*Trickle Up or Trickle Down… Defying Gravity

‘Same policies, different managers,’ used to pretty much sum up Oz politics in recent years.

Not any more though. Polarisation is on a roll.

Problem is, in a post Cold War world, terms like Left and Right no longer mean a whole helluva lot.

So, instead of the horizontal Left and Right, we’ve gone vertical, as in’Trickle Down’ and ‘Trickle Up’, which quite nicely sum up each of the approaches to solving the world’s economic malaise.

But what does it mean, to trickle up? Or down? Sound vaguely like some kind of weird foreplay. Or maybe that’s just me.

Basically, Trickle Down economics says that if governments give tax cuts to the rich, they will spend more and thus stimulate the economy which will create more jobs, thus making the poor less poorer.

Trickle Up,  on the other hand, says the opposite; if governments give to the less well off – that’s you and me – via tax cuts or some form of subsidy, we’ll  spend more and thus stimulate the economy making the rich richer.

But which is a solution and which is a myth?

To find an answer, I asked some Well Off and then some Not So Well Off folk what they would do with a tax cut.

In every case, the Well Off said something like, “Oh, I pretty much spend what I spend, so a little more money coming in wouldn’t change much. I guess it would go towards the mortgage or into my super.’

Perhaps no surprises there, but what about the Less Well Off.

Almost all answered with some version of, “Are you kidding me here? The kids need new school shoes; my wife and I haven’t been to a restaurant in  months, and our washing machine is so old it screams to be put out of its misery, when - that is - it’s not walking around the laundry.’

And there’s the point.

Trickle Down, i.e. the comparitively small increases in income provided by tax cuts for the wealthy, doesn’t stimulate the economy because the well off are usually already spending what they want to spend to live how they want to live.

But Trickle Up, i.e. tax cuts for the less well off, will almost always have to be spent on any number of urgent somethings and so will directly and immediately stimulate the economy. Those pesky bills, an occasional night out, etc…

Oh, and by the way, as the money is spent by the less well off, businesses do better. So as the economy improves, the wealthy, (who own the businesses), also become wealthier.

Right there, that’s your trickle up trickling up.

Now everyone’s happy.

One final nail in the Trickle Down theory’s coffin. The concept really picked up steam when it was introduced in the US by GWB – he did do some economic stuff when he wasn’t invading countries – back in the early 2000′s. Since then the US economy has… well, maybe they’re not calling an ambulance, but they sure are jacking up its medication.

So, my question for the Trickle Downers is, when is it going to start working? The US is ten years plus down the track and no sign of it kicking in yet. Of course, that doesn’t stop the Republicans from insisting on doing it harder. Talk about digging yourself out of a hole…

So it turns out there is something that defies gravity and flows upwards – tax cuts for the less well off.

Who knew? Isaac Newton obviously didn’t. Tony Abbott still doesn’t.

But of course, to flow up you have to start at the bottom.

*Disclaimer: I’m not a Harvard trained economist obsessed with complex, unprovable economic theories. Moreover, I do not use mathematical computer models based on thousands of never published or explained assumptions, many of which are deduced from other assumptions.

Therefore, any economic comments I make should be ignored.

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Perils of a stop over in Bangkok

My wife has an obsession. Any time there’s a washing machine within her control she has to use it.

So, when we arrived, sleepless, at the apartment we’d booked in Bangkok as a stopover on our way home from Madrid, Marie disappeared into a little room off the entrance, then reappeared, her eyes aglow with anticipatory enthusiasm.

Well, I thought, this can’t be bad.

“It has a washing machine,” she announced.

“What has?” My mind was elsewhere. Hey, we were in Bangkok, okay.

“This place,” she replied, with that expression she reserves for when I’m being completely moronic. She looked down. “I can wash these jeans and then wear them home tomorrow night.”

She looked at me. “Have you got any dirty clothes?”

