Who's ripping it off? Competition theory and reality

Puzzling over the rich economies' poor productivity improvement and weak wage growth (but healthy profits), American economists are pointing the finger at reduced competition between firms. But can this explain Australia's similar story?

Jim Minifie, of the Grattan Institute, set out to answer this in his report, Competition in Australia.

Economists regard strong competition between businesses as essential to ensuring market economies function well, to the benefit of consumers and workers.

Competition is what economic theory says stops us being ripped off by the capitalists. Firms that overcharge for their products lose business to firms that undercut them.

So competition pushes prices down towards costs (which economists – but not accountants – define as including the "cost of capital", or "normal profit", the minimum rate of profit needed to induce firms to stay in the market).

Competition helps ensure that economic resources - land, labour and (physical) capital – move to the uses most valued by consumers.

Competition also encourages firms to come up with new or better products – or less costly ways of producing a product – in the hope of higher profits. But those that succeed in this soon find their competitors copying their ideas, and bidding down the price to get a bigger slice of the action.

The innovations improve the economy's productivity (output per unit of input), but competition soon takes away the higher profits, delivering them into the hands of consumers, who often get better products for lower prices.

That's the theory. Question is, to what extent does it hold in practice? And does it hold less in recent years than it used to?

The simple theory assumes any market has a large number of sellers, each too small to be able to influence the market price. In practice, however, many of our markets are dominated by two, three or four big firms.

Why? Mainly because of the presence of economies of scale. It's very common that the more you produce of something – up to a point – the less each unit costs.

So, it makes great sense to have a small number of big firms doing much of the production – provided competition ensures most of the cost saving is passed on to customers in lower prices. Which, as a general rule, it has been over the decades.

Trouble is, big firms do have some degree of control over prices. And it's common for the few big firms in an industry to come to an unspoken agreement to compete using advertising or product differentiation, but not price.

Firms can increase their pricing power by taking over their competitors to get a bigger share of the market. It's the role of "competition policy" – run in our case by the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission – to prevent overt collusion between firms, and takeovers intended to increase market power. But how well is that working?

"Natural monopolies" – where it simply wouldn't make economic sense for more than one firm to serve a particular market, such as rival sets of power lines running down a street, or two service stations in a small town - are another common departure from the theoretical model.

So, what did Minifie find in his study of competition in practice? He found evidence it had lessened in the United States, but not here.

He found plenty of markets where a few firms did most of the business. But "the market shares of large firms in concentrated sectors are not much higher in Australia than in other countries [of comparable size], and they have not grown much lately," he says.

Nor have their revenues (sales) grown faster than gross domestic product. The profitability of firms – profits relative to funds invested - hasn't risen much since 2000.

Minifie identifies eight industries characterised by natural monopoly (in descending order of size): electricity transmission and distribution, wired telecom, rail freight, airports, toll roads, water transport terminals, ports and pipelines.

Then there are nine industries where large economies of scale mean they're dominated by a few firms: supermarkets, wireless telecom, domestic airlines, then (of roughly equal size) internet service providers, pathology services, newspapers, petrol retailing, liquor retailing and diagnostic imaging.

Next are eight industries subject to heavy regulation by government: banks, residential aged care, general insurance, life insurance, taxis, pharmacies, health insurance and casinos.

(Often, these industries are heavily regulated for sound public policy reasons, but the regulation often acts as a barrier to new firms entering the market, thus allowing them to be dominated by a few firms.)

But note this: by Minifie's calculations, natural monopolies account for only about 3 per cent of "gross value added" (a variant of GDP), while high scale-economies industries account for 5 per cent and heavily regulated industries for 7 per cent.

So that means the parts of the economy where "barriers to entry" limit competitive pressure make up about 15 per cent of the economy. Then there are 29 industries with low barriers to entry making up the rest of the "non-tradables" private sector, and about half the whole economy.

That leaves the tradables sector (export and import-competing industries) accounting for 14 per cent of the economy and the public sector making up the last 20 per cent.

Even so, Minifie confirms that, in industries dominated by a few firms, many firms make "super-normal" profits – those in excess of what's needed to keep them in the industry.

By his estimates, up to half the total profits in the supermarket industry are super-normal. In banking it's about 17 per cent.

Other companies and sectors with substantial super profits include Telstra, some big-city airports, liquor retailers, internet service providers, sports betting agencies and private health insurers.

Comparing this last list with the lists of natural monopolies and heavily regulated industries suggests governments could be doing a much better job of ensuring the regulators haven't been captured by the companies being regulated.

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Good could come from bank royal commission

The banks and other opponents of a royal commission into banking told us it would generate a lot of noise and expense without achieving anything of value. They'll probably still be claiming that when the just-announced inquiry has reported.

Well, maybe. By contrast, I think there's a good chance the commission's establishment will be seen as the most visible marker of the time when the two sides of politics turned their backs on the era of bizonomics – the doctrine that what's good for big business is good for the economy and the punters who make it up.

The litany of misconduct by the big four banks – the unscrupulous investment advice given, the mistreatment of people with legitimate life insurance claims, the charges that the bank-bill swap rate was being rigged, and allegations of extensive use of bank facilities for money laundering – has driven the public's growing insistence that the banks be brought to account.

This week Rod Sims, boss of the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, confirmed what all of us know, that competition in banking is weak ("not vigorous") leaving the big four with great ability to protect their excessive profits by passing costs on to their customers ("the large banks each have considerable market power").

The arguments of the banks and the Turnbull government that an inquiry must be avoided because it would shake confidence in the integrity and strength of our financial system – including in offshore markets – were just as weak then as they are now when used by the banks and the government to justify holding an inquiry to end the "political uncertainty".

The plain truth is that a rebellion by its own backbenchers has robbed the government of its ability to stop an inquiry going ahead.

This is the best explanation for the banks' sudden reversal from opposing an inquiry to claiming one is now "imperative". Since the revolt makes one inevitable, they'd prefer its establishment to be controlled by their Liberal defenders, not their Nationals, Greens and Labor critics.

They say a smart prime minister never commissions a report unless he knows what it will find and recommend. But that's easier imagined than achieved.

Were the commission's report to be judged by voters as a whitewash, with no significant consequences, this would simply ensure the bad behaviour of the banks remained a hot issue favouring the government's opponents at the next election.

What's just as likely is that royal commissioner Kenneth Hayne will interpret his terms of reference as he sees fit and, in any event, uncover a lot more instances of misconduct.

Broadening the inquiry's scope to cover misconduct in wealth management, superannuation and insurance, as well as in banking proper, is unlikely to leave voters thinking the banks' behaviour hasn't been as bad as they first thought.

Polling shows high public support for a banking royal commission, including among Coalition voters.

But the way the government has been forced by public opinion to abandon its attempt to protect the banks is a sign of much deeper public disaffection with the long-dominant "neoliberal" doctrine – formerly accepted by both sides of politics – that governments should do as little as possible to prevent businesses doing just as they see fit.

That when business mistreats its customers or it employees, there's nothing the government could or would want to do.

That big businesses' generous donations to both sides' coffers mean they have the politicians in their pockets. That the Turnbull government's desire to cut the rate of company tax on foreign multinationals that already avoid paying much is proof the economy's run to please the big boys, not you and me.

I've been writing for months about the breakdown of the "neoliberal consensus". This is evident in the way the Labor side has promised a banking royal commission, opposed big business tax cuts, opposed reductions in penalty rates, and pressed for constraints on negative gearing and the capital gains tax discount.

But set aside his resistance to a banking inquiry and (impotent) advocacy of big business tax cuts, and you see Turnbull's already doing much to respond to voters' rejection of the fruits of neoliberalism – privatisation, the various economic reform stuff-ups – with his new tax on multinational tax avoiders and coercion of particular companies in his struggle to fix the stuffed-up national electricity market and the cornering of the eastern seaboard gas market by three big companies.

Remember too the way, as part of his efforts to stave off a banking inquiry, Turnbull has become ever tougher on the banks, making them pay for more surveillance by the Australian Securities and Investments Commission and imposing a new tax on the five biggest of them.

In his most recent attempt to head off pressure for an inquiry, a proposed arrangement to compensate victims of bank misbehaviour, the banks would have been paying.

When the political smarties look back on this saga, my guess is they'll conclude Turnbull was mad to lose so much political credit in his abortive attempt to protect the banks from the public's disapproval of their greed-driven misbehaviour.

He should have got, much earlier than he did, the message that the era of governments pandering to big business was over, killed off by voters' disaffection with the political mainstream and willingness to flirt with the populist fringe.

I'm not sure Australia's big business has yet got that message, particularly not the big banks – transfixed as they are by their inward-looking contest to increase their profits and chief executive remuneration package by more than their three rivals have.

I support the royal commission because another year or more of public dredging through all the moral (and sometimes legal) shortcuts the banks have taken on their way to higher profits and bonuses may finally get the message through that their way of doing business – and treating their customers – must change.

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Metrics-obsessed managers must be careful what they wish for

In decades to come, when the history of business endeavour in the early part of the 21st century is written, I predict it won't be kind to the great management fad of "metrics".

When you look at the terrible mess the Commonwealth and the other big banks have got themselves into, it's hard not to suspect that misuse of KPIs – key performance indicators – and incentive pay do much to explain their predicament.

