Think the measurement of inflation's a bit off? You're probably right

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

If you’ve ever looked at the latest inflation figures and thought to yourself it doesn’t really reflect the ballooning or shrinking prices you’ve been paying, you’re probably right.

Like most measures of our economy’s health, the consumer price index (CPI) – our main inflation gauge – is only a rough estimate of what’s happening to prices. It tracks changes in the costs of a vast range of things but also skips over some key items we spend on.

This week, we learned prices at the end of last year were climbing at the slowest annual rate since March 2021 at 2.4 per cent (a much more reassuring figure than the 7.8 per cent we were seeing two years ago). But if you feel like the prices you’re paying are moving to a different tune, they probably are.

The index, measured by the Australian Bureau of Statistics, basically tracks the change in the price of a typical “basket” of goods and services that we, as households, consume. Think: a big shopping trolley that carries a lot more than what you’d find in a supermarket. Sure, it includes eggs and fruit, but it also includes things like school fees, specialist visits and subscriptions to your favourite streaming platform.

Of course, you probably don’t spend on the exact same things, or buy the exact same amount, as people on the other side of the country – or even your neighbours – which is why the inflation measure isn’t a perfect fit for specific households.

The CPI is based on the average spending habits of everyone (well, at least those living in the capital cities). Then, based on this data, the bureau gives different “weightings” – a measure of an item’s relative importance in the total basket – to different items and categories. Things we spend a lot of our money on – like housing costs and food – get a bigger weighting in the index, meaning any changes in prices in those categories will shift the dial more when it comes to the final inflation figure.

Since the things we tend to spend on change over time, the bureau frequently updates these weightings.

The first ever “basket” in 1948, for example, put the proportion of our spending on food and non-alcoholic beverages at nearly one third, with dairy products alone taking up nearly a quarter of our food budget. Women’s clothing, meanwhile, accounted for about 10 per cent of our total spending. Combined with spending on men’s attire at nearly 5 per cent, our total spending on clothing back then took a bigger bite out of our budget than the 12 per cent we used to spend on housing!

Today, food and non-alcoholic drinks account for 17 per cent of the typical household’s spending, and both dairy products and women’s clothing just 1 per cent each – the latter being largely thanks to the rise of mass-produced and cheap imported garments. It’s perhaps little surprise that the biggest share of our spending is now on housing at more than 20 per cent, while transport, including our spending on cars, burns about 11 per cent (transport spending was measured through fares – such as the price of train tickets – which took up about 6 per cent of the typical household budget in 1948 before cars became widespread).

So, how does the bureau know what we’re spending on?

One way is through the household expenditure survey, which is conducted roughly every five years and gives the bureau an indication of how much we’re spending on different goods and services. It’s the reason why, for many years, the CPI weightings – only changed about every five years. Now, as collecting information has become easier and more digital, the weightings are updated every year and rely on various sources including retail trade and transaction data.

The bureau gets its pricing data by monitoring the prices of thousands of products. It looks for this information through everything from websites, to supermarket and department store data, as well as pricing data it receives from government authorities, energy providers and real estate agents.

Combining the pricing and weighting data gives us the consumer price index which is released in its complete form every three months. Since September 2022, the bureau has also published a monthly CPI reading, although the goods and services measured each month tend to alternate, giving us an incomplete picture of what’s going on.

As we’ve talked about, the CPI isn’t an accurate measure of our cost of living, although we all assume it is.

A better measure is the bureau’s “selected living-cost indexes” which break down changes in the cost of living for different types of households. Working households, for example, saw their annual living costs rise by 4.7 per cent last September quarter, while self-funded retirees only experienced a 2.8 per cent increase.

That’s mostly because different household types tend to splash cash on different things. Self-funded retirees and age pensioners might, for instance, spend slightly more on health, meaning any price changes there may bump their cost of living more than it would for working households.

But by far the biggest reason for the difference between working households and older cohorts is that working households are more likely to have a mortgage they are paying off. This means changes in interest rates – which are included in the selected living cost indexes but not the CPI – have a bigger impact on their overall cost of living.

It’s also one of the biggest shortcomings of the CPI. In the early 1990s, the Reserve Bank started using interest rates to target inflation: a practice that’s now become very familiar to us all. But later that decade, the bank asked the bureau to remove interest rates from the consumer price index. Why? Because the bank didn’t want the instrument it was using to control the rise in prices — interest rates — to be included among the price rises being measured. Your instrument should be separate from your target.

Instead, since 1998, the CPI has measured housing prices through changes in components such as rents, the cost of building new homes, and the cost of maintenance and repairs. But that means for the roughly one third of Australian households with a mortgage, the CPI is not a very good measure of the price pressures they are facing.

While the CPI is a rough estimate of the cost of living pressures we’re facing, if you feel like the pinch you’re feeling is harder or softer than the latest figures suggest, you’re probably right.

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Why we'd be mugs to focus on the cost of living at the election

It’s a good thing I’m not a pessimist because I have forebodings about this year’s federal election. I fear we’ll waste it on expressing our dissatisfaction and resentment rather than carefully choosing the major party likely to do the least-worst job of fixing our many problems.

Rather than doing some hard thinking, we’ll just release some negative emotion. We’ll kick against the pricks – in both senses of the word.

We face a choice between a weak leader in Anthony Albanese (someone who knows what needs to be done, but lacks the courage to do much of it) and Peter Dutton (someone who doesn’t care what needs to be done, but thinks he can use division to snaffle the top job).

By far the most important problem we face – the one that does most to threaten our future – is climate change. We’re reminded frequently of that truth – the terrible Los Angeles fires; last year being the world’s hottest on record – but the problem’s been with us for so long and is so hard to fix that we’re always tempted to put it aside while we focus on some lesser but newer irritant.

Such as? The cost of living. All the polling shows it’s the biggest thing on voters’ minds, with climate change – and our children’s future – running well behind.

Trouble is, kicking Albanese for being the man in charge during this worldwide development may give us some momentary satisfaction, but it will do nothing to ease the pain. Is Dutton proposing some measure that would provide immediate relief? Nope.

Why not? Because no such measure exists. There are flashy things you could do – another big tax cut, for instance – but they’d soon backfire, prompting the Reserve Bank to delay its plans to cut interest rates, or even push them a bit higher.

We risk acting like an upset kid, kicking out to show our frustration without thinking about whether that will help or hinder their cause.

Rather than finding someone to kick, voters need to understand what caused consumer prices to surge, and what “the authorities” – in this case, Reserve Bank governor Michele Bullock and the board, not Albanese – are doing to stop prices rising so rapidly.

The surge was caused by temporary global effects of the pandemic – which have since largely gone away – plus what proved to be the authorities’ excessive response to the pandemic, which is taking longer to fix.

It’s primarily the Reserve Bank that’s fixing the cost of living, and doing it the only way it knows: using higher mortgage interest rates to squeeze inflation out of the system. But doesn’t that hurt people with mortgages? You bet it does.

What many voters don’t seem to realise is that, by now, the pain they’re continuing to feel is coming not from the disease but the cure. Not from further big price rises but from their much higher mortgage payments.

So it’s the unelected central bank that will decide when the present cost-of-living pain is eased by lowering interest rates, not Albanese or Dutton. A protest vote on the cost of living will achieve little. Of course, if you think it would put the frighteners on governor Bullock, go right ahead. She doesn’t look easily frightened to me.

But there’s another point that voters should get. When people complain about the cost of living, they’re focusing on rising prices (including the price of a home loan). What matters, however, is not just what’s happening to the prices they pay, but what’s happening to the wages they use to do the paying.

When wages are rising as fast as prices – or usually, a little faster – most people have little trouble coping with the cost of living. But until last year, wages rose for several years at rates well below the rise in prices. Get it? What’s really causing people to feel cost-of-living pain is not so much continuing big price rises or even high mortgage payments, but several years of weak wage growth.

Why does this different way of joining the dots matter? Because, when it comes to wages, there is a big difference between Albanese and Dutton.

Since returning to government in 2022, Labor has consistently urged the Fair Work Commission to grant generous annual increases in the minimum award pay rates applying to the bottom fifth of wage earners.

This will have helped higher-paid workers negotiate bigger rises – as would Labor’s various changes to industrial relations law. Indeed, this is why wages last year returned to growing a fraction faster than prices.

These efforts to increase wage rates are in marked distinction to the actions of the former Coalition government. So kicking Albanese for presiding over a cost-of-living crisis risks returning to power the party of lower wages.

