GDP is going backwards. That doesn't mean your life is, too

By Millie Muroi, Economics Writer 

If gross domestic product – better known by its nickname GDP – were a perfect reflection of our quality of life, we would be in trouble.

It’s a rough measure of how much we produce, earn and spend, and it grew a measly 0.1 per cent in the first three months of this year. If our population hadn’t boomed at the same time, Australia would be in recession. In fact, in per-person terms, we’ve actually been going backwards for an entire year.

GDP is a go-to gauge for politicians, pundits and journalists when it comes to our standard of living. Generally, if it’s growing, that’s a good thing. It means we’re producing more, making more money and getting to consume more: all signs of a happy, healthy economy, right? Not necessarily.

GDP reflects the monetary gains from economic activity. But it’s basically blind to any destruction we might cause to the natural environment as we pursue profits and make purchases. And it tells us nothing about how those monetary gains – or income – are shared among the rich and poor.

It also fails to account for all the other things that make life worth living: safety, a sense of belonging and how healthy (not just wealthy) we are, to name a few.

While it’s important to keep an eye on traditional economic indicators, they don’t give us a well-rounded picture of many of the things that matter. Metrics such as GDP, unemployment and inflation can help the Reserve Bank and government make informed choices when steering the economy.

But relying on these indicators alone is like driving down a highway with broken mirrors and shattered headlights. You might be able to see some things, but you’ll miss (and hit) a lot – with some pretty big consequences.

It’s part of the reason the Labor government has been copping heat this week after it decided not to add questions on topics such as sexuality in the 2026 census. Deputy Prime Minister Richard Marles said it was to avoid “divisive” community debate, but many members of the LGBTQ community understandably felt they were being overlooked.

Without solid data, it’s difficult to make policy decisions, particularly for groups that are vulnerable and facing particular challenges. This was a chance to fill one of those gaps.

But the Coalition has no clean record either when it comes to data collection. Shadow Treasurer Angus Taylor has said the government needs to zone in on lower inflation and lower interest rates. Fine. Except that he wants to scrap the government’s “Measuring What Matters” framework to do so.

But the Measuring What Matters framework … matters. It tracks our progress towards a more healthy, secure, sustainable, cohesive and prosperous Australia. That may sound fluffy and abstract. But those five adjectives frame 50 key indicators that make up the wellbeing dashboard, covering everything from air quality to how secure we feel and how healthy we are. It’s a toolkit we can use to fix at least some of the broken mirrors and headlights on our car and develop a more holistic view of our economy.

While it’s important to keep an eye on traditional economic indicators, they don’t give us a well-rounded picture of many of the things that matter.

It’s all about getting the economy to work for people and the planet rather than the other way around.

Dr Cressida Gaukroger, wellbeing government initiative lead at the Centre for Policy Development, says the data doesn’t often swing massively (perhaps one reason why the wellbeing report was largely glossed over by the media last week).

But it’s important because it gets us thinking about the long term, specifically “the changes we should be making now and the investments that we should be making now,” Gaukroger says. This way, we can save ourselves from longer-term problems that might otherwise be ignored in the frenzy around the latest GDP number, for example.

“Without that kind of long-term vision of what we should be aiming for, it makes it very difficult when we’re stuck with short-term election cycles and politicisation of government spending,” Gaukroger says.

So, what did the latest update on this data tell us? Let’s look at the bad news first.

Female health-adjusted life expectancy has dropped. Normally, Gaukroger says, we don’t see much movement in the average number of years a person can expect to live in “full health”. But chronic health conditions are crippling more people. About half of Australians lived with a chronic health condition in 2022 – up from 47 per cent in 2018 and 42 per cent in 2002, with women more likely to be grappling with one.

When it came to the environment, biological diversity worsened. From 1985 to 2020, the abundance of threatened and near-threatened species plummeted by roughly 60 per cent. Biodiversity is important because it ensures balanced and functioning ecosystems.

Some measures of cohesiveness have also deteriorated. In 2023, our sense of belonging fell to a value of 78 – the lowest it has been since 2007, when the measure was benchmarked at a score of 100.

But it’s not all doom and gloom. Other measures have improved, highlighting the areas we are thriving in.

We’re feeling safer walking through our neighbourhoods at night, and more than three-quarters of people in 2023 agreed with the statement that “accepting immigrants from many different countries makes Australia stronger” – up from 63 per cent in 2018.

Gaukroger says another positive development is the decline in “material footprint” per person, meaning fewer raw materials such as fossil fuels and minerals are being extracted to satisfy our demand. While the amount of raw materials being used to fulfil our wants and needs was 37.6 tonnes a person in 2010, the amount fell to 31 tonnes in 2023.

That means we’re working towards a circular economy, which reduces waste by, for example, sharing, reusing, repairing, and recycling things and designing materials that are less resource-intensive to make in the first place. This is a win for the environment.

The Measuring What Matters dashboard is not perfect. As Treasurer Jim Chalmers admitted last week, some of the data is too old, and there are still holes that need to be patched up. But it’s still well worth the investment.

Focusing too heavily on one thing comes at a cost. If we want a well-rounded gauge of our wellbeing and effective policy to drive us to our desired destination, we need to look beyond GDP.

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How GPT (not that one) could help fix our inflation problem

By Millie Muroi, Economics Writer

ChatGPT is not the answer to Australia’s productivity problem. At least, not yet.

But I asked ChatGPT what its chances were of productivity improving in Australia – if it was a betting man. The answer? 70 to 80 per cent.

Productivity growth excites economics nerds, like those at the Reserve Bank ... and just about no one else. But it matters for everything from your mortgage to the prices you pay at shops and the quality of your life.

Why? Because productivity growth means being able to make more with what we have, which is the best solution to the biggest economic issue of our time: inflation.

After all, there are two sides to this inflation problem: too much demand and too little supply. Instead of the Reserve Bank beating down our appetite for goods and services through ramping up interest rates, wouldn’t it be nice if businesses could simply produce more with the workers and equipment they already had, therefore keeping prices in check?

We could work longer hours and maybe even put our machines under more strain, but we can only do that for so long: it would be like trying to run a marathon at sprinting speed.

That doesn’t mean we should abandon all hope.

Instead, to curb price rises, and to lift our living standards over time, we need to improve productivity. Like a marathon runner improving their running technique, we need a way to get faster or better at what we do. A crucial way of doing this is through discovering and using new technology that helps us pump out more, or better quality, goods and services, in a way that can be maintained.

The most influential of these tools (those that have transformed the way we live) are called General-Purpose Technologies – or GPTs for short. The steam engine, cars, electricity and the internet all count as GPTs, because they were widely adopted and became crucial pieces of technology which dramatically yanked up our productivity.

We may not consciously think about it. But imagine what our lives would look like today without electricity, internet and cars. We would be slower, have much less information at our fingertips and would find it harder to work once the sun sets.

As Andrew Leigh points out in his book The Shortest History of Economics, the journey to create the electric bulb itself shows how our productivity has improved. In prehistoric times, producing as much light as a regular household lightbulb using wood fire would have taken our ancestors about 58 hours of foraging for wood. Today, it takes less than a second of work to earn enough to flick a household light bulb on for an hour.

ChatGPT is an example of a tool that could become a general-purpose technology. But the “GPT” in its name actually stands for “generative pre-trained transformer”: a fancy way of saying a piece of software trained using huge amounts of data to offer up human-like answers to questions like mine.

During the pandemic, there was a short-lived surge in the take-up of cloud computing (IT services that businesses can use without owning or running the physical servers, hard drives and networks required themselves). But generally, Australian businesses are behind the curve when it comes to adopting new technologies – and we don’t develop much of it ourselves.

That doesn’t mean we should abandon all hope. Instead, we need to think about the drivers of, and barriers to, adopting technologies such as cloud computing and artificial intelligence: two GPTs in the making.

Kim Nguyen and Jonathan Hambur at the Reserve Bank say these technologies could alter the way we do business. But knowing how to use and make the most of them also requires highly skilled and educated workers.

A website called ChatGPT is raising questions about the role of artificial intelligence in our education, work and relationships.

Nguyen and Hambur’s research involved trawling through the annual reports, job ads and earnings calls of Australian businesses to figure out how much workers’ and managers’ skills matter when it comes to successful adoption of GPTs.

Here’s what they found. Firms which had snagged a board member with experience in the IT industry were 30 percentage points more likely to adopt a GPT. While there were certainly businesses which took up GPT without a technologically skilled board member on their team, these firms generally failed to see much improvement in their profitability after putting a GPT in place.

Basically, having board members with relevant technological experience has been linked to more profitable use of GPT. Of course, the authors point out this could be because firms that appoint technology-savvy board members tend to be more focused on IT in the first place, and therefore more likely to be able to adopt GPT in a way that increases profitability.

But firms with technologically skilled board members were also more likely to look for workers with GPT skills, indicating those workers might also play an important role in profitable GPT adoption. Whatever the exact link, uptake of GPT is linked to higher demand for skilled workers, meaning education and training will be key to nailing the use of these technologies.

While the Reserve Bank’s toolkit is limited to setting interest rates (and, informally, jawboning) the less painful solution to getting inflation under control is to improve our productivity, and therefore the amount of goods and services to go around.

Productivity growth is difficult to measure, and quarter-to-quarter movements can be rocked by things that have little to do with anything. But it has flattened out in recent months, and without productivity growth to match, wages, which have begun to pick up in recent times, will worry the Reserve Bank and may build the case for the Reserve Bank to keep interest rates higher for longer.