It's not that I'm against measuring what can be measured about the activities of businesses. As a lifelong bean-counter, I'm a great believer in measurement as an aid to decision-making and accountability.

And it's certainly true that the digital revolution has made it much easier and cheaper to measure multiple dimensions of a business's activities.

No, the problem is the naivety with which so many top executives have leapt into the metrics fashion, seeing it as a magic answer to their management task, a simple and easy way to incentivise their troops and ensure they're all working to further the company's greater good.

Their trouble is that their inexperience in the measurement business stops them understanding its awesome power. Measurement's immense power for good – or ill.

Its ability to keep the business surging forward, or running off the rails. Indeed, its ability to convince you you're going great guns until the very moment disaster looms.

Use metrics as a substitute for thought rather than as an aid to hard thinking and there's a high chance it'll bring you undone.

The slogans of the metrics brigade say "you can't manage what you don't measure" and "what gets measured gets done".

Trouble is, that latter slogan is more a warning than a promise. The psychologist Martin Seligman observes that "if you don't measure the right thing, you don't do the right thing".

The notion that you can't manage what you don't measure is a trap. A smarter conclusion is that "not everything that counts can be counted". Lose sight of that and you're headed for mediocrity at best.

Which brings us to the importance of motivation. Money-obsessed managers who see attaching money to performance indicators as the perfect way to ensure people are motivated to achieve the firm's goals have failed to think hard about motivation.

Like managers, staff have many motivations, only one of which is to make more money. But there's plenty of research evidence that money tends to overpower other motives – even such a worthy (and, to bosses, cheap) motive as taking pride in doing your job well.

Attach monetary rewards to some dimensions of a person's responsibilities but not others and just watch as the non-incentivated dimensions are pushed to back of mind.

Give a pep talk about how important those other aspects are, and you won't be believed. Money speaks louder than words.

Then watch as the extra-reward-for-effort mentality takes hold. I'll try harder for extra money but, if you're not offering extra, why would I bother? Do you take me for a mug?

Two academics at Macquarie University, Associate Professor Elizabeth Sheedy and Dr Lyla Zhang, conducted a lab simulation using 306 financial professionals recruited with help from an industry body.

Participants were asked to do some simple analysis and then make up to 60 decisions about buying securities, granting loans and underwriting insurance, all within company policies designed to control the amount of risk it took on.

These policies could mean that potentially profitable deals weren't pursued, or that time was "wasted" that could have been devoted to generating profits.

Participants were randomly assigned to five different groups, which varied according to how employees were paid – fixed, or variable according to profits generated – and whether managers emphasised making profits or controlling risks.

"We found that when people had variable payments that [were] linked to profits, their compliance with risk management was significantly reduced," the researchers found.

"When managers and co-workers were also profit-focused, compliance reduced even further. Interestingly, the variable payments did not produce significant increases in productivity" relative to participants on fixed pay.

"On the other hand, when participants were paid a fixed amount regardless of profit, compliance with risk management policies was higher, although still not perfect."

The researchers conclude that "since incentives structures that are profit-based have an adverse impact on risk compliance and do little for productivity, such remuneration programs should be reconsidered".

"Our research shows that it is difficult to have high rates of risk compliance in the presence of profit-based payments. Staff are likely to believe that profit-based payments signal the true priorities of the organisation and they modify their behaviour accordingly."

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How we've grown for so long: safety valves and buffers

How has poor little Oz managed to keep our economy growing continuously for 25 years while, in the same period, other economies have suffered a recession or even two? We've had good insurance policies.

That's the answer the new Reserve Bank governor, Dr Philip Lowe, gave in a speech this week. As he explains it, however, it's a detailed story.

Actually, there are two parts to his explanation for our economic success: the first is our good "fundamentals" and the second is our ability to ride out the various "economic shocks" that hit every economy from time to time.

Lowe lists our good fundamentals as including our abundance of natural resources, our well-educated workforce, our "generally favourable demographics" (I think he means our growing population and that our ageing population isn't too aged), our openness to international trade and investment, our links with the fast-growing Asian region, and our demonstrated ability to reform the structure of our economy to boost its productivity.

Lowe adds that the reforms of the 1980s and '90s have given us a more flexible economy, one better able to roll with the punches than it used to be. He nominates three key areas of greater flexibility: our exchange rate, our conduct of monetary policy and our labour market.

Since we allowed our dollar to float in 1983, it has generally moved up or down in response to developments in ways that tend to limit inflation pressure and to stabilise growth.

Since we decided in the mid-1990s to let the central bank - rather than the politicians - make decisions about when to increase or decrease interest rates, as guided by the target of keeping inflation between 2 and 3 per cent on average over the medium term, we've kept the inflation rate reasonably stable and minimised swings in unemployment.

Since we ended the centralised wage-fixing system and moved to collective bargaining at the enterprise level in the first half of the 1990s, we've avoided wage inflation, kept real wages rising in line with improvements in productivity (until recently, anyway) and made employers less inclined to respond to downturns with mass layoffs.

These great areas of flexibility - the floating exchange rate, the independent, target-based approach to monetary policy (interest rates), and enterprise-based wage-fixing - have helped us avoid being derailed by economic shocks.

And it's not as if there's been a shortage of such shocks that could have derailed us, Lowe says.

First, there was the Asian financial crisis of 1997-98, which did derail some of our Asian trading partners. Then there was the bust of the US tech boom - the Tech Wreck of 2001 - then the global financial crisis of 2008-09.

 As well, there's the resources boom. With its once-in-a-century surge and then collapse in coal and iron ore prices and consequent surge and falloff in mining construction, the resources boom was a massive, decade-long shock to our economy.

Australia's economic history is littered with commodity booms soon leading to recessions, but not this one (except in Western Australia, thanks to mismanagement by its state government).

But all that's just by way of background. Lowe's main point is to draw attention to the way our possession of certain "buffers" absorbs some of the blow when shocks hit.

We build up and hold these buffers as a kind of insurance policy against the day when trouble arises. Like all insurance policies, they come at a cost. There's a premium to be paid.

So where do you find these buffers? On the balance sheets of banks, governments and households. They're about ensuring your assets exceed your liabilities by a decent safety margin, in case some unexpected problem arises.

In the years leading up to the global financial crisis, our banks maintained higher ratios - of their shareholders' capital to their lending to borrowers - than did banks in America and Europe.

That's why our banks were able to keep lending after the crisis, whereas the others weren't. Their inability to keep lending amplified the original shock.

In the years since then, international authorities have imposed higher levels of capital adequacy and liquidity on the world's banks, including ours.

These greater restrictions make banks safer, but also reduce their profitability. We're still waiting to see how the cost of this insurance premium will be shared between our banks' customers and their shareholders.

At the time of the financial crisis, our government had "positive net debt" - it had more money in the bank than it owed to people holding its bonds.

This made it a lot easier for our government to support the economy by borrowing and spending. Now, Lowe argues, we need to gradually move the budget from deficit back to surplus, rebuilding our fiscal buffer for the next time it's needed.

The total debts of our households have risen to 185 per cent of their annual disposable income. This is a lot higher than for other rich countries, but that's partly because unusual distortions in our tax system encourage borrowing for rental properties to be done by individuals rather than big companies.

More to the point, households have been building up buffers by using mortgage offset and redraw facilities to reduce their net debt by 17 per cent of the gross debt, in the process getting a collective 2½ years ahead of their scheduled repayments.

More than half of all households with mortgage debt, at each level of income, are ahead on their repayments.

If you subtract from our households' debt all the money they hold in currency and bank deposits, the nation's households' net debt falls to about 100 per cent of their annual disposable income.

Our household debt is high, but we've got a fair bit of buffer.

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Why the banks' activities should be constrained

Is there any justification for a royal commission into the conduct of the banks? Is it just a political stunt? All royal commissions are called for political reasons and many are stunts, in the sense that their primary objective is just to bring particular issues into the public spotlight.

To me, the best justification for an inquiry into the banks is that they still don't seem to have got the message. They've been caught treating their customers badly, but so far they've shown little sign of contrition - sorry about the few bad apples, but I didn't know - and little willingness to make amends.

For years they've been locked in a race to maximise profits. They've put profits and executive bonuses ahead of the interests of their customers, and seem keen to resume profit maximising as soon as the fuss declines.

We need to keep the fuss going until the bank bosses realise how unacceptable we find their behaviour. Only then may they accept the need to stop incentivising​ their staff to exploit their customers' vulnerabilities, even at the cost of a little profit.

But if you think we have trouble with our banks, you should get out more. So far, at least, we've been let off lightly. I've just been reading the latest book about the banks' central role in causing the global financial crisis of 2008 and the Great Recession it precipitated.

Almost eight years later, the recovery has been anaemic and looks like staying that way for years yet. If China's slowdown becomes a "hard landing", it's likely to be because the financial crisis has finally caught up with it, too.

The book is Between Debt and the Devil, by Lord Adair Turner, who took over as chairman of Britain's Financial Services Authority just as the crisis struck.

Among the many reservations that may be expressed about the "financialisation" of the developed economies - the huge expansion in the share of the economy accounted for by the banks and other providers of financial services over the past 30 years - Turner is particularly critical of all the credit creation - lending - the banks have done.

