thing that’s better than it used to be – one close to my heart – is much greater emphasis on explanatory journalism. The internet has hugely increased the blizzard of news that we must fight our way through each day. Our readers don’t need more news, they need more help figuring out what on earth it all means. This, of course, is a big part of what I’ve always seen as my role.

With the advent of the internet, social media, the greater scope for the spread of misinformation and disinformation, and now AI, it’s easy see all this as a huge threat to what’s now called the MSM – the mainstream media, of which the SMH is a prime example. We live in a media world where people are finding it harder and harder to know whose news to believe. Who to trust.

What I want to say is that, for the mainstream media, and the quality end of the MSM, all the extra doubt and uncertainty about who to believe is playing into our hands. We are still more trusted by our customers than other, less reputable sources of information. Provided we retain our readers’ trust, work to regain what trust we have lost, and make retaining the trust of our readers our highest priority, I think we’ll survive – maybe even prosper – in a world teeming with misinformation.

We must never knowingly mislead our readers. We must see quickly correcting any errors we’ve made inadvertently, not as an admission of failure, but as badge of honour. Proof that we can be trusted. It means no more “I’m not sure it’s true, but it’s a great yarn and the punters will love it” stories. No more dubious stories published to oblige a powerful source – usually a government – and keep it supplying us with exclusives. It means telling our readers what they need to know, not what they want to hear. It means being a good read the hard way, not the easy way.

I’m confident that, if we get the trust right, enough money will follow. I’m hoping to stay around doing my bit for a few years yet.

This is an edited version of the speech Ross Gittins gave at the event honouring his 50th anniversary at The Sydney Morning Herald. Held in the Great Hall of the University of Sydney and staged in partnership with the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences.

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When funding healthcare, don't forget the caring bit

 It’s Easter, and we’ve got the day off. So let’s think about something different. As a community, we spend a fortune each year on health, mainly through governments. What has economics got to tell us about healthcare? And, since it’s Easter, what light has Christianity got to shed on how we fund healthcare?

One man who’s thought deeply on these questions is Dr Stephen Duckett, Australia’s leading health economist, whose career has included academia, running government health departments, and the Grattan Institute think tank. He’s now back in academia, at the University of Melbourne.

Duckett has long been a lay reader in the Anglican Church. He’s recently completed a doctorate in theology, awarded by the Archbishop of Canterbury. He’s turned his thesis into a book, Healthcare Funding and Christian Ethics, published by Cambridge University Press.

One way to run a hospital is to let the doctors and nurses do as they see fit until the money runs out but, for several decades, health economists’ advice has reshaped the health system, helping to ensure that the money available is spent in ways that do the most good to patients.

One definition of economics is that it’s the study of scarcity. We have infinite wants, but limited resources of land, labour and physical capital to achieve those wants. So we must carefully weigh the costs and benefits of the many things we’d like, so we end up choosing the particular combination of things that yields us the greatest “utility” (benefit) available.

Since there’s never enough money to spend on healthcare, hard decisions have to be made about what can be done and what can’t, what drugs should be subsidised and what can’t, who should be helped and who turned away.

Health economists analyse the cost-effectiveness of the various options to help governments and hospitals make their choices, working out the number of “quality-adjusted life years” each option would add.

The Scotsman called the father of modern economics, Adam Smith, saw it as a moral science but, as economists have striven to be more “rigorous” (which mainly means more mathematical) this touchy-feely stuff has fallen away.

Most economists see economics as amoral, that is, neither moral nor immoral; having nothing to say about moral issues. When it comes to means and ends, economists see themselves as sticking to means.

They’re saying: tell me what you want to do, and I’ll tell you the best way to achieve it. That’s what they say; it’s not always what they do.

Economics is based on utilitarianism: seeking the greatest good for the greatest number. But this ignores the question of “equity”: how fairly the benefits are shared. Are some getting a lot while others miss out?

Duckett says: “Economics’ assumption that humans are simply individual units, de-emphasising community, and [economics’] ubiquitous use in policymaking, comes at a cost, as Homo economicus [the self-interested, rational calculator that economists assume us to be] crowds out other manifestations of what it is to be human.”

Economists often say they have no expertise on equity and the community, so they leave that to others – such as the politicians. Economists often claim that economics is “objective” and “value-free”.

But Duckett says it’s not simple. By ignoring issues you’re implying that they don’t matter. And you’re making implicit assumptions that are value-laden.

For instance, if a cost-effectiveness study does not explicitly highlight the distribution of costs and benefits [how unequally they are shared between people], it is implicitly conveying the message that the distribution is not a relevant issue.