Two things. First, I’d just eaten my way across Europe and the Middle East, out of that mind numbing boredom that only long distance flying can engender. Second, the spatial relationship between my mouth and a food plate that an airline seat establishes is different from the one I’m used to.

So, yes, I had dirty clothes.

Marie studied my pants. “They looked like they’ve been slept in.”

“I wish,” I replied.

I watched her knicker clad behind disappear back into the laundry and shut my eyes… just to rest them.

A minute later, I was woken by the sounds of cursing. My wife is the only person I’ve even known who can curse without actually using any bad words.

I shot into the laundry.

“Have you been asleep?” she asked.

“No.” I replied, much too quickly to be convincing.

“You said we should stay awake until tonight to help our body clocks realign. We should go shopping, you said.”

It’s amazing how many times a person can shoot themselves in the foot in a single sentence.

A few minutes later, I pulled the room key card from its slot in the wall and off we went.

A couple of hours later we staggered in and dropped an astonishing number of shopping bags on the lounge.  I eyed our suitcases nervously.

A loud, aggressive beeping came from the laundry.

Marie was off.

“Shivers!”

In our house it’s well understood that the use of this particularly word means that someone – or something – is in for serious trouble. “This stupid machine still has an hour ans twenty minutes to go.”

“That,” I replied, “would be because the power goes off when we take the card out of the slot.”

“I know that. But I thought the washing machine would be wired in, like the fridge.”

“Like the fridge?”

“Well it would be stupid to have the fridge turn off every time you left the apartment.”

She had a point. “I guess it’s something we’ll never know,” I murmured. “Like whether the light goes off when the door’s closed.”

“What light?”

“The one in the fridge.”

My wife gave me a pitying look. “Why are we discussing the fridge light when I have a machine full of soaking wet clothes?”

I studied the control panel. The words were in English, but weren’t assembled in any way that made sense. I pushed a few buttons at random. The beeping stopped.

“Well, that’s something,” Marie said.

I thought so. The apartment was now quiet enough for me to take a nap.

I awoke to find my wife sitting triumphantly on the couch. Clothing hung precariously from every protrusion and door handle in the apartment.

I smiled to myself and hugged her, for no particular reason.

As obsessions go, I decided, this is not a bad one.

And I do have a practically endless supply of immaculately clean clothes.

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Media. Trust ‘Em? Sure can! Or Maybe Not

The question currently obsessing our media, whether or not they should be regulated, and if so by whom, reminds me of a conversation I had with one of my sons about twenty five years ago. Went something like this.

Son: C’mon, Dad. Let me have the car tonight.

Me: Why should I trust you?

Son: But I’ve got something really important on.

Me: And that has to do with trust, what? I’m just remembering the last six times…

Son: But I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I’ll be responsible.

So, I gave in. Sure enough, next morning, I go downstairs to find son asleep on the lounge. Turned out he came in too wasted to find his way to his room.

I checked the car, which, miraculously, was in good shape. More than could be said for the offspring.

Continue reading

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Merchants? Yes, But What Are They Selling?

My friend Harvey drained his stubby and belched, as Jerry Garcia took out the Grateful Dead track with a masterful piece of playing; frenetic, yet soulful.

He allowed a moment of silence, then ventured,  ”Apropos of nothing whatever, one the lesser things that Napolean is remembered for is his eloquent summing up of leadership. He said, ‘No man can lead who does not create a vision for the future. A leader is a merchant of hope‘.”

That’s Harvey for you; all the time he’s sitting in his shed listening to the ‘Dead melting the window panes, he’s thinking.

But getting back to the Little Corporal, and setting aside the sexism of the times,  I could forgive a man – or a woman –  a fair bit for stringing those words together in that order.

And it got me thinking. Where are our Merchants of Hope, today?

On the one hand, we have Abbott saying, “Just get rid of this deceitful/incompetent/lying (circle whichever adjective he’s using on the day) government, give me the keys to the Lodge and all will be….

Well, what, precisely?

How will all be? How will I be? Does Tony have a clue? Does anyone? Maybe, but all we’re hearing about is how awful it is now, not how and why it will be wonderful in the future he’d lead us into.

