Regulation And The Regulatory Burden

 

IN MANY AREAS of government policy, the fingerprints of the prime minister are clearly visible. When we consider the highest-profile issues of the John Howard years-foreign policy, immigration, federalism and the culture wars, just to name a few-the influence of senior Coalition ministers on the government’s policies are obvious.

However, this is not necessarily the case when we look at regulation, changes in the regulatory burden, or developments in the structure of economic management. Certainly, individual regulatory reforms can be identified and attributed to individual policy actors. The Howard government oversaw a vast array of regulatory changes, as well as the extensive inquiries and reports which accompany them.

But it is less interesting to debate who initiated what regulatory inquiry than to step back from the policy minutiae and consider how the federal government interacts with the economy, and how it has changed over the last decade.

This approach allows us to properly attribute blame or credit where it is due. After all, assessing the Howard government’s record in the field of regulation poses slightly counter-intuitive challenges. For instance, we have to decide how much influence we are willing to grant the government over the operation of its own bureaucracy. We have to ask how inevitable regulatory increases are and how much the pattern of regulatory growth is a function of the historical circumstances faced by individual governments.

LIBERALISATION and privatisation have been a feature of almost all Western democracies since the early 1980s. Australia’s reform movement had been one of the more ambitious projects around the world, joining the United Kingdom and New Zealand as the most extensive. By 1996, the Australian state which John Howard inherited had undergone more than a decade of nearly continuous economic reform.

The contemporary Australian state is a radically different beast from Australia’s mid-century welfare state. W.K. Hancock’s “vast public utility” is no more, having shed its own vast state enterprises. State and Commonwealth governments have systematically privatised a list of small and large scale enterprises traditionally operated by government – banks, airports, telecommunications and energy utilities, laboratories, even radio stations. Labour market reform, in a general direction of liberalisation, has been a recurrent feature of the last two decades.

In Australia, to the extent that this ambitious program of liberalisation and privatisation has been carried out, it has been largely successful in reversing the slow economic decline of the second half of the twentieth century. But contrary to the belief held by many on both the left and right of the political spectrum, this dramatic change in systems of political economy has not been as didactic as a shift from the welfare state to a liberal – or “neo-liberal” – model of the political economy. Leviathan has certainly not faded away-instead, amongst the reforms, liberalisations and privatisations of the last few decades, government has increased its expenditure and taxation.

But for our purposes, the most striking attribute of the last few decades is how Australian governments have matched privatisations and liberalisations with regulatory expansion, rather than retreat. Governments have shifted away from the direct provision of services, to the regulation of those services.

When public utilities have been sold to the private sector, they have been placed under the jurisdiction of specialised statutory authorities whose role it is to direct and regulate those industries for public, rather than private, purposes. Often these measures have been matched by the development of regulatory mechanisms designed to introduce competition into industries where the cost of entry is seen to be prohibitively high – the mandatory third-party access provisions of the Trade Practices Act and allied legislation allow firms to access the infrastructure of their competitor. Part of the reason that newly privatised enterprises have been highly regulated is the political controversy which accompanies privatisations. When supporters of public ownership complain that the “social benefits” of public ownership are not possible in the private sector, governments respond by forcing those benefits by regulatory design. Retail price controls in telecommunications, which have limited pricing flexibility, are an example of how this occurs.

The old protectionist or “infant industry” legal structures which applied to specific sectors of the economy, such as monopoly marketing boards and government cartelisation, have now yielded to economy-wide competition regulation. Indeed, competition regulation has developed into its modem form parallel to the reform period.

A great deal of the growth in regulation under the modern regulatory state is social, rather than economic. Environmental regulation has a long history – Solon the Great proposed in the sixth century that Greek agriculture be banned from steep slopes to prevent soil erosion – but its marked rise from the early 1970s was encouraged by the 1972 Stockholm Conference on the Human Environment. This resulted in the establishment of national environmental agencies in many developed nations, including Australia. During the Howard years, environmental regulation was an area of particular growth, despite the solemn pronouncements of the Coalition’s green critics. The Natural Heritage Trust, the Australian Greenhouse Office and the Environmental Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act all represent significant increases in government intervention for environmental purposes. Consumer product safety, particularly in the transport sector, and occupational health and safety regulations have also seen significant increases.

Financial regulation has followed an uneven path, but here too recent decades have seen significant regulatory expansion. The “four revolutions” of financial deregulation in the early I980s-the end of official control of the exchange rate, and of exchange control over capital flows, the entry of foreign banks, and interest rate deregulation-precipitated the broader reform movement in Australia, and resulted in far greater Australian participation in global financial markets. Certainly, these reforms rapidly changed Australia’s banking sector from one of the most regulated in the world to one of the least. But this deregulation was closely followed by an increase in financial and securities regulation after a number of corporate failures, loans crises and much public criticism of the perceived excesses of the “corporate cowboys” of the time.

In the late 1990s, the Wallis Inquiry into the financial system increased the regulatory burden across many sectors, and a number of prominent corporate collapses in the first years of the twenty-first century provided the impetus for more again. Furthermore, participation in global financial markets has been accompanied by participation in global regulatory regimes, such as the GIO’s Basel II Framework.

It is perhaps not too much of a stretch to say that, at least for those industries which before the reform period were relatively free of government intervention, many of the developments under the aegis of the regulatory state consist of an encroachment of government into the private sphere, rather than the other way around. Writing about the parallel developments in the United Kingdom in regulation and privatisation, the regulatory analyst Michael Moran has characterised the last two decades as a period of “hyper-innovation”. This characterisation is just as apt for Australia. The institutional certainty of Australia’s mid-twentieth-century political economy has been replaced by a continuous process of regulatory and legislative reform.

As we could expect, this remarkable increase in government regulation has had a significant impact on the efficiency of the Australian economy and general levels of prosperity. However, the focus on the economic and social impact of regulation masks its full significance: there has been a fundamental shift in the relationship between government and society; in the mechanisms by which policy is conducted; and the institutions where political power resides. As we shall see, during the Howard era regulatory agencies expanded and consolidated to match this enormous regulatory growth. The power these independent agencies have over the Australian economy warrants their considerable scrutiny; and to a large degree their growth is attributable to economic reforms under the Howard government.

Indeed, this is the central story of regulation under the Coalition.

THE COALITION GOVERNMENT may not have initiated the growth of the regulatory state, but the period in which it governed saw the largest regulatory expansion in history. For our purposes, regulation is the attempt to define the boundaries of economic activity for economic, social or environmental reasons. Regulation is designed to modify or limit economic behaviour, but not to outlaw it. It can be produced by explicit legislation, by subordinate legislation, by a wide variety of class orders, instruments, codes of conduct or guidelines. Where the government restricts economic or social activity, regulation can be found.

Legislation is wider in scope and content than regulation, but it can serve as a useful proxy. The growth in Commonwealth legislation since Federation, measured by the number of pages of Acts of Parliament passed per year, clearly illustrates a dramatic increase in legislative activity over the past few decades. For instance, if we mark the year 1980 as the beginning of the reform period in Australia, through to 2006, there was more than five times the number of pages of legislation passed than there had been in the eight decades before this period.

It is striking how little legislative activity was required at the time of Federation to unify the country – 358 pages, spread over two years – compared with how much it took to manage the Commonwealth in 2006 – a massive 6786 pages. Certainly, the changing nature of Australia’s federal structure has expanded the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth legislature, but there have been similar increases in state legislative activity – not decreases, as would be expected if there had simply been a shift in responsibility from the states to the federal government. Indeed, state legislation has been marked by significant growth.

And what data is available indicates that subordinate legislation-which is commonly described as “regulation”-is growing at a similar pace as legislation. Subordinate legislation in the Commonwealth and the states parallels the increase in total legislation over the last four decades. Changes in government have little effect on the relative increase in legislative activity. As a consequence, John Howard’s government was the highest legislating government in Australia’s history. Based on his performance so far, it is not hard to guess that Kevin Rudd’s government might be even more active.

A similar analysis is possible by looking at the data on regulation: the Howard government oversaw the largest regulatory expansion since Federation. Certainly, simply counting the pages of regulation and legislation is a highly imperfect method of assessing total regulatory burden, but in the absence of a superior alternative it has been widely recognised as the most effective. Other factors can increase the number of pages without increasing the regulatory burden. For instance, one potential cause of the increase in pages of legislation is the move during the 1980s to plain English drafting-as opposed to the traditional legislative language inherited from England in the nineteenth century-as well as the use of double-spacing. Formatting changes can also alter the words-to-page ratio.

