Author: Chris Berg

Selling Out The Koran

First Tunisia, then Egypt, and now Libya: Muammar Gaddafi looks set to join the cohort of fallen Middle East dictators. And about time too. Under Gaddafi’s tribe-centric Stalinism, Libya has consistently ranked in the bottom 10 countries for economic, social, political, and press freedom.

Libya is not alone. The Arab world fills the lower ranks of all these indexes.

The causes of the region’s discontent are obvious. It has escaped nobody’s notice that the Arab world is almost uniformly undemocratic and illiberal. And poor – the 22 member states of the Arab League have a per capita income less than a third of that in the Western world.

Those truths colour the developed world’s view not just of the region, but of its 360 million people. And, just as importantly, their majority religion.

But how did the Arab world get that way?

A ground-breaking book released last year by the Turkish economist Timur Kuran, The Long Divergence: How Islamic Law Held Back the Middle East, couldn’t be more timely. Kuran is a professor of economics and political science at Duke University in North Carolina.

The title of his book is very specific: Islamic law limited economic growth in the Arab world. Not Islam per se, but the legal framework which built up over centuries in Islamic societies.

After all, the Koran is pretty good on economic growth: it encourages entrepreneurship; it promotes commerce; it praises the acquisition of wealth, instructing Muslims to “seek the bounty of Allah”; it endorses private property.

Muslims were once some of the world’s greatest entrepreneurs. When bandits captured the Chinese city of Guangzhou in 878, they found more than 100,000 Middle Eastern traders there.

So if 1000 years ago you were to wager what religion would dominate the next millennium, Islam would have seemed fairly safe money. Christian Europe was far behind. A European touring the Middle East would have met people who had much higher incomes. So what happened?

Kuran argues Islamic law primarily failed to develop the concept of a corporation: an economic and legal construct, separated from family and tribal loyalty, designed to encourage investment and profit sharing.

Islam’s early strength – shared faith to unite warring tribes – became a weakness, as it manifested itself in hostility towards smaller, corporate, capitalist forms of organisation.

As corporations multiplied in Europe from the 17th century, the Arab world’s relative success disappeared. It needn’t have been so. There’s nothing particularly un-Islamic about the corporation – the organisation was embraced by Muslims in the 20th century. Kuran shows Islamic law is flexible enough to change, but a failure to encourage economic growth meant Arab nations slipped behind the West.

Today, the other economic positions taken by the Koran – the importance of commerce, the defence of private property, and the freedom to seek wealth uncompromised by state action – are notably absent in the Arab world.

A rich country tends to be a liberal country. Wealth and freedom progress together. So too does social development. Women and minorities in the First World have respect and rights that are the envy of those in the Third World.

Conversely, poverty feeds social backwardness, which reinforces that poverty.

The relative economic decline of the Arab world in the 20th century caused its political decline. The political vanguard in the Middle East has careened from assertive nationalism, to Soviet client socialism, to Islamism.

Islam’s critics focus on the obviously archaic and often brutal views held by Islamists. They blame them for the problems of the Arab world. Fundamentalist Islam seeks not only to restore premodern social relations, but premodern economic structures as well. The future caliphate will shield itself from the dynamism of contemporary capitalism.

But it was defective legal institutions that originally put the Arab world behind, not culture or religion. Hence reasons for optimism.

Institutional failures have institutional solutions. An Arab nation that adopts the very best political, economic and legal structures of the developed world could be just as rich, successful, and liberal.

And the pro-market Koran won’t need to be discarded to do so. Timur Kuran’s findings suggest Islamic faith is perfectly compatible with modernity.

Research published in February in the journal Public Choice, “Economic freedom, culture and growth”, backs this up.

Using the World Values Survey, the most comprehensive database we have on global beliefs, two economists empirically answer the question of whether culture is a barrier to development. It is – up to a point.

If a country’s economy is not free – if it labours under the burden of an overbearing government, high taxes, and high regulation – then culture matters a lot.

But the importance of culture disappears as a country becomes economically free. Once a nation has the “peace, easy taxes, and a tolerable administration of justice” Adam Smith described, it will grow rich. Regardless of religious or cultural baggage.

That’s a lesson the revolutionaries trying to liberate the Middle East will need to quickly understand.

Right now, in Egypt, Tunisia, Libya and Bahrain, the revolt has a liberal character. A lot of time has passed since the Iranian revolution in 1979. Today, even radical Islamists in those countries are agitating for democracy above all else – not theocracy.

Whether the revolutions remain liberal is far from certain.

But if the citizens in the Middle East wish not to just discard tyranny, but grow rich and prosperous too, they’ll need to enact not just political but institutional change. A free, capitalist economy is the foundation of a free society.

Adapt To Survive

The Labor party once made great fun of John Howard’s distinction between core and non-core promises. Julia Gillard has now added to that taxonomy: a promise so intolerably core it has to be explicitly denied during an election campaign.

It’s damned hard to reconcile August 2010’s ‘There will be no carbon tax under the government I lead’ with February 2011’s ‘The two-stage plan for a carbon price mechanism will start with a fixed price period for three to five years.’

Labor’s goal during the 2010 campaign was to get over the line and govern another term. Just like any political party. But where Labor broke new ground was by being happy to say anything or promote any idea to get there, no matter how divorced from its own philosophy or the wishes of its supporters.

