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An age of discontent.

Change is happening faster than human society can adjust. Discontent, disorder and alienation are the result.

That long-revered adage that money can’t buy happiness turns out to be wrong. Actually, it can and does. Conversely, poverty buys unhappiness.

There’s a clear correlation between a nation’s wealth and the relative life satisfaction reported by its people. Right at the bottom is Afghanistan: a desperately poor nation made much worse (and much poorer) by its oppressive Taliban government. For India, the US and Australia, life satisfaction closely follows the wealth scale: rich is better than poor after all. But there are outliers too: Finland is not the richest but certainly the happiest; but Singapore and Ireland, with very high per-capita GDP, fail to translate that advantage into a correspondingly good lifestyle for their peoples.

When we stand back a bit, we can see that, over time, many people in rich countries are becoming less satisfied with their lives.

But those are average national figures. In reality, there’s no such thing as an average person. We can get a somewhat better understanding of what’s driving national mood by looking at how evenly – or unevenly – the wealth of the nation is being distributed. The answer is not reassuring. The most egregious example is the world’s richest person, Elon Musk. When his Space-X company was at its peak, he was the first dollar trillionaire: one man owned as much as the bottom 50% of the American population (175 million people). He has slipped a bit since then and at the time of writing owns only $US911.2 billion. That’s equal to the bottom 47%.

The US is one of the most unequal nations of all, with the bottom 50% owning less than 2% of total personal wealth. Globally, the bottom 50% own 4%.

If wealth was still distributed as it was at the end of the second world war, all Americans would be doing very well – and far better than people in Britain. That’s even more true since the pandemic, when wealth sagged in Britain but shot up in the US.

But that’s the average. As we have seen, the problem is – as always – distribution. In the US, the top 0.1% own two-and-a-half times as much as the bottom 50%. In the postwar welfare-state era of Keynesian economic management, there was a strong decline in the wealth share of the richest 1%. It became a fairer, more equal society. But then, with the Reaganite neoliberal period began in around 1980, all that changed.

Britain, in contrast, has become somewhat more equal since the war but, again, 1980 was a turning point. This was the Thatcher period. The share going to the very top stopped its decline and the trend to greater fairness ended and has never returned.

But that’s the past. The world that has existed for the past 80 years, generally fairly peaceful and increasingly prosperous, is over. The next industrial revolution is already under way and the world – specifically, the world of work – will change forever.

When the computers take over, how happy will we be?

Artificial intelligence is not about to take all jobs and end all work. The “job apocalypse” won’t happen that way. But it may still feel like an apocalypse if you’re the meat in the AI grinder.

In economic revolutions of the past, technological disruption has created as many jobs as it has destroyed. In the Industrial Revolution which began in the late 18th century, machines replaced muscles as the driving force of production. Farm workers were displaced and moved to new industrial cities. Overall, that meant an increase in employment and a vast increase in wealth, but at the cost of massive social disruption.

Artificial intelligence is already destroying jobs, and although new areas of employment are opening up, those new jobs are unlikely to be of much use to those being thrown out of work. That’s that pattern of the past that’s on fast repeat right now.

“No general law of economics says that job creation must match job destruction,” said the economist and Nobel laureate Daron Acemoglu. “Job growth over the last 80-plus years resulting from a combination of changing tasks, new tasks, and a shifting structure of occupations has not occurred at even pace.”

Technology, he says, is likely to result in major job losses, but the big crunch won’t happen for another five years or so. In the meantime, routine white-collar tasks are under threat.

“These exposed occupations include customer service representatives of back-office work. In the US, these workers number roughly 8 to 9 million, which is not a small number but accounts for only roughly 5% of the workforce.”

Worse, he expects will come if employers continue to use AI to replace jobs, rather than to augment them.

“The complementary path – whereby AI technology complements rather than replaces human labour – could be quite productive. But such a path requires different investments. And those investments are not happening on a sufficient scale …

“Should things continue as they are, I would expect bigger job losses within the next 10 to 15 years.”

In the US, a 5% decline in employment would, as Acemoglu says, throw 8 to 9 million people out of work. In Britain the figure would be around 2 million and, in Australia, around 750,000.

It would also throw the world into semi-permanent recession. Unemployment in the US would rise from 4.1% to 9.1%, in Britain from 4.9% to 9.9% and in Australia from 4.5% to 9.5%. Those are levels of joblessness that were last seen at the peak of the Great Recession in 2009.

When people lose their jobs, not only they are affected. First, of course, are their families and those who rely directly on them. All those people have much less money to spend, so if the numbers are big enough, aggregate demand tanks throughout the economy. When that occurs, the other side of the economic ledger – supply – must fall as well. It can quickly turn into a vicious cycle in which a new equilibrium between demand and supply is only reached at a much lower level. That’s what happened in the Great Depression of the 1930s, and it’s largely why the world spent so long in recession during the Global Financial Crisis.

It's already beginning

The world is still living with the economic fallout from the GFC (2007-2012) and the pandemic (2019-2022). Each of those crises crushed economic output and destroyed jobs. And each required huge financial stimulus: bailouts for irresponsible banks that were too big to fail, rescue packages to keep companies in business and welfare for people who could no longer earn a living.

In attempting to reflate economies through interest rates (rather than government spending) central banks initiated a new and unorthodox monetary policy called
“quantitative easing”. They created huge amounts of new money which they used to buy government debt from commercial banks and other financial institutions. This money – Australia’s Reserve Bank alone increased the money supply by some $450 billion – went into commercial banks’ accounts with the Reserve Bank. And there much – too much – remained, unspent.

The idea had been that banks would be able to make low-interest loans (ruling rates were then around zero) to businesses wanting to invest and employ. The problem was that not enough businesses were in a position to use that money and so there it sat. As Keynes said of a previous episode, it was like pushing on a piece of string.

But that money was still out there and, as time went on, boosted demand just as the economy was recovering under its own steam. The inevitable result was inflation: too much money chasing too few goods.

Quantitative easing turned out to be one of the great disappointments of our time. There is little evidence that it had any material effect on economic output; rather, its effects were in the opposite direction: boosting inflation, which led to central banks raising interest rates to reduce demand and stop people buying so much stuff.

The record is not reassuring, though the evidence is as usual cloudy. The British economist Robert Skidelsky (best known as Keynes’s biographer) put it this way in his 2018 book Money and Government:

“The best we can do is to compare what it set out to do with the actual outcome. On this test the conclusion is relatively clear. It promised to boost output by raising the rate of inflation, while being neutral on distribution. In fact, over five years (2011-16) it failed to get inflation up to target; it had, at best, a weak effect on output; and it was far from distributionally neutral. After nine years of emergency money, the financial system remains as dangerously stretched as it was before the crisis, and the economy as dangerously dependent on debt.”

Against this background of official missteps was the impact of successive wars (in the Middle East and eastern Europe) and their effect on the oil price which, in turn, had a dismal consequence for inflation, economic output and confidence. Soaring oil prices during Bush’s war-of-choice in Iraq had no apparent beneficial effect even on the stubbornly-low inflation rate of the time. That was not the case with Putin’s war-of-choice in Ukraine, though prices fell again as traders throughout the globe found work-arounds. Trump’s current adventure against Iran is again boosting oil price, though not yet to the peaks of levels seen in previous conflicts.



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