Tag: Barron’s

China’s Economic Growth Is Good, Actually

(I write a monthlyish opinion piece for Barron’s. This one was published there in June. My previous pieces are here.)

Once upon a time, the promise of globalization seemed clear. In an economically integrated world, poor countries could follow the same path of development that the rich countries had in the past, leading to an equalization of global living standards. For mid-20th century liberals, restoring trade meant bringing the New Deal’s egalitarian model of economic development to a global stage. As Nebraska Senator Kenneth Wherry memorably put it, “With God’s help, we will lift Shanghai up and up, ever up, until it is just like Kansas City.”1  

For better and for worse, globalization has failed in its promise to deliver a planet of Kansas Cities. But Shanghai specifically is one place that it’s come through, and then some. As we debate the Biden administration’s new tariffs, let’s not lose sight of the fact that China’s industrialization is a very good thing for humanity. Indeed, it is the outstanding case of globalization’s promises being fulfilled.

For most of modern history, the gap between the global rich and global poor has only gotten wider. Though there are many tricky issues of measurement, most economic historians would agree with  Branko Milanovic — perhaps the world’s foremost authority on the global distribution of income — that global inequality rose steadily for perhaps 200 years until 1980 or so. Since then, and particularly since 2000, there has been a sharp reversal of this trend; according to Milanovic, global income is probably more equally distributed today than at any time since the 19th century. 

The reason for this remarkable turn toward equality? China. 

 According to Milanovic, the rise of China was almost singlehandedly responsible for the reduction in global inequality over the past 30 years. Thanks to its meteoric growth, the gap between the world’s rich and poor has closed substantially for the first time since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. 

Almost all the fall in global inequality in recent decades is attributable to China. Source.

Convergence to rich-country living standards is extremely rare historically. Prior to China,  the only major examples in modern times were Taiwan and South Korea. Much more typical are countries like the Philippines or Brazil. Sixty years ago, according to the World Bank, their per-capita incomes were 6 and 14 percent that of the USA, respectively. Today, they are … 6 and 14 percent of the USA. There were ups and downs along the way, but overall no convergence at all. Other poor countries have actually lost ground.

Or as Paul Johnson summarizes the empirical growth literature: “Poor countries, unless something changes, are destined to remain poor.” 

China is not just an outlier for how rapidly it has grown, but for how widely the benefits of growth have been shared. One recent study of Chinese income distribution over 1988-2018 found that while growth was fastest for the top, even the bottom 5 percent of wage earners saw real income grow by almost 5 percent annually. This is faster than any group in the US over that period. Milanovic comes to an even stronger conclusion: The bottom half of the Chinese income distribution saw faster growth than those at the top. 

Even studies that find rising inequality in China, find that even the lowest income groups there had faster income growth than any group in the US.

Thomas Piketty finds a similar pattern. “The key difference between China and the United States,” he writes, “is that in China the bottom 50 percent also benefited enormously from growth: the average income of the bottom 50 percent [increased] by more than five times in real terms between 1978 and 2015… In contrast, bottom 50 percent income growth in the US has been negative.”2

It’s clear, too, that Chinese growth has translated into rising living standards in more tangible ways. In 1970, Chinese life expectancy was lower than Brazil or the Philippines; today it is almost ten years longer. As the sociologist Wang Feng observes in his new book China’s Age of Abundance, Chinese children entering school in 2002 were 5-6 centimeters taller than they had been just a decade earlier – testimony to vast improvements in diet and living conditions. These improvements were greatest in poor rural areas. 

How has China delivered on the promises of globalization, where so many other countries have failed? One possible answer is that it has simply followed the path blazed by earlier industrializers, starting with the United States. Alexander Hamilton’s Report on Manufacturers laid out the playbook: protection for infant industries, public investment in infrastructure, adoption of foreign technology, cheap but strategically directed credit. The Hamiltonian formula was largely forgotten in the United States once it had done its work, but it was picked up in turn by Germany, Japan, Korea and now by China. As the Korean development economist Ha-Joon Chang puts it, insistence that developing countries immediately embrace free trade and financial openness amounts to “kicking away the ladder” that the rich countries previously climbed.

Today, of course, the US is rediscovering these old ideas about industrial policy. There’s nothing wrong with that. But there is something odd and unseemly about describing the same policies as devious manipulation when China uses them. 

When John Podesta announced the formation of the administration’s White House Climate and Trade Task Force last month, he tried to draw a sharp line between industrial policy in the United States and industrial policy in China. We use “transparent, well-structured, targeted incentives,” he said, while they have “non-market policies … that have distorted the market.” Unlike us, they are trying to “dominate the global market,” and “creating an oversupply of green energy products.” Yet at the same time, the administration boasts that the incentives in the Inflation Reduction Act will double the growth of clean energy investment so that “US manufacturers can lead the global market in clean energy.”

No doubt if you squint hard enough, you can make out a distinction between changing market outcomes and distorting them, or between leading the global market and dominating it. But it certainly seems like the difference is when we do it versus when they do.

The claim that China is creating a global “overcapacity” in green energy markets — often trotted out by tariff supporters — is particularly puzzling. Obviously, to the extent that there is global overcapacity in these markets, US investment contributes exactly as much as Chinese does — that is what the word “global” means. 

More importantly, as many critics have pointed out, the world needs vastly more investment in all kinds of green technologies. It’s hard to imagine any context outside of the US-China trade war where Biden supporters would argue that the world is building too many solar panels and wind turbines, or converting too quickly to electric vehicles.

Not so long ago, the dominant view on the economics of climate change was that the problem was the  “free rider” dynamic  — the whole world benefits from reduced emissions, while the costs are borne only by the countries that reduce them. In the absence of a global government that can impose decarbonization on the whole world, the pursuit of national advantage through green investment may be the only way the free rider problem gets solved.

As development economist Dani Rodrik puts it: “Green industrial policies are doubly beneficial – both to stimulate the necessary technological learning and to substitute for carbon pricing. Western commentators who trot out scare words like ‘excess capacity,’ ‘subsidy wars,’ and ‘China trade shock 2.0’ have gotten things exactly backwards. A glut in renewables and green products is precisely what the climate doctor ordered.”3

The Biden administration is not wrong to want to support US manufacturers. The best answer to subsidies for green industries in China is subsidies for green industries in the US (and in Europe and elsewhere). In a world that is desperately struggling to head off catastrophic climate change, a subsidy race could harness  international rivalry as a part of the solution. But that requires that competition be channeled in a positive-sum way.

Unfortunately, the Biden Administration seems to be choosing the path of confrontation instead. In the 1980s, the Reagan administration dealt with the wave of imported cars that threatened US automakers through a voluntary agreement with Japan to moderately reduce auto exports to the US, while encouraging investment here by Japanese automakers. Unlike the pragmatists around Reagan, the Biden team seems more inclined to belligerence. There’s no sign they even tried to negotiate an agreement, instead choosing unilateral action and framing China as an enemy rather than a potential partner. 

Tellingly, National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan is described (in Alexander Ward’s new book The Internationalists) as arguing that the US can make serious climate deals with other countries while “boxing China out,” a view that seems to have won out over the more conciliatory position of advisors like John Kerry. If Sullivan’s position is being described accurately, it’s hard to exaggerate how unrealistic and irresponsible it is. The US and China are by far the world’s two largest economies, not to mention its preeminent military powers. If their governments cannot find a way to cooperate, there is no hope of a serious solution to climate change, or to other urgent global problems.

To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with an American administration putting the needs of the United States first. And if it’s a mistake to treat China as an enemy, it would also be wrong to set them up as an ideal. One could make a long list of ways in  which the current government of China falls short of liberal and democratic ideals. Still, it’s clear that China is being punished for its economic success rather than its political failures. Tellingly, the same month that the tariffs on China were announced, the Biden administration indicated that it would resume sales of offensive weapons to Saudi Arabia, whose government has nothing to learn from China about political repression or violence against dissidents. 

