Chicago Fed president Charles Evans has gone from dissenter to intellectual leader in just a year. The future of the recovery might be at stake.
Some revolutionaries wear Guy Fawkes masks and talk about the 1 percent, and some revolutionaries wear suits and talk about policy thresholds. Chicago Fed president Charles Evans is one of the latter.
A year ago Evans was the rare dovish dissenter at the Fed. He didn't think it was taking the unemployment half of its dual mandate seriously enough, so he proposed a new, eponymous rule for it to do better. He certainly wasn't the first Fed president to have his own ideas about monetary policy, but a funny thing happened on his way to heterodoxy -- his ideas quickly became the consensus. Now, just a year later, the Fed has fully embraced the so-called Evans rule by linking interest rates to the unemployment rate.
Ain't no revolution like a monetary policy revolution.
It's been a brave, old world for central banks the past four years. Short-term interest rates have been stuck at zero, which, outside of Japan, hasn't happened since the 1930s. It's what economists call a liquidity trap, and it means central banks can't stimulate growth like they normally do by cutting short-term interest rates. They can't cut below zero. This doesn't mean central banks are powerless, just that they have to try new things.
These new things come in two varieties: promises and purchases. Central banks can pledge to hold short-term rates at zero even after the recovery accelerates, or they can buy long-term bonds to push down long-term rates; the former is what Paul Krugman calls "credibly promising to be irresponsible" and the latter is what we call "quantitative easing." These sound like big changes from standard operating procedure, but the goal with both is the same as normal -- to reduce interest rates. It's just harder to do in a liquidity trap. Central banks have to increase expected inflation to lower inflation-adjusted rates when nominal, that is headline, rates are at zero. That's the point of these promises and purchases, and that's been the point of the Fed saying it expects to keep rates at zero through mid-2015 and buying $85 billion of mortgage and Treasury bonds a month. But as much as the Fed has done, there's still much more it can do -- like making its promises more explicit -- which it started to do with its latest policy move. Let's break it down into two pieces.
(1) THE EVANS RULE
The Fed's big announcement was that it won't raise rates before unemployment falls to 6.5 percent or inflation rises to 2.5 percent. Notice the word "before" here. The Fed won't automatically raise rates if unemployment or inflation hits one of these thresholds, but it won't do so until at least then. These are the exact thresholds Evans endorsed a few weeks ago, which are modest tweaks from his original thresholds last year of 7 percent unemployment and 3 percent inflation.
Why all the fuss? This Evans rule doesn't seem to tell us anything the Fed wasn't already telling us. Just look at the Federal Open Market Committee's (FOMC) latest economic projections. The Fed doesn't think unemployment will fall below 6.5 percent until 2015 -- and it never thinks inflation will rise above 2 percent -- which implies rates will stay at zero until then. That's exactly what they were saying before.
In truth, the Evans revolution is less a revolution itself and more a significant step on the way to the actual revolution -- NGDP targeting. We'll come back to this larger point, but first let's talk about why the Evans rule matters. Its virtue is it should make the Fed's decision-making more transparent, and that should affect people's expectations more. Contrast the Evans rule with what the Fed told us before -- say from October -- about how long zero interest rates would last.
[The Fed] currently anticipates that exceptionally low levels for the federal runds rate are likely to be warranted at least through mid-2015.
Is this a promise, maybe? That's how most people interpreted it, but it's not entirely clear. Read it again. The Fed was saying it expected the economy to be crummy enough to justify zero rates until mid-2015. But what if the economy picked up before then? Would the Fed raise rates then? Good question! The Evans rule clears this up a bit -- though not entirely -- but more importantly, it clears up whether the Fed has a 2 percent inflation target or ceiling.