If nursing home funding allows money ostensibly allocated for care to be leached out as extra returns to the owners, then quality is assumed to be not a concern of those doing the funding.

If a system design places a higher monetary reward on cosmetic surgery intended solely to improve appearance compared to the monetary reward for caring for older patients and people with mental illness, this sends a signal about the value placed on care for the marginalised.

Duckett says that, because decisions about public policy inherently involve value choices, health economics becomes a “moral science” whether economists like it or not. What’s true, however, is that economics is not well-equipped to determine issues such as what should be society’s priorities, what value should be place on unfettered choice, and the value to place on ensuring no one is left behind.

This is where Christian ethics has a contribution to make, a contribution that, except on matters of sexual morality, doesn’t differ much from the views of the aggressively secular philosopher Professor Peter Singer and, no doubt, many other Western ethicists.

Duckett offers a “theology of healthcare funding” based on Christ’s parable of the Good Samaritan. As I hope you remember, a man was travelling to Jericho when he was set upon by robbers, who left him naked and bleeding by the road.

Two separate religious figures passed by him on the road without stopping to help. But a Samaritan saw him and “was moved with pity”. He bandaged his wounds, put him on his donkey and took him to an inn, where he paid the innkeeper in advance to look after him, promising to come back and pay for any extra expense.

From this parable Duckett derives three principles that should guide health economists in the advice they give on healthcare funding.

The three are: compassion (shown by the behaviour of the Samaritan), social justice (everyone included and treated equally; shown by the identity of the Samaritan, a race despised by the Jews) and stewardship (shown by the innkeeper, who was trusted to care for the traveller and to spend the Samaritan’s money wisely).

Compassion must involve feeling leading to doing. It must involve helping people other than yourself. So health economics must be less impersonal, remembering the flesh and blood behind the statistics and calculations. Any funding arrangement must allow time for workers to care for patients in a compassionate way.

The Christian ethic is that social justice is not simply about fairness for atomised individuals, but also the person as part of a community, something economists tend to forget. Archbishop Desmond Tutu has said “a person is a person through other people . . . I am human because I belong. I participate, I share.”

“Christian contributions to the public square need to challenge policy ‘solutions’ that rely on individuals pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps, victim-blaming approaches, and a narrow definition of [who is my] ‘neighbour’,” Duckett says.

As for stewardship, it’s the easy bit. It’s the Christian word for what economists already know about: making sure that other people’s money is spent carefully, and their property is looked after. It’s being efficient.

But the Christian contribution to what health economists do is to make sure stewardship is kept in tension with the other two principles. “Austerity does not mean that compassion and social justice can be ignored, or distributional consequences [for the rich and the poor] can be erased from consideration.

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The digital revolution may be returning us to hi-tech serfdom

On the longest of our long weekends, it’s good to have something different to think about. Try this. Could it be that the information revolution – big tech, big data, the internet and social media – is changing how the economy works in ways we’ve yet to understand and won’t like?

The world abounds with economists repeating their conventional wisdom about how the economy works and will keep on working. But one economist politician thinks that digitisation is changing the economy in ways that could lead us back to a new kind of feudalism.

He is Yanis Varoufakis, who lectured at Sydney University for some years before returning to Greece and briefly becoming its finance minister. He visited Australia earlier this month as a guest of the Australia Institute.

In the Middle Ages, feudalism was a system of reciprocal military and economic obligations running from the king to his land-owning lords, whose vassals managed their land worked by serfs.

In Varoufakis’s dystopian vision, the digital revolution, led by a few big technology companies – Meta (Facebook), Alphabet (Google), Apple, Amazon and Microsoft – is turning capitalism into “technofeudalism”. Hence the title of his book, Technofeudalism: What Killed Capitalism.

In the internet’s initial phase, it was characterised by open protocols and decentralised networking, focused on information sharing and communication.

Now, however, it has evolved towards more commercialised, centralised services, including social media, e-commerce and cloud computing. His metaphor for the changed parts of the economy is the “cloud”.

The capitalists – owners of physical capital - are being replaced by “cloudalists”: individuals or businesses that control the major digital platforms (such as the Facebook, Google and Twitter sites) and related infrastructure, which allows them to extract “cloud rent” from the consumers and businesses using their platforms.

“Fief” is the feudal word for land. But “cloud fiefs” are Varoufakis’s term for the digital domains and platforms controlled by the cloudalists. These can be specific services, apps or platforms where the cloudalists have significant control, allowing them to extract “cloud rent”.

This process is similar to the way feudal lords controlled land and extracted ordinary rent from those using it.

