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What does "consumption-led growth" even mean?

Actually this post was just an excuse to post a picture of T-Pain.

There are a number of terms thrown around in the econosphere that confuse and annoy me. Perhaps they  annoy me because they confuse me? Anyway, one of these terms is "consumption-led growth" (and its evil sister terms, "investment-led growth" and "export-led growth"). This is usually invoked with respect to China. For example:
IMF officials “underscored the urgency of reforms to rebalance the economy toward more consumption-led growth,” the lender said. 
Or this:
Why hasn’t China done more to rebalance? The scale of the adjustment necessary to switch from an investment-led to consumption-led growth machine is so monstrous that the country would likely experience a lower rate of growth while it is taking place
Or this:
The transition from export- and investment-led growth to domestic consumption-led growth based on technology innovation, and from lifting tens of millions out of abject poverty to satisfying a more demanding middle class will be even harder for the party to execute.
What the heck is "consumption-led growth"? What does it even mean for a sector to "lead growth"?

Recall that GDP = consumption + investment + government spending + net exports.

Does "consumption-led growth" just mean that the consumption share of GDP should be higher than it is? If so, fine. Then why not just say "consumption-led GDP"?

Or does it mean that consumption should rise faster than the other components of GDP? Fine, but consumption's share of GDP can't increase forever. Eventually, consumption's share will hit a ceiling, and the "consumption-led growth" - if this is what it means - will be gone.

Or does it somehow mean that the shocks to GDP become shocks to consumption preferences, instead of shocks to productivity? That GDP grows because people want more stuff, not because people figure out how to produce more stuff? If so, it's a bit confusing as to how it would work. You can want more stuff til you're blue in the face, but only if you figure out how to make more stuff will you actually get what you want. Sure, you can work harder to get more stuff, but that kind of "growth" will pretty quickly hit a wall.

So what does "consumption-led growth" mean? I am a bit at a loss. Can someone explains what it means?
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More Reasons Why Traditional Publishing is in Trouble

No longer publishable.
The other day, I got into an interesting conversation (via e-mail) with fellow pilot and bestselling author Richard Bach, of Jonathan Livingston Seagull fame.

Let me fast-forward to the crux of our conversation. Which was that conventional publishing is (how can I put this delicately?) messed up beyond belief, now that all major book publishers have been bought up by mega-corporations and are interested only in blockbusters, and only those authors who are represented by top-flight literary agents. And only those with a very recent track record of mega-stardom.

You may think (as I did) that this means, simply, that new authors and fresh voices in fiction are effectively locked out due to the "old boy network" that has always dominated publishing. But in reality, it's much worse than that.

Richard Bach has sold many millions of books. He has authored 20 books, in fact, one of which (Seagull) was made into a major motion picture. And yet, he is having trouble finding a publisher for his upcoming (21st) book. He finds himself locked out.

Bach told me he has finally decided to go with a tiny, up-and-coming publisher, simply because he couldn't get in the door of major publishers.

What he told me, specifically, is: "My queries about my own new book to Random House, HarperCollins and Scribner, all of whom have published my books, were either rejected or ignored." (Emphasis added.)

Folks, that's messed up, bigtime.

Most major publishers will not even look at un-agented submissions. Their attitude is one of "when you're the only girl in town, you don't need deodorant." But it's worse than that. Even if you're a bestselling author with 20 books to your credit, you're now locked out, unless (apparently) you can prove you're Jesus in a business suit.

Of course, Writers Digest (and others) would have you believe you actually have a chance of getting published, if only you persist (and act like a professional rather than a lame-ass jerk).

Fact is, you have less of a chance than you think. What Writers Digest doesn't like to tell you is that your chances of getting a literary agent to request your entire book manuscript after a cold query are roughly one in 200. That's just to get them to read it, not sign you as a client.

And this is a tragedy, not only for authors (new or otherwise), but for the publishing industry as a whole. Because it means rationality is going out the window. The old-school publishing industry is now officially insane.

Many New York literary agents now won't even accept new clients unless they're recommended by existing clients. (Talk about an old-boy network.) But what if you're recommended by Richard Bach, who has sold millions of books but can't even bust the door of a New York publisher himself?

Let me break it down for you. It means that even if you are a talented writer, you're playing a cruel new type of Lotto.