Disavowing a carbon tax is what US political consultants told Gillard to do. So that’s what Gillard did, no matter what she or her party thought.

Of course, the Prime Minister’s reversal of what seemed a pretty explicit promise not to price carbon says nothing about the rightness or wrongness of that policy. But it says a heap about her approach to politics. She’s very, er, political.

Careful policymaking would be a distraction from the important business of political manoeuvring.

The Greens might bear this in mind as they negotiate with Gillard and her ministers. Any deal is one grumpy focus group or James Carville phone call away from being discarded.

Nevertheless, if all the government’s legislative cards fall in place, after July 2012 Australia will have a price on carbon. That’s almost exactly when poor old Brendan Nelson suggested the Coalition under his leadership would implement one.

Nelson’s policy had an important condition: international action on climate change. It was a more innocent, optimistic time. Kevin Rudd and Malcolm Turnbull also spent 2008 and 2009 rabbiting on about Copenhagen and international agreements.

Yet in 2011 the closest Gillard comes to mentioning the molasses-like movement to international agreement is a vague ‘the global economy is shifting’. Just vaguely shifting, in general.

This modified rhetoric places the government’s climate policy at one remove from its purpose: to combat global climate change.

For this government, a carbon price is no longer about stopping, reducing or slowing global warming – a task which would require concerted, co-ordinated global action. Now it’s just the season’s most fashionable economic reform.

Gillard has implicitly admitted the chances of international agreement on emissions action in the foreseeable future are near zero. The chances that the unco-ordinated and compromised carbon initiatives now being introduced in some countries will have a significant impact on the global climate are even lower.

Don’t underestimate the magnitude of a transition to carbon-free energy production. Or the economic and social change that transition would cause.

The Australian government’s carbon price will start small. But if it is to make any dent in our carbon emissions it will have to be steadily raised, year after year.

Even during the ‘fixed-price’ period which Julia Gillard announced would precede the full emissions trading scheme, the carbon tax will still increase ‘annually at a pre-determined rate’.

Any government facing complaints about the cost of living – justified or unjustified – will find that very challenging.

A Galaxy poll commissioned by the Institute of Public Affairs last week showed that 66 per cent of Australians were unsure about the relationship between human-induced carbon emissions and global warming. This figure has remained steady for at least 12 months.

Combine this finding with survey data revealing that even people who fully accept the dangers of anthropogenic climate change are unwilling to pay the extra money a modest carbon price would demand, and you have quite a political pickle.

Gillard may initially win some political points for a courageous and aggressive stand on climate action. But those points will disappear when higher energy bills are mailed out. Especially since the Prime Minister has effectively taken personal, political responsibility for everybody’s electricity costs.

Hers is a pickle shared by every government which wants to act on climate.

The situation is even more serious in the developing world. Energy poverty is a serious development problem. Traditional home methods of producing energy (burning wood, agricultural residue and animal dung) are a major health hazard for the world’s poor. Economic growth is held back by unreliable or inaccessible electricity.

So no responsible developing world government would penalise large-scale energy production significantly enough to have an impact on the global climate.

The only policy position sensitive to these political realities is a focus on adaptation. Adapting to climate change – whether natural or anthropogenic – is the only approach which accommodates questions of political economy.

Sure, it’s easy to imagine an ideal world where a mechanism can be developed which prices the externalities of pollution efficiently, consistently and effectively – where the best legislators can team up with the best scientists and the best economists to write the best laws which take into account the best research, unimpeded by politics and democracy and the mendacities of self-interest.

But that’s not our world.

If you fully accept the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change’s dire scenarios, there’s still reason for optimism. The economist Indur Goklany, poring over the UK’s Stern Review, found that human and environmental wellbeing in the foreseeable future will be, on balance, higher in a ‘richest-but-warmest’ scenario. His argument should carry weight: Goklany has been a long-time delegate to the IPCC. He argues that tackling the consequences of climate change is far more efficient than trying to prevent it.

That is, a rich world is better able to cope with the adverse effects of any climate change than a poor one. When it comes to climate change, it is far more efficient, and far more practical, to treat the symptoms.

And it’s the only approach which takes into account the raw, unforgiving logic of political action.

Artificial Markets: Miles Behind The Real Deal

The Federal Government and its faithful Opposition are falling over each other to say their own climate policy is market friendly.

On Lateline last week, Penny Wong and Greg Hunt each argued theirs was the most faithful “market mechanism” which could be devised.

Perhaps this should be taken as a positive – recognition by both sides of politics that voluntary trade in a free market is the most efficient way to allocate resources. A few decades ago this would have been a very different debate.

But a crucial distinction has to be made. A market mechanism does not make a free market.

Indeed, while market mechanisms like an emissions trading scheme are superficially appealing – it has all the buying and selling that we see in the most dynamic sides of capitalism – they can only ever be a crude approximation of the real thing.

Sure, it looks like a duck. It quacks like a duck. But it swims like a robot which has been engineered to swim like a duck.

Ducks and robo-ducks are different. So are genuine and artificial markets.

Genuine markets emerge, spontaneously and dynamically, to meet demands or to create them. The market order which develops seems harmonious – balanced, as if, by an “invisible hand”.

But of course there is no invisible hand guiding the marketplace. Ideally, the market is only limited by general rules: private property, protection against fraud, and enforcement of contracts.