Nevertheless, there is little to suggest that the plain English drafting reform or formatting changes are the sole, or even primary, cause of increasing pages of legislation – page increases both preceded these changes and continued after they had filtered through the various tiers of government. Technical changes in the manner in which legislation is drafted cannot explain modem legislative and regulatory excess.

For the firms and individuals affected by regulatory and legislative increases, the impact is cumulative. Individuals not only have to act in accordance with the legislation and subordinate legislation passed in any given year-they also have to contend with the entire body of law as amended. Some of this legislation and regulation replaces existent law; but it is clear that it is growing – if not at the same heady pace that legislation and regulation in general is being passed.

And anecdotal evidence supports the empirical evidence for the growth in regulation. The 2006 taskforce on Reducing the Regulatory Burden on Business noted that a particularly striking example of the level of regulation was the 24,000 different types of licences administered by three levels of government. Telstra notes that the amount of regulatory instruments applicable to its business has grown since 1997 from twenty to 348, and that the number of reports required by the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission has been increasing by two or three per year. This is particularly striking because the regulatory framework governing telecommunications has been relatively stable during that time.

MUCH OF THE INCREASED regulatory burden is not sector-specific, but is related to workplace law. The Australian Construction Industry Forum has argued that the Howard government’s changes to industrial relations and changes to state and federal occupational health and safety law are a significant addition to the regulation facing their industry, as well as taxation changes. Indeed, the Income Tax Assessment Act, often used as a barometer of legislative and regulatory growth, has grown from 120 pages in 1936 to a bookshelf-crushing 7000 pages.

The Insurance Council of Australia attempted to describe the level of regulation affecting its industry by noting its effects on business structure and practice. Regulatory compliance now compromises between 10 and 25 per cent of board and senior management workload. One large insurer estimated a much higher work load, at least 40 per cent of senior executive time, and up to 60 per cent of board time. One small insurer estimated that this had grown five times above the amount five years ago, and ten times over the last decade. Another insurer estimated that compliance expenses as a percentage of operating income had more than doubled in the last five years. Another estimated that the staff numbers in regulatory compliance committees had grown 20 to 30 per cent in the two years up to 2005. A PricewaterhouseCoopers analyst has noted that for the insurance industry over the last five years the cost of complying with the prudential regulatory framework has increased significantly.

The Credit Union Industry Association notes that the burden on both their credit union membership and other banks and building societies has increased since the Wallis Inquiry in 1997, and attributes this to the mandatory implementation of Basel II, recent financial services reforms, changes to prudential standards, and the adoption of international accounting standards. A practical example of this increase is provided by the Business Council of Australia: a total of 227 pages of documentation needs to be given to a customer before they can open a simple cheque account with an overdraft limit and a home loan, roughly five times the amount in 1985. The Australian Bankers Association reports that one bank has doubled its annual compliance expenditure levels every five years since 1994-95, with a similar growth in staff dedicated to regulatory compliance.

There has been little quantification of the extent of local government regulatory activity, but, there are indications that it is increasing. The Australian Chamber of Commerce and Industry writes that there was a marked upswing of local government regulation as a constraint to investment between 2003 and 2005.

MANY ANECDOTAL IMPRESSIONS of the regulatory burden understate the economic impact of regulation by focusing inordinately on-the paper-burden cost rather than the total regulatory cost. The paper-burden cost includes the cost of employees dedicated to regulatory compliance, and external legal, economic and financial consultants, and they typically constitute one-third of the total cost of regulation.

Thus, the contemporary political focus on “red tape” presents the problem of over-regulation in a narrow light. The structure of regulation is so central to the business models and profitability of some’ firms that regulatory governance and compliance is an “all-of-firm” question. For these firms, it is not necessarily possible to separate regulatory compliance costs from business costs. The anecdotal estimates above, which focus predominantly on easily measured paper-burden costs, are, for many industries, likely to be dramatic underestimations.

The full cost of regulation is much greater than the visible cost of compliance. Certainly, the distribution of costs caused by regulation varies by industry. In the food sector, the primary cost of regulation is a paperburden cost. But for much of the economy, the paperburden cost is dwarfed by the restrictions imposed by the regulations. For instance, the “chilling’ effect” of access regulation dwarfs the paper-burden cost of those regulations by holding back infrastructure investment.

As Gary Banks has argued, “regulations not only create paperwork, they can distort decisions about inputs, stifle entrepreneurship and innovation, divert managers from their core business, prolong decisionmaking and reduce flexibility”. These effects are, on average, far more significant than the red tape which is required by regulators to assess compliance. Focusing only on paper-burden costs is like focusing on the time spent filling out a tax return rather than the amount of tax paid. Political platitudes to lower the red-tape burden offer little promise if they are not part of a general push to decrease overall regulatory intervention in the economy. And like its predecessor, this is a point that seems unfortunately lost on the new Labor government.

Firms now operate in a much more uncertain regulatory environment than before the reform period. This is particularly concerning because investment decisions are contingent not only on the regulatory environment in which they are made, but also on an estimate of the regulatory environment of the future. If that future environment is plagued by uncertainty – investors do not know what “reform” their industry can look forward to in the future – it will be factored into the decision to invest or not.

Firms can delay investments and, through political activity, try to influence future regulatory frameworks in which that investment might be more profitable. Where investments are irreversible, investors face two options: invest now, or defer investment until the uncertainty is resolved.

This is not merely a consequence of uncertainty about what actions legislators may take in the future – it can also be because of uncertainty about the actions of regulators. For instance, ambiguous statements about the manner in which, or extent to which, regulations will be applied can exacerbate this uncertainty.

A 2001 study into the relationship between American anti-trust law and investment found strong links between levels of regulatory uncertainty and lower levels of investment-the much-cited measures of “business confidence” may be partly proxies for regulatory certainty. A local example was recently given by the CEO of Pipe Networks, a telecommunications backhaul provider, when he argued in April 2007 that regulatory uncertainty in the telecommunications industry meant that investment in backhaul had been, at least for the moment, effectively shut down. Indeed, many submissions to the Howard government’s Taskforce on Reducing the Regulatory Burden on Business cited uncertainty about future regulations-and uncertainty about how recently-imposed laws and regulations would be interpreted by the judiciary as a major impediment to business operation.

Political regimes which have broad uncertainty about potential government intervention across the economy experience concrete effects. And uncertainty scales with dramatic effect. The historian Robert Higgs has found that “regime uncertainty” – of which uncertainty about possible future regulatory decisions was a key part – was the major factor in prolonging the Great Depression in the USA. The anti-business rhetoric of President Roosevelt and his supporters concerned investors enough to withhold investment, even when the actual investment climate was not particularly punitive.

Regulatory hyper-innovation, regardless of the character or nature of the regulatory change, can, in and of itself, discourage productive activity. Recognition of this effect should compel caution before pursuing continuous rapid economic reform-particularly if the economic reform in question is of a reregulatory rather than deregulatory nature. Regulatory uncertainty in economy-wide areas like corporate governance has the potential to massively disrupt economic growth. The effect of uncertainty on economic activity is even more concerning when the nature of what is considered proper compliance to those regulations is vague.

THE HOWARD YEARS also saw major expansion in regulatory agencies. This trend is a reflection of the regulatory increase, but it is also a significant change in the structure of government and economic management, indicative of a rise of a sector of government that is both independent and non-democratic. One of the biggest, and yet least appreciated changes to government under the Coalition has been the elevation of regulatory agencies to the centre of the political and economic system. With their new-found role, they have found themselves in possession of a significant amount of political power relative to the executive and legislative branches of government. If we are to understand the Howard government’s performance in the regulatory sphere, we have to look at how institutional and legislative reforms have changed the power structure and activities of these regulatory agencies.

There are approximately sixty Commonwealth regulators and national standard-setting bodies. There are a further forty federal ministerial councils setting and administering regulations. While hard to estimate, the federal regulatory agencies employ over 34,000 people, with a combined budget of well over $4.5 billion.

