We have read it many
times, income inequality has risen sharply since the 1970s in
most advanced economies around the world. Similarly, the current adult
population hasn’t pursued education beyond high school at
a time when the majority of jobs demand certificates or degrees, and so on.
But just like with the myths
surrounding the top 1% of earners there might be more to it.
Even in a world of polarisation, fake news and social media, some beliefs
remain universal and central to today’s politics. None is more influential than
the idea that inequality has risen in the rich world. People read about it in
newspapers, hear about it from their politicians and feel it in their daily
lives. This belief motivates populists, who say selfish metropolitan elites
have pulled the ladder of opportunity away from ordinary people. It has given
succor to the left, who as we will see, propose ever more radical ways to
redistribute wealth. And it has caused alarm among business people, many of
whom now claim to pursue a higher social purpose, lest they be seen to
subscribe to a model of capitalism that everyone knows has failed.
In many ways the
failure is real. Opportunities are restricted. The cost of university education
in America has spiraled beyond the reach of many families. Across the rich
world, as rents and house prices have soared, it has become harder to afford to
live in the successful cities which contain the most jobs. Meanwhile, the
rusting away of old industries has concentrated poverty in particular cities
and towns, creating highly visible pockets of deprivation. By some measures
inequalities in health and life expectancy are getting worse.
The economy, stupid,”
was the slogan of a strategist in Bill Clinton’s campaign for the presidency in
1992. It was a pithy encapsulation of time-honored spin-doctoring wisdom: that
a strong economy helps the incumbent and a weak one helps the challenger. When
Clinton took on George H.W. Bush in 1992, real wages were stagnant.
Unemployment peaked just months before the poll, and, sure enough, Bush failed
to win a second term. The 2,000-odd studies on the “economic vote” since then
have turned the pollsters’ hunch into the political gospel. A cross-country
analysis by Larry Bartels of Vanderbilt University, looking at 2007-11, found
that each extra percentage point of GDP growth in the four quarters before an
election was associated with a rise of 1% in the incumbent party’s vote share.
But politics has
changed. Today’s most heated debates concern issues of identity and culture,
openness to immigrants or free trade; attitudes to abortion or transgender
bathrooms. Has the economy stopped mattering to voters?
Often it seems so. So
for example in America, the correlation between consumer confidence and the
public’s approval of the president has broken down. Boris Johnson, Britain’s
Conservative prime minister, has tried to make the
general election on 12 December a matter of identity by appealing to Brexit
voters who want to “take back control” from a distant elite. And his voters
support the privileged Johnson because he has promised to get Brexit done. No
one is talking about the country’s recent brush with a recession.
The state of the
economy must still matter in extremis: would President Donald Trump’s approval
rating really hold up if unemployment went from 4% to, say, 20%? But the old
rules of thumb about the business cycle and voting patterns are being replaced
by a new narrative. This holds that ups and downs in GDP or wages matter less
in elections than they used to. Instead, economic factors that shape people’s
sense of identity matter more—and could help explain the shift towards populism
in many places. Two are particularly important. The first is the sense of
insecurity that accompanies globalization. The second is frustration about
sky-high housing costs.
The rapid growth of
global trade during the 1990s and 2000s brought wide economic benefits, but
also unnerved some voters, who now want to slow down the pace of change. Italo Colantone and Piero Stanig, both
of Bocconi University in Milan, study
election results in 15 European countries. They find that areas facing greater
competition from Chinese imports were more likely to vote for nationalist
parties.
Robots also make many
people uneasy. A paper in 2018 by Carl Benedikt Frey, Thor Berger and Chinchih Chen, all of Oxford University, focuses on anxiety
about technological change in America. The authors calculate the share of
the workforce in industries that have seen increasing automation. Even after
accounting for a range of other factors (including education levels and
exposure to Chinese imports), areas more affected by the use of robots were
more likely to vote for Trump, the outsider candidate in 2016. In a flight of
reasoning that only an economist could dream up, the paper suggests that if the
pace of automation had been slower in the years before the 2016 contest, Michigan,
Pennsylvania and Wisconsin would have plumped for Hillary Clinton.
