Why Britain cannot build enough of anything

 The problem is bad rules, not bad people opines The Economist

Sep 1st 2022

Duncan sandys, a Conservative minister in the 1950s and 1960s, has two reasons to be remembered. The first is that he was the “headless man” being fellated by the Duchess of Argyll in a Polaroid photo, which emerged in divorce proceedings so vicious that they were turned into a bbc One drama earlier this year.

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The second reason is less salacious. In 1955 Sandys issued a circular that fundamentally changed Britain. It implored local councils to forbid building on the edge of cities in order “a) to check the further growth of a large built-up area; b) to prevent neighbouring towns from merging into one another; or c) to preserve the special character of a town”. The authorities had tried to restrict urban growth since the reign of Elizabeth I. Now they could.

Today all four nations of the United Kingdom have green belts. About 13% of England is so designated, including the surroundings of every major city. The girdle that encloses London is three times the size of the capital. A stroll through it takes in scrubland, pony paddocks and petrol stations. In “The Blunders of our Governments”, a book by Anthony King and Ivor Crewe, the policy is held up as a rare example of legislation achieving exactly what was intended.

The green belts do their jobs well, pushing development into the rural areas between them (see maps). Indeed, most parts of the planning system work as intended. Councillors retain democratic control over the planning system. Environmental watchdogs enforce their mandates fiercely. Stringent rules protect bats, squirrels and rare fungi. Courts ensure that procedures are followed to the letter. But the system as a whole is a failure. Britain cannot build.

In total, about 10% of gdp is spent on building, compared with a g7 average of 12%. England has 434 dwellings per 1,000 people, whereas France has 590, according to the oecd, a club of mostly rich countries. There is little slack in the market. In France, about 8% of dwellings are vacant at any one time. In England, the rate is barely 1%. Britain also struggles to build reservoirs and (despite boasts from successive prime ministers) nuclear power stations. With almost 500,000 people, Leeds is the largest city in Europe without a mass transit system. What has gone wrong?

The problem starts with the Town and Country Planning Act, which nationalised the right to build on land. Where once owners could do almost as they pleased, after its passage in 1947, local councils controlled what was built where. They have never relinquished that power. The planning system has more in common with an old eastern European command economy than a functioning market, argues Anthony Breach of Centre for Cities, a think-tank. “We do not have a planning system, we have a rationing system,” he says.

Even when councils approve development, other outfits can stop it. Natural England was created in 2006 with the aim of protecting flora and fauna. After a European Court of Justice ruling in 2018, it was tasked with ensuring “nutrient neutrality”, meaning any development could not increase phosphate or nitrate pollution in rivers. Natural England came up with a blunt solution: building could not go ahead unless developers could prove it would not lead to an increase in nutrient levels, a stipulation that few could provide.

The result was a near total freeze on house-building. Local politicians and developers, who had spent years in painful negotiations, were caught out. In total, about 14% of England’s land faced extra restrictions. One industry group argues that 120,000 houses were affected, or 40% of Britain’s annual housing target. Liz Truss, the likely next prime minister, has promised to scrap the requirement, but details are scant.

Newts present as many problems as nutrients. Anyone who harms a great crested newt while building can be jailed for up to six months. Bats are a nightmare for anyone renovating or developing (enterprising nimbys sometimes install bat boxes in order to attract them to a potential site). Protected under law, it is a crime to harm a bat or destroy its roost. A full report, which involves ecologists scouring a property with bat-hunting microphones plugged into iPhones, can cost £5,000 ($5,800).

If a roost must be destroyed, a like-for-like replacement must be installed. hs2, a railway line, was forced to build a £40m bat tunnel to stop the creatures being squished; its route is lined with bat-houses, which are large enough for humans. For developers, the rules are an expensive annoyance. For bats, however, the legislation has been a success. Numbers of the common pipistrelle have almost doubled since records began in 1999.

Some schemes do not survive contact with environmental objections. A planned nuclear power station in north Wales was rejected by the planning inspectorate in 2019 partly on the ground that it might affect a local population of terns. Inspectors ruled that “it cannot be demonstrated beyond reasonable scientific doubt that the tern colony would not abandon Cemlyn Bay”. That the terns had existed next to a previous nuclear power station was little defence. Inspectors also worried about the effect construction would have on the dominance of the Welsh language.