So let's call a club a club, a heart a heart, a diamond a diamond, and a spade a spade. The old-school publishing industry is dead. Or rather, they're the walking undead, a bunch of characters from a George Romero movie, still ambulatory but totally unaware that they are just animated corpses without a reason to exist.

Random House, Macmillan, Scribner, Pearson-megalith, etc. Just lay down already. Your time is over.

Long live e-books. Long live self-publshing. Long live Lulu.com.

The hell with New York.





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Financial repression, Japanese style


For anyone who is interested in the Japanese economy, the recent paper by Takeo Hoshi and Takatoshi Ito is a must-read. Basically, it says that the days of Japan's seemingly infinite capacity to increase its national debt are numbered.

Everyone knows that Japan sustains its unprecedented national debt by borrowing money from its own people. The willingness of Japan's private sector to lend near-infinite amounts of money to the government at a pittance of an interest rate is legendary.

What Hoshi and Ito do is this: They assume that Japan's current government deficits, current GDP growth rates, and current savings rates will basically be maintained. Then they simply calculate the time when ALL of Japan's private wealth will be held in Japanese government bonds. Beyond that point, Japan will only be able to finance its deficits by borrowing money from foreigners, which of course will instantly push interest rates up to the point where Japan is forced to default. Under all of the scenarios, doomsday comes before 2023. Of course, that is making some very extreme assumptions, i.e. that government borrowing crowds out all other borrowing and that Japan's private sector demand for government bonds does not falter.

The upshot: Unless it balances its budget, Japan will start borrowing from foreigners in the next decade.

So there are three questions that follow, in my mind. The first is: Who is buying Japanese government bonds, and why? The second is: Why can't Japan balance its budget? The third is: "What will happen if Japan has to borrow from foreigners?" To answer these questions, I asked some Japanese econ professors what they thought. What follows is a distillation of facts that they gave me about the Japanese economy, some but not all of which can be verified by looking at official statistics.

On the question of "Who is buying Japanese government bonds, and why?", the answer appears to be: Pension funds, insurance companies, and regional banks. This answer is slightly different, though not hugely different, from the answer I gave when I blogged about the topic last year.

Japan's private individuals, who previously bought a lot of bonds with their non-pension savings, hold a lot of JGBs but are not buying any new ones. Partly, this is because Japan's household savings rate has dropped to near zero (which itself is partly due to rapid aging). Partly, it is because - all talk of "culture" to the side - people are just not that interested in holding such a low-yielding asset.

Japan's big banks and non-financial companies are similarly refusing to buy more JGBs. The Ministry of Finance, whose job it is to sell JGBs, had been leaning hard on big banks and companies to buy more of the bonds. However, the bureaucracy is not all-powerful (again, contrary to the stereotypes), and companies have basically said "No more!".

Pension funds and insurance companies, however, are a different story. The Ministry of Finance apparently has much more leverage over these guys, and basically forces pension funds to put households' savings in JGBs. But you may ask: Why don't workers demand that their funds invest in something higher-yielding? And here is what a professor told me:

In Japan, you can't do that!! In America, workers have a say in what asset classes their pensions go into. In Japan, this is apparently not the case. A 22-year-old entry-level worker, who really should have all of his money in global stocks, has absolutely no ability to stop his pension from putting all his money into low-yielding Japanese government bonds. Nor can he simply withdraw his pension early; apparently that is also not allowed in Japan. I am not 100% sure I believe that Japanese pensions work like this, but this is what people insist is true. If they are telling me something wrong, please let me know.

If true, this is "financial repression" at its worst. Japan's decrepit government is only keeping itself afloat by confiscating the savings of its hard-working populace. Some of these workers are staying in the office until late at night, only seeing their families one day a week, not even getting paid for the overtime...and their pensions are being confiscated by government pressure on fund managers.

So that answers that question. Next up is the question of why Japan can't balance its budget. I mainly outsource this answer to Yuriko Koike. Japan used to waste untold billions on pointless construction projects (concreting over every riverbed in the country, for example), but after a decade of cuts, that sort of thing now accounts for only about 5% of the budget.