ChatGPT has hit the headlines over the past year: from students using it in a bid to boost their marks and to some media companies relying on it to churn out AI-generated content. While it’s yet to join the ranks of coveted general-purpose technologies, ChatGPT is an example of innovation which could turn out to be a game-changer.

Right now, it’s an imperfect tool being put to use by an inexperienced user (me). But I asked ChatGPT if it could write a better opinion piece, and faster than I could. The answer? “I’d love to give it a try!” 

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Think you've snagged a bargain online? It's you who's been snagged

By Millie Muroi, Economics Writer 

In a cost-of-living crisis, I’m sure I’m not the only bargain hunter who has put giant e-commerce sites Temu, Shein and Wish to the test.

I’ve heard all the arguments against shopping online, and like most of my generation, I’ve shrugged off most of them, too. It’s how we do things when money is tight. Get with the program, or get old.

One friend splashed cash on a giant stuffed pig from Temu for my birthday, and another told me their “mate” (sure, sure) had tried buying some “weird stuff” from Wish, including weapons and sex toys. By weapons, they meant pepper spray. I didn’t press on the sex toys.

“Verdict?” I asked. “Worth someone switching suppliers?”

“Feel free to trust the online reviews,” they replied. “I can’t speak for it myself.”

You might think you’ve bagged a bargain, or something you wouldn’t buy in person, when using these sites. And in some cases, you probably have. But whether you’re stocking up on knock-off essentials, or chasing a quick hit of retail therapy, there are some risks to keep in mind.

First, there’s the good chance you’re spending more than you bargained for. Sneaky sales tactics have been used by bricks-and-mortar shops for decades. Switching up the floor plan every few weeks or months, for example, forces customers to spend more time in the store and discover products they may not have noticed before on their well-worn path.

But online shopping is a different ball game, and has ushered in a raft of new sneaky techniques. One of these strategies is gamification: where e-commerce sites turn shopping into a game-like experience. Hop onto Temu, for example, and you might mistake it for an online casino.

Timers count down how long you have before you’ll miss out on a deal. And when a roulette wheel of discounts and store credit pops up with tantalising rewards (and seemingly no possibility of losing), it would seem silly not to give it a shot, right?

The dopamine hit from activities like spinning a wheel and landing a discount help reel us in, keep us engaged, and get us invested in making use of our reward, which, of course, means spending. The countdowns, meanwhile, fuel a sense of scarcity and urgency which compel us to act now (often impulsively), rather than abandon our cart.

Gamification, of course, is not just an online phenomenon. McDonald’s, for instance, runs its Monopoly promotion every year, encouraging customers to collect tokens, some of which can be exchanged instantly in-store for discounts.

But there are few e-commerce sites which have used these tactics so heavily, and converted so many people into customers. Despite only launching in 2022, Temu has become the fifth most popular online retail brand in Australia, with an estimated 1.2 million Australians checking out on the platform, and $1.3 billion spent by them annually.

Of course, part of this comes from the hundreds of millions of dollars the company has splashed each year on advertising. This includes money spent to flood social media platforms with ads and, in the US, even a spot at the most sought-after marketing opportunity: the Super Bowl.

Since Temu’s debut, its Chinese parent company Pinduoduo has seemingly gone from strength to strength. In the first three months of this year, it raked in nearly $5.4 billion in profit, triple its earnings from the same period last year.

Apart from its mammoth marketing budget, Temu has probably also benefited from launching at a time when inflation pressures, especially across developed economies, have driven customers to intensify their hunt for bargains.

Amazon, the US behemoth which launched back in 1994 as an online bookstore, still holds the top spot in e-commerce when it comes to profits and sales globally. But companies such as Temu have come under particular scrutiny because of a Chinese intelligence law which allows Beijing to access sensitive information held by Chinese firms.

While information on the $2 phone case you bought from Temu might not be too consequential, there are suspicions the Chinese government could be accessing personal information which could expose customers to fraud or cyberattacks.

And while misbehaviour by multinationals isn’t an issue unique to Chinese companies, regulation and compliance in China can be looser. Temu, for instance, has been accused of selling products built with slave labour. And authorities in Seoul this month found women’s accessories sold by companies including Shein, Temu and AliExpress contained toxic substances, some at hundreds of times above the legal limit.

There are also wider economic implications of shopping with these platforms. A tactic often used by new companies is to temporarily sell at loss-making prices; that is, they sell their goods for less than it costs to make and ship them.

It can’t be done forever, but businesses with money to burn can use these aggressive strategies to drive smaller competitors into the ground or steal customers away from bigger rivals. Consumers benefit, for a little while, from cheaper prices, but competing businesses may suffer and so, eventually, will consumers.

Then, there’s the issue of sharing data. The internet has made it easier for companies to collect personal and minute behavioural information at an unprecedented scale.

While this can be beneficial when companies can match you with products you actually need, at prices that can’t be beaten, it can also help them take advantage of our weaknesses and play to our psychology in ways that make us spend more than we should.

There’s little doubt heavy use of gamification on sites such as Temu is already hooking us in. But by engaging with these tactics in the first place, we’re also feeding into the algorithms they use, and helping these companies figure out what makes us tick.

Temu’s tagline is “shop like a billionaire”, but unless we stay alert to the risks and tactics used by these e-commerce giants, it will be their pockets we end up lining.

While new and competitive businesses are a good thing for consumers looking for a bargain, we should keep a careful eye on these firms. After all, they’re keeping a close watch on ours.

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RBA worries too much about expectations of further high inflation

Other central banks have started cutting interest rates, yet our Reserve Bank is declining to join them because, as governor Michele Bullock explained on Friday, it doesn’t expect our rate of inflation to fall back to the mid-point of its target range “in a reasonable timeframe”.

Its latest forecasts don’t see the “underlying” (that is, smoothed) annual inflation rate returning to 3 per cent until the end of next year, and reaching the mid-point of 2.5 per cent until late in 2026.

Clearly, the Reserve doesn’t see such a timeframe as reasonable, so it’s keeping interest rates high for longer, until it can see inflation returning to target much earlier. And, Bullock warns, should the inflation outlook get worse, she won’t hesitate to raise rates further.

Obviously, the longer interest rates stay high, the greater the risk of forcing the economy into recession, with much higher unemployment and business failures, something Bullock swears she wants to avoid.

But what’s the hurry? Why is taking another two years to get inflation down an unreasonable timeframe? (Another question is, what’s so magical about 2.5 per cent? Why would 3 per cent or 3.5 per cent also be unreasonable? But I’ll leave that for another day.)

The hurry comes from central bankers’ longstanding fear that, should the inflation rate stay high for too long, the people who set prices and wages will come to expect that inflation will stay high rather than return to where it used to be.

Why do their expectations matter? Because, many economists believe, when enough people expect inflation to stay high, they act on their expectations and so make them a reality. Workers and their unions demand higher wages, and businesses pass their higher costs on to customers in higher prices.

This is the much-remarked “wage-price spiral”. It’s important to remember, however, that inflation expectations and wage-price spirals aren’t a longstanding tenet of either neoclassical or Keynesian economics.

They’re just a bit of pop psychology some economists came up with to explain why, in the mid-1970s, the developed economies found themselves beset by “stagflation” – both high inflation and high unemployment.

So how much we should worry about inflation expectations is an empirical question: is the idea borne out by the facts and figures?

In 2022, Dr John Bluedorn and colleagues at the International Monetary Fund conducted a study of the historical evidence for wage-price spirals in the developed economies, concluding that a jump in wage growth shouldn’t necessarily be seen as a sign that a wage-price spiral is taking hold.

Bluedorn elaborated on these finding at the Reserve Bank’s annual research conference last September. The discussant for his paper was Iain Ross, former president of the Fair Work Commission and now a member of the Reserve’s board.

Ross (and leading labour market economists, such as Melbourne University’s Professor Jeff Borland) readily agree that Australia experienced a wage-price spiral in the 1970s. But both men conclude that our circumstances 50 years later are “very different”, which means it should be possible to sustain steady wage growth without initiating a wage-price spiral.

In mid-2022, Borland listed three respects in which our present circumstances are different. First, upward pressure on wages is being limited on the supply side by employers’ ability to give extra hours of work to part-time workers who’d prefer more hours, and by drawing more participants into the jobs market.

Second, changes in the “institutional environment” since the 1970s have reduced the scope for people to get wage rises based on the principle of “comparative wage justice” – “Those workers have had a pay rise, so it’s only fair that we get the same.”

And third, a decline in the proportion of workers who are members of a union, and a range of other factors, have reduced workers’ bargaining power, thus limiting the size of wage increases likely to be obtained.

There could hardly be anyone in the country better qualified than Ross to explain how the institutional arrangements governing the way wages are set have changed over the decades. He told the conference that “these changes have been profound and substantially reduce the likelihood of a wage-price spiral”.

The central difference was that, in the 1970s and 1980s, the institutional arrangements facilitated the transmission of wage increases bargained at the enterprise level – usually by unions in the metal trades – to the relevant industry sector and then ultimately to the broader workforce.

There were four important respects in which the present rules are very different. First, the new “modern awards” operate as a minimum safety net and the circumstances in which minimum wages may be adjusted are limited. In effect, there is no scope to adjust minimum award rates to reflect the outcome of collective bargaining at the enterprise level.

Second, the Fair Work Act limits the general adjustment of all modern-award minimum wage rates to one annual wage review conducted by the Fair Work Commission.

Third, enterprise agreements need to be approved by the commission before they acquire legal force. The length of agreements averages three years, during which time employees covered by that agreement can’t lawfully engage in industrial action in pursuit of further wage rises.

