Government borrowing doesn't always crowd out private borrowing
Four years after the end of the presidency that must not be named, Republicans are no closer to figuring out what went wrong or what comes next.
Sure, the GOP has decided Bush spent too much, but there's been little other reckoning (outside of wonks like David Frum, Reihan Salam, and Ross Douthat). After all, it's hard to see what fiscal profligacy had to do with stagnant median incomes, rising healthcare and college costs, and a fragile financial system -- and harder still to see what remedies the Republicans have to offer. When it comes to policy, the GOP is stuck in 1980: lower taxes, less regulation, and more drilling for oil are always and everywhere the answer, no matter the question. (No, really).
Even Obama's reelection hasn't been enough to wake the Republicans from their Reagan von Winkle slumber. The GOP has chosen re-branding over rethinking. In other words, they think they have a messenger, not a message, problem -- and that's where Marco Rubio comes in. As Jonathan Chait of New York explains, Rubio offers the party an appealing, young salesman for its same, old policies, immigration aside. It was no accident his response to the State of the Union was so devoid of anything resembling new thinking. It was the point. Indeed, Rubio just rounded up the usual talking points, saying, among other things, that the government was a major cause of the housing bubble (it wasn't), and that Washington needs a balanced budget amendment (it very much does not). These are certainly cringe-worthy mistakes, but Rubio's biggest one is even more fundamental. He doesn't think the government can create jobs, except when it does.
Every dollar our government borrows is money that isn't being invested to create jobs. And the uncertainty created by the debt is one reason why many businesses aren't hiring.
Rubio has fallen victim to one of the classic economic blunders. It's called Say's Law, and it's not, in fact, a law. It's more like a guideline. The idea is that supply creates its own demand, which is true enough during booms, but not so during busts. The underlying logic here -- producing goods gives you the income to buy other goods -- makes sense, but only as long as you don't include money. Then everything falls apart. We'll return to why money is the root of all depressions in a second, but first, let's think about what it would mean if Say's Law were true. It would mean a world where demand can never lag supply; where unemployment is either voluntary or transient (when people switch jobs); and where government spending can never help the economy. After all, public borrowing has to come from somewhere, and a dollar the government borrows is a dollar the private sector doesn't. In other words, government borrowing "crowds out" private borrowing, pushing up interest rates as it competes for funds.
But this is terribly wrong. In the real world, people are out of work because they can't find work, not because they don't want it; the Great Recession has not been a Great Vacation. Supply doesn't always create its own demand, because demand for money might increase. In other words, people might hoard money. Now, "hoard" probably brings to mind people frantically stuffing money into mattresses, but it's a bit different than that today. It means households don't want to spend, and businesses don't want to invest, and banks don't want to lend. There's an excess of desired savings over desired investment -- or, as it's more commonly called, a recession. The Fed can make hoarding less appealing by cutting interest rates to inject money into the economy, but it can't do so now, at least not easily. Interest rates are already at zero, and unconventional money-printing hasn't been quite as effective. In short, the Fed hasn't been able to get us to stop hoarding right now.
That leaves two options: depression or deficits. In other words, either nobody borrows the unborrowed money, or the government does. If nobody does, the economy will contract by as much as isn't borrowed; if the government does, the economy will (at least) stabilize. As Matthew Yglesias of Slate points out, it's easy enough to tell the government is borrowing money that otherwise wouldn't be today, since interest rates have fallen despite big deficits. There has been no crowding out.
But it turns out we are actually all Keynesians now, even Marco Rubio. At least when it comes to military spending. (Though he's hardly alone with this cognitive dissonance). Here's what he told HispanicBusiness.com last September about the upcoming sequester cuts set to hit the Pentagon:
Thousands of jobs in defense-related enterprises have been lost already, with many more projected to go if the sequester crisis is not averted. These defense cuts hurt innovation, medical research and thousands of small businesses who subcontract for defense-related work.
Rubio is actually a pretty ambitious Keynesian! Not only does he think the government can create jobs, but he also thinks those jobs create other jobs -- that is, there's a multiplier on government spending.
Cultural anthropology can help explain why the downturn caught everyone by surprise: Experts around the world tend to focus on the same mathematical models, looking for patterns in the same limited number of places.
Why haven’t more challengers entered the race to defeat the Iraq War hawk, Patriot Act supporter, and close friend of big finance?