The real problem is this: Japan has European-style health care with American levels of taxes. If you're going to pay for universal health care, you need high taxes, and Japan does not have them. With an aging population raising health care costs, Japan is going to have to either eliminate universal health care (ha!), or raise taxes a lot to balance the budget. Taxes have been raised, with the national sales tax recently going from 5% to 10%. But that change doesn't kick in til 2015, and won't put a particularly big dent in the deficit. Meanwhile, the tax hike was only popular because of the brave actions of a prime minister who will likely be fired as a result. Japan's populace, tired of working themselves to the bone and seeing their savings be stolen by pension funds, appear to be engaging in a full-fledged tax revolt.

So it seems unlikely that Japan will balance its budget. And Hoshi and Ito show that Japanese private investors, captive as they are, will soon have their backs broken by the sheer unbearable weight of government debt. So when Japan's government goes hat in hand to foreigners in the next decade, what will happen?

If Japan has to sell JGBs to rich countries, it's game over. No one will accept such low yields with such high default risk. The only investor who might buy the requisite amounts of JGBs is China. China, facing pressure from the U.S. to stop supporting exports by buying Treasuries, might turn to JGBs as an alternative mercantilist strategy. The idea would be to hold down the yuan against the yen, inducing Japan to buy a bunch of Chinese exports. This would be insanely expensive for China, but would give China de facto political power over one of its biggest geopolitical rivals.

So I see the following possible scenarios for Japan:

1. An early default, as pension funds escape government pressure and/or regional banks get spooked.

2. A default in 10 years, after Japan's private investors become totally tapped out.

3. A delayed default, but Japan becomes a client state of China in perpetuity, as China loans Japan's government the money it needs to stay afloat.

4. No default, as Japan carries out economic reforms, lets unproductive companies die, and experiences rapid productivity growth.

5. No default, as Japan's government ignores political pressure and raises taxes to European levels.

6. No default, as Japan's government ignores political pressure and eliminates universal health care.

7. Hyperinflation, as Japan's government pays off its debt by seigniorage.

(Actually, there is another scenario: Nightmare Socialism. Savings rates continue to rise, instead of falling as old people retire; more and more savings are hurled into JGBs, as the populace impoverishes itself to postpone default indefinitely. I didn't give this scenario a number because it's a little silly, and would represent an enormous and sustained reversal of many existing trends.)

I think Scenarios 1 and 2 are the most likely, though 5 is also possible. What do you think?
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Hedge funds and Econ 101


Felix Salmon has a very interesting post, detailing the fight between Simon Lack, author of The Hedge Fund Mirage: The Illusion of Big Money and Why It’s Too Good to Be True, and the Alternative Investment Management Association, which I presume represents the sales departments of a bunch of hedge funds. Basically Lack's thesis is that hedge fund managers do beat the market, but keep all of the excess returns for themselves.

It seems to me that this result is what is predicted by basic Econ 101. In Econ 101 you have "consumer surplus" and "producer surplus", which are defined by the supply and demand curves:


The size of the two surpluses is determined by the slopes of the curves, which are called the elasticities of supply and demand. If demand is highly elastic - if the demand curve is close to flat - then the consumer surplus will be very small, and most of the benefits of the market will flow to the producers.

Think of hedge funds as producers and investors (who can give their money to hedge funds) as consumers. What do hedge funds produce? They produce "money tomorrow", and the price is "money today" (this ignores risk, but let's go ahead and ignore risk for the moment). So "money tomorrow produced by hedge funds" is the commodity being supplied in this Econ 101 diagram, and "money today" is the units of the price.

Econ 101 teaches us that demand curves are more elastic when there are substitutes available. For example, if New Balance shoes cost $60, and are just as good as Nike shoes, then as soon as Nike raises its price to $65, consumers will buy a lot fewer Nike shoes (because they will flock to New Balance). When the commodity is "money tomorrow supplied by hedge funds", there are many close substitutes available - money tomorrow provided by index funds, money tomorrow provided by Treasury bonds, etc.

So we expect demand for hedge funds' products to be highly elastic. That means that the consumer surplus will be small.