Even small housing estates now require reams of impact assessments and consultations. A planning application used to involve a single thick folder, says Paul Smith, the managing director of Strategic Land Group, which helps customers win planning permission. Now it is a thicket of pdfs, often running to thousands of pages.

For a development of 350 houses in Staffordshire, a developer had to provide a statement of community involvement, a topographical survey, an archaeological report, an ecology appraisal, a newt survey, a bat survey, a barn owl survey, a geotechnical investigation to determine if the ground was contaminated, a landscape and visual impact assessment, a tree survey, a development framework plan, a transport statement, a design and access statement, a noise assessment, an air quality assessment, a flood risk assessment, a health impact assessment and an education impacts report. These are individually justifiable, yet collectively intolerable.

See you in court

Make an error, however, and a legal challenge will follow. Anyone affected by a decision and able to afford a judicial review can challenge a planning decision. For a group of motivated, well-off nimbys, whipping together £20,000 for a review is easy enough. In Bethnal Green, in east London, a mulberry tree blocked the conversion of a Victorian hospital into 291 flats. Dame Judi Dench, an actor, was roped in to support the tree, which was so frail it required support from a post haphazardly nailed onto one of its branches.

After a campaign, the mulberry was in 2018 designated a veteran tree, which gives it special legal rights. (The number of signatories to save the tree matched the then population of Bethnal Green.) Although the developer had proposed moving the plant, a judge ruled that the council had not properly considered the danger that it might not survive: “A policy was misinterpreted; a material consideration was ignored.” The site sits derelict today.

Councils behave rationally when it comes to development. They levy no income tax or sales tax, and cannot even fund all their operations from property taxes, known as council tax. In all, local government imposes taxes worth less than 2% of gdp, according to the oecd. So more development does not equal much more money for better services. But it does equal more complaints. Councillors often enjoy majorities of just a few dozen votes. A well-organised campaign can replace an entire council, as happened in Uttlesford, in Essex. The result is that local councils are “a bottleneck on national economic growth”, argues a joint paper by the Centre for Cities and the Resolution Foundation.

The government in Westminster can usually override local objections. “When the state decides to act, it has unlimited power,” says Andrew Adonis, a Labour peer, who oversaw the introduction of hs2. Projects such as hybrid bills allow the government to bypass the planning system, turning Parliament into a kind of planning committee. The process is so arduous that sitting on the committee is often a form of punishment from the whips who enforce party discipline. But the benefit is that courts do not challenge primary legislation. Judicial review claims bounced off hs2 like stones off a tank.

Even when the government acts, it is often cautious. A plan to turn a quarry in Kent into a settlement of 15,000 homes was one of the most ambitious schemes, when announced by George Osborne, the then-chancellor, in 2014. Yet it is around a seventh of the size of Milton Keynes, a maligned but highly successful new town begun in the 1960s.

Larger schemes, such as a push for a million homes stretching between Oxford and Cambridge, with a new railway and motorway linking them, have been ditched due to local opposition. “We were a bit out of puff,” admits a cabinet minister. Greg Smith, a Tory mp, had already put up with hs2 slicing through his constituency, and it seemed unfair to subject him to more building. In Britain, pork barrel politics works in reverse, with mps keen to keep things out of their constituencies.

As a result, Britain’s most productive region is shackled. Burgeoning life-sciences firms fight for scarce lab and office space while world-class researchers live in cramped, expensive homes. The average house price in Oxford, £474,000, is about 12 times average incomes. Given the opposition of local councils and local mps to housebuilding, though, it can hardly be said to be against voters’ will.

Britain is rare in that the Treasury functions as both a finance ministry, keeping a close eye on spending, and an economic ministry, investing for the future. Thriftiness tends to trump investment. “[The Treasury] can add up but they can’t multiply” as Diane Coyle, an economist, puts it. It shackles big infrastructure projects, balking at upfront costs even if there are large returns later on.

