Bidenomics – J. W. Mason

At Groundwork: Lessons from the September Jobs Report

(This was originally posted on the website of the Groundwork Collaborative, where I am a senior fellow. I’m hoping to be doing these more regularly in the future, so if there’s anything that would make them more useful or interesting, please let me know.)

The September Jobs Report: Evidence of Past Success, and of Dangers Ahead

After a gap caused by the government shutdown, employment numbers are back, albeit a month delayed. The Bureau of Labor Statistics conducted its September surveys as usual, though the October surveys were not. This will have longer-term repercussions for U.S. economic data, but for now we can focus on what the September data tell us about the state of the labor market and the economy. The data highlight three key economic facts about the current moment: The post-pandemic fiscal response succeeded in spurring a rapid recovery, the stalling labor market is exacerbating inequality, and perhaps most urgently, a recession looks increasingly likely on the horizon.

U.S. employment data is a complicated beast, assembled from three main data sources.

Employment and unemployment rates, along with various personal characteristics, come from the household survey, conducted by the BLS each month of a large sample of US households. The overall population, along with distribution across basic demographic categories of age, sex, and race, comes from the US census. Census numbers are updated at the start of each year and use projected population increases for the periods in between. Finally, total employment numbers, and their distribution across industries, come from the establishment survey, conducted across a sample of U.S. employers. Because of the immense range of sizes of US businesses and the unpredictable rates at which new businesses are born and existing ones die, contacting a representative sample of businesses is more difficult for businesses than households — the source of the large revisions employment numbers are often subject to.

These three sets of numbers combine to provide the indicators in each month’s Employment Situation report. But because they come from different sources, they are not always consistent with each other.

The big puzzle in the September data is the combination of steady growth in total employment and the continued rise in unemployment. Based on the establishment survey, employment rose by 119,000 between August and September; over the past year, employment is up by 1.3 million, or 0.8%. Yet the household survey shows that the unemployment rate increased by 0.1% in the past month; over the past year the unemployment rate is up by 0.3%, while the labor force participation rate is down by a similar amount. Between rising unemployment and falling labor force participation, there has been a fall in the employment-population ratio of 0.4%, from 60.1% a year ago to 59.7% today.

The only way that all these numbers can be correct is if the working-age population grew by 1.5%. Yet the census estimates used by the BLS show an increase in the working age population of just 1% over the past year And since the census makes its population projections at the start of each year; this 1% growth does not reflect the immigration crackdowns this year; so actual growth in the working-age population was probably slower, possibly much slower. One recent paper from the Dallas Federal Reserve Bank estimates that true growth of the working-age population over the past year might be just 0.25%.It is mathematically impossible for employment to grow by 0.8%, the employment-population ratio to fall by 0.4%, and the working-age population to grow by just 1% (let along 0.25%). All of these numbers cannot be correct. Either actual population growth was faster than we think; or employment growth was slower; or the employment rate is lower (and the unemployment rate higher) than the official numbers say.In my view, the household survey is the most reliable piece of the puzzle; I would be very surprised if the unemployment or laborforce participation rates get significantly revised. The most likely possibility, in my opinion, is that subsequent revisions will show that employment growth was significantly slower than what the current numbers suggest. It’s not impossible that, despite everything, immigration-driven labor force growth has remained strong. But it is more probable that job growth will be revised down.

Turning to the substance of the report, there are three big stories we should keep in mind as we look at the September numbers.

The first big story is that the economic response to the pandemic really worked. Indeed, there is a good case that it was the most successful example of countercyclical policy in US history.

In early 2020, the US experienced the sharpest fall in employment and economic activity in our history. There was good reason to fear that the immediate supply-side disruptions of the pandemic would lead to a collapse in demand, as businesses without sales shut down and laid-off workers stopped spending. But instead, just three years later, the employment rate for people of prime working age (25-54) was higher than it was just before the pandemic and not far short of its all-time high in early 2000.

As the figure nearby shows, this rapid recovery is in marked contrast to other recent recessions, where prime-age employment rates remained below their pre-recession peak for many years into the recovery — as long as 12 years, in the case of 2007.

Source: BLS, Groundwork Collaborative analysis

Some people might say that this reflects the difference in the nature of the shock — that the pandemic was inherently a more short-lived interruption to economic activity than the financial disruptions that triggered earlier recessions. But this misses the way that falls in demand can perpetuate themselves, even once the initial source is removed. Businesses that close down in a crisis do not immediately re-open once the crisis is resolved. When people lose jobs, their reduced income and spending will lead to lower demand elsewhere in the economy; this will depress output and employment regardless of the reasons for the initial job loss.These effects of demand are now well-known to economists under the label hysteresis — today, it is widely agreed that even temporary demand shortfalls can lead to persistent falls in economic activity that greatly outlast the initial shock.There were good reasons to think, in 2020, that this was the path the economy was headed down. Businesses that closed during the pandemic would struggle to reopen; people who lost their jobs, even temporarily, would have to cut back on spending, reducing demand even in sectors of the economy not affected by the pandemic itself. And this would be compounded by a wave of foreclosures and debt defaults; even if the recession didn’t start with a financial crisis, it might have developed into one.

The reason this did not happen was because of the scale of the response from the federal government. For the first time in US history, the government fully replaced the income lost in an economic crisis. So there were no knock-on effects to demand and no permanent scarring to the labor market. That — and not the nature of the shock — is the most important reason why the recovery from the pandemic looked so different from earlier business-cycle recoveries.

This enormous policy success has been crowded out in people’s memory by the subsequent inflation. So it’s worth stressing that this is why the Biden administration was right to make a big stimulus measure its first priority on coming into office.

As you can see in the figure, while there was a strong recovery in the second half of 2020, employment growth was much slower in early 2021. It is easy to imagine, in retrospect, that employment rates might have plateaued somewhere well short of their pre-pandemic levels. Indeed, this is what forecasters at places like the Congressional Budget Office were predicting at the time. In February of 2021, they projected that it would take more than twice as long for total employment to reach pre-pandemic levels as it did in reality. And they were projecting an overall employment population ratio for mid-2025 of 57.5% — more than two full points below September’s actual ratio. The fact that rapid employment growth resumed a few months after the passage of the American Rescue Plan isn’t proof of a connection. But it is certainly suggestive.

Apart from a few months in 2024, today’s prime-age employment rate of 80.7% has been exceeded in only one earlier period, from late 1997 to early 2001. So while there are certainly reasons for concern in the most recent job report — which I will get into in the next two items — the most important thing we should remember is that this historically high employment rate was not inevitable or solely the result of anonymous economic forces. It is the fruit of good policy choices made a few years ago.

The second big story reinforced by recent jobs numbers is that labor market conditions matter for inequality. We can see this today in the much larger rise in unemployment among Black workers.