There are just billions of people working to produce things for other people to buy, and buying things which other people have produced for them.

It works. The efficiency, wealth, and increase in living standards that results from this capitalist dynamic have been recognised, implicitly, by every side of politics.

An artificial market like the proposed emissions trading scheme is a completely different beast. It has a very visible hand indeed.

Every side of the market is created by legislation. The Government nominates the product. The Government nominates the customers. It nominates the producers. The Government controls the supply and restrains the demand. Then it regulates the whole thing over the top.

Someone has to design the rules of the game, the limits, and write the laws which govern them.

The contrived structure of an emissions market leeches away much of the dynamic efficiency it is supposed to encourage.

Markets out in the wild have booms and busts all the time. Artificial markets are even more flimsy and prone to failure. No planner could predict ahead of time the negative consequences of every single line of legislation which will construct this artificial economy.

On The Drum on Friday, the ABC’s Chris Uhlmann speculated how soon the first great crash of this huge artificial marketplace would occur. He could have added these crashes have precedent. Two of the most dramatic corporate collapses in the United States in the last decade have been deeply involved in artificial markets and were pioneering carbon trading.

Enron was an energy company, sure, but its main business was broking – it wasn’t producing much energy, but trading a lot.

And when it traded energy, it was gaming the regulatory environment created by the inconsistencies of Californian electricity “deregulation” in 1998. The opacity of Enron’s business operations mirrored the opacity of the law which created the energy commodity market. And as the firm got increasingly comfortable trading commodities which were for all intents and purposes fictitious, it started trading emissions credits.

Unsurprisingly, Enron was one of the biggest advocates of the Kyoto Protocol.

Enron specialised in markets which were created and managed by governments and regulators. (They also traded in broadband, another highly regulated, imitation market.) Those markets were artificial, the corporate collapse in 2001 was not.

So too that other iconic implosion of recent time: Lehman Brothers. Collateralised debt obligations weren’t the only complex financial instruments Lehman Brothers was buying and selling at a far remove from their underlying value. The financial services firm was looking to be “the prime brokerage for emissions permits”. Like Enron, Lehman too wanted a price on carbon, because then there’d be money to be made selling carbon derivatives.

Much goes on in the dark regulatory complexities of market mechanisms.

Nevertheless market-based schemes are still, on a theoretical level, an interesting way to resolve a public policy challenge.

If you ignore the emissions trading scheme’s crippling complexity, the inevitable exemptions, the free and subsidised permits, the compensation to lower- and middle-income households, the politics, the rentseeking, and the possibility of bureaucratic or regulatory error distorting the framework even further, then perhaps a market is better than no market at all.

Well, it would be, if anybody thought it could work.

The idea behind carbon trading is to neatly arrange a regulatory framework, then let the profit motive and competitive pressures choose the most efficient suite of energy policies. Set and forget.

But there’s been no suggestion that the substantial subsidies and regulatory requirements for renewable energy will be lifted once an emissions trading scheme is implemented. The Renewable Energy Target, for one, will stay. The Government plans one of the biggest economic changes in Australia’s history, but not even they have any faith in it.

A future emissions trading scheme will feature lots of buying and selling, sure. But while it will have all of the risks of a marketplace, it will confer few of the benefits.

Anti-Dumping Laws: In Whose Interest?

It’s hard to top deposing a Prime Minister. But having the management of Rio Tinto replaced by monkeys (as Australian Worker’s Union boss Paul Howes suggested last week) would be pretty impressive too.

The AWU celebrated its 125th anniversary with bluster and assertiveness. It’s been swinging wildly at mining companies, foreign imports, and ministers in the Government it installed.

None of it shows the AWU in a particularly good light. Take for instance the union’s campaign to strengthen the Government’s anti-dumping laws.

“Dumping” occurs when a foreign firm exports into Australia products and sells them for a price lower than in their home market. The idea, in theory, is to put Australian firms out of business, and then jack up prices. Our anti-dumping laws impose selective tariffs on goods to compensate. Lots of countries have similar laws.

So it may seem the union’s “Don’t Dump on Australia” is of minor importance. But the campaign against dumping exposes a simple truth: the union movement is a special interest, acting on behalf of a few favoured sectors of the economy.

Because from the very beginning, anti-dumping laws had almost nothing to do with the theory of dumping.

The first anti-dumping law was enacted in Canada in 1904. New Zealand imposed one in 1905, and Australia in 1906. The US joined the anti-dumping club 1916; South Africa and Great Britain five years after that.

But it was only in 1923 the economic theory of dangers of dumping was formulated, by the economist Jacob Viner in his book Dumping: A Problem in International Trade.

So what inspired the earlier anti-dumping laws? Politics, not economics. The Canadian government first imposed anti-dumping laws to curry favour with domestic steelmakers feeling threatened by cheap US imports.

The rest of the world followed suit. For Australia, anti-dumping legislation was a simple component of “protection all round”.

In other words, anti-dumping is not a measure to defend the integrity of free trade (as Howes claimed last week, saying foreign competitors were “cheating”) but a measure to undermine it.

Anti-dumping laws are protectionism, pure and simple.

As the failures of state socialism have become clearly manifest in the last few decades, Viner’s theory of dumping has been abandoned, along with the arguments for infant industry protection, import quotas, general tariffs, and trade subsidies.