The policy issues around tariffs are complicated. But let’s not lose sight of the big picture. The fundamental premises of globalization remain compelling today, even if attempts to realize them have often failed. First, no country is an island – today, especially, our most urgent problems can only be solved with cooperation across borders. Second, economic growth is not a zero sum game – there is not some fixed quantity of resources, or markets, available, so that one country’s gain must be another’s loss. And third, democracy spreads best via example and the free movement of ideas and people, not through conquest or coercion. We don’t have to endorse the whole classical case for free trade to agree that its proponents were right in some important ways. 

China’s growth has been the clearest case yet of globalization’s promise that international trade can speed the convergence of poor countries with rich ones. The opportunity is still there for its broader promises to be fulfilled as well. But for that to happen, we in the United States must first accept that if the rest of the world catches up with us, that is something to be welcomed rather than feared.

At Barron’s: Thank Full Employment, Not AI, for Rising Productivity

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This one was published there in September. My previous pieces are here.)

New data about productivity are some of the best on record in recent years. That’s good news for economic growth. But just as important, it offers support for the unorthodox idea that demand shapes the economy’s productive potential. Taking this idea seriously would require us to rethink much conventional wisdom on macroeconomic policy. 

Real output per hour grew 2.6% in 2023, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, exceeding the highest rates seen between 2010 and the eve of the pandemic. That said, productivity is one of the most challenging macroeconomic outcomes to measure. It is constructed from three distinct series—nominal output, prices, and employment. Short-term movements often turn out to be noise. It’s an open question whether that high rate will be sustained. But if it is, that will tell us something important about economic growth. 

Discussions of productivity growth tend to treat it as the result of unpredictable scientific breakthroughs and new technologies, whose appearance has nothing to do with current economic conditions. This view of technological change as “exogenous,” in the jargon, is entrenched in economics textbooks. And it’s reinforced by the self-mythologizing barons of Silicon Valley, who are only too happy to take credit for economic good news. 

The economic conditions that lead companies to actually adopt new technologies get much less attention, as does the fact that much productivity growth comes from people shifting from lower-value to higher-value activities without the need for any new technology at all.

A recent New York Times article is typical. It discusses faster productivity growth almost entirely in terms of the new technologies — AI, Zoom, internet shopping — that might, or might not, be contributing. Not until 40 paragraphs in is there a brief mention of the strong labor market, and the incentives that rising wages create to squeeze more out of each hour of labor.

What if we didn’t treat this as an afterthought? There’s a case to be made that demand is, in fact, a central factor in productivity growth. 

The economic historian Gavin Wright has made this case for both the 1990s — our modern benchmarks for productivity success stories — and the 1920s, an earlier period of rapid productivity growth and technological change. Wright considers the adoption of general-purpose technologies: electricity in the ‘20s and computers in the ‘90s. Both had existed for some time but weren’t widely adopted until rising labor costs provided the right incentives. He observes that in both periods strong wage growth started before productivity accelerated. 

In the retail sector, for instance, it was in the 1990s that IT applications like electronic monitoring of shelf levels, barcode scanning and electronic payments came into general use. None of these technologies were new at the time; what had changed was the tight market for retail employment that made automation worthwhile.

The idea that demand can have lasting effects on the economy’s productive potential – what economists call hysteresis — has gotten attention in recent years. Discussions of hysteresis tend to focus on labor supply — people dropping out of the labor market when jobs are scarce, and re-entering when conditions improve. The effect of demand on productivity is less often discussed. But it may be even more important.

After the 2007-2009 recession, gross domestic product in the U.S. (and most other rich countries) failed to return to its pre-recession trend. By 2017, a decade after the recession began, real GDP was a full 10% below what prerecession forecasters had expected. There is wide agreement that much, if not all, of this shortfall was the result of the collapse of demand in the recession. Former Treasury Secretary Larry Summers at the time called the decisive role of demand in the slow growth of the 2010s a matter of “elementary signal identification.” 

Why did growth fall short? If you look at the CBO’s last economic forecasts before the recession, the agency was predicting 6% growth in employment between 2007 and 2017. And as it turned out, over those ten years, employment grew by exactly 6%. The entire gap between actual GDP and the CBO’s pre-recession forecasts was from slower growth in output per worker. In other words, this shortfall was entirely due to lower productivity. 

If you believe that slow growth in the 2010s was largely due to the lingering effects of the recession — and I agree with Summers that the evidence is overwhelming on this point — then what we saw in that decade was weak demand holding back productivity. And if depressed demand can slow down productivity growth, then, logically, we would expect strong demand to speed it up.

A few economists have consistently made the case for this link. Followers of John Maynard Keynes often emphasize this link under the name “Verdoorn’s law.” The law, as Keynesian economist Matias Vernengo puts it in a new article, holds that “technical change is the result, and not the fundamental cause of economic growth.” Steve Fazzari, another Keynesian economist, has explored this idea in several recent papers. But for the most part, mainstream economists have yet to embrace it. 

This perspective does occasionally make it into the world of policy debates. In a 2017 report, Josh Bivens of the Economic Policy Institute argued that “low rates of unemployment and rapid wage growth would likely induce faster productivity growth.” Skanda Amarnath and his colleagues at Employ America have made similar arguments. In a 2017 report for the Roosevelt Institute, I discussed a long list of mechanisms linking demand to productivity growth, as well as evidence that this was what explained slower growth since the recession.

If you take these sorts of arguments seriously, the recent acceleration in productivity should not be a surprise. And we don’t need to go looking for some tech startup to thank for it. It’s the natural result of a sustained period of tight labor markets and rising wages.

There are many good reasons for productivity growth to be faster in a tight labor market, as I discussed in the Roosevelt report. Businesses have a stronger incentive to adopt less labor-intensive techniques, and they are more likely to invest when they are running at full capacity. Higher-productivity firms can outbid lower-productivity ones for scarce workers. New firms are easier to start in a boom than in a slump.

When you think about it, it’s strange that concepts like Verdoorn’s law are not part of the economics mainstream. Shouldn’t they be common sense?

Nonetheless, the opposite view underlies much of policymaking, particularly at the Federal Reserve. At his most recent press conference, Fed Chair Jay Powell was asked whether he still thought that wage growth was too high for price stability. Powell confirmed that, indeed, he thought that wage gains were still excessively strong. But, he said, they were gradually moving back to levels “associated — given assumptions about productivity growth — with 2% inflation.”

The Fed’s view that price stability requires limiting workers’ bargaining power is a long-standing problem. But focus now on those assumptions. Taking productivity growth as given, unaffected by policy, risks making the Fed’s pessimism self-confirming. (This is something that Fed economists have worried about in the past.) If the Fed succeeds in getting wages down to the level consistent with the relatively slow productivity growth it expects, that itself may be what stops us from getting the faster productivity growth that the economy is capable of.

The good news is that, as I’ve written here before, the Fed is not all-powerful. The current round of rate hikes has not, so far, done much to cool off the labor market. If that continues to be the case, then we may be in for a period of sustained productivity growth and rising income.

At Barron’s: Inflation Is Falling. Don’t Thank the Fed

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This one was published there in September. My previous pieces are here.)

You wouldn’t necessarily guess it from the headlines, but we may soon be talking about inflation in the past tense. After peaking at close to 10% in the summer of 2022, inflation has fallen even faster than it rose. Over the past three months inflation, as measured by the CPI, has been slightly below the Federal Reserve’s 2% target. Nearly every other measure tells a similar story.

Predicting the future is always risky. But right now, it seems like the conversation about how to fix the inflation problem is nearing its end. Soon, we’ll be having a new debate: Who, or what, should get credit for solving it?

The Fed is the most obvious candidate. Plenty of commentators are already giving it at least tentative credit for delivering that elusive soft landing. And why not? Inflation goes up. The central bank raises interest rates. Inflation goes back down. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? 