Fourth, the sanctions against engaging in such industrial action are, Ross said, “readily accessible and effective”.

Ross noted that the proportion of all workers who are members of a union has fallen dramatically since the 1970s. From a little above 50 per cent, it has fallen to 12.5 per cent. And in the private sector it’s down to 8.2 per cent.

The manufacturing sector and its unions were central to the wage-price spiral of the 1970s. But manufacturing’s share of total employment has fallen from 22 per cent to 6 per cent, while the proportion of union members in manufacturing has fallen from 57 per cent to 10 per cent.

Whereas the annual number of working days lost to industrial disputes was about 800 per 1000 employees during the 1970s, these days it’s next to nothing.

Ross said the present enterprise bargaining arrangements operate as a shock absorber by constraining the bargaining capacity of employees subject to an agreement. “To date there is no evidence of the emergence of a wage-price spiral in the present circumstances and recent data suggests such an outcome is unlikely,” he concluded.

My point is, there’s no reason for the Reserve to live in fear of an imminent worsening in inflation expectations if workers and their unions’ ability to turn their expectations into higher wages is greatly constrained. That being so, we shouldn’t allow impatience to get the inflation rate back to target to worsen the risk we’ll end up in a recession, the depth and length of which could greatly impair our return to full employment.

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Why the Reserve Bank thinks it's too soon to cut interest rates

By Millie Muroi, Economics Writer 

When the Reserve Bank’s second-in-command – recently appointed deputy governor Andrew Hauser – took shots at his closest observers this week, he ruffled plenty of feathers.

“It’s a world of winners and losers, gurus and charlatans, geniuses and buffoons,” he proclaimed. Then he wagged a finger at those confidently commentating from the sidelines on the direction of the economy. “It’s a dangerous game,” he warned.

We know economists – including those at the Reserve Bank – are notoriously bad at knowing exactly what we (and therefore the economy) will do. So, why was Hauser so mad at those confidently making their own calls?

Brash statements made by the media, government and economists have real-world consequences. People often rely on that information to make decisions, from taking out mortgages to negotiating wages.

“What about Phil Lowe?” you may ask. Didn’t the former RBA governor promise in 2021 that interest rates would not go up until 2024? Well, sort of. It was actually couched in caveats which many people glossed over.

The Reserve Bank generally treads carefully because the words of its bosses can shift behaviour: a hidden weapon beyond its interest rate-setting superpower.

RBA governor Michele Bullock often declares she is “not providing forward guidance” when fielding questions from journalists trying to get a steer on interest rates. But last week, she gave the closest thing to guidance in a while: people’s expectation for rate cuts in the next six months doesn’t align with the RBA board’s feeling, she said. At least, “not at the moment.”

In doing so, Bullock flexed the bank’s hidden bicep. She signalled for all of us to rein in our expectations of a rate cut and, she would have hoped, our inflation expectations.

This is important because what people believe can become reality. If we expect inflation to stay high, this belief can feed into the wages we ask for, and the prices businesses charge.

That’s not to say the Reserve Bank doesn’t believe its own thinking. The only medicine it can explicitly prescribe is the level of interest rates, but the central bank busies itself with a lot of data gathering, discussions and number crunching to diagnose the state of the economy.

Core to the Reserve’s thinking is its observation that, collectively, we are consuming more than we can produce for an extended period of time. Sure, young people and mortgage holders have been tightening their belts as housing costs surge. But that’s been more than offset by older, affluent Australians splurging on things such as travel, by population growth and by government spending.

Now, the government has bones to pick with any suggestion that its spending is contributing to inflation. And Government Services Minister Bill Shorten this week trashed RBA chief economist Sarah Hunter’s assessment that the economy is “running a little bit too hot”.

However, it is important to note Hunter’s view isn’t necessarily that Australians are doing too well, or that the economy is bubbling along. It’s more a reflection of the limited spare capacity we have to cater for the spending – however little or much of it we may be doing.

We’re spending “too much” mostly by comparison to the limited resources we have to keep up with it: the people making our coffee in the morning and machines they use to brew it for us, for example.

Unless we become more productive, making more with the things we already have, the more we strain people and machines to meet our demands, and the pricier things will be to produce.

Productivity is especially difficult to improve for sectors such as hospitality, which rely heavily on people rather than machines (there’s only so many ways your barista can brew a coffee faster and better). And it’s why services inflation is proving so much more stubborn than goods inflation.

How does the Reserve Bank know how much spare capacity we have (and therefore how much pressure we might expect on prices)? It looks at something called the output gap: the difference between how much we’re producing and how much we could produce without putting too much pressure on prices.

Heaven for the Reserve Bank would be an output gap of zero. Any lower means we’re not using our resources as intensively as we could – including people who want to work, but can’t find jobs, or machines sitting idle.

Any higher, and we’re using our resources too intensively. This can be OK for a short period, but as workers demand higher wages, machines are run into the ground and businesses compete for a shrinking pool of resources, prices rise. For the past few years, this is the state the Reserve Bank thinks our economy has been in.

Measuring the output gap is tricky. We can’t really see it, and our capacity can change over time as our population changes, or we find better ways to do things. So, how does the RBA measure it?

How much the economy is producing is measured through statistics such as Gross Domestic Product. The trickier task is pinning down how much the economy could produce without adding to inflation. To do this, the Reserve Bank uses economic models which spit out results based on things such as what’s happened in the past and the data plugged into them: relatively straightforward numbers such as population, as well as educated assumptions about other factors influencing the economy.

The bank also asks businesses about their capacity usage through surveys and by chatting with them through its liaison program. Then, there’s also the inflation figure itself.

While the output gap is just one gauge, it is given considerable weight in the Reserve Bank’s decisions. So far, the gap is narrowing, the bank says, but it’s likely we’re still pushing our resources past the ideal level to pull inflation back into line.

There’s not much the central bank can do to increase potential output, or capacity, in the economy, which is why it is instead focusing on weakening our demand, or spending.

While a rate cut now would be like an iron infusion for an anaemic economy, help preserve jobs, and bring mortgage holders relief, the bank is clearly on the warpath against its public enemy number one: inflation.

Keep in mind, though, no one is perfect. The Reserve Bank is careful to stress that the output gap, like most of its other measures, is “subject to considerable uncertainty.”

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What does sharemarket turmoil tell us about our economy? Not a lot

 

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

When the Reserve Bank board walked into their two-day interest rate meeting in Sydney this week, most of their key numbers were locked in.

By the time they closed their laptops and zipped up their bags on Monday, the Australian sharemarket had shed close to $100 billion in one day: the biggest single-day drop since the pandemic came knocking. The Reserve Bank board “discussed it, obviously,” governor Michele Bullock told the media on Tuesday, but the turmoil didn’t play a role in the bank’s final decision to keep interest rates on hold.

So why didn’t the central bank care when panic swept across financial markets earlier this week? In short: because the sharemarket isn’t the economy – or a good indication of it. “It was a bit of an overreaction,” Bullock said. “It was one number.”

That number – a jump in the US unemployment rate – rattled investors because it signalled the world’s biggest economy could be closer to recession than people had thought. But why did it hit the Australian sharemarket so hard? And what does it tell us about our economy, if anything?

First, volatility in financial markets – where people buy and sell financial assets – doesn’t necessarily relate to the “real economy” with its goods, services and people. “Financial volatility does affect sentiment, and incentives for households and businesses to invest,” Bullock said at an address in her hometown of Armidale on Thursday. “But it isn’t the economy.”

Second, financial markets around the world have become increasingly intertwined. When something happens, especially in US markets, it’s certain to have a knock-on effect for Australia. And with so many large investors holding similar views, there was probably a “mechanical response” by markets, according to Westpac chief economist, and former RBA chief economist, Luci Ellis.

By that, she means a lot of people’s investment strategies changing course at the same time. “If large parts of financial market investors change their mind about the outlook for interest rates in the US, for example, they’ll all be trying to do the same thing at once,” she says.

There’s also a thing called “herd mentality bias” in finance, which refers to investors’ tendency to follow and copy what other investors are doing. A rhetorical question most of us get asked when we’re young and want to do something because our friends are, is: “if your friend jumped off a cliff, would you do the same?” When it comes to the sharemarket, the answer is often yes.

But this means when the tide starts to turn, there’s often a big shift in markets, with people hopping onto (or off) the bandwagon and copying what their peers are doing. As share prices start to fall, often the panic feeds on itself, and manifests in a big stock-selling frenzy, regardless of what started it.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what markets were thinking, and what factors fed into their reaction earlier this week. But the clear feeling sweeping through it was nervousness. When investors are nervous, they tend to sell shares, and move into “safer” investments such as bonds.

Does all this mean the Australian economy is in for an apocalypse? No, far from it.

When it comes to the fallout of the sharemarket plunge, there will probably be a slight impact on people’s wealth, at least over the short term, in what’s called the “wealth effect”. This is essentially the theory that people will tend to spend less when the value of their assets – such as their investments in the sharemarket – fall, and vice versa. The richer we feel, the more we’re likely to splurge.

But most Australian households don’t think too deeply about day-to-day movements in the sharemarket. A lot of our wealth, particularly when it comes to shares, are held in our superannuation funds, which most of us check on about as often as we change our tyres – only when we need to. And while the plummet this week may have caught our attention, we’re likely to have largely forgotten about it a few months down the line.

HSBC Australia chief economist Paul Bloxham points out it wasn’t just one number driving the movement.