After all, the dumping thesis relies on the possibility of a foreign producer, having eliminated all its competitors, raising prices. But it’s hard to find in the literature an example of a firm ever doing so. It’s not a very good strategy: it’s expensive, and its reward is uncertain. Even if a firm managed to eliminate all its competitors, the moment it raised prices new competitors would flood back into the market.

And if imported goods are only cheap because they’re subsidised by foreign governments, that’s a straight transfer of wealth from overseas taxpayers to Australian consumers.

A Productivity Commission inquiry last year found while anti-dumping measures benefited a few companies, those benefits came at the expense of everybody else’s economic well-being.

It did, admittedly, find the overall cost to the economy was likely to be very small. So the commission recommended keeping the laws for a very specific reason – to placate the fears of some firms (and the union movement) about tariff reform.

That is, for politics, not for good policy.

You could dismiss the Productivity Commission as unforgivably neo-liberal.

But even the Nobel Prize winner Joseph Stiglitz – hardly a doctrinaire free-marketeer – describes much anti-dumping laws nothing more than “creative new measures to block imports” which make “little economic sense”. The first world, Stiglitz argues, uses anti-dumping legislation to shield itself from third world competition.

The AWU is welcome to stand up for what it perceives to be in the interests of its members. That’s its job – to seek special privileges for those who pay the annual fee.

But the union cannot claim the policies it pursues are in the general interest of the Australian economy. (And, as Stiglitz might add, in the interest of third world workers.) The union’s ferocious advocacy of anti-dumping laws is a small but indicative reminder of this.

If the AWU was concerned with all Australians they would campaign to eliminate anti-dumping laws. Lower prices and a more competitive economy benefit unionists and non-unionists alike.

Unfortunately the Federal Coalition has joined the AWU on its anti-dumping crusade: Tony Abbott has also called for an examination of the anti-dumping regime to protect jobs.

The review of 2010 federal election by Steve Bracks, John Faulkner and Bob Carr has reaffirmed the relationship between an antagonistic union movement and a deferential Labor Party.

Given the union movement’s willingness to forego the national interest while protecting its client industries, this should not be welcomed.

Striving For Political And Economic Freedom

It was no surprise that the Economic Freedom of the Arab World Report was launched in Cairo last year.

Egypt has been at the centre of economic liberalisation in the Middle East.

Hosni Mubarak stubbornly resisted political and democratic change, but had much ambition in the economic sphere. The end of the dictator’s grip on the Egyptian presidency comes after a substantial economic reform program.

So the world observes in Egypt not only a people trying to free themselves from dictatorial rule and a police state, but another illustration of the close relationship between economic and political liberty.

Introduce one, and people will demand the other to match.

Reform needs consent. Mubarak isn’t the first dictator to fall because he ignored this requirement, and he won’t be the last.

The Economic Freedom of the Arab World Report rates the 22 members of the Arab League on measures of economic liberty: tax rates, size of government, security of property rights, monetary soundness, regulation, labour market flexibility, and trade barriers.

When the report was launched eight years ago, Egypt was near the bottom of the rankings. For its effort, the country is now dead in the centre. Not as economically free as Kuwait or Bahrain, which occupy the top positions, but doing much better than Algeria and Syria.

Egypt’s government launched an economic reform program in 2004. The tariff burden was reduced from nearly 15 per cent to 5 per cent. Egypt re-engaged forums of trade liberalisation, and facilitating import and export. The company tax rate was reduced from 40 per cent to a 20 per cent flat rate, and their progressive income tax system is now levied at a maximum rate of 20 per cent. The rolling series of privatisations, which had petered out in the late 1990s, were rejuvenated.

As a consequence of these changes, Egypt increased its GDP growth from 3 per cent per year at the turn of the millennium to around 7 per cent. That figure only modestly declined during the financial crisis, to 5 per cent.

And unemployment – commonly cited as a source of Egyptian unrest in the wake of the Mubarak regime’s privatisations – declined during the reform period. At 12 per cent in 2003, unemployment is just over now 9 per cent. Economic reform has been disruptive. It always is. But it has not hollowed out the Egyptian labour market.

Poverty, of course, remains a major problem, as it does across the developing world. Yet while Egypt is very poor, it is not as cripplingly so as those under it on the economic freedom rankings.

Alexis de Tocqueville said the most dangerous moment for a bad government is when it begins to reform itself.

While deregulations, privatisations and other economic liberalisations are rarely popular on their own behalf, the wealth and economic growth they spur usually is. The challenge for would-be reformers is to demonstrate the connection between growing prosperity and those disruptive reforms. And to ensure those benefits can seep through the entire society as quickly as possible.

Any attempt to demonstrate that connection is going to be tough while a country is ruled by a dictatorship.

No amount of positive economic reform will excuse the absence of individual liberties, widespread government harassment, arbitrary arrest, political repression, a justice system divorced from the rule of law, rampant corruption, and restrictions on freedom of expression. And nor should it. An increase in GDP is no comfort for someone who has been tortured in custody just to fill an arrest quota, or someone who is unable to report a sexual assault for fear of being seen as “fair game” by police.

In the same period when Egypt was rapidly up the economic freedom rankings, its ranking by Freedom House, which measures civil and political freedoms, remained stagnant. That stagnation hides hundreds of thousands of individual human traumas at the brutal hands of the state.