If one pillar of textbook macroeconomics that has had to be revised in recent years is the idea that demand conditions have no lasting effects on the economy, a second is that labor market conditions only matter for the overall pace of wage growth. The distribution of wages across individuals, in this older view, depends on their “human capital” and other individual characteristics.

But what’s become very clear is that the state of the labor market matters more for some workers than for others. For people whose employment is protected by long-term contracts and credentials, or who are the sort of people that employers prefer — college-educated white men in their prime working years — employment outcomes may be relatively insensitive to the state of the labor market. But for workers in more contingent, precarious employment arrangements, or from groups less favored by employers — Black workers, young people looking for their first jobs, those without college degrees — their prospects depend much more on the balance of power in the labor market. When you are last hired, first fired, your situation depends very strongly on how much hiring and firing is currently going on.

Arguably this has always been true. But it’s become more widely recognized among economists and policymakers in recent years. Not long before the pandemic, for example, Fed Chair Jerome Powell acknowledged the role of weak demand — due in part to poor monetary-policy choices — in exacerbating inequality. This is something previous chairs had disavowed responsibility for.

During the immediate recovery from the pandemic, these distributional effects were positive, as a strong labor market disproportionately benefited those most likely to be left out. In 2021 and 2022, wages at the bottom of the distribution rose substantially faster than those higher up. Similarly, in the strong labor market of the late 2010s, the Black-white gap in unemployment rates fell to historically low levels. In the even stronger labor market of the post-pandemic recovery, it fell even more — in 2023, the gap between the Black unemployment rate and the overall rate briefly fell below 1.5%, the smallest gap on record. (See the figure nearby.)

But over the past year, as the labor market has softened, wage growth at the bottom has begun to lag the growth in wages higher up. And the unemployment rate among Black Americans has risen much faster than among other groups. Over the year ending in September, according to the most recent BLS numbers, the unemployment rate for Black workers is up 1.8 points, compared with a rise of just 0.1 points for white workers.

When Black unemployment started rising sharply compared with the overall rate over the summer, there was the possibility it was a statistical blip. But September’s report confirms that this is a real trend. This is deeply concerning in itself. But it’s also a reminder that keeping up demand and tight labor markets are not just important from a macroeconomic perspective; they are also powerful tools for social justice along other dimensions. And conversely, of course, weak labor markets exacerbate other forms of inequality — as we are seeing now.

The third big story in recent jobs reports is that a recession looks increasingly likely.

In recent years, discussions of recession have often focused on the Sahm Rule, a rule of thumb based on a comparison of the past three months’ average unemployment rate with the lowest three-month average from the previous twelve months. The rule that Claudia Sahm proposed — originally as a trigger for enhanced unemployment benefits, rather than as a forecasting tool per se — was a threshold of 0.5, i.e. an average unemployment rate over the past three months at least half a point higher than the lowest rate in the past year. In recent decades, this has inevitably signaled a recession.

As the figure nearby shows, this threshold was briefly reached in mid-2024, without any official recession. The indicator has since receded back toward zero — not because the unemployment rate has come down, but because the big rise in unemployment came in 2023, and has now moved beyond the rule’s window. Since then, measured unemployment has been fairly stable.

It is worth thinking about why a rule like this might work in the first place. The critical fact about the world highlighted by the Sahm rule is that moderate increases in unemployment are, historically, almost always followed by much larger increases. This is not something that just happens to be true. It reflects a basic fact about how the economy works: Income creates spending, and spending creates incomes. This positive feedback loop is what powers growth — when businesses undertake new investment projects, that spending circulates through the economy, creating additional income and spending that, in the aggregate, justifies the investment spending.But this process can also work in reverse. A fall in spending leads to a fall in incomes, which leads to a further fall in spending. The difference between these two feedbacks is the reason our economy experiences distinct periods of expansion and recession, rather than a smooth range of different growth rates.There are metaphors that are widely used in talking about business cycles that capture the idea of tipping points or phase transitions. An airplane has a stall speed: if it slows down a bit, it flies a bit slower, but if it slows down too much then it stops flying entirely and falls to the ground. A car trying to go up an icy hill needs to build up a enough speed to make it to the top; if it goes faster than this, it will arrive at the top going faster, but if it goes slower, it will slip back down and won’t make it to the top at all.

The idea that a certain level of growth in demand is required to prevent a sharp fall in demand is a familiar one in practical economic discussions, even if it’s not always stated clearly. It’s implicit in the idea of business cycles and recessions as distinct phenomena in their own right, as opposed to just labels of convenience for unusually large random shocks. There are many reasons why this sort of “stall speed” might exist, but two of the most important are the “accelerator” mechanism linking investment and demand, and the limited financial buffers possessed by most households.

We needn’t go into the details of these stories in this post; the key point for present purposes is that there are good reasons why a small fall in employment or expenditure is likely to reverse itself, but a large enough fall will snowball into an even bigger one. This is why the Sahm rule is not just a historical accident, but captures an important business-cycle regularity.

The unemployment rate is our most timely indicator of the overall level of economic activity. A large rise in unemployment is not just a negative outcome in itself; it indicates a fall in spending and activity that will have further effects. Over the past two years unemployment has risen by almost a full point — too slowly to trigger the Sahm rule, but a large enough rise that, based on historical experience, we would expect to be near the recession tipping point. At the least, it suggests a situation in which any new negative shock — an abrupt slowdown in data-center investment, for instance — could send the economy out of what the great Keynesian economist Axel Leijonhufvud described as the “corridor of stability,” and into a recessionary spiral.

One final point: There is no reason to think that this data is distorted or politically biased.

Attacks on professional norms are a hallmark of the Trump approach to governance. But while the administration can certainly interfere with timely collection and publication of data, and while, even in the best of times, there are serious challenges to constructing meaningful summaries of all the myriad forms of economic activity, there is no reason to think there is political interference in the employment data. More than that: I would say there is strong reason to believe that there isn’t. Given the deep commitment to the civil servants at the BLS and other national statistical agencies, if there were any pressure on them to change the numbers, we would certainly hear about it.

Are We Better Off Than Four Years Ago?

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

Are you better off today than you were four years ago?

Ever since President Ronald Reagan first asked that question in 1980, it has summed up a decisive factor in national politics. Those presidents who deliver material improvement in voters’ lives win re-election (for themselves or their parties). Those who don’t, do not.

Was 2024 a confirmation of this conventional wisdom, or a departure from it? It’s a harder question to answer than you might think. Whether or not people are better off depends on what we measure, and what we compare it to.

Many voters certainly expressed unhappiness with the economy. And those voters strongly favored Donald Trump. In 2020, 50% of voters rated the economy as “not good/poor.” Joe Biden got 80% of this group’s vote. In 2024, 68% of voters rated the economy as “not good/poor.” Kamala Harris received just 28% of their vote.

