Donald Trump Is Not A Conservative – Just Look At His Views On Trade

Donald Trump’s proposal to end all Muslim immigration to the United States has unleashed a justified torrent of commentary around the world. But it is his views on free trade that are more indicative of the source of his support, and the tensions he creates within the conservative movement.

Trump displays none of the conservative virtues. He is rash, inconsistent, disdainful of knowledge and policy detail, and nonchalant about making pledges which he could not, as president, possibly fulfil.

If conservatism is a temperament – a deference to tradition, or, as Edmund Burke said, to a “manly, moral, regulated liberty” – then Trump is not a conservative.

He appears to have no interest in statescraft or stability. Remember Tony Abbott’s 2013 promise to slow down the news cycle and end political dysfunction? Trump promises the opposite. And it is entirely possible that he will be voted as the nominee of the conservative Republican Party.

At the sixth Republican candidates debate last week, Trump tried to explain what he meant when he told the New York Times editorial board that he wanted to impose a 45 per cent tariff on all Chinese goods coming into the United States.

First he tried to say the New York Times reported him wrongly – which, if you listen to the audio of his meeting, is an outright lie.

Then he argued that he was, in fact, “totally open to a tariff”, because he believes China is manipulating its currency and imposing tariffs to penalise American manufacturers.

It is shameful that the Grand Old Party is so close to nominating such an empty demagogue.

It fell to Marco Rubio to explain during the debate what economists have been trying to explain for two centuries: tariffs harm consumers by raising the price of goods at home and do nothing for economic development.

The cost of any tariffs imposed by China on imports is borne by Chinese consumers. The cost of a Trump tariff would be borne by American consumers. The United States would do better to ensure that its businesses were free to grow at home rather than resent the self-harming policies of its trading partners.

That Rubio’s bog-standard defence of trade was a rare moment of rationality in the Republican debate is a sign of how the Trump phenomenon has unmoored all but the most moored candidates, chasing the resentment that this garish business mogul has tapped into. It is shameful that the Grand Old Party is so close to nominating such an empty demagogue.

Every political party is a coalition of groups, each with their own attitudes and appeal that have banded together to form government.

The Republican party has always had a populist wing that co-inhabits uneasily with the business conservatives who are more interested in free markets and small government. There is a lot of overlap in ideas between these two groups, but also much to distinguish them.

Trump is unusual as a presidential candidate because he has no interest in managing that coalition. His strategy is to appeal directly to the populist market, and ignore the business conservatives. Hence the repeated claims that his wealth means he is not beholden to party donors.

Trump represents one side of the Republican party in revolt against the other.

The numbers tell the story. A November 2015 survey found that where the rest of the field count around 35 per cent of their support from white working class voters, Trump enjoys 55 percent of this demographic. It is these voters who most believe they have lost out from industrial globalization, and feel they are suffering from competitive pressure from new migrants entering the workforce.

Regardless of whether Trump wins the nomination or flames out in the next fortnight, the significance of his candidacy for the Republican ideological coalition will be felt for decades.

So why is Trump’s position on free trade a more powerful indicator of his significance for the conservative movement than his much more radical immigration policies?

As well as the ban on Muslim immigration, Trump wants a fence on the US-Mexico border that he insists Mexico will pay for. And he wants the 11 million undocumented immigrants in the United States forcibly deported.

But as extreme as these positions are, the domain of Republican immigration policy had already been ceded to the demagogues before Trump came along.

If you watched the sixth debate, you would have seen Rubio back away from his role in the 2013 bipartisan immigration bill – a bill lauded at the time by business conservatives – that would have provided a way for the 11 million immigrants Trump wants to deport to become citizens.

By contrast, until Trump, the cause for free trade has at least received lip service support, despite globalisation’s role in changing the industrial landscape that many working class Republican voters have resented. No question that there are always some stark violations of the free trade principle. The Republican platform says the party “stand[s] ready to impose countervailing duties if China fails to amend its currency policies”.

But Trump goes much further, calling for “fair” trade at the same time as he describes himself a free trader – the classic protectionist pitch – and damning even the North American Free Trade Agreement as a “disaster”.

In a perceptive National Review piece, writer David French argues that Trump’s rise shows that Republican strategists have overestimated the conservatism of Republican voters. Regardless of whether Trump wins the nomination or flames out in the next fortnight, the significance of his candidacy for the Republican ideological coalition will be felt for decades.

Poorest Members Of Trans-Pacific Partnership To Benefit Most

Why is Australia a party to the Trans-Pacific Partnership agreement? This regional free trade agreement between 12 Pacific Rim nations, including the United States, Canada, Japan, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Australia, has been almost universally panned, left, right and centre. Yet it is likely to be signed in New Zealand in February.

A report by the World Bank released last week claimed the benefit to Australia from signing the agreement would be a near imperceptible fraction of a per cent of growth a year – just an added 0.7 per cent of GDP by 2030. The government’s own economic advisory agency, the Productivity Commission, says the Trans-Pacific Partnership will distort trade rather than free trade. And GetUp calls it the “dirtiest deal you’ve never heard of”, driven by “big business, big pharmaceuticals and big tobacco”.

They’re all wrong. Yes, the Trans-Pacific Partnership is not perfect. It has bad parts. It might require the government to further crack down on copyright piracy, even as the piracy problem is ebbing away in our world of Netflix and Apple Music. The Investor-State Dispute Resolution mechanism – which allows firms to sue the Australian government in special tribunals – is, in the words of the American libertarian think tank the Cato Institute, “unnecessary, unreasonable, and unwise”.

And the deal’s importance for the global economy has been wildly overstated. The Abbott government tried to desperately pump up the significance of the free trade deals it was signing as it saw its other economic growth strategies slip away.