On top of the weaker-than-expected jobs data from the US, there was also weaker manufacturing sentiment and Japan’s decision to hike interest rates, he says. Investors have been making the most of near-zero interest rates in Japan by borrowing money to invest in other countries such as the US: a strategy known as a “carry trade”. But the deadly combination of rising interest rates in Japan and signs of a slowing economy in the US suddenly made this trade unattractive, leading to a rapid pullback from these types of investments.

“When markets have a lot of participants all holding the same view, and it turns out that view isn’t right, when all of those people try to get out of that trade all at once, it can often be quite difficult, and you get more volatility,” he says.

While the Australian economy is closely connected to other countries, especially those in Asia, the choppy forces moving the Australian sharemarket often tend to be global.

By contrast, Bloxham says the biggest issue for the Australian economy remains inflation, which has become an increasing domestic issue.

“What matters more right now is that local inflation is still higher than it should be,” he says. “That matters more in terms of thinking about interest rates, and what it means for the local economy more generally, and that’s why the RBA is more focused on that than they are on the share market turmoil we’ve seen.”

To be clear, financial market movements can influence economic policy decisions from the RBA and the government, especially if they suggest there are problems around financial stability. During the global financial crisis, for example, the sharemarket crash reflected big losses in wealth and large numbers of people becoming financially distressed, which had a significant impact on the economic outlook. And a sluggish US economy would undoubtedly drag down overall global growth.

But sharemarket scares are frequent. And while the financial market, with all its fancy instruments can, on rare occasions, reflect the health of the economy, more often than not, it’s much ado about nothing. Don’t read too much into it.

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Misbehaviour thrives in our age of capitalism without capitalists

There’s a vital lesson to be learnt from the latest episode in the saga of former chief executive Alan Joyce’s ignominious departure from Qantas last year: these days, no one’s in control of the capitalist ship.

It seems clear that, in his last years in the job, Joyce decided to give the size of his final payout priority over the maintenance of good relationships with the company’s staff and customers. He left Qantas suddenly in September last year with what was to have been a package of $23 million, including his final-year salary and bonuses.

But by then, many customers were complaining and the company’s behaviour was under investigation by the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission. The board decided to retain the right to claw back much of the payout, pending a review of the airline’s management.

Meanwhile, the High Court found that the company had illegally sacked 1700 ground handlers.

Last week the company announced the results of the review by Tom Saar, a former partner in management consultants McKinsey. He found that Joyce’s tenure as chief executive directly contributed to the erosion of the airline’s relationships with its regulators and customers.

He also found the board did not adequately challenge its executives and failed to acknowledge non-financial risks. The group’s management contributed to a string of failures that resulted in “considerable harm to its relationships with customers, employees and other stakeholders”.

The board decided to dock more than $9 million from Joyce’s final payout. It also decided to reduce the short-term bonuses of all current and former executives who were part of the leadership team last year. This included the new chief executive, Vanessa Hudson, who served as the group’s finance chief.

I recount all this because it’s just an extreme example of the licence chief executives enjoy because they work for companies that are owned by everyone in general and no one in particular. We know of billionaire company owners such as Rupert Murdoch, Twiggy Forrest, Gina Rinehart and Clive Palmer, but these are the exceptions.

In legal theory, the job of company boards is to represent the interests of the shareholders. In practice, as the Qantas case well demonstrates, boards defer to executives because they’re drawn from the same fraternity of managers.

It’s noteworthy that the person the board chose to review Qantas’ management was himself a member of that fraternity. Its board emphasised that his report contained “no findings of deliberate wrongdoing” but that “mistakes were made by the board and management”.

Considering the damage done to the airline’s reputation, and the abuse of its position as the dominant player in Australia’s domestic aviation, Joyce wasn’t docked as much as he could have been. And merely cutting other executives’ short-term bonuses by a third lets them off lightly.

In the phrase coined by the Australia Institute’s Dr Richard Denniss, we now live in a capitalist economy without any capitalists. This is true of all the developed economies, but it’s particularly true of Australia because of the way almost all employees are compelled to contribute 11.5 per cent, soon to be 12 per cent, of their wages to superannuation funds.

Those super savings now total more than $3.9 trillion, with about 28 per cent of that invested in listed and unlisted Australian shares, plus 27 per cent in foreign listed shares. This means those of us with superannuation account for about 38 per cent of the value of shares listed on the Australian stock exchange.

So, what say do people with super have in the running of the companies whose shares they own? Next to none.

Their super funds are run by trustees. Do members have any say in who gets to be a trustee? No. The trustees are under no obligation tell members which companies’ shares their savings are invested in.

Of course, almost all shares carry the right to vote at a company's annual general meeting. And at those meetings, shareholders do get to vote for or against the company’s proposed remuneration to executives. So, do the owners of shares via their super get the right to vote at company meetings? No, of course not.

Well, who does get that? Maybe the funds’ trustees, or maybe the managers of the “managed investment funds” in which your super fund has invested.

And do those trustees or investment managers actually vote at company meetings? Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. Who knows? Super members aren’t told.

It follows that, when they do vote, we aren’t told which way they voted. Did your shares vote for or against the big pay rises the directors and executives intend to award themselves? Did they vote for or against further investment in fossil fuel projects?

See what they mean about us living in an age of capitalism without capitalists? We live in a time when big business is run by executives, with surprisingly little to constrain their freedom of action unless they come to our attention by, like Alan Joyce, going way over the top.

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We should stop using a blunt instrument to manage the economy

In the economy, as in life, it helps a lot if you learn from your mistakes. Or, if you’re in public life, from the mistakes of your predecessors.

Accordingly, the caning that former Reserve Bank governor Dr Philip Lowe got for his assurance that interest rates wouldn’t rise before 2024 does much to explain why his successor, Michele Bullock, has been so persistently cagey about the future of rates.

Even as she’s announced a decision that the official cash rate was to be left unchanged, she’s warned that it may need to rise in future. And indeed, that the case for raising it had been seriously considered.

But last week, with the herd sniffing in the wind the smell of rate cuts, she took her life in her hands and got a lot more specific – though not before muttering the incantation that she was not providing “forward guidance” (that was the crime Lowe was convicted of).

In a carefully rehearsed line, she said that a “near-term reduction in the cash rate does not align with the board’s current thinking”. Oh yes, and what does “near term” mean? The next six months, she said.

“Current” thinking. Get it? In other words, that thinking could change over, say, the next six months. Especially because, as she repeated, the board’s decisions would depend on what the economic indicators were telling it. And, as she keeps saying, “the outlook remains highly uncertain”.

It’s clear many people aren’t convinced the board’s thinking against cutting rates will stay unchanged for the next six months. Because the financial markets are so heavily into betting, their predictions are almost always based on what they expect the Reserve will do.

But there are plenty of other, simpler souls, whose emphasis is on what they believe the Reserve should do to ensure it avoids the recession it says it wants to avoid.

The other point about learning from your mistakes and adventures is the familiar problem that those who were around at the time of lesson-learning pass on, handing over to people who weren’t around to have learnt.

This is what worries me as the Reserve ploughs on, determined to ensure the inflation rate returns to the centre of its target range within a time that the Reserve itself judges to be the maximum time acceptable. This determination seems to be regardless of the source of the forces that are slowing the return to mid-target and making it “bumpy”.

When the Reserve was granted operational independence by the elected government in the mid-1990s, its bosses at the time understood a truth I’m not sure their successors still understand. When you’re not free of the politicians, you can leave the politics to them. But when you are free of them, you have to do your own politics.

Now, I’ve been a great supporter of central bank independence. It’s been one experiment that time has shown to be a big improvement on leaving interest rates to the pollies. But we, and the central bankers, must understand that central bank independence is an uneasy fit with democracy.

We now have a situation where the central bank has the most control over whether the economy is plunged into severe recession, but the only people the voters can punish for this are not the central bankers, but the government of the day.

So, to get specific, if the Reserve Bank decides inflation can’t be fixed without a recession or, more likely, miscalculates and leaves interest rates too high for too long, it won’t be Michele Bullock that voters punish, it will be Anthony Albanese and his government.

Guess what? Should that happen, Labor is likely to be angry and vengeful. And, as Bullock’s predecessors understood, should government pass to the Liberals, their strongest emotion is likely not to be gratitude, but a determination that the Reserve won’t be allowed to trip them up the way it tripped up Labor.

With independent central banks being the long-established convention throughout the developed world, would any government of ours be game to strip the Reserve of its independence? Probably not.

But politicians have other, less noticeable ways of bringing independent institutions to heel. The usual way – practised by the previous federal government with the Administrative Appeals Tribunal and the Fair Work Commission, and by Donald Trump with the US Supreme Court – is to stack appointments to the board with people who share the government’s predispositions.

So there will be a way for the politicians to pass the voters’ punishment on to the Reserve should it stuff up. This is why it does have to do its own politics.

And there’s another, far more positive way that could be used to clip the Reserve’s wings. This episode of tightening, much more than any previous episode since the day-to-day management of the macroeconomy was handed over to the Reserve in the 1980s, has revealed just how unfair and ineffective it is to make the manipulation of interest rates the dominant instrument for managing the strength of demand.

As research by Associate Professor Ben Phillips of the Australian National University has confirmed, the much-lamented cost-of-living crisis has been imposed on households with big mortgages far more than on any other households.

When you take account of the way rents actually fell during the lockdowns, renters haven’t been hard hit, while those who own their homes outright have been laughing. People on pensions or the dole have been protected by indexation.

So the reliance on interest rates to reduce demand is hugely unfair. But it’s also lacking in effectiveness. All of us have contributed to the excessive demand for goods and services, but only the minority of us with big mortgages have been pressed directly to pull back our spending.