The producer surplus, on the other hand, might be pretty big, because different hedge funds probably have very different costs of production of "money tomorrow". A great fund manager might be able to produce a dollar of "money tomorrow" for only 70 cents today, while a mediocre manager might have a cost of production of 95 cents. Since production techniques can't easily be copied (investing techniques are secret), this producer cost heterogeneity should persist. Hence, there will be a big producer surplus - great managers will rake in the cash while mediocre managers will scrape by. This will show up as large excess returns to fund managers, which are extracted from investors via large fees.

So Econ 101 tells us that our baseline expectation should be that while hedge fund managers might beat the market, investing in hedge funds is unlikely to let you, the customer, beat the market. Which is Simon Lack's main result.

Of course, so far we've ignored risk. Many hedge fund sales departments, including the AIMA, are eager to remind investors that hedge funds can help you diversify your portfolio even if their after-fee rate of return is no better than any other asset class. This is true. It is true because hedge funds have access to investment opportunities that retail investors and mutual fund managers lack. So you might want to give some of your money to hedge funds (even at below the safe rate of return!), just to have indirect access to these other assets and thus diversify your portfolio.

Also, according to efficient-markets theory, hedge funds in general will have to offer above the safe rate of return (i.e. Treasuries) if most hedge funds take on a bunch of non-diversifiable risk. In this case, giving your money to hedge funds would be pretty much like buying a bunch of risky stocks. You get more returns, but only because you are able to demand those returns in exchange for committing your capital to risky projects.

And finally, if you have some special way of picking which hedge funds will perform the best, then of course you should give your money to those funds. Which basically means that you, yourself, are a market-beating manager of a fund-of-funds.

So there are certainly possible reasons to give your money to hedge funds. But these are side points. The main point is that, if we believe in supply and demand, then we should not expect hedge fund managers to give you their winnings when they could keep the winnings for themselves via fees. Which they usually can do, since the elasticity of demand for "money tomorrow" is high. Simon Lack's results should not especially surprise anyone who believes in Econ 101.
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The perils of Phlogistonomics



In a recent post, Matt Yglesias complains about a kind of economic analysis that has always kind of bothered me. I've called it "label-the-residual economics"; on Twitter, Matt suggested "phlogistonomics" and Richard Thaler suggested "aether". I like "phlogistonomics" a bit better, despite its unwieldliness, for reasons I'll explain later. In the meantime, let me go into a bit more depth than Matt did about the dangers of the approach.

What is this type of analysis that I'm warning about? In economics, when explaining a phenomenon, you generally encounter a "residual". The residual is the part you can't explain in terms of things you can measure directly. For example, suppose you are trying to explain a country's GDP. You can (somewhat inaccurately) measure how much labor the country has. You can (somewhat more innacurately) measure the amount of capital it has. So you assume that GDP is a function of capital, labor, and something else:

GDP = TFP * K^a * L^1-a

Here, K is capital ("das kapital"), L is labor, and TFP is the "something else". TFP is the residual.

This residual represents how productive capital and labor are, which is why we call it "total factr productivity" (TFP). What determines TFP? It could be "human capital". It could be technology. It could be institutions like property rights, corporate governance, etc. It could be government inputs like roads, bridges, and schools. It could be taxes and regulations. It could be land and natural resources. It could be some complicated function of a country's position in global supply chains. It could be a country's terms of trade. It could be transport costs and urban agglomeration. It could be culture. It could be inborn racial superpowers. It could be God, Buddha, Cthulhu, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster. It could be an ironic joke by the vast artificial intelligences that govern the computer simulation that generates our "reality", putting their metaphorical thumb on the scales because they are bored underpaid research assistants with nothing better to do.

Many, many economists refer to TFP as "technology". They are usually careful to stress that what they mean is not "technology" as we usually think of it, but a "generalized technology" that represents all the ways that society has found to utilize capital and labor to pump out GDP. But despite this careful qualifier, using the label "technology" has implications for how people think about and evaluate models like this. "Technology" sounds like something exogenous, something that we can't predict and can't control. Hence, using the label "technology", which has outside meanings, instead of the more neutral term "TFP", puts us in danger of allowing semantic biases to cloud our judgment.