But trade deals are policy bundles. The question isn’t whether the Trans-Pacific Partnership has bad parts. It’s whether the good parts outweigh the bad parts. Nor is the question of whether Australia “wins” from the deal. It’s whether it enhances global welfare.

The poorest signatories are likely to be the deal’s biggest beneficiaries. The World Bank believes that the Vietnamese economy will be 10 per cent larger by 2030 thanks to the Trans-Pacific Partnership.

Malaysia will be 8 per cent richer. Brunei 5 per cent richer.

These figures represent real people in real countries getting better lives thanks to an agreement we will sign. The benefits dwarf the $90 million a year Australia gives in overseas development assistance – foreign aid – to Vietnam.

Free trade deals exist to solve a political puzzle. The puzzle is this: countries that allow foreign imports are richer, all else being equal, than countries which discourage foreign imports. Protectionism is bad for consumers and bad for the economy. This is counter-intuitively true even if every other country in the world is protectionist. On the question of free trade the economics profession is almost unanimous. Yet in recent decades few countries have been happy to unilaterally reduce trade barriers.

This is where free trade agreements come in. They allow governments to sell domestic tariff reductions to their voters by pointing to the fact that other countries are reducing tariffs as well. A lot of people think that international trade has to be done on a “level playing field” to be good. This is bad economics.

But it is a political reality. Many voters will accept a reduction in protection only if they see other countries doing the same.

There’s another reason why we might want to sign a trade deal: insurance. Trade deals reduce the likelihood of a future trade war – that is, the deals prevent countries raising their trade barriers in retaliation for perceived slights. Taking this insurance effect into account, the economists Richard Harris and Peter Robertson have found the economic benefits from the free trade deal the Howard government signed with the United States have been up to four times larger than previously believed.

This particularly important for Australia as we are highly trade exposed.

I’m not suggesting that the politicians who sign free trade agreements have these sorts of sophisticated reasons for doing so. Politicians pander to voters. They talk a lot of nonsense about exports and imports, about how they’re forcing opening foreign markets to exporters, extracting concessions from other countries and so forth.

But by pursuing free trade deals they are building a more prosperous world. The Trans-Pacific Partnership tangles the economic interests of an entire region together. Call it mutually assured construction. Being part of this process isn’t pointless or “dirty”. If you think international development and international relationships are important, then trade deals are some of the best foreign policy we can do.

In Defence Of ‘Peak Sequel’ Capitalism

Is Hollywood running out of ideas?

In the wake of the unsurprising success of the seventh iteration of Star Wars, it can’t have escaped anyone’s attention that the American film industry is now pouring out sequels and reboots and exploiting established franchises.

This year we’re going to get Zoolander 2, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2, Kung Fu Panda 3, Batman v Superman, Finding Dory, Captain America: Civil War, X-Men: Apocalypse, Now You See Me 2, aGhostbusters reboot, a fifth instalment of the Jason Bourne series, Bridget Jones’s Baby, another Jack Reacher movie, another Independence Day, a sequel to Bad Santa, and of course the next Star Wars film.

After 2016, there’s another Indiana Jones in the works, at least one more Alien, another American Pie, moreAvatars, another Blade Runner, a Die Hard prequel, another Frozen, and apparently a Star Wars every year until we die. Dominic Knight has dubbed this “peak sequel”. By one count there are 156 sequels in the works.

So it’s easy to be pessimistic about the imaginative vibrancy of Hollywood. One influential essay in GQ in 2011 forecast the “(potential) death” of American film as an art. There’s a helpful infographic floating around on “Hollywood’s waning creativity”.

But there is every reason to look at Hollywood’s sequel, franchise and reboot fashion with optimism, even admiration. They are a symbol of cultural health, not stagnation.

First, the situation is not exactly as it looks. While there are more sequels there are also a lot more movies, as trade sources in the US and UK complain. Don’t like the flashy pop juggernaut of Star Wars: The Force Awakens? Go see the bleak Revenant, which just won the best picture Golden Globe.

Anyway, adaptations and franchises have been Hollywood’s game since the very beginning. Cinema has always dug through and repurposed other cultural products. One of the earliest, greatest films, the 1902 silent A Trip to the Moon, is a mixed adaptation of stories by HG Wells and Jules Verne.

In the golden age of studios, filmmakers happily converted popular novels into film. By my count, at least 15 of the 20 best picture Oscar winners between 1950 and 1969 are adaptations of novels, plays and musicals. These were sometimes very well known, including Oliver! (a film adaptation of a musical adaptation of Charles Dickens’s novel); My Fair Lady (an adaptation of a musical adaptation of a film adaptation of the stage play Pygmalion); and Ben Hur (a reboot of a 1925 adaptation of an 1880 novel that had been made into a play in 1899 and a 1907 film). Possibly the best American film is a sequel of an adaptation: The Godfather Part II. Look at how derivative the Internet Movie Database’s top 250 movies are.

It’s not clear how adapting well-loved and established stories for film is substantively more creative than adapting well-loved and established film stories for more films. What standard of creativity does the all-female reworking of Ghostbusters violate that West Side Story (a film adaptation of a musical adaptation of Romeo and Juliet) did not? It would be weird to complain we’re getting too many Shakespeare reboots. For what it’s worth, The Revenant is an adaptation of a novel too.

I made the point before Christmas that all culture relies on appropriating from earlier culture. George Lucas’s 1977 Star Wars was boldly original, but was also a complex pastiche of narrative tropes and imagery.

But there are stronger arguments for a Hollywood full of franchises than everyone-does-it and if-you-don’t-like-it-go-see-something-else.

As TV shows become more film-like – with higher production values, and longer stories that stretch across an entire television season – franchising means films are becoming more TV-like. Imagine those endless Marvel films (Iron Man, The Hulk, The Avengers, Thor, Captain America and so forth) as episodes in a long running story, rather than standalone movies. Like any show there are better episodes and worse episodes, but in sum they add up to a stronger whole than each individual would be.