Dictators can’t always have it both ways. They can’t reap the benefits of economic growth – with their higher tax revenues and more luxuries to hand to political supporters – and maintain complete political control at the same time. No country can be both a police state and a market paradise.

Sure, the Chinese model seems to suggest otherwise. But China is less economically free, more decentralised, and its constituent parts more unstable than the first country appears. And the Chinese story, like the Egyptian story, isn’t over yet.

Not all economic reform is the same. In developing economies like Egypt, the benefits of privatisations can easily be corrupted by bribery and secrecy.

After all, the idea behind privatisation is not merely to get enterprises off government books as quickly as possible. It is to reintroduce market competition, improve services, and make those enterprises more efficient. Consumers should be the beneficiaries, not politically connected oligarchs.

Unsurprisingly, Egypt’s privatisation program has been dogged by corruption allegations. Whether justified or not (there’s every reason to suspect in many cases they are) those allegations reflect a lack of democratic openness. Egypt ranks poorly on Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index – consistently well below most other Middle Eastern countries.

Corrupt practices, whether on a large or small scale, are the manifestation of a broken, undemocratic, and illiberal political system. A corporate tax rate of 20 per cent sounds wonderful, but is illusory if daily business requires greasing the palms of bureaucrats and police.

Despite a decade of reform, Egypt may no longer have one of the most unfree economies in the Middle East. Yet compared to the rest of the world, it is still terribly over-regulated, corrupt, and dominated by state subsidies and restrictive labour practices. Craig Emerson correctly wrote in The Australian last week that “Political freedom without economic freedom would dash the hopes and aspirations of the region’s youth for a better life.”

The military takeover has underlined how much work there is to be done if Egyptians wish to be both prosperous and free. There are some worrying signs. At this stage the new leaders seem more interested in cracking down on strikes than democratisation. “Stability” is the catchcry of tyrannies everywhere.

The military has, however, promised to continue economic liberalisation.

And if last few weeks have demonstrated anything, it’s that a country cannot reform its economic system and leave a corrupt and oppressive political, judiciary, and administrative system in place.

Why We’re A Nation Of Homebodies

Most Australians think of themselves as highly mobile. We’re a nation of immigrants, after all. The phrases ”sea change” and ”tree change” are commonplace. But the data suggests otherwise. Compared to the rest of the world, we don’t like to budge.

An immigration department analysis in the 1990s found that the median distance Australians moved was just 16 kilometres over an entire decade. So when Julia Gillard doubled the places in her Job Seeker Relocation Assistance Package, it was actually quite a big deal.

A 2010 election promise, the program gives unemployed workers grants of up to $9000 to travel to find work. It has been expanded to help rebuild Queensland. But the package has an importance that extends beyond welfare, or the Queensland floods. It’s a recognition that Australian job seekers aren’t very mobile.

Perhaps fair enough: Australians like their home towns. As Dr Johnson put it, people ”have a strong attachment to the habitations to which they have been accustomed”.

Yet compare us to the United States. Migrating within the country is a big part of America’s employment culture. Americans are twice as likely to move interstate as Australians. We all know of New York as a city of migrants, but those migrants are as likely to be from within the US as beyond.

The World Bank has demonstrated a clear empirical relationship between high levels of population mobility within a country and that country’s economic growth. In the US, those who travel to find work earn, on average, around 10 per cent more than those who do not. And, unsurprisingly, internal migrants are substantially more likely to be employed.

No surprise then that internal migration is an even bigger deal in the developing world. Right now, China is in the middle of the Spring Festival, an annual event where around 130 million Chinese travel back to their home towns to celebrate Lunar New Year. In 40 days during January and February, there are more than 2 billion journeys taken by migrant workers, reflecting the enormous shift of Chinese labour from the country to the city.

The boom in the Chinese economy is just as much to do with this migration as it is with the slow introduction of liberalised trade. If the 20th-century United States had one of the great mass internal migrations, as the World Bank argues, then the migrations within 21st-century China will be tenfold more spectacular and a hundredfold more significant.

So why are Australians so stagnant? It’s not just a cultural thing.

A big cause of American internal mobility is tertiary education. American students typically travel across the country for the university that’s best for them. Then, when those students look for work, they cast a wide net with an open mind.

But in Australia, our government’s higher education policies encourage uniformity, not diversity. All our top universities offer pretty much the same courses, taught in pretty much the same way, and confer pretty much the same quality of degree. Students can’t justify moving to attend a university offering the same service as a university in their home town. Then, when graduates look for jobs, they only look for jobs near home.

America’s more flexible labour market makes for more entrepreneurial and assertive employees. Just like international immigration, there are few more entrepreneurial activities than leaving home to find a better life.

The Howard government had a similar relocation program to that being introduced by Labor.

Like the Howard-era policy, Gillard’s relocation isn’t just a free ride to Queensland. The package contains penalties. Workers who take the money but ditch their new job within six months are ineligible for unemployment benefits for 12 weeks, if they don’t have a reasonable excuse.

Welfare lobbies and the Greens have embraced the idea of more social assistance, but they bristle at the penalties. We’re used to that: these groups are always happy introducing more cash incentives to get into work, but never happy with disincentives to fall out of it. Mutual obligation has been a tried, tested, and largely bipartisan feature of Australia’s welfare system. Anyway, it’s hard to imagine any better way to protect the scheme from manipulation.

