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Saturday 18 April 2009

Consumption Dwarfs Population As Main Environmental Threat


 

By Fred Pearce

17 April, 2009
The Guardian

It is hubris to downgrade the culpability of the rich world's environmental footprint because generations of poor people not yet born might one day get to be as rich and destructive as us. Overpopulation is not driving environmental destruction; overconsumption is, argues Fred Pearce.

 

It's the great taboo, I hear many environmentalists say. Population growth is the driving force behind our wrecking of the planet, but we are afraid to discuss it.

 

It sounds like a no-brainer. More people must inevitably be bad for the environment, taking more resources and causing more pollution, driving the planet ever farther beyond its carrying capacity. But hold on. This is a terribly convenient argument — "over-consumers" in rich countries can blame "over-breeders" in distant lands for the state of the planet. But what are the facts?

The world's population quadrupled to six billion people during the 20th century. It is still rising and may reach 9 billion by 2050. Yet for at least the past century, rising per-capita incomes have outstripped the rising head count several times over. And while incomes don't translate precisely into increased resource use and pollution, the correlation is distressingly strong.

Moreover, most of the extra consumption has been in rich countries that have long since given up adding substantial numbers to their population.

 

By almost any measure, a small proportion of the world's people take the majority of the world's resources and produce the majority of its pollution. Take carbon dioxide emissions — a measure of our impact on climate but also a surrogate for fossil fuel consumption. Stephen Pacala, director of the Princeton Environment Institute, calculates that the world's richest half-billion people — that's about 7 percent of the global population — are responsible for 50 percent of the world's carbon dioxide emissions. Meanwhile the poorest 50 percent are responsible for just 7 percent of emissions.

 

Although overconsumption has a profound effect on greenhouse gas emissions, the impacts of our high standard of living extend beyond turning up the temperature of the planet. For a wider perspective of humanity's effects on the planet's life support systems, the best available measure is the "ecological footprint," which estimates the area of land required to provide each of us with food, clothing, and other resources, as well as to soak up our pollution. This analysis has its methodological problems, but its comparisons between nations are firm enough to be useful.

 

They show that sustaining the lifestyle of the average American takes 9.5 hectares, while Australians and Canadians require 7.8 and 7.1 hectares respectively; Britons, 5.3 hectares; Germans, 4.2; and the Japanese, 4.9. The world average is 2.7 hectares. China is still below that figure at 2.1, while India and most of Africa (where the majority of future world population growth will take place) are at or below 1.0.

 

The United States always gets singled out. But for good reason: It is the world's largest consumer. Americans take the greatest

share of most of the world's major commodities: corn, coffee, copper, lead, zinc, aluminum, rubber, oil seeds, oil, and natural gas. For many others, Americans are the largest per-capita consumers. In "super-size-me" land, Americans gobble up more than 120 kilograms of meat a year per person, compared to just 6 kilos in India, for instance.

 

I do not deny that fast-rising populations can create serious local environmental crises through overgrazing, destructive farming and fishing, and deforestation. My argument here is that viewed at the global scale, it is overconsumption that has been driving humanity's impacts on the planet's vital life-support systems during at least the past century. But what of the future?

 

We cannot be sure how the global economic downturn will play out. But let us assume that Jeffrey Sachs, in his book Common Wealth, is right to predict a 600 percent increase in global economic output by 2050. Most projections put world population then at no more than 40 percent above today's level, so its contribution to future growth in economic activity will be small.

 

Of course, economic activity is not the same as ecological impact. So let's go back to carbon dioxide emissions. Virtually all of the extra 2 billion or so people expected on this planet in the coming 40 years will be in the poor half of the world. They will raise the population of the poor world from approaching 3.5 billion to about 5.5 billion, making them the poor two-thirds.

 

Sounds nasty, but based on Pacala's calculations — and if we assume for the purposes of the argument that per-capita emissions in every country stay roughly the same as today — those extra two billion people would raise the share of emissions contributed by the poor world from 7 percent to 11 percent.

 

Look at it another way. Just five countries are likely to produce most of the world's population growth in the coming decades: India, China, Pakistan, Nigeria, and Ethiopia. The carbon emissions of one American today are equivalent to those of around four Chinese, 20 Indians, 30 Pakistanis, 40 Nigerians, or 250 Ethiopians.

 

 

Even if we could today achieve zero population growth, that would barely touch the climate problem — where we need to cut emissions by 50 to 80 percent by mid-century. Given existing income inequalities, it is inescapable that overconsumption by the rich few is the key problem, rather than overpopulation of the poor many.

 

But, you ask, what about future generations? All those big families in Africa begetting yet-bigger families. They may not consume much today, but they soon will.

 

Well, first let's be clear about the scale of the difference involved. A woman in rural Ethiopia can have ten children and her family will still do less damage, and consume fewer resources, than the family of the average soccer mom in Minnesota or Munich. In the unlikely event that her ten children live to adulthood and have ten children of their own, the entire clan of more than a hundred will still be emitting less carbon dioxide than you or I.

 

And second, it won't happen. Wherever most kids survive to adulthood, women stop having so many. That is the main reason why the number of children born to an average woman around the world has been in decline for half a century now. After peaking at between 5 and 6 per woman, it is now down to 2.6.

 

This is getting close to the "replacement fertility level" which, after allowing for a natural excess of boys born and women who don't reach adulthood, is about 2.3. The UN expects global fertility to fall to 1.85 children per woman by mid-century. While a demographic "bulge" of women of child-bearing age keeps the world's population rising for now, continuing declines in fertility will cause the world's population to stabilize by mid-century and then probably to begin falling.

 

Far from ballooning, each generation will be smaller than the last. So the ecological footprint of future generations could diminish. That means we can have a shot at estimating the long-term impact of children from different countries down the generations.

The best analysis of this phenomenon I have seen is by Paul Murtaugh, a statistician at Oregon State University. He recently calculated the climatic "intergenerational legacy" of today's children. He assumed current per-capita emissions and UN fertility projections. He found that an extra child in the United States today will, down the generations, produce an eventual carbon footprint seven times that of an extra Chinese child, 46 times that of a Pakistan child, 55 times that of an Indian child, and 86 times that of a Nigerian child.

 

Of course those assumptions may not pan out. I have some confidence in the population projections, but per-capita emissions of carbon dioxide will likely rise in poor countries for some time yet, even in optimistic scenarios. But that is an issue of consumption, not population.

 

In any event, it strikes me as the height of hubris to downgrade the culpability of the rich world's environmental footprint because generations of poor people not yet born might one day get to be as rich and destructive as us. Overpopulation is not driving environmental destruction at the global level; overconsumption is. Every time we talk about too many babies in Africa or India, we are denying that simple fact.