The problem is, monetary policy does not work through magic. The Fed doesn’t simply tell private businesses how much to charge. Higher interest rates lead to lower prices only by reducing demand. And so far, that doesn’t seem to have happened – certainly not on a scale that could explain how much inflation has come down.  

In the textbook story, interest rates affect prices via labor costs. The idea is that businesses normally set prices as a markup over production costs, which consist primarily of wages. When the Fed raises rates, it discourages investment spending — home construction and business spending on plant and equipment — which is normally financed with credit. Less investment means less demand for labor, which means higher unemployment and more labor market slack generally. As unemployment rises, workers, with less bargaining power vis-a-vis employers, must accept lower wages. And those lower wages get passed on to prices.

Of course this is not the only possible story. Another point of view is that tighter credit affects prices through the demand side. In this story, rather than businesses producing as much as they can sell at given costs, there is a maximum amount they can produce, often described as potential output. When demand rises above this ceiling, that’s when prices rise. 

Either way, the key point — which should be obvious, but somehow gets lost in macro debates — is that prices are determined by real conditions in individual markets. The only way for higher rates to slow down rising prices, is if they curtail someone’s spending, and thereby production and employment. No business — whether it’s selling semiconductors or hamburgers — says “interest rates are going up, so I guess I’ll charge less.” If interest rates change their pricing decisions, it has to be through some combination of fall in demand for their product, or in the wages they pay.

Over the past 18 months, the Fed has overseen one of the fast increases in short-term interest rates on record. We might expect that to lead to much weaker demand and labor markets, which would explain the fall in inflation. But has it?

The Fed’s rate increases have likely had some effect. In a world where the Federal Funds rate was still at zero, employment and output might well be somewhat higher than they are in reality. Believers in monetary-policy orthodoxy can certainly find signs of a gently slowing economy to credit the Fed with. The moderately weaker employment and wage growth of recent months is, from this point of view, evidence that the Fed is succeeding.

One problem with pointing to weaker labor markets as a success story, is that workers’ bargaining power matters for more than wages and prices. As I’ve noted before, when workers have relatively more freedom to pick and choose between jobs, that affects everything from employment discrimination to productivity growth. The same tight labor markets that have delivered rapid wage growth, have also, for example, encouraged employers to offer flexible hours and other accommodations to working parents — which has in turn contributed to women’s rapid post-pandemic return to the workplace. 

A more basic problem is that, whether or not you think a weaker labor market would be a good thing on balance, the labor market has not, in fact, gotten much weaker.

At 3.8%, the unemployment rate is essentially unchanged from where it was when at the peak of the inflation in June 2022. It’s well below where it was when inflation started to rise in late 2020. It’s true that quits and job vacancy rates, which many people look to as alternative measures of labor-market conditions, have come down a bit over the past year. But they still are extremely high by historical standards. The prime-age employment-population ratio, another popular measure of labor-market conditions, has continued to rise over the past year, and is now at its highest level in more than 20 years. 

Overall, if the labor market looks a bit softer compared with a year ago, it remains extremely tight by any other comparison. Certainly there is nothing in these indicators to explain why prices were rising at an annual rate of over 10% in mid-2022, compared with just 2% today.

On the demand side, the case is, if anything, even weaker. As Employ America notes in its excellent overview, real gross domestic product growth has accelerated during the same period that inflation has come down. The Bureau of Economic Analysis’s measure of the output gap similarly shows that spending has risen relative to potential output over the past year. For the demand story to work, it should have fallen. It’s hard to see how rate hikes could be responsible for lower inflation during a period in which people’s spending has actually picked up. 

It is true that higher rates do seem to have discouraged new housing construction. But even here, the pace of new housing starts today remains higher than at any time between 2007 and the pandemic. 

Business investment, meanwhile, is surging. Growth in nonresidential investment has accelerated steadily over the past year and a half, even as inflation has fallen. The U.S. is currently seeing a historic factory boom — spending on new manufacturing construction has nearly doubled over the past year, with electric vehicles, solar panels and semiconductors leading the way. That this is happening while interest rates are rising sharply should raise doubts, again, about how important rates really are for business investment. In any case, no story about interest rates that depends on their effects on investment spending can explain the recent fall in inflation. 

A more disaggregated look at inflation confirms this impression. If we look at price increases over the past three months compared with the period of high inflation in 2021-2022, we see that inflation has slowed across most of the economy, but much more so in some areas than others.

Of the seven-point fall in inflation, nearly half is accounted for by energy, which makes up less than a tenth of the consumption basket. Most of the rest of the fall is from manufactured goods. Non-energy services, meanwhile, saw only a very modest slowing of prices; while they account for about 60% of the consumption basket, they contributed only about a tenth of the fall in inflation. Housing costs are notoriously tricky; but as measured by the shelter component of the Bureau of Labor Statistics, they are rising as fast now as when inflation was at its peak.

Most services are not traded, and are relatively labor-intensive; those should be the prices most sensitive to conditions in U.S. product and labor markets. Manufactured goods and especially energy, on the other hand, trade in very internationalized markets and have been subject to well-publicized supply disruptions. These are exactly the prices we might expect to fall for reasons having nothing to do with the Fed. The distribution of price changes, in other words, suggests that slowing inflation has little to do with macroeconomic conditions within the US, whether due to Fed action or otherwise.

If the Fed didn’t bring down inflation, what did? The biggest factor may be the fall in energy prices. It’s presumably not a coincidence that global oil prices peaked simultaneously with U.S. inflation. Durable-goods prices have also fallen, probably reflecting the gradual healing of pandemic-disrupted supply chains. A harder question is whether the supply-side measures of the past few years played a role. The IRA and CHIPS Act have certainly contributed to the boom in manufacturing investment, which will raise productive capacity in the future. It’s less clear, at least to me, how much policy contributed to the recovery in supply that has brought inflation down.

But that’s a topic for another time. For now it’s enough to say: Don’t thank the Fed.


(Note: Barron’s, like most publications I’ve worked with, prefers to use graphics produced by their own team. For this post, I’ve swapped out theirs for my original versions.)

At Barron’s: Who Is Winning the Inflation Debate?

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This one was published there in July. My previous pieces are here.)

Is inflation fundamentally a macroeconomic problem – a sign of an overheated economy, an excess of aggregate demand over supply? Or is it – at least sometimes – better understood in microeconomic terms, as the result of producers in various markets setting higher prices for their own reasons? 

Not long ago, almost all economists would have picked door No. 1. But in the postpandemic world the choice isn’t so clear.

The answer matters for policy. If the problem is too much spending, then the solution is to bring spending down — and it doesn’t matter which spending. This is what interest rate hikes are intended to do. And since wages are both the largest source of demand and the biggest single component of costs, bringing down spending entails higher unemployment and slower wage growth. Larry Summers – perhaps the most prominent spokesman for macroeconomic orthodoxy – predicted that it would take five years of above-5% unemployment to get inflation under control. He was widely criticized for it. But he was just giving the textbook view.

If inflation is driven by dynamics in particular markets, on the other hand, then an across-the-board reduction in demand isn’t necessary, and may not even be helpful. Better to address the specific factors driving price increases in those markets – ideally through relieving supply constraints, otherwise through targeted subsidies or administrative limits on price increases. The last option, though much maligned as “price controls,” can make sense in cases where supply or demand are particularly inelastic. If producers simply cannot increase output (think, automakers facing a critical chip shortage) then prices have little value as a signal, so there’s not much cost to controlling them.

The debate between these perspectives has been simmering for some time. But it’s reached a boil around Isabella Weber, a leading exponent of the microeconomic perspective. Her recent work explores the disproportionate importance of a few strategic sectors for inflation. Weber has probably done more than any other economist to bring price controls into the inflation-policy conversation.