This is why our management of the macroeconomy needs reform. We need another, much broader-based instrument that could be used as well as, or in place of, interest rates. Temporary changes in the rate of the goods and services tax are one possibility, but I’m attracted to the idea of temporary changes to the rate of compulsory superannuation contributions.

The two instruments – one interest rates, and the other budgetary – could be controlled by a new independent authority.

Despite all the Reserve’s apologies for having just a single, blunt tool and all the hardship it causes home buyers, we’ll wait a long time before it suggests sharing its power with a rival independent authority.

As well, the banks have ways of ensuring they benefit from rising interest rates, while financial markets want to keep betting at Reserve Bank race days.

So I’m tempted by the thought that only if the Reserve stuffs up and causes a severe recession are we likely to see the reform to macroeconomic management we so badly need.

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Our troubled universities have become the politicians' plaything

If it wasn’t for their sterling success in fattening their own salaries, I’d be tempted to feel sorry for the nation’s vice chancellors. They’ve been screwed around for years by federal governments of both colours, and the mess they’re in – some of which they try to cover up – gets ever deeper.

They’re another victim of our decades-long dalliance with “neoliberalism”. But now the task is to sort out this and other messes a misguided experiment has left us with.

Successive federal governments have engineered a kind of backdoor privatisation of our universities. They remain owned by the states and heavily regulated by the feds, but have increasingly been told to pay their own way.

The feds have sought to greatly increase the proportion of school-leavers going on to university, but limit the cost to their own budget. They’ve done this partly by requiring students to cover some of the cost of providing their degrees themselves, but mainly by encouraging the unis to attract overseas students and charge them full freight.

I’m happy to defend the fairness and good sense of the original HECS – the higher education contribution scheme – but successive governments have increased and distorted the fees in ways that can’t be defended. The most egregious is the Morrison government’s crazy “job-ready graduates” scheme, under which it reduced the fees for some degrees, but doubled them for arts and some others.

Last month the federal Education Department revealed that the cost of a three-year arts degree is likely to reach $50,000 for students beginning their studies in 2025. The alleged purpose of the increase was to discourage young people from taking courses that didn’t lead to jobs where the demand for workers was great. Predictably, it didn’t work. And only an ignoramus would regard an arts degree as of little value.

Last week the new vice chancellor of Western Sydney University, Professor George Williams, complained bitterly about this, saying young people were being priced out of their dreams and fearful of being left with a HECS debt for the rest of their lives.

No one understands better than the Albanese government that the fees charged for different degrees should be based on the graduate’s likely lifetime earnings. But characteristically, it is hastening at a snail’s pace, hoping to fix it one day.

Many problems have arisen from the universities’ ever-growing dependence on raising revenue from overseas students. The big eight unis devote much effort to finding ways to game the various league tables of the world’s universities, knowing a high rank will allow them to charge higher fees to overseas students.

But now The Guardian Australia has reported that many overseas students can’t speak basic English, yet were passing courses and being awarded degrees. Cheating and plagiarism is widespread, it’s been told. I’m sorry to say I have no trouble believing these claims. But I have more trouble sharing the universities’ alarm over the Albanese government’s intention to impose uni-by-uni caps on how many overseas students they may admit.

Although federal politicians are happy to share the credit for our unis’ high international rankings, and delighted to have them less reliant on the federal budget, they’re just as liable to turn on the unis when their dependence on overseas income becomes a problem.

The hard line the Morrison government took with overseas students during the pandemic and the closing of our borders contributed to the unexpected surge in overseas students after the borders reopened.

It’s idle for the universities to deny that the surge has contributed to the shortage of rental accommodation. And it’s understandable for the government to want to ease the pressure on rents. But the surge is likely to be temporary and the various measures the feds have taken to correct their own mistakes are likely to fix the problem without any need to resort to caps. Sometimes pollies wield big sticks without intending to use them.

Some economists have questioned the official estimates of the value of overseas students’ contribution to the economy – up to $40 billion a year – which the vice chancellors have used unceasingly to claim credit for being Australia’s third-largest export after iron ore and coal.

The calculation seems inconsistent with the way the value of other services exports are measured. On a more consistent basis, the $40 billion might be nearer to $20 billion. If so, it’s support for my conclusion that the pollies’ backdoor privatisation of the unis has left us with the worst of both worlds.

Academics complain that their uni seems to have more administrators than academics. But what would you expect when you take a government department and demand that it start behaving like a profit-making business?

Just as the chief executives of big businesses are hugely overpaid, so now are vice chancellors – who, admittedly, do run huge organisations. The employees at the top justify their high remuneration by their success in holding down the wages of the employees below them. But the most deplorable thing the unis have copied from the private sector is the way they’ve used casualisation to rob young academics of any job security.

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There's a good case for cutting interest rates ASAP

What a difference a number makes. For weeks, the money market’s macho men had been telling us interest rates needed to rise yet further to ensure inflation would keep falling. But last week, their case went up in smoke and now almost no one thinks the Reserve Bank board will do anything at its two-day meeting starting today.

The weeks of idle speculation came to an end when finally we saw the consumer price index for the June quarter. It showed underlying inflation falling to 3.9 per cent.

So, sighs of relief all round. But why had we allowed these misguided souls to cause us so much angst? Why had their intimations of death and destruction been given so much air time?

Short answer: because we find bad news more interesting than good news. But as last week’s abrupt turnaround reminds us, the bad news ain’t necessarily so. So maybe we should give a hearing to those urging the Reserve to do something nice rather than nasty.

Let me tell you about a briefing note from the economists at the Australian Council of Social Service, who remind the Reserve that its much-remarked “narrow path” to lower inflation without triggering a recession and high unemployment is narrow “because it’s rare for interest rate hikes of this scale and intensity not to trigger a serious economic downturn”.

The peak welfare organisation says the process of reducing demand and lowering inflation is already well under way and, since increases in official interest rates take up to two years to flow through to inflation and unemployment, it has called for the Reserve to start reducing interest rates immediately.

Those who focus on the slowdown in the fall of the inflation rate and conclude there’s a need for further tightening have failed to see how sharply job opportunities and living standards have fallen, even without a recession.

The council examines the data for the two years since the Reserve began increasing interest rates, from June 2022 to June 2024, and it finds a lot more evidence of downturn and pain than you may realise.

For a start, the number of vacancies for entry-level jobs has declined by almost a third. There are an additional 100,000 people unemployed, and almost as many extra people suffering underemployment (unable to find as many hours of work as they want).

If you know employment is still growing, get this: this has occurred only because of stronger growth in publicly funded jobs (particularly under the National Disability Insurance Scheme). The annual number of publicly funded jobs has grown from 210,000 to 326,000, whereas jobs growth in the market sector has collapsed from 321,000 a year to 6000 a year.

If interest rates stay high, jobs in the market sector are likely to decline, but the present growth in publicly funded jobs won’t last.

We have avoided a recession – an economy that’s getting smaller – so far only because of the surprisingly strong bounce-back in immigration since the reopening of our borders. This won’t continue.

But the real value of goods and services produced per person has been falling, meaning that living standards have been falling. Over the two years, average real income per person has fallen by 8 per cent, or about $5000 a year.

According to the council’s calculations, the stage 3 tax cuts, the energy rebate and increased rent allowance for people on pensions or benefits announced in the May budget will restore only about a fifth of this loss of real income to households.

So the macho men’s fear that the budget measures will add to inflation pressure is laughable. And the council doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind us that JobSeeker unemployment benefits remain a miserly $55 a day.

As for the macho men’s fear that a “price-wage spiral” could take off at any moment, the council says average wages have fallen by 2 per cent since June 2022, after adjusting for inflation.

Wages have started rising a fraction faster than inflation, but it will take many moons to make up that gap. Meanwhile, the collapse in consumer spending has been “precipitous”: a fall of 10 per cent in real spending per person since June 2022.

If the Reserve’s renewed commitment to maintaining full employment is to have any meaning, it will need to start cutting the official interest rate ASAP.

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One reason for our inflation problem: weak merger law

Nothing excites the business section of this august organ more than news of another merger between two public companies. “Merger” is the polite word for it; usually the more accurate word is “takeover”.

So, is the dominant firm offering a good price for the firm being acquired? And should the shareholders in the dominant firm be pleased or worried about the deal? Will it benefit them, or just the company executives who organised it? A bigger company equals higher salaries and bonuses, no?

The financial press tends to regard takeovers as all good fun. Part of the thrills and spills or living and investing in a capitalist economy. But such mergers change the shape of the economy that provides us with our living. Do they make the economy better or worse?

According to the Albanese government’s Assistant Minister for Competition Dr Andrew Leigh, a former economics professor, some mergers improve the economy, whereas some worsen it.

As he explained in a speech this week, mergers are part of the market mechanism that allows financial capital to go where it’s most needed and will do most good to the consumers, workers and savers who make up an economy.

Most mergers are a healthy way for firms to achieve economies of scale and scope, and to access new resources, technology and expertise, Leigh says.

But mergers can do serious economic harm when firms are motivated by a desire to squeeze competitors out of the market and so capture a larger share of the particular market.

So “the small number of proposed mergers that raise competition concerns warrant close scrutiny” to see whether they should be allowed to proceed, he says.

The point is that, according to economic theory, the main thing ensuring ordinary people benefit from living and working in a capitalist economy is strong competition between the profit-making businesses providing our goods and services, which limits their ability to charge excessive prices and make excessive profits.

Competition obliges businesses to pass on to customers much of the savings they make from using improved technology to increase their economies of scale, while preserving the quality of service provided to their customers.