This is "labeling the residual". Another example is in development economics, where the things we don't understand are often labeled "culture". This can lead to semantic biases. For example, when explaining Japan's wealth, many people turn to old cultural stereotypes such as "Japan is conformist" or "Japanese people imitate foreign things but don't invent new things". These stereotypes are blunt and inaccurate. Many of them were manufactured by either Japan's fascist government in the 1930s (as a way to promote the idea of racial differences) or else by writers in the British Empire. Many may no longer be very accurate. Others may never have been very accurate. Others may be somewhat accurate but miss crucial details. Nearly all of them greatly annoy Noah Smith.

What is the danger of semantic bias? Semantic bias may discourage us from trying to delve deeper into the workings of the economy. For example, suppose we find that TFP looks kind of like an AR(1) random process:

TFP_t = p*TFP_t-1 + e_t

In other words, TFP looks like it has "random" shocks (e_t) that decay after a while. Most of the action is in the shock, e_t. If e_t is truly random - if it's like a quantum fluctuation or a sunspot - then we're done, we can't do any better. But if e_t depends on things that we can observe, then we can do better than this model. We can explain more than we have already explained. So the question of whether e_t is truly random is crucial to the question of how well we can explain the economy.

I argue that calling TFP "technology" biases us toward thinking that e_t is truly random. After all, things like the invention of the internet can't be predicted in advance with any kind of certainty. For all intents and purposes, they are truly random events, like sunspots or earthquakes. So even though TFP might include a lot of things other than what we normally think of as technology, using the label "technology" for TFP discourages us from trying to actually go and predict TFP. In reality, we might be able to predict other determinants of TFP, like terms of trade or government investment. I know some economists try to predict these things. Good!! But maybe if we didn't call TFP "technology", more people might try, and they might get more funding to develop new sources of data that would help explain TFP.

I also argue that calling TFP "technology" allows some models to get a free pass on the Lucas Critique. TFP (or the persistence parameter p) might be a function of all kinds of government policies, in which case the model presented above would not be policy-invariant. Remember that applying the Lucas Critique involves a judgment call - the only thing deciding whether a parameter like TFP is "structural" is the consensus judgment of macroeconomists. And I suspect that the label "technology" makes it easier for economists to just assume that TFP is structural...because hey, policy can't affect whether some genius invents something in his garage, right?

I think this semantic bias is even more evident when "culture" is the residual being labeled. Culture is assumed (wrongly, I believe) to be something ancient and immutable. Japanese "culture" (i.e. cultural stereotype) is usually explained in terms of ancient traditions and conditions - Japanese people are risk-averse because they live on an island with lots of earthquakes, Japanese people are imitators because of the dominance of China in East Asian culture hundreds of years ago, Japanese labor markets are a reflection of samurai-era feudalism, etc. This in turn implies that "culture" cannot easily change. (The assumption is clearly false. For example, Japan had very little lifetime employment or seniority-based pay before World War 2; so much for samurai feudalism!)

Labels like "technology" and "culture" may bias economists toward being lazy and sloppy. If we allow our beliefs to be guided by our labels, we risk reducing ourselves to speculating about the future trends of technology or invoking the same tired cultural stereotypes that fill internet forums, instead of searching out new sources of data to explain the heretofore inexplicable. I should caution the reader that I don't know how much of this sort of thing really happens; I am NOT alleging that the econ profession as a whole commits these mistakes. It just seems like a danger. If pressed for examples of when the "technology" label was over-influential, I'd point to the wide acceptance of the RBC paradigm in the 1980s. Regarding "culture"...well, let's just say the whole country of Japan is a serial offender on this count.

Another danger of residual-labeling is that it may bias us against parsimony. When we see a new phenomenon that is difficult to explain - for example, the slowness of Japanese cafes to offer free wi-fi - we may be tempted to postulate a new cultural trait ("Japanese businesses are suspicious about giving anything away for free") instead of looking for some incentive (Perhaps Japanese cell phone service is so good that few people own laptops?) to explain the phenomenon. We just point at stuff we can't explain and say, in the parlance of blogs, that it's "the culture that is Japan". But if you add a new parameter to explain a new data point, you haven't really explained anything.