But here’s the trick: it also risks us taking a backward step on climate change. The party that isn’t trying hard enough could be replaced by a Coalition that wants to stop trying for another decade, while it thinks about switching from renewables to nuclear energy.

From the perspective of our children and grandchildren, the best election outcome would be a minority government dependent on the support of the pollies who do get the urgency of climate action: the Greens and teal independents.

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Should we really go forth and multiply?

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

For most of human history, it’s been a miracle for us to survive long enough, or reproduce vigorously enough to rapidly grow in numbers. But as we’ve gotten better at dodging tigers, killing germs and containing pandemics, we’ve also become increasingly intrigued and hungry to know how many of us there are, how many of us there will be and how it will affect our lives.

Just before Christmas, the federal Centre for Population released its annual population statement, saying the number of people living in Australia reached about 27 million last March – and is expected to reach just over 31 million within the next 10 years.

How did it calculate this? The centre uses data from the Australian Bureau of Statistics as a starting point to determine things such as current population level. It then makes assumptions, analyses data and models the effect of long-term trends on population growth.

Of course, looking into the crystal ball, even when it’s bolstered by lots of data and analysis, is never perfect. But the centre’s work feeds into government policies and debate because population changes can have a huge impact on the direction of our economy and our day-to-day lives.

Population growth is a combination of what we call the “natural” increase – think babies born in Australia minus the number of people who die here over the same period – and net overseas migration: people coming into the country minus all those who decide to move overseas.

To keep our population at the same level “naturally”, we need an average of 2.1 births for every woman. This is called the “replacement rate”: the rate of childbirth needed to make sure there’s someone to replace both parents when mortality catches up to them.

Of course, making 10 per cent of a child is not really viable and would require a great deal of scientific development, focus and time to piece together. But we need a birth rate of more than two children for every woman on average as a buffer because some of us inevitably – and rather annoyingly for those hoping for population growth – bite the dust early.

In 2023, fertility in our country slipped to a record low of 1.5 babies for every woman, or about 291,000 births, compared to 1.6 babies per woman the year before. Like many of our advanced economy siblings, Australia’s fertility rate has been sliding since the early 1960s.

There are both long and shorter-term factors which can dump cold water onto baby fever.

A household might, for example, put off having children when experiencing more financial pain – as we’ve seen during the recent high-inflation period. After all, having a child is one of the most expensive decisions, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars until adulthood.

Kids will always be a dear investment (in multiple senses of the word), but factors tied to the cost of living can reverse as circumstances improve, allowing people to catch up on their ambitions to have kids.

Longer-term factors, however, such as changing cultural norms and better access to employment and education opportunities, can have a more lasting effect on the number of kids we want. Generally, the better educated are less likely to have as many children because they start their families later. Taking various factors into account, the centre expects the fertility rate to settle at about 1.6 births per woman by 2032.

That doesn’t mean Australia’s population will shrink. Why? Partly because we have “population momentum”: a large enough share of women at – or approaching – reproductive age that the potential for growth isn’t falling off a cliff anytime soon.

We have also pursued a long-standing policy of encouraging net overseas migration, which has added to our population and tended to keep it young. Not many grandmas and grandpas decide to uproot their life to move overseas, and governments target younger migrants.

Under its current mortality and migration assumptions, the centre reckons Australia’s fertility rate needs to be only about 1.2 children per woman to keep the population from sliding backwards.

Although fewer people are dying now than when COVID was spreading widely, the number of deaths in 2023-24 was still 13 per cent higher than before the pandemic. Given the ongoing dent in our population from the pandemic, and our low fertility rate, the level of net overseas migration we need (if we want to keep the population growing) is a bit higher compared to pre-pandemic.

Overall, the centre thinks population growth in Australia will continue, driven by migration and rising life expectancy, plus a higher fertility rate than many other advanced economies. But the centre also notes net overseas migration peaked in 2022-23, and that it will probably continue to fall before stabilising over the next few years.

Declining fertility globally is the reason the United Nations gave last year for its forecast of the world’s population peaking at 10.3 billion people in 2084. That is, of course, assuming we don’t encounter aliens keen to settle here in the next few decades.

Population growth isn’t necessarily all a good thing. More people often means worse pressures on the environment as we build more things (and therefore clear more land), release more emissions and suck up more natural resources.

It can also intensify the fight over scarce resources – which we have seen perhaps most acutely in our housing debate. When we allow strong demand from population growth, but fail to plan for increased supply (of, for example, houses) we tend to ignite price pressures and face shortages in things we want and need.

But there’s also no doubt that we’re in for a rough ride if we want to curb population growth. Within the next 40 years, for example, nearly one-quarter of the population is expected to be aged 65 and over. Ushering in more working-age people to look after an ageing population isn’t the only solution, but the pressure’s on for policymakers and innovators to find other ways to look after them in time.

Australians benefit in many ways from population growth. Migrants tend to help us become more productive by sharing their knowledge and skills, more people usually means faster economic growth and innovation, and catering to higher demand can help us achieve more cost-efficiencies by producing things at a bigger scale.

There’s no easy answer on the right level of population growth, but having an idea of the direction and an understanding of what we can expect is a good starting point.

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How two economists got themselves more say in government policy

By MILLIE MUROI, economics writer

For all the havoc it has wreaked, some good things were born from the pandemic: widespread hybrid working for one. Another was the emergence of e61: a novel name – not for a virus or robot – but for a factory for economic findings.

“What’s new about that?” you might ask. Well, it’s breaking a decades (perhaps centuries) old habit of people sticking to their lanes. Despite the important work done by academics and policymakers, the two rarely join forces.

Part of that is because some of our best academic talent gets sucked overseas to places like the US or UK. It’s also because academics and policymakers don’t tend to go out of their way to engage with one another, and because rigorous research skills and policymaking passion and practice don’t often manifest in a single person.

There are politicians such as federal Labor MP Dr Andrew Charlton with a doctorate in economics from Oxford University, who have put themselves through the wringer of high-level research – but few who are tuned into both the cutting edge of research and the front line of policymaking.

Charlton, who stepped down as director of the non-partisan, not-for-profit think tank when he was preselected to run as a Labor candidate in 2022, teamed up with University of Chicago economics professor Greg Kaplan when the two found themselves back in Australia during the pandemic.

Together, they founded the e61 Institute to attract and develop Australian economists, including those who have lived overseas, and pair academic rigour with a policy focus right here in Australia (hence the “61″ in its name: the number you dial from abroad when calling Australia).

Its economists have released a raft of work in the past three years which has fed into policy decisions and debate. Their approach includes using microdata (anonymised but detailed information about people, households, and businesses from surveys, censuses and administrative systems), to offer insight – not just to policymakers, but to the broader public.

From the way non-compete clauses are slowing down wage growth, to putting a number on the costs of caregiving, and identifying consumer inertia as a barrier to stronger supermarket competition, e61 has shed light on many of the issues facing the country.

Their work has fed into top decision-making processes, appearing in House of Representatives economics committee inquiries, meetings and submissions.

But funded by the Susan McKinnon Foundation, the Macquarie Business School and the Becker Friedman Institute, e61’s work is also freely available to the public. And the things you can learn from them are fascinating – providing insight into how economics applies in the real world – beyond the abstract, and beyond the bookish or theoretical.

Matthew Elias, for example, looked at the role we – as consumers – play in the highly concentrated supermarket sector.

As you know, Coles and Woolworths control about 67 per cent of supermarket retail sales nationally, and they’ve been under the scrutiny of the competition watchdog which is due to release its final supermarket inquiry report this year. While the supermarkets have copped some heat from frustrated consumers convinced that the lack of competition in the sector has led to excessive price growth, Elias found part of the problem was that customers don’t tend to shop around.

Shopping around, and the threat of customers leaving, is an important way to put pressure on businesses to deliver the best prices and quality they can. But looking at consumer shopping data, Elias found even in areas with several providers, shoppers tended to exhibit inertia: that is, they don’t tend to change their shopping habits over time, instead returning to certain supermarket brands – especially Coles and Woolworths.

Why? The answer is unclear, but some possibilities include costs including time spent learning the layout of a different store, the effort needed to compare the costs of various items, proximity to certain stores and brand loyalty promoted by schemes like Flybuys or Everyday Rewards.