The result is false economies. hs2, a £100bn project to connect London to Birmingham and then Manchester, Sheffield and Leeds, was intended mostly to add capacity to Britain’s crowded railways, not (despite the name) to speed journeys up. The government recently cut the eastern leg of the scheme to save money. That it was the most beneficial part of the scheme—the eastern leg to Leeds and Sheffield had a benefit-to-cost ratio of nearly 5.6:1, compared with 2.6:1 on the western leg between London, Birmingham and Manchester—was overlooked. Joseph Bazalgette, the Victorian responsible for London’s sewer system, is said to have argued that: “We’re only going to do this once and there’s always the unforeseen”. Now, the opposite principle applies.

Political capital is less fungible than the financial kind. When it comes to building things in Britain, there is usually no alternative scheme ready to go. If a big project is scrapped, the political capital spent on forcing through its approval cannot be instantly reallocated. The slow process of winning support at a local and national level must start anew. In the meantime, nothing is built.

And Westminster can be capricious. In 2022, after years of argument, Transport for London won permission to build 351 flats on land it owned at Cockfosters Underground station. Grant Shapps, the transport secretary, blocked the development because it removed too many car parking spaces. The Leeds Supertram Act was passed in 1993. Three decades later, Leeds possesses no tram, super or not, as a series of governments refused to fund the project. In 2016 the government rejected a proposal for a trolleybus, in part because it did not think the route would reduce inequality within the city.

Scepticism among nimbys is often justified. Post-war town planners botched city centres, bulldozing through objections. Birmingham’s Victorian centre was carved up to make way for ring roads that still throttle the city. London narrowly avoided a similar fate. New developments, such as Nine Elms, manage to be expensive while looking cheap. Outside big cities, development is often limited to boxy housing estates, which are notorious for poor building quality. A Welsh property surveyor has amassed 560,000 followers on TikTok by angrily taking viewers through snags in newbuilds. (“Check out what this absolute melt has done with this hinge,” he almost screams in one video. “That is absolutely ridiculous.”)

In Oxfordshire a group of residents have spent almost a quarter of a century fighting attempts to build a reservoir. The Environment Agency and a public inquiry sided with the residents over Thames Water. The objectors are shrewd, motivated and well-versed in water regulation. The chairman of the Group Against Reservoir Development (gard) is a retired nuclear scientist; his predecessor was a brigadier. But after a summer of drought, in which Thames Water had to implement a hosepipe ban, the victory rings a little hollow.

Efforts are being made to convert the unbelievers. New planning legislation offers residents the chance to propose their own development and, in effect, approve it themselves via street votes. The government is trying to improve design standards, hoping that beautiful buildings will attract less opposition. Those who put up with infrastructure, whether wind turbines or a reservoir, may benefit from free energy or water bills under one scheme floated by ministers.

Officials are also toying with a net-zero trump card. Projects deemed crucial to making Britain emissions neutral by 2050 would be able to ride roughshod over many obstacles. At the moment policy aimed at protecting the environment hinders projects that should help the climate. The government protects flora and fauna because voters want it; circumventing such rules can only be done in the name of the environment, runs the logic.

Building is binary, however. If something is built, those who oppose it will be unhappy; if it is scrapped they will be delighted. There is little incentive to meet halfway, or to accept a payoff. “This is not some sort of poker game where we demand huge compensation,” said Derek Stork, who chairs the reservoir-killing gard. Britain cannot build. But that is just the way voters want it.

A global house-price slump is coming

 It won’t blow up the financial system, but it will be scary writes The Economist

Oct 20th 2022

Over the past decade owning a house has meant easy money. Prices rose reliably for years and then went bizarrely ballistic in the pandemic. Yet today if your wealth is tied up in bricks and mortar it is time to get nervous. House prices are now falling in nine rich economies. The drops in America are small so far, but in the wildest markets they are already dramatic. In condo-crazed Canada homes cost 9% less than they did in February. As inflation and recession stalk the world a deepening correction is likely—even estate agents are gloomy. Although this will not detonate global banks as in 2007-09, it will intensify the downturn, leave a cohort of people with wrecked finances and start a political storm.

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The cause of the crunch is soaring interest rates: in America prospective buyers have been watching, horrified, as the 30-year mortgage rate has hit 6.92%, over twice the level of a year ago and the highest since April 2002. The pandemic mini-bubble was fuelled by rate cuts, stimulus cash and a hunt for more suburban space. Now most of that is going into reverse. Take, for example, someone who a year ago could afford to put $1,800 a month towards a 30-year mortgage. Back then they could have borrowed $420,000. Today the payment is enough for a loan of $280,000: 33% less. From Stockholm to Sydney the buying power of borrowers is collapsing. That makes it harder for new buyers to afford homes, depressing demand, and can squeeze the finances of existing owners who, if they are unlucky, may be forced to sell.