So what should we call the practice of labeling residuals with semantically laden words? I like Matt Yglesias' proposed label of "phlogistonomics" a little better than Richard Thaler's suggestion of "aether". In the late 1800s and early 1900s, "aether" was something we could and did investigate; it was supposed to be the medium in which light waves moved. We proved it didn't exist. On the other hand, "phlogiston" was more like a residual - it was just "whatever makes stuff burn" (the error was in thinking it had mass). We know there is something that makes stuff burn. And we know there is something that makes some economies function differently from others. The danger in labeling this residual is that in doing so we may trick ourselves into thinking we understand the residual as well as we ever will. That would be a mistake. Eventually, we figured out what makes stuff burn. Someday we may figure out what makes economies different.
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The Japanese tragedy, causes and consequences


Ryan Avent has some new points in our debate over Japan's post-1990 economic performance (see my original post and Ryan's earlier post). I have some problems with the points he makes, but instead of getting into those things, I'd like to step back and take a look at the broader argument.

The original question was: "Why has Japan performed poorly relative to 1990-vintage forecasts?" My answer was: "Because 1990-vintage forecasts were overestimating Japan's ability to exceed the West in productivity." Ryan's answer is, basically: "Because Japan's monetary policy has been too tight."

In macroeconomics, it is very hard to generate a good "counterfactual" - in other words, it's very hard to know what would have happened if some policy had been different. History only happens once, after all. So what we usually do is come up with "stories", and then look to see how the evidence, informed by our theories, fits with each story. It's not exactly science, but it's what we have to work with.

So let me see if I can characterize the stories Ryan and I are telling about the Japanese economy.

Ryan's story: "Japan is (or was) a country with better institutions and/or technology than the West. In the absence of a demand shortage, Japan would be considerably richer than the larger nations of Western Europe, as it was in 1990."

My story: "Japan is (and was) a country with about the same quality of institutions and productivity as the West. In the absence of a demand shortage, Japan would be doing better than it currently is, but not significantly better than the larger nations of Western Europe."

It's essentially impossible to quantitatively measure the quality of a country's institutions. Hence, to evaluate these two stories, let's look at the notion that an aggregate demand shortage has caused Japan's economy to underperform for 20 years.

Here is a picture of Japan's employment-to-population ratio:


As you can see, about 4% of Japan's population stopped working over the period of 1995-2003. This resulted in an unemployment rise of about 3 percentage points, with the remaining 1 percentage point presumably being some mix of "discouraged workers", grad students, housewives, and kids deciding to play instead of work. In any case, suppose that proper monetary policy had prevented any of this decline from occurring. Japan's labor force would then be about 7% bigger than it currently is. Assuming productivity would be the same then as now, that would raise Japan's per capita GDP (PPP) by 7% from its current level. This would account for about half the gap between Japan and Germany that Ryan shows opening up since 1995, and a quarter of the gap between Japan and the United States.

What would account for the rest? Two things: 1) total factor productivity, and 2) hours worked by the employed. Let's assume for the moment that TFP is determined entirely by institutions, and so let's look at how Japanese work hours per employed person have changed over time:


The steady drop in working hours since 1988 (most of which, interestingly, happened before 1995) corresponds to a reduction in the Japanese workweek from about 47 hours per week to just under 42. In comparison, the U.S. workweek is just under 39 hours, and the European workweek is just under 38.

Whose story does this support? It depends on what you think Japanese people's work habits would be if monetary policy had been looser. If the Bank of Japan had circumvented the zero lower bound by doing a bunch more quantitative easing, would Japanese people still be working 47 hours a week? Maybe, maybe not. A somewhat related question is whether that would be a good thing.

But note that the graph of hours worked provides a very natural explanation for the question of how Japan was managing to outperform the West before 1990. The answer: they worked more. A lot more. The only way they could have continued to outperform the West was by continuing to work more.

(Side note: OK, so what if TFP isn't exogenous? It's hard to think of why this would be the case. Labor hysteresis isn't an explanation, because for skill loss to matter, unemployed people have to come back to work, which hasn't happened in Japan (except slightly in 2003-2007). And endogenous growth isn't the answer, since Japanese total R&D spending has strongly outpaced the West since 1995. So I don't find it plausible that persistently tight monetary policy caused Japan's TFP to stagnate.)

So was what happened to Japan a preventable tragedy? I think part of it was a minor preventable tragedy. More aggressive easing probably could have saved up to 3% of Japan's working-age population (over 2 million people!) from unemployment. And in fact, Japan's bright spot in the mid-2000s came after the BOJ did a bunch of quantitative easing. So I think Ryan's story is right.