Jack Buckley, Ewan Rankin and Dan Andrews meanwhile looked at non-compete clauses: where an employee agrees not to compete with their employer by, for instance, working in a similar industry, for some time even after their job ends.

About one in five of us are tied up in a non-compete clause, and it’s coming at a cost – not just to our economy (people switching to better-suited jobs can help improve innovation and lift productivity), but also to our pay.

The researchers found evidence that the fall in job mobility (people moving between jobs) was linked to lower wage growth for workers with non-compete clauses. On average, they found, people with non-compete clauses earn 4 per cent less than similar workers with just a non-disclosure agreement (aimed just at preventing employees from sharing trade secrets).

Then there’s research by Rachel Lee, Dan Andrews and Jack Buckley which sounded a warning for policymakers looking to tweak their payroll tax settings. When South Australia bumped up the payroll tax-free threshold (which also sharply increased the marginal tax rate for firms over that limits), it led to a phenomenon called “bunching.”

Basically, e61’s analysis of business income tax data found lots of new businesses in South Australia were ending up just below the new payroll tax threshold. Since firms with an annual wage bill of less than $1.5 million could be exempt from payroll tax, there was a jump in the number of firms just under that size – despite a lot of those businesses being productive and growing firms which you’d expect to continue growing.

The conclusion? That little tweak in the payroll tax settings may have stunted the growth of many businesses, which cut back on their workers in an effort to slash their payroll tax. Sure, it benefited some smaller firms which were able to grow within that threshold, but the costs of businesses shrinking their payrolls was bigger.

Kaplan says he wants to see e61 be at the forefront of major policy movements over the next debate: both avoiding bad policy mistakes and guiding good policy. It might take a while for the new kid on the economics block to become a hard-hitter, but linking some of the brightest academic economists with crucial policy problems is helping to inject rigour into our understanding of economics – and that of our policymakers.

e61 supported the reporter’s travel from Canberra to Sydney.

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The many different effects of the fall in our dollar

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

The Aussie dollar seems to have been slammed by a truck over the past few weeks, but it’s not all bad news. Plenty of people – not just overseas friends paying us a visit or buying our stuff – will be lapping up the benefits.

As we rang in the new year, we rang in two since the Australian dollar could buy more than US70¢. Now, it’s scratching about at US62¢. You’d have to trek back to the early 2010s to find a time when one Aussie dollar was worth more than an American dollar (mostly thanks to higher commodity prices at the time).

So, what’s left the Australian dollar wallowing in foreign exchange market mud? And who are the people likely to be rolling in it?

Let’s start with how we put a price on the dollar. Like most things, there’s a market for Aussie dollars where people buy and sell. You’ve probably participated in this market whenever you go overseas and need foreign currency.

Aussie dollars are bought and sold for other currencies (there’s no point buying our own currency using … our own currency). That’s why the value of the Australian dollar – the exchange rate – is always expressed in terms of some other country’s currency, often the US dollar, because it’s the most widely used in international transactions.

A better measure of the value of our currency, though, is the trade-weighted index, which is the price of the Australian dollar in terms of a basket of foreign currencies based on their share of trade with Australia. The more we trade with a country, the heavier the weighting of their currency in this basket. Changes in the Chinese yuan are the most influential when measuring the Australian dollar’s value in this way – although it’s not often the one you hear quoted in the media.

Our exchange rates are almost always changing – at least on weekdays, when the foreign exchange market is open 24 hours a day. As with most other things we buy and sell, the price we pay depends on how much demand and supply there is for our currency and everyone else’s.

When the amount of Aussie dollars that people want to buy at a particular time exceeds the amount of Aussie dollars that other people want to sell at that time, our exchange rate – the price of the Australian dollar – steps up, which is called an “appreciation”. When supply of Aussie dollars exceeds demand, we see the exchange rate fall: a “depreciation.”

What might push up demand for our currency? Tourists coming to visit us may buy our currency so they can pay for a swish Airbnb in Sydney or coffee in Melbourne. Foreigners might also want to buy other assets priced in Australian dollars such as a business, company shares or Australian government bonds. And Aussie exporters, if they’ve been paid in foreign currency for their goods and services, may want to cash in for currency they can use at home.

By the same token, some of our Aussie business owners might want to import goods and services, or inputs such as equipment, which are priced in, say, US dollars. Aussies may also want to invest in overseas companies or buy US government bonds. Or we may just need overseas currency to take with us when we jump on a plane to our next exotic destination.

Because our exports are so dependent on the mining industry, commodity prices also greatly affect our exchange rate. When the price of minerals such as iron ore heads north, so does the value of the Australian dollar because our overseas buyers need more Aussie dollars to buy it from us.

Demand for Australian dollars – and therefore the exchange rate – is also affected by things like the difference in interest rates between Australia and the rest of the world. When our interest rates are higher relative to overseas, the value of our currency increases because investors become more attracted to the idea of depositing cash here – for which they’ll need Australian dollars. Even hints at where our interest rates might sit, relative to those overseas in the future, can sway the exchange rate by shifting people’s expectations and therefore what currencies they want to hold more of.

Interest rates are still a touch higher in the US than here, but when the US Federal Reserve said last month that it expected fewer rate cuts in 2025, it signalled interest rates there might stay higher than most people had been expecting. That made the prospect of depositing cash here, in Australia, less attractive than before, and reduced demand for our currency.

At the same time, China, our biggest trade partner, is growing its economy at a crawl – especially when compared to recent decades. While we’ve relied on them purchasing vast amounts of our exports in recent years, many are expecting a continued slowdown, which means demand for the Aussie dollar is likely to stay low, reducing its value.

A sustained fall in the value of the Aussie dollar is bad news for our importers, who will have to pay more for the things they buy, as well as Australians travelling overseas. But it’s good news for our exporters, who will earn more Aussie dollars from selling Australian-made goods and services abroad, as well as Australian businesses competing with imports for customers in the domestic market (as imports become relatively more expensive, Aussie customers are more likely to opt for Australian goods and services). This all reverses when there’s a sustained rise in the value of the Australian dollar.

Basically, a fall in the Australian dollar improves the price competitiveness of our export industries, as well as those industries where Aussie businesses are competing heavily with imported substitutes. This has an expansionary effect on our economic activity as demand for our goods and services increases.

But a fall in the Aussie dollar can also be inflationary for us because it pushes up the cost of imported goods and services. We’re now having to pay more for the things we import, such as cars, electronics and many medicines. A rise in the Australian dollar can, on the other hand, dampen inflation.

While the recent fall in the value of the Australian dollar might catch the Reserve Bank’s attention, it’s not likely to affect their decisions greatly. That’s partly because it’s impossible to predict where the dollar will go next. Up and down movements are pretty common and, like most things in life, these changes have both costs and benefits.

The long-term effect of a weak dollar is also generally positive, with more jobs and spending by foreigners in our export sectors giving the economy a bit of a tailwind. Not everyone will be better off, but a weaker Aussie dollar is far from the disaster it’s often made out to be.

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The secret to better health and less obesity is a tax

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

If you’re like me, chances are that during the silly season you indulged in a bit more of the guilty pleasures than usual. I would make a bet though (and hit bingo about 90 per cent of the time) that it wasn’t tobacco that you reached for, but sugary treats – and maybe a bit of alcohol.

The rates at which we tax tobacco might have you thinking that smoking is among the biggest health risks we face. But with the daily smoking rate down to about one in 10 people, it’s things like obesity and diabetes that have grown to become our biggest health problems.

Obesity has tripled in Australia since 1980, and so has diabetes over the past 25 years. In 2022, one in three Australian adults was obese and another one in three overweight, while about one in 20 had diabetes.

And as Grattan Institute health program director Peter Breadon and senior associate Jessica Geraghty have highlighted, one of the heftiest reasons we have such high rates of obesity and type 2 diabetes – which makes up more than 85 per cent of diabetes cases – is that we consume far too much sugar.

You might not realise it, but on average, Australians consume half a kilogram of sugar each week – much of it invisible. That lolly snake or biscuit you reach for in the afternoon might be obvious culprits, but large quantities of sugar also swim around in soft drinks and even savoury products such as pasta sauces and pre-made soups. “Popular drinks such as Solo and Coke have as much as 10 teaspoons of sugar in just one 375-millilitre can,” Breadon says.

Our high sugar consumption puts us at higher risk of diabetes: a disease that contributes to one in 10 Australian deaths, leaves thousands of us sick or with a disability, and costs billions of dollars a year to taxpayers. In 2018, obesity alone was estimated to cost nearly $12 billion in direct health and indirect community costs.