Economists use the word “rent” – economic rent – to mean prices people are required to pay in excess of the price a business (or a skilled worker) would require to keep them providing the good or service.

Why are sellers able to charge these higher prices? Because you can’t get that same thing anywhere else. Why do fans pay a fortune for tickets to a Taylor Swift concert? Because they don’t want to settle for some other singer.

So cloud rent is payments made by “cloud serfs” to cloudalists for the use of digital platforms and services. This rent is a form of income for cloudalists, derived from their control over these digital assets, rather than from the production or sale of conventional goods and services.

Thus, whereas capitalists seek to make a profit by selling goods and services, cloudalists seek extract rents from cloud serfs – the users and businesses that depend on the digital platforms and apps the cloudalists control.

Cloud serfs are akin to the serfs in feudal times, bound to the platforms and subject to their terms, often contributing their personal data or content while having limited autonomy and receiving fewer benefits.

Get that? The rent many serfs pay isn’t money, it’s their personal data about their purchasing habits and preferences, and their geographical movements, which can be of great value to businesses trying to sell them things.

Of course, cloud serfs aren’t to be confused with “cloud proles”. Huh? In Varoufakis’s vision, these are the people who work directly for the cloudalists such as Amazon. They’re often highly supervised, with little autonomy, and can even be managed by algorithms.

The modern equivalent of the lord of the manor’s “vassal” managers are the businesses that operate on the cloudalists’ digital platforms. They are subject to the cloudalists’ terms and conditions. While they may own their businesses, they must pay a portion of their earnings as rent to the platform owners and must adhere to their rules.

Getting past all these new names for things, a key point Varoufakis makes is the way the digital revolution has moved us from one-way advertising to two-way algorithms.

Although advertising could instil in us the desire to buy stuff we hadn’t formerly known we wanted, this is just a one-way street. With cloud-based, Alexa-like devices, the cloudalists can not only induce us to buy things, they can also modify our behaviour.

Knowing so much about our weaknesses, they can make us addicted to doing things that benefit them more than us – even just capturing our attention for protracted periods.

Varoufakis says algorithms have already replaced bosses in the transport, delivery and warehousing industries. Workers find themselves in a modernist nightmare: some entity that is incapable of human empathy allocates them work at a rate of its choosing before monitoring their response times.

This is no longer a market in any meaningful sense. Everything and everyone is intermediated (brought together) not by the disinterested invisible hand of the market, but by an algorithm that works for the cloudalist’s bottom line and dances exclusively to their tune.

Finally, Varoufakis argues that, thanks to all money created out of thin air by the rich world’s central banks during their resort to “quantitative easing” in the global financial crisis and then the pandemic, big tech was able to greatly expand its cloud capital without needing to borrow at great expense, sell large parts of its businesses to others, or generate large profits to pay for new capital stock.

Between 2010 and 2021, he says, the paper wealth of two men – Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk – that is, the market price of their shares – rose from less than $US10 billion to about $US200 billion each.

Even without the fancy jargon, this stuff is hard to get your head around. In 10 years’ time, we’ll know if it was fanciful or prophetic.

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What a way to start Easter - a plan to smash the nest-egg

Most of us are too young to see it, but a big way the federal government affects our lives is through its system of compulsory superannuation. As you get older and retirement becomes a lot less distant, you begin to realise that the rules of super – and successive governments’ tinkering with those rules – will have a significant impact on the up to 30 years of your life after you stop working.

When the age pension was introduced more than a century ago, many men didn’t live long enough to reach the age of eligibility, 65. But our greater prosperity, improvements in public health and advances in medical science have changed all that.

Although the age of pension eligibility – for women as well as men – has been raised to 67, and no doubt will reach 70 one day, our longevity has increased by more, making it possible, particularly for women, to live up to 30 years in retirement.

But the introduction of compulsory super in the early 1990s now means that people retiring after about 2030 will do so with so much super that their eligibility for the age pension will be between limited and non-existent.

Since the introduction of that new system, almost every government has changed it. Why? Because the new compulsory system was bolted onto an old voluntary system of tax concessions that proved to be far too generous to high-income earners and too mean to lower-income earners.

Everyone knows the age pension costs the government a lot of money. What many don’t realise is that the tax concessions attached to super contributions and to the subsequent earnings on those contributions also cost the government a lot in the form of income tax collections forgone.

So, all the super changes since those made by the Howard government in 2007 (which gave well-off Baby Boomers like me a huge free kick) have aimed to reduce super’s cost to the budget by reducing the tax breaks going to high earners.

Take my word, there’ll be many similarly motivated changes to come. Those made last year by Treasurer Jim Chalmers won’t be the last.