A recent profile of Weber in the New Yorker describes how she has become a lightning rod for arguments about unconventional inflation policy, with some of her critics going well beyond the norms of scholarly debate.  

This backlash probably owes something to the fact that Weber is, biographically, a sort of anti-Summers. While he is a former Treasury secretary and Harvard president who comes from academic royalty (two of his uncles won economics Nobels), she is young, female, and teaches at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, a department best-known for harboring heterodox, even radical, thinkers. (Full disclosure: I got my own economics doctorate there, though well before Weber was hired.) Some prominent economists embarrassed themselves in their rather obvious professional jealousy, as the New Yorker recounts.

But even more than jealousy, what may explain the ferocity of the response is the not unjustified sense that the heterodox side is winning.

Yes, central banks around the world are hiking interest rates – the textbook response to rising prices. But the debate about inflation policy is much broader than it used to be, in both the U.S. and Europe.

Weber herself served on the committee in Germany that devised the country’s “price brake” for natural gas, which is intended to shield consumers and the broader economy from rising energy prices while preserving incentives to reduce consumption. In the wake of the New Yorker piece, there was a furious but inconclusive debate about whether a “brake” is the same as a “control.” But this misses the point. The key thing is that policy is targeted at prices in a particular market rather than at demand in general.

Such targeted anti-inflation measures have been adopted throughout Europe. In France, after President Emmanuel Macron pledged to do “whatever it takes” to bring down inflation, the country effectively froze the energy prices facing households and businesses through a mix of direct controls and subsidies. Admittedly, such an approach is easier in France because a very large share of the energy sector is publicly owned. In effect, the French measures shifted the burden of higher energy costs from households and businesses to the government. The critical point, though, is that measures like this don’t make sense as inflation control unless you see rising prices as coming specifically from a specific sector (energy in this case), as opposed to an economy-wide excess of demand over supply. 

Even economists at the International Monetary Fund – historically the world’s biggest cheerleader for high rates and austerity in response to inflation – acknowledge that these unconventional policies appear to have significantly reduced inflation in Europe. This is so even though they have boosted fiscal deficits and GDP, which by orthodox logic should have had the opposite effect.

The poster child for the “whatever it takes” approach to inflation is probably Spain, which over the past two years has adopted a whole raft of unconventional measures to limit price increases. Since June 2022, there has been a hard cap on prices in the  wholesale electricity market; this “Iberian exception” effectively decouples electricity prices in Spain from the international gas market. Spain has also adopted limits on energy price increases to retail customers, increased electricity subsidies for low-income households, reduced the value-added tax for energy, and instituted a windfall profits tax on energy producers. While the focus has been on energy prices (not surprisingly, given the central role of energy in European inflation) they have also sought to protect households from broader price increases with measures like rent control and reduced transit fares. Free rail tickets aren’t the first thing that comes to mind when you think of anti-inflation policy, but it makes sense if the goal is to shift demand away from scarce fossil fuels.

This everything-plus-the-kitchen-sink approach to inflation is a vivid illustration of why it’s so unhelpful to frame the debate in terms of conventional policy versus price controls. While some of the Spanish measures clearly fit that description, many others do not. A more accurate, if clunkier, term might be “targeted price policy,” covering all kinds of measures that seek to influence prices in particular markets rather than the economy-wide balance of supply and demand.

More important than what we call it is the fact that it seems to be working. Through most of the postpandemic recovery, inflation in Spain was running somewhat above the euro-area average. But since summer 2022 – when the most stringent energy-price measures went into effect – it has been significantly below it. Last month, Spain saw inflation fall below 2%, the first major European country to do so.

Here in the U.S., direct limits on price rises are less common. But it’s not hard to find examples of targeted price policy. The more active use of the Strategic Petroleum Reserve, for example, is a step toward managing energy prices more directly, rather than via economy-wide spending. The Russian sanctions regime — though adopted, obviously, for other reasons — also has a significant element of price regulation. 

The Inflation Reduction Act is often lampooned as having nothing to do with its name, but that’s not quite right. Instead, it reflects a very different vision of inflation control than what you’d get from the textbooks. Rather than seeking to reduce aggregate demand through fiscal contraction, it envisions massive new public outlays to address problems on the supply side. It’s a sign of the times that a closely divided Congress could pass a vast expansion in federal spending as an anti-inflation measure. 

Meanwhile, there’s growing skepticism about how much rate hikes have actually achieved. Inflation has declined steeply without Summers’ prescribed three years of over-5% unemployment, or indeed any noticeable rise in unemployment at all. By connventional measures, demand is no weaker than it was a year ago. If it’s interest rates that brought down inflation, how exactly did they do so?

To be sure, hardly anyone in either camp correctly predicted the 2021 surge in inflation, or its equally dramatic decline over the past year. So it’s too soon to declare victory yet. But for the moment, it’s Team Weber and not Team Summers that seems to be gaining ground.

 

At Barron’s: With the Debt Ceiling Deal, the Administration Takes a Step Backward

(I write a monthly-ish opinion piece for Barron’s. This is my most recent one. You can find earlier ones here.)  

Since the onset of the pandemic, policy makers in the U.S. and elsewhere have embraced a more active role for government in the economy. The extraordinary scale and success of pandemic relief, the administration’s embrace of the expansive Build Back Better program, and the revived industrial policy of the Inflation Reduction Act and the Chips and Science Act all stand in sharp contrast with the limited-government orthodoxy of the past generation. 

The debt ceiling deal announced this weekend looks like a step back from this new path – albeit a smaller one than many had feared. Supporters of industrial policy and more robust social insurance have reason to be disappointed – especially since the administration, arguably, had more room for maneuver than it was willing to use. 

To be fair, the agreement in part merely anticipates the likely outcome of budget negotiations. Regardless of the debt ceiling, the administration was always going to have to compromise with the House leadership to pass a budget. The difference is that in a normal negotiation, most government spending continues as usual until a deal is reached. Raising the stakes of failure to reach a deal shifts the balance in favor of the side more willing to court disaster. Allowing budget negotiations to get wrapped up with the debt ceiling may have forced the administration to give up more ground than it otherwise would. 

The Biden team’s major nonbudget concession was to accept additional work requirements for some federal benefits. The primary effect of work requirements, with their often onerous administrative burdens, will be to push people off these programs. This might be welcome, if you would prefer that they not exist in their current form at all. But it’s a surprising concession from an administration that, not long ago, was pushing in the other direction. 

In a bigger sense this change directly repudiates one of the main social-policy lessons of recent years. Pandemic income-support programs were an extraordinary demonstration of the value of simple, universal social insurance programs, compared with narrowly targeted ones. The expiration of pandemic unemployment benefits gave us the cleanest test we are ever likely to see of the effect of social insurance and employment. States that ended pandemic benefits early did not see any faster job growth than ones that kept it longer – despite the fact that these programs gave their recipients far stronger incentives against work than those targeted in the budget deal. 

These compromises are all the more disappointing since there were routes around the debt ceiling that the administration, for whatever reason, chose not to explore. The platinum coin got a healthy share of attention. But there were plenty of others. 

The Treasury Department, for example, could have looked into selling debt at a premium. The debt ceiling binds the face value, or principal, of federal debt. There is no reason that this has to be equal to the amount the debt sells for – this is simply how auctions are currently structured. For much of U.S. history, government debt was sold at a discount or premium to its face value. Fixing an above-market interest rate and selling debt at more than face value would allow more funds to be raised without exceeding the debt ceiling. 

The administration might also have asked the Federal Reserve to prepay future remittances. In most years, the Fed makes a profit, which it remits to the Treasury. But it can also report a loss, as it has since September. When that happens, the Fed simply creates new reserves to make up the shortfall, offsetting these with a “deferred asset” representing future remittances. (Currently, the Fed is carrying a deferred asset of $62 billion.) The same device could be used to finance public spending without issuing debt. In a report a decade ago, Fed staff suggested that deferred assets could be used in this way to give the Treasury department “more breathing room under the debt ceiling.” (To be clear, they were not saying that this was a good idea, just noting the possibility.) 