 

At root this is an ethical issue. Back in 1974, the famous environmental scientist Garret Hardin proposed something he called "lifeboat ethics". In the modern, resource-constrained world, he said, "each rich nation can be seen as a lifeboat full of comparatively rich people. In the ocean outside each lifeboat swim the poor of the world, who would like to get in." But there were, he said, not enough places to go around. If any were let on board, there would be chaos and all would drown. The people in the lifeboat had a duty to their species to be selfish – to keep the poor out.

 

Hardin's metaphor had a certain ruthless logic. What he omitted to mention was that each of the people in the lifeboat was occupying ten places, whereas the people in the water only wanted one each. I think that changes the argument somewhat.




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Return to the kibbutz

By Michael Hodges

Published: April 17 2009 17:52 | Last updated: April 17 2009 17:52


Hodges in Amiad this year


I grew up in Scarborough, in North Yorkshire, a town caught between wind-blasted moorland and the grey North Sea. When I left school in 1980, aged 16, Scarborough had started its long slide from popular resort to down-at-heel seaside town – a decline exacerbated by cheap holidays to Spain and Thatcherism’s assault on British manufacturing. As I shuffled between the dole in winter and hotel work in summer, my life seemed to have ground to an early halt. Then, in 1982, a friend came up with an out. “Israel,” he pronounced, “the Holy Land”.

Sipping brown ale in a northern pub, the Holy Land seemed an unlikely destination, but others had made the same journey before me. In 1096, William de Percy, the Norman lord of the borough, died in sight of Jerusalem after butchering his way across Palestine in the first crusade. De Percy was one of the most powerful barons in the land; I was a skinhead wine waiter with no money. But as my friend pointed out, if I could get to a kibbutz, I’d be housed, clothed and fed. And there would be girls.

I’d heard of kibbutzim before, but like five-year plans and pig iron quotas, the name evoked socialist pioneering in the 1930s rather than an answer to my immediate economic needs in the 1980s. However, for 20 years, the Israeli collective farms – the first of which was founded as early as 1909 – had been accepting non-Jewish voluntary workers from overseas. In return for our labour, we would be given beds, a small amount of money, and – this seemed the important bit – the opportunity to take part in a permanent party.

When I asked my father for the £100 I needed to get to Israel, I discovered he didn’t share my relative ignorance about the kibbutz movement and its role – staking a physical claim to the land – in the Zionist struggle against the British mandate in Palestine. As a boy in the late 1940s, he had watched Pathé news reports of bitter fighting as Britain attempted to control a country sundered by Jewish and Arab national aspirations. He remembered anti-Jewish rioting across the north of England in response to a terror campaign by the underground groups Irgun Tzvai-Leumi (in its Hebrew acronym, Etzel) and the Stern Gang (Lehi). One incident in particular upset him. On July 12 1947, the Irgun kidnapped two British army sergeants, and 17 days later, following the execution of three Irgunists by the mandate authorities, hanged them. One of the men’s booby-trapped bodies was left in a grove of eucalyptus trees; a British officer attempting to cut it down was wounded when he triggered an explosive device.

“Why,” my father complained four decades later, “should you help the Zionists?”

And yet my mother’s desire to see me avoid a future of serving Blue Nun to hard-up holidaymakers must have overruled those sentiments. She lent me the £100 and, like De Percy but minus the retinue, I headed for the Holy Land.

. . .

A year and a half before those British army sergeants were murdered, just before sunrise on January 17 1946, a convoy of trucks carrying prefabricated huts, wooden fence posts and barbed wire struggled up a winding road leading from the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee to the heights above. Jewish journalists and officials from the Jewish National Fund rode alongside 28 volunteers – young men and women – from the Palmach, the commando arm of the official Jewish militia, Haganah.


Hodges with a young kibbutznik, 1982
The party stopped at the remains of a 15th-century khan – a roadside inn built by the Mameluks, former slave soldiers turned rulers of Egypt and Palestine. It was a well-chosen site: for more than 4,000 years, it had overlooked the Via Maris, the ancient route from Egypt to Damascus. The hills had witnessed the armies of the Pharaohs, Alexander, Rome, the Caliphs, Ottoman emperors and the British. Now, on the eve of the Zionists’ struggle for control of this land, it was a vital link between the main areas of Jewish population in central Palestine and the more exposed settlements in the north-east.

Hasholim, the name the party gave to the outpost, was to become the 25th Jewish settlement in the Upper Galilee. After a founding ceremony beneath the red flag of socialism, the trucks, politicians and press departed, leaving the 28 Palmach members to prepare for what Israelis call the War of Independence and Palestinians the Nakba, or catastrophe, that followed Britain’s ignominious withdrawal in 1948.

When the war ended, nine months after it began, in March 1949, Hasholim had done its job: the road to the north had stayed open. Logically, the settlers would have dismantled their huts and moved on – the mountainside was barren and the little land they had was scattered with boulders. But, inspired by the site and imbued with a sense that they were re-establishing a Jewish presence after a 2,000-year absence, they voted instead to stay and re-establish Hasholim as a kibbutz. They changed its name to Amiad – “my nation for ever”.

I left my own nation in early January 1982 and arrived at Amiad at the end of the month, carrying a haversack stuffed with English cigarettes, socks and Fred Perry T-shirts. The kibbutz was no longer a lonely outpost; the boulders had been cleared and basketball courts, bomb shelters and a swimming pool built. A brutalist 1970s-style assembly hall hosted general meetings, where the community’s members cast their votes on kibbutz business. (For an ordinary motion to pass, a simple majority was required; special cases had to have a two-thirds majority.)

The kibbutzniks lived in single-storey houses – the original huts were now designated for volunteers like me – and we all ate together in a communal dining room. Fifty-year leases granted for free by the Israel Land Authority had helped to make up for the lack of good agricultural land: Amiad now grew bananas 12km away by the shore of the Sea of Galilee, cotton 30km away beneath the Golan Heights and had citrus groves on a third site 14km from the settlement. I was given a position in Amiad’s water filter factory. Instead of opening bottles in England, I was pressing parts for pumps, clunking down the stainless-steel stamps for four-hour shifts and listening to old rock ’n’ roll hits on Israel Army radio with the chain-smoking foreman.

On my second night at Amiad, I had queued in the dining hall behind an old man and was shocked to realise that the tattoo on his arm was a concentration camp number. He wasn’t the only Holocaust survivor living there, but many more of the 200 members had come from England. Devora Beth and her husband left London in 1954, “idealistic and committed to Israel”. Barry Coleman came from a “devoted Zionist” Manchester home. He had belonged to the Zionist movement since he was 13; galvanised by the 1967 Six Day War, he moved to Amiad a year later. Adam Bloom, only a few months older than me, had emigrated from Middlesex with his family in 1977, a year after his bar mitzvah.