Star Wars is a great example of how franchises can enrich a culture rather than shrink it. Everybody but the most contrarian agrees that Lucas’s three Star Wars prequels, released between 1999 and 2005, mostly fail as individual pieces of dramatic entertainment. (Yes, OK, an arguable exception is 2005’s Revenge of the Sith, sure.) But as exercises in constructing a rich and deep fictional world, they are remarkable. Sequels and franchises allow filmmakers and audiences to mine further veins of potential stories. No character need briefly appear on the screen and disappear forever. There’s always the opportunity for a spin-off.

Audiences clearly want this. The fanfic subcultures which pop up around every major film reveal an audience eager to further immerse themselves in the fictional universe. Books, comics, and TV specials are released to add depth for those who want more. The Star Wars expanded universe offers audiences a map of the long-ago, far-away galaxy with its own traditions and tales. The Marvel Cinematic Universe has its own comics, short films, TV shows, and the enormous back catalogue of stories and characters dating to the Second World War.

Even all that tacky merchandising that consumers lap up is a sign of cultural engagement. They want to take the film experience home with them. Surely this is what we want from culture – a communal experience, shared stories, imaginative worlds.

Movies have always been the most explicitly commercial art form. If you view art and commerce as distinct, separate spheres then it must be tempting to view ‘peak sequel’ capitalism as displacing the original visions of genius auteurs with repetitive dreck. But art surely has to speak to people. These grand worlds being built by sequels and franchises are doing that. They should not be regretted; they should be embraced.

The Alternative To Uber’s Surge Pricing Isn’t Fair Either

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, the ridesharing company Uber sent its customers an email warning of increased prices particularly between 12:30am and 4am the next day, the time that revellers were likely to want to go home at the same time.

Nevertheless, on January 1, there was an inevitable spate of outraged press stories where customers complained about the extremely high prices charged by Uber during those peak hours. In some cities, Uber prices were nearly 10 times the normal price.One person paid $720 for a ride from Sydney to Blacktown.

This can’t have been a surprise. The price is set by an algorithm. As well as the email that morning, Uber notified riders of the surge prices and required them to manually accept the increase before they confirmed the ride request. The Uber smartphone application also allows riders to estimate fares in advance.

One suspects that more than a few of these unhappy riders were “tired and emotional”, in that charming media euphemism.

The case for what Uber calls “surge pricing” is simple. Uber drivers cannot be simply forced to work at the busiest or most inconvenient times. They have to be enticed to drive on New Year’s Eve – an evening where many drivers would probably rather be partying than ferrying passengers. Higher prices are enticing. This is basic supply and demand stuff. Surge prices also encourage drivers already on the road to go to where demand is highest. In the absence of surge pricing, there would almost certainly be shortages and queues.

Uber did not invent market incentives. The company just exploits them. Allowing for demand-driven pricing is one of Uber’s best features: it ensures the service is constantly available for those who need it. Surge pricing is one of the reasons Uber is walking all over the taxi market. Yes, it would be nice if our fellow citizens were happy to drive us around at the cheapest prices on demand at the busiest times, but as Adam Smith said, you can’t run an economy on benevolence alone.

And yet it is undeniable that many people see price surges like those engineered by the Uber algorithm as violating an unstated ethical code. When a smaller surge occurred during the Sydney siege, the outrage was worse, as it seemed like Uber was profiting from the city’s fragile state.

Supporters of markets have a habit of sometimes dismissing these concerns out of hand, but they shouldn’t. Market exchange, as one of the basic forms of human interaction, has a deep ethical dimension. It needs to be defended.

The earliest traces of what we now call economic reasoning was preoccupied with the search for principles that would explain why certain goods were more expensive than others. The debate was concerned with how the “just price” was determined – a price which was fair and ethical according to the ideas of Christian justice.

Some medieval theologians and philosophers believed the just price was the price it would take to cover the cost of production plus a small profit. Thomas Aquinas argued that the just price was what a just person would agree to. Others believed the just price was whatever the prevailing local market price was.

This final explanation might seem a cop-out but it packed an intellectual punch in the medieval period. According to these proto-free marketeers, the just price was that which could be freely and voluntarily agreed to by two independent agents. After all, one of the alternatives to the market setting a price is if a lord sets a price by diktat, and forces those they rule to sell for less than market value.

Social institutions are about trade-offs, not solutions. There is no perfect way to resolve the tension between supply and demand. Unless market participants are forced to provide a service, that service will either be rationed by price or it will be rationed by queuing.

Surge prices seem to offend our sense of egalitarianism, but as Jason Brennan and Peter M Jaworski point out in their recent book Markets Without Limits, queues are not very egalitarian either. Queues don’t treat everybody equally. Queues favour those who are willing to spend time in queues. Not everybody has that time. Some people really need an immediate Uber ride, to get home to babysitters or because they are unwell. Others merely want a ride.

Psychologists and behavioural economists have spent decades documenting all the irrationalities, systemic errors, and cognitive biases that lead humans to make bad decisions. The intuitive revulsion many of us have to market pricing in moments of extreme demand ought to be one of them.

The Dries Have It: The Past And Future Of Economic Reform

An unfortunate consequence of the ideological makeup of Australian historians is that one of the most important political and intellectual movements in 20th century Australia is still poorly understood and underappreciated.

Every factional nuance of the Labor Party and union movement has its own dedicated history.

By contrast, the Dries – the parliamentary and extra-parliamentary grouping that drove free market thinking in the Liberal Party; that laid the foundations for the deregulation of the 1980s and ’90s; that held the Liberals to their private enterprise beliefs during those reforms against the attraction of populism; that seemed to flame out with the failure of Fightback! at the

1993 election but whose program has been vindicated by decades of bipartisan economic change – has been largely ignored.