On the face of it, this unhappiness is a puzzle. By the measures economists typically focus on, U.S. economic performance looks exceptionally strong. Postpandemic growth has been stronger than in any other rich country, inflation is back down to normal, unemployment is near historic lows, and strong wage growth, especially for the lowest-paid workers, has reversed decades of rising inequality.

When a senior Biden advisor described the US as experiencing “the best economy ever,” she spoke not just for fellow partisans, but for many economists. With a record like that, shouldn’t the economy have been a selling point for the Democrats, rather than a weakness? What do voters have to complain about?

Commentators have written off voters’ concerns as mere vibes or the result of misleading media coverage. But a more careful look suggests that there is something to voters’ perception that they are worse-off economically. Although wages have more than kept pace with inflation, especially at the bottom, wages are not the only source of income. The withdrawal of pandemic-era welfare policies has left many people materially worse off than in the first year of the Biden administration, even as their paychecks have grown.

Let’s start with the positive case for U.S. economic strength. Compared with other countries in the OECD, the U.S. postpandemic recovery has been exceptionally strong. Real gross domestic product per capita is 10% higher than it was in 2019, the highest growth rate among the G7 group of rich countries. And the U.S. has not paid for this growth with higher inflation—U.S. inflation rates have been no higher than elsewhere.

Wage growth has actually exceeded pre-pandemic trends even after accounting for inflation. This is especially true for those at the bottom of the distribution. As labor economists David Autor, Arin Dube, and Annie McGrew documented in an important paper, the wage compression over 2020-2023 reversed a full third of the past four decades of rising wage inequality. (And as Dean Baker has often noted, the increase in remote work is effectively a raise for millions of workers who no longer have to spend time commuting, one not captured in the data.)

Why, then, did over two-thirds of voters tell pollsters that the economy was not good or poor? Why, according to exit polls, did Trump gain so much support precisely among those lower-income families who seem to have benefited the most from the strong labor markets of the past few years?

There’s no shortage of answers to this question. But one factor must surely have been the withdrawal of pandemic-era income support. During 2020-2021, the federal government did more than ever before in history to support the incomes and living standards of ordinary Americans. And then it took that support away.

One-off stimulus checks were the most obvious component of this extension and withdrawal of support, but it had many other aspects. For a year and a half (from March 2020 to September 2021), America’s threadbare unemployment insurance system briefly reached almost everyone who had lost their jobs. Over roughly the same period, an eviction moratorium protected renters from one of the most disruptive life events. Until April 2023, continuous enrollment in Medicaid maintained access to health insurance for millions of people who would otherwise lose it. SNAP (food stamp) benefits were expanded during the pandemic, by an average of $90 per person per month, under the declaration of public health emergency that lasted until April 2023. Even free school lunches were, temporarily, extended to far more students than had ever received them. And then, all of that was removed.

One striking statistic: Real per-capita income was 6% lower in 2022 than in 2021. This is more than twice as large as the next biggest decline since the data begins in the 1950s.

You might say that this is just another statistic, no more relevant to ordinary people’s lives than the more positive numbers cited by Biden admirers. But the withdrawal of pandemic social assistance also shows up in more direct measures of living standards.

In 2024, there were a million more Americans without health insurance than there were in 2022. The fraction of children without health insurance was higher on Election Day than it was when Biden took office.

Or look at the number of Americans who report each month that they can’t afford enough food for their families. This number is always too high for a country as rich as the United States, and it has historically risen during recessions. But strikingly, this number did not increase during the pandemic. It did rise sharply, though, after 2022, as pandemic-era expansions to unemployment insurance and SNAP were withdrawn. As of 2023, 5.1% of Americans reported being unable to afford enough food to meet their families minimal needs — more than at any point during Trump’s presidency.

Or consider evictions. National statistics on evictions are hard to come by, but in the cities and states tracked by the Eviction Lab, eviction rates were twice as high over the past year as in the last year of Trump’s presidency. This difference is, of course, due in large part to the eviction moratorium put in place by the CDC during the pandemic. But for the people who found themselves with their furniture out on the sidewalk in 2024, exactly which government agency is responsible is probably not so important.

Once we drill down past aggregate measures like GDP, it is clear that a large fraction of Americans were materially better off a few years ago than they are today.

An obvious response is that the biggest fall in income was due to the end of the stimulus, which was always meant to be temporary. That is true as far as it goes—though it’s not clear how much comfort this should give to parents who could afford food for their children thanks to the stimulus checks, and could not once those were taken away. But many other income-support measures, such as the child tax credit, were clearly intended to last. Biden spent much of his first year, and of his political capital, trying to win a permanent expansion of the welfare state in the form of the Build Back Better package.

We can debate how feasible this program was, in retrospect. But certainly the administration and its allies believed, and publicly promised, that they were going to deliver something other than a return to the prepandemic status quo. Are people wrong to be disappointed that these promises were not borne out? When Democrats boasted, in 2021, of the largest-ever reduction in child poverty rates, was there an understanding that it would be followed, a year later, by the largest-ever increase?

If we compare the material conditions faced by American families today to 2019, it’s easy to make a case that most people are better off. If we compare conditions to 2021—and look at more than just wages—it’s equally easy to make a case that people are doing worse.

Of course, as journalist Bryce Covert points out, there’s a strong case that the temporary income supports were essential to the rapid postpandemic recovery. In that sense, the right point of comparison is not actual conditions four years ago, but a deep recession that might otherwise have happened (and that many of us expected.) But one can hardly blame voters for answering Reagan’s question based on what actually occurred, and not based on a counterfactual, plausible though it may be.

It’s hard to say how much the Biden administration could have avoided this whiplash. In hindsight, it’s easy to argue that the unique political space of early 2021 would have been better used to craft a smaller set of permanent programs, rather than the broad but temporary package we actually got. Would that have changed the outcome of this year’s election? I have no idea. Probably historians will be debating these questions for decades to come.

But one thing is clear: When people say they are worse off than they were four years ago, they have good reason to feel that way. If someone says, “Under Trump the government started doing more to help me pay my bills, and under Biden it stopped doing that,” that is not just partisan bias or bad media coverage. It’s a straightforward statement of fact.

At Dissent: Industrial Policy without Nationalism

(This piece was published in the Fall 2024 issue of Dissent.)

In the first two years after Biden’s election, there was considerable enthusiasm on the left for the administration’s embrace of a larger, more active economic role for the federal government. I was among those who saw both the ambitions of the Build Back Better bill and the self-conscious embrace of industrial policy as an unexpectedly sharp break with the economic policy consensus of the past thirty years.

Biden squandered that early promise with his embrace of Israel’s campaign of mass murder in Gaza. His legacy will be the piles of shattered buildings and children’s corpses that he, with aides like Antony Blinken, did so much to create.