The Amiad banana grove
I naturally gravitated towards the younger members like Adam, and they in their turn were drawn to the (largely British) volunteers’ approach to communal living. On Friday nights, we smoked potent Lebanese dope in our huts and drank shabbat wine taken from the dining hall. On the four evenings a week when the kibbutz bar opened its doors, we drank gallons of beer and danced wildly to punk and ska records, a revelation to kibbutzniks brought up on Leonard Cohen.

Often drunk or stoned, we had no sense of danger, yet only a few miles away, in southern Lebanon, was Fatahland, the state-within-a-state run by the Palestine Liberation Organisation. PLO guerilla fighters fired rockets into Galilee; they were landing 20 miles from Amiad. The guerillas were also threatening to edge their way southward, and Syrian Air Force MiGs were only minutes away should Damascus declare war. Yet when we – the young volunteers – were shown the bomb shelters, and when the elders explained to us the drill for an attack, we laughed and went back to the bar.

We shouldn’t have laughed: although I didn’t know it then, Israel was preparing for conflict again. Menachem Begin, the rightwing prime minister, ex-leader of Irgun and once on Britain’s list of most-wanted terrorists, and his minister of defence Ariel Sharon were planning to destroy Fatah.

Occasionally, the signs of war broke through the fug of beer and dope. The PLO rockets continued to come over the border, and Adam and the other 18-year-olds were called up for their compulsory three-year military service. The kibbutzniks supported the Israeli action. Their argument was simple, and one the world would hear again: the rocket attacks had to be stopped.

. . .

In the early hours of June 6 1982, young kibbutzniks knocked on the doors of our huts. Bleary-eyed and still swaying with the effects of drink, we were led to a nearby hill to watch the opening of Operation Peace for Galilee. In the valley below Amiad, an Israeli tank regiment turned on its headlights, gunned its engines and lumbered towards the border. With the invasion forces went barely trained young kibbutz conscripts like Adam, cast into the cauldron of Lebanon.

Meanwhile, I was moved from the filtration factory to the kibbutz paint shop, where I brushed brown and grey camouflage paint on to prefabricated steel-bridge segments that would be used by the Israel Defence Force.

Before the invasion, my father had sent me football reports from British newspapers. Now he sent me clippings about the carnage in Lebanon. The Syrian Air Force had been swept from the skies, the PLO was being chased back to Beirut, and towns and villages were falling after devastating air and artillery attacks. As I read, I became increasingly uneasy about my unwitting collusion in the conflict. To conquer Lebanon from the south, you must cross the rivers that run east to west down the escarpment of Mount Lebanon – crossings made possible by the pontoon bridges I spent my days painting.

Twelve weeks into the war, I left Amiad and worked my way back to Yorkshire.

. . .

A few days after my return, the BBC reported that Christian Lebanese militiamen had been allowed past the Israeli tanks surrounding Palestinian refugee camps Sabra and Chatilla, in west Beirut. A slaughter followed; the Palestinian Red Crescent said 2,000 people died, the Israelis 700 to 800.

Watching the reports alongside my solemn father, I became disillusioned with Israel. And in the months and years following, I failed to keep in touch with the friends I had made at Amiad. It was half out of laziness but also partly unease.


Hodges talks with an old friend in the kibbutz nursery
After five years as an unsuccessful musician, I went to college as a mature student, then contrived to be appointed as the astrology columnist on a boy band magazine. Working my way through 1990s magazine publishing, I arrived at a men’s title just in time for the boom years. I had never really recovered from my encounter with the Middle East and now I took up any and every opportunity to return. I reported from occupied Iraq, from Kuwait, Egypt, Lebanon, Israel and the Palestinian territories. I interviewed Israelis in the shadow of suicide bombs, wandered dazed through the devastation of Jenin and watched an ailing Yasser Arafat outside his wrecked Palestinian Authority headquarters in Ramallah.

Although I often passed nearby, I did not go back to Amiad. Still uneasy, perhaps, with the memory of a naive teenager painting pontoon bridges, I resisted the idea of returning, a decision supported by an online news story I read in January 2004. Troops from the Israel Defence Force Chaplaincy Corps had retrieved the decomposing remains of 53 men from a burial site in the Upper Galilee. The dead were Hezbollah guerillas, killed by the Israelis across the nearby Lebanese border. The bodies were bargaining chips, to be exchanged for Israel’s dead and missing in Lebanon. As I scrolled down the page, I came across the name of the site of the digging: Amiad. It had become a grotesque storehouse, a prison camp for the dead.

Then, in August last year, I was sent to report, with an irony I couldn’t resist, on a Lebanese festival celebrating the 50-year anniversary of the peace symbol. The event, windswept and a little downbeat, took place on a beach near Tyre, scene of heavy fighting in 1982 and again during Israel’s 2006 invasion of Lebanon. Afterwards, my driver looped up through the hills and suddenly I was looking across the border to the first slopes of the Galilee mountains. Just beyond lay Amiad.

Does this region have a unique hold on the western world’s imagination? The American academic Barbara Tuchman has argued that, because of the Bible’s central position in Britain’s protestant culture, the British will always have “one foot in Palestine”. Driving along the border, I realised I still had one of mine in Amiad.

In 1969, the British travel writer Colin Thubron published an account of his time in Israel. Jerusalem opens with the following line: “Among the oldest visions of man none is more persistent than the hope of returning one day to a half-remembered innocence.” Arriving back in London after that August assignment, I thought more about Thubron’s words and my own half-remembered innocence, and more about returning to Amiad 27 years on.

By December, I’d planned the trip. I’d fly that January.

As a teenager, I had come to Israel on the eve of war. This time, a different war was ending. Transporter trucks laden with tanks were returning from Gaza, just as I had watched them drive into Lebanon three decades before. This fight had been far shorter but equally terrible; Palestinians claim they lost 1,330 lives. Israel disputes that number.


Adam Bloom points to the Israeli military base on the hill above Amiad
Every Israeli I met defended the bombing of Gaza with the same words: “The terrorist attacks must stop.” The people seemed cold and bad-tempered – as if a whole nation had been backed into a corner. And when I had finally made the three-hour journey from Jerusalem to Amiad, even the kibbutzniks seemed unhappy. The place had changed. What had formerly been a rural landscape was practically urban. The thin stretch of tarmac that once ran past the settlement had become four lanes, and a new village had appeared between the crossroads and the kibbutz. A wine shop had opened – though the winery that supplied it had failed – and the volunteers’ huts had been torn down, replaced with new housing for members. From one of these houses emerged a figure I recognised.