A raft of new
research, meanwhile, has drawn attention to the political consequences of the
housing market. A house is most people’s biggest investment, so changes in its
value determine satisfaction with the status quo. Homeowners in areas where the
property market is buoyant feel richer than those where it is flat. The housing
market also affects people’s perceptions of personal freedom. Those living in
an area with low house prices may feel trapped since they would struggle to
afford a move to somewhere more vibrant. Such effects may well have
strengthened in recent decades since in many developed countries the gap
between house prices in the richest areas and the poorest has widened.
Ben Ansell of Oxford
University and David Adler of the European University Institute analyzed data
from the Brexit referendum of 2016 and the French presidential election the
next year. After controlling for factors such as demography and pay, they found
that in
an area where house prices had tripled in nominal terms, the Remain vote
share was 16 percentage points higher than in one with no change. Similarly,
areas of France with strong house prices were inclined to choose Emmanuel
Macron over the far-right Marine Le Pen. Further work by Ansell and others has
found that areas with falling house prices tend to see rising support for
populists, such as the Danish People’s Party, the Finns Party, and the Sweden
Democrats. Simply put, a home-owner on a nice street in Notting Hill,
Saint-Germain-des-Prés or Östermalm is very likely to
support candidates of “the establishment”.
I feel the earth move
The old
straightforward relationship between the economic cycle and elections could yet
return. But the implication of the new research is that support for populism is
a deeper-rooted feature of Western economies. People’s perception of the threat
from cheap imports or robots, or of being trapped by high house prices, will
not change overnight. Governments will need to find ways to compensate those
who lose out from wrenching economic change and to make housing more
affordable. Voters care less than they used to about the economy’s immediate
impact on their wallets. But they care more than ever about how the economy
shapes their identity, their sense of security, and their freedom.
Yet precisely because
the idea of soaring inequality has become an almost universally held belief, it
receives too little scrutiny. That is a mistake, because the four empirical
pillars upon which the temple rests—which are not about housing or geography,
but income and wealth—are not as firm as you might think.
The fall of the
Berlin Wall in 1989 supposedly consigned socialism to history. Now, after a
decade of slow growth in living standards, and amid the widespread belief that
inequality is soaring, the radical left is back. “Millennial
socialists” are fizzing with ideas. A wave of new books shows what
millennial socialists really want, and how they plan to get it.
Socialists from Karl
Marx onwards have deployed both ethical and empirical arguments to buttress
their system. In “The
Socialist Manifesto” Bhaskar Sunkara of Jacobin, a radical magazine,
proceeds from first principles, maintaining that “to be a socialist is to
assert the moral worth of every person, no matter who they are, where they’re
from, or what they did”. By contrast, in “The 99 Percent Economy”
Paul Adler of the University of Southern California sprays statistics to prove
that modern capitalism is broken and socialism is the fix.
Many readers will
find both approaches unconvincing. A dyed-in-the-wool libertarian might use
Sunkara’s nostrum as a justification for an individualist worldview
instead. Adler’s methodology feels
sketchy. Can all the problems he identifies, from stress to racism to underpaid
teachers, truly be attributed to the capitalist mode of production?
Fortunately, however, both books are better at explaining what 21st-century
socialism might look like.
Fortunately, because
millennial socialists’ objectives are often misunderstood. One common mistake
is to assume that they want to build a society in the image of social
democracies such as the Nordic states, where progressive taxation of lightly
regulated markets funds high-quality public services. But Sunkara and Adler
insist they are no social democrats. Rather, they are democratic socialists.
That may sound like a
meaningless factional distinction. In fact, it points to an entirely different
system of economic management. Thomas Piketty explores the contrast in his
polemical book, “Capital
and Ideology”. Though everyone on the left sees social democracy as an improvement
on red-blooded capitalism, it nonetheless struggles to break free from what
Piketty calls “propertarianism”,
defined as “the political ideology founded on the absolute respect for private
property”.
Since, under social
democracy, true power continues to reside with the capitalists, its commitment
to egalitarianism is necessarily fragile. A social-democratic government might
tax the rich a bit more and redistribute the proceeds to the poor, which is all
well and good. But such reforms are easy to undo. Look at the ease with which
the Conservative government elected in Britain in 2010 reversed New Labour’s munificence in the previous decade.
