Archive for ‘Political Economy’

December 19, 2012

Jam tomorrow: Gina Rinehart and the Poor

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“What good’s a god who gives you everything you want? … It’s the HOPE that’s important. Give people jam today, and they’ll just sit and eat it. Jam tomorrow, now — that’ll keep them going for ever.”
- Terry Pratchett, Hogfather

Of the people alive today, if there is one I find most terrifying, it is Gina Rinehart. Australia’s richest citizen and the world’s richest woman, Rinehart is the Executive Chair of Hancock Prospecting, a lucrative iron ore mining concern that has a turnover of A$870 million every year. In addition to being fabulously wealthy, Rinehart is politically very outspoken – putting her money and influence to work in opposing measures that seek to reduce climate change, yet threaten her company’s bottom line. For example, she has actively campaigned against Australia’s Carbon Pollution Reduction Scheme, and has funded the creation of ANDEV, a climate-change sceptic lobby group. To make matters worse, she has recently purchased significant shares in both Fairfax Media and Ten Network Holdings; two of Australia’s most influential media conglomerates. A variety of commentators have expressed concern that Rinehart has acquired these interests in order to push her own neoliberal views. And recently, Rinehart has nailed those views to the mast – claiming that there is no real obstacle to anyone seeking to get rich.

“If you’re jealous of those with more money, don’t just sit there and complain,” she said, in her regular column in Australian Resources and Investment magazine, “Do something to make more money yourself — spend less time drinking or smoking and socialising, and more time working.” As a final, encouraging note, Rinehart assures us “There is no monopoly on becoming a millionaire”.

The idea that the deserving poor are, in fact, deservedly poor – and that all that they need to get rich quick is to work more and do everything else less, is very common. One might expect Rinehart to spout straight-up Hayek; arguing that growth has the potential to lift everyone out of poverty; because as the rich get richer, they pull everyone else up by generating jobs – both by spending their money, and by needing employees for their successful businesses. However, a second (and less pleasant) aspect of this “trickle-down” model is that inequality remains in place – the poor remain at the bottom. Of course, its supporters claim that this is no bad thing; the presence of a thrusting economic elite is beneficial, because they generate more “stuff” for everyone. They deserve a bigger slice of the pie, so the theory goes, because they make the pie itself bigger.

But what’s odd is the Rinehart isn’t saying this at all. She claims that “there’s no monopoly on millionaires”. Now, if she means that there’s nothing stopping people from striving for that status, then Hayek would agree with her. But if (as she appears to be hinting at), it is possible for everyone to be a millionaire, if they work hard, then she’s clearly mistaken. If we all became millionaires in monetary terms, the purchasing power per unit currency would plummet due to inflationary pressures; more money does not necessarily mean more wealth. And the rather grim fact is that there simply aren’t enough resources in the world for us all to be as fabulously wealthy as the likes of Gina Rinehart – we can all live well, perhaps, but not that well.

In addition to being hideously out of touch with the lives of ordinary people and the realities of living on planet Earth, this kind of overoptimistic work ethic doesn’t even reflect Rinehart’s own life history. If she were a self-made woman, preaching of this kind would at least be rooted in something substantial – but she’s not. She didn’t earn her position of vast privilege; she inherited it from her father, Lang Hancock. Hancock himself owed his success as much to luck as hard graft – when his family bought up large tracts of central Pilbara district in Western Australia, nobody knew some of the largest deposits of iron ore in the world lay beneath the dusty ground. And let us not forget that landowners such as the Hancocks claimed their stations under the ropey legal pretext of terra nullius – something which amounts to little more than outright theft from Australia’s indigenous population. The Aboriginal people of Pilbara, it should be noted, have benefitted little from Hancock Prospecting’s operations in their country.

The story of Rinehart’s wealth is illuminating for a number of reasons. It reveals a basic flaw in her reasoning – people don’t make succeed just by working hard; the wealthy frequently benefit from inheritance, structural inequalities in the rest of society that favour them personally, or even just blind luck. And the odd occlusion by her of a crucial aspect of trickle-down economics – the preservation of inequality to drive the engines of economic progress – tells us something else; perhaps rather than revealing the “secret” of “investing in Australia’s future”, she’s actually keeping a deeper secret – that she’s essentially invoking the power of hope to hoodwink the poor. As Terry Pratchett points out in the quote above, the promise of jam tomorrow is a powerful thing, that can be even better at controlling people than the bread-and-circuses principle upon which Rome was run. If you give the mob what they want, they’ll be satiated for a day. But if you parade your wealth in front of them, and then promise them that, if they work hard, they live as you do; they will follow you forever.

And that tells us that the monopoly on millionaires is not just a fact of nature – a restriction imposed by a lifeboat Earth of limited resources – it is a social fact, too. People like Gina Rinehart are not above using misinformation and bad economics to justify their own avarice, and to deny the rights of all of us to enjoy this world’s bounty equally.