The Victorian Competition and Efficiency Commission identified sixty-nine regulatory bodies in that state, with a combined budget (excluding the Metropolitan Fire Brigade, Country Fire Authority and Parks Victoria) of over one billion, and a staff of 6895. The Productivity Commission extrapolates these figures to come up with an estimation of 600 regulatory agencies across the country. Taking into account government departments with regulatory functions, ministerial councils, inter-governmental bodies, and the range of quasi-official agencies and boards, it is easy to imagine that at the end of the Howard years, at least $10 billion was spent annually on regulating the Australian economy.

Using numbers of staff as a proxy of agency size, many agencies have seen significant recent growth: For instance, the Australian Fisheries Management Authority has nearly doubled in size in the last decade, from a staff of 100 to 186. Food Standards Australia New Zealand has increased from 100 in June 2000 to 146 in 2006. The Australian Pesticides and Veterinary Medicines Authority has increased in that same period from 113 to 133. There is a large variety of regulatory agencies dedicated to regulating specific industries, like the federal Civil Aviation and Safety Authority or the Australian Fisheries Management Authority.

But occupying a central role in Australia’s regulatory system are a few key economic regulators with economy-wide scope. Rather than being confined to narrow jurisdictions, these agencies typically do not only regulate a wide variety of industries, but are also multi-dimensional in scope. That is, Australia’s major economic regulators regulate for both economic and social outcomes, as well as technical regulation like standards-setting.

These regulators are not built around the institutions that they administer, but are rather built around “functional’ lines. The Australian Securities and Investment Commission (ASIC) is responsible for consumer and investor protection, the Australian Prudential Regulatory Authority (APRA) is responsible for prudential regulation, that is, market failure associated with information asymmetries in financial contracts; and the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission (ACCC) is responsible for policing anti-competitive behaviour economy-wide. The financial services sector powerfully illustrates how reform to regulatory institutions under the Howard government has led to significant increases in the regulatory burden.

The 1997 Financial System Inquiry (the Wallis Inquiry) was only the third major inquiry into the Australian financial system since Federation, after the 1936 Royal Commission and the Campbell Inquiry in 1981. After the “four revolutions” which followed the Campbell Inquiry, the financial market and its structure went through a dramatic overhaul, with the introduction of new institutions such as foreign exchange firms, recognised bond dealers and new types of trusts and management funds, as well as entrance into foreign exchange markets and new secondary mortgage markets. In the decade between 1985 and 1995, the number of commercial banks in Australia increased from thirteen to forty-nine.

THE PURPOSE of the Wallis Inquiry was to assess the appropriateness of the regulatory framework which had been constructed during the period of financial deregulation in the light of these changes. The “modest trend” towards agency consolidation internationally was noted in the inquiry’s discussion paper – the inquiry predated the now prototypical example of an “all-in-one” regulator, or “mega-regulator”, the United Kingdom’s Financial Services Authority (FSA).

Governance and power concentration were factors for the participants of the inquiry when recommending the ideal regulatory structure. The inquiry rejected an FSA-style mega-regulator due to the need for efficiency and specialisation. And the inquiry was concerned with regulatory governance, noting that the single regulator may become “excessively powerful”.

But nevertheless, the Wallis Inquiry’s final recommendations as adopted by the government consisted of major agency consolidation into two main organisations, the Australian Prudential Regulatory Authority (APRA) and the Australian Securities and Investment Commission {ASIC). This model was popularly known as the “twin peaks” model, from a 1995 article which recommended delineating financial regulation according to function-prudential (APRA) and disclosure (ASIC). Advocating this agency consolidation, Treasurer Peter Costello said before the Wallis Inquiry:

The regulatory framework is hopelessly out of date. You have superannuation funds that are now in home lending and are essentially running banks and you have banks coming into superannuation – you have got different institutions offering the same product, different regulators regulating the same product because they are offered by different institutions. Why do not we cut all that away and say whatever the nature of the financial institution we will have a regulator covering prudential and a regulator covering consumer protection and we can sweep a whole lot of that away?

While the “twin peaks” model amalgamates regulatory functions in a less extreme manner “than the United Kingdom’s FSA, it was nevertheless a significant consolidation. By drawing the vast bulk of regulatory functions away from the Reserve Bank of Australia (the bank did gain some roles of the Australian Payments System Council), the new model eclipsed the international consolidations described in the inquiry’s discussion paper. It is not inaccurate to refer to the new tri-regulator model as a system of “mega-regulators”, even if the FSA provides a more “pure” example of such an institution. In both the Australian and international context, the result of the Wallis Inquiry’ was the creation of two functionally-structured mega-regulators with economy-wide jurisdiction.

APRA, as a functional regulatory agency, has assumed prudential regulation of finance-based industries. It required eleven pieces of legislation, which constituted over 4000 pages, including four new acts and two omnibus acts. In total, APRA’s foundation amended and repealed more than seventy existing acts. APRA absorbed the entire Insurance and Superannuation Commission (ISC), as well as roughly seventy staff from the RBA who had bank regulation roles. The prudential regulator has since experienced rapid growth, from a staff of roughly 400 at the time of transition to 570 in 2006. The annual federal appropriation for APRA has grown 55 per cent in that time. On top of the legislation which founded APRA, the prudential regulator has overseen more than sixty-six major regulatory changes since 2000.

For the insurance industry, the creation of APRA represented a significant increase in regulatory activity covering the sector. Under the ISC, the insurance industry had been regulated relatively lightly. In the view of the new consolidated regulator, this light-handed regulation was unsatisfactory. APRA’s Executive General Manager of Policy, Chris Littrell, argued: “Until 2001 the Australian general insurance industry was characterised by an unsatisfactory culture of reluctant regulatory
compliance by some entities, even among our largest companies.”

Indeed, following the HIH insurance collapse, Littrell argued that eliminating this cultural clash was one of the early tasks that the regulator faced:

As an integrated supervisor, APRA is in a position to observe the managerial differences between our regulated sectors. Banks in general are run by people who are or have been risk managers, and by people who understand that regulation has its good points. In Australia at any rate, many insurance companies have been dominated by salesmen, who ‘often viewed regulation as something to be avoided. Having come up the career ladder by dealing with actuarial restrictions, they tended to treat regulatory requirements as another annoyance to overcome, rather than a guide to good practice.

While HIH’s collapse and the subsequent royal commission heralded the beginning of a major wave of regulatory increases in the insurance industry, its genesis was the foundation of APRA itself, which coupled the insurance industry with the much more highly regulated banking industry. Indeed, plans to increase regulation of the general insurance industry preceded the 2001 collapse of HIH. The Financial Services Reform Act 2001 classified most insurance as a “financial service” – with the notable exceptions of reinsurance, health insurance and government insurance-and therefore required an Australian financial services licence. Financial product advice, dispensed by intermediaries not directly providing insurance, also required licences under the 2001 Act to do so. The Act also imposed significantly increased product disclosure requirements, and capital and corporate governance requirements.

The Association of Superannuation Funds of Australia, in its submission to the Reducing Regulation Taskforce, stated that since the establishment of ASIC and APRA, supervisory levies paid by superannuation funds had increased dramatically. Indeed, APRA’s expenses relating to superannuation have grown, even though the number of superannuation funds has decreased significantly.

For the banking sector, a great deal of the regulatory change after the foundation of APRA was concerned with the transfer of regulatory authority from the still-existent RBA towards the new prudential regulator. But the most significant regulatory change has been adopting the Basel II Capital accords.

The implementation of Basel II under the auspices of a mega prudential regulator has, for many organisations, had the effect of a dramatic increase in regulatory burdens. Basel II constructs an internationally consistent framework for banking capital requirements and accounting standards. For large, internationally active banks, implementing Basel II has much important significance. However, for smaller domestically-based authorised deposit-taking institutions, Basel II provides little benefit. For credit unions, whose involvement in international markets is low, the cost of implementing the framework is precipitously high. Similarly questionable benefits have accompanied APRA’s uniform adoption of the International Financial Reporting Standards, which affects major, internationally active Australian banks and small domestic co-operatives like the St Mary’s Swan Hill Co-operative Credit Society alike.

APRA’s activities illustrate clearly the perils of uniformly applying regulations that are designed for a specific class of institution.

UNDER THE TWIN PEAKS model of financial regulation, ASIC regulates company and financial services law for consumer, investor and creditor protection. Where APRA regulates for the viability of financial institutions, ASIC’s many briefs include regulating conduct and disclosure, administering corporations law and consumer protection. To do so, it administers eight separate laws, including the
Corporations Act 2001, Australian Securities and Investments Commission Act 2001, and the Insurance Contracts Act 1984.