Then we have Julia talking up a Carbon Economy.

Fine, at least she’s giving us a clue, but exactly what is a Carbon Economy? The phrase conjures a world of Toulouse-Lautrec sketches, all charcoal on white. What does one look like? What would be my role in it? Or anybody else’s role, for that matter? Nobody’s explaining.

It’s because nobody – with the possible exception of a few theorists deeply embedded in the dismal science, (Economics) - has the first clue about what a Carbon Economy will look like. From anyone’s perspective.

Here’s the truth of it. The Gillard Government is smart enough to know that the science is right.

The world is rapidly warming.

We busy and proliferous humans are the cause.

Time is running out to fix our mess enough so we don’t leave our descendants a sceeroodup planet.

Other nations are taking action, and as the world’s worst per capita polluters, it behooves us – I really love saying ‘behooves’; it reminds me of the Charles Durning character in, ‘Best Little Whorehouse in Texas’, a cinematic gem – anyway, it behooves us to get our asses into gear and do something about it.

Now, if Julia would just put that out there, straight up and down; how we could become world leaders in climate technology, thus creating thousands of jobs. And that while leading the world in fixing global warming we could also reduce many other forms of pollution; that eventually millions of kids wouldn’t suffer asthma, and so on, well, I could get behind that.

Maybe  I could even get excited about it. Possibly, just possibly, even get my ass into gear.

Yesh, Napolean and Harvey are right. Leaders are merchants of hope. At least, they should be.

But, sadly our lot only have one item on offer; enough fear to scare the crap out of us.

There’s an unending market  out there for that little product called ‘Hope’.

Pity our merchants don’t have any in stock.

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Evolution… It’s not all Beer and Skittles, or a Bunch of Other Words Either.

Excluding those of the exceedingly religious persuasion, we all pretty much know what evolution is, don’t we. All living things are constantly changing from generation to generation… Yeah, you know.

As an example, we humans are evolving from creatures that mostly use the parts of our body below our necks into the reverse.

Incidentally, an odd aspect of this evolutionary trend is that as a general rule a specie’s unused bits atrophy and eventually disappear, but in this case, the unused parts are in fact growing ever larger.

As a further aside, there is a subset of humanity evolving into a life form that rarely uses either set of parts, above or below the neck, with the exception of the reproductive organs.

The missing link to this subset is scientifically known as the Bogan and this group is, evidently, breeding prodigiously.

It’s not only living things that evolve however; our language is doing it too.

When we were primitive creatures on the African savannah, we developed the ability to make sounds to warn about big critters, and to scare off others of our own kind sloping around looking to swipe our food, females and/or children.

This ability became language. We learned to use it to transfer ideas, thoughts, instructions and so on, from one to another of us.

But language is now undergoing the next great evolutionary step as we learn how to use it  to prevent all of the above. To stop communication dead in its tracks.

Already, language works best when nothing whatsoever is conveyed.

Example: all members of all governments, regardless of persuasion, tell us, “We are getting the job done.”

Sounds fair enough, but let’s break it down.  Without meaning to be too existentialist, who are ‘we’? Who’s in and who’s out of the we group?

Then we come to ‘job’. But which job? Don’t ‘they’, i.e. whoever ‘we’ are, have more than one job?

Lastly, we come to ‘Done’. Yes, I hear you say, I get that word. Fine, but what constitutes ‘done’. Chargrilled? Medium rare? And how will we know when it is? When most of us don’t even know what it is.

Which leaves me with the words ‘the’ and ‘are’. I do understand what they mean, but on their own they tell us so little.

It’s all very confusing.

TV and Radio journos have developed a clever way of not telling us anything by misusing words that have similar, but different meanings.

ABC News writers and readers are particularly skilled at this. For example, they use ‘Immigrant’, ‘Migrant’ and ‘Refugee’ more or less interchangeably.

Sigh!