Another route around the debt ceiling might come from the fact that about one-fifth of the federal debt – some $6 trillion – is held by federal trust funds like Social Security, rather than by the public. (Another $5 trillion is held by the Federal Reserve.) This debt has no economic function. It is a bookkeeping device reflecting the fact that trust fund contributions to date have been higher than payments. Retiring these bonds, or replacing them with other instruments that wouldn’t count against the ceiling, would have no effect on either the government’s commitment to pay scheduled benefits or its ability to do so. But it would reduce the notional value of debt outstanding. 

None of these options would be costless, risk-free, or even guaranteed to work. But there is little evidence they were seriously considered. This is a bit disheartening for supporters of the administration’s program. It’s hard to understand why you would go into negotiations with one hand tied behind your backs, and not have a plan B in case negotiations break down.

Tellingly, the one alternative the Biden team did consider was invoking the 14th Amendment to justify issuing new debt in defiance of the ceiling. The amendment refers specifically to the federal government’s debt obligations. But of course, hitting the debt ceiling would not only endanger the government’s debt service. It would threaten all kinds of payments that are legally mandated and economically vital. The openness to the 14th Amendment route, consistent with other public statements, suggests that decision-makers in the administration saw the overriding goal as protecting the financial system from the consequences of a debt default – as opposed to protecting the whole range of public payments. 

What looks like a myopic focus on the dangers to banks recalls one of the worst failures of the Obama administration. 

In the wake of the collapse of the housing market, Congress in 2009 authorized $46 billion in assistance for homeowners facing foreclosure through the Home Affordable Modification Program. But the Obama administration spent just a small fraction of this money (less than 3%) in the program’s first two years, helping only a small fraction of the number of homeowners originally promised. 

The failure to help homeowners was not due to callousness or incompetence. Rather, it was due to the overriding priority put on the stability of the banking system. As Obama’s Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner later explained, they saw the primary purpose of HAMP not as assisting homeowners, but as a way to “foam the runway” for a financial system facing ongoing mortgage losses.

Geithner and company weren’t wrong to see shoring up the banks as important. The problem was that this was allowed to take absolute priority over all other goals — with the result that millions of families lost their homes, an important factor in the slow growth of much of the 2010s.

One wouldn’t want to push this analogy too far. The debt ceiling deal is not nearly as consequential – or as clear a reflection of administration priorities – as the abandonment of underwater homeowners was. But it does suggest similar blinders: too much attention to the danger of financial crisis on one side, not enough to equally grave threats from other directions.

It’s clear that Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen and the rest of the Biden administration are very attuned to the dangers of a default. But have they given enough thought to the other dangers of failing to reach a debt-ceiling deal — or of reaching a bad one? Financial crises are not the only crises. There are many ways that an economy can break down.

 

At Barron’s: Are Low Rates to Blame for Bubbles?

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. These sometimes run in the print edition, which I appreciate — it’s a vote of confidence from the editors, and means more readers. It does impose a tighter word count limit, though. The text below is the longer version I originally submitted. The version that was published is here. All of my previous Barron’s pieces are here.)

The past year has seen a parade of financial failures and asset crashes. Silicon Valley bank was the first bank failure since 2020, and the biggest since 2008. Before that came the collapse of FTX, and of much of the larger crypto ecosystem. Corporate bankruptcies are coming faster than at any time since 2011.  Even luxury watches are in freefall. 

The proximate cause of much of this turmoil is the rise in interest rates. So it’s natural to ask if the converse is true. Is the overvaluing of so many worthless assets  – whether through bubbles or fraud – the fault of a decade-plus of low rates? For those who believe this, the long period of low rates following the global financial crisis fueled an “everything bubble”, just as the earlier period of low rates fueled the housing boom of the 2000s. The rise of fragile or fraudulent institutions, which float up on easy credit before inevitably crashing back to earth, is a sign that monetary policy should never have been so loose. As journalist Rana Foorohar put it in a much-discussed article, “Keeping rates too low for too long encourages speculation and debt bubbles.”

You can find versions of this argument being made by  prominent Keynesians, as well as by economists of a more conservative bent. At the Bank for International Settlements “too low for too long” is practically a mantra. But, does the story make sense?

Yes, low interest rates are associated mean high asset prices. But that’s not the same as a bubble.To the extent an asset represents a stream of future payments, a low discount rate should raise its value. 

On the other hand, asset prices are not just about discounted future income streams; they also incorporate a bet on the future price of the asset itself. If a fall in interest rates leads to a rise in asset prices, market participants may mistakenly expect that rise to continue. That could lead to assets being overvalued even relative to the current low rates.

Another argument one sometimes hears for why low rates lead to bubbles is that when income from safe assets is low, investors will “reach for yield” by taking on more risk, bidding up the price of more speculative assets. Investors’ own liabilities also matter. When it’s cheap and easy to borrow, an asset may be attractive that wouldn’t be if financing were harder to come by.

But if low interest rates make acquiring risky assets more attractive, is that a problem? After all, that’s how monetary policy is supposed to work. The goal of rate cuts is precisely to encourage investment spending that wouldn’t happen if rates were higher.  As I argued recently, it’s not clear that most business investment is very responsive to interest rates. But whether the effect on the economy is strong or weak,  “low interest rates cause people to buy assets they otherwise wouldn’t” is just monetary policy working as intended.

Still, intended results may have unintended consequences. When people are reaching for yield, the argument goes, they are more likely to buy into projects that turn out to be driven by fraud, hype or fantasy.

Arguments for the dangers of low rates tend to take this last step for granted. But it’s not obvious why an environment of low yields should be more favorable to frauds. Projects with modest expected returns are, after all, much more common than projects with very high ones; when risk-free returns are very low, there should be more legitimate higher-yielding alternatives, and less need for risky long shots. Conversely, it is the projects that promise very high returns that are most likely to be frauds  — and that are viable at very high rates.

Certainly this was Adam Smith’s view. For him, the danger of speculation and fraud was not an argument for high interest rates, but the opposite. If legal interest rates were “so high as 8 or 10 percent,” he believed, then “the greater part of the money which was to be lent would be lent to prodigals and projectors, who alone would be willing to give this high interest. Sober people … would not venture into the competition.” 

The FTX saga is an excellent example. At one point, Sam Bankman-Fried—a projector and prodigal if ever there was one—offered as much as 20% on new loans to his hedge fund, Alameda, according to The Wall Street Journal. It wouldn’t take low rates to make that attractive — if he was good for it. But, of course, he was not. And that is the crux of the problem. Someone like Bankman-Fried is not offering a product with low but positive returns, that would be attractive only when rates are low but not when they were high. He was offering a product with an expected return that, in retrospect, was in the vicinity of -100 percent. Giving  him your money to him would be a bad idea at any interest rate. 

We can debate what it would take to prevent fraud-fueled bubbles in assets like cryptocurrency. Perhaps it calls for tighter restrictions on the kinds of products that can be offered for sale, or more stringent rules on the choices of retail investors. Or perhaps, given crypto’s isolation from the broader financial system, this is a case where it’s ok to just let the buyer beware. In any case, the problem was not that crypto offered higher returns than the alternative. The problem was that people believed the returns in crypto were much higher than they actually were. Is this a problem that interest rates can solve?

Let’s suppose for the sake of argument that it is. Suppose that without the option of risk-free returns of 3 or 4 or 5 percent, people will throw their money away on crazy longshots and obvious frauds. If you take this idea seriously, it has some funny implications. Normally, when we ask why asset owners are entitled to their income in the first place, the answer is that it’s an incentive to pick out the projects with the highest returns. (Hopefully these are also the most socially useful ones.) The “too low for too long” argument turns this logic on its head. It says that asset owners need to be guaranteed high returns because they can’t tell a good project from a bad one.