One way to limit the budgetary cost of super is to stress that its sole purpose is to provide people with enough money to live comfortably in retirement. What it’s not meant to be used for is letting people maximise their children’s inheritance (thus widening the gap between rich and poor).

Trouble is, the compulsory super system is designed to deliver people a lump sum of money upon their retirement for them to use as they choose. It’s easy to see this lump sum as your nest-egg, the amount you’ve saved over a lifetime of working.

If so, surely it’s up to me and my spouse to decide how much of that sum we choose to spend on living expenses and how much we choose to leave for our kids? I’m sure many people think the right thing to do is to live as much as possible on the interest and other earnings from the lump sum so the principal can be passed on largely intact.

This is where a proposal of two economists from the Australian National University, professors Andrew Podger and Robert Breunig, comes in.

But first, one insight of “behavioural” economics, borrowed from psychology, is that people can react very differently to the same circumstances, depending on how they’re packaged or, as the psychologists say, “framed”. It’s been shown that surgeons much prefer a 90 per cent success rate to a 10 per cent failure rate.

This, of course, is spin doctoring 101. Reminds me of the story about the bloke who invented death insurance. Didn’t sell many policies until he changed the name to life insurance.

Podger and Breunig remembered that, in the days before compulsory super, it was limited mainly to public servants who ended up with a lifetime pension, most of which could be passed on to a surviving spouse. It never occurred to them that super had anything to do with inheritance.

So, if you want to stop people with super payouts using them (and all the tax concessions that contribute so much to their size) as a vehicle for enriching their kids, why not move to a system where people are encouraged to use their lump sum to buy a lifetime pension.

The amount of the pension would be determined by the size of the lump sum. Some people scrimp and save in retirement because they can’t know when they’ll die, and they’re not sure their money will last the distance.

One great attraction of a lifetime pension is that it shifts this “longevity risk” onto the provider of the pension.

In the jargon of high finance, such a pension is called an “annuity”. You can buy annuities today, but most are for fixed periods, and they’re not popular. To make them more attractive, they’d have to be for life, and this would require them to be backed by the government.

Don’t shake your head. It could happen.

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The budget is rent-seekers central

Last week we got a reminder that, among its many functions, the federal budget is the repository of all the successful rent-seeking by the nation’s many business and other special interest groups. Unfortunately, it added to the evidence that the Albanese government knows what it should do to manage the economy better, but lacks the courage to do more than a little.

Rent-seeking involves industries and others lobbying the government for special treatment in the form of grants, tax breaks or regulatory arrangements that make it hard for new businesses to enter their market or protect them from competition in other ways.

Whenever that rent-seeking involves grants or tax concessions it weighs on the budget. Decades of continuous rent-seeking weigh hugely on every year’s budget, limiting the government’s ability to ensure every dollar of taxpayers’ money is spent to great effect in benefiting all Australians.

For example, a big lump of the feds’ spending on education is devoted to achieving the Howard government’s goal of enhancing parents’ choice of which school to send their kids to. When the callithumpians decide to build their own schools, so their children can be educated without contamination by people of other religions, the federal taxpayer coughs up.

That all this spending on choice leaves the great majority of kids attending public schools that aren’t adequately funded is just an unfortunate occurrence, which we may get around to fixing if we ever have any spare dollars looking for a home.

What you certainly couldn’t do is cut back the money you’re giving the callithumpians. They’d kick up the devil of a fuss and start telling their followers not to vote for you.

When rent-seeking leads governments to make grants to special interest groups, the details of this spending are there to be found in the bowels of the budget papers. Where it leads to some activities getting special tax breaks, Treasury attempts to keep track of these “tax expenditures” in an annual statement.

When it comes to extracting rents from governments, few industries or occupations are better at it than the medical specialists. (That’s not true of the GPs, however. Their Medicare rebates were frozen for years, as part of the former Coalition government’s pretence that it could cut taxes while in no way harming the provision of essential public services.)

Some years ago, a Labor government decided to cut back the Medicare rebate for cataract surgery because advances in technology now meant a surgeon could perform far more operations in a day.

The rest of the medical profession knew what a rort it had become but, under the ethical principle of dog doesn’t eat dog – or maybe, honour among thieves – they stood silent while their eye-surgeon brethren fought dirty to protect their swollen incomes.

They pretended the sky was falling, telling their elderly patients the wicked government had left them no alternative to charging them thousands more in out-of-pocket payments. If their elderly patient didn’t think this was fair, perhaps they might like to have a word with their local federal member, saying how terrible it was to have their lovely doctor treated so badly.