On the upside, it does force one to think, as in, what the hell are they on about?

And then there’s the Communication-Avoidance-By-Obfuscation strain. Back in my military days, I once attended a talk entitled, Rapid Traversal of the Land/Sea Interface. What the speaker meant was ‘How to quickly cross a beach”.

Language is, you see, like the universe, evolving towards entropy.

Within a generation or two, we’ll all be able to speak for days at a time while saying absolutely nothing.

Wayne Swann already can.

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Words… They Mean Something, Just Not Always Sure What.

Every once in a while, to escape the depressing banality of Australian politics, I cast an eye over what’s happening over the puddle…

Incidentally, we used to say, ‘Overseas’, then we started saying, ‘Across the pond’. Now we say, ‘Over the puddle’. I guess it’s just another example of how technology is making the world a smaller place.

Anyway, back to American politics.

It seems that the Republicans have finally figured out, in yet another demonstration of their collective genius, that convincing folk on the verge of getting turfed out of their homes that tax cuts for the super rich are a good idea, was always going to be… let’s say, a fairly hard sell.

Especially as 10% of Americans control around 90% of the nation’s wealth. (Damn, there’s that Pareto again… Wasn’t old Wilfredo just the smartest little arse).

Meanwhile 37 million Americans depend on food stamps. Of course, it’s a safe bet that around 36 million of them won’t bother voting, but that’s another story.

The thing is, the Republicans have to defend tax cuts for the super rich, because since that obscene US Supreme Court decision a year or so back – you know, the one that establishes that it’s unconstitutional to impose limits on campaign funding - they need the super rich to fund their campaigns to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars.

So, what’s the solution? Stop calling them the Super Rich and start calling them Job Creators.

Rick Santorum  has  probably drunk the most deeply of this  particular batch of bath water.

But, like all good lies, this one has a shred of truth. More than a shred, actually.

Because the American Super Rich are job creators. They’re just not creating them in America.

Here in Oz, we’ve got billions of dollars of mining investments, creating more jobs than we can handle. Most of those billions come from… you guessed it, the American Super Rich, sorry, Job Creators.

Be thankful, fellow Aussies. Bow down before them.

China is what it is today thanks in large part to the American Super Rich creating jobs all up and down the Middle Kingdom’s east coast.

Look no further than Apple. Designed in America, made in China, and a single share in the company costs more than an Ipad.

Of course,  for it all to work middle America mustn’t cotton on to where all the jobs are being created. Although, you would think that closing some fifty thousand factories in America over the last two decades and moving them to China and Mexico might be a clue.

Yep, quit calling ‘em Super Rich, start calling ‘em Job Creators.

Because words have meaning.

Unless the words are coming from Clive Palmer’s fertile if unpredictable mind and he’s talking about a CIA plot to destroy our coal industry, (a good slice of which is owned by… Oh, that’s right, American Job Creators.)

 

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Tales From the Boys’ Own Bumper Book

Once upon a time, a little boy - actually, he wasn’t so little; in fact he was a member of that subgenre of humans known as Rotundus Immensis. Anyway, this collosal child named Clive didn’t have many friends, but what he did have was a huge amount of pocket money.

You’d think that needing a truck to carry his weekly allowance  would’ve made Clive happy, but it didn’t.

There was this gang, see. And Clive was convinced they were out to get him, and that everyone wanted to nick his dosh.

Especially this one gang member named Wayne.

Clive decided he and his pocket money might be safer if the other kids liked him a bit, so he tried out for soccer.

But sadly, a bigger, more astute player got him kicked off the team.

Now hardly any kids liked Clive, especially those who didn’t have any pocket money at all.

Clive decided if he couldn’t join ‘em, he’d beat ‘em, so one day he went out and ambushed Wayne and called him names, not particularly naughty ones but not exactly polite either.

Well, Wayne was a fairly ordinary sort of kid, you might even have thought him timid, but once he got his dander up…

He yelled even worse names back at Clive. He reminded all the other kids that Clive got the biggest allowance of anyone at school and wouldn’t share. Worse, Clive’s best friend was a girl, eeuuww; one named Gina. And that all Clive did was dig holes in the ground.