What little debate has surrounded the relocation package has focused on this penalty. But let’s discuss what the package means: why Australians are so reluctant to move for a better job, and the policies that have unintentionally made us that way.

Beyond The Chaos, Federalism Lives On

The critics of political theatre suggest Anna Bligh has shown successful leadership during the Queensland floods and Cyclone Yasi.

Julia Gillard’s notices have been somewhat less positive. Trying to emote in front of TV cameras, she’s looked wooden. Like Samuel L Jackson in the Star Wars prequels, Gillard is talented but the script gives her nothing work with.

That’s a show of leadership succeeding at the state level, and failing at the federal level.

So aren’t you glad we still have states?

The last few years have seen a chorus of voices claiming the very existence of state governments – therefore the entire basis of Australia’s federal system – is anachronistic, a relic of the colonial era, and the biggest impediment to national reform.

Tony Abbott and Bob Carr are openly dismissive of state government powers. John Howard never saw a centralisation he didn’t like. Neither did Kevin Rudd.

Our opinion and letters columns are littered with complaints about wasteful duplication and how just darn unnecessary those states are.

But in the wake of this year’s natural disasters, perhaps federalism could find a few more friends.

Putting aside the performances of Gillard and Bligh, it would have unthinkable for a federal leader to take responsibility for this month’s disaster efforts: floods in Queensland, Victoria, New South Wales, South Australia, and Tasmania, and floods and bushfires in Western Australia have all had their own characteristics. Affected states have each had separate and specific needs. They require their local leadership and expertise.

Busy with the floods and cyclone in Queensland, a lone prime minister spread too thin would have had to virtually ignore the devastating fires in Western Australia.

The idea of federalism suggests the closer governments are to those they govern the more responsive and representative they will be. State governments can respond better than Canberra. The start of 2011 has surely demonstrated the validity of that claim.

It’s not even an issue of competence. Politically, Anna Bligh’s government has been on the nose all through 2010. But her “bloody awful tough year” – to use the premier’s words in December – was all but forgotten as the waters rose and the storm approached.

And it’s not to say we won’t find Bligh government failures before and during the floods and cyclone. We haven’t heard the last question about the management of the Wivenhoe Dam, or the Queensland Government’s decision to forego insurance.

But decades – hell, a century – of rolling federal government fiascos should leave us in no illusions Canberra could do any better.

Much has been made of the comparison between the natural disasters of 1974 and this year. But bookended by the Brisbane floods in January, and Cyclone Tracy that Christmas, 1974 was also one of the defining moments for the relationship between the Commonwealth government and its state counterparts.

The two disasters came smack bang in the middle of Gough Whitlam’s push to steam roll his agenda over the states. (Malcolm Fraser would later describe a Liberal approach as “new federalism”. Gough’s plans could perhaps be described as “no federalism”.)

No surprise the events of 1974 led to more restructuring in favour of the federal government. A Natural Disasters Organisation was set up after the Brisbane flood. Cyclone Tracy confirmed the Commonwealth’s pre-eminent position. As the director of operations and plans in the Natural Disasters Organisation recalled, it was these twin disasters which gave the “impetus to the development of legislation and new arrangements for states and territories”.

Unsurprisingly, the reconstruction of Darwin (the Northern Territory was already under Commonwealth administration) was plagued by delay and indecision. Budgets blew out. Accusations of bureaucratic empire-building were thrown around. The Darwin Reconstruction Commission fantasised about building a “Canberra of the North”.

Where state powers were eroded after 1974, perhaps the aftermath of January 2011 will bring us, slightly, back the other way.

Gillard’s uninspiring attempt at leadership might give some small reason to hope for the future of federalism.

After all, Canberra’s failures are federalism’s last remaining defence.

The Prime Minister coincidentally suggested over the weekend she would be pulling back on Kevin Rudd’s grandiose health reforms; reforms which were to place Canberra squarely in the centre of our health system.

Queensland – poor Queensland – which had embraced Rudd’s reforms with open arms, will likely now have to keep responsibility for their own hospital system, just like all the other states.

The parameters of this cut-back health reform will be debated at COAG next Monday.

But there’s no doubt Gillard is looking to take health reform off her prime ministerial plate. Rudd’s plans to have the Commonwealth assume the vast bulk of responsibility for health and hospitals are being abandoned.

Federalism is the structure of government which the designers of Australia’s constitution intended. That structure has been battered down for a century.

But right now our Commonwealth Government is uninspiring, unloved and, completely unable to pursue its own policy goals. Federalism may have some life in it yet.

Taylor confirms curriculum motivated by ideological antagonism

Finding the philosophical assumptions that underpin a curriculum is careful work. It involves looking less at what’s included than what’s absent.

So it was refreshing to see an article in Crikey on Monday by Tony Taylor, which confirmed everything we discovered in The National Curriculum: A Critique. Taylor simply and forthrightly spells out the curriculum’s ideology in a stark few hundred words.

Of course, that’s not his intention. Taylor drafted a previous iteration of the history curriculum, and claims to be a consultant on this one. He intends to defend the curriculum, but he accidentally condemns it.

Take Taylor’s apparent rebuttal of David Daintree’s claim in our book that the curriculum largely ignores and consistently denigrates the role of Christianity in Western civilisation:

Christianity is covered in Year 8 under “the spread of Christianity”, medieval Europe under the Crusades (not so good, that bit), the medieval dominance of the Catholic Church and the Spanish conquest of the Americas (another not-so-good bit).