So, what can we do to curb our sweet tooth? Make it more costly. In an ideal world, we could factor in all the health risks and cut back our consumption without the need for additional incentives – or disincentives.

But sugar sneaks around under a bunch of aliases – high fructose corn syrup, glucose or molasses to name a few – making it hard to spot for those hoping to squeeze some of it out of their diet. And it’s easy for us to reach for a sugar hit, sometimes without realising it, kicking the can down the road when it comes to considering the longer-term consequences.

That’s unless we put an upfront price on the damage – a tax on sugary drinks would be a good start. Why? Because sugary drinks make up nearly one-quarter of our daily added-sugar intake – more than any other major types of food. Sugary drinks are also especially harmful because they’re often sunk quickly, cause rapid spikes in blood glucose and insulin, and don’t do much to make people feel full.

Breadon suggests a tiered tax in which drinks with the most sugar would be slugged 60¢ per litre, while low-sugar drinks would face no tax – along with one year’s notice to give manufacturers time to change their recipes.

It’s not an immediate fix for our health problems, but there are promising signs already. More than 100 countries, including Britain, France and Portugal, have sugary drink taxes in place – and they are working.

They make people less thirsty for sugary drinks and they prod manufacturers to pour less sugar into their drinks. Four years after Britain introduced a sugary drinks tax, just one in 12 products had more than eight grams of sugar in every 100 millilitres of liquid – down from one in three before the tax. There have also been studies that show sugary drinks taxes have trimmed obesity among girls, reduced dental decay and cut the number of children having teeth taken out in hospital.

Breadon and his colleagues at Grattan estimate their proposed tax for Australia would reduce the amount of sugary drinks we consume by about 275 million litres a year – enough to fill 110 Olympic swimming pools.

It would mean Australians would ingest nearly three-quarters of a kilogram less sugar each year thanks to manufacturers cutting down their sugar use and consumers opting for the cheaper option: low or no sugar drinks.

Disadvantaged Australians, who are the hardest hit by obesity, would be the biggest winners, Breadon says. And the financial drain on households and the wider industry, including sugar farmers, would be fairly small given about 85 per cent of Australia’s raw sugar is exported.

While the main goal of a sugary drinks tax would be to improve our health, it would also benefit the government’s bottom line (which has suffered in recent years as tax revenue from tobacco has plummeted). If introduced today, Grattan estimates, the sugary drinks tax would raise nearly $500 million in the first year, while also generating savings by reducing the demand for healthcare.

While the government has been helping Australians living with diabetes, including through listing new insulin injections, such as Fiasp, on the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme, Health Minister Mark Butler has no plans for a sugar tax.

Shadow Health Minister Anne Ruston has said the Coalition also doesn’t support a sugar tax, saying there were better ways to encourage healthy eating and preventive health, without hurting the hip pockets of families.

While there needs to be other preventive measures in place, such as stronger labelling regulations, a tax on sugary drinks is the cheapest and easiest to implement. The government’s new year resolutions should include the boldness to consider a sugar tax, rather than kicking the drink can down the road.

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What's happened to the cost of living is trickier than you think

It’s been a year of wearying in the fight against inflation. But if you think you know what it all proves, you’re probably kidding yourself. The first mistake is to subject it to too much rational analysis.

While voters in Oz complain incessantly about “the cost of living”, the mug punters who put Donald Trump back in the White House were said to be on about “inflation”. Aren’t they the same thing? Well, maybe, maybe not.

A penny dropped for me when I heard some woman in America justify voting for Trump by saying that the prices went up and they never came back down. What? Since when does inflation go away because retail prices have come back down?

Well, only in economics textbooks. In the real world, inflation is the rate of increase in prices, and you fix it not by reducing the level of prices, but by reducing the rate at which they continue rising.

So what was that woman on about? Don’t ask an economist. Ask a psychologist, however, and they’ll tell you that the reason people give you for doing something – buying this house rather than that one; voting for Trump rather than Joe Biden – isn’t necessarily the real reason. Indeed, the person may not actually know why they jumped the way they did.

Their subconscious mind made a snap decision to favour A rather than B and then, when asked why, their conscious mind came up with a reason they thought would sound plausible. The woman’s subconscious may simply have liked the look of Trump rather than Biden. Or maybe a lot of the people she knew were voting for Trump, so she did too.

Biden and his supporters – plus many rational economists – couldn’t see why everyone was so upset about inflation. The rate of inflation had come back a long way, wages were growing solidly and all without unemployment worsening much. Pretty good job, I’d say. What’s the problem?

Ah, said the smarties, you don’t understand that people care far more about inflation than about unemployment. Inflation hits everyone, whereas unemployment affects only a few.

Is that what you think? If so, you’re probably too young to know what happens in a real recession. When unemployment is soaring and the evening news shows pictures of more workers getting the sack every night, believe me, the punters get terribly frightened they may lose their own job.

It’s a Top 40 effect. No matter how few tunes are selling, there’s always one that’s selling a fraction more copies than the others. That’s what’s topping the pops this week. If people aren’t worried about their jobs, they can afford to be worried about high prices. When they are worried about their jobs, they stop banging on about prices.

This means the managers of the economy – and the government of the day – are often in the gun. Whatever dimension of the economy, and people’s lives, isn’t travelling well at the time is what the punters will be complaining about.

But also, it’s worth remembering that whenever pollsters ask Aussies what’s worrying them, “the cost living” always rates highly – even at times when economists can’t see there’s a problem. Why? Ask a psychologist. It’s because retail prices have “salience” – they stick out in the minds of people who shop at the supermarket every week.

The one thing voters know is that prices keep rising. And they’ve never liked it. They don’t like it whether prices are rising by 2 per cent or 10 per cent – and the highly selective consumer price index they carry in their heads always tells them it’s nearer 10 per cent than 2.

Why? Salience. They remember every big price rise indelibly, but soon forget any falls in prices. And get this: in their mental CPI, all the prices that don’t change get a weighting of zero.

When Australian voters complain about the “cost of living” and American voters complain about “inflation”, are they talking about the same thing? Logically, they shouldn’t be, but actually, they are.

To a rational economist, determining what’s happening to the cost of living involves comparing what’s happening to prices on the one hand with what’s happening to wages and other income on the other. Strictly, the comparison should be with after-tax income.

But that’s not how voters in either country see it. They keep prices in one mental box, but wages in another. The pay rises they get are taken for granted as something they’ve earned by their own hard effort. But then, when I got to the supermarket, I discovered the cheating bastards had whacked up all their prices. I’ve been robbed!

Does this mean workers don’t mind if their take-home pay isn’t keeping with prices? Of course not. They feel the loss; they’re just confused about what’s causing it. I think that, for many people, what matters, and sticks in their mind, is how often they run out of money before their next payday.

My theory is that, because wages rose a bit faster than prices for so many years, many people have developed the unconscious habit of spending a little more each year. But when wages stop rising a little faster than prices – as they have done since March 2021 – people do feel it. They look around for someone to blame and the first thing they see is Woolies and Coles.

But there’s one factor causing pain that’s so well concealed that few people – even few economists – have noticed. One reason take-home pay has fallen well behind prices – a reason the unions and Labor thought was a great thing, and the Morrison government was too weak-kneed to stop – was the mandatory rises in employers’ contributions to their workers’ superannuation savings, which have lifted it from 9.5 per cent of your wage in 2021 to 11.5 per cent in July this year, and will take it to 12 per cent in July next year.

To the naked eye, it’s the employers who’re paying for this. But there’s strong evidence that the bosses reduce their ordinary pay rises to fit. If so, this will be a pain wage earners are feeling without knowing who to blame.

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Why bribery is key to boosting our economic prosperity

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

Of all the incentives in the world, money must be among the most powerful. Since its birth thousands of years ago, dosh – chasing it, saving it, and paying it back – has driven us to ruin but also some remarkable feats. So, it shouldn’t be any different when it comes to the “p” word.

Before your eyes glaze over at the mention of productivity, you should know that had it improved more in recent years, we’d all probably have a lot less to complain about when it comes to issues such as cost of living – and the Reserve Bank wouldn’t be so worried about wage rises feeding into inflation.

What if I told you that boosting our productivity starts with bribing our state governments?

In a speech to the Queensland Economic Society of Australia in Brisbane last week, economist and former corporate watchdog boss Karen Chester identified one of the biggest hurdles to lifting our living standards: a problem called “vertical fiscal imbalance”.