The years had marked him with grey but Adam Bloom still looked and sounded like the cocky young Londoner I remembered. As with most Israelis, he had travelled after finishing his military service. He lived in England for eight years (we had even lived near each other in London for some of that time) but an incident there brought him back to Israel – and Amiad. “I was working in a bar near Hendon in the late 1980s and some policeman subjected me to an anti-Semitic tirade. I knew in that moment that there was only one place for a Jew to escape that.”

Adam and I walked out to the khan together. I had once lain on my back among its tumbledown stones and looked up at stars. No longer. Light pollution had done for stargazing. Adam pointed at the new skyline: a cluster of communication aerials adorning the military base that had grown on the hill above Amiad. During the 2006 invasion of Lebanon, Hezbollah had rained rockets on it. More than 30 fell around Amiad, and for all his chippiness, Adam seemed weary, much like his country at large. The peace process had unravelled and with it the fortunes of the left, of which the kibbutz was such an integral part.

In the previous elections, 90 per cent of Amiad members voted for Labour. Now Adam wasn’t sure that support would hold up. “I will not be surprised by a big swing to the right because Likud and Kadima offer a much more militant attitude to Israel’s security. While we are still at war on so many fronts, maybe it is for the better.”

. . .

More had changed at Amiad than political leanings. In 2004, in a poignant echo of the 1948 vote to establish a kibbutz, members voted to effectively disestablish it. Communal living and equality were replaced with private property, wages and dividends from the profits. Adam voted against the changes but “we lost the debate, the younger people were for it and many older people voted ‘yes’ because they wanted their children to stay here.”

Yet the young people are not coming back as soon as had been hoped – the average age there is 57 – and the older members have struggled to adapt. When I met Devorah Beth in the communal hall, she admitted the changes had been unsettling. “It was a shock for the older people. I have always had enough to live a good life. We had what we needed and we knew the kibbutz would care for us. My husband died in March 2004 after a period of illness. I had to pay for a carer and medical charges. If it had been 1994, I would not have had to pay.”

Amiad hasn’t just lost the ability to provide for its members. In 1982, I had argued with young kibbutzniks in the bar – “How can you be socialist and nationalist? Surely socialism must be blind to race?” Their conviction that it was possible to build a state at once Jewish and socialist seemed to have diminished along with the fortunes of the whole kibbutz movement. The red flag no longer flies above Amiad, and the old Zionist-Socialist dream is just that, a dream that is fading amid economic reality and a country leaning so far to the political right that the Labour party managed only fourth place in the general election held after my visit. The first- and second-place parties are deeply distrusting of the peace process; the one that came in third rejects it entirely.


Original 1940s accommodation
“I would be the first to drive to Damascus,” Adam claimed as we said goodbye. “To drink coffee in the souk and buy a nice carpet. Who wouldn’t want peace? We have no territorial ambitions, except for buffer zones to keep the loonies as far away from us as possible.”

Looking out on the highway, I thought back to 1982 – the tanks on the road, the kibbutzniks’ talk of “security” and the rightwing prime minister leading a country to 20 years of occupation in Lebanon in the name of “Peace for Galilee”.

I had one more question for Adam. Where had the Hezbollah fighters’ bodies been buried? He gestured at the army base on the hill above. But the news reports had said the bodies were found on the kibbutz, I protested. “No, on the base,” he replied, a little jaded. “I was going to complain. But I didn’t.”

Amid the thousands of deaths that the hills of Israel, Lebanon and Palestine have witnessed, and the prospect of thousands to come, what did the correct position of 53 corpses matter?

Michael Hodges is the author of ‘AK47: The Story of the People’s Gun’ and is a regular contributor to FT Weekend Magazine

Wednesday 8 April 2009

Ten principles for a Black Swan-proof world

By Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Published: April 7 2009 20:02 | Last updated: April 7 2009 20:02

1. What is fragile should break early while it is still small. Nothing should ever become too big to fail. Evolution in economic life helps those with the maximum amount of hidden risks – and hence the most fragile – become the biggest.

2. No socialisation of losses and privatisation of gains. Whatever may need to be bailed out should be nationalised; whatever does not need a bail-out should be free, small and risk-bearing. We have managed to combine the worst of capitalism and socialism. In France in the 1980s, the socialists took over the banks. In the US in the 2000s, the banks took over the government. This is surreal.

3. People who were driving a school bus blindfolded (and crashed it) should never be given a new bus. The economics establishment (universities, regulators, central bankers, government officials, various organisations staffed with economists) lost its legitimacy with the failure of the system. It is irresponsible and foolish to put our trust in the ability of such experts to get us out of this mess. Instead, find the smart people whose hands are clean.

4. Do not let someone making an “incentive” bonus manage a nuclear plant – or your financial risks. Odds are he would cut every corner on safety to show “profits” while claiming to be “conservative”. Bonuses do not accommodate the hidden risks of blow-ups. It is the asymmetry of the bonus system that got us here. No incentives without disincentives: capitalism is about rewards and punishments, not just rewards.

5. Counter-balance complexity with simplicity. Complexity from globalisation and highly networked economic life needs to be countered by simplicity in financial products. The complex economy is already a form of leverage: the leverage of efficiency. Such systems survive thanks to slack and redundancy; adding debt produces wild and dangerous gyrations and leaves no room for error. Capitalism cannot avoid fads and bubbles: equity bubbles (as in 2000) have proved to be mild; debt bubbles are vicious.

6. Do not give children sticks of dynamite, even if they come with a warning . Complex derivatives need to be banned because nobody understands them and few are rational enough to know it. Citizens must be protected from themselves, from bankers selling them “hedging” products, and from gullible regulators who listen to economic theorists.

7. Only Ponzi schemes should depend on confidence. Governments should never need to “restore confidence”. Cascading rumours are a product of complex systems. Governments cannot stop the rumours. Simply, we need to be in a position to shrug off rumours, be robust in the face of them.

8. Do not give an addict more drugs if he has withdrawal pains. Using leverage to cure the problems of too much leverage is not homeopathy, it is denial. The debt crisis is not a temporary problem, it is a structural one. We need rehab.

9. Citizens should not depend on financial assets or fallible “expert” advice for their retirement. Economic life should be definancialised. We should learn not to use markets as storehouses of value: they do not harbour the certainties that normal citizens require. Citizens should experience anxiety about their own businesses (which they control), not their investments (which they do not control).