Which was true, because Clive did have an obsession with digging big holes.

But so did Gina so they were well matched.

There were a few kids who thought they might be able to get their hands on some of Clive’s money if they were especially nice to him. So they named him ‘Treasure’, in much the same way as Gollem called his evil ring ‘Precious’. They even called him a ‘Living Treasure’ in case anyone should ever be in doubt.

Clive believed them, and began to think he was more important and smarter than other people. He believed that rich people were a special group; and that, because he was very rich indeed, he was especially special.

Secretly he thought he should be the school principal. Why not, he asked himself. After all, didn’t he have more pocket money than any other kid in school, so didn’t that mean he must be the smartest kid in school.

He could make things just the way he wanted them to be, which was for his allowance to be safe from those other useless, lazy little buggers who didn’t have any.

But sadly he didn’t understand that if he was made principal, he’d be responsible for everyone, even the kids who had no allowance.

Clive never did become principal. And because he’d ticked all the other kids off, he couldn’t even join a gang.

So he spent his life alone with his money, wondering why it was that all the other kids laughed at him.

Of course, it wasn’t quite that bad, because he wasn’t entirely alone.

He still had Gina.

Posted in Australian Politics, Business, Clive Palmer | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Kevin Rudd – High Plains Drifter

I’d been thinking that the past few days’ political drama reminded me of a movie. This morning it came to me – High Plains Drifter, yeah.

There’s Kevin Rudd riding in on the back of a 747 to rescue the little town of Lagos, (That’s the Labor government) from right wing annihilation at the hands of the Lagos Mining Company, (in this case of course, the Coalition who are bent on protecting mining companies).

See. it all fits.

Can you not see Kevin staring intently out from beneath his sombrero, the last of a cigarillo hanging casually from his sunburned lips.

Come on, work with me here.

He can even use some of the Clint Eastwood character’s lines in the movie. For example, ‘Bout time this town had a new sheriff.’ Or perhaps, when the Stranger, (Eastwood’s character), says, ‘Somebody left the door open and the wrong dog came home.’

Yeah, that’d work.

Of course, Kev is going to have to learn to speak a bit more slowly.

Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more I realised there’s real possibilities  here.

For one thing Kevin could start using quotes from a bunch of other Clint Eastwood characters that are eerily appropo.

There’s, ‘Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn’t have fucked with? That’s me’. (Gran Turino, 2008) Now I wonder who he might use that one with.

Or, “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never funny,’ from the same movie.

How about,  ’I didn’t start shooting at anyone that didn’t start shooting at me first.’ (Magnum Force, 1973)

Here’s one, also from Magnum Force, ‘I hate the goddamn system, but until someone comes along with changes that make sense, I’ll stick with it.’ Would work well if and when he has to revisit the health system.

In Play Misty For Me, Eastwood, playing Dave Garver, says, ‘Well I haven’t exactly been the monk of the month or anything like that but I have been making an effort.’ Kevin could use that line any time between now and 10:00am on Monday.

From Madison County we get, ‘Well, if you want me to stop, tell me now.’ Although, it’s probably a tad late for that.

I was even going to suggest that old standard, ‘You gotta ask yourself punk, do I feel…’ but I don’t think there’s anyone in Labor feeling particularly lucky right now.

But the line I do think Kevin should consider comes from Sudden Impact, ‘I really should quit. Then I can handle the law my own way.’

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International Finance – It’s All Greek To Me

Okay, so let me see if I understand this whole Greek thing.

Greece is up to its όρχεις (I’m reliably informed that this is Greek for cojones), in debt and cannot afford even the interest payments given current levels of productivity and expenditure.

The EU proposes to solve Greece’s debt problem by lending it more, which, on the face of it, does seem a tad counter intuitive.