ASIC was drawn from the Australian Securities Commission, and in 1998 absorbed the consumer protection responsibilities in insurance and superannuation of the ISC. It also drew consumer protection responsibilities in finance from the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, replicating Section 52 of the Trade Practices Act in the ASIC Act. Further, ASIC absorbed the consumer protection responsibilities of the Australian Payments Systems Council and financial sector industry codes of conduct. In 2005-06, ASIC had regulatory responsibility for 1.5 million corporations and 4415 financial services businesses.

ASIC’s growth has been the most marked of the economic regulators. Since 1999, the regulator’s annual real appropriations have increased by 76 per cent. Its staff has grown from 1221 to 1471.

ASIC has overseen a rapid and comprehensive overhaul of corporate governance law under the Corporate Law Economic Reform Program (CLERP). The rapid, comprehensive change in corporate law under the continuous process of CLERP, as well as the Wallis Inquiry-era reforms which inaugurated ASIC, have been matched by the regulators use of legal instruments to modify the Corporations Act 2001. Since 2002, ASIC has issued more than 380 class orders, which materially alter the terrain of corporate law. Indeed, the Association of Superannuation Funds of Australia argues that ASIC’s reliance on instruments like class orders has been a major cause of the increased complexity of corporate regulation in the last decade.

The gains from the expanding reach of regulatory intervention in the structure of the firm are uncertain. Prominent corporate collapses have been a regular feature of Australian economic history since before Federation. There is, however, little evidence to suggest that the dramatic increase in corporate, securities, financial and banking regulation that followed the wave of corporate collapses in the late 1980s has had any significant impact on subsequent collapses.

There is a very real likelihood that the excessive restraints placed upon corporate form and function, particularly at the executive and upper management level, can have a detrimental effect on entrepreneurial activity. Regulatory micromanagement places a significant burden upon innovative practices and structures. It also induces substantial costs upon firms. For instance, regulatory measures which attempt to foster “compliance culture” by imposing personal legal liability for business decisions upon executives reduce the incentive to take up those senior management positions, and raise the salaries of those who do.

As with all tax and regulatory burdens, firms try as far as possible to pass these costs on to the consumer. It is indicative that an August 2006 CPA Australia survey found a strong perception that the overwhelming beneficiaries of CLERP 9 auditing processes reforms were regulators and auditors.

The other major federal economic regulator is the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, which has also seen significant growth in staff and resources. However, compared to ASIC and APRA, the ACCC’s regulatory regime was relatively stable during the period of the Howard government, further reinforcing the view that regulatory agencies and bureaucracies grow regardless of any obvious “need’ to do so. Telecommunications and media regulation saw a major change in 2003 when the Australian Communications Authority and the Australian Broadcasting Authority merged to form the Australian Communications and Media Authority. Furthermore, the Reserve Bank, the Australian Taxation Office, and the Australian Customs Service all exit the Howard decade with substantial regulatory powers.

HOW MUCH of the blame for this remarkable increase in the regulatory burden and high levels of regulatory uncertainty can be laid at the door of the prime minister’s office? The phenomenon described above is, unlike some other ways we can measure government activity, diffuse. It is not a phenomenon that is subject to system-wide review by the senior ministry, unlike, for instance, government spending, which is constantly subject to the scrutiny of the budget process. For this reason, one of the perennial tasks of regulatory watchdogs like the Productivity Commission and VCEC is simply to estimate the size of the regulatory state. Given the paucity of published information, these agencies can only guess at how many regulatory agencies there are across the country, let alone determine how much we spend on them.

The origins of regulation vary significantly. Some do, unquestionably, originate in cabinet-level policy decisions. Populist regulations which cover issues like pornography on the internet or teen drinking are just as much political strategy as regulating, and are consequently of interest to senior government ministers. But these regulations are only a small portion of the total regulatory burden-internet filtering may be a high profile regulation, but is ultimately a drop in the pool compared to the gigantic array of rules which the government administers.

Furthermore, the prime minister’s office is not directly responsible for minor changes to the finer points of financial service regulation, consumer product regulation, or occupational health and safety laws. Indeed, even those regulatory frameworks which are high-profile are ultimately defined by individuals well down the chain of government delegation from the cabinet. For example, while the WorkChoices reform program may have had its origins in the senior ministry, the complexity of its regulatory and legislative framework is largely attributable to thousands of minor decisions made by a diverse array of lawyers, regulators and advisers who actually drafted the nearly 2000 pages of regulation and legislation. The government may have signed off on the final WorkChoices bill, but they did so because their more informed and technocratic subordinates convinced them that deregulation meant re-regulation.

Similarly, it is not fair to blame the Howard government for the substantial regulatory burden emanating from the states, or for the petty regulations imposed by local government, both of which constitute a substantial part of the regulatory landscape. The federal government can exert a degree of pressure on the other levels of government to reduce regulation, as it did under periodically during the Howard era, but doing so rarely does more than continue to erode our crippled federalism.

If we are to discover a major source of much of the regulatory increase over the past few decades, it is also necessary to cast our eye over the regulatory agencies themselves. Regulators are delegated substantial amounts of discretionary power to make decisions regarding the structure of their jurisdiction’s regulatory framework, which gives them significant political power. These regulators are systematically biased towards an ever more expansive interpretation of their proper role in the economy and, compounding this, the “cat-and-mouse” nature of regulatory negotiation and compliance leads regulators to lobby for legislative enhancements to their coercive powers. The powers and independence with which regulators have been vested means that they operate in a substantially separate sphere to the executive branch of government. To a surprising degree, regulatory agencies are autonomous actors in Australia’s political system. The capacity for the government to restrain their decisions, and therefore the degree to which we should consider the government responsible for their excesses, is limited.

Nevertheless, it would be easy to conclude, on the basis of the growth of regulation and the extremely modest efforts made to reduce the regulatory burden, that the Howard government’s performance in this field was a failure. But we cannot measure governments against our ideal visions of free market economies-the economic study of politics which has developed over the last half-century has repeatedly emphasised the structural barriers to free market reform, and it is an all-too-common intellectual failure of right-of-centre politics to ignore these in debate. As Adam Smith noted in The Theory of Moral Sentiments, perfection is rarely the correct yardstick:

When a critic examines the work of any of the great masters in poetry or painting, he may sometimes examine it by an idea of perfection, in his own mind, which neither that nor any other human work will ever come up to; and as long as he compares it with this standard, he can see nothing in it but faults and imperfections. But when he comes to consider the rank which it ought to hold among other works of the same kind, he necessarily compares it with a very different standard, the common degree of excellence which is usually attained in this particular art; and when he judges of it by this new measure, it may often appear to deserve the highest applause, upon account of its approaching much nearer to perfection than the greater part of those works which can be brought into competition with it.

Following Smith, if we acknowledge the structural impediments to regulatory reform, we must ask how successful the Howard government was relative to other governments. It is easier to be sympathetic to the Coalition when we recognise that no Australian government has ever passed less legislation than its predecessor- regulation appears inevitably to escalate over time.

But that does not mean regulation cannot be restrained. One of the great successes of the Reagan administration was to slow the rate of legislative and regulatory expansion significantly, particularly after the excesses of the Carter years. Data from the Federal Register – which records rules, proposed rules and notices of the federal government – shows clearly that unlike in Australia, during the 1980s the United States saw a notable slowdown in the rate of regulatory growth.

Certainly, slower regulatory growth is not deregulation. There were more pages in the Federal Register at the end of the Reagan administration than at the start. But the US experience does seem to indicate that growth can be restrained, if not entirely resisted.

So what are the lessons of the Howard era? John Howard was always a passionate supporter of the reform agenda, if not always a passionate reformer. But there is little to suggest that his government was aware of the significance of regulation as a restraint on economic growth, at least until its last few years, when its deregulatory rhetoric became louder. When the Prime Minister’s Taskforce on Reducing the Regulatory Burden reported its findings, the government provided in-principle support for its recommendations but little action.

It is easy for a government to profess its distaste for over-regulation – after all, is there anybody who actually likes “red tape”? – but it is much harder for governments to nominate specific regulations which they have the political will to cull. The regulatory burden is more than the sum of its parts. Individual regulations still have to be removed individually. And when governments try, they come up against the institutional and political interests which have formed around those regulations. For this reason, a program for economy-wide deregulation has to be piecemeal, but systematic.