10. Make an omelette with the broken eggs. Finally, this crisis cannot be fixed with makeshift repairs, no more than a boat with a rotten hull can be fixed with ad-hoc patches. We need to rebuild the hull with new (stronger) materials; we will have to remake the system before it does so itself. Let us move voluntarily into Capitalism 2.0 by helping what needs to be broken break on its own, converting debt into equity, marginalising the economics and business school establishments, shutting down the “Nobel” in economics, banning leveraged buyouts, putting bankers where they belong, clawing back the bonuses of those who got us here, and teaching people to navigate a world with fewer certainties.

Then we will see an economic life closer to our biological environment: smaller companies, richer ecology, no leverage. A world in which entrepreneurs, not bankers, take the risks and companies are born and die every day without making the news.

In other words, a place more resistant to black swans.

Friday 3 April 2009

Restroom wisdom for men


NO MATTER HOW GOOD SHE LOOKS,
THERE IS ALWAYS SOME OTHER GUY
SICK AND TIRED OF PUTTING UP WITH HER SHIT
 


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Economic Laws are Mutable

 

China's rise shows that growth stories don't follow dogma


KAUSHIK BASU
There seems to be slowly an opinion emerging that this global economic recession is based on something deeper than the housing crisis of 2008 in the United States, even though that may have been its proximate cause. There are commentators beginning to wonder if this is not a sign of some systemic flaw in capitalism, and even maybe an early rumbling of the end of capitalism that Marx had foretold a century and a half ago.

These speculations are, however, not well informed. Our economic life depends on a multitude of forecasts that individuals make and the thousands of contracts and agreements they get into concerning the future—give me a loan now and I will pay you back over the next 30 years, for instance. Since no one knows exactly how the future will unfold, there is no way of guaranteeing that these contracts, which often lean on one another, will not come tumbling down like a house of cards. Such occurrences are not special to capitalism.

Capitalism has enough flaws of its own. It is a ruthless and mean system that shows no mercy towards the needy and the weak, and not much, for that matter, towards those without rich parents. But that is a topic for another time.

It is good to think about fundamental causes, but I am not in a position to comment on the genesis of this crisis. What intrigues me here is a fact about the Chinese economy. It is now standard wisdom that China began to grow rapidly from 1978, after the initiation of Deng's pro-market reforms. If one studies China's growth data, it becomes evident that, while average annual growth did pick up a little after 1978, that is not the main difference between pre- and post-1978.

Even before 1978, during the deep Communist period of Mao, China had had stretches of remarkable growth. During 1964-66 and 1969-71, it grew at over 16 per cent per annum. What was special to the period of deep Communism was the occurrence of recessions. In 1961, China's output declined by 27 per cent; there was another deep recession in the mid-1960s. In contrast, during the period of market-oriented policies, there were no downturns. No other nation in the world has seen the kind of sustained growth that China has achieved over the last three decades.

In the case of China, it is the pro-market period that is associated with the lack of recessions and the deep-Communist period with an abundance of them. But China's economic experience poses many more puzzles than most economists are willing to admit. The gospel according to conservative economists is that it is free-market policies that have given China its record-breaking growth. The truth is very different.

The amount that the Chinese government intervenes in the market is way above almost any other economy. Take the proportion of national output that is produced by state-owned firms. For Thailand, this is 5 per cent, South Korea just over 10 per cent, India just below 15 per cent. For China, the figure is close to 50 per cent. In China, farmers still do not own their land and firms have party members who keep a watch on the decisions of managers.

If the Chinese economy had failed, conservative economists would tell you that it could not have been otherwise. Therefore, the fact that China has succeeded creates a conundrum. No matter what we make of it, with 30 years of steady growth, China has also become a bulwark for the global economy. Everybody is looking to China for support in this season of global gloom.

It is interesting that India, with a very different system from that of China, is also beginning to take on some of the mantle of steadiness. Its growth of 7 per cent in the financial year that ends this month may be painful for India (since it was growing in recent years at 9 per cent) but is a source of some envy for most other nations.

There will be difficult choices India will have to make in the coming months as the global recession deepens and maybe even turns into a full-fledged depression. Unfortunately, there are no immutable laws of economics that we can easily rely on the way an engineer repairing an automobile can use a manual. What we need to do is to keep an eye on history, learn from experience—ours, China's and other nations', and stay away from dogma.


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Thursday 2 April 2009

THE MORAL MAZE

Girish Menon

In the film Gandhi, after gunning down many non violent protesters at Jallianwalla Baugh General Dyer insisted that he was willing to offer first aid to any victim who would approach him. That was a case of selective morality and a similar argument can be made to explain our society’s treatment of the alcohol industry. In my view alcohol is no different from cocaine in its deleterious effects on society and hence its treatment should not be different from drugs.

There has always been an utilitarian argument for alcohol in that it provides jobs and more importantly government revenues. Also, the argument goes, prohibition will result in a black market. However, I do not see such an argument being upheld when it comes to consumption of heroin.

The other argument in favour of alcohol is the other old chestnut ‘consumer choice’ i.e. we should allow the consumer to decide how much alcohol he should consume instead of the nanny state taking that decision for him. This argument is a case of double standards since consumers do not have a similar choice with drugs. More importantly, the consumer choice argument is based on the assumption that a consumer is a rational actor who will only take decisions that maximizes his welfare. By consuming alcohol regularly if a person is found to be jeopardising his own future, can we call such a consumer a rational actor?

Thus in my view governments run on alcohol, politicians need it in great measure to do what they do and also the tax revenues generated are highly addictive too. The alcohol industry employs folks who look like us and are probably people like us. I would hence invite you to imagine what would be our reaction if the same alcohol industry was based in Afghanistan or Colombia. Would we treat such exports just as well?

Capitalism Beyond The Crisis


 

By Amartya Sen

31 March, 2009
New York Review of Books

 

The present economic crises do not call for a "new capitalism," but they do demand a new understanding of older ideas, such as those of Adam Smith and Arthur Pigou - many of which have been sadly neglected, argues Amartya Sen.

 

2008 was a year of crises. First, we had a food crisis, particularly threatening to poor consumers, especially in Africa. Along with that came a record increase in oil prices, threatening all oil-importing countries. Finally, rather suddenly in the fall, came the global economic downturn, and it is now gathering speed at a frightening rate.

 

The year 2009 seems likely to offer a sharp intensification of the downturn, and many economists are anticipating a full-scale depression, perhaps even one as large as in the 1930s. While substantial fortunes have suffered steep declines, the people most affected are those who were already worst off.