The good news is that falling house prices will not cause an epic financial bust in America as they did 15 years ago. The country has fewer risky loans and better-capitalised banks which have not binged on dodgy subprime securities. Uncle Sam now underwrites or securitises two-thirds of new mortgages. The big losers will be taxpayers. Through state insurance schemes they bear the risk of defaults. As rates rise they are exposed to losses via the Federal Reserve, which owns one-quarter of mortgage-backed securities.

Some other places, such as South Korea and the Nordic countries, have seen scarier accelerations in borrowing, with household debt of around 100% of gdp. They could face destabilising losses at their banks or shadow financial firms: Sweden’s central-bank boss has likened this to “sitting on top of a volcano”. But the world’s worst housing-related financial crisis will still be confined to China, whose problems—vast speculative excess, mortgage strikes, people who have pre-paid for flats which have not been built—are, mercifully, contained within its borders.

Even without a synchronised global banking crash, though, the housing downturn will be grim. First, because gummed-up property markets are a drag on the jobs market. As rates rise and prices gradually adjust, the uncertainty makes people hesitant about moving. Sales of existing homes in America dropped by 20% in August year on year, and Zillow, a housing firm, reports 13% fewer new listings than the seasonal norm. In Canada sales volumes could drop by 40% this year. When people cannot move, it saps labour markets of dynamism, a big worry when companies are trying to adapt to worker shortages and the energy crisis. And when prices do plunge, homeowners can find their homes are worth less than their mortgages, making it even harder to up sticks—a problem that afflicted many economies after the global financial crisis.

Lower house prices also hurt growth in a second way: they make already-gloomy consumers even more miserable. Worldwide, homes are worth about $250trn (for comparison, stockmarkets are worth only $90trn), and account for half of all wealth. As that edifice of capital crumbles, consumers are likely to cut back on spending. Though a cooler economy is what central banks intend to bring about by raising interest rates, collapsing confidence can take on a momentum of its own.

A further problem is concentrated pain borne by a minority of homeowners. By far the most exposed are those who have not locked in interest rates and face soaring mortgage bills. Relatively few are in America, where subsidised 30-year fixed-rate mortgages are the norm. But four in five Swedish loans have a fixed period of two years or less, and half of all New Zealand’s fixed-rate mortgages have been or are due for refinancing this year.

When combined with a cost-of-living squeeze, that points to a growing number of households in financial distress. In Australia perhaps a fifth of all mortgage debt is owed by households who will see their spare cashflow fall by 20% or more if interest rates rise as expected. In Britain 2m households could see their mortgage absorb another 10% of their income, according to one estimate. Those who cannot afford the payments may have to dump their houses on the market instead.

That is where the political dimension comes in. Housing markets are already a battleground. Thickets of red tape make it too hard to build new homes in big cities, leading to shortages. A generation of young people in the rich world feel they have been unfairly excluded from home ownership. Although lower house prices will reduce the deposit needed to obtain a mortgage, it is first-time buyers who depend most on debt financing, which is now expensive. And a whole new class of financially vulnerable homeowners are about to join the ranks of the discontented.

Dangerous properties

Having bailed out the economy repeatedly in the past 15 years, most Western governments will be tempted to come to the rescue yet again. In America fears of a housing calamity have led some to urge the Fed to slow its vital rate rises. Spain is reported to be considering limiting rising mortgage payments, and Hungary has already done so. Expect more countries to follow.