July 5, 2012

The Economy of Madness

The data is weak, and the Patrick Bateman-image is far off the mark, but might there be some truth to the link between contemporary capitalism and psychopathy?

The more I hear about the culture of certain parts of the financial sector, the more I want to read Bret Easton Ellis’ American Psycho. Although intended by Ellis as an unburdening of the dark feelings he was having at the time of its writing, American Psycho is now regarded as a blistering satire of the entire 1980s yuppie culture. This status is not entirely undeserved – Ellis’ consumerist ennui had to come from somewhere. His personal state was a symptom of a wider cultural problem, and I think his creative choice to make the severely unbalanced, if outwardly successful, protagonist of his novel into a psychopath is actually a clever observation – I believe that psychopathic traits are critical to the shape of contemporary capitalism.

This is not to suggest that Bob Diamond, Fred Goodwin and Henry Paulson secretly have a Bluebeard-esque secret penchant for brutality of course – psychopathy does not equate to the cartoonish image of a slavering monster. In truth, a psychopath is someone with a particular set of qualities – namely, a lower capacity for fear, guilt and empathy, and increased tendency to take risks and to manipulate others. Patrick Bateman was certainly a psychopath, but the violence he stooped to was merely an outward expression of what is fundamentally an inner condition. Part of what makes American Psycho so poignant is that there is very little difference between Bateman’s emotional profile and that of other members of his social circle – what marks him out is uncontrolled outbursts of violence, the evidence of which is ignored, laughed off, or cleaned up by his friends and colleagues. The implication of this ambivalence is clear; that yuppie culture – with its egotism, greed, relentless ambition and callous indifference – is inherently psychopathic. Interestingly, journalist Jon Ronson has made a similar observation; in his new book, The Psychopath Test, he reveals that 4% of top-flight CEOs are psychopaths – not a big proportion, but it is 4 times greater than the psychopathic proportion of society as a whole. This is based on a study by forensic psychologist Robert Hare, whose findings, though not based on a randomly selected sample, are interesting, if not conclusive. The slew of articles published on this recently wildly exaggerated the original figures and overstated their significance, but this association of psychopathy with capitalism hasn’t just cropped up recently.

The 2003 documentary film The Corporation addresses the same issue, but at a macro level. It takes its lead from the status of corporations as legal persons, and moves to assess their behaviour as if they were moral individuals. The conclusion is that corporations as a rule behave like psychopaths – due to being legally obliged to take the most profitable route in all circumstances, corporations express the same disregard for the needs of others that psychopaths exhibit – taking risks that a normal human mind would find unimaginable. Corporate culture in recent years has also become increasingly short-termist; another feature it holds in common with the mindset of pyschopaths. Such chronic short-termism and a lack of fair appreciation of risk were critical in stimulating the sort of practices that lead to the market collapse, and the subsequent anaemic recovery.

A different perspective on the cultural features that lead to the financial crash is presented by Karen Ho in her ethnography Liquidated. Based on fieldwork she conducted amongst Wall Street bankers, Ho describes how, through rarefied recruitment practices, Wall Streets creates a climate of extreme meritocracy. But rather than guaranteeing a high quality of service provision, this attitude instead serves to rationalize “outrageous” compensation schemes, by giving bankers and other financial employees an inflated sense of their own self worth and abilities. To me, this reflects another troubling psychological feature – narcissism – that can exacerbate the risks posed by psychopathy in the high halls of the economy.

What is interesting about these analyses is that they both root wider economic outcomes not in the whims of a nebulous market, but instead in what Ho calls “concrete practices” – the daily interactions and attitudes of real people. Like Ronson, I am loathe to make grandiose claims about all bankers being psychopaths or narcissists. Although it is probable that they have a relatively high incidence of certain traits – such as a tendency towards boredom and increased ambition – those features in and of themselves do not equate to a medical diagnosis of any of these conditions. But I do think it is useful to think about social organisation in terms of the psychological realities it supports; as Bruno Latour once said, the small holds the big.  Indeed, Ronson suggests that consumer capitalism is, in essence, psychopathy writ large – the creation of a politico-economic system that is reliant upon the manipulation of the majority by calculating, cold-hearted interests that care little for the needs of others. Even if the great majority of people involved, even at high levels, are not psychopaths, the aggregates they form exhibit those conditions. Bad attitudes trickle down, far more effectively than money, through entire organisations and out into society. But how?

I think Ho’s ethnography provides an answer. If you look at her work with a Gramscian eye, it becomes obvious that the “rationalization” certain bankers are engaged in serves as a form of self-imposed false consciousness. The notion of meritocracy justifies psychopathic practices, allowing otherwise empathic individuals to rationalise what they’re doing as necessary, or even positive. If the crowd of people are “masters of the universe”, then how can their choices, even unethical ones, be anything other than the right ones? Regardless of whether the psychopaths are real or virtual, personal or institutional, their influence bleeds across the edifice of global trade, serving as the ruby essence of capital.

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