The administration has also struck a Trumpian note on immigration, promising to shut down the border to desperate asylum seekers. And internationally, it is committed to a Manichean view of the world where the United States is locked into a perpetual struggle for dominance with rivals like Russia and China.

Can industrial policy be salvaged from this wreckage? I am not sure.

There are really two questions here. First, is there an inherent connection between industrial policy and economic nationalism, because support for one country’s industries must comes at the cost of its trade partners? And second, is it possible in practice to pursue industrial policy without militarism? Or does it require the support of the national security establishment as the only sufficiently powerful constituency in favor of a bigger and more active government?

Much of the conversation around industrial policy assumes that one country’s gain must be another’s loss. U.S. officials insist on the need to outcompete China in key markets and constantly complain about how “unfair” Chinese support for its manufacturers disadvantages U.S. producers. European officials make similar complaints about the United States.

This zero-sum view of trade policy is shared by an influential strand of thought on the left, most notably Robert Brenner and his followers. In their view, the world economy faces a permanent condition of overcapacity, in which industrial investment in one country simply depresses production and profits elsewhere. In the uncompromising words of Dylan Riley, “the present period does not hold out even the hope of growth,” allowing only for “a politics of zero-sum redistribution.” Development, in this context, simply means the displacement of manufacturing in the rich countries by lower-cost competitors.

I don’t know if anyone in the Biden administration has read Brenner or been influenced by him. But there is certainly a similarity in language. The same complaints that Chinese investment is exacerbating global overcapacity in manufacturing could come almost verbatim from the State Department or from the pages of New Left Review. More broadly, there is a shared sense that China’s desire to industrialize is fundamentally illegitimate. The problem, Brenner complains, is that China and other developing countries have sought to “export goods that were already being produced” instead of respecting the current “world division of labor along Smithian lines” and focusing on exports complementary to existing industries in the North.

Fortunately, we can be fairly confident that this understanding of world trade is wrong.

The zero-sum vision sees trade flows as driven by relative prices, with lower-cost producers beating out higher-cost ones for a fixed pool of demand. But as Keynesian economists have long understood, the most important factor in trade flows is changes in incomes, not prices. Far from being fixed, demand is the most dynamic element in the system.

A country experiencing an economic boom – perhaps from a upsurge in investment – will see a rapid rise in both production and demand. Some of the additional spending will falls on imports; countries that grow faster therefore tend to develop trade deficits while countries that grow slowly tend to develop trade surpluses. (It is true that some countries manage to combine rapid growth with trade surpluses, while others must throttle back demand to avoid deficits. But as the great Keynesian economist A.P. Thirlwall argued, this is mainly a function of what kinds of goods they produce, rather than lower prices.)

We can see this dynamic clearly in the United States, where the trade deficit consistently falls in recessions and widens when growth resumes. It was even more important, though less immediately obvious, in Europe in the 2000s. During the first decade of the euro, Germany developed large surpluses with other European countries, which were widely attributed to superior competitiveness thanks to wage restraint and faster productivity growth. But this was wrong. While German surpluses with the rest of the European Union rose from 2 percent to 3 percent of German GDP during the 2000s, there was no change in the fraction of income being spent in the rest of the bloc on German exports. Meanwhile, the share of German income spent on EU imports actually rose.

If Germans were buying more from the rest of the European Union, and non-German Europeans were buying the same amount from Germany, how could it be that the German trade surplus with Europe increased? The answer is that total expenditure was rising much faster in the rest of Europe. Rising German surpluses were the result of austerity and stagnation within the country, not greater competitiveness. If Germany had adopted a program to boost green investment during the 2000s, its trade surpluses would have been smaller, not larger. The same thing happened in reverse after the crisis: the countries of Southern Europe rapidly closed their large trade deficits without any improvement in export performance, as deep falls in income and expenditure squeezed their imports.

Europe’s trade imbalances of a decade ago might seem far afield from current debates over industrial policy. But they illustrate a critical point. When a country adopts policies to boost investment spending, that creates new demand in its economy. And the additional imports drawn in by this demand are likely to outweigh whatever advantages it gains in the particular sector where investment is subsidized. Measures like the Inflation Reduction Act (IRA) or CHIPS and Science Act may eventually boost U.S. net exports in the specific sectors they target. But they also raise demand for everything else. This is why a zero-sum view of industrial policy is wrong. If the US successfully boosts investment in wind turbine production, say, it will probably boost net exports of turbines. But it will also raise imports of other things – not just inputs for turbines, but all the goods purchased by everyone whose income is raised by the new spending. For most US trade partners, the rise in overall demand will matter much more than greater US competitiveness in a few targeted sectors.

China might look like an exception to this pattern. It has combined an investment boom with persistent trade surpluses, thanks to the very rapid qualitative upgrading of its manufacturing base. For most lower- and middle-income countries, rapid income growth leads to a disproportionate rise in demand for more advanced manufactures they can’t make themselves. This has been much less true of China. As economists like Dani Rodrik have shown, what is exceptional about China is the range and sophistication of the goods it produces relative to its income level. This is why it’s been able to maintain trade surpluses while growing rapidly.

While Biden administration officials and their allies like to attribute China’s success to wage repression, the reality is close to the opposite. As scholars of inequality like Branko Milanovic and Thomas Piketty have documented, what stands out about China’s growth is how widely the gains have been shared. Twenty-first-century China, unlike the United States or Western Europe, has seen substantial income growth even for those at the bottom of the income distribution.

More important for the present argument, China has not just added an enormous amount of manufacturing capacity; it has also been an enormous source of demand. This is the critical point missed by those who see a zero-sum competition for markets. Consider automobiles. Already by 2010 China was the world’s largest manufacturer, producing nearly twice as many vehicles as the United States, a position it has held ever since. Yet this surge in auto production was accompanied by an even larger surge in auto consumption, so that China remained a net importer of automobiles until 2022. The tremendous growth of China’s auto industry did not come at the expense of production elsewhere; there were simply more cars being made and sold.

All this applies even more for the green industries that are the focus of today’s industrial policy debate. There has been a huge rise in production—especially but not only in China—but there has been an equally huge growth in expenditure. Globally, solar power generation increased by a factor of 100 over the past fifteen years, wind power by a factor of ten. And there is no sign of this growth slowing. To speak of excess capacity in this sector is bizarre. In a recent speech, Treasury Under Secretary Jay Shambaugh complained that China plans to produce more lithium-ion batteries and solar modules than are required to hit net-zero emissions targets. But if the necessary technologies come online fast enough, there’s no reason we can’t beat those targets. Is Shambaugh worried that the world will decarbonize too fast?