Down with social democracy
And the tools which
social democrats typically use to advance their goals are ill-suited to the
modern economy, as Branko Milanovic, a left-leaning scholar formerly at the
World Bank, argues in “Capitalism,
Alone”. The heavy industry, the traditional base for trade unions, has
shrunk, making it hard to resuscitate organized labor. Meanwhile, “further mass
expansion of education is impossible when a country has reached 14 or 15 years
of education on average.”
According to the
millennial socialists, more radical changes are required. Collectively, their
manifesto boils down to three big ideas. First, they want vastly more
government spending to provide, among other things, free universal health care,
a much more generous social safety-net and a “Green
New Deal” to slash carbon-dioxide emissions. Second, many argue for looser
monetary policy, to reduce the cost of funding these plans.
The third plank of
their thinking is the most radical. The underlying idea is that capitalism does
not just produce poverty and inequality (though it does), but that, by forcing
people to compete with each other, it also robs them of dignity and freedom.
“The power imbalances are obvious when you enter into your employment
contract,” says Sunkara. For Adler, capitalism “has sucked the life out of
democracy”.
Millennial
socialists, therefore, support the “democratisation”
of the economy (or socialisme participatif,
as Piketty puts it), whereby ordinary people play a greater role in the
production process, the market is removed from as many aspects of everyday life
as possible, and the influence of the rich is drastically curtailed. Such
reforms, they argue, will create happier and more empowered citizens.
What does “democratization”
mean in concrete terms? Some millennial socialists say everyone should be
guaranteed a job; others want a universal basic income, a drastic reduction in
the working week, or both. It also means promoting non-traditional forms of
business organization, including co-operatives, which give workers a decisive
role in the day-to-day management of their company.
Adler thinks through
how such plans would function. Drawing on his expertise in management, he
explains in detail how firms could be managed along socialist lines. This
practical bent also characterizes a new book by Christine Berry and Joe Guinan,
two researchers close to Britain’s Labour Party. In “People
Get Ready!” they explain what may be required if a socialist Labour government is to succeed, from imposing capital
controls to activists keeping up the pressure on elected politicians if they go
soft.
Siege mentality
In a few short years,
socialists have gone from political and intellectual irrelevance to sketching
out plans for government. One big question they face, however, is whether
ordinary people have the stomach for the kind of change they envisage. Berry
and Guinan appear to accept that a future Labour
government’s fight with international finance might turn Britain into what they
call a “siege economy.” This is “not particularly desirable as a long-term
solution,” they concede; most Britons might object more bluntly. Piketty’s
proposed wealth tax of up to 90% would play havoc with incentives to invest,
while under Adler’s vision the “entire apparatus of the stock and bond market
will disappear,” though, happily, “your phone will be yours to keep or to
trade.”
Milanovic sympathizes
with the socialists’ yearning for radical change. But ultimately he finds many
of their prescriptions unconvincing. A country which tried to de-marketize on
the scale envisaged by the millennial socialists would, he says, be unstable
and dissatisfied in other ways. Shifting towards a much shorter working week,
for instance, would surely leave it poorer than its neighbors, and for how long
would people put up with that? Capitalism is far from perfect, his book shows,
yet after the fall of the Berlin Wall, it is hard to shake the notion that it
is the only system that broadly works. The millennial socialists are on the up,
but they may still struggle to prove him wrong.
The myth of the top 1% of earners
Consider, first, the
claim that the top 1% of earners have become detached from everyone else in
recent decades, which took hold after the “Occupy Wall Street” movement in
2011. This was always hard to prove outside America. In Britain, the share of
income of the top 1% is no higher than in the mid-1990s, after adjusting for
taxes and government transfers. And even in America, official data suggest that
the same measure rose until 2000 and since then has been volatile around a flat
trend. It is easily forgotten that America has put in place several policies in
recent decades that have cut inequality, such as the expansion of Medicaid,
government-funded health insurance for the poor, in 2014.