The Fed has been trying to answer that question for the past year. As Greg Ip of The Economist pointed out, the Fed rather significantly announced back in January that it thought the inflation and unemployment halves of its mandate were equally important, and changed its long-run inflation target from 1.5-2 percent to 2 percent. This was the Fed's way of saying it wouldn't necessarily raise rates if inflation crept over 2 percent as long as unemployment was still high and long-run inflation expectations didn't rise. In other words, the Fed's inflation target was not a 2 percent speed limit on the recovery. Or was it? Look at that table again. The Fed doesn't project inflation to go above 2 percent at all. That sure looks like a ceiling, still. The Evans rule tries to correct this -- though it would help if these latest projections were symmetrical around 2 percent -- by explicitly saying the Fed really, seriously will tolerate inflation as high as 2.5 percent in the short run.
But there's plenty that still isn't clear. Like how and whether this will work. The Evans rule sounds straightforward enough, but these thresholds are not. The Fed left itself a bit of wiggle room. When it comes to unemployment, the Fed will look at other labor force measures like the participation rate. In other words, it will consider whether unemployment is falling because people are finding jobs or because people have given up on finding jobs. It gets murkier when it comes to inflation. The Fed will use its 1-2 year inflation forecasts for its threshold. Yes, forecasts. That gives the Fed some needed flexibility to ignore commodity surges, like oil in 2011, but it's not the clearest of guides.
Remember, clarity is supposed to be the point. The idea is that the more markets understand the Fed's plans, the more the Fed's plans will shape markets' expectations. It's a bit like a Jedi mind trick. If people think things will be better in the future, then things will be better in the future, because that will get them spending and investing more now. Making us expect a better tomorrow might be the best the Fed can do today. Especially when you consider how short-lived the effects have been from the Fed's other unconventional easing. You can see that in the chart below that looks at market-based inflation expectations for 1, 2, and 10 year periods. Inflation expectations rise every time the Fed does something, and then retreat a few months later.
(Note: These break-evens measure the differences between Treasury and TIPS, or inflation-protected, bonds. They aren't always reliable because TIPS are so lightly traded -- their nickname is "terribly illiquid pieces of," well, we'll let you figure out the rest -- but they're a decent proxy. All data is from Bloomberg).
Inflation expectations should tick up again, especially if we disarm the austerity bomb known as the fiscal cliff, but the overall pattern of peaks and valleys probably isn't going to go away yet.
(2) ASSET PURCHASES
The Fed's other (slightly less) big announcement was that it will continue its $85 billion of monthly asset purchases, albeit with a slight, um, twist. Here's what hasn't changed: the Fed will buy $45 billion of Treasury bonds and $40 billion of mortgage bonds each and every month until unemployment "substantially" improves. What has changed is how the Fed will pay for its $45 billion of Treasury bond purchases. Before, the Fed had been selling $45 billion of short-term bonds to pay for the $45 billion of long-term bonds it was buying, which went by the dramatic name of "Operation Twist". It was a way to lower long-term borrowing costs without printing money, back when more Fed members were worried about potential inflation. But with its supply of short-term Treasuries running, well, short, the Fed will turn Twist into QE. In other words, it will now print money to pay for the $45 billion of Treasuries it buys. The Fed's balance sheet will grow more than before, though its monthly flow of purchases remains the same.
It's okay if you have that Animal Farm feeling. There's been a revolution, but nothing has changed. The Fed still thinks it's first rate hike will come in 2015-ish, and it's still buying $85 billion of bonds a month. This is a true fact. But it undersells the intellectual shift at the Fed. It's gone from mostly thinking about inflation to creating a framework to guide its thinking about inflation and unemployment. And it's done that in just a year. This framework, the Evans rule, is really just a quasi-NGDP target. It's not exactly the catchiest of phrases, but NGDP, or nominal GDP, targeting would be a real revolution in central banking. In plain English, it's the idea that central banks should target the size of the economy, unadjusted for inflation, and make up for any past over-or-undershooting. In theory, a flexible enough inflation target should mimic an NGDP target, which is why the Evans rule is so historic. It's an incremental step on the way to regime change at the Fed.