But I don't think it is the whole story. Japan stopped outperforming the West in large part because they started working less (though still more than people in the West). That change mostly happened well before the zero lower bound was hit, and began even before the Japanese asset bubble reached its peak. So I suspect not all of it could have been reversed by quantitative easing. But even if some could have been reversed, I do not see the end of the 47-hour workweek as a tragedy. Knowing what I know of Japanese society, I see it as a minor triumph.

Update: It has been brought to my attention that the "employment-population ratio" for Japan is not defined the same as in the U.S., where the denominator is as the population aged 16-64; in Japan there is no upper age limit for the denominator. So some of the decrease in Japan's employment-population ratio was from aging. However, the trough-to-peak unemployment change during the "lost decade(s)" was 3%, so there was definitely still some unemployment that might have been prevented by looser monetary policy.

Update 2: Matt Yglesias weighs in with a much better overview of the vagaries of PPP than I provided in my last post. But my argument applies perfectly well using PPP, which is why I didn't want to go there in this new post. Still, give Matt's post a read.

Update 3: Karl Smith weighs in as well. He points out that Japanese unemployment has mostly been youth unemployment, as Japanese companies are unwilling to fire older workers. He also shows that Japan's GDP per hour lags behind Italy's, something I did not know. That does not, however, mean that Japan's institutions and/or technology are worse than Italy's, however, since working more hours makes productivity/hour go way way down, as any grad student has experienced when finishing his or her dissertation. We should not expect GDP/hour to converge between countries whose work weeks are very different in length, even under the Solow model.
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What happened to Japan?

Sorry, dude, no one looks good in skinny jeans. Dig the curly mullet though.

Since I'm in Japan, I had better do some Japan-related blogging. Brad DeLong poses a question, originally asked by one of his commenters:
Japan is now 40 to 50 percent below what the world in 1991 would have estimated their GDP to be in 2012. 
Do we attribute this to: 
The forecasting community was just wrong--Japan was having adverse technology shocks that few foresaw, and so no matter what macro policies they followed and no matter what antibubble policies they followed their GDP today would be about what it is, for the prevailing potential estimates back in 1991 were just wrong? 
If Japan had avoided its bubble and the resulting financial crisis, it would today have far higher GDP--but once the crisis happened, it ruined into an adverse supply shock and most of what has happened since was then predestined. 
If only Japan had followed the Posen plan rapidly after their bubble burst, their world would be very different today and GDP in Japan would indeed be 30-40% higher than it is. 
What is the best way to think about this?
Well, I can't answer this properly, because I don't really know what the forecasting community was smoking saying back in 1990. But I have a few thoughts.

Basically, by 1990, Japan had caught up to the richest large nations in terms of per capita GDP. The only way for Japan to have continued at its previous high rate of growth post-1990 would be for either A) an unprecedented technological boom to power a rapid expansion among all the world's rich countries, or B) for Japan's productivity to significantly exceed that of the other rich countries. In other words, anyone who forecasted continued rapid Japanese growth in 1990 was predicting that Japan was capable of doing far better than the other countries of the world, and indeed that this was the most likely outcome.

Now, let's look at Japan right now. Wikipedia tells us that Japan's per capita GDP, in market-exchange-rate (sometimes called "nominal") terms, is $45,900. That compares with $44,500 for Germany, $43,100 for France, and $39,600 for the UK. I picked Germany, France, and the UK because these are other rich developed nations with populations between 50 and 150 million and growth rates similar to Japan's. In other words, in nominal terms, Japan is richer, per person, than any comparable country. I suspect that what difference exists is due to labor inputs, since Japan does not force its citizens to take lots of time off of work the way Germany and France do.

At purchasing power parity, the numbers are a little less favorable for Japan - $34,300, compared with $38,400 for Germany, $35,900 for the UK, and $35,000 for France. However, I am suspicious of these numbers, since PPP does not take into account quality differences between similar products across countries. Japanese consumers have a famous preference for quality. Japanese plastic kitchen wrap, for example, is so strong and easy to use that it doesn't even deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as Saran Wrap. Japanese pens last longer. The cheapest, lowest-quality Japanese milk is what we Americans call "organic milk" and pay a price premium for. Etc. (To be fair, Japanese houses are built of shoddy materials, have terrible floor plans, and don't have central AC.)

