Unis should never be allowed to set their own fees

The Productivity Commission has changed its ideological tune, shifting away from the slavish adherence to an idealised version of the "neoclassical" model of the economy for which it and its predecessors became notorious.

It's moved to a more nuanced approach, recognising the many respects in which real-world markets differ from those described in elementary textbooks.

This shift has been underway since the present chairman of the commission, Peter Harris, succeeded Gary Banks in 2012.

You could see it in the commission's 2015 report on the Workplace Relations Framework, which acknowledged, readily and in detail, the factors that made the simple neoclassical, demand-and-supply model unsuitable for analysing the labour market.

But it's even more apparent in the commission's blueprint for a very different approach to economic reform, Shifting the Dial. Consider this.

Remember the plan in the Abbott government's first budget, of 2014, to deregulate the fees universities are allowed to charge students doing undergraduate degrees?

It was a logical next step following the Gillard government's decision some years earlier to deregulate the number of undergraduate places each university was permitted to offer.

The unis had responded by hugely increasing the number of government-funded places, at greatly increased cost to the federal budget, after successive governments had spent decades trying to quietly privatise the unis and get them off the budget.

The economic rationale was that "market forces" – competition between the unis – would prevent them for using their new fee-setting power to overcharge students.

It was a reform that all right-thinking people should support, and those terrible popularity-seekers in the Senate should never have blocked.

Get this: as part of its plan to improve the teaching of uni students, and in the course of explaining how some students are being charged higher fees than they should be, the commission also shows why deregulating fees would have been a crazy idea.

At the same time as it allowed unis to set their own fees, the government's intention had been to cut its funding of places by 20 per cent. It wasn't hard to see that, as unis continued to raise their fees each year, the government would keep cutting its own funding contribution until it was no more.

The commission argues (on page 109) that government "regulation" of the maximum fees unis may charge for particular undergrad courses "is necessary because price competition [between universities] is difficult to establish in the domestic university market.

"This is primarily because the vast majority of domestic students have access to income-contingent HELP loans and consequently have a low price sensitivity, which was a necessary by-product of enabling university access on merit, rather than family income."

Get it? The elementary model's promise that "market forces" – competition between sellers, plus the self-interest of buyers – will stop firms overcharging rests on an assumption that customers have to pay the price upfront.

In the case of uni fees, however, the upfront price is paid by the government, and students incur a debt to the government, which they don't have to start repaying until their income reaches a certain level at some uncertain time in the future.

How long they'll be given to repay the debt is also uncertain, though it's certain their repayments will be geared to their ability to pay, and the only interest they'll pay is the rate of inflation. Cushiest loan you'll ever get.

With the cost of university tuition to a student so far into the future and so uncertain, it's unrealistic to assume students will shop around to find the lowest-charging uni. (Actually, they all charge the maximum allowed.)

Remember, too, that the fee is less than the full cost of the tuition, meaning the unis are "selling" a product whose retail price has been heavily subsidised by the government.

The commission notes that price competition is further limited by the geographic immobility of students. Because more than 80 per cent of commencing students live at home, and moving out would add greatly to their costs, you might get competition between the unis in a particular capital city, but that's all.

But even that's unlikely. The elementary model assumes "perfect knowledge" – both buyers and sellers know all they need to know about the prices and qualities of the products on offer.

In reality, knowledge is far from complete, and is often "asymmetric" – sellers know far more than buyers, usually because the sellers are professionals, whereas the buyers are amateurs.

The commission explains why all unis – big-name or bad-name, city or country – charge the maximum fees allowed.

"In the absence of good information, lower prices may undermine the prestige of a university and its capacity to attract good students," the commission says.

This is an admission of a weakness in the elementary model that affects far more than uni fees. The assumption of perfect knowledge leads to the further assumption that the prices market forces allow a firm to charge fully reflect the quality of its products relative to the quality of rival products.

As behavioural economists have pointed out, however, quality is something that's often very hard for buyers to know in advance. Only after they've bought it and tried it will they know. Think bottles of wine.

So whereas economists assume buyers' foreknowledge of differences in quality is what determines differences in the prices of similar products, buyers who don't know the differences in quality assume they can use prices as a quality indicator. Higher price equals higher quality.