Could there be any more concise summary of the curriculum’s hostility? Certainly, as Daintree points out, Christianity, and religion in general, is responsible for much historical wrongs. But religion is responsible for much good too.

But weighing up the pros and cons of religion is, contra Taylor, not the point. It’s an undeniable historical truth that Christianity is one of the keys to understanding the development of Western civilisation. Europe’s advances in law, philosophy, and even science have been conceived of in largely Christian terms, by largely Christian people. To imagine that Christianity’s importance can be neatly summarised by a) the Crusades and b) the conquest of the Americas is not only unhistorical, it’s dishonestly antagonistic.

Taylor would be welcome to hold that view in a polemic. But such polemics should not be imposed on a curriculum that will be imposed on every Australian school student.

A much less typical view of Taylor’s is in response to the shadow education minister Christopher Pyne’s view that the curriculum unjustly underplays the English Civil War:

As for the Bill of Rights and the English Civil War, the former is covered in Year 10 under the optional “egalitarianism” and the latter is arguably just a series of confused and confusing localised squabbles that may have a special significance for UK history, but not for anybody else (unless they like dressing up in period costume).

“Just a series of confused and confusing localised squabbles” is a strange way to describe the revolt of parliament over the monarchy, the trial and execution of the King of England (an extraordinary break with the past) the declaration of a republic, and its disintegration into dictatorship.

The English civil war echoed through the intervening centuries. It was just as important as the French Revolution. If not more: the principles that were developed after the civil war have become the principles on which liberal democracy has been implemented around the world.

There is a direct line from the Rump Parliament to the Declaration of Independence, to the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen, and, even, to self-government in Australia.

This is a strange thing to have to remind one of the designers of the national curriculum.

If the intention of the national history curriculum is — or should be — for Australian students to understand how their world became, then Taylor’s bizarrely dismissive attitude about one of the foundation events of that world is astonishing.

And if we needed confirmation that the national curriculum is motivated by an ideological antagonism to the history of Western civilisation, Taylor’s short column is it.

The Truth About Energy Subsidies

Is the Australian Government subsidising the fossil fuel industry?

So said the Climate Institute, when they heard Julia Gillard was scrapping solar schemes to pay the flood bill.

This claim shouldn’t be casually dismissed.

Because it’s one thing for fossil fuels to be cheaper and more efficient when all energy technologies are competing on a level playing field.

But it’s quite another if government policy is artificially boosting the competitiveness of fossil fuels. If, in other words, taxpayers’ money is being used to boost the dirtiest technologies and suppress the cleanest.

Would it be unfair to describe this argument as typically “neo-liberal”? The Climate Institute’s claim suggests a free market in energy, where the Government treats all forms of energy production neutrally, would be a more environmentally friendly one than what we have today.

One writer on Greenpeace Australia’s website condemned “taxpayer handouts” being used to “line the pockets of the wealthy fossil fuel industries”. Remove corporatist government subsidies – instantly get a greener Australia.

It’s a shame these claims don’t really hold up.

The definitive version of the subsidy argument is contained in a 2007 Greenpeace paper written by a researcher at the University of Sydney’s Institute of Sustainable Futures.

And the Institute of Sustainable Futures’ definition of what constitutes a subsidy to the energy industry is broad, to say the least.

Take, for instance, what the paper describes as the largest subsidy to the energy industry – roads. In the author’s view, roads are a government subsidy to private transport, therefore a subsidy to petrol, therefore a subsidy to fossil fuels.

Never mind buses use roads too, or bike lanes are being built into roads across the country – two climate-friendly modes of transport which would struggle without roads.

But, on the facts, this subsidy claim is wrong. The Department of Infrastructure’s own figures show the money raised by road and vehicle-specific taxes ($16.2 billion in 2006-07) is much more than is spent by all levels of government on roads ($12.1 billion the same year).

Anyway, it’s hardly reasonable to describe government investment in roads as a direct subsidy to the energy industry. Unless you are happy to describe government investment in health as a subsidy to the pharmaceutical industry. Or government investment in schools as a subsidy to the whiteboard industry.

Certainly, other subsidies exist, but it’s unclear why they would be of deep concern to environmentalists.

The Greenhouse Gas Abatement Program, for one. Or the Low Emissions Technology Demonstration Fund, which supports a range of carbon capture projects. There are more.

These are programs specifically designed to make energy more environmentally friendly. It’s a bit rich to insist, on the one hand, the Government should encourage cleaner energy, and, on the other hand, criticize the Government for implementing projects which try to.

It’s hard to see many environmentalists congratulating a government which eliminated those sorts of programs. Sure, Greenpeace would like those programs to be replaced with fully renewable energy programs. But subsidies are either bad or good. It seems Greenpeace would like their elimination to be contingent on introducing other subsidies. Hardly the most principled anti-subsidy position.

Complicated tax arrangements for company cars are often cited as subsidies, without the proviso that those arrangements are designed to ensure company cars are treated exactly the same as all other forms of income.

Similarly, some environmentalists are also upset about fuel tax concessions for primary producers being available to miners. But, like it or lump it, miners are primary producers too. The fuel tax concession is not an energy subsidy. Quite the opposite. It’s a measure to ensure the tax office treats all forms of production the same.

Instead, the environmentalists just want to penalise miners for existing.