That could see governments’ debts rise still further and encourage the idea that home ownership is a one-way bet backed by the state. And it would also do little to solve the underlying problems that bedevil the rich world’s housing markets, many of which are due to ill-guided and excessive government intervention, from mortgage subsidies and distortive taxes to excessively onerous planning rules. As an era of low interest rates comes to an end, a home-price crunch is coming—and there is no guarantee of a better housing market at the end of it all. ■

Even super-tight monetary policy is not bringing down inflation

 

Welcome to Hikelandia, writes The Economist, where price growth just won’t cool

Oct 23rd 2022 | SANTIAGO

It feels a little unfair. In July 2021, as rate-setters in America and Europe dismissed the risk of entrenched inflation, the Central Bank of Chile got its act together. Worried that inflation would rise and stay high, its policymakers voted unanimously to lift rates from 0.5% to 0.75%. The bank has since raised again and again, outpacing investors’ expectations and taking the policy rate all the way up to 11.25%. Perhaps no other central bank has pursued price stability with such dedication.

Has the star pupil been rewarded? Hardly. In September Chile’s prices rose by 14% year on year. The central bank’s preferred measure of core inflation accelerated to 11% year on year.

Chile’s example speaks to a wider problem. Many pundits say that if only the Federal Reserve, the European Central Bank and others had “got ahead of the curve” by quickly raising rates last year, the world would not be struggling with high inflation today. The experience of Chile, and other places that tightened early and aggressively, casts doubt on that argument. All over the world, it is proving extraordinarily difficult to crush prices.

The Economist has gathered data on Chile and seven other countries in which the central bank started a tightening cycle at least a year ago, and did so after having slashed interest rates to an all-time low early in the covid-19 pandemic. The group includes Brazil, Hungary, New Zealand, Norway, South Korea, Peru and Poland. Although Russia would have qualified, we have excluded it because its circumstances are unique.

Call the unlikely gang “Hikelandia”. In the year to October 2022 the median economy in Hikelandia raised rates by about six percentage points. If as expected the Federal Reserve raises rates by 0.75 percentage points on November 2nd, America’s cumulative increase over the past year will still be nowhere near as big.

Unsurprisingly, turning the monetary screws has slowed Hikelandia’s economy. The housing sector has quickly come off the boil as mortgage rates have risen. House prices are drifting down in New Zealand. South Korea’s pandemic housing boom has ended. Goldman Sachs, a bank, produces a “current-activity indicator”, a real-time measure of economic strength. Using its data, we find that Hikelandia’s economy is weakening relative to the global average. And there is worse to come. Chile’s central bank expects gdp to shrink next year.

Inflation, however, remains stubborn. Central banks often focus on the rate of “core” inflation, which excludes volatile components such as energy and food, and better reflects domestic inflationary pressures. In September core inflation in Hikelandia’s economy hit 9.5%, year on year, up 3.5 percentage points from March. Worse still, the gap between global core inflation and Hikelandia’s reading seems to be widening, not shrinking.

Dig into the national statistics of Hikelandia, and the trends become even more concerning. Chile’s wage growth continues to accelerate. In September South Korea’s inflation rate in the labour-intensive service sector was 4.2% year on year, its highest since the early 2000s. In the past six months Hungary’s service-sector inflation has climbed from 7.2% to 11.5%. Across the club, inflation is becoming more “dispersed”, affecting a wider range of goods and services. In September the price of 89% of the components of Norway’s inflation basket rose by more than 2% year on year, up from 53% six months before. In research on Poland, published in late September, economists at Goldman Sachs found evidence that “underlying inflation momentum has picked up again”.

Hikelandia’s struggles raise three possibilities. The first is that it is currently unrealistic to expect inflation to fall. Research suggests that there are lags, sometimes long ones, between tighter monetary policy and lower inflation. It is also tricky to control inflation when almost every currency is depreciating against the dollar, making imports more expensive. All this may be true. But after being surprised again and again by inflation, you would be brave to bet that Hikelandia’s inflation will soon be anywhere near central banks’ targets, even if conditions begin to improve.

The second possibility is that policymakers, including those in Hikelandia, have not been sufficiently courageous. Perhaps central banks should have raised interest rates more aggressively. This is an argument stridently made by Chile’s remaining “Chicago Boys”, libertarian economists who spearheaded the country’s free-market reforms in the 1970s.

Governments might also do more to help out. After ramping up spending when the pandemic struck, the median budget deficit in Hikelandia has fallen, but is still wide at 3% of gdp. Further increases to taxes or cuts to public spending would help reduce demand. Yet this strategy carries risks, too. Implementing austerity during a cost-of-living crisis would be deeply unpopular. And Chile, which has nonetheless taken the plunge and is forecast to run a budget surplus this year, is still seeing little payoff in terms of lower inflation.