 

The question that arises most forcefully now concerns the nature of capitalism and whether it needs to be changed. Some defenders of unfettered capitalism who resist change are convinced that capitalism is being blamed too much for short-term economic problems—problems they variously attribute to bad governance (for example by the Bush administration) and the bad behavior of some individuals (or what John McCain described during the presidential campaign as "the greed of Wall Street").

Others do, however, see truly serious defects in the existing economic arrangements and want to reform them, looking for an alternative approach that is increasingly being called "new capitalism."

 

The idea of old and new capitalism played an energizing part at a symposium called "New World, New Capitalism" held in Paris in January and hosted by the French president Nicolas Sarkozy and the former British prime minister Tony Blair, both of whom made eloquent presentations on the need for change.

 

So did German Chancellor Angela Merkel, who talked about the old German idea of a "social market"—one restrained by a mixture of consensus-building policies—as a possible blueprint for new capitalism (though Germany has not done much better in the recent crisis than other market economics).

 

Ideas about changing the organization of society in the long run are clearly needed, quite apart from strategies for dealing with an immediate crisis. I would separate out three questions from the many that can be raised.

 

First, do we really need some kind of "new capitalism" rather than an economic system that is not monolithic, draws on a variety of institutions chosen pragmatically, and is based on social values that we can defend ethically? Should we search for a new capitalism or for a "new world"—to use the other term mentioned at the Paris meeting—that would take a different form?

 

The second question concerns the kind of economics that is needed today, especially in light of the present economic crisis. How do we assess what is taught and championed among academic economists as a guide to economic policy—including the revival of Keynesian thought in recent months as the crisis has grown fierce? More particularly, what does the present economic crisis tell us about the institutions and priorities to look for?

 

Third, in addition to working our way toward a better assessment of what long-term changes are needed, we have to think—and think fast—about how to get out of the present crisis with as little damage as possible.

 

What are the special characteristics that make a system indubitably capitalist—old or new? If the present capitalist economic system is to be reformed, what would make the end result a new capitalism, rather than something else? It seems to be generally assumed that relying on markets for economic transactions is a necessary condition for an economy to be identified as capitalist.

 

In a similar way, dependence on the profit motive and on individual rewards based on private ownership are seen as archetypal features of capitalism. However, if these are necessary requirements, are the economic systems we currently have, for example, in Europe and America, genuinely capitalist?

 

All affluent countries in the world—those in Europe, as well as the US, Canada, Japan, Singapore, South Korea, Australia, and others—have, for quite some time now, depended partly on transactions and other payments that occur largely outside markets. These include unemployment benefits, public pensions, other features of social security, and the provision of education, health care, and a variety of other services distributed through nonmarket arrangements. The economic entitlements connected with such services are not based on private ownership and property rights.

 

Also, the market economy has depended for its own working not only on maximizing profits but also on many other activities, such as maintaining public security and supplying public services—some of which have taken people well beyond an economy driven only by profit.

 

The creditable performance of the so-called capitalist system, when things moved forward, drew on a combination of institutions—publicly funded education, medical care, and mass transportation are just a few of many—that went much beyond relying only on a profit-maximizing market economy and on personal entitlements confined to private ownership.

 

Underlying this issue is a more basic question: whether capitalism is a term that is of particular use today. The idea of capitalism did in fact have an important role historically, but by now that usefulness may well be fairly exhausted.

 

For example, the pioneering works of Adam Smith in the eighteenth century showed the usefulness and dynamism of the market economy, and why—and particularly how—that dynamism worked. Smith's investigation provided an illuminating diagnosis of the workings of the market just when that dynamism was powerfully emerging.

 

The contribution that The Wealth of Nations, published in 1776, made to the understanding of what came to be called capitalism was monumental. Smith showed how the freeing of trade can very often be extremely helpful in generating economic prosperity through specialization in production and division of labor and in making good use of economies of large scale.

 

Those lessons remain deeply relevant even today (it is interesting that the impressive and highly sophisticated analytical work on international trade for which Paul Krugman received the latest Nobel award in economics was closely linked to Smith's far-reaching insights of more than 230 years ago). The economic analyses that followed those early expositions of markets and the use of capital in the eighteenth century have succeeded in solidly establishing the market system in the corpus of mainstream economics.

 

However, even as the positive contributions of capitalism through market processes were being clarified and explicated, its negative sides were also becoming clear—often to the very same analysts. While a number of socialist critics, most notably Karl Marx, influentially made a case for censuring and ultimately supplanting capitalism, the huge limitations of relying entirely on the market economy and the profit motive were also clear enough even to Adam Smith. Indeed, early advocates of the use of markets, including Smith, did not take the pure market mechanism to be a freestanding performer of excellence, nor did they take the profit motive to be all that is needed.

 

Even though people seek trade because of self-interest (nothing more than self-interest is needed, as Smith famously put it, in explaining why bakers, brewers, butchers, and consumers seek trade), nevertheless an economy can operate effectively only on the basis of trust among different parties. When business activities, including those of banks and other financial institutions, generate the confidence that they can and will do the things they pledge, then relations among lenders and borrowers can go smoothly in a mutually supportive way. As Adam Smith wrote:

When the people of any particular country have such confidence in the fortune, probity, and prudence of a particular banker, as to believe that he is always ready to pay upon demand such of his promissory notes as are likely to be at any time presented to him; those notes come to have the same currency as gold and silver money, from the confidence that such money can at any time be had for them.[1]

 

Smith explained why sometimes this did not happen, and he would not have found anything particularly puzzling, I would suggest, in the difficulties faced today by businesses and banks thanks to the widespread fear and mistrust that is keeping credit markets frozen and preventing a coordinated expansion of credit.

 

It is also worth mentioning in this context, especially since the "welfare state" emerged long after Smith's own time, that in his various writings, his overwhelming concern—and worry—about the fate of the poor and the disadvantaged are strikingly prominent. The most immediate failure of the market mechanism lies in the things that the market leaves undone.

 

Smith's economic analysis went well beyond leaving everything to the invisible hand of the market mechanism. He was not only a defender of the role of the state in providing public services, such as education, and in poverty relief (along with demanding greater freedom for the indigents who received support than the Poor Laws of his day provided), he was also deeply concerned about the inequality and poverty that might survive in an otherwise successful market economy.

 

Lack of clarity about the distinction between the necessity and sufficiency of the market has been responsible for some misunderstandings of Smith's assessment of the market mechanism by many who would claim to be his followers. For example, Smith's defense of the food market and his criticism of restrictions by the state on the private trade in food grains have often been interpreted as arguing that any state interference would necessarily make hunger and starvation worse.