So why don't lesser unis seek to attract more students by charging lower fees than the big boys? Because it would be taken as an admission of their inferior quality, and could lose as many customers as it attracted, maybe more.

The assumption that market forces would prevent unis from abusing their freedom to set fees as they chose was extraordinarily naive, as the commission is now happy to explain.

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What we can do to cure affluenza

If our grandparents could see us now, what would they think? They'd be amazed by our affluence, but shocked by our wastefulness.

You'd never know it to hear us grousing about the cost of living, but most of us are living more prosperous, comfortable, even opulent lives than Australians have ever lived.

We live in a consumer society, surrounded by our possessions. We're always buying more stuff, more gadgets, an extra car, more TVs for other rooms, more laptops, iPads and smartphones.

We update to the latest model, even though the old one's working fine, and make sure our car is never more than a few years old.

We buy new clothes all the time – a lot on impulse – filling our wardrobes with stuff we wear rarely, if ever.

We buy more food than we can eat, chucking it out when it's no longer fresh so we can buy another lot.

Why do we keep buying and buying? Short answer: because we can afford to. Long answer: because, for a host of reasons, we've become addicted to consumption, whether or not it provides lasting satisfaction. We suffer from "affluenza".

Many of us engage in "conspicuous consumption" so as to impress other people with our wealth – with how well we're doing in the materialist race. Can't have the neighbours thinking we can't afford the latest model.

Other people use their hairstyles or the clothes they wear to express their individuality or, paradoxically, to signal their membership of a particular tribe.

I heard about a partner in a law firm remarking with disapproval that whenever any young person was made a partner they immediately went out and bought a black Volvo. But, someone asked, don't you have a black Volvo yourself? Oh, no, he said, mine's blue.

In his new book Curing Affluenza, Richard Denniss, chief economist of The Australia Institute, observes that, these days, much consumption is done for symbolic, signalling reasons, not because we actually need the stuff.

And then there's retail therapy – stuff we buy purely for the fleeting thrill we get from buying some new thing.

If something's telling you all this needless consumption can't be a good thing, you're not wrong. What's less obvious is why: because of the damage it does to the natural environment.

Not only the extra emissions of greenhouse gasses, but also excessive use of natural resources – both non-renewable and renewable, when usage exceeds the rate at which they can be renewed (think fish in the sea).

The richest 15 per cent of the globe's 7.6 billion population can continue living the high life only for as long as we have the wealth to commandeer more and more of the other 85 per cent's share of the world's natural resources.

But as the world's poor, led by India and China, succeed in raising their material living standards towards ours, this will get ever harder. It is not physically possible for all the world's population to live the wasteful lives we do. Nothing like all the world's population.

How can we stop using more than our fair share of the globe's natural resources? Denniss says we can start by distinguishing between consumerism, which is bad, and materialism, which isn't. Huh?

He defines consumerism as the love of buying things, whereas materialism is just the love of things. Meaning the latter is a cure for the former. The more we love and care for the stuff we've already got, repairing it when it breaks, the less we're tempted to buy things we don't need.

It's true the capitalist system invests heavily in marketing and advertising to con us into believing we need to buy more and more stuff.

But we're free to resist the system's blandishments. Indeed, I often think the people most successful in the system are those who most resist.

Unusually for an economist, Denniss argues that much of what we do – and buy – we do for cultural reasons. Because it's the normal, accepted thing to do.

But, just as our grandparents weren't as spendthrift as we are, culture can change. And you need less than a majority of people changing their behaviour to reach the critical mass that prompts most other people to join them and, by doing so, cause an improvement in the culture.

If we all stopped buying stuff we don't need, however, wouldn't that cause economic growth to falter and unemployment to shoot up?

Yes it would – if that's all we did. The trick is that every dollar we spend helps to create jobs. So we need to keep spending, but we don't need to keep spending wastefully.

There are a host of things we could spend on – better health, better education, better public infrastructure, better lives for the disabled and the elderly, less congestion, less pollution – that would yield us more satisfaction while doing less damage to the environment.

I have a feeling, however, that the cure to affluenza will require more than just changed behaviour by enough individuals. We replace rather than repair many things because the cost of repairers' labour greatly exceeds the cost of the material parts we throw away.

We need to rejig the tax system so we reduce the tax on "goods" – labour income – and increase the tax on "bads" – use of natural resources.

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