For decades before the crisis, in every developed economy, bank lending grew at two or three times the rate at which the economy grew.

Central bankers and other economists came to believe this was normal and natural; how you achieved a growing economy.

In reality, it just meant that when the mountain of credit finally collapsed, plunging the world into its worst recession since the 1930s, many households and businesses were left deep in debt.

According to Turner, it's this "debt overhang" that's doing most to stop the major economies returning to healthy growth. As part of the initial response to the crisis, governments shifted much of the banks' own debt onto the government's books.

This did nothing to diminish the overall amount of debt, just made governments reluctant to increase their spending to support the economy.

But it's the continuing debts of businesses and households that do most to explain the continuing sluggishness of the major economies. When your debt far exceeds the value of your assets, you cut your spending to the bone so as to use as much of your income as possible to pay down that debt.

Trouble is, when so many others are doing the same, their spending cuts cause your income to fall, leaving you with little to use to repay debt. The economy can't really recover and, collectively, it makes little progress in "deleveraging" - getting its debt below the value of its assets.

This is the bind the North Atlantic economies find themselves in.

Turner says the huge growth in bank-created credit has been particularly pernicious because the banks much prefer to lend for purchases of real estate. They do little lending to big businesses investing in expansion, and much of their lending to small business is secured against the owner's home or other property.

Trouble is, with the banks infinitely willing to lend for housing, but with the supply of land in desirable locations strictly limited, the inevitable result is to bid up house prices.

This explains why - though local economists staunchly reject the thought - when foreign economists look at our stratospheric house prices and record rate of household debt, almost to a person they see an asset-price bubble that must one day burst.

Turner devotes much of his book to proposing radical ways the major economies can extract themselves from their unshakable debt overhang and return to healthy growth, and to proposing ways governments can curb their banks' unending credit creation so as to ensure it's a long time before their excessive lending for real estate brings on the next global financial crisis.

But ever-increasing lending is the main way the banks make their ever-increasing profits. They would put up an enormous fight to stop governments clipping their wings in this way.

Which brings us back to the royal commission. Do we want to be governed by politicians deferring to their generous backers in banking, or do we want to send politicians and bankers alike a message that the interests of customers and the wider economy must come first?

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We're a long way from getting bank regulation right

The movie version of The Big Short is so good you probably don't need to read the best-selling book by my far-and-away favourite finance writer, Michael Lewis.

If you want to go deeper than the events culminating in the global financial crisis of 2008 to a more systemic analysis of why we've had so much trouble with the financial system and will continue to unless we change the rules more radically than we have, I recommend you read Other People's Money, by a leading British economist, Professor John Kay.

It's required reading for the nation's economists but, although it's very thorough, it's eminently readable by ordinary mortals. Similarly, although it doesn't deal specifically with Australia's financial system, its analysis is more readily applied to Oz than a book more focused on Wall Street.

Kay was in Australia this week, and when I spoke to him he left me in little doubt that he wasn't wildly impressed by our financial system inquiry, conducted by a panel dominated by people from the industry and led by former Commonwealth Bank boss, David Murray.

Not much there to ruffle the industry's feathers.

The Murray report does little to contradict the conventional wisdom that the huge expansion of the "financial services" industry over the past 30 years has been a great boon to the wider economy.

We've benefited from much financial innovation, deeper financial markets and a revolution in the management of financial risks.

But have we? We've certainly enjoyed much greater access to credit and much more convenient banking thanks to automatic tellers, direct debits and credits, and bill-paying on the internet.

But much of this is owed to advances in information processing and telecommunications rather than banking expertise.

Much of the "innovation" in the development of new financial products has been motivated by a desire to get around government taxes and regulations.

We're often told that all the trading of financial claims the banks and other market participants do between each other has made financial markets deeper and more liquid, thus making it possible for bank customers – individuals or businesses – to buy or sell a large block of shares or currencies without their transaction having a big, adverse effect on the market price.

Kay counters that all the trading of claims between financial institutions has, in fact, made financial markets far deeper than is required by users from the "real economy". Their need to buy and sell securities without moving the price could be met by opening the markets for a quarter of an hour a week.

But surely all that trading – in conventional securities, but also in ever-more exotic "derivatives" that get ever-more removed from the physical assets they are supposedly derived from – is aimed at helping customers manage the financial risks they face.

Well, that's what bank bosses and economists told us for years. Kay recalled the now-infamous incident in 2005, where a young Indian upstart from the International Monetary Fund attending the US Federal Reserve's annual conference at Jackson Hole, Wyoming, queried the value of recent innovation in financial markets and warned of troubles ahead.

The young fool was quickly put back in his box. One heavy defended the innovations, claiming that "by allowing institutions to diversify risk, to choose their risk profiles more precisely, and to improve the management of the risks they take on, they have made institutions more robust".

"These developments have also made the financial system more resilient and flexible – better able to absorb shocks without increasing the effects of such shocks on the real economy," he went on.

Later, another heavy agreed: "Financial institutions are able to measure and manage risk much more effectively. Risks are spread more widely, across a more diverse group of financial intermediaries, within and across countries."

You've guessed how this story ends. Within two or three years, the global financial crisis revealed all that as the opposite of the truth – to the great cost of taxpayers who had to bail out banks in the US and Europe and all the people in the real economy who lost their jobs or businesses.

It turns out the financial markets weren't managing risk by spreading it thinly across many people – as happens with an insurance policy, for instance – but were multiplying it (by gearing up and by creating derivatives of derivatives) and concentrating it in the hands of a relatively small number of big banks. Nobody knew how much risk particular banks had taken on.

The other way to "manage" risk is to find someone whose particular circumstances give them the opposite "risk profile" to yours. Do a deal and the problem is solved at each end.

In practice, however, such perfect matches are very hard to find. The best you can do is find a partner who's "risk seeking" – they want to take on the risk because there's a chance they'll clean up if you've jumped the wrong way.

In other words, they're willing to speculate. Turns out that's the main thing our bigger financial system is doing: not managing risk in any genuine sense, just making bets with each other.

These days, no central banker makes speeches extolling our bigger financial sector and much better ability to handle risk.

Trouble is, Kay says, all the tightening of regulation – including the requirement for banks to hold higher levels of capital, which the Murray report so strongly supported – hasn't done enough to ensure we don't have another crisis.

We have loads of regulation, all of it acceptable to the banks, whatever their grumbles. We could have less regulation if we regulated the right things the right way.

We could leave speculative trading between financial institutions largely unregulated provided it was separated from the normal banking activity than must always be effectively government-guaranteed. But the banks mightn't like that.

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Good reason to be angry about the banks

Are you angry about the banks? A lot of Australians are. And a lot of people in the United States and Europe are a lot angrier than we are, with good cause.

In Oz, we're annoyed mainly by the banks' very big profits and the way they never seem to miss a trick in keeping those profits high.

In other countries, people are angry about the way the banks and other financial institutions, having stuffed up their affairs to the point where they almost brought the global economy to its knees, were promptly bailed out at taxpayers' expense, so that few went bust, with almost no executives going to jail and many not even being fired.

By now, however, you're probably used to bankers and economists saying you don't understand and are quite unreasonable in your criticisms.

That's why you need to know about the book, Other People's Money, by John Kay. Kay, who's visiting Australia and this week spoke to a meeting organised by the Grattan Institute, says he wrote the book to help ordinary people understand "what it is they're angry about".

You want the dirt on the banks? No one's better qualified to spill the beans than Kay, an economics professor from Oxford and columnist for the Financial Times, who was commissioned to write a report on the sharemarket for the British government.

He starts by noting that over the past 30 or 40 years, each of the developed economies has experienced "financialisation" – huge growth in the size of what these days is called their "financial services sector" to the point where it's among their biggest industries.

For years, we've been told this is a wonderful thing, a sign of our economy's growing sophistication and ability to manage risk. Kay doesn't believe it.

We've always had a financial sector composed of banks, insurance companies and other institutions, and we've always needed one.

We've needed it to help us make payments to each other, to bring people wanting to save together with homeowners and businesses wanting to borrow, to help us save for retirement and to help individuals and businesses manage the risks associated with daily life and economic activity (insurance policies being the obvious example).

We need a financial sector to service the needs of the "real economy" of households and businesses producing and consuming goods and services. But none of this justifies the huge growth in the financial sector we've seen.

Most of that growth has come in the form of massively increased trading between the banks themselves in "financial claims", such as shares and bonds and foreign currencies and "derivatives" (claims on claims, and even – if you've seen The Big Short – claims on claims on claims).

If you add together all the financial assets ("claims") owned by all the banks and other financial outfits, they exceed by many times the value of the physical assets – such as houses and business buildings and equipment – which are the ultimate basis for all those claims.

The value of foreign currencies changing hands each day vastly exceeds the value of currencies needed by businesses and tourists paying for exports and imports. Similarly, the value of shares changing hands each day vastly exceeds companies' needs to raise new share capital and end-investors' needs to buy into the market or sell out.

Kay says that, in Britain, bank lending to firms and individuals in the real economy amounts to only about 3 per cent of their total lending.