Here’s the issue. Some of our most fundamental needs are taken care of by the state government: education, health, transport, and law and order to name a few. This all requires mountains of cash which the state governments have little ability to raise.

It’s the federal government that has the power to raise a lot of money – mostly through taxation, meaning there’s a mismatch: state governments might be tasked with the big asks, but it’s the federal government that has the cash to splash. As Chester puts it: “The states wear the political pain and the budget loss in doing the right thing.”

Money can’t buy happiness or solve all our problems, but without it, it’s hard to pay for – or incentivise – fixes in some of our biggest sectors, including boosting productivity.

Our productivity improves when we increase the quantity or quality of the goods and services we produce with a given set of resources, such as workers. Making people work longer hours doesn’t count towards improving productivity, but using better technology or other innovations does.

The reason we care so much about productivity is that it’s the main way capitalist economies have kept making us better off – at least materially – over the past few centuries. Innovations from the lightbulb to the assembly line to the internet have made us faster and better at doing our jobs.

Right now, we’re in a productivity slump. Despite a record-breaking increase in hours worked in 2022-23, the amount we’re producing hasn’t been climbing all that much.

Over the long-term, Australia’s productivity has grown by about 1.3 per cent every year. In 2022-23, our labour productivity – the amount of GDP we pump out for each hour we work – actually fell 3.7 per cent.

While pay rises are awesome, there’s a problem when we get them without productivity growth as we’ve had recently: it can feed into inflation. Why? Because it means we push up the cost that goes into providing goods and services without much change in how much we’re actually producing.

So, how do we push up productivity? And how do we fix the vertical fiscal imbalance problem strangling state governments’ ability to take some bold action? Chester says one way is for the federal government to take over chunks of the states’ existing debt which they’ve used for things such as building roads and other public infrastructure.

Why should the federal government scoop up this debt which they aren’t responsible for spending? Because it significantly cuts states’ annual interest bill and boosts their ability to borrow more for new projects. Why is this? Because the federal government can borrow at a lower interest rate than the states – mostly because those who lend to them see a smaller risk of the federal government defaulting, meaning it has a better credit rating.

The total amount being borrowed by the public sector can stay the same but the interest paid on it can be squashed down.

Now, this transfer of debt has to come with some strings attached. Namely, it should be conditional on the states making progress in implementing agreed reforms.

Chester says these reforms should be aimed at resuscitating flat-lined productivity through changes such as tax reform, jack-hammering entrenched disadvantage through measures such as more social housing for people with chronic and debilitating mental health, and relieving structural inflation pressures such as those arising from natural disasters and soaring insurance costs.

Instead of the federal government spending 96 per cent of its natural disaster budget on mopping up the mess, it should give states more money (the amount could also be matched by the states) to spend on mitigation efforts: reducing the risk of future harm from natural disasters such as floods, cyclones and bushfires. This would also put a brake on surging insurance costs.

It’s not the first time we’ve had the idea to give states more headroom to make meaningful reform. In the late 1990s, there were three tranches of payments from the Australian government to states and territories based on their populations – and only if they made satisfactory progress on their reform commitments.

These payments, known as national competition policy payments, cost roughly $1 billion annually (in today’s terms) over six years. But they helped push through reforms such as removing restrictions on retail trading hours, setting up the national electricity market and abolishing price controls on dairy. The Productivity Commission estimates the payments helped lift GDP by at least 2.5 per cent.

By comparison, Treasurer Jim Chalmers last month set up a $900 million fund to prod states and territories into enacting productivity-boosting reforms: a baby step forward – especially, as Chester says, because we confront a much bigger to-do list than we did a few decades ago.

The idea to transfer debt from the states to the Commonwealth government would be a lot cheaper than the old competition policy payments – and it’s a huge opportunity to make big steps forward in improving productivity and wellbeing.

Why do we need this? Because of the sad truth that the vertical fiscal imbalance we’ve talked about has sunken the states into a mentality where they don’t want to make any reforms that the Commonwealth government wants them to make unless they’re bribed into doing so.

Chalmers this week said his government was bold and reforming. But reform needs to take foot in some of our most consequential sectors including health and education. To achieve this, we need states to buy into the vision and, most importantly, act on it.

The good news? Chester says implementing the buyback program is relatively quick. We just need the guts to do it.

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Don't worry, you'll have enough in retirement ... with one big proviso

Sometimes I think I should appoint myself chief ageing reporter for this august organ. Why? Because I’m the only one left around here to know about – and care about – what’s happening to the oldies. But the truth is it’s not a lot more oldies we need to attract to secure this masthead’s future. That’s why we’re training up bright young economists such as Millie Muroi.

But, while we’re having old folks’ day, let me ask you a personal question: are you sure you’ve saved enough to ensure a comfortable retirement? Now, you probably hate being asked that question. Your conscience has long been telling you the answer’s most likely “no”. Ask someone from the superannuation industry, and they’re almost certain to leave you feeling inadequate.

But if you think that’s what I’m on about, you’re wrong. Prompted by an eye-opening article by the Grattan Institute’s super expert Brendan Coates, on my second-favourite website, The Conversation, I’m here to tell you the opposite: the independent experts say the superannuation system will ensure most people retire with enough superannuation to live comfortably and, indeed, many will have more than they need.

It’s only natural to fear you haven’t saved enough, but the sad truth is that the financial market people who earn their living by managing all the money we save via super have gone for many years playing on our fears, giving us a quite exaggerated impression of how much we’ll need.

If you’re trusting enough to ask the Association of Superannuation Funds lobby group how much a couple would need to live at a comfortable standard, it will tell you they’ll need an income of more than $73,000 a year, which would require a super balance of $690,000.

What the lobby group doesn’t tell you is that this “comfortable” standard is higher than what 70 per cent of couples enjoy while they’re working. Nor does it tell you that the only way to have more in retirement is to have less while you’re working.

It makes sense to use super to shift some of your income from your working years to the years when you’re not working. But is it sensible to shift so much you’re denying yourself during your working life so you can have a much higher standard of living in retirement?

Whereas the lobby group represents the interests of the people running super schemes, Super Consumers Australia represents the interests of their members. It calculates that couples who want a “medium” standard of living in retirement – that is, where they’re able to spend more than the bottom half of retired couples – need a super balance of about $370,000 on retirement, which would let them spend $60,000 a year.

Only if a couple wants to be in the top 30 per cent of retirees, able to spend $80,000 a year, would they need to retire with a super balance a bit over $1,000,000.

Do these more honest estimates strike you as too low? That’s probably because people of working age tend to overestimate how much they’ll need in retirement. Coates lists the many savings you make after you retire.

For a start, you don’t have work-related expenses. And retirees have more time to do things for themselves. Don’t forget that most people retire on some combination of super and the age pension. Remember too that, rightly or wrongly (wrongly in my book), the aged pay much less tax on their income than workers do. This makes a big difference to how much you need to live on.

Pensioners get discounts on council rates, electricity, medicines and public transport, and other benefits. These can add up to thousands of dollars a year. And whatever income you need at the start of your retirement, it typically falls as you get older. Coates says retirees tend to spend 15 to 20 per cent less when they’re 90 than they did when they were 70.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed in your own parents – I certainly did in mine – that oldies reach a point where they could afford to go out and spend money (another overseas trip, for instance) but they don’t feel like it. It surprises many that it’s common for oldies to save part of their income, simply because they didn’t have a reason to spend it.

Of course, deteriorating health stops people from spending. But most health and aged care costs are picked up by the taxpayer.

All this says people don’t need to spend as much as you may think in retirement. But everything I’ve said comes with a big proviso: that retirees own their own home. It’s been true for many decades that the great majority of retirees own their homes outright. That’s still true, though less so. These days it’s more common for people to retire still owing money on their mortgage. In coming decades, however, it won’t still be true that most retirees own their homes.

Meanwhile, I’m definitely not saying that people who have to rent in retirement have it easy. Far from it. But when you’re a home owner in retirement your spending on housing is far lower than for people still servicing a mortgage or renting.

The Retirement Income Review conducted in 2020 for the Morrison government judged that anyone with retirement income equivalent to between 65 and 75 per cent of their pre-retirement income would be able to live comfortably. It also found that, by this standard, most retirees will be doing fine.