That said, there is one convincing version of this story. For all the reasons above, it does not make sense to think of ordinary investors being driven toward dangerous speculation by low interest rates. Institutions like insurance and pension funds are a different matter. They have long-term liabilities that are more or less fixed and, critically, independent of interest rates. Their long investment horizons mean their loss of income from lower rates will normally outweigh their capital gains when they fall. (This is one thing the BIS surely gets right.) When the alternative is insolvency, it can make sense to choose a project where the expected return is negative, if it offers a chance of getting out of the hole. That’s a common explanation for the seemingly irresponsible loans made by many Savings & Loans in the 1980s—faced with bankruptcy, they “gambled for resurrection.” One can imagine other institutions making a similar choice.

What broke the S&Ls in was high rates, not low ones. But there is a common thread. A structure set up when interest rates are in a certain range may not work when they move outside of it. A balance sheet set up on the basis of interest rates in some range will have problems if they move outside it. 

Modern economies depend on a vast web of payment expectations and commitments stretching far into the future. Changes in interest rates modify many change of those future payments; whether upward or downward, this means disappointed expectations and broken commitments. 

If the recent period of low rates was financially destabilizing,  then, the problem wasn’t the not low rates in themselves. It was that they weren’t what was planned on. If the Fed is going to draw general lessons from the bubbles that are now popping, it should not be about the dangers of low rates, but that of drastic and unexpected moves in either direction. 

At Barron’s: Do Interest Rates Really Drive the Economy?

(I write a more-or-less monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This is my contribution for March 2023; you can find the earlier ones here.)

When interest rates go up, businesses spend less on new buildings and equipment. Right?

That’s how it’s supposed to work, anyway. To be worth doing, after all, a project has to return more than the cost of financing it. Since capital expenditure is often funded with debt, the hurdle rate, or minimum return, for capital spending ought to go up and down with the interest rate. In textbook accounts of monetary policy, this is a critical step in turning rate increases into slower activity.

Real economies don’t always match the textbook, though. One problem: market interest rates don’t always follow the Federal Reserve. Another, perhaps even more serious problem, is that changes in interest rates may not matter much for capital spending.

A fascinating new study raises new doubts about how much of a role interest rates play in business investment.

To clarify the interest-investment link, Niels Gormsen and Kilian Huber — both professors at the University of Chicago Booth School of Business — did something unusual for economists. Instead of relying on economic theory, they listened to what businesses themselves say. Specifically, they (or their research assistants) went through the transcripts of thousands of earnings calls with analysts, and flagged any mention of the hurdle rate or required return on new capital projects. 

What they found was that quoted hurdle rates were consistently quite high — typically in the 15-20% range, and often higher. They also bore no relationship to current interest rates. The federal funds rate fell from 5.25% in mid-2007 to zero by the end of 2008, and remained there through 2015. But you’d never guess it from the hurdle rates reported to analysts. Required returns on new projects were sharply elevated over 2008-2011 (while the Fed’s rate was already at zero) and remained above their mid-2000s level as late as 2015. The same lack of relationship between interest rates and investment spending is found at the level of individual firms, suggesting, in Gormsen and Huber’s words, that “fluctuations in the financial cost of capital are largely irrelevant for [business] investment.”

While this picture offers a striking rejection of the conventional view of interest rates and investment spending, it’s consistent with other research on how managers make investment decisions. These typically find that changes in the interest rate play little or no role in capital spending. 

If businesses don’t look at interest rates when making investment decisions, what do they look at? The obvious answer is demand. After all, low interest rates are not much of an incentive to increase capacity if existing capacity is not being used. In practice, business investment seems to depend much more on demand growth than on the cost of capital. 

(The big exception is housing. Demand matters here too, of course, but interest rates also have a clear and direct effect, both because the ultimate buyers of the house will need a mortgage, and because builders themselves are more dependent on debt financing than most businesses are. If the Fed set the total number of housing permits to be issued across the country instead of a benchmark interest rate, the effects of routine monetary policy might not look that different.)

If business investment spending is insensitive to interest rates, but does respond to demand, that has implications for more than the transmission of monetary policy. It helps explain both why growth is so steady most of the time, and why it can abruptly stall out. 

As long as demand is growing, business investment spending won’t be very sensitive to interest rates or other prices. And that spending in turn sustains demand. When one business carries out a capital project, that creates demand for other businesses, encouraging them to expand as well. This creates further demand growth in turn, and more capital spending. This virtuous cycle helps explain why economic booms can continue in the face of all kinds of adverse shocks — including, sometimes, efforts by the Fed to cut them off.

On the other hand, once demand falls, investment spending will fall even more steeply. Then the virtuous cycle turns into a vicious one. It’s hard to convince businesses to resume capital spending when existing capacity is sitting idle. Each choice to hold back on investment, while individually rational, contributes to an environment where investment looks like a bad idea. 

This interplay between business investment and demand was an important part of Joseph Schumpeter’s theory of business cycles. It played a critical role in John Maynard Keynes’ analysis of the Great Depression. Under the label multiplier-accelerator models, it was developed by economists in the decades after World War II. (The multiplier is the link from investment to demand, while the accelerator is the link from demand growth to investment.) These theories have since fallen out of fashion among economists. But as the Gormsen and Huber study suggests, they may fit the facts better than today’s models that give decisive importance to the interest rate controlled by the Fed.

Indeed, we may have exaggerated the role played in business cycles not just of monetary policy, but of money and finance in general. The instability that matters most may be in the real economy. The Fed worries a great deal about the danger that expectations of higher inflation may become self-confirming. But expectations about real activity can also become unanchored, with even greater consequences. Just look at the “jobless recoveries” that followed each of the three pre-pandemic recessions. Weak demand remained stubbornly locked in place, even as the Fed did everything it could to reignite growth.

In the exceptionally strong post-pandemic recovery, the Fed has so far been unable to disrupt the positive feedback between rising incomes and capital spending. Despite the rate hikes, labor markets remain tighter than any time in the past 20 years, if not the past 50. Growth in nonresidential investment remains fairly strong. Housing starts have fallen sharply since rates began rising, but construction employment has not – at least not yet. The National Federation of Independent Business’s survey of small business owners gives a sharply contradictory picture. Most of the respondents describe this as a very poor moment for expansion, yet a large proportion say that they themselves plan to expand and increase hiring. Presumably at some point this gap between what business owners are saying and what they are doing is going to close – one way or the other. 

If investment responded strongly to interest rates, it might be possible for the Fed to precisely steer the economy, boosting demand a little when it’s weak, cooling it off when it gets too hot. But in a world where investment and demand respond mainly to each other, there’s less room for fine-tuning. Rather than a thermostat that can be turned up or down a degree or two, it might be closer to the truth to say that the economy has just two settings: boom and bust.

At its most recent meeting, the Fed’s forecast was for the unemployment rate to rise one point over the next year, and then stabilize. Anything is possible, of course. But in the seven decades since World War Two, there is no precedent for this. Every increase in the unemployment rate of a half a point has been followed by a substantial further rise, usually of two points or more, and a recession. (A version of this pattern is known as the Sahm rule.) Maybe we will have a soft landing this time. But it would be the first one.

 

At Barron’s: The Fed’s View of the Economy Matters for More than Monetary Policy

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This is the most recent one; you can find earlier ones here.) 

Has the inflationary fever broken at last? The headline Consumer Price Index, which was rising at a 17 percent annual rate last June, actually fell in December. Other measures show a similar, if less dramatic, slowing of price growth. But before we all start congratulating the Federal Reserve, we should think carefully about what else we’re signing up for.

For Fed Chair Jerome Powell, it’s clear that slower price growth is not enough. Inflation may be coming down, but labor markets are still much too tight. “Nominal wages have been growing at a pace well above what would be consistent with 2 percent inflation over time,” he said recently, so “another condition we are looking for is the restoration of balance between supply and demand in the labor market.” 