Even in narrow economic terms, there are positive spillovers from China’s big push into green technology. China may gain a larger share of the market for batteries or solar panels — though again, it’s important to stress that this market is anything but fixed in size — but the investment spending in that sector will create demand elsewhere, to the benefit of countries that export to China. Technological improvements are also likely to spread rapidly. One recent study of industrial policy in semiconductors found that when governments adopt policies to support their own industry, they are able to significantly raise productivity – but thanks to international character of chip production, productivity gains are almost as large for the countries they trade with. Ironically, as Tim Sahay and Kate Mackenzie observe, the United States stands to lose out on exactly these benefits thanks to the Biden administration’s hostility to investment by Chinese firms.

None of this is to say that other countries face no disruptions or challenges from China’s growth, or from policies to support particular industries in the United States or elsewhere. The point is that these disruptions can be managed. Lost demand in one sector can be offset by increased demand somewhere else. Subsidies in one country can be matched by subsidies in another. Indeed, in the absence of any global authority to coordinate green investment, a subsidy race may be the best way to hasten decarbonization.

As a matter of economics, then, there is no reason that industrial policy has to involve us-against-them economic nationalism or heightened conflict between the United States and China. As a matter of politics, unfortunately, the link may be tighter.

They are certainly linked in the rhetoric of the Biden administration. Virtually every initiative, it now seems, is justified by the need to meet the threat of foreign rivals. A central goal of the CHIPS Act is to not only reduce U.S. reliance on Chinese imports but to cut China off from technologies where the United States still has the lead. Meanwhile arms deliveries to Ukraine are sold as a form of stimulus. This bellicose posture is deeply written in the DNA of Bidenomics: before becoming Biden’s national security advisor, Jake Sullivan ran a think tank whose vision of “foreign policy for the middle class” was “Russia, Russia, Russia and China, China, China.”

Thea Riofrancos calls this mindset the “security-sustainability nexus.” Is its current dominance in U.S. politics a contingent outcome—the result, perhaps, of the particular people who ended up in top positions in the Biden administration? And if so, can we imagine a U.S. industrial policy where the China hawks are not in the driver’s seat? Or is the political economy of the United States one in which only a Cold War enemy can motivate a public project to reorient the economy?

In a recent paper, Benjamin Braun and Daniela Gabor argue for the second alternative. It is only “the salience of geopolitical competition” with China that has allowed the United States to go as far with industrial policy as it has. In the absence of much more popular pressure and a broader political realignment, they suggest, the only way that “green planners” can overcome the deep-seated resistance to bigger government is through an alliance with the “geopolitical hawks.”

Many of us have pointed to the economic mobilization of the Second World War as a model for a quick decarbonization of the U.S. economy through public investment. Wartime mobilization — the “greatest thing that man has ever done,” in the words of a contemporary Woody Guthrie song — offers an appealing model for decarbonization. It combines both the most rapid expansion and redirection of economic activity in U.S. history, and the closest the country has ever come to a planned economy. But given the already dangerous entanglement of industrial policy with war and empire, it’s a model we may not want to invoke.

On the other hand, the climate crisis is urgent. And the arguments that it calls for a more direct public role in steering investment are as strong as ever. It’s safe to say that neither the historic boom in new factory construction nor the rapid growth in solar energy (which accounts for the majority of new electrical generating capacity added in 2024) would have happened without the IRA. It’s easy to see how climate advocates could be tempted to strike a Faustian bargain with the national security state, if that’s the only way to get these measures passed.

Personally, I would prefer to avoid this particular deal with the devil. I believe we should oppose any policy aimed at strengthening the United States vis-à-vis China and flatly reject the idea that U.S. military supremacy is in the interest of humanity. An all-out war between the United States and China (or Russia) would be perhaps the one outcome worse for humanity than uncontrolled climate change. Even if the new Cold War can be kept to a simmer—and that’s not something to take for granted—the green side of industrial policy is likely to lose ground whenever it conflicts with national security goals, as we’ve recently seen with Biden’s tariffs on Chinese solar cells, batteries, and electric vehicles. The Democratic pollster David Shor recently tweeted that he “would much rather live in a world where we see a 4 degree rise in temperature than live in a world where China is a global hegemon.” Administration officials would not, presumably, spell it out so baldly, but it’s a safe bet that many of them feel the same way.

Adam Tooze observes somewhere that historically socialists often favored strictly balanced budgets — because they expected, not without reason, that the main beneficiary of lax fiscal rules would be the military. The big question about industrial policy today is whether that logic still applies, or whether an expansion of the state’s role in the economic realm can be combined with a diminution of its capacity for war.

Climate Policy from a Keynesian Perspective

(This is the extended abstract for a piece I am writing for “The Great Turnaround,” a collection of essays on the economics of decarbonization from ZOE-Institute for Future-fit Economies and the Heinrich Böll Foundation.)

In the world in which we live, large-scale cooperation is largely organized through payments of money. Orthodox economics conflates these money flows, on the one hand with quantities of real social and physical things, and on the other hand with a quantity of wellbeing or happiness. One way of looking at Keynes’ work is as an attempt to escape this double conflation and see money as something distinct. Eighty years later, it can still be a challenge to imagine our collective productive activity except in terms of the quantities of money that organize it. But this effort of imagination is critical to address the challenges facing us, not least that of climate change.

The economic problems of climate change are often discussed, explicitly or implicitly, in terms of the orthodox real-exchange vision of the economy, in which problems are conceived of in terms of the allocation of scarce means among alternative ends.

In the real-exchange framework, decarbonization is a good which must be traded off against other goods. From this point of view, the central question is what is the appropriate tradeoff between current consumption and decarbonization. The problem is that since climate is an externality, this tradeoff cannot be reached by markets alone; the public sector must set the appropriate price via a carbon tax or equivalent. In general, more rapid decarbonization will be disproportionately more costly than slower decarbonization. A further problem is that since the climate externality is global, higher costs will be borne by the countries that move more aggressively toward decarbonization while others may free-ride.

This perspective does leave space for more direct public action to address climate change. Public investment, however, faces the same tradeoff between decarbonization and current living standards that price-mediated private action does. It is also limited by the state’s fiscal capacity. Governments have a finite capacity to generate money flows through taxation and bond-issuance (or equivalently to mobilize real resources) and use of this capacity for decarbonization will limit public spending in other areas.

The claims in the preceding two paragraphs may sound reasonable at first glance. But from a Keynesian standpoint, none are correct; they range from misleading to flatly false. In the Keynesian vision, the economy is imagined as aa system of monetary production rather than real exchange, with the binding constraints being not scarce resources, but demand and, more broadly, coordination. From this perspective, the problem of climate change looks very different. And these differences are not just about terminology or emphasis, but a fundamentally different view of where the real tradeoffs and obstacles to decarbonization lie.

In this paper, I will sketch out the central elements that distinguish a Keynesian vision of the economics of climate change. For this purpose, the Keynesian monetary-production framework can be seen as involving three fundamental premises.