But that was when compulsory employer contributions to super stood at 9.5 per cent of your wage. By now they’re 11.5 per cent and will rise to 12 per cent in July.

That’s why I say that those retiring in coming years won’t just be comfortable, they’ll be rolling in it.

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Oligopolists gouge power and gas prices, Albanese cops the blame

If, as seems likely, Anthony Albanese and his government lose seats at next year’s federal election, one thing we can be certain of is that the nation’s economists and econocrats won’t be admitting to their not insignificant contribution to Labor’s setback.

Economists have such a limited understanding of how the behaviour of the real-world economy differs from the economy described in their textbooks and measured in their econometric models, and are so woefully bad at predicting where the economy is headed, that their profession has become hugely defensive. And so, like Peter Dutton, they never ever admit to getting anything wrong.

It seems a safe bet that, should Labor’s vote be down, it will be for one overwhelming reason: the voters’ ire at what they call the “cost-of-living crisis” – the sudden surge in retail prices in the aftermath of the pandemic.

Many factors have contributed to that surge, but the Reserve Bank attributes much of the responsibility to the authorities’ excessive stimulus of the economy during the lockdowns. This, by causing the demand for goods and services to outstrip the economy’s ability to supply them, allowed businesses everywhere to get away with whacking up their prices.

Economists regard such price rises as completely normal and unexceptional, part of the God-ordained mechanism by which market forces return the economy to equilibrium. The public, however, sees such rises as utterly opportunistic and illegitimate, condemning them as “price gouging”.

But while the Reserve has frequently offered this “demand-pull” explanation as justification for its protracted increase in interest rates, it’s been much less willing to acknowledge that it was among the “authorities” who stuffed up.

Of course, the retail prices of some goods and services have made a much bigger contribution to the higher inflation rate than others have. And a prominent role has been played by the prices of electricity and gas. Over the three years to June this year, electricity prices rose by 20 per cent and gas prices by more than 30 per cent.

We’ve been told the leap in energy prices has been caused by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. But as new research by the Australia Institute’s David Richardson reveals, that’s just a tiny part of the story.

The truth is that electricity and gas prices have been rising much faster than the overall consumer price index since at least the end of 2007, with prices really shooting up over the past four years.

Richardson has used the latest annual reports of AGL and Origin Energy to derive some astonishing figures for what consumers are paying for electricity and gas. On average, he calculates, AGL’s electricity costs households $377 a megawatt hour, while Origin households pay $343 a MWh.

So what are the costs that cause those electricity prices to be so high? He says the total retail price consists of five components. First is the cost of the generation of electricity by power stations, including the cost of the coal and a bit of gas used to power the generators.

Second are the “network costs” of moving the electricity from the power stations to homes, businesses and offices, first transmitted across the countryside by high-voltage power lines, then distributed by “poles and wires” at the local level.

The third component is an annual allowance for the depreciation of all the equipment, which must eventually be replaced. Fourth is “other costs” incurred by the electricity retail companies – most of it being the cost of advertising – and fifth is the retailers’ profit before interest payments and tax.

Now get this. Richardson calculates that, for every $100 paid by a retail customer of AGL, a mere $12 goes on generating the electricity. So much for the evil Russian invaders being the cause of the problem.

Next come network transmission and distribution costs of $34, $4 for depreciation and $15 for advertising and other retailing costs. Which leaves AGL’s retail company with a profit before interest and tax of a measly $35.

What! About 35 per cent of our bill goes on profit to the retailer? Woolies and Coles eat your heart out. Qantas – you’re not really trying.

According to Richardson’s calculations, Origin’s retail profit share is a bit lower at 29 per cent. Turning from electricity to gas, he puts AGL’s retail profit margin at 36 per cent, and Origin’s probably a bit higher.

Richardson’s conclusion that consumers are being gouged in the electricity market is consistent with the findings of Professor Allan Fels in his report for the ACTU earlier this year. Fels made the economists’ point that every company’s electricity is identical. It’s also something that every home must have.

So why do retailers need to spend so much on advertising, “inappropriate door-to-door marketing activities” and other forms of “obfuscation”, Fels asked.

And Richardson’s figuring reveals something else. The overcharging of household customers of electricity and gas involves requiring them to cross-subsidise AGL and Origin’s business customers. They pay prices for electricity and gas that are about half what household customers pay. And the profit margins extracted from business customers are tiny.

But why should economists and econocrats share the blame for all the inflationary price gouging that’s helped make the Albanese government so unpopular? Because all the malfunctioning we’re seeing has occurred under the National Electricity Market that the econocrats designed and still regulate, and assured us would be a great reform.

The wonder-working NEM has turned five state-government-owned monopolies into a national oligopoly dominated by just three huge operators – AGL, Origin Energy and the foreign-owned and tight-lipped EnergyAustralia. The three are highly “vertically integrated”, meaning they each own big slabs of the market’s three levels: generation, transmission network and retail provision.

The NEM is owned by the five state governments plus the feds – that is, by everyone and no one – and regulated by two separate government authorities using a rule book running to thousands of pages. But it seems to have been captured by the oligopolists.

The economists have done little to stop consumers across the nation from being grossly overcharged for electricity and gas. But not to worry. It’s only some politician that will be left carrying the can.

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Trade deficits don't have to be wicked, unless you believe Trump

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

While the US president-elect would have you believe a trade deficit is a wicked thing, it’s not a hard and fast rule. In fact, it can actually be good. We’ve become used to the word “deficit” being synonymous with “bad” (think about how many governments highlight when they’ve got a “budget deficit” – not a lot!). But deficits don’t have to be bad.

Since late 2016, Australia has had a run of trade surpluses, meaning the value of all the goods and services we export has been bigger than the value of all those we import. That doesn’t make us any better than countries like the US which have run a trade deficit every year since the 1970s.

Generally, countries are better off when they’re importing things other countries can make more efficiently and cheaply. For Australia, that includes cars, electronics and pharmaceuticals. If we tried to make more of these things ourselves, just to improve our trade balance, we’d be wasting resources we could use to tinker away at other things we’re better at making.

We can always buy, more cheaply, the things we’re worse at making – unless of course we’re trumped by tariffs (which, note to Trump, almost always leaves both countries worse off).

A “current account” deficit is not a bad thing either. Australia had one for more than 40 years, until September 2019. The current account records how much is flowing in and out of Australia when it comes to the value of goods, services and income.

We learnt last week that in the latest September quarter, for instance, the value of our exports ($156 billion) minus the value of our imports ($153 billion) gave us a trade surplus for the quarter of about $3 billion. And the value of interest and dividend payments we were paid by foreigners ($28 billion) minus what we paid them in interest and dividends ($45 billion) gave us a “net income deficit” of about $17 billion.

Combining the net income deficit and the trade surplus leaves us with a deficit on the current account in the September quarter of about $14 billion.

It’s one of the two big parts of what’s called the “balance of payments”: a map of Australia’s economic transactions with the rest of the world.

The balance of payments records the flow of money from everything including exports and imports of goods, services and financial assets (such as shares and bonds) – even transfer payments like foreign aid. Basically: payments to foreigners and payments from foreigners.

Of course, by “Australia’s transactions” we mean those made by Australian residents. Loosely, this means people who live here, businesses operating here, and our governments, which all do deals with the rest of the world.

Now, back to the current account. Why has Australia recorded so many current account deficits?

Historically, we’ve tended to import more than we export, and we’ve paid more in dividends and interest to foreign owners and lenders than they have to us for our foreign shareholdings and loans.

Whenever we import, or pay income (such as dividends) out to people in other countries, it’s recorded as a “debit” in our current account and an equal “credit” in what’s known as the “capital and financial account” – which we’ll come back to. When we export, or receive income from overseas, it’s a “credit” in our current account and an equal “debit” in the other account.

Because of this, the two accounts are, in theory, meant to balance out (because of measurement issues, they usually don’t). When the debits exceed the credits, an account is in deficit. When the credits exceed the debits, it’s in surplus.

The main reason we’ve run so many current account deficits through the years is that we’ve tended to have a heap of investment opportunities (more than we could hope to finance with our own savings).

The inflow of foreign capital meant we were able to grow our economy, paying out dividends and interest to foreign investors for their help. Now, where do we record all this investment?

Enter the capital and financial account. The financial account takes up the lion’s share of the combined bucket. It records any transactions involving assets and liabilities changing hands. This includes things like direct investment (long-term capital investment such as buying machinery or when an investor owns 10 per cent or more of a company through shares), and portfolio investment (smaller purchases of shares in a business, or bonds).