So the "real" level of Japanese GDP, if such a thing can be said to exist, is probably somewhere right around that of Germany, France, and the UK. "Lost decade" or no, Japan in 2012 is right where the Solow Model says it should be. 

What could forecasters in 1990 have been smoking that made them see this as anything other than the inevitable outcome? I suggest two things: 1) dumb trend projection, and 2) attribution error.

Dumb trend projection is people's tendency to view trends as structural. Examples of this include: "Housing prices have never fallen; hence they will never fall." "This stock returned 17.2% over the past three decades; hence it will continue to do so." "The center of gravity of the global economy is inevitably shifting to Asia." And so forth. But in reality, past performance is no guarantee of future results. Or, to put it more pithily, "The trend is your friend til the bend at the end."

Attribution error is our tendency to attribute phenomena to the wrong causes in certain reliable ways. One of these is that we tend to attribute outcomes to fixed person-specific characteristics rather than to circumstance and situation. In Japan's case, this means that people thought that Japan was growing fast in the 70s and 80s because of Japanese culture, superior Japanese government, or - and I suspect that this was more significant than people will admit - the inborn superpowers of the Japanese race.

Whatever superpowers Japanese people may have (I have found that they tend to be extremely good at "Where's Waldo?"), it did not turn out to give them a decisive productivity advantage over the Germans, French, and British. I guess in 1990, Japan was the only East Asian country ever to have gotten rich, and so there was perhaps more cause to believe that maybe East Asian countries could do things European countries couldn't. There are few who now believe that South Korea will blast through the productivity frontier. 

So maybe we learned something from the Japan episode. We learned that East Asians do not have superpowers. They have not figured out a better economic model any more than they have found a way to look good in skinny jeans. No one looks good in skinny jeans. And no one beats the Solow Model.


Update: Ryan Avent says I'm completely wrong. Market-exchange-rate GDP numbers, he says, are distorted by currency fluctuations; the yen is strong right now, so Japan looks rich. And this is true, although the Big Mac Index, produced by Mr. Avent's employer The Economist, says that the yen is not currently overvalued. My point is that neither market-exchange-rate nor PPP numbers tell the whole story. Mr. Avent does not address the limitations of PPP calculations, which go far beyond what I wrote about in this post. I still maintain that when trying to make cross-country comparisons, you should look at both numbers.

Mr. Avent is trying to defend his thesis of a "Japanese tragedy" caused by tight monetary policy. I agree that tight monetary policy has hurt Japan to some degree, and I'd draw attention to the fact that Japan's best post-bubble performance (in 2004-2007) came on the heels of a program of Quantitative Easing. But  that does not change the fact that Japan's standard of living is comparable to that of the major Western European economies (Australia is not an appropriate comparison, being a sparsely populated economy powered by abundant natural resources). And in addition, during the worst years of the "Lost Decade", Japanese unemployment was only 3% higher than at the peak of the bubble. So yes, there have been policy mistakes here, but the end of catch-up growth was no "tragedy", it was inevitable.

Update 2: On Twitter, my advisor Miles Kimball suggests that I look at the change in the yen's real exchange rate in order to better evaluate Ryan Avent's claim about market-exchange-rate GDP measures. Here, via Wikipedia, is a long-term (but up-to-date) chart of the yen/dollar real exchange rate:


Ryan's claim is that changes in this exchange rate distort Japan's market-exchange-rate GDP (making PPP the only good measure). But from this chart, we can pretty clearly see that he's wrong. The yen is currently at or weaker than its long-term average value (when the blue line is higher the yen is weaker). There has been no trend of yen strengthening since the mid-80s (when Japanese growth was robust). Hence, neither the trend nor the level of the yen exchange rate indicate that market-exchange-rate GDP is a worse measure than PPP GDP when discussing Japan's wealth relative to the United States.

But what about the European countries? If the pound, deutschemark, and euro have gotten steadily weaker since 1990, then their market-exchange-rate GDP numbers are "too low". But this is also not the case. In other words, Ryan is not right...exchange rates are not distorting the comparison between Japan and other rich countries. Japan is right up there with the richest large countries in the world.
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