While further increasing Greece’s already unmanagable debt levels, the EU is also demanding austerity measures that will reduce Greece’s productivity so it’s even less able to pay its debts. Okay, I get it that Greece also will cut expenditure, but will this be enough to a) allow it to service its now even bigger debt, and b) compensate for the decline in productivity brought about by the austerity measures? Maybe… but colour me doubtful.

The additional loans will NOT be spent improving Greece’s economic performance so that it can develop the productivity levels needed to service its debts. No, rather the money will be used to service its existing debts.

Hmmm, I remember once explaining to one of my sons that getting a cash advance on one credit card to make the payment on another may not be the best way possible to manage your finances. Of course, I could have been wrong, or maybe it’s different when its an entire country and there are a string of zeros on the end of the number.

The bit I really admire about this strategy is that the new loans will come from the same institutions that already hold Greece’s markers and will be used to service the existing debt.

So the money will circle out of the EU banks’ vaults into Greece’s treasury and then, quick as a flash, back into the EU banks’ vaults.

Meanwhile, the Greeks will be left with austerity measures plus a bigger debt than they started with, while the banks already get some of their money back and have even more money owed to them by the Greeks.

Well that all makes perfect sense.

So what I can’t understand is why some Greeks are less than thrilled with this plan.

International finance, you gotta love it.

Posted in Cultural~Societal, Finance, International Politics | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Money; Plenty to Say, But It Doesn’t Talk.

There’s an old aphorism, been kicking around forever, that goes, ‘Money talks.’

No it doesn’t. Not any more.

It subtly infers; it seductively hints; it innocently implies.

But it doesn’t talk; at least, not directly.

Take this – imaginary – conversation between, say, a mining magnate who’s just bought a slice of a media company, and one of its editors. It takes place at a get-to-know-you, morning tea. Completely informal. You know, the sort of thing they organise so new owners can size up their just acquired executives.

The magnate sips her tea. ”Of course,” she says, with just a hint of a smile, “I’m new to the business, but one thing I do know is that journalistic  balance is critically important.”

A Keatingesque shiver passes down the editor’s spine. He’s been here before. “Indeed, Ma’am.”

“Are we balanced, do you think?”

“I believe so, Ma’am.”

The magnate lays a plump hand on the editor’s elbow, a hint of disarming intimacy. “I suppose so. And yet.. well, take - oh, I don’t know - global warming, for example. Do we tell both sides of that story?”

“We work hard to explain the science, Ma’am”

“Of course you do.” She – the magnate – looks at the platters and touches her chin with an elegantly manicured finger as she decides. She reaches for a second scone repleat with jam and clotted cream.

“I was just thinking” she murmurs, “my dear friends Ian Plimer and Lord Monkton  could really help in that noble task of educating our readership; getting their thinking right; ensuring that our reporting is absolutely balanced. As it must be.”

The magnate giggles; a monumental occurrence. The editor involuntarily steps backwards. “But what would I know?” she continues. “Silly me. I’m sure you’re doing a perfectly wonderful job.  You mustn’t take the slightest bit of notice of my ramblings.”

Now that the editor is a shade further away from her, she’s able to look him up and down. She does so, smiling all the while, as she chews and then swallows.

“Tell me about you,” she says, once again moving close to her prey, sorry, subordinate. “About working here.’

And there, while the editor desperately searches for a safe yet not humiliating reply, we shall leave the now less than happy couple. At least, less than happy from the editor’s point of view.

Later, both the magnate and the editor will swear on oath before a Royal Commission into our nation’s media ownership - and they will be entirely justified in doing so - that at no time, ever, had the board discussed editorial decisions.

Indeed, as they made clear in their respective statements, the directors constantly emphasized the need for fair and balanced journalism.

The reality is that such conversations take place on a daily basis. They are of course far less banal and vastly more subtle; sometimes so subtle that a bystander might not even have noticed.

The participating underlings do though.

Because, as I said earlier, money doesn’t talk.

It doesn’t have to.

But the message is sent and received just the same.

 

 

 

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