That doesn't mean we should expect the Fed to move towards NGDP targeting anytime soon. A risk-averse institution like the Fed will want to see another country try it first -- and it might get that chance soon. Incoming Bank of England chief Mark Carney, who currently heads the Bank of Canada, endorsed the idea in a recent speech, and British Treasury officials indicated they might be open to it too -- which is significant because the British Treasury can unilaterally change its central bank's mandate. It might not be long till NGDP targeting comes to Britain, and from there, the world. If it does, you can be sure that Charles Evans will be figuring out how to make it work here.
The Evans rule won't save the economy today, but it might tomorrow -- if it leads to better central banking. It should. It's a big conceptual step forward. And it's a big conceptual step forward we're going to need if Evan Soltas is right that we're likely to hit the zero bound more often in the future.
Forget the Common Core, Finland’s youngsters are in charge of determining what happens in the classroom.
“The changes to kindergarten make me sick,” a veteran teacher in Arkansas recently admitted to me. “Think about what you did in first grade—that’s what my 5-year-old babies are expected to do.”
The difference between first grade and kindergarten may not seem like much, but what I remember about my first-grade experience in the mid-90s doesn’t match the kindergarten she described in her email: three and a half hours of daily literacy instruction, an hour and a half of daily math instruction, 20 minutes of daily “physical activity time” (officially banned from being called “recess”) and two 56-question standardized tests in literacy and math—on the fourth week of school.
That American friend—who teaches 20 students without an aide—has fought to integrate 30 minutes of “station time” into the literacy block, which includes “blocks, science, magnetic letters, play dough with letter stamps to practice words, books, and storytelling.” But the most controversial area of her classroom isn’t the blocks nor the stamps: Rather, it’s the “house station with dolls and toy food”—items her district tried to remove last year. The implication was clear: There’s no time for play in kindergarten anymore.
A new study finds that people today who eat and exercise the same amount as people 20 years ago are still fatter.
There’s a meme aimed at Millennial catharsis called “Old Economy Steve.” It’s a series of pictures of a late-70s teenager, who presumably is now a middle-aged man, that mocks some of the messages Millennials say they hear from older generations—and shows why they’re deeply janky. Old Economy Steve graduates and gets a job right away. Old Economy Steve “worked his way through college” because tuition was $400. And so forth.
We can now add another one to that list: Old Economy Steve ate at McDonald’s almost every day, and he still somehow had a 32-inch waist.
A study published recently in the journal Obesity Research & Clinical Practice found that it’s harder for adults today to maintain the same weight as those 20 to 30 years ago did, even at the same levels of food intake and exercise.
Even in big cities like Tokyo, small children take the subway and run errands by themselves. The reason has a lot to do with group dynamics.
It’s a common sight on Japanese mass transit: Children troop through train cars, singly or in small groups, looking for seats.
They wear knee socks, polished patent-leather shoes, and plaid jumpers, with wide-brimmed hats fastened under the chin and train passes pinned to their backpacks. The kids are as young as 6 or 7, on their way to and from school, and there is nary a guardian in sight.
A popular television show called Hajimete no Otsukai, or My First Errand, features children as young as two or three being sent out to do a task for their family. As they tentatively make their way to the greengrocer or bakery, their progress is secretly filmed by a camera crew. The show has been running for more than 25 years.
David Hume, the Buddha, and a search for the Eastern roots of the Western Enlightenment
In2006, i was 50—and I was falling apart.
Until then, I had always known exactly who I was: an exceptionally fortunate and happy woman, full of irrational exuberance and everyday joy.
I knew who I was professionally. When I was 16, I’d discovered cognitive science and analytic philosophy, and knew at once that I wanted the tough-minded, rigorous, intellectual life they could offer me. I’d gotten my doctorate at 25 and had gone on to become a professor of psychology and philosophy at UC Berkeley.