1. Economic activity is coordination- and demand-constrained, not real resource-constrained.

2. Production is an active, transformative process, not just a combining of existing resources or factors.

3. Money is a distinct object, not just a representative of some material quantity; the interest rate is the price of liquidity, not of saving.

These premises have a number of implications for climate policy.

1. Decarbonization will be experienced as an economic boom. Decarbonization will require major changes in our patterns of production and consumption, which in turn will require substantial changes to our means of production and built environment. In capitalist economies, these changes are brought about by spending money. Renovating buildings, investing in new structures and equipment, building infrastructure, etc. add to demand. The decommissioning of existing means of production does not, however subtract from demand. Similarly, high expected returns in growing sectors can call forth very high investment there; investment can’t fall below zero in declining sectors. So even if aggregate profitability is unchanged, big shift in its distribution across industries will lead to higher investment.

2. There is no international coordination problem — the countries that move fastest on climate will reap direct benefits. While coordination problems are ubiquitous, the real-exchange paradigm creates one where none actually exists. If the benefits of climate change mitigation are global, but it requires a costly diversion of real resources away from other needs, it follows that countries that do not engage in decarbonization can free-ride on the efforts of those that do. The first premise is correct but the second is not. Countries that take an early lead in decarbonization will enjoy both stronger domestic demand and a lead in strategic industries. This is not to suggest that international agreements on climate policy are not desirable; but it is wrong and counterproductive to suggest that the case for decarbonization efforts at a national level is in any way contingent on first reaching such agreements.

3. There is no tradeoff between decarbonization and current living standards. Real economies always operate far from potential. Indeed, it is doubtful whether a level of potential output is even a meaningful concept. Decarbonization is not mainly a matter of diverting productive activity away from other needs, but mobilizing new production, with positive spillovers toward production for other purposes. The workers engaged in, say, expanding renewable energy capacity are not being taken away from equal-value activity in some other sector. They are, in the aggregate, un- or underemployed workers, whose capacities would otherwise be wasted; and the incomes they receive in their new activity will generate more output in demand-constrained consumption goods sectors.

4. Price based measures cannot be the main tools for decarbonization. There is a widely held view that the central tool for addressing climate should be an increase in the relative price of carbon-intensive commodities, through a carbon tax or equivalent. This make sense in a vision of the economy as essentially an allocation problem where existing resources need to be directed to their highest value use. But from a Keynesian perspective there are several reasons to think that prices are a weak tool for decarbonization, and the main policies need to be more direct. First, in a world of increasing returns, there will be multiple equilibria, so we can not think only in terms of adjustment at the margin. In the orthodox framework, increasing the share of, say, a renewable energy source will be associated with a higher marginal cost, requiring a higher tax or subsidy; but in an increasing-returns world, increasing share will be associated with lower marginal costs, so that while even a very large tax may not be enough to support an emerging technology once it is established no tax or subsidy may be needed at all. Second, production as a social process involves enormous coordination challenges, especially when it is a question of large, rapid changes. Third, fundamental uncertainty about the future creates risks which the private sector is often unwilling or unable to bear.

5. Central bank support for decarbonization must take the form active credit policy. As applied to central banks, carbon pricing suggests a policy to treat “green” assets more favorably and other assets less favorably. This is often framed as an extension of normal central bank policies toward financial risk, since the “dirty” asset suppose greater risks to their holders or systematically than the “green” ones. But there is no reason, in general, to think that the economic units that are at greatest risk from climate change are the same as the ones that are contributing to it. A deeper and more specifically Keynesian objection is that credit constraints do not bind uniformly across the economy. The central bank, and financial system in general, do not set a single economy wide “interest rate”, but allocate liquidity to specific borrowers on specific terms. Most investment, conversely, is not especially sensitive to interest rates; for larger firms, credit conditions are not normally a major factor in investment, while for smaller borrowers constraints on the amount borrowed are often more important. Effective use of monetary policy to support decarbonization or other social goals requires first identifying those sites in the economy where credit constraints bind and acting to directly to loosen or tighten them.

6. Sustained low interest rates will ease the climate transition. A central divide between Keynesian and orthodox macroeconomic theory is the view of the interest rate. Mainstream textbooks teach that the interest rate is the price of saving, balancing consumption today against consumption in the future — a tradeoff that would exist even in a nonmonetary economy. Keynes’ great insight was that the interest rate in a monetary economy has nothing to do with saving but is the price of liquidity, and is fundamentally under the control of the central bank. He looked forward to a day when this rate fall to zero, eliminating the income of the “functionless rentier”. As applied to climate policy, this view has several implications. First, market interest rates tell us nothing about any tradeoff between current living standards and action to protect the future climate. Second, there is no reason to think that interest rates must, should or will rise in the future; debt-financed climate investment need not be limited on that basis. Third, while investment in general is not very sensitive to interest rates, an environment of low rates does favor longer-term investment. Fourth, low interest rates are the most reliable way to reduce the debt burdens of the public (and private) sector, which is important to the extent that high debt ratios constrain current spending.

7. There is no link between the climate crisis and financial crisis. It is sometimes suggested that climate change and/or decarbonization could result in a financial crisis comparable to the worldwide financial crisis of 2007-2009. From a Keynesian perspective, this view is mistaken; there is no particular link between the real economic changes associated with climate change and climate policy, on the one hand, and the sudden fall in asset values and cascading defaults of a financial crisis, on the other. While climate change and decarbonization will certainly devalue certain assets — coastal property in low-lying cities; coal producers — they imply large gains for other assets. The history of capitalism offers many examples of rapid shifts in activity geographically or between sectors, with corresponding private gains and losses, without generalized financial crises. The notion that financial crises are in some sense a judgement on “unsound” or “unsustainable” real economic developments is an ideological myth we must reject. This is the converse of the error discussed under point 6 above, that measures to protect against the financial risks from climate change and decarbonization will also advance substantive policy goals.

8. There is no problem of getting private investors to finance decarbonization. Many proposals for climate investment include special measures to encourage participation by private finance; it is sometimes suggested that national governments or publicly-sponsored investment authorities should issue special green bonds or equity-like instruments to help “mobilize private capital” for decarbonization. Such proposals confuse the meaning of “capital” as concrete means of production with “capital” as a quantity of money. Mobilizing the first is a genuine challenge for which private businesses do offer critical resources and expertise not present in the public sector; but mobilizing these means paying for them, not raising money from them. On the financing side, on the other hand, the private sector offers nothing; in rich countries, at least, the public sector already borrows on more favorable terms than any private entity, and has a much greater capacity to bear risk. If public-sector borrowing costs are higher than desired, this can be directly addressed by the central bank; offering new assets for the private sector to hold does nothing to help with any public sector financing problem, especially given that such proposal invariably envision assets with higher yields than existing public debt.