All the rest is lending to other banks and institutions busy buying and selling bits of paper to each other – making bets with each other that the prices of those bits of paper will rise or fall in coming days.

Kay makes what, for an economist, is the very strong condemnation that almost all this speculative activity is "socially unproductive". It might or might not benefit the people doing the trading, but it's of no benefit to the rest of the economy.

He observes something I've noticed, too: economists have put little effort into explaining why all this trading in claims is so hugely profitable, allowing people near the top of the banks (but not their many foot soldiers) to be paid such amazing salaries.

If all they're doing is making bets with each other, why aren't the gains of the winners exactly cancelled out by the losses of the losers?

His answer is that the claims-trading parts of banks have found ways to exaggerate the profits they make by counting expected future profits they haven't actually captured – "paper profits" – but delaying recognition of expected "paper losses" until they're realised.

This game can continue for as long as everything's on the up and the bubble's getting bigger. Once it bursts, of course, former supposed profits become present, unavoidable losses. Many banks teeter on bankruptcy, but the government bails them out and they live to gamble another day.

Kay says the answer is to rigidly separate the old-fashioned parts of banking – the facilitation of payments, and lending to households and businesses; the bits that must be kept going through recessions – from all the speculative trading in claims.

It's a free country and "investment" banks should remain free to bet against each other, but there should be no taxpayer bailouts or other government protection for those that do their dough.

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Times get tougher for the oldies

Glenn Stevens, governor of the Reserve Bank, is used to getting letters from angry citizens. Aside from the ones demanding to know why the Reserve can't solve all our problems by just printing more money, in days past most would have come from small-business people complaining about the latest increase in the official interest rate, which had taken their overdraft rate to ruinous levels.

These days, most come from angry retirees complaining about yet another cut in rates. Doesn't he realise people are trying to live on the interest on their savings?

That's the trouble with interest rates, of course, they cut both ways – a cost of borrowers, but income to savers. The media assume we're all borrowers, so they boo rate rises and cheer rate cuts, adding insult to the oldies' injury.

Like all central banks, the Reserve raises interest rates when it wants to slow the economy by discouraging borrowing and spending, and cuts rates when it wants to speed things up – as now. It jumps that way because households' and businesses' debts total a lot more than their savings.

When I was a young economic journalist in the 1970s, the retired were always complaining about high inflation. Their cost of living was rising rapidly, but they had to live on "fixed incomes" that didn't keep pace.

We eventually solved that problem. Interest rates caught up with higher inflation and, as well, we moved to adjusting pensions regularly in line with prices and then with wages. By the early 1990s we finally had inflation back under control.

How times change. These days, most people retire with superannuation or other savings, which they use to supplement – or occasionally replace – their pension. And since they need to live on the earnings from their savings, they need those earnings to be steady, not go up and down like the share market.

Thus the retired like to put most of their savings in interest-bearing bank accounts, term deposits or pension funds that have most of their money in bonds. So these days a lot of retired are back to living on "fixed incomes", meaning they hate to see interest rates falling.

Our official interest rate is down to 2 per cent, a record low, having been cut 10 times since late 2011. The rates paid to savers are only a little higher. Even so, our rates are relatively high compared with most advanced countries. They're near zero in most developed economies, and in parts of Europe you actually have to pay the bank a tiny percentage to persuade it to hold your money.

I'll let you into an open secret: Stevens will be retiring as governor next September, though since he'll only be 58 – just a boy, really – I doubt he'll be putting his feet up.

He said a few things last week that make you think he's turning his mind to retirement. And he doesn't like what he sees.

"My guess is that global interest rates are still going to be very low for a good part of the decade ahead," he told the Australian Business Economists.

It's likely the US Federal Reserve will raise its official interest rate a fraction this month. But Stevens doesn't see US rates rising far. The European Central Bank and the Bank of Japan were "a long way from even thinking about higher interest rates". And the Europeans are openly contemplating further cuts.

So the average official interest rate in the major money centres may be very low for quite a while, he said.

Trouble is, "in a low interest-rate world, the problems of providing retirement incomes will become ever more prominent".

The very low level of yields (returns) on government bonds and other fixed-interest securities means the prices of such securities are very high (it was actually rising bond prices that caused yields to go so low).

So these days it costs you or your pension fund a lot just to buy securities that pay such low amounts of interest. Which is another way of saying you now need to retire with a lot more savings than you did to maintain a given standard of living.

Added to that, we're living longer and so need our savings to last longer.

Stevens said the retiree can, of course, respond to the reduced attractiveness of fixed-interest securities by holding more of her savings in dividend-paying shares. This involves accepting more risk of volatility, of course.

Certain well-known Aussie companies pay big, steady dividends, which usually come with refundable income tax rebates (known as franking credits) attached. Most people would also be hoping to see these dividends grow over time, as inflation continues.

"It certainly seems that many Australian listed corporates feel the pressure from shareholders to deliver that, even some whose earnings are inherently volatile," Stevens said.

Can the corporate sector realistically promise growing dividends over a long period? Not without being prepared to take on greater risk by investing in new projects.

"How much of that risk an older shareholder base will allow boards and managements of listed entities to take is an important question," he said.

"Overall, in a world where a bigger proportion of the population wants to be retired and living (even if only in part) off the return on their savings, those returns are likely, all other things equal, to be lower."

A good argument for delaying retirement.

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Banks ponder their next game with interest

Actual mortgage interest rates have fallen from 7.1 per cent to 4.7 per cent over the past five years, but let one bank – Westpac – increase its rate by 0.2 percentage points and the righteous indignation knows no bounds.

It may not be the end of the world, but it's certainly the end of the housing boom as we know it. Well, maybe.

But outrage is a poor substitute for understanding. Why did Westpac move? Why now? Will the other three big banks match it? And will the Reserve Bank cut the official interest rate to counteract the banks' "unofficial" increase?

Standard economic theory offers little guidance to the classic oligopolistic behaviour we get from our banks. "Game theory" is supposed to be the way economists analyse the strategic decisions of oligopolists, but I doubt it offers much help, either.

Westpac made its rate move at the same time as it joined the other big boys in announcing plans to raise more share capital. The big four are acting in expectation that the government will accept a recommendation of the Murray report that it make Australia's banking system "unquestionably strong" (that is, safe) but requiring it to hold a lot more equity (shareholders') capital.

Part of this is the intention to increase the big four's capital requirement by more than the smaller banks' increase so as put the two groups on a more equal regulatory footing. Westpac gave the cost of this requirement that it hold more capital as its justification for increasing mortgage interest rates.

It's true the requirement does increase the big banks' "cost of intermediation" – that is, the cost of borrowing from some people and lending to others, which is represented by the size of the gap between the interest rate paid to depositors and the rate charged to borrowers.

In principle, this extra cost could be passed back to depositors in the form of lower deposit rates, passed forward to borrowers in the form of higher borrowing rates, or left with the banks' shareholders in the form of lower profits. Or some combination of the three.

Obviously, bank customers would prefer that the banks and their shareholders bear the cost. And there's no reason it shouldn't happen. Our big banks have long been extraordinarily profitable – making a return on equity of 15 per cent a year – in a business that's virtually government-guaranteed.

They could easily take the hit. There's nothing sacred about 15 per cent. And in an intensely competitive banking market that's probably what would happen. In our world, however, "greedy" (read profit-maximising) banks will protect their profitability to the extent that market conditions allow.

And right now they do. It's clear Westpac's intention is to pass the higher cost on to its borrowers. Its three big competitors now must decide whether to follow suit or leave it hanging out to dry as they try to win market share from it.

Going on past behaviour, they'll follow suit. After all, a few months ago when ANZ bank raised its interest rate on investor mortgage loans by about 0.25 percentage points, the other three lost little time in doing the same. The justification was the same: the cost of the tighter capital-adequacy requirement.

But this doesn't guarantee that, this time, the others will follow Westpac immediately or by as much as 0.2 per cent – which, by the way, also applies to investor loans.

One question all this raises is whether the banks are raising rates by more than required to recoup their higher costs. The Murray report said a 0.1 or 0.15 percentage-points rise would cover it.

So, why so much, and why now? Because, at the present exceptionally low rates, the demand for home loans exceeds supply, with the banks under pressure from the authorities and sharemarket analysts to avoid lending too much – to ordinary home-buyers, not just investors.

If you have to cut back your rate of lending, why not do it by raising your prices? This suggests the housing boom may indeed be reaching its closing stages.

One reason the other banks may delay following Westpac is the talk that the Reserve will respond by cutting the official interest rate on Melbourne Cup day. They'd love to be able to hide a rate rise behind a less-than-full pass-through of a rate cut.

The Reserve may oblige, but I won't be holding my breath. Nothing in its rhetoric to date suggests it's keen to cut rather than wait. And I doubt if it would want to be seen as trying to prolong the house-price boom.

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Libs deserve share of reform credit

I am a career-long admirer of Paul Keating. He opened our economy to the world, dragging us into the era of globalisation. Of the 13 treasurers I've observed in my career, I judge him to be far and away the best – though he did have his failings.

But last week Keating came out fighting when John Howard argued that the Coalition opposition of the time also deserved praise "because it gave bipartisan support to so many of [Keating's] reforms".