Predictably, the government backed off and the rorting continued.

Last week it was the turn of the chemists. Few industries are so heavily regulated by state and federal governments, all with a view to protecting pharmacists’ incomes. There are limits on how many chemists may set up within an area and, in particular, prohibitions on supermarkets having pharmaceutical sections.

Anthony Albanese and his government have made much of the way their introduction of 60-day medicine prescriptions – as recommended by an expert committee – has saved patients money and helped ease the cost-of-living crisis.

But hang on. Surely, that means chemists receiving fewer dispensing fees from the government? This evil must be opposed. Enter a union more powerful than any workers’ union, the Pharmacy Guild. This iniquity will see shortages of medicine and hundreds of chemists closing down across the land, it assured us.

The government fought back, refuting the talk of shortages and revealing figures showing a surge in applications for new pharmacies in the months following the announcement of the prescription change.

It had already promised to plough back into pharmacies the $1.2 billion it expected to save on dispensing fees. But the guild claimed pharmacies’ losses would be $4.5 billion, and last week the guild negotiated a new deal, which would see the government pouring a further $3 billion into pharmacies over five years.

Also last week, we saw the government releasing the report of the aged care taskforce, chaired by Aged Care Minister Anika Wells, calling for the well-off elderly to contribute more to the cost of their own care.

What was the problem? Wells spelled it out in a speech last June: “We must act now. The Baby Boomers are coming … We are going to need a fair and equitable system to meet the needs of Baby Boomers who, with their numbers and determination to solve problems, have shaken every single system they’ve come across.”

The report argued for the present mechanism used to get more from the better-off, the refundable accommodation deposit, to be replaced by a rental-only system.

But it called for the deposit system to be phased out over five years, and postponed the proposed start of the phase-out to 2030. With all its talk of “grandfathering” – applying the changes only to new entrants to the system – it remains to be seen how keen Albo & co are to take on the entitled Baby Boomers.

Finally last week, the Commonwealth Grants Commission’s carve-up of the proceeds from the goods and services tax for the next financial year was announced, bringing a bad shock for NSW and Queensland, and good news for Victoria and the other states and territories.

It was an unwelcome reminder of the separate, but related, special deal then-treasurer Scott Morrison awarded the West Australians in 2018. So great was the uproar from the other states that they were promised more money to ensure the sandgropers’ special deal left the others “no worse off”.

Meaning? That the West Australians’ successful rent-seeking is costing federal taxpayers from other states a bundle in forgone federal spending.

As the independent economist (and proud Tasmanian) Saul Eslake never tires of demonstrating, the Westies had less than zero grounds for arguing that they were getting a bad deal from the carve-up formula.

The grants commission was set up in the 1930s in response to their congenital paranoia that the rest of Australia was having a lend of them. For as long as they were classed as a “mendicant” state cross-subsidised by Victoria and NSW, they were happy.

But from the moment the growth of their mining industry was so great that they were required to join Victoria and NSW in helping maintain the quality of government services in the other states, it suddenly became yet another plot by those “over east” to do them down.

So, here’s the moral of the story for our weak-kneed federal politicians on both sides. Once you give in to rent-seekers, you’re gone. They won’t give up their ill-gotten gains without a massive, vote-losing fight.

Meanwhile, everyone else wonders why, despite the huge sums you’re raising in taxes, the quantity and quality of the services you’re providing is so poor.

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How the digital world is getting better at measuring us up

These days we hear incessantly about “data”. The media is full of reports of new data about this or that, and there’s a new and growing occupation of data analysts and even data scientists. So, what is data, where does it come from, what are people doing with it, and why should I care?

Google “data” and you find it’s “facts and statistics collected together for reference or analysis”. The advent of computers has allowed businesses and governments to record, calculate, play with and store huge amounts of data.

Businesses have data about what goods and services they’re making, buying and selling, importing or exporting, and paying their workers, going back for 30 or 40 years.

Our banks have data about what we earn and what we spend it on, especially when we use a credit or debit card – or our phone – to pay for something.

Much of this data is required to be supplied to government agencies. If you ever go onto the Australia Taxation Office’s website to do your annual tax return, it will offer to “pre-fill” your return with stuff it already knows about your income from wages, bank interest and dividends.

Try it sometime. You’ll be amazed by how much the taxman knows and how accurate his data are.

Another dimension of the “information revolution” is how advances in international telecommunications – including via satellites – have allowed us to be in touch with people and institutions around the world in real-time via email and the web – news, entertainment, social media, whatever.