I knew who I was personally, too. For one thing, I liked men. I was never pretty, but the heterosexual dance of attraction and flirtation had always been an important part of my life, a background thrum that brightened and sharpened all the rest. My closest friends and colleagues had all been men.
Meaning comes from the pursuit of more complex things than happiness
"It is the very pursuit of happiness that thwarts happiness."
In September 1942, Viktor Frankl, a prominent Jewish psychiatrist and neurologist in Vienna, was arrested and transported to a Nazi concentration camp with his wife and parents. Three years later, when his camp was liberated, most of his family, including his pregnant wife, had perished -- but he, prisoner number 119104, had lived. In his bestselling 1946 book, Man's Search for Meaning, which he wrote in nine days about his experiences in the camps, Frankl concluded that the difference between those who had lived and those who had died came down to one thing: Meaning, an insight he came to early in life. When he was a high school student, one of his science teachers declared to the class, "Life is nothing more than a combustion process, a process of oxidation." Frankl jumped out of his chair and responded, "Sir, if this is so, then what can be the meaning of life?"
There are many Americas. There is an America of white picket fences. There is an America of towering skyscrapers. There is the America of dusty plains, cowboys, and ranches. There is an America of cliffs and beaches and sun-kissed surfers. And then there is the America just beyond these postcards, idyllic in its landscape but largely unfamiliar. It is not a land of plenty, nor opportunity, yet it is America nonetheless.
Photographer Danny Ghitis happened upon one of these regions in 2012: Dutchess County. Just a few miles north of New York City, Dutchess was once a thriving area with successful iron mining and dairy-farming industries that have long since gone. “There are small pockets of wealth exported from the big city ... and feeble attempts at small-town tourism,” Ghitis said, noting the economic divide between the western and eastern sides, the latter of which he photographed. “Mostly, the Harlem Valley exists in between the past and future.”
What happens when a father, alarmed by his 13-year-old daughter's nightly workload, tries to do her homework for a week
Memorization, not rationalization. That is the advice of my 13-year-old daughter, Esmee, as I struggle to make sense of a paragraph of notes for an upcoming Earth Science test on minerals. “Minerals have crystal systems which are defined by the # of axis and the length of the axis that intersect the crystal faces.” That’s how the notes start, and they only get murkier after that. When I ask Esmee what this actually means, she gives me her homework credo.
Esmee is in the eighth grade at the NYC Lab Middle School for Collaborative Studies, a selective public school in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. My wife and I have noticed since she started there in February of last year that she has a lot of homework. We moved from Pacific Palisades, California, where Esmee also had a great deal of homework at Paul Revere Charter Middle School in Brentwood. I have found, at both schools, that whenever I bring up the homework issue with teachers or administrators, their response is that they are required by the state to cover a certain amount of material. There are standardized tests, and everyone—students, teachers, schools—is being evaluated on those tests. I’m not interested in the debates over teaching to the test or No Child Left Behind. What I am interested in is what my daughter is doing during those nightly hours between 8 o’clock and midnight, when she finally gets to bed. During the school week, she averages three to four hours of homework a night and six and a half hours of sleep.
Fifty years after its passage, it’s clear that the law’s ultimate effects are at odds with its original intent.
The 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act, whose 50th anniversary comes on October 3, officially committed the United States, for the first time, to accepting immigrants of all nationalities on a roughly equal basis. The law eliminated the use of national-origin quotas, under which the overwhelming majority of immigrant visas were set aside for people coming from northern and western Europe.
In the subsequent half century, the pattern of U.S. immigration changed dramatically. The share of the U.S. population born outside the country tripled and became far more diverse. Seven out of every eight immigrants in 1960 were from Europe; by 2010, nine out of ten were coming from other parts of the world. The 1965 Immigration Act was largely responsible for that shift. No law passed in the 20th century altered the country’s demographic character quite so thoroughly. But its effects were largely inadvertent. The law’s biggest impact on immigration patterns resulted from provisions meant to thwart its ability to change much at all.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.