So if our wishes for deregulation are ever to be indulged, advocates of a free economy and free society have to hope for a political movement that shares our goals. Ronald Reagan may be our closest contemporary who worked to slow, if not reduce, regulation, but history does provide one example of a grand regulatory purge. The English Whigs and early Liberals are one of those rare examples in history that conducted a wide scale regulatory and legislative purge. The English had a long history of mercantilism and state power to recant. It has been estimated that, of the 18,110 Acts which had been passed between Henry III and 1873, four out of five were fully or partly repealed. Both the Reagan administration and the great English liberalisation shows us that deregulation is possible, but doing so requires a formidable dedication to reducing the power and size of government.

This was a dedication the Howard government lacked. In its absence, there was no institutional or philosophical bulwark against regulatory growth, whatever the origins of those regulations. The eleven years of Coalition rule merely illustrates the enormous challenge of reducing the regulatory burden.

Free Speech Means The Right To Obscene Speech, Too

The French philosopher Voltaire never actually said the words he is best known for: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” His biographer invented the saying to explain Voltaire’s views on free speech. Still, it’s a great line.

But how many people agree with it? How many people would be willing to go to the barricades for racist, sexist or obscene speech – the sort of stuff that exists only in the deep bowels of the internet? Probably very few.

But if we are concerned about free speech at all, we need to defend some people saying some pretty terrible things.

When debating politics, few people would favour locking up their opponents, no matter how ill-informed or distasteful their views may be. There’s a big difference between strongly disagreeing with somebody’s opinion and insisting that they are banned from expressing it.

The solution to bad speech is simply more speech – one cannot successfully rebut an argument without first allowing that argument to be expressed.

This is the reason that David Marr’s Quarterly Essay – which argued that the Howard government was somehow suppressing dissent – was so popular last year. Political censorship is abhorrent. Almost everybody is happy to let others rant and rave about any political point they like – monarchy, capitalism, foreigners stealing our jobs, the phallocentric patriarchy etc. So there is legitimate anger when the government tries to silence even the most ridiculous opinion about politics.

Nevertheless political censorship is so rare that it is hardly a pressing issue in Australia. Commentators trawl the papers trying to charge the government as an opponent of political dissent. Every possible infringement – real or, more often, imagined – gets highly publicised.

But if we really want to defend free speech in 2008 – if we believe that free speech is a right that we are born with, not a limited gift given to us by politicians – sometimes we may need to make common cause with extreme pornographers, racists, misogynists and other very dislikeable individuals.

Last Tuesday, a 38-year-old Brisbane man, William Reimers, received 12 months probation for possessing five fictional stories about child abuse that he had downloaded from the internet.

Unlike Bill Henson’s famous photographs, there is no ambiguity about the purposes of these stories. With titles like “Daddy’s Best Little Girl”, they were clearly not art. Reimers was charged under laws that consider descriptions of children in sexual activity as child pornography.

Cate Blanchett and her 2020 team will be unlikely to rush to the defence of somebody downloading dirty stories from the internet. But in many ways, Reimers’ arrest is more worrying than the controversy surrounding Henson. Where there are legitimate concerns about Henson’s artistic practice – at what age can somebody “consent” to nude photography? – there are no such concerns with Reimers.

The stories he collected were entirely fictional. In fact, as far as we know, nobody was harmed at any time while they were written, put on the internet, downloaded, or read. And there doesn’t appear to be any indication that the stories were incitements to commit violence. Sure, the stories were the products of a sick mind. But would the arguments presented in the case against Reimers also apply to non-fictional – and non-erotic – descriptions of child abuse? This is a slippery slope.

Having to defend people with repellent views and beliefs is the grimy side of standing up for civil rights. In the US, which has a richer tradition of liberty than Australia, doing so is widely recognised as part of the job. The American Civil Liberties Union has defended not just the uncontroversial rights of religious liberty, immigrant rights and gay rights, but also the rights of neo-Nazis and the Man-Boy Love Association to express their views. Nobody in the union would agree with the views of these groups, but they defend their right to express them.

If we think that the right to free speech stops where perversion starts, then we allow judges and politicians to impose their views of morality upon the rest of us. A right which is limited by the opinions of a conservative legislator is no right at all.

Not Fascist At All

Shane Cahill’s cheap attempt to brand the war-time Institute of Public Affairs as sympathetic to Japanese fascism (‘This fascist mob’, Overland, 189) fails on every count.

The first indictment Cahill presents is drawn from a letter written by an anonymous Air Force officer to the IPA, and a subsequent investigation of the IPA by the Commonwealth Security Service (the precursor to ASIO). This letter condemned the IPA as ‘more vile and sinister than any Jap’ for opposing the Curtin government’s proposal to continue economic regulations after the war. The officer also argued that opposition to Curtin’s policies was a gross abuse of freedom of speech.

The CSS investigation – instigated after a copy of the letter was sent to the Deputy Prime Minister – predictably found nothing of interest. Nevertheless, Cahill describes the CSS file in the most conspiratorial of terms, implying that a higher power spiked the investigation before it could uncover some nefarious secret. Perhaps the conspiratorially-minded might be more interested in how an anonymously written, angrily ranting screed sent to the Labor government managed to spark a serious security investigation. After all, the IPA was Labor’s political opponent.

Cahill’s second indictment tries to condemn the IPA with the old Communist Party canard that the United Australia Party and some senior business leaders were fascist admirers and appeasers, and points to two founding members of the IPA who were also listed as supporters of the pre-war Japan-Australia Society.

The accusation that membership in the Japan Australia Society signaled an otherwise unstated sympathy for totalitarianism is an old one, appearing most recently in Rupert Lockwood’s War on the Waterfront and Drew Cottle’s The Brisbane Line. But neither of these books can produce any documentary proof, relying almost entirely on oral recollections; and, more suspiciously, both claim that the necessary supporting documents have been destroyed in two unrelated fires.

Instead, during the Depression Japan was Australia’s second most important trading partner. The society should be seen as a reflection of that economic relationship, rather than a signal of ideological sympathy for fascism – at least in the absence of contrary evidence. Trade with Japan in the 1930s no more indicates support for fascism than trade with Cuba in 2008 indicates support for communism.

Nevertheless, it is on this feeble evidence that Cahill bases his argument. But the wartime IPA’s support for democracy and the finer points of democratic theory was impeccable, in contrast to the many on the Left who embraced the Nazi-Soviet Pact when it was seen to be in the best interests of international communism.

Looking Forward, the IPA’s first major publication, contained a defence of the sovereignty of parliament against the executive branch. It also argued that a planned economy – which it unmistakably opposed – required a dictatorial government. It is hard to argue that the early IPA was sympathetic to totalitarianism; after all, this was the stick it used to beat its ideological opponents.

But perhaps more revealing, the Harris Family radio show transcript contained in the same CSS file that Cahill investigated clearly contradicts his argument. The Harris Family’s dialogue is just as critical of totalitarianism as it is of excessive government regulation. Papa Harris sums up: ‘we people of Australia will never forego our free democratic rights for an illusory politician’s paradise’. If, as Cahill clumsily infers, the IPA council was trying to sow the seeds for Japanese-style fascism in Australia, sponsoring a radio show that condemns totalitarianism and centralised government seems to be a strange way to go about it.

Shane Cahill’s piece goes to show that demonisation is as common a tool in political debate as it was when the IPA was founded. His disingenuous manipulation of the historical record seems little more than an excuse to carry the word ‘fascist’ in an article about the Institute of Public Affairs. And, by trying to equate an organisation that opposes government interference into the economy and society with fascist totalitarianism and militaristic nationalism, Cahill does little more than reveal himself as someone happy to abuse history to take a cheap partisan shot.

Don’t Strangle Communications Networks

The marriage of politics and commerce is a destructive one. This is a lesson the Labor Party should be learning as it tries to work with the telecommunications industry.

Despite Communications Minister Stephen Conroy’s promise that his broadband plan would cut through the barriers holding back a national fibre-optic network, the grand soap opera that is telecommunications policy doesn’t look as if will be ending any time soon. Bidders for the Government’s tender are required to lodge a bond by Friday and provide their full proposals by late July. But Telstra’s rivals have been claiming the carrier is not providing enough information about existing infrastructure. And the G9 consortium is pushing hard for a five-month delay in the tender process so it can get its proposal together.