The model of the economy that the Fed is working with looks something like this: most prices are, at the end of the day, set as a markup over wages. Wage increases depend on the relative bargaining power of workers and employers, and that in turn depends on labor market tightness. Labor market tightness depends on aggregate demand, which the Fed can influence through interest rates. Yes, there are other influences on inflation; but it’s clear that for the Fed this story is central. Indeed, we might call it the Federal Reserve View.

Is this story a fair description of the real world? Yes and no.

A useful rule to remember is that the rise in average wages must equal the rise in the price of domestically-produced goods, plus productivity growth, plus the share of income going to workers. All else equal, higher wages mean higher prices. But all else is not always equal. It’s possible to have faster wage growth and stable inflation if profit margins are falling, or if productivity is rising, or if import prices are falling.

In the short run, these other factors can easily outweigh wage growth. Just look at the 10 years prior to the pandemic. Hourly wages grew almost twice as fast in the second half of the decade as in the first half — nearly 4 percent annually, versus 2 percent. Yet inflation as measured by the CPI was no higher over 2015-2019 than over 2010-2014. That was thanks to productivity growth, which accelerated significantly, and import prices, which declined. (Workers’ share of national income did not change significantly.)

On the other hand, there is a limit to how fast productivity can rise, or profit margins or import prices can fall. No one doubts that if wages were to rise by, say, 10 percent year after year, inflation would eventually rise.

Critics of the Fed have questioned whether these long-run relationships tell us much about the inflation we are seeing now. There are plenty of things that cannot go on forever but can, and should, go on for a while. Rapid wage gains might be one of them. While Powell clearly still sees wage growth as excessive, others might look at the latest Employment Cost Index—less than 1% growth, compared with 1.4% at the start of 2022—and see a problem taking care of itself.

The Fed’s current plan is to increase unemployment by 1 percent over the next year, throwing 1.6 million people out of work. If the link between labor market conditions and prices is not as tight as they think, that’s a lot of suffering being inflicted for no reason. 

But there’s an even bigger problem with the Federal Reserve View: what else follows once you accept it. If price stability requires a weaker labor market – one in which employers have an easier time finding workers, and workers have a harder time finding jobs – that has implications that go far beyond monetary policy.

Take the Fair Trade Commission’s recent ban on non-compete clauses in employment contracts. When President Biden issued the executive order that led to this action, he explicitly framed it as a way of shifting bargaining power to workers and allowing them to demand higher pay. “If your employer wants to keep you,” he said, “he or she should have to make it worth your while to stay.” 

This sounds like good news for workers. But here’s the problem: from the Fed’s point of view, businesses are already paying too much to hold onto their employees. As Powell has said repeatedly over the past year, there is currently a “real imbalance in wage negotiating” in favor of workers. He wants to make it harder for people to switch jobs, not easier. So if the non-compete ban delivers what the President promised, that will just mean that rates have to go up by more.

Or think about minimum wage laws. Thanks to widespread indexing, nearly half the states saw significant increases in their minimum wages at the start of this year. Others, like New York, are moving in this direction. For many people the case for indexing is obvious: It makes sure that the incomes of low-wage workers in retail, fast food and other services keep pace with rising prices. But for the Fed, these are exactly the wages that are already rising too fast. Higher minimum wages, from the Fed’s point of view, call for higher interest rates and unemployment.

There’s nothing new or secret about this. In a typical macroeconomics textbook, the first example of something that raises the “natural rate” of unemployment (the one the central bank targets) is more generous unemployment benefits, which encourage workers to hold out for higher wages.

Publicly, the Fed disavows any responsibility for labor market policy. But obviously, if your goal is to maintain a certain balance of power between workers and employers, anything that shifts that balance is going to concern you.

This problem had dropped from view in recent years, when the Fed was struggling to get inflation up to its target. But historically, there’s been a clear conflict between protecting workers and keeping unemployment low. Under Alan Greenspan, Fed officials often worried that any revival of organized labor could make the job of inflation control harder. Treasury Secretary Yellen made a version of this argument early on in her career at the Fed, observing that “lower unemployment benefits or decreased unionization could … result in a decline in workers’ bargaining power.” This, she explained, could be a positive development, since it would imply “a permanent reduction in the natural rate of unemployment.”

Unfortunately, the same logic works the other way too. Stronger unions, higher minimum wages, and other protections for workers must, if you accept the Federal Reserve View, result in a higher natural rate of unemployment — which means more restrictive monetary policy to bring it about.

It’s easy to understand why administration officials would say they trust the Fed to manage inflation, while they focus on being the most-pro-labor administration in history. Unfortunately, dividing things up this way may not be as simple as it sounds. If that’s what they think their job is, they may have to challenge how the Fed thinks about its own.

At Barron’s: Rate Hikes Are the Wrong Cure for Rising Housing Costs

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This is my contribution for November 2022.)

How much of our inflation problem is really a housing-cost problem?

During the first half of 2021, vehicle prices accounted for almost the whole rise in inflation. For much of this year, it was mostly energy prices.

But today, the prices of automobiles and other manufactured goods have stabilized, while energy prices are falling. It is rents that are rising rapidly. Over the past three months, housing costs accounted for a full two-thirds of the inflation in excess of the Federal Reserve’s 2% target.

Since most Americans don’t rent their homes, the main way that rents enter the inflation statistics is through owners’ equivalent rent—the government’s estimate of how much owner-occupied homes would rent for. The big cost that homeowners actually pay is debt service on their mortgage, which the Fed is currently pushing up. There is something perverse about responding to an increase in a hypothetical price of housing by making actual housing more expensive.

Still, the housing cost problem is real. Market rents are up by over 10% in the past year, according to Zillow. While homeownership rates have recovered somewhat, they are still well below where they were in the mid-2000s. And with vacancy rates for both rental and owner-occupied homes at their lowest levels in 40 years, the housing shortage is likely to get worse.

Housing is unlike most other goods in the economy because it is tied to a specific long-lived asset. The supply of haircuts or child care depends on how much of society’s resources we can devote to producing them today. The supply of housing depends on how much of it we built in the past.

This means that conventional monetary policy is ill-suited to tackle rising housing prices. Because the housing stock adjusts slowly, housing costs may rise even when there is substantial slack in the economy. And because production of housing is dependent on credit, that’s where higher interest rates have their biggest effects. Housing starts are already down 20% since the start of this year. This will have only a modest effect on current demand, but a big effect on the supply of housing in future years. Economics 101 should tell you that if efforts to reduce demand are also reducing supply, prices won’t come down much. They might even rise.

What should we be doing instead?

First, we need to address the constraints on new housing construction. In a number of metropolitan areas, home values may be double the cost of construction. When something is worth more than it costs to produce, normally we make more of it. So, if the value of a property comes mostly from the land under it, that’s a sign that construction is falling far short of demand. The problem we need to solve isn’t that people will pay so much to live in New York or Los Angeles or Boston or Boulder, Colo. It’s that it is so difficult to add housing there.

Land-use rules are set by thousands of jurisdictions. Changing them will not happen overnight. But there are steps that can be taken now. For example, the federal government could tie transportation funding to allowing higher-density development near transit.

Second, we need more public investment. Government support—whether through direct ownership or subsidies—is critical for affordable housing, which markets won’t deliver even with relaxed land-use rules. But government’s role needn’t be limited to the low-income segment. The public sector, with its long time horizons, low borrowing costs, and ability to internalize externalities, has major advantages in building and financing middle-class housing as well.

If we look around the world, it isn’t hard to find examples of governments successfully taking a central role in housing development. In Singapore, which is hardly hostile to private business, the majority of new housing is built by the public Housing Development Board. The apartment buildings built by Vienna’s government between the world wars still provide a large share of the city’s housing. Before the privatizations under Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, some 30% of English families lived in publicly owned housing.