Last month, the Australian Statistician – aka the boss of the Australian Bureau of Statistics – Dr David Gruen, gave a speech outlining some of the ways these huge banks of “big data” about the economic activities of the nation’s businesses, workers, consumers and governments can be used to improve the way we measure the economy in all its aspects: employment, inflation, gross domestic product and the rest.

We’re getting more information and more accurate information, and we’re getting it much sooner than we used to. But we’re still in the early days of exploiting this opportunity to be better informed about what’s happening in the economy and to have better information to guide the government’s decisions about its policies to improve the economy’s performance.

Gruen starts by describing the Tax Office’s “single-touch” payroll system, software that automatically receives information about employees’ payments every time an employer runs its payroll program.

Not all employers have the software, but those who do account for more than 10 million of our 14 million employees.

Gruen says the arrival of the pandemic in early 2020 made access to this “rich vein of near real-time information” an urgent priority. The taxman pulled out the stops, and the stats bureau began receiving these data in early April 2020.

With a virus spreading through the land and governments ordering lockdowns and border closures, they couldn’t afford to wait a month or more to find out what was happening in the economy. Thus, the whole project of using big data to help measure the economy received an enormous kick along – here and in all the other rich economies.

So, in addition to the longstanding monthly sample survey of the labour force, we now have a new publication: Weekly Payroll Jobs and Wages Australia. These data allowed the econocrats—and the rest of us—to chart the dramatic collapse in jobs across the economy over the three weeks from mid-March 2020.

They show employment in the accommodation and food services industry falling by more than a quarter in just three weeks. Employment in the arts and recreation services industry fell by almost 20 per cent. By contrast, falls in utilities and education and training were minor.

The monthly labour force survey has a sample size of about 50,000 people, compared with the payroll program’s 10 million-plus people, meaning it provides information on far more dimensions of the workforce than the old way does.

So, the bureau’s access to payroll data taught it new ways of doing things. And the pandemic increased econocrats’ appetite for more info about the economy that was available in real-time.

With household consumption – consumer spending – accounting for about half of gross domestic product, improving the timeliness and detail of the data was a great idea.

So, in February 2022, the bureau released the first monthly household spending indicator using (note this) aggregated and de-identified data on credit and debit card transactions supplied by the major banks. This indicator provides two-thirds coverage of household consumption, compared with the less than one-third coverage provided by the usual survey of retail trade.

The bureau has also begun publishing a monthly consumer price index in addition to the usual quarterly index. This is possible because big data – in the form of data from scanners at checkout counters and data scraped from the websites of supermarket chains – is much cheaper to gather than the old way.

The bureau has also started integrating different but related sets of big data from several sources, so analysts can study the behaviour of individual consumers or businesses. It has developed two large integrated data assets.

The one for individuals links families and households with data sets on income and taxation, social support, education, health, migrants and disability.

The one for businesses links them with a host of surveys of aspects of business activity, income and taxation, overseas trade, intellectual property and insolvency.

The purpose is to allow analysts from government departments, universities or think tanks to shed light on policy problems from multiple dimensions.

For instance, one study showed that people over 65 who’d had their third COVID vaccination within the previous three months were 93 per cent less likely to die from the virus than an unvaccinated person.

But that’s just the tiniest example of what we’ll be able to find out.

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Well-off baby boomers should pay more for their aged care

The report of the aged care taskforce, released on Tuesday, makes eminently sensible proposals for changes to cover the ever-growing cost of aged care. But since its solution is to require the well-off elderly to bear more of the cost, I doubt if Aged Care Minister Anika Wells will be able to implement the changes without much pushback from those well-off elderly – otherwise known as the “wealthy Boomers”.

The cost of aged care – both residential care and, increasingly, at-home care – is expected to grow hugely in the coming decade for three reasons. First, because federal governments have been underspending on care, as repeated Four Corners exposes have kept reminding us.

There’s been a lot of catch-up spending since the shocking report of the Royal Commission into Aged Care Quality and Safety in 2021, but there’s more catching up to do.

Second, there’s the continuing retirement of the Baby Boomer bulge, plus the increased care that later, longer-living generations will require.

Third, as living standards rise, so do the expectations of the aged for something a lot better than their parents settled for.

The federal government’s spending on aged care last financial year totalled $27 billion. It’s expected to have reached $42 billion by 2026-27. And there’s a lot more to go after that.

The royal commission suggested that the increased spending could be covered by a Medicare-like levy of 1 per cent of everyone’s taxable income. But the taskforce rightly rejected that idea as too unfair to younger taxpayers.

Don’t forget that few of the elderly pay much income tax, even those earning so much that, were they younger, they’d be paying a lot.