There has been aggressive and highly public criticism of the tender process, the cost of the bond required to tender and the regulations that will govern this still hypothetical network.

Telstra, AAPT and Optus have even been holding talks to negotiate a broadband settlement, as if they were great world powers preparing a ceasefire agreement. After a decade of government subsidies, regulatory gamesmanship and legislative inaction, the Australian telecommunications industry has never been so highly politicised. But while the fibre-optic network debate has dominated headlines for more than a year, the real action in broadband is elsewhere.

Compared with the lumbering environment of rent seeking created by the regulations that apply to our fixed-line network, Australia’s mobile networks are a paradise of laissez-faire entrepreneurship. In the mobile sphere, there is the rapid innovation and the large-scale investment federal governments have long desired.

Optus modestly announced earlier this month that it was expanding its 3G mobile network to challenge Telstra’s Next G mobile broadband network.

Both Telstra and Optus plan to upgrade the speed of these mobile networks to 42 megabits per second – significantly faster than the fastest wired broadband available at the moment – in the next two years. Both these networks will dramatically exceed the Labor Party’s broadband promise, which it says will provide a 12Mbps internet connection. And it plans to use $4.7 billion of taxpayers’ money to do so.

This pattern of innovation and investment in mobile networks while highly regulated fixed-line networks are bogged down in politics and regulation is repeated throughout the world. In many developing nations, entrepreneurs are bypassing state-owned and corrupt monopoly carriers to build mobile networks instead.

The consequence, widespread mobile ownership, is fundamentally changing these emergent economies for the better. Small producers can easily communicate with their suppliers and customers thanks to the ubiquitous communications networks that the state-run carriers were too incompetent to provide.

The situation in developing nations and Australia is disconcertingly similar. Recall that part of the reason Telstra originally decided to build its Next G network was out of frustration with poor regulations affecting fixed-line services. But just because Australia’s mobile networks are relatively unregulated at the moment, this doesn’t mean the regulatory wolf isn’t howling at the door. The political games played earlier this year over the shutdown of Telstra’s CDMA mobile network illustrates how comfortably the Government can threaten this energetic commercial environment.

Back in the late 1990s, Telstra received $400 million from Canberra to help extend its CDMA network into otherwise uneconomical rural and regional areas. For everyone involved at the time, this seemed like a win-win deal. The government was able to claim it was providing something akin to the universal service that Telstra is compelled to provide for the home phone network. And Telstra received hundreds of millions of dollars to expand its market share. But, at the time, Telstra owned the GSM mobile service as well as CDMA.

When Telstra announced in 2007 it was going to replace both with the snazzy new Next G service, the embattled Coalition government altered the CDMA licence to require Telstra to keep it open until the new network provided equivalent coverage. The result is that the Next G network, and likely any future mobile network that Telstra would choose to replace it, is subject to an unspoken but very real universal service mandate.

Regrettably, having been vested with the power to set the terms and conditions of the spectrum licences that all mobile networks require to operate, politicians cannot resist manipulating Australia’s telecommunications for their own political purposes.

But hopefully the federal Government can draw the right lessons from the success of Australia’s mobile networks. Where politics is absent, there is innovation and investment.

If the federal Government wants Australia to have world-class broadband and mobile networks, it needs to get the politics out of the telecommunications industry.

Don’t Close The Door On Our Envied Bar Culture

Premier John Brumby probably wasn’t expecting a backlash this big.

Nearly 30,000 distressed drinkers have signed just one of the many Facebook petitions opposing the 2am lockout — the Victorian Government’s new policy that will ban entry to bars, pubs and clubs in the inner city after 2am. And more than 6000 people have promised to angrily party on the steps of Parliament when the ban goes into force on June 3.

The lockout is being vigorously debated in street magazines and online music forums that would never think to debate the finer points of more “traditional” policy concerns such as means-tested baby bonuses or first-home buyers’ grants.

There is good reason for these protesters to be upset about the 2am lockout. It is a dramatic restriction on our freedom to go to our favourite venues that, in turn, want to have us as customers. The Government is obviously worried that the word “curfew” sounds a little too much like they fear a coup d’etat.

But even if you’re not convinced that we have been endowed with an inalienable right to party, the 2am lockout is still bad public policy.

Certainly, a lockout has precedents across the country. Mooloolaba on the Sunshine Coast has a lockout at 1.30am, Mackay locks patrons out at 2am, and Newcastle introduced a 3am lockout in March this year. In Victoria, Ballarat, Bendigo and Warrnambool all have lockouts in place.

In many of these cities, police claim that late-night violence has been reduced. But Brisbane has had a 3am lockout since 2005, and the Royal Brisbane and Women’s Hospital told a documentary film crew that it had seen no reduction in total assaults since the ban was enacted. The correlation between bar-hopping and violent assault may not be as simple as the Government would like.

In the absence of a clear model of cause and effect, the policy aims to restrict the behaviour of a huge number of Melburnians in the questionable hope that doing so will set off a chain reaction that ends in the pacification of a few violent idiots. But wishful thinking and guesswork rarely result in good policy.

The evidence from other cities reveals that violent behaviour late at night is clustered only around a few hot spots. In Wollongong, 67% of violent incidents are attributable to just six pubs. Identifying and closely policing these places would be a far more effective strategy to combat the violence than a lockout could ever be.

Unfortunately, haphazardly targeting all late night venues is clever politics. Whipping up fear in the community about violence in the street has always been an effective strategy to build political support. And imposing a lockout doesn’t require the Government to devote any extra resources to the problem. Lockouts don’t affect the state budget at all — the burden of administering the lockout falls squarely on the venues.

Furthermore, changes to liquor licences and lockouts target a group of people who do not have a strong electoral voice. Young people are not known for their skills as lobbyists.

While the 2am lockout has received the most media attention, it is only one part of the Government’s assault against late-night venues. Consumer Affairs Victoria quietly announced earlier this month a “freeze” on granting liquor licences that plan to trade after 1am.

This means that, at least for the next 12 months while the freeze is in place, there will be no new bars, clubs or pubs opening in the inner suburbs that can pour a late-night beer.

And any already operating venue that needs to alter its licence in some minor way — to build an outdoor smokers’ area, for instance, since smokers will no longer be able to go outside pubs after 2am without being locked out — will only be able to apply for a new licence that is loaded with the 1am limit.

Like many regulatory increases, these sorts of burdens disproportionately hurt small businesses, which do not have the resources to lobby for exemptions or the financial slack to adjust to the new regulations.

It all adds up to a major attack on Melbourne’s hole-in-the-wall bar culture — a culture that only a few months ago Sydney was enviously eyeballing.

It would be sad if in the future we had to fly to NSW to find the nightlife we have so long been enjoying at home.

Put A Cork In It, Mr Rudd – You’re Missing The Point

Very quickly, Kevin Rudd has set the tone for his first term. His is a government that doesn’t just want to govern, it wants to parent.

Health Minister Nicola Roxon announced earlier this week that the taxes on alcopops – canned or bottled spirits premixed with soft drink – were to be doubled.

The tax increase was announced as a response to the 2007 National Drug Strategy Household Survey. But the survey reported that not only has binge-drinking among young females remained steady over the past few years, but the number of those who were endangering their long-term health had actually decreased slightly. If there is a binge-drinking crisis, as the Government claims, then it appears to be one which is resolving itself.

Nevertheless, since the federal election, booze has become a bread-and-butter issue of high politics. But the Government’s policy is based on a big leap of logic. Why will raising the price of alcopops result in healthier teenagers? Invariably, government policies have consequences unintended by the politicians who design them.

Certainly, the tax increase might reduce the amount of alcopops sold. Like most products, the demand for alcopops is elastic – that is, if the price goes up, some people who would have bought the drinks at a lower price may now choose not to. But those customers for whom the pre-mixed drinks are now too expensive can easily replace them with other alcoholic beverages. There is no shortage of choice in your average neighbourhood bottle shop.

After all, for a teenager looking to spend an evening drinking with friends, the choice isn’t between alcopops and a healthy glass of water. Would, for instance, the Federal Government prefer teenage children to try to mix their own drinks? It is not easy to estimate the safe ratio of spirits to soft drink while you are at a loud and crowded house party, slightly tipsy and leaning over a kitchen bench trying to pour cheap vodka into a plastic cup.