In the U.S., public housing has fallen out of favor. But governments at all levels continue to support the construction of affordable housing through subsidies and incentives. Some public developers, like the Housing Production Fund of Montgomery County, Md., are finding that with cheap financing and no need to deliver returns to investors, they can compete with private developers for mixed-income housing as well. The important thing is to channel new public money to development, rather than vouchers for tenants. The latter may just bid up the price of existing housing.

Third, we should revisit rent regulation. The argument against rent control is supposed to be that it discourages new construction. But empirical studies have repeatedly failed to find any such effect. This shouldn’t be surprising. The high-rent areas where controls get adopted are precisely those where new housing construction is already tightly constrained. If not much is getting built in any case, rent regulation merely prevents the owners of existing housing from claiming windfall gains from surging demand.

No, rent control won’t boost the supply of housing. But it can limit the rise in prices until new supply comes on-line. And it’s a much bettertargeted response to rising housing costs than the policy-induced recession we are currently headed for.

At Barron’s: Americans Owe Less Than They Used To. Will the Fed Change That?

(I write a monthly opinion piece for Barron’s. This one was published there in September.)

Almost everyone, it seems, now agrees that higher interest rates mean economic pain. This pain is usually thought of in terms of lost jobs and shuttered businesses. Those costs are very real. But there’s another cost of rate increases that is less discussed: their effect on balance sheets.

Economists tend to frame the effects of interest rates in terms of incentives for new borrowing. As with (almost) anything else, if loans cost more, people will take less of them. But interest rates don’t matter only for new borrowers, they also affect people who borrowed in the past. As debt rolls over, higher or lower current rates get passed on to the servicing costs of existing debt. The effect of interest rate changes on the burden of existing debt can dwarf their effect on new borrowing—especially when debt is already high.

Let’s step back for a moment from current debates. One of the central macroeconomic stories of recent decades is the rise in household debt. In 1984, it was a bit over 60% of disposable income, a ratio that had hardly changed since 1960. But over the next quarter-century, debt-income ratios would double, reaching 130%. This rise in household debt was the background of the worldwide financial crisis of 2007-2008, and made household debt a live political question for the first time in modern American history.

Household debt peaked in 2008; it has since fallen almost as quickly as it rose. On the eve of the pandemic, the aggregate household debt-income ratio stood at 92%—still high, by historical standards, but far lower than a decade before.

These dramatic swings are often explained in terms of household behavior. For some on the political right, rising debt in the 1984-2008 period was the result of misguided government programs that encouraged excessive borrowing, and perhaps also a symptom of cultural shifts that undermined responsible financial management. On the political left, it was more likely to be seen as the result of financial deregulation that encouraged irresponsible lending, along with income inequality that pushed those lower down the income ladder to spend beyond their means.

Perhaps the one thing these two sides would agree on is that a higher debt burden is the result of more borrowing.

But as economist Arjun Jayadev and I have shown in a series of papers, this isn’t necessarily so. During much of the period of rising debt, households borrowed less on average than during the 1960s and 1970s. Not more. So what changed? In the earlier period, low interest rates and faster nominal income growth meant that a higher level of debt-financed expenditure was consistent with stable debt-income ratios.

The rise in debt ratios between 1984 and 2008, we found, was not mainly a story of people borrowing more. Rather, it was a shift in macroeconomic conditions that meant that the same level of borrowing that had been sustainable in a high-growth, low-interest era was unsustainable in the higher-interest environment that followed the steep rate hikes under Federal Reserve Chair Paul Volcker. With higher rates, a level of spending on houses, cars, education and other debt-financed assets that would previously have been consistent with a constant debt-income ratio, now led to a rising one.

(Yes, there would later be a big rise in borrowing during the housing boom of the 2000s. But this is not the whole story, or even the biggest part of it.)

Similarly, the fall in debt after 2008 in part reflects sharply reduced borrowing in the wake of the crisis—but only in part. Defaults, which resulted in the writing-off of about 10% of household debt over 2008-2012, also played a role. More important were the low interest rates of these years. Thanks to low rates, the overall debt burden continued to fall even as households began to borrow again.

In effect, low rates mean that the same fraction of income devoted to debt service leads to a larger fall in principal—a dynamic any homeowner can understand.

The figure nearby illustrates the relative contributions of low rates and reduced borrowing to the fall in debt ratios after 2008. The heavy black line is the actual path of the aggregate household debt-income ratio. The red line shows the path it would have followed if households had not reduced their borrowing after 2008, but instead had continued to take on the same amount of new debt (as a share of their income) as they did on average during the previous 25 years of rising debt. The blue line shows what would have happened to the debt ratio if households had borrowed as much as they actually did, but had faced the average effective interest rate of that earlier period.

As you can see, both reduced borrowing and lower rates were necessary for household debt to fall. Hold either one constant at its earlier level, and household debt would today be approaching 150% of disposable income. Note also that households were paying down debt mainly during the crisis itself and its immediate aftermath—that’s where the red and black lines diverge sharply. Since 2014, as household spending has picked up again, it’s only thanks to low rates that debt burdens have continued to fall.

(Yes, most household debt is in the form of fixed-rate mortgages. But over time, as families move homes or refinance, the effective interest rate on their debt tends to follow the rate set by the Fed.)

The rebuilding of household finances is an important but seldom-acknowledged benefit of the decade of ultra-low rates after 2007. It’s a big reason why the U.S. economy weathered the pandemic with relatively little damage, and why it’s growing so resiliently today.

And that brings us back to the present. If low rates relieved the burden of debt on American families, will rate hikes put them back on an unsustainable path?

The danger is certainly real. While almost all the discussion of rate hikes focuses on their effects on new borrowing, their effects on the burden of existing debt are arguably more important. The 1980s—often seen as an inflation-control success story—are a cautionary tale in this respect. Even though household borrowing fell in the 1980s, debt burdens still rose. The developing world—where foreign borrowing had soared in response to the oil shock—fared much worse.

Yes, with higher rates people will borrow less. But it’s unlikely they will borrow enough less to offset the increased burden of the debt they already have. The main assets financed by credit—houses, cars, and college degrees—are deeply woven into American life, and can’t be easily foregone. It’s a safe bet that a prolonged period of high rates will result in families carrying more debt, not less.

That said, there are reasons for optimism. Interest rates are still low by historical standards. The improvement in household finances during the post-2008 decade was reinforced by the substantial income-support programs in the relief packages Congress passed in response to the pandemic; this will not be reversed quickly. Continued strong growth in employment means rising household incomes, which, mechanically, pushes down the debt-income ratio.

Student debt cancellation is also well-timed in this respect. Despite the fears of some, debt forgiveness will not boost  current demand—no interest has been paid on this debt since March 2020, so the immediate effect on spending will be minimal. But forgiveness will improve household balance sheets, offsetting some of the effect of interest rate hikes and encouraging spending in the future, when the economy may be struggling with too little demand rather than (arguably) too much.

Reducing the burden of debt is also one of the few silver linings of inflation. It’s often assumed that if people’s incomes are rising at the same pace as the prices of the things they buy, they are no better off. But strictly speaking, this isn’t true—income is used for servicing debt as well as for buying things. Even if real incomes are stagnant or falling, rising nominal incomes reduce the burden of existing debt. This is not an argument that high inflation is a good thing. But even bad things can have benefits as well as costs.

Will we look back on this moment as the beginning of a new era of financial instability, as families, businesses, and governments find themselves unable to keep up with the rising costs of servicing their debt? Or will the Fed be able to declare victory before it has done too much damage? At this point, it’s hard to say.

Either way we should focus less on how monetary policy affects incentives, and more time on how it affects the existing structure of assets and liabilities. The Fed’s ability to steer real variables like GDP and employment in real time has, I think, been greatly exaggerated. Its long-run influence over the financial system is a different story entirely.