When we sell foreigners shares in an Aussie business, borrow from them or sell them some real estate, that’s a credit in the capital account. When they sell us shares or land or lend us money, that’s recorded as a debit.

The much smaller capital account, meanwhile, captures transactions where nothing tangible is received in return: things such as debt that has been forgiven, foreign aid to build roads, or transactions involving intangible assets (such as trademarks or brand names) or rights to use land.

For some time in the past decade, we briefly went into a current account surplus and a financial and capital account deficit. This was partly thanks to rapid industrialisation in China which turbocharged our exports of minerals, energy, education and tourism (remember: credit in the current account, debit in the financial and capital account), but also our increased tendency to save and cut down our local investment spending on new housing, business equipment and public infrastructure. At the same time, the proportion of our savings going into superannuation, which invests partly into shares of foreign companies, had grown.

Recently, we’ve switched back to running a current account deficit. Is this bad? Not necessarily. It’s partly due to a continued fall in commodity prices such as iron ore and coal, for which demand has weakened, which is bad news for our exporters. But we’re also paying more income to non-residents (remember: this is mostly because they’ve been investing or lending to us, usually to help us grow by helping to finance our investment spending).

But the current account deficit is also thanks to factors such as a rise in service imports. We’ve been travelling more, meaning our spending overseas has increased. A bad sign? Hardly.

So, while we have a current account deficit, that doesn’t automatically mean we’re doing badly. Deficits can help us grow and surpluses don’t always leave us better off. Trump should be careful playing his cards.

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We've entered the era of gutless government

Sorry to tell you that I’m finishing this year most unimpressed by Anthony Albanese and his government. I’m still reeling from his last two weeks of parliament, pushing through 45 bills just to show how much he’d achieved and give himself the option of calling an election early next year should he see a break in the clouds.

Some of the measures pushed through at breakneck speed merited much more scrutiny, while some reforms that should have been put through were abandoned. One measure he’d hoped to rush through, fortunately, didn’t make it.

It all left me more conscious of his government’s weak performance, capping off 2 ½ years in which Labor turned its mind to many of the problems left by its Liberal predecessors, did a bit to help, but never nearly enough.

Why not? Because there were powerful interest groups Labor didn’t want to offend. And because it lives in fear of what the Libs might say. The two-party duopoly has painted itself into a corner, with neither side game to do what needs to be done.

Take the greatest threat to our future: climate change. Labor was elected in May 2022 partly because it seemed to be genuine in its determination to see Australia play its part in reducing greenhouse gas emissions, whereas the Coalition seemed only to be pretending to care.

In government, Labor kept its promise to legislate its target of reducing emissions by 43 per cent by 2030. It strengthened its predecessors’ “safeguard mechanism”, limiting emissions by major industries. It made speeches about how nice it would be for Australia to become a world superpower, using clean electricity to manufacture green iron, green aluminium and other things, then export them to Asian countries with far less sun and wind than we have.

So clearly, we’ve now accepted that our industries exporting coal and natural gas will start to phase down and out. What? Gosh no. No, no, if the coal industry wants to extend its mines, that’s fine. If the West Australians want assurance of the need for offshore gas beyond net zero emissions in 2050, that’s fine.

Under the shiny new slogan of Nature Positive, Labor had promised to end further degradation of our natural environment, including by setting up a federal environment protection authority. This was opposed by the Coalition, proudly proclaiming itself to be the mining industry’s great friend, but the necessary legislation could go through thanks to a deal Environment Minister Tanya Plibersek had reached with the Greens.

But then the WA premier phoned Albanese to advise that the state’s miners were most unhappy about further efforts to protect the environment, so the deal was squashed. But not to worry. Should Albo decide against an early election, the bill would be back on the drawing board when parliament resumed for a short sitting in February.

In his timidity, Albanese has introduced to politics the each-way bet. Strong support for the move to renewables? Of course. Continuing support for the use and export of fossil fuels? Of course. Welcome to the era of gutless government.

From the greatest threat to our future on this planet to the greatest example of populist cynicism. To great applause from voters – and with the whole world watching this Aussie reform, up there with the secret ballot – Albanese rushed through his bill banning children under 16 from using social media.

Had he figured out a foolproof way of enforcing the ban? Could the kids soon find ways around it? Would we all be forced to provide trustworthy tech giants such as Facebook and TikTok with documentary proof of our age? No. Let’s just push the bill through and worry about such details later. And never mind the experts saying what’s needed is to train our young people how to detect misinformation and disinformation.

This is politicians acting on their cynical maxim that “the appearance is the reality”. They don’t need actually to fix a problem, just create the appearance of fixing it. Just do something the unthinking punters, and the shock jocks who lead them on, happily imagine will fix things.

The promised measures that were dropped from Albanese’s frenetic bill-passing included action to curb the advertising of sports gambling and the plan – announced in February last year – to raise the tax on superannuation balances over $3 million (a needed reform despite what it would have cost a poor battler such as me).

One bit of good news was the disappearance of Labor’s bill to reform election fundraising. Although it included various valuable changes, its claim to be taking “big money” out of politics was a thinly disguised plot to knock out Clive Palmer and the teals’ funding from Climate 200 while ignoring the political duopoly’s funding from the unions and big business.

Fortunately, the duopolists couldn’t agree to push it through.

The sad part of Albanese’s unimpressive performance is that there’s little reason to believe the Peter Dutton-led Coalition would do any better at fixing the many problems the Morrison government left for Labor to deal with. One of which, of course, was the cause of what soon unfolded after the May 2022 election to become the “cost-of-living crisis”. Much of the surge in prices came from overseas disruptions to supply. The rest, according to the Reserve Bank’s reasoning, came from the stimulus applied by the Morrison and state governments that turned out to be far more than needed.

Albanese and Treasurer Jim Chalmers have done a good job in managing the unfinished return to low inflation, but they have no control over when the Reserve will decide to start cutting interest rates. If, as seems likely, Labor loses seats at next year’s election, that will be voters punishing it for the cost of living, over which it had little control, not for its weak performance in so many other areas.

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The Australian economy is behaving strangely

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

Australian consumers are usually the engine room of the economy. Every extra dollar we spend drives economic growth higher – and there’s so many of us that we’re usually a force to be reckoned with. In the three months to September, though, something strange happened.

We had more income to splurge but shied away from spending much of the extra cash according to national accounts data from our number-crunchers at the Australian Bureau of Statistics this week. Instead, a bigger share of our pay made its way into piggy banks, mattresses and bank vaults.

Households, while still accounting for nearly half the economy, took a back seat. So, how did the Australian economy still manage to step up?

The size of our economy can be measured in three ways: output (the amount of goods and services we pump out), income (the amount of profit pocketed by businesses and pay that has flowed into households) or by looking at all the spending that happens.

That last one includes money spent by the government, businesses, foreigners (buying up our exports) and our heavy lifters: households. Since the mid-2000s, household consumption has accounted for at least half the size of our economy. It’s only this September quarter that household spending dropped to less than half of gross domestic product (GDP).

Does that mean households are struggling? Well, it depends on how you look at it.

If people’s shopping receipts are any indication of their living standards, you could argue things are looking pretty stagnant. Household spending came in flat at 0 per cent growth.

And, in fact, if we look at spending per household, we’re grinding backwards. Why? Because our population has been boosted by migration. While overall household spending has stayed flat in the September quarter, we’re individually spending less than we were earlier in the year. And that’s after we saw total household spending growth turn negative the previous quarter.

Growth for the wider economy has also been slipping into reverse when we account for population growth. Looking at economic growth per person, we’ve been sliding backwards for nearly two years.

Back to households, though. It’s not all bad news. We actually spent a touch more on discretionary goods and services – things we may not need but are nice to have, such as new clothing and recreation. Spending on essentials, meanwhile, fell. We spent more on things such as rent and staying healthy, but dished out far less on electricity and gas thanks to a warmer-than-expected winter, and partly thanks to the government’s energy bill relief that took the heat out of our energy bills.

Household disposable income – the amount we have left over to spend or save after paying our taxes – also grew. Not only did our income (at least collectively) grow by 1.3 per cent, mainly thanks to pay rises, many of us also had our taxes slashed, too. Stage 3 tax cuts came into play in July, pushing down the income tax we paid during the quarter by 3.8 per cent. Those who had money stashed in the bank also got a boost from interest rates on deposits.