At best the Dries receive a perfunctory paragraph in political histories, dismissed either as Margaret Thatcher copycats or the ciphers of business interests.

Over Christmas one of the leaders of the Dries, Jim Carlton, passed away. You can read Malcolm Turnbull’s comments commemorating Carlton’s life.

Carlton should be seen as one of the pivotal figures in Australian political and economic history. This importance is not necessarily obvious from his CV.

Carlton entered parliament in 1977 as member for the Sydney seat of Mackellar. He was the minister for Health for a short time in the Fraser government before it lost power. He was shadow treasurer under John Howard during the 1980s, and left parliament in 1994.

Yet it was his role in building the Dry movement, and establishing a parliamentary group, the Society of Modest Members (along with the other core members of John Hyde and Peter Shack), that assures his long-term significance.

In the late 1970s and early 1980s the Dries were opposed to the Keynesian post-war consensus and advocated the monetarist approach to macroeconomic policy expounded by Milton Friedman. They opposed the high tariff barriers that Australia placed between itself and the world. They called for the industrial relations system – one of the most restrictive in the developed world – to be dismantled, and wages to be set by the market rather than judges.

The Dries had a love-hate relationship with the Fraser and Howard governments. They were disappointed in Malcolm Fraser’s failure to kickstart necessary reform; a failure made more politically bitter by the fact that the Labor Party under Bob Hawke filled the gap. It is a sign of the ideological success of the Dries that their view about the Fraser government – as a “missed opportunity” for reform – has become the dominant one in the modern Liberal Party, rather than more common idea of Fraser as a welcome return to the stable, middle-of-the-road government of the Menzies years.

It was thanks to Dry pressure that Fraser and his treasurer, John Howard, instigated the Campbell committee into the Australian financial system and gave it the philosophical direction that shaped the deregulatory movement for two decades later. Hawke and Keating would not have been able to do what they did to the financial sector without these foundations.

Howard was affiliated with the Dries under Fraser and then during the Hawke years. Yet Howard never fully signed up to the Dry program, in part by temperament, and in part due to a conscious effort at striving for the political mainstream.

Indeed, the Dries operated as a counterculture within the Liberal Party – albeit an extremely influential one. This idea that the political mainstream would be influenced by the political margins was part of the Dry identity. Carlton’s Society of Modest Members was named after Bert Kelly, the Liberal member for Wakefield between 1958 and 1977, whose quasi-serious, quasi-comic “Modest Member” columns were a fixture of the Australian press for decades. Kelly was a gadfly urging conservative governments to pursue tariff reduction and market liberalisation.

In 2011 the Society of Modest Members was revived within the federal Liberal Party, as an attempt to recapture the intellectual ferment of the era of Kelly, Hyde, Shack and Carlton. This reconstituted group was, like the original society, an implied critique of the prevailing orthodoxy within the Liberal Party. Free market Liberals believed that Tony Abbott needed some prodding if he was to bring about market-oriented economic reform, and needed an internal bulwark against big spending promises like paid parental leave.

Yet the new Society for Modest Members seems to have come to little, and Abbott’s term in office is likely to be seen as another missed opportunity. The original Dries were first and foremost an intellectual movement. Turnbull’s success depends on whether today’s Jim Carltons are preparing the ground for future reform.

Is Cultural Appropriation The Bogeyman It’s Made Out To Be?

A spectre is haunting the planet: the spectre of cultural appropriation.

To appropriate symbols from cultures that are not one’s own is apparently now disrespectful, insensitive and offensive.

A student body at the University of Ottawa has banned yoga classes as an example of “cultural genocide” and “Western supremacy”. Student unions at the University of East Anglia have targeted Mexican sombreros for “discriminatory or stereotypical imagery”.

At Oberlin College in Ohio, it is food that is problematic. The student dining hall is accused of modifying “traditional” Asian recipes “without respect”. The “undercooked rice and lack of fresh fish” offered in sushi “is disrespectful”. The Banh Mi sandwich, served on ciabatta rather than a baguette, is “uninformed”, a “gross manipulation” of this “traditional” Vietnamese dish. And the General Tso’s chicken dish is prepared with steamed chicken, rather than fried chicken – another disrespectful appropriation.

These complaints are apparently serious. They could just as well be satire. Because each of those named foods are themselves the result, not the victims, of cultural appropriation.

Sushi has an ancient history in Japan but what many people in Japan and the West now see as good sushi – with its rich slices of tuna and salmon – is the result of Japanese chefs adapting their traditional dish to the tastes of American GIs during post-war occupation.

The Banh Mi is a fusion dish of French baguette – brought to Vietnam through French colonialism in the nineteenth century – and Vietnamese flavours.

And General Tso’s chicken? It dates back, at the earliest, to the 1950s, has nothing to do with the nineteenth century general Tso Tsung-t’ang, and only became famous when it was first served in a New York Chinese restaurant.

Sure, it’s easy to mock a few uninformed university students. So let’s continue.

The sombrero comes not from Mexico, but was brought from Europe by the Spanish – Don Quixote is often depicted with a flat-topped Spanish sombrero. The sombrero was then culturally appropriated by early American cowboys and evolved into their distinctive cowboy hat. For their part, the Spaniards got the sombrero from the Mongolians.

Modern yoga is so far from the ancient Indian tradition that it is better seen as a totally separate endeavour. The typical modern yoga fitness class draws on gymnastics, calisthenics and Indian wrestling. Its relationship to the fourth century Yoga Sutras of Patanjali is like the relationship between the cowboy hat and the Spanish sombrero: related but far enough apart to be considered substantively different.