Similarly, competition between a reasonable number of alternative employers is needed to ensure their workers are fairly paid.

This is why laws controlling mergers are one of the main pillars of policy to keep competition between firms effective, along with prohibitions on the forming of cartels and other collusion between supposedly rival firms, and the misuse of “market power” – the power to keep prices above the competitive level.

Leigh says merger law is unique among those pillars because it’s the preventative medicine of competition law. While the other pillars deal with anticompetitive practices that are already being used, it deals with the likely effect of future anticompetitive actions the merger could make possible.

Fine. Trouble is, reformers have been batting for about 50 years to get effective restrictions on the ability of Australian companies to proceed with mergers designed to limit competition and enjoy excessive pricing power.

Leigh notes that a less-competitive market can add to the cost of doing business, and reduce the incentives and opportunities to invest, grow and innovate. For consumers, a less competitive market leads to higher prices, less choice, and lower growth in wages.

Big companies have resisted previous reforms – sometimes as represented by the (big) Business Council – sometimes, when Labor’s been in power, by big unions in bed with their big employers.

But now the Albanese government is making another attempt to get decent control over mergers that are expected to worsen competition.

And not before time. The challenge in Australia is to name more than a handful of industries not dominated by a few big firms.

Academic research Leigh has been associated with has shown that monopoly power worsens inequality by transferring resources from consumers to shareholders. He found evidence that market concentration – a few firms with a big share of the market – had worsened.

As well, profit margins had worsened and “monopsony hiring power” – few employers in an industry – was a problem in many industries.

After the Albanese government’s election in 2022, Treasurer Jim Chalmers and Leigh set up a Competition Taskforce within the Treasury focused on advising the government on actionable reforms to create a more dynamic and productive economy.

The taskforce’s top priority was to reform our merger laws. Consultations with industries said our piecemeal merger process was unfit for a modern economy and lagged best practice in other countries.

We were one of only three developed countries with a system of notifying proposed mergers that was merely voluntary. The Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC) complained about inadequate notification of proposed mergers, insufficient public information about the mergers, “a reactive, adversarial approach from some businesses” and limited opportunity to present evidence of likely economic harm arising from a particular merger.

In April this year, Chalmers and Leigh announced what they said were “the most significant reforms to merger rules in almost 50 years”. They would reduce three ways of reviewing merger proposals to a single, mandatory but streamlined path to approval, run by the ACCC.

For merger proposals above a monetary threshold or market-concentration threshold, this means those which would create, strengthen or entrench substantial market power will be identified and stopped. But those consistent with our national economic interest will be fast-tracked.

Challenges to the commission’s decisions will be the responsibility of an Australian Competition Tribunal, made up of a Federal Court judge, an economist and a business leader.

This should make it easier for the majority of mergers to be approved quickly, so the commission can focus on the minority that are a worry on competition grounds.

It’s the great number of our industries dominated by just a few firms that makes us especially susceptible to the inflation surge we’re still struggling to get back under control.

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Cost-of-living crisis? Why only some of us are feeling the pinch

If you believe the opinion polls, we’re all groaning under the weight of the cost-of-living crisis. And Treasurer Jim Chalmers confirms we’ve all been “under the pump”. But it’s not that simple. Some of us are doing it a lot tougher than others. And some of us are actually ahead on the deal.

In any case, where did the living-cost crisis come from? That bit’s simple. The economy’s been on a rollercoaster for the past four and a half years. COVID and the lockdowns may seem a distant memory, but almost everything that’s happened in the economy since the end of 2019 has been the direct or indirect consequence of the pandemic.

The surge in consumer prices that began in early 2022 stemmed from a combination of temporary disruptions to supply caused by the pandemic, and excess demand for goods and services as people spent the money they’d earned but couldn’t spend during the lockdowns.

The tax cuts that began this month had been planned for six years, but Chalmers changed their intended shape radically to help people most affected by the cost of living. They mean that, by the end of this year, overall living standards should be just a little up on where they were five years ago.

Just as the media focus on bad news more than good news, so you and I focus more on what’s been happening to the cost of living than what’s been happening to our after-tax income. But it’s the difference between the two – our standard of living – that matters most.

Two economists at the Australian National University’s Centre for Social Policy Research, Associate Professor Ben Phillips and Professor Matthew Gray, have been crunching the numbers, and their results may surprise you.

They’ve examined the change in our standard of living since the end of 2019, and included a forecast up to the end of this year, to take account of the latest tax cuts and changes in the May budget.

Lumping all households together, they find that we did quite well in 2020 and 2021 as the Reserve Bank cut interest rates and governments spent billions on such things as the JobKeeper scheme and temporary doubling of JobSeeker unemployment benefits. But then living standards fell sharply in 2022 as consumer prices took off and housing costs rose. Living standards fell a little further last year, taking them to 0.6 per cent lower than they were before COVID arrived.

The authors estimate that, this year, the tax cuts and continuing pay rises will lift living standards to a princely 1.6 per cent above what they were in December 2019.

But those national averages conceal much variation. When the authors ranked all households by their disposable income, then divided them into five “quintiles”, the poorest 20 per cent are expected to end the five years with their living standard 3.5 per cent higher.

Huh? They did well partly because their pensions and benefits are indexed to inflation.

At the same time, the top 20 per cent of households are expected to be 2.7 per cent ahead. Why? Partly because they did well on their investments.

So it’s the middle 60 per cent of households that have been hit the hardest by the cost of living. The second lowest 20 per cent barely broke even, while the middle and upper-middle quintiles suffered a fall in their living standards.

But now we get to the pointy bit. Why did the middle do so much worse than the rest? Because that’s where you find most of the people with mortgages. Turns out all those households with mortgages are expected to see their living standards fall by 5.6 per cent over the five years to December 2024.

What about renters? Their living standards should rise by 2.9 per cent over the period. Huh? How could that be? It’s true that shortages of rental accommodation have caused rents to rise hugely this year and last. But much of that can be seen as catch-up for the lockdown-caused falls in rents in 2020 and 2021, and the small increases in 2022.

If you’re sitting down, I’ll tell you that the living standards of people who own their homes outright are expected to rise by … 8.5 per cent.

But here’s an even bigger shock: if you divide all the households by their main source of income, those in the “other” category – that is, not reliant on either wages or pensions – should see their standard of living rise by what the authors call “an astounding 15.8 per cent”.

Penny dropped yet? Yes, we’re talking about the group that always has its hand out for a handout to thank it for being too well-off to get the age pension: the self-described, so-called self-funded retirees.

But while you’re feeling sorry for all those poor souls (whose company I’ll be joining one day), spare a kick for the economists who, several decades ago, had the bright idea of using only interest rates to control inflation. They must have had a fairness bypass.

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Construction industry a honeypot that capital and labour fight over

Don’t fall for the bogeyman theory of our troubled major constructions industry: its union has gone rogue, been infiltrated by criminal elements, and must be cleaned out, so life can return to normal. There’s much more to it than that.

But first, let’s be clear. I’m trying to explain the phenomenon, not make excuses for thuggery and lawbreaking – even if perpetrated by the union movement, with successive Labor governments pretending not to have noticed.

Anyone who remembers the exploits of Eddie Obeid in NSW knows Labor has form when it comes to turning a blind eye to illegality. Like the ACTU, Labor does need to clean up its act. And as always, lawbreaking should be punished.

Like every prime minister, premier, politician and union secretary in the country, I’ve long known that the construction union engages in thuggish, often illegal behaviour (see three royal commissions below). When my superannuation fund merged with the huge construction industry fund, I moved my money elsewhere.

But if it’s just a matter of Labor governments failing to punish the crimes of their union mates, ask yourself this: how come the Liberals haven’t fixed it? John Howard had almost a decade to do so, but the Australian Building and Construction Commission he set up in 2005 didn’t get far in the seven years before Labor abolished it.

Likewise, the Abbott government’s re-established commission didn’t get far in the seven or so years before the Albanese government re-abolished it last year.

This problem’s been around for at least 40 years. The Hawke government deregistered the Builders Labourers Federation in the 1980s, but that didn’t work. Liberal federal and NSW governments have set up three royal commissions – in 1992, 2003 and 2015 – to no avail.

All of which should make you wonder why it’s so hard to fix such a seemingly simple problem. Could it be that the Libs aren’t fair dinkum either? Could it be that the big construction companies aren’t all that fussed about their union’s bad behaviour?

If so, could it be that they’re not privately pressing the Libs actually to fix the problem rather than just score political points against Labor?

We’re hearing about small contractors who aren’t game to stand up to union bullies for fear of retribution. I don’t doubt it’s true. But the construction companies running the show are huge. I don’t believe that, if they really wanted to rid themselves of union thugs, they lack the brains or the wherewithal to make it happen.

Remember too that when it comes to industrial relations, it’s always the unions that look bad, never the employers. That’s because the world is run by bosses. When everyone does what the boss tells them to, there’s never a problem.

But when the workers form a union to challenge the boss’s decision to pay them peanuts – or to run worksites where you could lose your life – it’s always the union that’s making trouble. It’s always greedy workers who strike and make you walk to work, never intransigent bosses. The media almost invariably fall for this characterisation.

We’re hearing that the rogue union’s disruptions and success in extracting excessive wages and conditions have forced up the cost of big city buildings, railways and motorways. It may look that way, but I’m not sure that it’s true.

Nor am I persuaded by the claim that high wages in the construction sector have flowed through to home building, and so explain why it’s so hard to afford to buy a place. This is a tricky way of claiming that employed carpenters, sparkies, plumbers, tilers and all the rest are grossly overpaid. Bulldust.