So the taskforce has come up with a solution that previous governments have, for decades, not been game to propose: ask the well-off elderly to pay a higher proportion of the daily living expenses – meals, laundry and cleaning – and accommodation costs.

At present, those in residential care who can afford it are required to pay a “refundable accommodation deposit” of many thousands, which is refunded when they leave or die. Effectively, it’s an interest-free loan to the provider of the residential care facility. On the strength of this, those who provide a deposit aren’t asked to pay much of their accommodation costs.

It’s never been a popular arrangement, so the taskforce proposes to phase it out between 2030 and 2035. Those on the old arrangement would be “grandfathered” – allowed to stay on the old deal.

But newcomers would go onto the new, rental-only scheme and be asked to pay a lot more for the accommodation cost than people of lower means.

Unlike me, many Baby Boomers vociferously object to being held responsible for the unfair way the younger generations are treated by the tax system, the superannuation system, the university fees system and the gig-economy system.

But though it’s wrong for youngsters to assume all Baby Boomers are rolling in it – some are still renting and others are locked in long-term unemployment – the truth is that, as a generation, most Baby Boomers have had a rails-run.

Those who went to university got scholarships rather than debt. Most males had little trouble finding a good, permanent, full-time job. They were able to buy a first home without much trouble, have stayed in the property market and today own a house worth an unbelievable sum – through no great effort of their own.

Baby Boomers are the first generation to gain much from the introduction of compulsory superannuation in 1992. These days, almost everyone retires with some significant superannuation sum, and those of us who’ve taken advantage of the various concessions have reached retirement age with super sums in the millions.

The super system is wildly biased in favour of the well-off. And the people who try to tell you that having super and other savings sufficient to eliminate (or even just reduce) their eligibility for the age pension makes them a “self-funded retiree” are deluded.

They have no idea what a high proportion of their payout has come from accumulated tax concessions rather than contributions.

So how would the well-off elderly afford to pay for a much greater share of their aged care costs? By dipping into their super.

The justification for superannuation and all the money it costs the taxpayer is to allow the retired to live comfortably in their final years when they’re too old to work. So the notion of many that they must live only on the annual earnings and never dip in to the principal is wrong-headed.

No, you were granted such generous tax breaks only to support you in retirement. For the well-off elderly to want to pass what’s left of their super on to their offspring is to make the world even more unfair than it already is.

Let’s hope Minister Wells and her boss have the conviction to stick to their guns when the Boomers start crying poor in defence of their privileged existence.

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Speech in the Great Hall of Sydney University

I’m too old to suffer from impostor syndrome, but the thought has occurred to me that, had the University of Sydney’s officials taken a look at my academic transcript at Newcastle University, and seen how much trouble I had persuading that uni to give me a pass degree, we’d be holding this gathering down at Ralph’s cafe in the women’s gym.

The truth is that I had a lot of trouble passing a subject called economics, which I couldn’t make any sense of – perhaps because it didn’t interest me greatly. I failed a subject called international economics but, since it was the last subject I had to go, my lecturer was prevailed upon to give me a conceded pass.

So I have to tell you I’m a bit bemused by a university, of all institutions, making such a fuss about me and my job. I’ve spent much of my time urging the people I’ve helped to hire and train as economic journalists not to write like an academic. Keep it simple, I’d say. Don’t try to impress people with big words. Try to be understood, not to mystify. Now, obviously, that’s not the right advice to be giving an academic.

In my job, I’m paid to have an opinion on everything. And I’m paid to give free advice to everyone, from the prime minister down. And I’m now so much older than my boss I’m allowed to give him – and sometimes her – free advice. She or he, of course, is paid to pretend she greatly values that advice.

So while I’m here in this hallowed hall of learning, let me give the academics two bits of free advice. Some years ago, the federal government’s chief scientist paid good money to get one of those now-infamous four firms of accountants-turned-consultants to fudge up a dollar figure for the value of science to the economy. 

One of my proteges, filling in for me while I was on holidays, Gareth Hutchens, these days a columnist at the ABC, wrote a piece saying the chief scientist had to be kidding. Anyone who wasn’t smart enough to know that our material prosperity was built on technological advance, and that technological advance rested on a bed of pure science, wasn’t someone who’d be impressed by any magic number. Gareth was right, of course.

The point is, academics should never yield to intimidation by those who can see no further than immediate income. Academics must never be ashamed to proclaim their belief in the value of knowledge for its own sake. Knowledge doesn’t have to have a monetary value to be of value. Humans are an inquisitive species. We’d like to know whether the universe is expanding for no better reason than that we’d like to know. And thanks to the material prosperity science has brought us, we can afford to pay some scientist to find out for us.