Why is this important? Because the history of culture is the history of cultural appropriation. What we see as traditional national or ethnic cultures today are the just the current manifestation of a long evolutionary process. Traditional foods, religions, dress and practices are constantly changing as they are exposed to other cultures, picking up and integrating the most appealing or adaptable parts.

In her important 2013 book, Cuisine and Empire: Cooking in World History, the food historian Rachel Laudan documents the many ways so-called “national cuisines” are almost always an amalgam of foreign influences, incorporating plants, animals, techniques, spices and styles that have been pushed around the globe by politics and economics. There are no “authentic” cuisines, no “traditional” foods. Everything is fusion.

The same story could be told for language, architecture, dress, religion, music, art, literary culture and on and on and on.

So the issue here is not just that the criticism of cultural appropriation is historically illiterate. It’s deeply ironic. The critics of cultural appropriation claim to be progressive. But they are in fact engaged in a deeply conservative project: one which first seeks to preserve in formaldehyde the content of an established culture and second tries prevent others from interacting with that culture.

Appropriating other cultural symbols is not empty, cynical role-playing, it is development. By appropriating we add meaning, creating complex new rituals and relationships.

Take, for instance, the most prominent example of cultural appropriation and evolution in the modern West: Christmas.

It is well understood that Christmas is an amalgam of Christian beliefs and Pagan rituals. The Christmas tree comes from Germany, Father Christmas from England, and Christmas carols from Roman-era Christian hymns. Most people would class candy canes as one of the secular icons of Christmas but they may have been meant to represent the shepherd’s staff.

To observe a nativity scene (a first century AD stable in Bethlehem) next to a Christmas tree (an evergreen winter climate plant) is to see that there is a lot going with this apparently simple holiday.

Why is gift-giving part of the way we celebrate of the birth of Jesus Christ? Not solely because of the Three Wise Men. We might as well ask why Jewish families in the United States enjoy a plate of General Tso’s chicken on December 25. Lots of reasons.

Cultural evolution is like that: a contradictory, rich, unstable mix of tradition and change. To attack cultural appropriation as offensive, or insensitive is to attack culture itself. And just as absurd.

How We’re Getting The Whole GST Debate So Wrong

The GST reform debate is a complete mess. If this was in doubt, the Council of Australian Governments meeting last week made it unambiguous: the Government is pushing ahead with a solution to a problem that it has not yet defined. The solution is a 15 per cent GST. Does anybody know what the problem is?

Most economists have a good, clean answer to that question. Basic tax theory tells us that consumption taxes are more efficient than most alternatives. Taxes that are easy to evade or substantially alter our behaviour are less efficient. Yet consumption taxes play only a small part of Australia’s overall tax mix. The ideal tax from an efficiency perspective is low, broad, simple and does not encourage people to avoid saving.

Hence the Henry Review’s position that “a broad-based consumption tax is one of the most efficient taxes available”, and why lots of serious people these days talk about raising the GST and expanding it to fresh food and financial services.

But theory and practice are very different things. At last week’s COAG meeting the state and commonwealth governments were discussing a complicated tax bargain, where two levels of government would trade off fiscal favours with each other. In the Australian Financial Review, Phillip Coorey has a good run down of the proposals.

Jay Weatherill’s plan is that the Commonwealth Government would keep the revenue from a GST increase, which could be used to finance income tax cuts and compensation to low income households, while the states would be allocated a fixed percentage of the commonwealth’s income tax take to spend at their discretion.

An alternative model is that proposed by Mike Baird, where the states would receive $5 billion between now and 2020 to recover some of the funding increases cut from the 2014 budget. After that, the states would be allocated the revenue from income tax bracket creep – the steady tax increase that occurs thanks to inflation every year.

Neither of these plans have much to recommend them. They would further entrench the fiscal imbalance in the federation – the distorted political incentives that arise from the fact that the states do not raise the money they spend. But Baird’s plan is particularly awful. Not only does it rely on maintaining bracket creep as a fixture of the Australian tax system, it would create a constituency – the states – that would lobby hard against any future income tax relief.

The states are obviously clamouring for money. Having lost any real revenue base of their own, they’ve been reduced to begging the commonwealth for scraps.

The real question is why the Commonwealth Government is indulging any of this. The efficiency gains from replacing income tax with a consumption tax are unlikely to be realised once the Government starts compensating low income holders and bargaining with the states. Those compromises will impose their own efficiency costs – costs that do not get captured in the blackboard modelling that informs the debate – but those costs might swamp the benefits from tax reform.

There is a vast gap between an ideal, perfectly implemented tax system and the necessarily compromised and complicated system that emerges from the process of democratic bargaining.

The Government is correct to say that our tax system comes from an older era, and correct to point out that many of our tax rates are punitively high – particularly the income and corporate tax rates. But piecemeal changes could tackle these problems. Every budget includes its own minor changes to the tax system. Why not work through the normal budget process? Why the need for big-bang reform?

When the GST was first introduced by the Howard government, it was designed to replace the wildly inefficient, complicated and obscure wholesale sales tax, as well as stamp duties, taxes on financial institutions, and bed taxes. The one fell swoop approach suited our tax reform needs then. It does not anymore.

The flaws of the existing system have been created by the same political dynamic that makes a revolutionary jump to a substantially better system unlikely. And if the trade-off for a higher GST is to lock in bracket creep forever, as the Baird plan would, tax reform will have been worse than pointless: it will have been genuinely harmful.

The Turnbull Government can’t even convince its own economic elders about the desirability of reform. Peter Costello (who brought in the GST in 2000) warns that a GST debate “will swamp everything”. Peter Reith (shadow treasurer when John Hewson presented his GST plan) urges the Government to “shut down this discussion before Christmas”. Neither of these two are the sole founts of wisdom on tax, of course, but something has obviously gone badly wrong.