As Hillary Clinton loses ground to Bernie Sanders in Iowa, where her lead shrinks by the day, it’s worth noticing that she has never made particular sense as the Democratic Party’s nominee. She may be more electable than her social-democratic rival from Vermont, but plenty of Democrats are better positioned to represent the center-left coalition. Why have they let the former secretary of state keep them out of the race? If Clinton makes it to the general election, I understand why most Democrats will support her. She shares their views on issues as varied as preserving Obamacare, abortion rights, extending legal status to undocumented workers, strengthening labor unions, and imposing a carbon tax to slow climate change.
In the name of emotional well-being, college students are increasingly demanding protection from words and ideas they don’t like. Here’s why that’s disastrous for education—and mental health.
Something strange is happening at America’s colleges and universities. A movement is arising, undirected and driven largely by students, to scrub campuses clean of words, ideas, and subjects that might cause discomfort or give offense. Last December, Jeannie Suk wrote in an online article for The New Yorker about law students asking her fellow professors at Harvard not to teach rape law—or, in one case, even use the word violate (as in “that violates the law”) lest it cause students distress. In February, Laura Kipnis, a professor at Northwestern University, wrote an essay in The Chronicle of Higher Education describing a new campus politics of sexual paranoia—and was then subjected to a long investigation after students who were offended by the article and by a tweet she’d sent filed Title IX complaints against her. In June, a professor protecting himself with a pseudonym wrote an essay for Vox describing how gingerly he now has to teach. “I’m a Liberal Professor, and My Liberal Students Terrify Me,” the headline said. A number of popular comedians, including Chris Rock, have stopped performing on college campuses (see Caitlin Flanagan’s article in this month’s issue). Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Maher have publicly condemned the oversensitivity of college students, saying too many of them can’t take a joke.
If the Fourteenth Amendment means that the children of undocumented immigrants are not citizens, as Donald Trump suggests, then they are also not subject to American laws.
Imagine the moon rising majestically over the Tonto National Forest, highlighting the stark desert scenery along the Superstition Freeway just west of Morristown, Arizona. The sheriff of Maricopa County sips coffee from his thermos and checks that his radar gun is on the ready. A lot of lawmen wouldn’t have bothered to send officers out at night on such a lonely stretch of road, much less taken the night shift themselves. But America’s Toughest Sheriff sets a good example for his deputies. As long as he’s the sheriff, at least, the rule of law—and the original intent of the Constitution—will be enforced by the working end of a nightstick.
Suddenly a car rockets by, going 100 miles an hour by the gun. Siren ululating, the sheriff heads west after the speeder. The blue Corolla smoothly pulls over to the shoulder. The sheriff sees the driver’s side window roll down. Cautiously he approaches.
Many educators are introducing meditation into the classroom as a means of improving kids’ attention and emotional regulation.
A five-minute walk from the rickety, raised track that carries the 5 train through the Bronx, the English teacher Argos Gonzalez balanced a rounded metal bowl on an outstretched palm. His class—a mix of black and Hispanic students in their late teens, most of whom live in one of the poorest districts in New York City—by now were used to the sight of this unusual object: a Tibetan meditation bell.
“Today we’re going to talk about mindfulness of emotion,” Gonzalez said with a hint of a Venezuelan accent. “You guys remember what mindfulness is?” Met with quiet stares, Gonzalez gestured to one of the posters pasted at the back of the classroom, where the students a few weeks earlier had brainstormed terms describing the meaning of “mindfulness.” There were some tentative mumblings: “being focused,” “being aware of our surroundings.”
After calling his intellectual opponents treasonous, and allegedly exaggerating his credentials, a controversial law professor resigns from the United States Military Academy.
On Monday, West Point law professor William C. Bradford resigned after The Guardianreported that he had allegedly inflated his academic credentials. Bradford made headlines last week, when the editors of the National Security Law Journaldenounced a controversial article by him in their own summer issue:
As the incoming Editorial Board, we want to address concerns regarding Mr. Bradford’s contention that some scholars in legal academia could be considered as constituting a fifth column in the war against terror; his interpretation is that those scholars could be targeted as unlawful combatants. The substance of Mr. Bradford’s article cannot fairly be considered apart from the egregious breach of professional decorum that it exhibits. We cannot “unpublish” it, of course, but we can and do acknowledge that the article was not presentable for publication when we published it, and that we therefore repudiate it with sincere apologies to our readers.