And Peter Dutton’s attempt to link union thuggery to the cost-of-living crisis is laughable. Whatever the union’s doing to construction costs, it’s been doing for 40 years, not just the past two.

Next they’ll be telling us the bullying will force the Reserve Bank to raise interest rates again.

But consider this thought experiment. I reckon that if Anthony Albanese could wave a wand and remove all union presence from the construction industry, the effect on the cost of major constructions would be minor.

Why? Because, although the untrained don’t know it, and some economists seem to have forgotten it, the biggest single message of conventional economics is that market prices aren’t just set by the cost of production – supply – but by the interaction of supply with demand.

If it’s true that a rogue union’s demands have been able to push up the costs of constructing office towers and all the rest quite excessively, how come employers have had no trouble passing those excessive costs on to their customers?

Partly because the union has imposed the higher cost on all the businesses in the industry, but mainly because any outfit that wants a city building, or government that wants a motorway, has no choice but to pay up. When economists say that the demand for the output of the construction industry is highly “price inelastic”, that’s what they mean.

But why can the industry get away with high costs? Why do its customers have no choice but to pay? Two reasons. First, the industry enjoys “natural protection”. That is, you can’t import office blocks.

Second, the industry is dominated by a just few big companies. It’s an oligopoly. It lacks effective competition between the local players.

Point is, magically remove the unions and none of that changes. If so, why would the big companies lower their prices? Why wouldn’t they keep charging the prices they know the market will bear?

Not enough people understand the unions’ role in the economy and how they go about advancing their members’ interests. The mistake is to imagine that the bosses represent capitalism, whereas the unions represent anti-capitalism.

No. Union bosses are capitalists too. The true contest is between the representatives of the two main “factors of production”: capital and labour. So unions are an integral part of the modern capitalist system. They’re a countervailing force that helps keep the system in balance.

Take out the unions, and capital ends up with almost all the money, and the households whose income comes from selling their labour have very little. In which case, the capitalists have no one to buy their products. Unions save the capitalists from their own excesses.

But get this: the unions are rogue capitalists who try to beat the real capitalists at their own game. The most successful capitalism comes from finding a business where it’s possible to make super-profits (in the jargon, to earn “economic rent”).

Turns out that’s also what the most successful unions do: find an industry whose circumstances allow it to earn super-profits and then demand a generous share for the workers. Guess what? A good example of an industry earning economic rent is construction.

And my guess is that the construction industry oligopoly finds it quite convenient to have a union that goes around bullying smaller businesses. Why? Because what they’re doing is policing the industry’s “barriers to entry”.

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Unthinking privatisation leaves much mess to be cleaned up

It’s been a week of facing up to the various troubles caused by the fad of governments trying to solve their problems with help from the private sector.

All governments have indulged in the fashion of privatising their businesses and outsourcing the provision of public services to a greater or lesser extent, with varying degrees of success. Victoria was first with the idea of selling off its electricity monopoly, and it’s had its own adventures with private toll roads.

But this week it was NSW’s turn to grapple with the almighty mess it’s made of its toll roads, guided by two visiting Victorians – Professor Allan Fels and Dr David Cousins. There is much for Victorians to learn from the northerners’ travails, as they struggle to keep the schadenfreude off their face.

First, how did this supposed “reform” push get started? Partly, it was ideological – many people believe private businesses are always efficient, whereas governments are always inefficient.

But mainly it was politicians trying to do the impossible – or look like they’d done it. How can the government do more without getting bigger? How can we respond to the voters’ unceasing demand for us to provide more without increasing taxes or adding to government debt?

I know, let’s use “public-private partnerships” to work their magic. This thinking has left Sydney ringed by 13 toll roads, 11 of which are majority-controlled by the ASX-listed giant tolling company Transurban, along with many minority partners.

Toll roads now make up almost half of Sydney’s motorway network. It has more toll roads than any other Australian capital city, which hasn’t stopped it from being the most congested. These toll roads have grown like Topsy, each with differing tolls and rules about how the toll is regularly increased.

Taken together, the toll road system is regarded as inefficient, unfair and lacking transparency.

This week’s final report of Fells’ and Cousins’ independent review found that tolls are higher than they need to be and higher than they should be. Unless something is done, they’ll increase too quickly in coming decades.

Tolls are too high in the sense that they probably encourage trucks to use less suitable roads, and lead to greater congestion on other roads as motorists try to save money. There is no provision for pricing rules set to run for decades to be reviewed to ensure they still make sense.

A toll road contract is a natural monopoly, but not all the contracts were awarded after competitive bidding. Where bidding did occur, contracts weren’t necessarily awarded to the firm offering to charge the lowest toll.

Often, the government set what the toll would be, with the contract awarded to the firm offering to take on the most of the government’s obligation. This was a way of shifting costs that should have been covered by the taxpayer onto motorists, thereby making budgets look better and taxes lower.

Sometimes the cost to motorists was disguised by contracts where the toll started low but rose excessively over time.

All the contracts involved the private firms borrowing the money to pay for the motorway, even though governments can borrow much more cheaply than businesses can. This made government debt look lower, but hid the higher interest costs in higher tolls.

All the contracts involved the company accepting “traffic risk”. When fewer cars use the road than had been predicted, the company’s out of pocket, but when there are more cars than predicted, the company makes a windfall gain.

By now, windfall gains are common, and the companies are cleaning up. But this is an unnecessary burden on motorists. Why? Because companies have to be paid to take on the risk, whereas governments are much better at bearing such risks. They can spread any costs over millions of taxpayers so that they become trivial.

The system of tolls is biased against motorists who live in the outer western suburbs, and biased in favour of those in better-off northern suburbs using long-established, government-owned toll roads crossing Sydney Harbour.

For some years NSW governments have sought to reduce this unfairness by paying subsidies to western suburbs motorists with excessive weekly toll bills. This makes the system less unfair by adding a cost to taxpayers with no loss to the toll companies. They actually benefit because more motorists can now afford to pay their high prices.

The Minns Labor government has vowed to bite the bullet and renegotiate the contracts. This week’s final report recommends that it replace the hodgepodge array of tolls with a uniform system where the price is based on distance travelled, with those travelling longer distances charged less per kilometre.

The Harbour Bridge and Harbour Tunnel tolls would be included in the pricing mechanism, so that northern suburbs motorists paid more, while western suburbs motorists paid less.

The government says it will compensate the toll companies for losses from changes to their contract arrangements, but would transfer “traffic risk” and its windfall gains to the government. This would help cover lower tolls in the west.

Transurban has belatedly agreed to renegotiate, but proposes setting the toll on a different basis, suggesting the negotiations may be long and hard. But getting agreement from all Transurban’s many minor partners could take an eternity. The government wants a deal by Christmas.

To this end, the report recommends that the NSW government take back control of tolls by setting up a state-owned entity, NSW Motorways. Its changes to tolling arrangements would be overseen by the NSW Independent Pricing and Regulatory Tribunal. The new entity should look for opportunities to add competition to the system, especially for any new roads.

The existence of the new tolling entity would allow the government to act should it take Transurban and its many partners too long to agree to a satisfactory deal.

The private companies have rights, but they don’t have the right to impose on the people of NSW and their government an unfair and unsustainable arrangement lasting forever and a day.

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Take heart! Australia is still better and fairer than most

Don’t be disheartened by recent events. Things in the Land of Oz are far from perfect, and we have our share of problems. But don’t be tempted by the thought that if America’s going to the dogs, we won’t be far behind. No, we’re holding things together much better than the Yanks are.

With the US reverting to its traditional practice of taking shots at presidents and presidential candidates, this week of all weeks is the time to say, “Only in America”. Thanks to the courage and quick thinking of John Howard after the Port Arthur massacre in 1996, our access to guns is well controlled.

Of late, it’s been tempting to think that the goal of every generation being better off than their parents has been lost. It’s not true. Not yet, anyway. And there’s still time to ensure that Gen Z – youngsters in their teens and early 20s – get a fair shake.

It’s not easy to compare generations with statistical accuracy. But lately, statisticians have made progress in linking information from the census and official surveys with banks of data held by government departments. And last week, the Productivity Commission used this advance to publish a much more authoritative study on economic mobility.

It confirms that, on average, each generation earns more than its parents did at the same age. That’s because the economy has grown almost continuously over the decades, raising material standards of living. This would be true of all the developed economies.

Of course, it’s also true that it’s easier for children born into poorer families to do better than their parents than it is for children born into well-off families.

However, living standards haven’t grown much over the past decade or so. Were this to continue for a further decade or more, it could become true that Gen Z isn’t doing better than its parents.

A different question as to whether overall living standards are continuing to rise in real terms over the years is how easy it is for people to change where they stand in the distribution of incomes as their lives progress.

How easy is it for people starting out towards the bottom of the ladder to climb to a higher rung?

This is the meaning of income mobility. Can you better yourself if you try hard enough?

Now, this is where the Americans keep telling themselves they’re the land of opportunity. Log cabin to the White House and all that. Well, it may have been true in Abraham Lincoln’s day, but it hasn’t been true for decades. As a general rule, the more unequal incomes are, the harder it is for people’s positions on the ladder to change.

America’s incomes are highly unequal, and it’s one of the countries where changing your income status is hardest.

But this is where the Productivity Commission’s research brings good news. On income inequality, Australia is in the middle of the pack of rich countries. But when it comes to income mobility, we do what Australians love to think of themselves as doing: punching above our weight.