On Tuesday the Government will release its Mid-year Economic and Fiscal Outlook, which will reportedly show that government expenditure is around 26.2 per cent of GDP.

This means the Australian government now spends more than it spent when the Rudd government was trying to pump-prime the economy during the Global Financial Crisis (“just” 26.0 per cent of GDP was spent in the 2009-10 financial year). We are at permanent emergency levels of spending. This – not marginal changes to the efficiency of the tax system – is what Malcolm Turnbull should be spending his political capital on.

Innovation v Regulation: How Turnbull’s Pitch Fell Short

The fundamental problem with the Turnbull Government’s innovation statement is that it is a category error. The only thing governments can do to the “culture” of innovation is hurt it.

When he first took the leadership, Malcolm Turnbull was right to describe our economic growth challenge as one of boosting innovation. The problem has always been what on earth that means.

Now we know. The policies in Monday’s innovation statement try to do two things. Unfortunately, they’re both underwhelming.

First, the Government wants to buy innovation. All those tax offsets, capital gains tax exemptions, and adjustments to the way the tax office treats company losses are trying to trade government revenue for corporate innovation. Same with the money for the CSIRO and the incubator support program, money for “landing pads” in Silicon Valley and Tel Aviv, and money for quantum computing.

Can governments buy innovation? Unlikely. This is a longstanding debate in innovation policy. It is certainly true that if you throw an unlimited amount of money at professional researchers they will eventually research something useful. But as my colleague Sinclair Davidson has pointed out, the OECD is unable to find any relationship between economic growth and public spending on research and development. The OECD speculates that public spending on research crowds out private spending on research.

More prospective is the second approach taken by the Turnbull Government’s innovation statement: clearing existing regulatory barriers to private sector risk taking and entrepreneurship. In this category are the insolvency reforms – which reduce bankruptcy periods from three years to one year – safe harbours for insolvent trading, and changes to the law governing employment share schemes.

Yet these policies are miserly in comparison to the generous policies on the spending side. They barely scratch the surface.

The thing about regulatory barriers to innovation is that they exist for a reason: either because they have constituencies who support them, special interests who rely on them, or politicians who lean on them for populist benefit.

The real barriers to innovation are those steadily accumulating regulatory burdens that hold new products and services back for government approval and divert the attention of entrepreneurs to regulatory compliance.

Think how data retention has gunked up the internet industry, how the regulatory uncertainty of the NBN has slowed down telecommunications investment, how financial innovation is held back by the labyrinth of regulatory controls on financial products. The Australian Government’s left arm doesn’t know what its right arm is doing.

For instance, it takes a special kind of cognitive dissonance to ignore the fact that while the Government is trying to create Apple-like and Google-like companies in Australia, it is at the same time trying to target the real Apple and Google for what is alleged to be corporate tax avoidance.

One of the big reasons these firms have apparently low tax profiles is because they take advantage of the research and development tax credits successive governments have introduced to boost innovation.

The other reason that they have low tax profiles in Australia is simply because they’re not Australian companies, and much of their economic activity occurs offshore. Yet under the Federal Government’s multinational tax avoidance legislation (which passed both houses last week) the tax office will estimate how much tax they reckon multinational firms like Google and Apple should be paying, rather than how much they are strictly liable to pay under current tax law.

This legislation creates enormous uncertainty and is almost guaranteed to push economic activity and innovative firms out of Australia. Why would multinational companies risk being taxed twice? How on earth can the Turnbull Government reconcile its anti-global approach to corporate tax with its apparently pro-global vision in the innovation statement?

In the specific case of Google, the difference between innovation rhetoric and policy practicality is even more stark. Under our archaic intellectual property laws, an Australian Google would be unlawful. Google in the United States relies on a fair use defence in copyright legislation to copy the text of websites onto its servers for searching. But we have no equivalent fair use provision to allow such uses. Google would be legally vulnerable in Australia: our copyright laws constitute “a significant and unacceptable level of business risk”.

Yet the Australian Government has repeatedly rejected introducing a fair use exemption for copyright, despite the advocacy of the Government’s own law reform commission. Movie studios and record labels don’t want fair use, and have lobbied hard to prevent it.

The economist Mancur Olson developed an influential and depressing theory of economic growth in his 1982 book The Rise and Decline of Nations. In Mancur’s view, innovative, entrepreneurial economies develop powerful special interests over time that can prevent the sort of regulatory reform that economies need to grow.

So ask yourself this. Are there any major special interests who will be upset by what the Turnbull Government proposed in their innovation statement this week? Not really. Sadly, for all the Government’s sound and light, very little has been “disrupted”.

How to be a thoroughly liberal government

With James Paterson

On Saturday 10 April 1954, Robert Menzies gave an after dinner speech to the Institute of Public Affairs.

The event was a private one, held in Melbourne, and Menzies relished what he thought would be the ‘last opportunity’ to speak in ‘a humane and civilised fashion about the issues before this country’ before election day, which had been set for 29 May. (Menzies knew something his audience didn’t: three days later in Canberra he would announce the defection of the Soviet diplomat Vladimir Petrov, and the 1954 election would be consumed by the Petrov Affair).

The full transcript of Menzies’ speech has now been reproduced for the first time on the IPA website and an extract is available in this edition of the IPA Review. It’s a casual but fascinating exploration of his ideas of the relationship between principle and pragmatism in politics. Fascinating for two reasons: first, it gives us a picture of Menzies as a politician and leader, and second, because it offers a guide to help a modern Coalition government navigate what Menzies saw as ‘the greatest problem in politics’.

Menzies told his audience that ‘political principle, a genuine philosophy, a genuine body of doctrine in your own mind’ was ‘the most important thing in public affairs’. People go into politics ‘because they have beliefs, because they have a faith, because they believe there is something that matters for their own country.’