When alcohol is bottled in premeasured quantities, it is easy for teenagers to gauge just how much they are drinking. The Federal Government might be making it harder for teenagers to regulate their own alcohol consumption. If even a single teenager has to get their stomach pumped because they now have no idea how much they’re drinking, this policy will have been an abject failure.

When teenagers are unable to afford pre-mixed drinks, they will move on to their next choice of alcohol. If politicians increase the tax on every alcoholic beverage – as the Government’s advisers are publicly recommending – then teens may move to taking other, non-alcoholic drugs when they are socialising.

There is another possible unintended consequence of the tax increase that is even more worrying. When a new range of pre-mixed drinks was released earlier this decade, alcohol manufacturers asserted that young drinkers felt safer drinking out of bottles because they were harder to spike with date-rape drugs.

That claim may or may not be true. But it should at the very least remind us that when teenagers choose to buy their alcohol pre-mixed, they often do so for complex and personal reasons – not merely because they have been conned into doing so by stylish ad campaigns.

The alcopop tax increase is the first to come into effect of the many sin taxes that have been flagged by the new Government and its advisory bodies. The federal preventative health task force has now called for taxes on all alcohol to be increased by 300%, and a similar increase to be imposed on tobacco taxes. And the best and brightest summiteers were eager that the Government tax junk food.

When you add to this list last month’s proposed bans on alcohol and candy advertising, it becomes clear that few individual decisions are immune from the disapproval of the Rudd Government.

The left used to ridicule John Howard’s attraction to the moral universe of the 1950s. But the Labor Party is trying to introduce a new moral code that is just as severe – one which is designed to scare parents into supporting the Government’s policies. Don’t worry – Kevin Rudd is working just as hard to look after your children as you are.

But this anti-binge drinking campaign is not very well thought out. Artificially changing people’s behaviour isn’t that easy. Too often it makes the original problem worse.

IPA Review Editorial, May 2008

It’s always interesting to see how newly elected leaders respond to stimuli. And Kevin Rudd gave a clear indication of his tolerance for criticism at the beginning of April.

The Prime Minister’s trip abroad had a peculiar schedule. He was to visit China, which had just reemphasised its military control of Tibet. But he was to shun Japan, whose only crime seemed to be that its citizens like dining on whales. Rudd’s implied priorities-that whales are more important than human rights-is sadly indicative of the warped moral calculus of the modern environment movement. And it is worrying that the Australian federal government is taking its diplomatic cues from environmental populism.

This strange diplomatic decision was identified by Tony Parkinson, writing in this edition of the IPA Review. As he writes, ‘any hint Australia is into the business of picking winners, giving undue priority to one over another, would be contrary to the national interest.’

The Institute of Public Affairs’ Executive Director, John Roskam, referring to Parkinson’s upcoming piece, wrote in The Age on March 26 that this contradicted Labor’s election campaign line that the ALP would pursue a gentler, nicer, more loving foreign policy: ‘Australia would do more to uphold international standards of human rights, and we wouldn’t acquiesce so easily to alleged human rights violations committed in the pursuit of the war on terror.’ China’s activities in Tibet, surely, fall under some of those categories. Andrew Bolt in Melbourne’s Herald Sun on the same day, and Greg Sheridan in The Australian on March 27 made similar points.

And so, just a few days later, the Prime Minister announced that he had changed his plans, and was now going to go to Tokyo in June. Parkinson, Roskam, Bolt and Sheridan are excellent writers. Their critiques of Rudd’s initial decision to shun Japan were eloquent and well made. John Roskam’s was particularly good. (He is, after all, my boss).

But: seriously? Australian diplomatic strategy was unable to endure the withering onslaught of four disapproving columnists? Is that really all it takes to change federal policy?

Winston Churchill once said there is no such thing as public opinion – there is only published opinion. But it’s not even as if Rudd was castigated across the board by the commentariat. Other columnists defended Rudd, arguing that China will be a far more important trading partner than Japan over the next few decades. Perhaps this is fair enough-perhaps our relationship with Japan should be sacrificed for the sake of the Labor Party’s green vote.

Kevin Rudd is proud of his diplomatic background. But decisions made as a foreign affairs bureaucrat are very different from the highly public and highly scrutinised diplomatic decisions made as a Prime Minister. Avoiding Japan and flattering China may be great diplomacy-the nuances of high geopolitics are, we are told, a Rudd speciality. But foreign affairs is as much about domestic politics as international diplomacy. As John Kunkel, John Howard’s former speechwriter, reflects in his retrospective of the Howard Project in this issue of the IPA Review, Rudd’s predecessor understood the necessity for foreign policy to be just as democratically minded as domestic affairs. With his Japan stumble, Kevin Rudd may have begun to realise that.

This edition of the IPA Review continues our ‘What Next for Liberalism?’ feature, asking whether it is ever going to be possible for government to be shrunk, considering that no Australian government has ever managed to do so. Sinclair Davidson, Des Moore and Alan Moran look at the strategies for reducing the size of the state and its powers. Christopher Pyne argues that only major reform to the Liberal Party’s approach to selecting candidates and leaders will re-engage the party’s supporters, and John Pyke crunches the numbers to find a startling level of support for the republic amongst those who voted against it nearly ten years ago.

Richard Allsop reveals how the left have managed to convert the sporting field into yet another battlefield for the culture wars. Greg Melleuish looks at why smart people believe stupid things, and Scott Ryan looks behind the health debate to the health providers who are holding back reform. And of course, the usual book reviews, regular columns and cultural snippets that have helped the IPA Review become Australia’s longest running political magazine.

The Patriot Games

Is there anyone, anywhere, who believes Olympic bureaucrats when they declare that the Games are about athletics, not politics? Even the athletes themselves — standing upon the winners’ podium, draped in their national flag and singing their national anthem — must realise that the Olympics are actually undisguised geopolitics and taxpayer financed publicity stunts.

One need only look at the opening ceremony to realise that the Olympics are little more than an excuse for nation states to preen in front of each other like ostriches in mating season.

By August, the three largest totalitarian states of the 20th century — Nazi Germany, the USSR and China — will all have been Olympic hosts. Certainly, China’s appalling human rights record has improved since the Great Leap Forward. But providing dictatorships with a pre-packaged marketing program is hard to reconcile with the Olympic charter, which argues that the Games are to reflect “universal fundamental ethical principles”.

But everybody knows the torch relay has its origins in the Nazi Ministry for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda. Everybody knows how the USSR seized upon the Moscow Games, proclaiming that it was an acknowledgement of their fantastic record of maintaining world peace.

The relationship between totalitarianism and the Olympics is old news.

The modern Olympics have always been a potent mix of late 19th century nationalism and elite athleticism. The Olympics may now sparkle with the glitter of cutting-edge telecommunications infrastructure and high-performance sports apparel, but the Games have never quite shed their legacy of stern pseudo-militarism.

Even when peaceful liberal democracies host the Olympics, they are drenched with propaganda. As everybody remembers from last year’s federal election, democratic governments are always happy to spend gigantic sums on public relations. The Olympics are a publicity stunt on a colossally expensive scale.

Few of the other justifications for staging the Olympics stack up. Whatever jobs are “created” during the two weeks of events are quickly extinguished when the flame is.

Some Games supporters claim that staging the Olympics provides an opportunity to make much-needed infrastructure upgrades, particularly in transportation. Those who still hold this view clearly haven’t been to Sydney recently.

Others claim that the Olympic publicity encourages international tourism once the festivities are over. But we only ever hear politicians predict tourism bonanzas when they can’t think of anything else to say. What potential visitors were unaware of the existence of Athens, Beijing or London until they heard that those cities would be Olympic cities?

Whatever economic spillovers hosting the Games can bring, they nowhere near justify the enormous cost. If there is an economic benefit to staging the Olympics, then the economy hasn’t heard about it.

Looking at the impact of the announcement in 1993 that Sydney would host the Games, a group of RMIT economists concluded that the stock market didn’t budge at all. Only building firms saw their values rise.

The two biggest beneficiaries of the Olympics are politicians hoping to bask in the loving glow of the international media, and property developers looking for stadium contracts.

In Beijing, Chinese taxpayers have to support an event designed to glorify the Communist Party that has ruled over them for more than half a century.

But boycotting the Beijing Games is no more likely to pressure China into repairing its human rights record than granting them the Olympics did in the first place. There have been dozens of Games boycotts over the past century, and none have had any significant political impact.