Nor does Australia’s lack of a carbon tax constitute a subsidy for energy. Well: any more than our lack of an idiot tax constitutes a subsidy for idiots. The Gillard Government argues the externality of carbon pollution should be internalised through some sort of price mechanism. But the absence of that mechanism is not a “subsidy” in any useful sense of the word.

This is not to say that, globally, subsidies to fossil fuels aren’t a problem. The 20th century’s mania for central planning left its mark on the energy sector.

Electricity and petrol was as subject to misguided industry policy as any other industry. The global energy landscape is a mesh of tax breaks, tariffs, quotas, preferential planning and regulatory controls price controls, grants, government investments, rebates, and outright subsidies.

Government support for fossil fuels in the last century was as fashionable as government support for renewable energy is today.

If we were smart, we would approach this modern fashion much more cautiously, keeping in mind the perverse consequences of the fashions of past.

According to the OECD, eliminating global fossil fuel subsidies would reduce energy-related carbon dioxide emissions 5.8 per cent by 2020 compared to the baseline scenario. Because subsidies to favoured industries are inefficient, the world economy would be richer to boot.

The OECD is very careful defining what constitutes a subsidy.

The Climate Institute and Greenpeace aren’t. They want to make a political point: that free marketeers, so diligent finding government programs to cut, deliberately ignore taxpayers’ money being handed to their fossil fuel mates.

Cutting those subsidies would be the lowest possible hanging fruit of emissions reduction. If they existed, doing so would have bipartisan support.

But apart from a few emissions reduction programs – which most environmentalists would oppose eliminating – they are nothing more than green mythology.

Drowning In Gillard’s Flood Levy Spin

The Prime Minister first raised the prospect of a flood levy 10 days ago. Her government wants taxpayers to believe the levy is an unavoidable consequence of the natural disaster in Queensland – imposing a special tax is regrettable, but out of the government’s hands.

Yet the day she signalled the flood levy also happened to be a day when her minister Kim Carr quietly announced the start of the government’s Automotive Transformation Scheme. This scheme packages up $3.4 billion of taxpayers’ money and wires it directly to the dilapidated (but very well connected) car industry.

No one begrudges spending to fix Queensland’s damaged infrastructure. The flood reconstruction is not an optional spend. But the money the Rudd and Gillard governments have pledged to give the car industry over the past few years has been.

All up, the government will spend $5.6 billion on flood reconstruction in Queensland, New South Wales and Victoria; $1.8 billion of that will be raised by the flood levy. The rest, certainly, will come from budget cuts. For instance, Julia Gillard announced she would cut $234 million of automotive subsidies to help pay the Queensland bill. But that is a paltry sum, considering the rest of the government’s car programs will continue. Especially considering eliminating the balance of these programs would easily cover what the flood levy is intended to raise. The full New Car Plan for a Greener Future totals $6.2 billion.

Same with the cuts to climate programs. It may sound like Gillard has made hard decisions cutting $250 million out of carbon-capture research and $160 million from the solar hot-water rebate scheme. But simply trimming a couple of the most embarrassing programs – such as the ”cash-for-clunkers” election promise – is hardly aggressive budget cutting. Governments should be congratulated for any cut of wasteful spending. But there’s nothing about Gillard’s cuts that makes the levy a necessity. It is still a very avoidable tax hike, despite the Prime Minister’s claims.

She gave the game away at the National Press Club on Thursday, when she said: ”The great majority of Australians are ready to contribute” to Queensland’s rebuilding. Special levies are only enacted when the government feels confident taxpayers will fork out with minimal resistance. The Howard government was comfortable imposing a gun buyback levy in the wake of the Port Arthur massacre because public opinion clearly demanded action on guns. We are never charged special levies for unpopular things. There has been no automobile subsidy levy; no Kevin-Rudd-wants-a-spot-on-the-UN-Security-Council levy.

So the worthier the use of public funds, the more likely the government will charge taxpayers extra for it. What is funded out of existing revenue and what is funded with a special levy is a political calculation – made by politicians with a close eye on what the opinion polls will bear – not a public finance calculation.

This is the context in which we have to understand the flood levy. But instead we have heard claims that critics of the tax resent helping flood victims. Or that the spirit of ”mateship” requires the government to temporarily increase taxes. These are emotional arguments designed to achieve political goals.

The politics of the flood levy underlines how momentous the government’s decision was to flush the economy with stimulus spending during the financial crisis. You only get one surplus to spend on a national crisis. Rudd’s ”kitchen cabinet” decided that crisis was the GFC: $90 billion worth of spending commitments between September 2008 and May 2009 plunged the federal budget into deficit. We won’t ever know how our economy would have fared if it saved the surplus for a later crisis – such as the floods.

But the Treasury admitted last year there was no statistically significant correlation between the size of an OECD country’s stimulus package and its economic recovery. Some countries – Japan, for instance – spent more than us and yet suffered worse than us.

The debate over the stimulus package is well rehearsed. But the flood levy makes it necessary to revisit. The federal budget is rich with fat. Yet Gillard suggests she cannot find spare change to rebuild the country after an unprecedented natural disaster. If she genuinely can’t – if there are really no government programs left to cut, no funds to spare and no alternatives to a tax hike – then the decisions taken over the past few years, which have placed the Commonwealth budget in such a dire fiscal situation, need to be scrutinised more than ever.