In Menzies’ view, the art of politics was discovering a path through which the principle can be made pragmatic. Expediency and philosophy have to work together. This was, unfortunately, a political relationship the late Abbott government was unable to forge. On two of its central challenges — fiscal policy and freedom of speech — neither necessary political compromise nor unabashed principle were allowed to flourish. Menzies’ speech gives us a clear reflection of the ethical trials of political decision-making that the new prime minister would be wise to consult.

Spending and the Australian fiscal crisis

Malcolm Turnbull takes office at a time when the process of budget repair is sclerotic at best. The Commonwealth budget has still not recovered from the Global Financial Crisis and the decisions made by the Rudd government during those years. The Rudd and Gillard government established what seems to be a permanently higher spending pattern. Commonwealth government payments — that is, spending — as a percentage of GDP is 25.9 per cent in 2015-16, down only 0.1 percentage points from 26 per cent as it was when Kevin Rudd was launching his stimulus package. By the end of the Labor government’s time in power, spending declined to 24.1 per cent in 2012-13 — in part due to deliberate effort, in part from the recovery easing welfare rolls, and partly by some creative accounting.

Yet this rollback was hopelessly incomplete. Wayne Swan made much of his belief that ‘If we are going to be Keynesians in the downturn, we have to be Keynesians on the way up again’, as he put it in a 2011 essay for the Fabian Society. Yet Swan never managed to achieve the ‘Keynesian’ budget balance which he repeatedly promised. This was partly because he could not commit to the necessary cuts, and partly because numerous policy decisions increased the spending burden on the Commonwealth budget. Indeed, Labor’s headline budget outlook was a lot worse than it looked on paper — many of their expensive new promises were to bite on the budget over the course of a decade, rather than in the next financial year. This is why the Institute of Public Affairs repeatedly urged the Rudd and Gillard government to bring the budget back to balance through spending cuts, and quickly.

Governments should not assume that budget deficits will resolve themselves. Overspending, once established, is hard to reverse. Special interests protect the privileges that come with new spending programs. Voters respond badly when government programs are taken away. Politicians soon learn that spending cuts are more politically costly than spending increases are politically beneficial. Australia’s fiscal crisis is one on the spending side, not the revenue side. Of course any imbalance in a budget can be attributed to both income and expenditure, so this is partly a question of competing values — should government be larger, or smaller?

But if Commonwealth government spending was at the level it was in the final years of the Howard government in 2006-07 and 2007-08, the budget would be in surplus today.

Underpinning the arguments that Australia is suffering a revenue shortfall, is one myth that needs to be disposed of: the significance of the end of the mining boom for the budget. For the last few years we’ve been treated to regular news stories reporting the precipitous decline in the price of iron ore and the billions of dollars that decline will strip from government revenue. It is true that iron ore is sharply down from where it was under the Rudd and Gillard governments — in 2011, iron ore was pushing nearly US$200 per dry metric ton, whereas in October 2015 that price is now down to US$52.

Yet the Howard government could only dream of such iron ore prices. The highest monthly price iron ore ever reached under Howard was US$36. The minerals market is not to blame for the budget’s problems. There are other reasons why Malcolm Turnbull and his new treasurer — Scott Morrison — ought to focus on government spending, rather than revenue, as they try to bring the budget back into balance.

First: Australia is not a low taxing country, both relative to other countries and in an absolute sense. As the IPA’s Sinclair Davidson and Mikayla Novak have argued over many years, when the proper comparisons — including the inclusion of superannuation, the health insurance mandate, and workers compensation to ensure comparability with countries that have different enforced retirement savings schemes — are made with other OECD countries, Australia’s tax take at 34.3 per cent is higher than the OECD average of 33.7 per cent.

Second: the government ought to be smaller than it is. A government which spends a third of the country’s GDP is spending that third unproductively. Perhaps by necessity — as public goods like courts and national defence have to be paid for — but we should not imagine that because taxpayer financed programs are necessary that they are well designed. The less tax Australians pay then the more Australians will have to spend and invest on things which suit their preferences, rather than the preferences of the political class.

The problem of tax reform

Joe Hockey can take some credit for launching a serious public debate about taxation when he released the tax discussion paper in March 2015. Turnbull and his Treasurer Scott Morrison have now picked up a tax inquiry process driven by Tony Abbott and Joe Hockey, which was in turn an attempt to turn the tax reform agenda away from Labor’s interest in higher taxes and towards the Coalition’s interest in lower taxes.

Yet a budget crisis is a terrible time to conduct tax reform. Every incentive in the public service leads towards tax increases. It’s easy to see the hand of Treasury behind the curtain here. Treasury appears to be convinced that we are an under taxed nation both in relation to our demands for public spending and in relation to our trading partners.

In a report published in October this year. the Productivity Commission became the first Australian government agency to admit that Australia’s tax take is higher than the OECD average once the proper comparisons are made. Yet Treasury still refuses to support this reasoning, allowing them to maintain the fiction that we are a low taxed, and, by implication, an insufficiently taxed, country.

In our IPA Review article ‘Be like Gough’, published in August 2012 with John Roskam, we observed that neophyte ministers are susceptible to capture by their departments, particularly when adequate groundwork for policy development has not been done before a ministerial appointment.

Treasury is both the most important department, and the most intellectually formidable (some high profile errors exposed by Sinclair Davidson notwithstanding). Scott Morrison has gained a reputation as a capable administrator and advocate for conservatism, but maintaining a distinctively free market vision against the prevailing winds of Treasury will be a challenge. It was a challenge that Joe Hockey unfortunately failed to surmount.