We pride ourselves on being the land of the fair go. Or, as dear departed Scott Morrison preferred to put it: if you have a go, you get a go. Well, guess what? We now have documentary evidence that it’s still true. According to the commission’s calculations, Australia is among the most income-mobile countries, scoring better than even the fabled Scandinavians.

Two qualifications. First, people in the middle 60 per cent of the distribution enjoy the most opportunity to move. If you start in the bottom 20 per cent of personal incomes, you have less ability to improve. And if you’re already in the top 20 per cent, it’s harder to go higher.

Second, although the commission doesn’t spell this out, mobility cuts both ways. Remember, we’re talking about relative incomes, not absolute incomes. So, if it’s easier for me to pass you on the ladder, it’s easier for you to fall below me.

How do people seek to improve their earning potential? The obvious way is to get a better education. On average, people with a uni degree or higher earn 23 per cent more over their lifetime than those who only complete year 12. And those who complete high school earn significantly more than those who don’t.

Mobility is adversely affected by significant life events, such as unemployment, serious health problems and relationship breakdowns.

So far, we’ve been focusing just on income. But wealth – the assets you own – also affects your mobility. Unsurprisingly, the less wealth you have, the harder it is to move up, and the more wealth you have, the easier it is to stay up.

The rich have always been with us, but I think the inordinate rise in the cost – and value – of homes, which is already handicapping young people without access to parental help, will also make inheritance a bigger influence on people’s income mobility.

As Australians, we have a lot to be pleased about and proud of. But we have no cause for complacency.

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OECD’s message to our inflation warriors: calm down, she’ll be right

Last week a bunch of international public servants in Paris launched a rocket that landed in Sydney’s Martin Place, near the Reserve Bank’s head office and the centre of our financial markets. It carried a message we should already know. Australia has a big problem with real wages: they’re too low. In which case, why are you guys so anxious about continuing high inflation?

The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development’s annual Employment Outlook says Australia’s real wages in May this year are still 4.8 per cent lower than they were in December 2019, just before the pandemic.

This is one of the largest drops among OECD countries. It compares with real falls of 2 per cent in Germany and Japan, and 0.8 per cent in the United States. Real wages have risen by 2.4 per cent in Canada and 3.1 per cent in Britain.

The organisation observes that, “as real wages are [now] recovering some of the lost ground, profits are beginning to buffer some of the increase in labour costs. In many countries, there is room for profits to absorb further wage increases, especially as there are no signs of a price-wage spiral”.

Just so. But this isn’t something you’re allowed to say out loud in Martin Place. When the Australia Institute copied various overseas authorities in calculating the contribution that rising profits had made to our rising prices, it was dismissed by the Reserve Bank and the financial press.

Apparently, it’s OK for the Reserve to say it must increase interest rates because demand is growing faster than supply and adding to inflation, but it’s not OK to say that businesses have used the opportunity to raise their prices and this has increased their profits.

No, in the Reserve’s eyes, the problem with prices soaring way above its inflation target has never been greedy bosses, but always the risk of greedy workers using their industrial muscle to prevent their real wages from falling and thus causing a price-wage spiral that perpetuates high inflation.

It was a worry that anyone who knew anything about the changed power balance between employers and workers and their unions – anyone who wasn’t still living in the 1970s – could never have entertained.

For many years, the Reserve Bank benefited greatly from having a senior union official appointed to its board along with the many business people. But John Howard soon put a stop to that.

Since then, the Reserve has had to fall back on the primitive understanding of how labour markets work that you gain from a degree in neoclassical economics. Fortunately, since last year the board has included Iain Ross, former president of the Fair Work Commission.

The Reserve’s great sense of urgency in getting the inflation rate back down since it began raising interest rates in May 2022 has been driven by two worries about wages. First, when excessive monetary and budgetary stimulus caused the post-lockdown economy to boom while our borders were closed to imported labour, it worried that shortages of skilled and even unskilled labour would cause wages to leap as employers sought to bid workers away from other firms.

Although job vacancies more than doubled, reaching a peak in May 2022, annual wage growth had risen no higher than 4.2 per cent in December last year, even though consumer price inflation had peaked at 7.8 per cent a year earlier.

So, though no one’s bothered to mention it, our first period of acute labour shortages in decades hardly caused a ripple. It’s probably fair to say, however, that had the shortages not occurred, wages would have fallen even further behind prices than they did.

The Reserve’s second reason for feeling a sense of urgency in getting inflation back down to the target range is its fear that, should we leave it too long, inflation expectations may rise, causing actual inflation to move to a permanently higher level.

Indeed, the signs that our return to target will be slow have been used by the Reserve’s urgers in the financial markets to call for another rate rise or two. Apparently, every week’s delay in getting inflation down could see inflation expectations jump.

But this is mere pop psychology. Even if the nation’s workers and unions were to expect that inflation will stay high, they lack the industrial muscle to raise wage rates accordingly. If you didn’t already know that, our outsized fall in real wages should be all the proof you need.

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Forget smaller government, let's shoot for better government

We pay our taxes, then governments spend them. But where does all that money go? And how much of it is wasted? Well, where it goes is no secret, but how much of it does little to benefit us is something we don’t really know. Why not? Because we put so little effort into finding out.

In 2022-23, the federal and state governments spent almost $890 billion. Nearly 33 per cent of that went on social security payments; 21 per cent on healthcare (hospitals, doctors, medicines); 15 per cent on education (from pre-primary to university); 5 per cent each on defence and law and order; plus transport, the environment, housing, recreation and culture, and much else.

People who resent the taxes they pay like to think it goes to council workers leaning on shovels and public servants sitting around drinking tea, but really, they should be thinking of doctors, nurses and ambos; teachers and lecturers; soldiers, sailors and fliers, coppers, firies and garbos.

Those people are busy almost all the time doing what they’re paid to do. If some government departments once were overstaffed, years of cost-cutting should have fixed that.

No, the trouble isn’t that workers in the public sector aren’t working hard. It’s that they can be working away on programs that seem like they should be delivering for taxpayers, but aren’t.

Consider these four plausible propositions. First, parents are more likely to get their kids to school if threatened with the loss of government payments. Second, testing students’ literacy is an accurate way to assess their ability.

Third, early childhood staff have all the skills they need. Fourth, a health program designed by both educators and their students will be more likely to discourage risky behaviours.

Sorry, turns out none of those programs worked.

In 2016, researchers discovered that the Northern Territory’s efforts to improve school attendance by making welfare payments conditional on getting kids to show up had no effect on attendance.

In Dubbo, other researchers found that if you made a literacy test more culturally relevant by changing a story about lighthouses to one about the dish-shaped telescope in Parkes, you halved the gap between the scores of Indigenous and non-Indigenous kids.

In NSW, researchers found that giving early childhood staff a half-year professional development program boosted the achievement of their kids, especially their literacy.

Yet more researchers – in Brisbane, Perth and Sydney – found that, despite the students’ involvement in designing the Health4Life program, it had no effect on alcohol use, smoking, screen time, physical inactivity, poor diet or poor sleep.

What all these research efforts had in common was that they evaluated these programs using RCTs – randomised controlled trials. This involves using the toss of a coin to divide similar participants in the trial into two groups. One group gets the treatment and the other “control” group doesn’t. You then compare the two, confident that any differences between them have been caused by your intervention.

Point is, this is a far more rigorous way of judging whether government spending programs achieve the benefits you were hoping for, rather than just doing a pilot program and deciding whether it seems to have worked.

But these four careful trials are the exception, not the rule. A study by the Committee for Economic Development of Australia examined a sample of 20 federal government programs worth more than $200 billion. It found that 95 per cent of them hadn’t been properly evaluated. The committee’s examination of state and territory government evaluations reported similar results.

“The problems with evaluation start from the outset of program and policy design,” it said. Across the board, the committee estimated that fewer than 1.5 per cent of government evaluations use a randomised design.

Similarly, a Productivity Commission report in 2020 into the evaluation of Indigenous programs concluded that “both the quality and usefulness of evaluations of policies and programs … are lacking”.

This is in marked contrast to the medical profession, where controlled trials are standard in the evaluation of medical operations. These have demonstrated that the treatments preferred by experts were often worse for patients.

For instance, radical mastectomies for breast cancer disfigured 500,000 women while doing nothing to increase their odds of survival. Many treatments found to be harmful had been supported by expert opinion and low-quality before-and-after studies.

If you can feel a commercial message coming on, you’re right. Dr Andrew Leigh, former economics professor and now Assistant Minister for Treasury and many other bits and bobs, has been championing the use of randomised controlled trials in government program evaluation for years.

And last year the Albanese government set up within Treasury the Australian Centre for Evaluation, with Leigh responsible. It aims to expand the quality and quantity of program evaluation in co-operation with other government departments. Its leader, Eleanor Williams, has a modest budget and a staff of more than a dozen. A key principle is that high-quality evaluation of a program’s impact needs to be built into the design of the program from the get-go. The centre will also collaborate with evaluation researchers outside government.

And now the Paul Ramsay Foundation, Australia’s largest charitable foundation, is providing a $2.1 million round of grants for people to run randomised trials on important social problems. The centre, which has been given access to a wealth of “administrative data” – statistical information collected by government departments – will make this available to academics and others receiving grants.

I think this is all to the good. And about time. Econocrats went for decades supporting the push for smaller government, which led to the privatising of many government-owned businesses (including a national electricity market now dominated by three big companies) and much outsourcing of government services to private businesses – which, as should have been expected, have proved highly efficient at increasing their profits.

Great. What we could use now is a lot more attention to achieving better government.

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