Keating objected to "a creeping part of the orthodoxy of late that the reformation of Australia's financial, product and labour markets . . . was not executed by the Hawke and Keating governments but was some kind of project undertaken with the active co-operation of the then Liberal-National opposition".

"Nothing could be further from the truth."

Sorry, but Howard has a point.

It's true there was no overt co-operation between Labor and the Coalition, nor any atmosphere of sweetness and light. The Liberals never said anything good about Labor and always found plenty to criticise and oppose. To the casual observer, it was adversarial politics as usual.

In particular, the Libs vigorously opposed almost all of Labor's tax reforms, particularly the taxes on fringe benefits and capital gains, the compulsory superannuation levy and even the restoration of the assets test for the age pension.

They also vigorously opposed Medicare and Labor's Accord with the union movement.

Howard may be happy to praise the Hawke and Keating reforms at this late stage, but he didn't at the time, nor during the almost 12 years he was prime minister. This is an old trick: praising long departed opponents as a way of criticising the present incumbents.

I don't doubt that, had a Howard-led government been elected in 1983, it wouldn't have instigated all the reforms Keating made in the following 13 years. It would have lacked the vision, drive, courage and sense of urgency Keating had – not to mention the support of its Labor opposition.

Keating is no doubt right in saying his biggest problem in pushing reform was getting the Labor caucus and the unions lined up behind him. In this the Accord was a great help, meaning ACTU secretary Bill Kelty deserves his share of the reform credit.

The Labor faithful may regard Keating as a saint up there with Whitlam today, but at the time they thought of him as a turncoat.

But the fact is Howard is right in listing all the reforms the Coalition, under the influence particularly of him and his former adviser, Professor John Hewson, did not oppose: privatisation of Qantas and the Commonwealth Bank, deregulation of bank lending rates, floating the dollar, admitting foreign banks, ending import quotas and virtual phasing out of tariffs, and introducing the HECS scheme for university fees.

Urged on by Hewson, Howard instigated the whole financial deregulation project by commissioning the Campbell report. He implemented as many of its recommendations as Malcolm Fraser would let him, before the Fraser government was swept from office.

It's noteworthy that nothing Keating went on to do was mentioned in the 1983 election campaign. In opposition, Keating joined the rest of Labor in vigorously attacking financial deregulation.

In office, he changed his tune, used a quickie report by the banker Vic Martin to sanctify the Campbell proposals, and proceeded to implement them all.

Howard is right in saying the most politically courageous reform was ending the protection of manufacturing. Until then, protectionism had been a bipartisan policy for decades, strongly supported by business and the unions. It remains supported by the public to this day.

It was usual for protection to be stepped up during recessions. But in the depths of the recession of the early '90s – our worst since the Depression – Keating actually instigated the second stage of its removal.

Never was there a better opportunity for the Libs to rally the nation against this monstrous act of folly. By then they were being led by Hewson and his criticism remains burnt on my brain: Labor should have gone further.

Keating says he never worried about the Libs, never even spoke to them about things. I believe him. What I don't believe is his implication that, had they opposed his reforms, nothing would have been any different.

In the key areas Howard listed, Keating knew his opponents would not attempt to score points against him, that the interest groups and voters adversely affected would have no political flag to rally under. This hugely strengthened his hand.

It was a unique period in our economic history, for which the Libs deserve their share of credit.

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Putting people back in the rent or buy decision

So, the Reserve Bank has done the numbers and killed the Great Australian Dream: owning your home is no more lucrative than a lifetime of renting. Somehow, I doubt that will be the end of the matter - and nor should it be.

The strongest conclusion we should draw from the Reserve’s figuring is that, when you view home ownership purely as a financial investment, buying rather than renting isn’t the deadset winner most people assume.

It can be a close run thing, mainly because people take insufficient account of the costs of home ownership - not just all the interest they pay but the stamp duty and conveyancing costs, insurance, repairs and maintenance and the rates and other payments not borne by renters.

But our deeply ingrained belief that home ownership is a great investment is only one of our motives for wanting to own rather than rent. The other big one is security of tenure.

It’s nice to own your own place and make your own decisions about alterations and improvements, minor and major, about painting it or not painting, building up the garden or not bothering.

 It’s also nice to know you’re unlikely to have to leave it unless it’s your choice. Renters generally have a lot less say over how long the rental lasts, rent rises and changes of landlord.

The Reserve’s calculations take no account of these non-monetary considerations, which could easily be sufficient to bring ownership in as a clear winner in many people’s minds (starting with me).

And though those calculations are as careful and impartial as you would expect of the central bank, that doesn’t stop them being based on assumptions and averages like all such calculations, meaning they may or may not be a good fit with your own circumstances and preferences.

For instance, what’s true for average home prices across Australia, may not be true for Sydney. And what’s true for the whole of Sydney may not be equally true for inner ring, middle ring and outer ring homes.

We know the authorities expect huge growth in Sydney’s population over the next 20 or 30 years. And unless they greatly improve their performance on congestion, my guess is we will see inner-ring property prices grow a lot faster than Sydney prices generally.

The Reserve’s calculations roll together home owners and renters of all ages and stages. But switching rental accommodation is not the problem for young adults that it can be for families with school-age children.

The calculations assume home owners change homes every 10 years. If you have already, or intend to, stay put a lot longer than that then your investment is already performing, or is likely to perform, better than the figures suggest.

Of course, no calculations based on what’s happened to home prices and rents over the past 60 years is a foolproof guide to what they’ll do over the coming 60.

And remember, the low level at which the age pension is set tacitly assumes people own their homes outright. The value of your home isn’t included in the means test, but other investments are.

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Bankers and wealth managers take ethics oath

As the misadventures of the can-do Commonwealth Bank remind us, even though our bankers didn't bring the house down in the global financial crisis as happened elsewhere, we still had too many victims of bad investment advice losing their savings.

So, what's the answer? Tighter regulation of banks and investment advisers, or a higher standard of ethical behaviour by individuals working in banking and wealth management? Try both.

I'm not so naive as to have much faith in self-regulation, but that's not to deny that some people's behaviour is more ethical than others', nor that more individuals behaving ethically would make a difference.

When you stop believing our personal behaviour matters, that we're all mere cogs in some uncontrollable machine, it's time to slit your throat.

My guess is most people like to think of themselves as reasonably ethical, which is not to say most of us actually are at all times (not even me). Trouble is, most people make their judgments about what is ethical and what's not from the behaviour of those around then.

Moral compasses are hard to find. But that's why I'd like to see a movement initiated by Dr Simon Longstaff, of the St James Ethics Centre, the "banking and finance oath", get more publicity and more signatories. The better known are the oath and those who've signed up, the better judgments others can make about how a particular action measures up.

The oath consists of nine principles: trust is the foundation of my profession; I will serve all interests in good faith; I will compete with honour; I will pursue my ends with ethical restraint; I will create a sustainable future; I will help create a more just society; I will speak out against wrongdoing and support others who do the same; I will accept responsibility for my actions; my word is my bond.

The names of the many signatories to this oath are listed on its website, thebfo.org. They include Glenn Stevens, Jillian Broadbent, Carolyn Hewson, Warren Hogan, Andrew Mohl and Elizabeth Proust.

Why doesn't someone ask the chief executives of the big four banks just what it is that makes them feel unable to sign up? It couldn't be a threat to their profitability, surely.



THESE days the world is positively awash with forecasts of what will happen to the economy. Treasury publishes its forecasts twice a year, the Reserve Bank publishes four times a year and a couple of dozen economists in the financial markets make their forecasts regularly and freely available.

But it wasn't always like that. Before the financial markets were deregulated in the early 1980s few economists worked in them, the Reserve kept its opinions to itself and Treasury's official forecasts in the budget papers were kept terribly vague. Billy Snedden's last budget advised that "economic growth is expected to quicken considerably in 1972-73".

When I became an economic reporter in 1974, one of the few unofficial forecasters was Melbourne University's Melbourne Institute, where the regular pronouncements of Dr Duncan Ironmonger drew rapt attention from the media.

And by then Philip Shrapnel's business selling his forecasts had been going for 10 years, meaning the economic analysis and forecasting firm BIS Shrapnel is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year.

Shrapnel, who trained at the Reserve, spent a few years working as a forecaster for pretty much the only notable management consulting firm in those days, WDScott, before going out on his own. He was a character, said to polish off a least half a bottle of scotch as he stayed up studying the documents on budget night.

A lot of the people who paid to attend his forecasting conferences - still held today - would have been there to get his forecasts and plug them into their company's annual budget. These days my guess is his company makes more of its money from its research reports on particular industries and its special focus on property and construction.

Whereas David Love's rival subscription newsletter, Syntec, made its name from its uncanny ability to read the mind of Treasury, Shrapnel was fiercely independent. Not for him the risk-averse strategy of clustering with everyone else around the official forecast.

His successors retain this approach of doing their own analysis their own way and sticking to it. Like all forecasters they've had their misses, but their independence of mind may explain some notable calls: no downturn as a result of the Asian financial crisis of 1997-98; a downturn in 2000-01 no one else was expecting; and no recession following the global financial crisis.