Ever since he took the leadership, Malcolm Turnbull has been arguing that tax reform has to be ‘fair’ if it is to be successful. This is an inarguable truism. But fairness is a matter of perception and perspective. It is not a quantitative criterion. Reducing the top income tax bracket will be characterised as unfair if it is not explained how disproportionate the fiscal burden weighs on the top taxpayers. Corporate tax cuts might be perceived as unfair if it is not explained that the burden of the corporate tax is felt by workers, superannuation portfolios and economic growth more generally.

That fairness is impressionistic rather than empirical should remind us that we’ve been here before. In fact the 2014 budget — on which Bill Shorten and the Labor Party hooked their focus on fairness — was specifically written to counter perceptions of unfairness. Hence the deficit levy—the 2 per cent tax increase levied on those earning $180,000 and above — in order to ‘share the pain’ of an apparently austere budget.

As a concession to expediency, it was a plainly unsuccessful one. It appeared to do nothing to mitigate the charge of unfairness emanating from Labor and the left-wing press, and bumped the top marginal tax rate — when added to the Medicare levy — to 49 per cent. And of course from the perspective of principle, it was a clear violation of the Coalition’s support for lower taxes — not just Abbott’s campaign promise to have lower taxes, but the Liberal Party’s fundamental belief in a lower fiscal burden on the economy.

There’s an intriguing detail in the first book published on the Abbott government after its demise, Battleground, by Peter van Onselen and Wayne Errington, that Turnbull, alongside Julie Bishop, opposed the deficit levy in the cabinet when it was proposed by Joe Hockey and Finance Minister Mathias Cormann. Yet since the spill, signs that the fairness debate was to be recontested on liberal — and Liberal — terms have been slim.

Turnbull’s communications skills have been much praised. They need to be used to clear the cobwebs around fairness and fiscal policy that have built up since the 2014 budget. This is less a question of policy development and more a question of public philosophy.

The GST should not be changed

In this light, it was of real concern that the tax debate under the new Turnbull government so quickly turned to whether the GST should be increased from 10 per cent to 15 per cent. Consumption taxes are theoretically more efficient than many of the taxes which make up Commonwealth revenue. But efficiency is not the most important principle of taxation. The goal of the tax system in a free country should not be, in the words of Jean Baptiste Colbert (French Minister of Finances during the reign of King Louis XIV) ‘plucking the goose as to get the most feathers with the least hissing’. The government should not try to obscure how much it is extracting from taxpayers.

The more fundamental problem with a GST rise is that there is little reason to believe that the tax system will emerge from any reform with a lower total burden on Australian taxpayers. It is certainly true that the possibility of a GST rise has been mentioned in relation to a possible income tax cut for the top marginal income bracket — a cut which is sorely overdue. But it is indicative that through leaks and briefings to journalists we have a very concrete idea of what a GST rise could constitute, but very little idea of the tax cuts that would be the reward for this GST bargain.

A GST rise with income tax cuts pushed into the never-never would be no victory.

It is possible to imagine a broad tax reform proposal that both reduces taxes and transitions the tax base from income onto less economically harmful consumption taxes. But seven years after the Rudd government established the Henry Review into taxation, that vision looks further away than ever. But politics is about momentum. Any suggestion of raising the GST should be stopped in its tracks as soon as possible.

Principle, expediency and free speech

When he took the leadership Turnbull said:

This will be a thoroughly Liberal Government. It will be a thoroughly Liberal Government committed to freedom, the individual and the market.

But it would be hard for a government to be ‘thoroughly liberal’ without reinvigorating the Liberal Party’s ideological disposition towards freedom of speech. The Abbott government’s decision to break its promise to repeal or reform section 18C of the Racial Discrimination Act in August 2014 was a major event, both at a political and policy level. This — coming so soon after the deficit levy — dashed the optimism that many on the free market right had for the Abbott government’s ability to turn the tide towards individual rights and economic freedom.

In public comments, Malcolm Turnbull has indicated that he is personally sympathetic to what has come to be known as the compromise position on section 18C — that is, the removal of the words ‘offend’ and ‘insult’ from section 18C’s prohibition on ‘offend, insult, humiliate and intimidate.’ As Morgan Begg points out in this issue of the IPA Review, this is the compromise position in Senator Bob Day’s Private Members’ Bill, currently before the parliament.

Thus, without having to stand in front of the Institute of Public Affairs, as Abbott did, and promise the repeal of section 18C in its current form, Turnbull has already built himself a test on freedom of speech.

If a thoroughly liberal government cannot bring itself to repeal two words of a law obviously antithetical to liberal values, then what can it do? As Menzies reflected back in 1954:

If you stand on the basis of principle you may go wrong but you will never go far wrong. You may go wrong according to the current political judgement, but in the long run somebody will be heard to say, “That was right”.

The Curtin–Chifley Origins of the Australian Bank Deposit Guarantee

Abstract: In 2008, the Australian government introduced a guarantee of bank deposits. However, in 1945 the Curtin–Chifley government had already introduced what it believed was an explicit bank deposit guarantee. Using archival material, this paper shows how it was understood to be a guarantee by the cabinet, Labor parliamentarians, and the Commonwealth Bank. The guarantee was an important yet almost entirely forgotten part of the Curtin–Chifley government’s social reform program. This paper uncovers the origins of the perception of a deposit guarantee in this forgotten 1945 debate, the attempts by policymakers and the Commonwealth Bank to roll back those perceptions in subsequent decades, and the Rudd government’s reversion to an explicit guarantee scheme in 2008.

Author(s): Chris Berg

Journal: Agenda

Vol: 22 Issue: 1 Year: 2015

DOI: Link

Cite: Berg, Chris. “The Curtin–Chifley Origins of the Australian Bank Deposit Guarantee.” Agenda, vol. 22, no. 1, 2015, pp. 21–43.

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