Though it wasn’t pretty, Minaj was really teaching a lesson in civility.
Nicki Minaj didn’t, in the end, say much to Miley Cyrus at all. If you only read the comments that lit up the Internet at last night’s MTV Video Music Awards, you might think she was kidding, or got cut off, when she “called out” the former Disney star who was hosting: “And now, back to this bitch that had a lot to say about me the other day in the press. Miley, what’s good?”
To summarize: When Minaj’s “Anaconda” won the award for Best Hip-Hop Video, she took to the stage in a slow shuffle, shook her booty with presenter Rebel Wilson, and then gave an acceptance speech in which she switched vocal personas as amusingly as she does in her best raps—street-preacher-like when telling women “don’t you be out here depending on these little snotty-nosed boys”; sweetness and light when thanking her fans and pastor. Then a wave of nausea seemed to come over her, and she turned her gaze toward Cyrus. To me, the look on her face, not the words that she said, was the news of the night:
Alaska has more than $50 billion of oil money in the bank. Why can’t it pay its bills?
WASILLA, Alaska—This state has more money in the bank than most small countries. Decades of collecting royalties and revenues from the companies that drilled for oil on its slopes have endowed Alaska with a $50 billion savings account. Residents pay neither income nor sales tax, and every October, they get a check from the government simply for living in Alaska—this year, the checkcould total $2,000.
But the years of plenty may be coming to an end. As the price of oil has fallen from more than $100 a barrel to around $40 and oil production slows, Alaska is seeing the downside of relying on natural resources to pay the bills. For every $5 drop in oil prices, the state loses $120 million, according to Randall Hoffbeck, Commissioner of the Alaska Department of Revenue.
How America’s poor sell the contents of their veins to get by
There is no money to be made selling blood anymore. It can, however, pay off to sell plasma, a component in blood that is used in a number of treatments for serious illnesses. It is legal to “donate” plasma up to two times a week, for which a bank will pay around $30 each time. Selling plasma is so common among America’s extremely poor that it can be thought of as their lifeblood.
But no one could reasonably think of a twice-weekly plasma donation as a job. It’s a survival strategy, one of many operating well outside the low-wage job market.
In Johnson City, Tennessee, we met a 21-year-old who donates plasma as often as 10 times a month—as frequently as the law allows. (The terms of our research prevent us from revealing her identity.) She is able to donate only when her husband has time to keep an eye on their two young daughters. When we met him in February, he could do that pretty frequently because he’d been out of work since the beginning of December, when McDonald’s reduced his hours to zero in response to slow foot traffic. Six months ago, walking his wife to the plasma clinic and back, kids in tow, was the most important job he had.
The neurologist leaves behind a body of work that reveals a lifetime of asking difficult questions with empathy.
Oliver Sacks always seemed propelled by joyful curiosity. The neurologist’s writing is infused with this quality—equal parts buoyancy and diligence, the exuberant asking of difficult questions.
More specifically, Sacks had a fascination with ways of seeing and hearing and thinking. Which is another way of exploring experiences of living. He focused on modes of perception that are delightful not only because they are subjective, but precisely because they are very often faulty.
To say Sacks had a gift for this method of exploration is an understatement. He was a master at connecting curiosity to observation, and observation to emotion. Sacks died on Sunday after receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis earlier this year. He was 82.
Accusations of terrorism are a window into how the Turkish government tries to intimidate reporters, but also how a media bad boy is maturing.
Under Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s presidency, Turkish journalists have increasingly been badgered, intimidated, threatened, and punished. Now, however, the Turkish government is going after two foreign journalists.
It’s not difficult to see why the Turkish government might not want journalists in the area. Kurdish fighters, some backed by the U.S., have been battling ISIS in Iraq for months. While Turkey opposes ISIS, it’s also terrified of emboldened Kurds pushing for an autonomous state in the region. For decades, Ankara has fought a protracted war against Kurdish guerrilla groups in southeastern Turkey. After long trying to avoid being drawn into the conflict against ISIS, Turkey, a U.S. ally, has begun to take action, but it’s fighting against both ISIS and the Kurds, a strange case where, for the Turkish government, the enemy of my enemy might still be my enemy.