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Using micro-economics to analyse savings account levy

Treasurer Chris Bowen says he's imposing a new savings account levy on our super-profitable banks, but the banks say they'll just pass it straight on to their depositors. They say it, but can you believe it?

Details of the levy haven't been announced, but we can piece them together. It won't take effect until January 2016, and it's expected to raise almost $750 million in its first 18 months. It will apply to all deposits of up to $250,000 in banks, building societies and credit unions.

It will be imposed at the rate of 0.05 per cent (5? per $100) on the balance in your account at a particular date each year. The proceeds will go into a separate "financial stability fund" until, after 10 years, the fund has accumulated an amount equivalent to 0.5 per cent of the value of all accounts guaranteed under the government's existing "financial claims scheme".

Money in the fund will be invested by the Future Fund guardians or a similar body. It can be taken out only to compensate people who've lost their savings in the unlikely event of their bank going under.

So the levy is like an insurance premium, a user-pays measure that means the banks will be paying for the benefit they receive from having the government guarantee their deposits of up to $250,000. Larger deposits will not be formally government guaranteed.

Needless to say, the banks hate the idea of having to pay for a guarantee they previously didn't have to pay for. And they've tried to gain public support by saying they'd be forced to pass the cost on to their customers.

But that's what businesspeople always say when they're fighting a new impost. As a consequence, they've spent decades inculcating in the public's mind the belief that markets are based on "cost-plus pricing".

The prices a business charges are simply a reflection of the costs the business incurs plus a margin for profit. So when a wicked government imposes a new cost on a firm, it has no choice but to pass it on. But economics teaches that cost-plus pricing is not the way markets work. That's because cost-plus focuses solely on the business's cost of supply, ignoring the role of customers' demand and their "willingness [or unwillingness] to pay".

On the other hand, economists well understand that the initial or legal "incidence" of a tax (the person required by law to write the cheque that pays the tax in to the taxman) isn't likely to be the same as the tax's final or effective incidence (the person who ends up actually bearing the burden of the tax). This is because the firm that bears the legal incidence will use whatever economic power it has to shift the burden of the tax either back to its employees or forward to its customers.

But anyone who has studied any economics knows it is unlikely to be true that all the cost of the deposits tax will be passed on to depositors. Early in an economics course you learn to test such arguments by drawing a diagram with price on the vertical axis, quantity on the horizontal axis and a supply curve sloping up to the right, crossed at some point by a demand curve sloping down to the right. The point where the two curves cross is the market price.

Shift the supply curve up to reflect the extra cost imposed on the firm by the tax and you soon see the increase in the market price is less than the amount of the tax, meaning some part of the tax has been shifted onto customers, but the rest remains borne by the firm as a reduction in its profits.

Why do firms and industries try to fight the imposition of new taxes by claiming they'll simply pass the tax on to their customers? If that's true, why are they getting so upset? Because they fear that, in truth, they'll have to bear some of the burden themselves.

It turns out that how much of the tax they can get away with passing on to customers is determined by the steepness of the slope of the demand curve, which represents the degree of "elasticity" (price-sensitivity) of the demand for the product.

When demand for the product is highly elastic (so that a small price rise causes a big fall in the quantity demanded), firms will have to bear most of the burden of the tax. Only in rare cases where demand for the product is perfectly inelastic (so that the quantity demanded is unaffected by changes in its price) will firms be able to pass on all the tax.

Unfortunately, this neat analysis - like much micro-economic analysis - is highly simplified: based on the assumption of "perfect competition". Among the many unrealistic assumptions of perfect competition, the most pertinent in our case is there are so many small sellers in the market none is able to have any effect on the price.

By contrast, banking is an oligopoly (a small number of big sellers) where each firm does have some degree of pricing power - especially when they act in concert.

But here's the trick. The banks' behaviour since the global financial crisis makes it much more likely the banks will protect their profits by passing on the burden of the deposits tax to their borrowers than to their depositors.

That's because the GFC caused the sharemarket, the ratings agencies and the regulators to pressure the banks to raise less of the funds they need from overseas and more from local depositors. Their competition bid up the "price" of deposits and they passed this increase in their "cost of funds" on to their borrowers by making "unofficial" increases in mortgage interest rates and passing on less than the full cuts in the official interest rate.

Their need to attract deposits remains, so they're likely to pass this small increase in their funding costs on to borrowers, not depositors.

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The four industries with most clout in Canberra

Like most, I believe in democracy. But I also believe in capitalism, and though the two have usually been seen in the West as a good fit, of late I'm having doubts.

Every society has to use some system for organising production and consumption, and I know of none better than leaving it largely to private enterprise.

For the most part, markets work well in bringing buyers and sellers together and satisfying their respective needs. Markets' reliance on people pursuing their own interests does a good job in encouraging efficiency and innovation.

The funny thing is, when capitalism is working well it's the capitalists themselves who get taken advantage of. They keep coming up with new ways of making a fortune - railways, electricity, motor cars, the telephone, radio, television, the internet - but in the end competition causes most of the start-up companies to go broke and leaves most of the benefit not with the capitalists but their customers. It comes in the form of access to affordable transport, power, entertainment or communication.

Of course, as the global financial crisis so painfully reminded us, markets are far from perfect and it's folly to leave them inadequately regulated. Markets are actually a creation of government, and governments have to continuously supervise them to ensure they don't run off the rails.

It's this need for continuous government involvement that can cause problems. Can we be sure government intervention is always aimed at benefiting customers rather than making life easier for the few big companies that dominate many of our markets?

Then there's democracy. What if it becomes too easy for capitalists to take advantage of the institutions of democracy to get the rules of the game bent in their favour? Of all the columns I wrote last year, the one that drew the biggest reaction was called ''The four business gangs that run America'', quoting a book by Professor Jeffery Sachs of Columbia University. Sachs wrote that four key sectors of US business exemplified the takeover of political power in America by the ''corporatocracy'': the military-industrial complex, the Wall Street-Washington complex, the Big Oil-transport-military complex and the healthcare industry.

I ended the column by saying that ''fortunately, things aren't nearly so bad in Australia''. It's true, they're not. But, in a paper to be issued on Wednesday, ''Corporate power in Australia,'' by Dr Richard Denniss and David Richardson, of the Australia Institute, we're reminded that things here are far from ideal.

The authors argue that ''big business exerts influence through campaign contributions, influence over university funding, sponsorship of think tanks and in other ways''.

The four most disproportionately influential industries in Australia, they say, are superannuation, banking, mining and gambling.

Employers in Australia are required by law to remove 9 per cent of employees' pre-tax wages and deposit it in a superannuation account the employees can't touch until they retire. The industry has now persuaded the Labor government to gradually increase this to 12 per cent.

Thus the government has compelled almost all employees to become the customers of a particular industry.

The average management fee paid by Australians with a retail super fund is about 2 per cent of their fund balance each year.

So someone with a balance of $100,000 is paying a fee of about $2000 a year, or nearly $40 a week. This is more than the average Australian pays for electricity. After the compulsory contribution rate is raised to 12 per cent, these annual fees will have increased by a third.

To be fair, the government is working to oblige the super industry to give its captive customers a better deal. But it is encountering - and yielding to - much push-back from the industry.

According to the authors, our big four banks are among the eight most profitable banks in the world, with the International Monetary Fund saying we have the world's most profitable banking system.

Over the years, the big four have been allowed to acquire or merge with 15 of their rivals, with the authorities continuing to insist the industry is competitive.

Since the global financial crisis, the big four's market share has risen from 74 per cent to 83 per cent, the authors say.

Both sides of politics profess to be highly disapproving when the banks seek to protect their profit margins by failing to pass on all of a cut in the official interest rate.

But the pollies rarely match their words with deeds. Their efforts to increase competition are quite timid and some measures actually make life easier for the banks.

Last year the mining industry accounted for more than a fifth of all the profit made in Australia, even though it had a much smaller share of the economy. This was mainly because the royalties charged by the state governments failed to capture enough of the market value of the minerals the largely foreign-owned miners were being permitted to extract.

When the Rudd government tried to correct this with a resource super profits tax, the industry set out to bring about its electoral defeat, Tony Abbott saw his chance and sided with the industry, and Julia Gillard backed off rapidly, settling for a new tax that seems to be raising little revenue.

Gambling is a small industry, but incredibly lucrative, partly because it's so tightly regulated. Whether it's the way the O'Farrell government is accommodating James Packer's ambition to expand in Sydney or the way Gillard welched on a written agreement with Andrew Wilkie under pressure from the licensed clubs, the industry's political power is apparent.

When politicians worry more about pleasing certain industries than about serving the people who elect them, we have a problem.

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How the financial system works

It’s amazing to think the mighty, mysterious, overawing edifice of high finance - run by people much smarter and infinitely better-paid than us - is built on a pathetically simple, often fickle emotion: trust.

This is something economists and bankers understand in theory but, in their world of high-falutin’ mathematical models, keep forgetting in practice - to everyone’s cost. In this they exhibit the very human fallibility they so often assume away in their fancy calculations.

It’s also so elemental - and so humbling - they rarely talk about it. So when someone in authority spells it out for the benefit of mere mortals, it’s work taking note. An assistant governor of the Reserve Bank, Dr Guy Debelle, did so in a speech last week.