In fact, political controversy has shared the stage with athletics at almost every modern Olympics. Even innocent Melbourne in 1956 was marred by boycotts — China withdrew because the Games committee recognised Taiwan, three countries withdrew because of Israel, and another three withdrew in protest at the Soviet invasion of Hungary. When the USSR played Hungary in water polo that year, the match resembled a pub brawl.

Boycotts and underwater fisticuffs may be rarer since the end of the Cold War, but politics still infuses every aspect of the Games.

The official website of the Chinese Olympic Committee is unambiguous about Beijing’s ideological content, advertising its National Fitness Program, which has been hard at work since 1995 “promoting mass sporting activities on an extensive scale, improving the people’s physique, and spurring the socialist modernisation of our country”.

In the same breath — or, at least, on the same page — the website laments the attempted politicisation of the Beijing Games by “some Western forces” and “separatists”.

Remember the tedious controversy about non-Australian marching bands in the Sydney opening ceremony? Every moment of the Beijing Games will be stage-managed to shed the best light on a dictatorship that has more than 4000 domestic political prisoners.

So, rather than pretending that politics can be hidden under the woolly feel-goodness of the officially prescribed “Olympic Spirit”, we should encourage the Games’ politicisation.

The Chinese Government is welcome to its publicity stunt, but while the country is under the full glare of the world’s media, there is probably no better time for demonstrations and counter-stunts.

Despite their lofty ambitions, the Olympics have never brought world peace. Nevertheless, if the press corps manages to outflank China’s propaganda machine, they might be able to turn this expensive political advertisement into something good for human rights.

Don’t forget — it’s not about the sport.

Come On, Aunty, Time To Work Out Where You’re At

Management guru Peter Drucker famously asked the chief executive of General Electric two simple questions: “If you weren’t in the business you’re in, would you enter it today? If the answer is no, what are you going to do about it?” Has our ABC ever asked itself these questions?

The GE chief took Drucker’s questioning as an opportunity to radically restructure the company and re-examine its core business. The ABC should use the challenges brought on by new media and the internet to do the same.

A poorly kept secret of Australian libertarian and conservative politics is that when we complain about bias, it’s usually only because we faithfully watch and adore the ABC.

The network’s nickname – Aunty – makes it seem more like a kindly relative who has cats and loves having you over for quiche than a major government program that employs 4500 people and receives nearly $1billion dollars of taxpayers’ money.

Aunties don’t have to justify their own existence; government programs do. Certainly, the broadcaster has a charter. But that charter consists of little more than vague platitudes towards diversity, community and “awareness of Australia”.

Unfortunately, the reforms announced over the past month – the introduction of a 24-hour news-gathering service, a few local websites, and some shedding of in-house production staff – do little to clarify the ABC’s proper role.

But that is hardly surprising. In fact, in her 76 years of operation, Aunty has never really known what she is for. Australia has public broadcasting primarily because our pre-WWII federal government didn’t trust the commercial radio stations to sufficiently educate the lumpen masses on the finer points of Brahms and Shakespeare.

Since everybody in parliament agreed that Britain’s BBC was really cool, the government set up an Australian version. But unlike the original BBC, the ABC has tried to be “for all Australians” and tried to compete with commercial broadcasters, adopting an uncomfortable mix of highbrow and lowbrow programming.

But a core foundation of liberal democracy is that the government should not do anything that society can do itself. The government should not directly compete with the private sector.

What then would the ABC be doing now if it took Drucker’s advice?

There seems little reason for the network to have a commercial arm – should the ABC be directly competing with bookstores? Why, too, should it be broadcasting highly popular sporting events when there is no lack of private networks willing to do so? As a rule, the ABC should never out-bid another broadcaster for programming.

ABC director Mark Scott argued that not only can the network provide local news and commentary to remote and rural communities, but it could also provide a digital “town square” for community engagement.

Among public broadcasting advocates, this view is popular – it is a convenient way to imagine a role for the ABC far into the online future. But it is again indicative of the ABC’s drifting purpose. Why should taxpayers be paying the government to imitate the thousands of bulletin boards and forums that already pepper the internet? And genuine communities are built by individuals, not governments.

There are, unquestionably, roles for which the ABC is necessary. Government is responsible for broadcasting political events such as Parliament. And the ABC has an enormous back catalogue of Australian history it should be immediately digitising.

Its cultural role needs to be examined in the context of the entire broadcasting market – in particular, the Australian content regulations that apply to commercial channels. If government is convinced that artificially promoting Australian culture is vital even in the age of media abundance, then that may be a task for public broadcasting alone.

But these are unasked questions. The ABC is seen by commentators from the left and the right as a sort of gift from the government for the politically obsessed, rather than a major public policy initiative of the Federal Government.

All media organisations across the world need to go through similar soul-searching. But because the ABC is insulated from the punishing winds of the market, it has consistently avoided tough decisions about what services it should provide. If it is to adjust to the future, that will need to change.

Nanny State Ad Bans Won’t Stop Kids Liking Junk Food

It used to be that if the government didn’t like something, it would ban it. Now, if the government disapproves of a product, it just bans it from being advertised.

A Senate committee is currently examining the feasibility of restricting advertisements for alcohol, and Kevin Rudd has expressed interest in making such a measure part of his binge drinking campaign.

Similarly, the Australian Medical Association wants to ban junk food advertising during children’s TV shows. Advertising restrictions are the new coolest thing for paternalistic policy-makers and their nanny state.

But are we that easily manipulated by brand managers and advertising firms? Does the Government have to step in to protect us, and our children, from harmful ads? Advertising is, at its core, just the simple delivery of information. Those who oppose it are essentially arguing that this information is too challenging for individuals to process safely; that, if told the wrong thing, they will be unable to resist self-harm.

The anti-capitalist Naomi Klein famously took this argument one step further when she decried the psychological power of corporate brands – we are all, apparently, oppressed by tyrannical graphic designers. Mining would be finally recognised as the environmental catastrophe it is if only everybody wasn’t so disorientated by BHP’s trendy looking bubble logo.

This view does not just reduce us to the level of dumb automatons, passively waiting for advertising executives to beam their instructions directly into our brains, it also creates a profound dilemma for democratic politics. If we don’t have free will in the shopping centre, we certainly don’t have free will in the voting booth. And figuring out which political party would be better for interest rates is far more complex than figuring out which brand of shampoo to buy.

Nevertheless, most people acknowledge that adults are sensibly sceptical about marketing claims.What is surprising is just how advertising savvy children are.

Minors are depicted by policy-makers as unable to defend themselves against a well-planned onslaught of marketing. However, as the new book Prohibitions published by Britain’s Institute of Economic Affairs shows, children as young as five form preferences about their favourite TV programs. And by the age of 11, children demonstrate a pronounced scepticism about claims made in ads.

During the federal election campaign, anti-advertising rhetoric took a decidedly surreal turn. In response to the Labor Party’s dislike of Shrek-themed merchandising, the Howard government promised to fund a new ABC channel for children completely free of junk food ads. It was a bizarre train of thought that led Liberal policy-makers to think that the best way to combat childhood obesity was to make sitting on the couch and watching TV more appealing.

The belief that an individual’s free will is crushed under the jackboot of catchy advertising jingles is, of course, nonsense. We have just as much autonomy over our personal decisions as we did before an ad break.

So what, then, is advertising for? It informs us that new products are available in the marketplace. We may, after having watched an ad, have a different idea of what our next purchase may be. But that isn’t because we have been manipulated by a ruthless marketing department.

An ad that informs us that McDonald’s now sells salad only interests those people who would probably like to buy a salad from McDonald’s. If the preference for salad doesn’t already exist, then no ad, no matter how brilliant, is going to be effective.

This logic is fairly obvious. What child is going to abandon chocolates and lollies when their ads disappear off television? Kids will always like junk food. Any parents who think that a government ban will make walking up the chocolate aisle less stressful are deceiving themselves. And anybody who thinks that teenagers will refuse the next “alcopop” just because they are no longer being specifically marketed to under-25s has forgotten a lot about their youth.

Politicians and activists are attracted to the theory that advertising manipulates consumers. It gives them yet another reason to regulate the media, and a way to appear to be doing something about the latest health scare. But they won’t change our behaviour. Instead, politicians should face the hideous truth – people are smarter than advertisements.