These eight claims mostly argue that what are widely conceived as economic constraints or tradeoffs in climate policy are, from a Keynesian perspective, either not real or not very important. Approaches to the climate crisis that frame the problem as one of reallocating real resources from current consumption to climate needs, or of raising funds from the private sector, both suffer from the same conflation of money flows with real productive activity.

I will conclude by suggesting two other economic challenges for climate change that are in my opinion underemphasized.

First, I suggest that we face a political conflict involving climate and growth, this will come not because decarbonization requires accepting a lower level of growth, but because it will entail faster economic growth than existing institutions can handle. Today’s neoliberal macroeconomic model depends on limiting economic growth as a way of managing distributional conflicts. Rapid growth under decarbonization will be accompanied by disproportionate rise in wages and the power of workers. There are certainly reasons to see this as a desirable outcome, but it will inevitably create sharp conflicts and resistance from wealth owners that has to be planned for and managed. Complaints about current “labor shortages” should be a warning call on this front.

Second, rapid decarbonization will require considerably more centralized coordination than is usual in today’s advanced economies. If there is a fundamental conflict between capitalism and sustainability, I suggest, it is not because the drive for endless accumulation in money terms implies or requires an endless increase in material throughputs. Rather, it is because capitalism treats the collective processes of social production as the private property of individuals. (Even the language of “externalities” implicitly assumes that the normal case is one where production process involves no one but those linked by contractual money payments.) Treatment of our collective activity to transform the world as if it belonged exclusively to whoever holds the relevant property rights, is a fundamental obstacle to redirecting that activity in a rational way. Resistance on these grounds to a coordinated response to the climate crisis will be partly political and ideologically, but also concrete and organizational.

The Politics of Pay-Fors: A Simple Framework

One of the central economic debates among progressives is over the necessity or desirability of accompanying new public spending with similar-sized tax increases. In recent years perhaps the most visible, or at least the most heated, instances of this debate have been around Modern Mone(tar)y Theory. But the debate itself is broader and older.

These debates are in part about economic questions — both what the constraints on issuing new public-sector liabilities (“borrowing”) are in principle, and of how close we are to those constraints in practice. But a second and arguably more important dimension of the debate is political: In a public or legislative debate, what are the advantages and disadvantages of linking proposals for public spending with proposals for increased taxes?

I think it’s useful to think of this second question in terms of the grid of possibilities below. Some of this may seem obvious, but I find it’s sometimes helpful to spell out even obvious points.

On the horizontal axis we have spending relative to the baseline, from less to more. This axis also describes the political priority of the new spending — if there is to be only a small increase in spending, it will presumably go to items that are deemed highest value by the budget authorities, while greater overall spending allows for lower value items. Assuming that we think the priorities of the political process at least somewhat reflect social value, points at the far right can be thought of as socially useless or “waste”.

The vertical axis shows tax increases relative to the baseline, from less to more. Again, this also has a qualitative dimension. Modest tax increases can be targeted, for instance on higher incomes or on socially undesirable products or activities (Pigouvian taxes). But in order to raise large amounts of revenue, broad-based taxes are needed.¹ The upper left corner, then, represents the status quo; the diagonal line coming down from it represents proposals that are fully paid for, that leave the expected fiscal balanced unchanged. Points below the line represent shifts toward fiscal surpluses, while points above it represent shifts toward deficit. If you think that spending to some degree pays for itself through Keynesian and/or supply side effects, you can imagine the slope of the diagonal line being flatter.

Remember: This is just a conceptual diagram, useful for organizing the debate. It doesn’t imply any substantive claims about what particular forms of spending will be prioritized by the political process, or what particular taxes should be seen as desirable for their own sake. And “status quo” here just means the null, what will happen if nothing happens, which might or might not be a continuation of current spending and tax policies.

Since I want to focus on the political question here, let’s stipulate that the budget balance itself isn’t economically important. So we can assess our preferred spending and tax proposals independently. We will want whatever progressive and Pigouvian taxes are desirable for their own sake, indicated by the blue bar on the left of the figure. And we will want whatever level of spending is required to meet urgent social needs, indicated by the blue bar at the top of the figure. Both of these will be modified based on current macroeconomic conditions — unemployment calls for more spending and/or lower taxes, while sustained inflation calls for less spending and/or higher taxes. (That’s why they are ranges rathe than points.) Thus the social optimal mix of spending and taxes will fall in the region marked with blue dotted lines.²

The question is now, what is the effect of linking spending changes with revenue changes — of requiring that new spending be “paid for”?

In general, it is to shift the policy debate away from the upper right and toward the lower left. This is shown by the various red arrows in the the figure, all of which represent trajectories from budget deficit toward surplus. The different arrows reflect the extent to which the pay-for requirement is felt more strongly on the expenditure side (the flatter arrow) or the tax side (the steeper arrow), and what kinds of proposals you think are likely to be put forward in the absence of such a requirement.

Independently of where you think the socially optimal region is located, your judgement about the desirability of pay-for requirements will depend on what mix of spending cuts and revenue increases you think will result from it; what outcome you expect in its absence; and how you prioritize getting close to the optimum on the expenditure side versus on the revenue side. The argument of this post is that where people fall on paying for public spending depends more on these political judgments than on disagreements about economics.

Here are some cases, corresponding to the arrows in the picture:

Arrow a reflects a view that the main effect of pay-for requirements is to impose priorities on spending. In this view, the normal outcome of the legislative process when large spending increases are proposed is to increase them even further, with items of limited or negative social value. So the main effect of fiscal constraints, in this view, is to force the budget authorities to focus on higher-priority items.³ This is reflected in an arrow that moves mainly to the left out of the “waste” region, toward the social optimum. This, I think, captures the view of the Obama team in 2009 and of prominent Obamanauts still in public life.

Arrow b is even flatter, and starts further to the left. This reflects a similar judgement that the main effect of pay-for requirements is to limit spending, but also that the bias of the political system is toward too little spending and that tax increases are politically very difficult. In this view, the main effect of a pay-for requirement is to make it likely that socially valuable spending will not take place. This is the view of most people in the progressive macro space today, as far as I can tell. Here is a version of this argument from some of my colleagues at the Roosevelt Institute.

Arrow c is steeper, moving directly toward the balanced-budget line. This reflects a judgement that a pay-for requirement will result in a mix of spending cuts and tax increases. Unlike the first two lines, which clearly move toward and away from the social optimum, respectively, this one is ambiguous on that point. This arrow, I think, captures where a lot of people around the Biden administration are right now. There is a range of views about what kind of fiscal position is appropriate in current conditions, and no significant commitment to balanced budgets as such. But there is, or has been, a strong view that it’s not possible to pass further large deficit-financed spending increases through Congress, in which case it’s important to preemptively move the debate (in the terms of the diagram) towards the diagonal. There’s also a view — reflected in the position of the arrow — that even if a pay-for requirement means the loss of some useful spending, the revenue raisers it encourages may be socially desirable for their own sake.