Now some economists
have re-crunched the numbers and concluded that the income share of the top 1%
in America may have been little changed since as long ago as 1960. They argue
that earlier researchers mishandled the tax-return data that yield estimates of
inequality. Previous results may also have failed to account for falling
marriage rates among the poor, which divides income around more households—but
not more people. And a bigger chunk of corporate profits may flow to
middle-class people than previously realized because they own shares through
pension funds. In 1960 retirement accounts owned just 4% of American shares; by
2015 the figure was 50%.
The second wobbly
pillar is the related claim that household incomes and wages have stagnated in
the long term. Estimates of inflation-adjusted median income growth in America
in 1979-2014 range from a fall of 8% to an increase of 51% and partisans tend to
cherry-pick a figure that tells a convenient story. The huge variation reflects
differences in how you treat inflation, government transfers and the definition
of a household, but the lowest figures are hard to believe. If you argue that
income has shrunk you also have to claim that four decades’ worth of innovation
in goods and services, from mobile phones and video streaming to
cholesterol-lowering statins, have not improved middle-earners’ lives. That is
simply not credible.
The third is the
notion that capital has triumphed over labor as ruthless businesses, owned by
the rich, have exploited their workers, moved jobs offshore and automated
factories. The claim that inequality is being driven by the rich accumulating
capital was a central thesis of Thomas Piketty’s book, “Capital in the
Twenty-First Century”, which in 2014 made him the first rock-star economist
since Milton Friedman improbably filled auditoriums in the 1980s. Not all
Piketty’s theories caught on among economists, but it is widely assumed that a
falling share of the rich world’s GDP has been going to workers and a rising
share to investors. After a decade of soaring stock prices, this has some
resonance with the public.
Recent research,
however, suggests that the decline in labor’s fortunes is explained in most
rich countries by exorbitant returns to homeowners, not tycoons. Strip out
housing and the earnings of the self-employed (which are hard to divide between
capital and labor income), and in most countries, labor shares have not fallen.
America since 2000 is an exception. But that reflects a failure of regulation,
not a fundamental flaw in capitalism. American antitrust regulators and courts
have been unforgivably lax, allowing some industries to become too
concentrated. This has enabled some firms to gouge their customers and book
abnormally high profits.
The last pillar is
that inequalities of wealth, the assets people own, minus their liabilities,
have been soaring. Again, this has always been harder to prove in Europe than
in America. In Denmark, one of the few places with detailed data, the wealth
share of the top 1% has not risen for three decades. By contrast, few deny that
the richest Americans have sprinted ahead. But even here, wealth is fiendishly
difficult to estimate.
Not so rich pickings
The campaign of Elizabeth
Warren, a Democratic presidential contender, reckons that the share of
wealth owned by the richest 0.1% of Americans rose from 7% in 1978 to 22% in
2012. But a plausible recent estimate suggests that the rise is only half as
big as this. (For connoisseurs, the difference rests on the factor by which you
scale
up investors’ wealth from the capital income they report to the taxman.)
This imprecision is a problem for politicians, including Warren and Bernie
Sanders, who want wealth taxes, since they may raise less revenue than they
expect.
The fact that dubious
claims are made about inequality does not reduce the urgency of tackling
economic injustice. But it does call for ensuring that the assumptions on which
policies are based are accurate. Those, like Britain’s Labour
Party, who favor the radical redistribution of income and wealth ought to be
sure that inequality is as high as they think it is, especially when their
policies bring knock-on costs such as deterring risk-taking and investment. By
one estimate, Warren’s wealth tax would leave America’s economy 2% smaller
after a decade.
Until these debates
are resolved, it would be better for policymakers to stick to more solid
ground. The rich world’s housing markets are starving young workers of cash and
opportunity; more building is needed in the places that offer attractive jobs.
America’s economy needs a revolution in antitrust enforcement to reinvigorate
competition. And regardless of trends in inequality, too many high-income
workers, including doctors, lawyers, and bankers, are protected from
competition by needless regulation and licensing, and senseless restrictions on
high-skilled immigration, both of which should be loosened.
Such an agenda would
require governments to take on nimbys and corporate
lobbies. But it would reduce inequality and boost growth. And its benefits do
not depend on a set of beliefs about income and wealth that could yet turn out
to be wrong.
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