 

But Smith's defense of private trade only took the form of disputing the belief that stopping trade in food would reduce the burden of hunger. That does not deny in any way the need for state action to supplement the operations of the market by creating jobs and incomes (e.g., through work programs).

 

If unemployment were to increase sharply thanks to bad economic circumstances or bad public policy, the market would not, on its own, recreate the incomes of those who have lost their jobs. The new unemployed, Smith wrote, "would either starve, or be driven to seek a subsistence either by begging, or by the perpetration perhaps of the greatest enormities," and "want, famine, and mortality would immediately prevail...."[2] Smith rejects interventions that exclude the market—but not interventions that include the market while aiming to do those important things that the market may leave undone.

 

Smith never used the term "capitalism" (at least so far as I have been able to trace), but it would also be hard to carve out from his works any theory arguing for the sufficiency of market forces, or of the need to accept the dominance of capital.

 

He talked about the importance of these broader values that go beyond profits in The Wealth of Nations, but it is in his first book, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, which was published exactly a quarter of a millennium ago in 1759, that he extensively investigated the strong need for actions based on values that go well beyond profit seeking. While he wrote that "prudence" was "of all the virtues that which is most useful to the individual," Adam Smith went on to argue that "humanity, justice, generosity, and public spirit, are the qualities most useful to others."[3]

 

Smith viewed markets and capital as doing good work within their own sphere, but first, they required support from other institutions—including public services such as schools—and values other than pure profit seeking, and second, they needed restraint and correction by still other institutions—e.g., well-devised financial regulations and state assistance to the poor—for preventing instability, inequity, and injustice.

 

If we were to look for a new approach to the organization of economic activity that included a pragmatic choice of a variety of public services and well-considered regulations, we would be following rather than departing from the agenda of reform that Smith outlined as he both defended and criticized capitalism.

 

Historically, capitalism did not emerge until new systems of law and economic practice protected property rights and made an economy based on ownership workable. Commercial exchange could not effectively take place until business morality made contractual behavior sustainable and inexpensive—not requiring constant suing of defaulting contractors, for example. Investment in productive businesses could not flourish until the higher rewards from corruption had been moderated. Profit-oriented capitalism has always drawn on support from other institutional values.

 

The moral and legal obligations and responsibilities associated with transactions have in recent years become much harder to trace, thanks to the rapid development of secondary markets involving derivatives and other financial instruments. A subprime lender who misleads a borrower into taking unwise risks can now pass off the financial assets to third parties—who are remote from the original transaction. Accountability has been badly undermined, and the need for supervision and regulation has become much stronger.

And yet the supervisory role of government in the United States in particular has been, over the same period, sharply curtailed, fed by an increasing belief in the self-regulatory nature of the market economy. Precisely as the need for state surveillance grew, the needed supervision shrank.

 

There was, as a result, a disaster waiting to happen, which did eventually happen last year, and this has certainly contributed a great deal to the financial crisis that is plaguing the world today. The insufficient regulation of financial activities has implications not only for illegitimate practices, but also for a tendency toward overspeculation that, as Adam Smith argued, tends to grip many human beings in their breathless search for profits.

 

Smith called the promoters of excessive risk in search of profits "prodigals and projectors"—which is quite a good description of issuers of subprime mortgages over the past few years. Discussing laws against usury, for example, Smith wanted state regulation to protect citizens from the "prodigals and projectors" who promoted unsound loans:

A great part of the capital of the country would thus be kept out of the hands which were most likely to make a profitable and advantageous use of it, and thrown into those which were most likely to waste and destroy it.[4]

 

The implicit faith in the ability of the market economy to correct itself, which is largely responsible for the removal of established regulations in the United States, tended to ignore the activities of prodigals and projectors in a way that would have shocked Adam Smith.

 

The present economic crisis is partly generated by a huge overestimation of the wisdom of market processes, and the crisis is now being exacerbated by anxiety and lack of trust in the financial market and in businesses in general—responses that have been evident in the market reactions to the sequence of stimulus plans, including the $787 billion plan signed into law in February by the new Obama administration.

 

As it happens, these problems were already identified in the eighteenth century by Smith, even though they have been neglected by those who have been in authority in recent years, especially in the United States, and who have been busy citing Adam Smith in support of the unfettered market.

 

While Adam Smith has recently been much quoted, even if not much read, there has been a huge revival, even more recently, of John Maynard Keynes. Certainly, the cumulative downturn that we are observing right now, which is edging us closer to a depression, has clear Keynesian features; the reduced incomes of one group of persons has led to reduced purchases by them, in turn causing a further reduction in the income of others.

 

However, Keynes can be our savior only to a very partial extent, and there is a need to look beyond him in understanding the present crisis. One economist whose current relevance has been far less recognized is Keynes's rival Arthur Cecil Pigou, who, like Keynes, was also in Cambridge, indeed also in Kings College, in Keynes's time.

 

Pigou was much more concerned than Keynes with economic psychology and the ways it could influence business cycles and sharpen and harden an economic recession that could take us toward a depression (as indeed we are seeing now). Pigou attributed economic fluctuations partly to "psychological causes" consisting of variations in the tone of mind of persons whose action controls industry, emerging in errors of undue optimism or undue pessimism in their business forecasts.[5]

 

It is hard to ignore the fact that today, in addition to the Keynesian effects of mutually reinforced decline, we are strongly in the presence of "errors of...undue pessimism." Pigou focused particularly on the need to unfreeze the credit market when the economy is in the grip of excessive pessimism:

Hence, other things being equal, the actual occurrence of business failures will be more or less widespread, according [to whether] bankers' loans, in the face of crisis of demands, are less or more readily obtainable.[6]

 

Despite huge injections of fresh liquidity into the American and European economies, largely from the government, the banks and financial institutions have until now remained unwilling to unfreeze the credit market. Other businesses also continue to fail, partly in response to already diminished demand (the Keynesian "multiplier" process), but also in response to fear of even less demand in the future, in a climate of general gloom (the Pigovian process of infectious pessimism).

 

One of the problems that the Obama administration has to deal with is that the real crisis, arising from financial mismanagement and other transgressions, has become many times magnified by a psychological collapse.

 

The measures that are being discussed right now in Washington and elsewhere to regenerate the credit market include bailouts—with firm requirements that subsidized financial institutions actually lend—government purchase of toxic assets, insurance against failure to repay loans, and bank nationalization. (The last proposal scares many conservatives just as private control of the public money given to the banks worries people concerned about accountability.) As the weak response of the market to the administration's measures so far suggests, each of these policies would have to be assessed partly for their impact on the psychology of businesses and consumers, particularly in America.