But we didn’t do what a lot of economists (and the Reserve Bank) expected us to do – or at least not to the degree they thought we would. Instead of going on a spending spree with our extra cash, we squirrelled a lot of it away. It’s common for people, especially when they’re worried about their finances, to take a while to work out how they are going to spend their extra money.

The household ratio of saving to income – which tells us how much of our disposable income we stowed away for a rainy day – grew from 2.4 per cent last quarter to 3.2 per cent. Since our incomes grew, but we weren’t spending any more than we were in the June quarter, the slice of our pay going towards savings increased.

The saving-to-income ratio is still much lower than the 10 to 20 per cent we were at during the pandemic when the rivers of stimulus payments gushed in, and our spending options were locked down, but it has been climbing back from a low of 1.5 per cent in March last year.

Of course, the money we save ends up sitting idle – at least while it stays in our coffers. We don’t spend it, so it doesn’t flow back into businesses, and doesn’t stimulate the economy to grow.

But our decision to save a lot of the money we got to keep thanks to tax cuts doesn’t explain the slow – but positive – upward crawl of the economy. If households didn’t spend any more than they did in the previous three months, then how did the economy still manage to expand?

A big driver of our economic growth was spending – not by households or businesses – but by the government. It contributed 0.6 percentage points to growth in the three months to September. Part of this was thanks to a pick-up in public investment by state and local governments on infrastructure projects such as roads and renewable projects.

But a big chunk of the government spending was on cost-of-living relief, such as the energy rebates, which basically just shifted what would have been paid by consumers to cook and heat their homes, to the government’s shopping list. It meant overall government spending hit a near-record-high share of the economy at more than 28 per cent.

Since overall economic growth only came in at 0.3 per cent (notably lower than the 0.5 per cent economists had been expecting), government spending made the difference between our economy shrinking and treading water.

There were also other factors with a smaller impact on growth, including a slight uptick in the construction of new homes, which pushed up private investment spending. There was also a fall in inventories (generally stock held by companies) and net overseas trade – as imports fell and exports grew – which contributed 0.1 percentage points to GDP.

Although the economy’s usual star player – households – spent less than expected in the September quarter, there are signs things will pick up in the final three months of the year. For one thing, retail trade picked up 0.6 per cent in October, even before all the major discounts started kicking in last month, coaxing customers (and their wallets) out for Black Friday and Cyber Monday.

So, how does this position the Reserve Bank?

While economic growth and household spending growth are running below its forecasts, the bank has previously said the level of demand – how much we’re spending now as opposed to how fast our spending appetites are growing – is still too high unless we improve how much (or how efficiently) we can produce things.

It’ll take more weakness in spending, or more progress on slamming a lid on inflation, for the Reserve Bank to start cutting rates. So far, Australian households – and their spending – seem stuck in the holding pen.

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How Albanese is tighten up on tax-dodging multinational companies

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

Earlier this week, a crucial piece of legislation made its way through parliament. It didn’t receive a lot of fanfare, but it’s a long-overdue tweak to our tax system.

You probably know companies such as Amazon, Apple and Microsoft. They’re multinational corporations that make hundreds of billions of dollars in profit every year, some of it right here in Australia – and probably from you as a customer.

Yet, the taxes they pay are not always proportional to the profit they’re pocketing. That’s something laws passed earlier this week seek to change.

Apple raked in an income of more than $12 billion in the 2022-23 period, according to the government’s transparency report. But it only paid 1 per cent tax on that income. How is that possible?

While the company tax rate in Australia is 30 per cent for most businesses with a turnover of $50 million or more, firms can reduce their taxable income and, therefore, the amount of tax they pay.

Some deductions are fair and reasonable: for example, claiming deductions for day-to-day business expenses including materials you need to supply a good or service. Other strategies are … questionable.

A business like Apple may not be breaking the law, but it can take advantage of different tax rates across the world.

Australia’s company tax is among the highest in the world. According to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, we were only trumped by one country: Colombia, where companies paid about one-third of their income in tax.

By contrast, countries such as Hong Kong, Singapore and the United Arab Emirates have much smaller company tax rates, making them attractive tax havens. Companies can sneakily shift their income to these countries or use cunning tactics to play the system to their favour.

Former economics professor turned Assistant Minister for Competition, Charities and Treasury Dr Andrew Leigh says the share of multinational companies’ profits passing through tax havens has soared. Back in the 1970s, virtually no multinational profits went through tax havens, he says. “Now it’s up to about 40 per cent.”

Stronger reporting requirements and wider availability of data have made it easier to spot when a company is skirting the rules, acting as a deterrent for businesses hoping to fly under the radar with sneaky tactics.

And in 2017, the Australian Taxation Office found itself in a legal battle in the ongoing crusade against companies paying less tax through loopholes in the system, coming out on top against resource giant Chevron.

The Federal Court ruled against Chevron’s use of an arrangement called related-party finance – commonly used by multinationals to reduce the tax they have to pay in Australia.

It’s where the local entity of a multinational firm borrows funds from its offshore counterpart, which sets much higher interest rates than would usually be reasonable. That interest flows back to the offshore part of that company and allows the Australian branch to claim higher tax deductions because interest payments can be a tax-deductible expense.

Chevron’s Australian subsidiary had taken a $4 billion loan from its US parent company to develop Western Australian gas reserves. This added to the local subsidiary’s debt pile, but allowed it to sidestep Australia’s 30 per cent company tax rate, with those interest payments instead being taxed in the US where the corporate tax rate was lower. In 2017, Chevron had paid no company tax in five of the previous seven financial years.

The Federal Court eventually ruled Chevron’s Australian subsidiary should not be allowed to claim interest on its borrowings from the rest of Chevron Group as if they were two standalone companies. In the 2022-23 period, Chevron paid more than $4 billion in tax.

However, Mark Zirnsak, secretariat for the Tax Justice Network, says that ruling has not closed the loophole entirely. Instead, he says Chevron got too greedy. “It’s still legal to claim the interest rate payment to yourself like Chevron did,” he says. “What the ATO contested was the rate of interest.”

Get it? If Chevron had just charged itself a standard rate of interest – similar to a bank – there would have been no issues.

Related party finance is just one of the many tricks multinationals use to dodge the Aussie taxman.

There’s also something called “transfer pricing” which companies such as mining giant BHP have been penalised for. For years, BHP was selling Australian iron ore and coal to its Singapore operation. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that – except that BHP was then selling these commodities for much more from its Singapore marketing hub to other nations.

Since Singapore has a much lower corporate tax rate, BHP was reducing its tax bill despite the coal and iron ore originally coming from Australia.

This week, the Australian government finally joined the growing army of countries – more than 135 so far – that have agreed to a global minimum tax of 15 per cent: A company with more than $1.2 billion in global revenue must pay at least 15 per cent tax across its global operations. Otherwise, the countries they’re doing business in can now get a bite of its untaxed profits.

This is supposed to deter companies from creating artificial structures in low or no-tax territories, such as the Cayman Islands, in a bid to avoid paying taxes in places where they actually do their business.

It’s also supposed to prevent a “race to the bottom” where countries compete for the lowest company tax rates to attract businesses. How? Because if countries charge company tax rates below 15 per cent, then other countries can impose “top-up” taxes.

Australia, for example, can now apply a “top-up tax” on a multinational operating in Australia if that multinational pays less than a 15 per cent tax rate wherever it does business globally.

Zirnsak says the 15 per cent rate is too low, but a positive change for now.

“The Biden administration would have liked to push it higher, and the Europeans were pushing for it to be lower, so at the end of the day, 15 per cent was a compromise,” he says.

“It’s no longer going to be a game where you can simply try and cheat the governments of the countries you’re actually doing business in through your artificial legal structures and working with governments that are happy to assist you in tax avoidance and profit.”

Leigh says the next step for the government is to crack down on tech giants, which have been more difficult to pin down. That’s partly because of the virtual nature of their services which has made taxing them properly an elusive exercise globally.

Of course, it’s a long-overdue change, and there’s lots left to do. But shifty multinational taxation tactics are being squeezed out.

It’s not just the big guys playing sneaky games. But as Leigh says, the local cafe you bought your coffee from today probably doesn’t pay an accountant exorbitant amounts to figure out how to minimise their tax.

“They don’t sit down at their weekly planning meeting and decide which country they want to pay tax in to minimise their tax.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By MILLIE MUROI, Economics Writer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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