He started by explaining what banks and the financial sector do. They act as ‘intermediaries’ between savers and borrowers, taking the funds they raise from savers - through deposits, for instance - and lending them to those who wish to borrow, whether they’re businesses, governments or householders.

The financial sector is an intermediate sector, Debelle says. It’s not at the end of a production chain producing something that directly generates satisfaction. Rather, it’s a critical link along the way; the oil that keeps the economy ticking over. ‘When the oil dries up,’ he says, ‘the economic engine starts to malfunction and can ultimately grind to a halt.’

So the financial sector is different from other parts of the economy and its central role in keeping the rest of the economy functioning explains why it’s subject to considerably more government regulation and oversight than other industries (something many governments forgot in the years before the global financial crisis).

But why do we need financial intermediaries? Why don’t savers lend to borrowers directly? Mainly because of ‘asymmetric information’. This just means I know more about my affairs than you do. It’s hard for a saver to know whether the person or business to which they’re going to lend money will use the money wisely and be in a position to repay the loan when it falls due.

In contrast, a bank is practiced at making such an assessment of credit-worthiness and so can reduce (but never eliminate) the degree of asymmetry. The size of the interest rate charged by the bank should reflect its assessment of the degree risk of not being repaid.

The other main advantage of lending via intermediaries is their scope for ‘diversification’ - making a range of different loans to people or firms in different circumstances means the bank should not be overly exposed to a particular loan going bad.

So banks are able to ‘mutualise’ risk in a way individual savers can’t. ‘If there is a problem with one loan, the lender should be earning sufficient interest on the rest of its loan portfolio to cover the loss,’ Debelle says.

Now we see where trust comes into it. Largely because of the problem of asymmetric information, there has to be trust between depositors and the bank that their funds are safe. And there is trust between the bank and its borrower that the borrower has provided accurate information and will act in good faith.

Trust is needed to cover the asymmetry that remains despite the ‘due diligence’ of the depositor in assessing the riskiness of the bank and of the bank in assessing the riskiness of the borrower.

Trust is particularly important because banks engage in ‘maturity transformation’ - in the jargon, they ‘borrow short and lend long’. Banks will let you deposit your money ‘at call’ (you can withdraw it at any time) but, on the other hand, will lend this money for periods up to 30 years.

Were too many depositors to lose trust in their bank at the same time, it would not be able to call in all its loans and so would not be able to return the depositors’ money. To prevent such a thing occurring, central banks stand ready to lend to banks if they need it. The trust in these arrangements is almost always enough for them not to be needed, Debelle says.

Banks don’t always hold on their own books all the risk (debt) they’ve taken on, but use devices such as ‘securitisation’ (bundling many consumer loans into a bond, which is then sold to investors) to distribute the risk around the financial system.

This means the process of financial intermediation often has a number of links in the chain. This, in turn, means trust needs to be present at every stage in the chain. ‘One breakdown in this chain of trust between ‘counterparties’ can throw a spanner in the works of the whole process,’ he says.

Guess what? The global financial crisis can be explained as a consequence of the breakdown of trust.

The years leading up to the crisis were a period of what Debelle calls ‘lazy trust’. Things were going along fine, so too many people relaxed their due diligence. Too many borrowers were taken at their word, without checking.

‘Moreover, with long chains of intermediation involved, there was often too much distance between the ultimate holder of the risk and the source of the risk. Too many links means that details get lost or misheard. If the due diligence is necessarily incomplete by the very nature of financial transactions, then that incompleteness is likely to get magnified, the more chains there are in the transaction.

‘The due diligence gets dissipated along the chain. There is a presumption that someone further up the chain did the due diligence.’

Such behaviour was anything but rational. As Debelle concedes, ‘good times beget complacency’. ‘It does seem to be a trait of human behaviour that has been evidenced many times in financial history.’

Lazy trust evaporated. The financial system switched rapidly from complacency to deep mistrust. In particular, trust broke down between financial institutions. Knowing they had a lot of bad loans on their own books, institutions assumed the same was true of their competitors, though to an unknown extent.

Institutions stopped lending to each other, so intermediation broke down. Central banks had to step in and provide banks with the funds they needed. This is still true in Europe, and a lack of trust in the longevity of the euro has made people unwilling to lend even to some governments.

The trouble now is that trust can be quickly and easily shattered, but takes a long time to rebuild.

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Banks facing structural change, too

As I'm sure you've gathered, a surprising number of our industries are going through a painful, job-shifting process economists euphemistically refer to as "structural adjustment". You've heard at length about the tribulations of mining, manufacturing, tourism, retailing, aviation, bookselling, newspapers and free-to-air television.

Then there's all the angst and words spilt by the media, politicians and people with mortgages over structural change in banking. Huh?

When people have been carrying on about how the banks have stopped moving mortgage interest rates in line with changes in the Reserve Bank's official interest rate, they've actually been complaining about just one consequence of the structural change that's being imposed on banks around the world in reaction to the devastation wrought by the (continuing) global financial crisis.

Just how the banks are being forced to change was explained by the deputy governor of the Reserve Bank, Dr Philip Lowe, in a speech last week (on which I'll be drawing heavily).

All of us can remember the halcyon days before the financial crisis when mortgage interest rates moved in lock step with the official rate. Unfortunately, they were only halcyon on the surface. Underneath, big trouble was brewing.

Particularly in the United States and Europe, there was a lot of cheap money flowing around, so the banks got quite slapdash about whom they lent to. They lent at interest rates that were artificially low, failing to reflect the riskiness of the project and the chance they wouldn't get their money back.

They also greatly increased their "gearing" - the ratio of borrowed money to shareholders' capital they used to finance their activities. When business is booming, becoming more highly geared accelerates the rate at which your profits grow. When business turns down, however, it hastens the rate at which profits shrink and turn to losses.

As we know, the day of reckoning did come, many banks in the US and Europe got into deep trouble and had to be bailed out by their governments to prevent them collapsing and causing a depression. Even so, the North Atlantic economies dropped into deep recession, from which they've yet to properly emerge.

In the meantime, the bank regulators and the global financial markets are forcing the world's banks to change their ways and lift their game - in short, to operate more safely, reducing the risk of getting into difficulties. Although our banks are well regulated and didn't get into bother, they're still affected by this tightening up.

Banks are now required to hold a higher proportion of their funds in shareholders' capital and a higher proportion of their assets in liquid form, making it easier for them to cope with a surge in depositors wanting to withdraw their money.

The financial crisis made Australians realise how dependent our banks had become on using short-term overseas borrowings to meet the needs of local home and business borrowers. Before the crisis the interest rates our banks paid on these foreign borrowings were unrealistically low; now they're much higher, to adequately reflect the risks involved.

Our authorities, and our sharemarket, have been pressing the banks to do their overseas borrowing over longer periods and raise a higher proportion of their funds from local depositors.

Do these efforts to make our banks safer and more crisis-proof sound like a good thing? They are. But, like everything in the economy, they come at a price.

What banks do is act as intermediaries between savers on the one hand and borrowers on the other. The costs they incur in performing this invaluable service (including the return on the shareholders' money invested in their business) are called the "cost of intermediation", which is the gap between the average interest rate they charge on the money they lend out and the average interest rate they pay to depositors and other lenders.

The cost of making our banks safer - by requiring them to hold higher proportions of share capital and liquid assets - has raised the cost of intermediation. Most of this higher cost has been passed on to the banks' mortgage and business borrowers.

The higher cost of borrowing abroad and borrowing from local depositors has also been passed on.

This explains why, since the early days of the financial crisis, the banks have been raising mortgage rates by more (or cutting them by less) than movements in the official interest rate. Over the 10 years to 2007, the variable mortgage rate averaged 1.5 percentage points above the official rate. Today, it's about 2.7 percentage points above.

That's what all the complaints have been about. Now you know why it's happened. But this bad news has been accompanied by three bits of good news which have had far less attention.

First, much of the increase in mortgage rates is explained by the very much higher rates being paid to depositors as the banks compete furiously for our money. Before the financial crisis, deposit rates were well below the official rate; now they're above it (particularly on internet accounts). Depositors outnumber people with mortgages by two to one.

Second, safer banks mean people who invest in bank shares (which is everyone with superannuation) are running lower risks - meaning their profits don't need to be as high. The boss of Westpac, Gail Kelly, said recently its return on shareholders' equity had fallen from 23 per cent before the crisis to 15 per cent.

Finally, to reduce the pressure on bank borrowers caused by the banks' now higher margin above the official rate, the Reserve Bank has cut it by about 1.5 percentage points below what it would otherwise be.

Structural adjustment is always painful - but there's always someone who's left better off.

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Pop bubbles before they can cause havoc

Don't drop your bundle yet. It would be a brave person - braver than me - who denied any possibility of another global financial crisis.

Sure it's possible, but it's far from certain. And another financial crisis might be like we eventually realised the last one was: more North Atlantic than global.

The Bank for International Settlements is the central bankers' club. And central bankers don't warn of catastrophe if they really fear one's on the way. When things really are near crisis point, they are calm and reassuring.