Finally, arrow d is even steeper, and starts higher up. This reflects a judgement that the main effect of pay-for requirements is to create pressure for higher taxes, and that this is a good thing. In this view, the main effect of “Keynesian” deficit financing is to allow the rich to escape the burden of paying for public spending, spending which will take place one way or the other. This is a minority but not fringe position on the left. It’s especially pronounced among MMT critics who attribute the school’s prominence to the fact that rich people welcome an excuse not to be taxed.

Broadly then, we have views that pay-for requirements are: politically helpful, because they reduce wasteful spending; politically harmful, because they reduce valuable spending; an unfortunate necessity, because deficit increases are politically harder than raising revenue; and politically helpful, because they motivate taxes on the rich.

Again, all of this may seem a bit obvious. But I think it’s worth spelling out, because there’s some avoidable confusion that comes from treating as economic disagreements what are actually differing judgements about the contours of political possibility.

Between the two “left” positions (b and d), for example, you could put it this way: If we’re looking at a big expansion of public spending, what’s the effect of adding a requirement that it be paid for? Relative to the case without the requirement, it is more likely that we will get both the spending and a progressive tax increase. But it is also more likely that we won’t get the spending at all, or get less of it. How you trade these off against each other depends not just on your assessment of the relative likelihood, but also the relative importance you assign to the two goals. If you think that income inequality and the political power of the rich is the existential problem of our times, and progressive taxes are the only tool to rein it in, it’s not unreasonable to, in effect, hold public spending hostage in order to win them. If you think that other problems or more important, or there are other tools, you’ll feel differently.

My purpose here is not to say that any of these views is right or wrong. I’m just trying to clarify what’s being argued about.

That said, here is the news story that prompted me to finally sit down and write this post. It’s a Financial Times article with the eye-catching headline “‘A Humiliating Climbdown’”:

This week Richard Neal, a Massachusetts Democrat and the leading tax writer in the House of Representatives, released his plan for $2.9tn in tax increases to fund Biden’s $3.5tn package… Neal’s proposal includes an increase in the top individual income tax rate from 37 per cent to 39.6 per cent, yet shies away from more aggressively targeting taxes on capital gains, the source of a huge share of wealth for millionaires and billionaires.

… The changes to Biden’s tax plan proposed in the House highlight the extent of the backlash among Democratic donors, lobbyists and constituents who have balked at the president’s efforts to tax wealth — especially capital gains.

\The point is, in this case at least, the link to tax increases seems to be making House Dems less likely to vote for something that includes them, not more likely. And this is especially true for the progressive income and wealth taxes that are central to the progressive case for pay-fors.

Even more than to the intra-left debate I just mentioned, the article speaks to the pragmatic mainstream case for pay-fors. One sometimes hears people say, ok, you’re right, there isn’t any real economic argument for matching spending and revenue. With interest rates on public debt still well below anything seen in US history before 2020, it’s hard to argue with a straight face that financial markets limit the US government’s ability to borrow. But, they say, there are still political constraints — at some point Congress is not going to pass more spending financed with debt.

In the view in which pay-fors are politically helpful, the space of political possibility slopes downward from upper right to lower left. The less borrowing you ask people to vote for, the easier it is. By committing to fully paying for all new spending, you are more likely to end up with a package that can make it past all the various veto points. But things like the FT article suggests that this isn’t the case — that the gradient of political feasibility instead slopes from bottom to top. The less revenue you need, the easier.

In Arjun Jayadev’s and my piece on MMT and mainstream economics, we argued that differences between the two schools mostly “involve practical judgement about policy execution rather than any fundamental difference about how policy works in principle.” We continued:

We suspect that most in the mainstream macroeconomic policy world reject a functional finance rule not because they believe that it would not work if followed, but because they believe it would not in fact be followed. There is a widely shared though not always explicitly theorized presumption in mainstream policy discussions that macroeconomic policy in democratic polities suffers from a systematic bias toward deficits and inflation… Conversely, many MMT advocates believe that policymakers operating under a conventional assignment consistently err in the direction of accepting unemployment higher than required to maintain stable prices. … These judgements about the most likely direction of policy error are quite important for evaluating alternative policy rules, but they do not depend on any difference in strictly economic analysis.

That still seems right to me.

So which, then, seems more plausible? “Congress can’t pass something that will raise the deficit, so we need to find revenues to offset our spending,” versus “Congress hates raising taxes, so we need to be ready to accept higher deficits if we want higher spending.”

Or again, which seems more plausible? “In the absence of some kind of financial constraint — even an artificial or imaginary one — we’ll see a wave of wasteful or even socially harmful spending,” versus, “Even in the absence of financial constraints, any expansion of the public sector has to overcome all kinds of hurdles and resistance.”

I am arguing against my own interest as an economist here. But I suspect that clarifying what we believe — and why — on these kinds of questions would at this point advance the conversation around paying for public spending more than more narrowly economic analysis would.

A Few Followup Links

The previous post got quite a bit of attention — more, I think, than anything I’ve written on this blog in the dozen years I’ve been doing it.

I would like to do a followup post replying to some of the comments and criticisms, but I haven’t had time and realistically may not any time soon, or ever. In the meantime, though, here is some existing content that might be relevant to people who would like to see the arguments in that post drawn out more fully.

Here is a podcast interview I did with some folks from Current Affairs a month or so ago. The ostensible topic is Modern Mone(tar)y Theory, but the conversation gave me space to talk more broadly about how to think about macroeconomic questions.

A pair of Roosevelt reports (cowritten with Andrew Bossie) on economic policy during World War II are an effort to find relevant lessons for the present moment: The Public Role in Economic Transformation: Lessons from World War II, Public Spending as an Engine of Growth and Equality: Lessons from World War II

Here is a piece I wrote a couple years ago on Macroeconomic Lessons from the Past Decade. Bidenomics could be seen as a sort of deferred learning of the lessons from the Great Recession. So even though this was written before the pandemic and the election, there’s a lot of overlap here.

This report from Roosevelt, What Recovery? is an earlier stab at learning those lessons. I hope to be revisiting a lot of the topics here (and doing a better job with them, hopefully) in a new Roosevelt report that should be out in a couple of months.

If you like podcast interviews, here’s one I did with David Beckworth of Macro Musings following the What Recovery report, where we talked quite a bit about hysteresis and the limits of monetary policy, among other topics.

And here are some relevant previous past posts on this blog:

In The American Prospect: The Collapse of Austerity Economics

A Baker’s Dozen of Reasons Not to Worry about Government Debt

Good News on the Economy, Bad News on Economic Policy

A Demystifying Decade for Economics

A Harrodian Perspective on Secular Stagnation

Secular Stagnation, Progress in Economics