 

The contrast between Pigou and Keynes is relevant for another reason as well. While Keynes was very involved with the question of how to increase aggregate income, he was relatively less engaged in analyzing problems of unequal distribution of wealth and of social welfare. In contrast, Pigou not only wrote the classic study of welfare economics, but he also pioneered the measurement of economic inequality as a major indicator for economic assessment and policy.[7]

 

Since the suffering of the most deprived people in each economy—and in the world—demands the most urgent attention, the role of supportive cooperation between business and government cannot stop only with mutually coordinated expansion of an economy. There is a critical need for paying special attention to the underdogs of society in planning a response to the current crisis, and in going beyond measures to produce general economic expansion. Families threatened with unemployment, with lack of medical care, and with social as well as economic deprivation have been hit particularly hard. The limitations of Keynesian economics to address their problems demand much greater recognition.

 

A third way in which Keynes needs to be supplemented concerns his relative neglect of social services—indeed even Otto von Bismarck had more to say on this subject than Keynes. That the market economy can be particularly bad in delivering public goods (such as education and health care) has been discussed by some of the leading economists of our time, including Paul Samuelson and Kenneth Arrow. (Pigou too contributed to this subject with his emphasis on the "external effects" of market transactions, where the gains and losses are not confined only to the direct buyers or sellers.) This is, of course, a long-term issue, but it is worth noting in addition that the bite of a downturn can be much fiercer when health care in particular is not guaranteed for all.

 

For example, in the absence of a national health service, every lost job can produce a larger exclusion from essential health care, because of loss of income or loss of employment-related private health insurance. The US has a 7.6 percent rate of unemployment now, which is beginning to cause huge deprivation.

 

It is worth asking how the European countries, including France, Italy, and Spain, that lived with much higher levels of unemployment for decades, managed to avoid a total collapse of their quality of life. The answer is partly the way the European welfare state operates, with much stronger unemployment insurance than in America and, even more importantly, with basic medical services provided to all by the state.

 

The failure of the market mechanism to provide health care for all has been flagrant, most noticeably in the United States, but also in the sharp halt in the progress of health and longevity in China following its abolition of universal health coverage in 1979. Before the economic reforms of that year, every Chinese citizen had guaranteed health care provided by the state or the cooperatives, even if at a rather basic level. When China removed its counterproductive system of agricultural collectives and communes and industrial units managed by bureaucracies, it thereby made the rate of growth of gross domestic product go up faster than anywhere else in the world.

 

But at the same time, led by its new faith in the market economy, China also abolished the system of universal health care; and, after the reforms of 1979, health insurance had to be bought by individuals (except in some relatively rare cases in which the state or some big firms provide them to their employees and dependents). With this change, China's rapid progress in longevity sharply slowed down.

 

This was problem enough when China's aggregate income was growing extremely fast, but it is bound to become a much bigger problem when the Chinese economy decelerates sharply, as it is currently doing. The Chinese government is now trying hard to gradually reintroduce health insurance for all, and the US government under Obama is also committed to making health coverage universal. In both China and the US, the rectifications have far to go, but they should be central elements in tackling the economic crisis, as well as in achieving long-term transformation of the two societies.

 

The revival of Keynes has much to contribute both to economic analysis and to policy, but the net has to be cast much wider. Even though Keynes is often seen as a kind of a "rebel" figure in contemporary economics, the fact is that he came close to being the guru of a new capitalism, who focused on trying to stabilize the fluctuations of the market economy (and then again with relatively little attention to the psychological causes of business fluctuations).

 

Even though Smith and Pigou have the reputation of being rather conservative economists, many of the deep insights about the importance of nonmarket institutions and nonprofit values came from them, rather than from Keynes and his followers.

A crisis not only presents an immediate challenge that has to be faced. It also provides an opportunity to address long-term problems when people are willing to reconsider established conventions. This is why the present crisis also makes it important to face the neglected long-term issues like conservation of the environment and national health care, as well as the need for public transport, which has been very badly neglected in the last few decades and is also so far sidelined—as I write this article—even in the initial policies announced by the Obama administration.

 

Economic affordability is, of course, an issue, but as the example of the Indian state of Kerala shows, it is possible to have state-guaranteed health care for all at relatively little cost. Since the Chinese dropped universal health insurance in 1979, Kerala—which continues to have it—has very substantially overtaken China in average life expectancy and in indicators such as infant mortality, despite having a much lower level of per capita income. So there are opportunities for poor countries as well.

 

But the largest challenges face the United States, which already has the highest level of per capita expenditure on health among all countries in the world, but still has a relatively low achievement in health and has more than forty million people with no guarantee of health care. Part of the problem here is one of public attitude and understanding. Hugely distorted perceptions of how a national health service works need to be corrected through public discussion. For example, it is common to assume that no one has a choice of doctors in a European national health service, which is not at all the case.

 

There is, however, also a need for better understanding of the options that exist. In US discussions of health reform, there has been an overconcentration on the Canadian system—a system of public health care that makes it very hard to have private medical care—whereas in Western Europe the national health services provide care for all but also allow, in addition to state coverage, private practice and private health insurance, for those who have the money and want to spend it this way.

 

It is not clear just why the rich who can freely spend money on yachts and other luxury goods should not be allowed to spend it on MRIs or CT scans instead. If we take our cue from Adam Smith's arguments for a diversity of institutions, and for accommodating a variety of motivations, there are practical measures we can take that would make a huge difference to the world in which we live.

The present economic crises do not, I would argue, call for a "new capitalism," but they do demand a new understanding of older ideas, such as those of Smith and, nearer our time, of Pigou, many of which have been sadly neglected. What is also needed is a clearheaded perception of how different institutions actually work, and of how a variety of organizations—from the market to the institutions of the state—can go beyond short-term solutions and contribute to producing a more decent economic world.

 

References:

 

[1]Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, edited by R.H. Campbell and A.S. Skinner (Clarendon Press, 1976), I, II.ii.28, p. 292.

 

[2]Smith, The Wealth of Nations, I, I.viii.26, p. 91.

 

[3]Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, edited by D.D. Raphael and A.L. Macfie (Clarendon Press, 1976), pp. 189–190.

 

[4]Smith, The Wealth of Nations, I, II.iv.15, p. 357.

 

[5]A.C. Pigou, Industrial Fluctuations (London: Macmillan, 1929), p. 73.

 

[6]Pigou, Industrial Fluctuations, p. 96.

 

[7]A.C. Pigou, The Economics of Welfare (London: Macmillan, 1920). Current works on economic inequality, including the major contributions of A.B. Atkinson, have been to a considerable extent inspired by Pigou's pioneering initiative: see Atkinson, Social Justice and Public Policy (MIT Press, 1983).

 



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