That leads to a third possibility—and the most worrying one. Perhaps inflation is simply harder to stop than anyone could have predicted a year ago. In a report published in the summer the Bank for International Settlements, a club for central banks, hinted at this possibility. In a “low-inflation regime”, the norm before the pandemic, no one paid much attention to prices, ensuring they did not rise quickly. But in a “high-inflation regime”, such as in the 1970s, households and firms start to track inflation closely, leading in time to “behavioural changes that could entrench it”. If the world has shifted from one norm to another, then more creative tools will be needed to cool prices. 

Censorship in the UK and USA

 

A political backlash against monetary policy is looming

Martin Sandbu in The FT

Three weeks ago, Sanna Marin, Finland’s prime minister, retweeted a link to an article by a Finnish academic together with the following quote: “There is something seriously wrong with the prevailing ideas of monetary policy when central banks protect their credibility by driving economies into recession.” 

Defenders of those prevailing ideas predictably pushed back, warning against second-guessing independent central banks or not valuing their credibility. But defensiveness is the wrong response. Not just because Marin didn’t actually criticise any central bank actions. But, more profoundly, because avoiding a debate over whether our macroeconomic regime is fit for purpose is more perilous than having one. 

Comparisons with the 1970s often fail to notice one important lesson of that decade: a macroeconomic regime that cannot justify itself will be toppled, first intellectually, then politically. It was from the ashes of 1970s monetary chaos that theories were born justifying independent central banks with a mandate to keep inflation low. Before the century was out, independent inflation-targeting was de rigueur in most advanced economies. 

Forty years on, a new intellectual and political reckoning would be less surprising than the absence of one. The “great moderation” produced by the 1980s monetary revolution has in many countries long been accompanied by stagnant wages for the low paid. The glacial recovery from the global financial crisis prompted the world’s two biggest central banks to revise their policy framework during the pandemic. In 2020 and 2021, the Federal Reserve and the European Central Bank vowed to tolerate a period of higher inflation if employment had further to rise or there would be little room to loosen policy in case of a downturn. But this new attitude fell at the first hurdle. 

With cost of living crises biting and recessions looming in key advanced economies, what are the odds of avoiding a more profound reckoning for much longer? Marin is not the only national leader expressing unease about central banks. French president Emmanuel Macron recently worried aloud about “experts and European monetary policymakers telling us we must crush European demand to contain inflation better”. 

Precisely because central bankers are independent, it falls to political leaders to tell their citizens why it is right to meet Russian energy blackmail with actions to clamp down further on incomes and jobs. They would be remiss if they did not question whether this is the best we can do. 

In comparison, central bankers have it easy. They have legally imposed inflation-fighting mandates, which are not for them to question. And they have an argument: that losing their “credibility” — by which they mean people no longer believe they can keep inflation low — will cost even more jobs and lost income. 

But the credibility of central banks itself is only as good as the credibility of the macroeconomic regime as a whole. That is not to say central bank independence should be jettisoned, but to ask openly whether it actually works for the economy. 

In pursuit of individual mandates central banks may be collectively overtightening, as Maurice Obstfeld has suggested. Or monetary policy uncoordinated with fiscal policy may be making matters worse, as Marin hinted in follow-up comments. 

The IMF has warned governments against budgeting “at cross-purposes” with monetary tightening. But raising interest rates puts monetary policy at cross-purposes with fiscal policy priorities such as investing in the green transition or, indeed, in energy infrastructure that would itself remedy energy-induced inflation. Even if monetary considerations should take priority, such monetary dominance is undoubtedly something to be democratically debated, not technocratically imposed. 

It may even be that central bankers are not independent enough but cave in to the political pressure arising from each new monthly record in current inflation, rather than coolly focusing on their benign medium-term forecasts. 

Like in the 1980s, in time bright economists will suggest better ways of designing monetary policy against energy price shocks. And unless we have a lucky escape from a sharp downturn this winter, a political backlash is surely coming too. The alternative to openly debating these issues in a democratic space is to let that backlash fester until it breaks out in the more radical and dangerous form of a populist assault on institutions. Central banks’ credibility would not be worth much then.

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