My second bit of free advice is that universities should never be ashamed of their preoccupation with theory rather than practice. Every profession needs its theory. We develop theories to help us make some order, some meaning, out of the seeming chaos we see around us.

If you look at what I write about the economy, I think you’ll find I write about economic theory a lot more than other economic commentators do. Why? Because I think theory is important. Academic economists will complain that I’m often very critical of economic theory. Why? Because I think theory is important. The great sin in academic economics is to stop seeking the truth because you think you’ve already found it.

I want to talk now about the little-discussed paradox of the commercial news media. On one hand, most news outlets are in the business of selling their news to make a profit, just like all businesses. On the other, the commercial news media play a vital role in our democracy, informing citizens about the actions of governments and holding governments to account. We rarely think about this paradox, but the truth is, it was ever thus. We had newspapers before we had democracy.

Today we talk about public-interest journalism, but I like to think of it as the commercial media’s “higher purpose”. Making enough profit to keep our shareholders happy is the obvious part, but we must keep our eyes focused on the more important part, our self-appointed duty to ensure our readers are kept fully informed about all the things our governments are doing – and not doing

There’s an old saying in journalism: news is anything somebody somewhere doesn’t want you to know about. Governments have a lot of things they do want the public to know about what they’re doing. And their spin doctors are always trying to induce the news media to help them get the good news out to the voters

Governments have a near monopoly on news about their own doings. When they want something known, they can just put out a press release. Or, maybe a better idea would be for me to leak it to you exclusively – provided you give it a lot of prominence, and provided you run it uncritically. Why would the media agree to such a restriction on their freedom to fully inform their readers? Because if I play along today, you might give me another leak tomorrow. And that will make me look a lot more successful than my competitors.

Small problem: what about the reader? Is this the way to keep them fully informed and ensure they’re never misinformed? What if I’m so busy trying to be the best at extracting from the government news the government wants our readers to know about that I neglect my duty to dig out all the news the government doesn’t want our readers to know about?

Now, let me be clear. In saying this critical stuff, I don’t want you thinking I’m having a go at my own masthead. I’m giving my free advice to all mastheads. The mastheads formerly known as Fairfax aren’t perfect. No one knows that better than I do. But there are other outlets that have strayed a lot further from perfection than we have. Naturally, I won’t name those other Australian news outlets.

The digital revolution has hugely changed the news media. Once I’m retired, I’ll give in to the thought that it was all much better in my day. But while my day is still the present day, I can see the things that are better than they were.

These days, the mastheads our envious competitors like to dismiss as “the Nine newspapers” devote more resources to investigative journalism than we ever have. Maybe because of the digital world we now inhabit, generating your own news makes more commercial sense. What I’d add is that we need to make all our ordinary news more investigative. More questioning of all the messages some interest group or another wants us to pass on to our readers.

Another thing that’s better than it used to be – one close to my heart – is much greater emphasis on explanatory journalism. The internet has hugely increased the blizzard of news that we must fight our way through each day. Our readers don’t need more news, they need more help figuring out what on earth it all means. This, of course, is a big part of what I’ve always seen as my role.

With the advent of the internet, social media, the greater scope for the spread of misinformation and disinformation, and now AI, it’s easy see all this as a huge threat to what’s now called the MSM – the mainstream media, of which the SMH is a prime example. We live in a media world where people are finding it harder and harder to know whose news to believe. Who to trust.

What I want to say is that, for the mainstream media, and the quality end of the MSM, all the extra doubt and uncertainty about who to believe is playing into our hands. We are still more trusted by our customers than other, less reputable sources of information. Provided we retain our readers’ trust, work to regain what trust we have lost, and make retaining the trust of our readers our highest priority, I think we’ll survive – maybe even prosper – in a world teeming with misinformation.

We must never knowingly mislead our readers. We must see quickly correcting any errors we’ve made inadvertently, not as an admission of failure, but as badge of honour. Proof that we can be trusted. It means no more “I’m not sure it’s true, but it’s a great yarn and the punters will love it” stories. No more dubious stories published to oblige a powerful source – usually a government – and keep it supplying us with exclusives. It means telling our readers what they need to know, not what they want to hear. It means being a good read the hard way, not the easy way.

I’m confident that, if we get the trust right, enough money will follow. I’m hoping to stay around doing my bit for a few years yet.

This is an edited version of the speech Ross Gittins gave at the event honouring his 50th anniversary at The Sydney Morning Herald. Held in the Great Hall of the University of Sydney and staged in partnership with the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences.

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