So this is the world's bank manager issuing wayward clients with a stern lecture on the need to mend their ways. The bank is saying, don't assume the problems are limited to Greece, Ireland and Portugal. The big North Atlantic economies - the United States, Britain and much of Europe - have huge, unsustainable levels of government debt, and should the financial markets lose confidence in those countries' efforts to get on top of their debts, another crisis is possible.

It's preaching against the optimistic attitude in those countries that the crisis has passed and it's back to business as usual. No, no, back to the grindstone.

To that extent it's dead right: those economies face at least another decade of low growth as they grind away at reducing their public and private debts.

This is not a message aimed at us. We could be affected by another financial crisis but we're just as well placed to cope as we were with the first.

Our banks remain well supervised, with few loans to the worst-affected governments. Our government debt is laughably small compared with the US and Europe. Our interest rates are not too low.

If there's one lesson from the first crisis, it's that our fortunes depend much more on Asia than on Europe and America.

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Demand a better deal and stop moaning about banks

Forgive me if I'm less than impressed by the tirade of righteous indignation being unleashed against the banks. It's self-serving, selective and uninformed.

I guess when you get angry you forget to check things out and think them through. The media and the politicians on both sides are whipping up indignation, rather than conveying information and fostering understanding.

Much of the indignation has assumed that if the Commonwealth Bank has raised its mortgage interest rate by 0.2 percentage points more than the 0.25 percentage-point increase in the official interest rate, the other three big banks are sure to follow suit.

But so far they haven't. And I think it's unlikely they will. My bet is that some will raise their rates by more than the official increase, but by less than the Commonwealth. And at least one of them won't exceed the official increase. If that bank is National Australia Bank, its rate will be 0.32 percentage points lower than the Commonwealth's.

If I'm on the right track, the oft-repeated claim that there's no competition between the banks will be seen as false.

But let's say I'm quite wrong and all the banks do as the cynics expect and follow the Commonwealth's lead in raising their mortgage rates by almost double the official increase. In that event home buyers won't end up being any worse off.

Why not? Because the Reserve Bank has left little doubt it expects to announce further rate rises in the months ahead. With the economy back in a resources boom, it will be raising rates to discourage borrowing and spending and thus limit inflation pressure.

And here's the trick none of the rabble-rousers bothered to tell the punters: the Reserve long ago made it clear that the interest rates it cares about are those actually paid by households and businesses, not its own official rate. So if the banks get ahead of the game and raise their rates by twice the increase in the official rate, that just means we'll end up with one less increase in the official rate than we would have. It will all come out in the wash.

Another unwarranted assumption by the indignation merchants is that all of us are borrowers from the banks and none of us are lenders to the banks. Nonsense. Many people - including those in or approaching retirement, those who rent and those saving for a home deposit - have savings deposited with banks.

And those people have benefited from the same process people with home loans have been complaining about. The banks have justified their various rate rises in excess of official increases by saying the cost to them of the funds they borrow for lending to home buyers and businesses has risen by more than the increase in the official rate. This isn't always true, but it does contain a significant element of truth. And one respect in which it's true is that the banks are now paying much higher interest rates on deposits, particularly term deposits.

Before the global financial crisis, the rates the banks paid on term deposits were below the official interest rate. Now, however, they're well above it. Although the official rate is now 4.75 per cent, it's easy to get better than 6 per cent on a six-month deposit.

(And don't forget that every home buyer with money parked in a "redraw" account is a lender as well as a borrower. Most of these people would, in effect, be earning an interest rate on their savings equal to the rate they pay on their loan.)

In the aftermath of the crisis, the banks decided they'd be better off getting more of their funds from retail depositors and less from wholesale money markets here and overseas. But as they battled for more deposits, they bid up the rates on those deposits to unheard of levels - further proof that competition between the big four isn't dead.

Another sign of competition between the banks that the rabble-rousers haven't seen fit to remind us of is the way NAB has led the way in cutting its fees and charges, including unreasonable charges on credit cards.

Everyone imagines the greedy banks love picking on helpless home buyers when they're trying to protect their profit margins by passing on their higher costs of borrowing. Don't kid yourself. They hate it because they know home buyers are protected by the fuss-making media and politicians.

So what do they do? They push more of their higher costs off onto business - particularly small business - and less onto home buyers. This gives them less grief from the noise-makers while imposing a hidden cost on the economy's ability to create jobs.

We're suckers for illusions.

The media always quote the banks' announced "indicator" rates on home loans. Before the latest rise in the official rate, the average indicator for standard variable mortgages from banks was 7.4 per cent. But whereas small businesses often pay more than their indicator rate, home buyers usually pay less. The actual rate paid by people with mortgages averaged 6.75 per cent - a discount of 0.65 percentage points.

Why do bank managers charge less than the announced price? Because they're afraid of losing business to their competitors. But guess what? The biggest discounts go to those who bargain - those who look around at what others are offering and threaten to move unless their existing lender offers a better deal.

The trouble with all the media and political fuss about rates is it reinforces the impression "competition" is something the banks - or the government - should deliver to us on a plate.

Sorry, whingeing lazybones, markets don't work like that. Those who say competition between the banks is inadequate are right. But they should be looking in the mirror as they say it.

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Labor's bluff called on bank competition

There are no good guys in the fuss over "unofficial" rises in mortgage interest rates. Each of the players is on the make: the greedy banks, the self-pitying punters, the commercially driven media and the insincere pollies.

The banks have happily used the global financial crisis to gain advantage over their non-bank competitors and enhance their pricing power - though we've yet to discover the extent to which the big four exploit that power in this episode.

It is, of course, "rational" for the banks to want to stamp out competition and to exploit whatever special advantages they gain from the government's need to protect the public from instability in the banking system. But that doesn't mean we have to condone or put up with such behaviour.

The media, as usual, are bringing far more heat than light to the affair. They're playing it for all it's worth, fanning the punters' uncomprehending self-pity for commercial advantage without any real desire to help them understand the wider issues or even help them deal with their problem.

And it's hard to feel any sympathy for Wayne Swan and the Rudd/Gillard government. It's been facing the issue of unofficial rate rises virtually since its election in November 2007, but it still hasn't reached an effective strategy for dealing with it.

Throughout its life the government has exhibited three related deficiencies: a lack of values, a lack of courage and a lack of skill in managing its relations with the electorate.

Labor's approach to unofficial rate rises - like its approach to executive salaries and "the cost of living" - has been dominated by focus group-driven insincerity. There's been a lot of "I feel your pain" and "I share your outrage" rhetoric without any great intention to take effective action.

What Labor has yet to realise is that this is a good tactic for oppositions - just ask Joe Hockey - but a bad one for governments. Pretty soon the punters say the obvious: if you're so concerned, what are you doing about it? When you've been in power for three years, they say what have you done about it?

Answer: nothing that's made any difference. There are two reasons for the lack of effective action on unofficial rate rises (and executive pay and the cost of living): you don't want to do the obvious and intervene directly because you know the side-effects might be worse than the decease, and you lack the courage to do anything - sensible or otherwise - that might annoy powerful interests involved.

A big part of Labor amateurism in media management - spin, if you like - is the way so much of what it says in the media is directed at attacking the opposition. A more experienced leadership would understand that the best way to neutralise your opponents is to ignore them.

The government's unceasing response to whatever the opposition is saying gives those opinions legitimacy and more media attention than they'd otherwise get. When Swan and Julia Gillard falsely accuse the Libs of wanting to re-regulate interest rates and refix the exchange rate, they richly deserve what they've ended up with: Hockey looking like the only person with a sensible policy.

Arguing the toss with the opposition not only fails to convince the punters, it also crowds out what the government should be doing: educating the public on the complexities of the issue and on individuals' responsibility for fixing their own problems (as does all the fake I-feel-your-pain/outrage rhetoric).

All this reinforces the mistaken notion that every problem can be and should be solved by the government. At least Penny Wong has had the gumption to tell whingeing punters they should bargain with their bank manager.

One small problem with the I-share-your-outrage approach is that, thanks to the global financial crisis, at various points the banks have been justified in varying their mortgage rates differently from the official interest rate.

So the government's been right to focus its policy response on acting to enhance competition between the banks by reducing the barriers facing people wanting to move their deposit accounts or mortgages.

The problem has been the utter ineffectiveness of these efforts to date, which demonstrates the government's insincerity, its lack of genuine belief in market forces and its fear of offending the powerful banking interests.

If Labor was genuine in its economic rationalism - instead of just pretending because it's a politically convenient position for a supposedly left-of-centre government - it would have the courage to make pro-competitive interventions despite the banks' objections.

That's what we need: imposition of measures - maybe portable bank account numbers - to facilitate account-switching and legislative restrictions on unreasonable exit fees, an end to St George-like takeovers, proper pricing of government guarantees and probably restrictions on the banks' overseas adventurism (which has almost always ended in tears).

If Labor really understood and believed in market forces, it would understand that banking is (necessarily) far from a free market and that the government's extensive protection of the banks both justifies and necessitates carefully considered countervailing interventions to enhance competition and also limit the banks' moral-hazard temptation to have Australian taxpayers indirectly underwrite their foreign adventures.

After years of Labor faking it, the punters and the rabid end of the media have called its bluff: do something effective to curb the banks' market power or be judged a waste of space. We'll see if it can summon the courage.

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