Hard lessons on how recessions work and why we hate them

Forgive me for boasting about how old I am, but this coronacession – aka the Great Lockdown – will be the fourth severe recession of my career as an economic journalist. That makes recessions my special subject, though I’ve not had much call to talk about them for almost 30 years.

I was too young to remember much of Bob Menzies’ Credit Squeeze, which came within a whisker of tossing him out of office in 1961. But I was established in journalism before I saw the recession of the mid-1970s add the last nail to the coffin of the Whitlam government.

Malcolm Fraser’s prime ministership was cut short by the recession of the early 1980s. Bob Hawke’s successor, Paul Keating, should have been dispensed with at the 1993 election after the recession of the early 1990s, but was saved by our inordinate fear of Dr John Hewson’s proposed goods and services tax. By the next election in 1996, however, voters were on their verandahs with baseball bats waiting for Keating.

So, lesson No. 1: governments that preside over recessions usually get the blame for them. Lesson No. 2: in Australia, recessions happen roughly every seven years – or so I imagined at the time.

When the financial crisis of 2008 failed to sweep us into the world’s Great Recession, I was denied what I fondly assumed would be the biggest recession of my career. Why? Because Kevin Rudd did exactly what his econocrats told him to – and it worked.

In truth, we did have a recession, but one too small to remember. Another truth: more than a decade later, our economy had still not got back fully to normal and was in a weak state when the virus hit us some weeks ago.

In the decades since our last experience of severe recession, silly people in the financial markets and the media have given us the impression that a recession consists of real gross domestic product falling for two quarters in succession.

If you haven’t already, you’ll soon realise what nonsense that is. Lesson No. 3: the defining, terrible characteristic of recessions is soaring unemployment. That’s what makes people fear them so much. “What if I lost my job? How would I pay the mortgage? What about my kids? I’ve got one just finishing uni. Oh, what an appalling stuff-up. Those politicians are hopeless.”

Recessions inflict great harm on those who lose their jobs or their businesses. They make people terribly anxious. They heighten money worries and fights between spouses. They kill off any optimism about the future, leaving the public depressed and surly for month after month. They bark at every economist.

Lesson No. 4: unemployment shoots up, but crawls back down. I remember how much fuss there was when the number on unemployment benefits hit a million under the Hawke government. Last week Scott Morrison announced that, in just a few weeks, the number of people on the JobSeeker allowance (the latest in a long list of bureaucratic euphemisms for the dole) had topped 1.3 million – with a further 300,000 applications to be processed.

After the Hawke-Keating recession (the one we didn’t really have to have), it took almost 14 years for the rate of unemployment to get back down to the 5.9 per cent it was in November 1989.

And research by Professor Bob Gregory, of the Australian National University, suggests that people who’ve been unable to find a job for two years are unlikely to find one again. In recessions past, governments have hidden away some of these people by putting them on the disability pension.

In this recession, the new JobKeeper payment – a worthy measure – is helping to understate the number of workers counted as unemployed.

Lesson No. 5: though economic journalists make much of unemployment statistics, what brings the reality of high unemployment home to the public is TV footage of ashen-faced workers streaming out of factory gates after being laid off.

What did it this time was footage of all those young people queuing up the street and around the corner from Centrelink. Lesson No. 6: this recession, like all of them, will hit the young hardest, particularly those leaving the education system to start working. As part of this, the low-skilled are always hit harder.

What’s different this time – due to the recession’s unique cause: the government hitting the economy on the head with a hammer – is that job losses are so heavily concentrated in a few sectors: tourism and hospitality, arts and entertainment, and universities.

My final lesson is that public attitudes towards the unemployed are cyclical. Between recessions, many people see them as too lazy to work. Come the next recession, however, and we ooze sympathy. We know people who’ve lost their jobs and we’re hoping neither we nor our kids will be joining them.

So, give the jobless a hard time with pettifogging officiousness, robo-debt, payment by card not cash, Work for the Dole, drug testing, reverting to $40 a day? No, wouldn’t dream of it. Not if you’re hoping to be re-elected.

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First the economy needs CPR. We'll worry about reform later

I can’t take seriously all those people saying we mustn’t waste a crisis, but seize this great opportunity to introduce sweeping economic reform. It’s like telling a baby who hasn’t yet learnt to walk it should start training for the Olympics.

It’s true, of course, that we won’t get back to economic life as we used to know it – that is, knew it before the global financial crisis, more than a decade ago – until we get back to reasonably strong annual improvement in the productivity of labour.

But the plain fact is, you’ve got to have a functioning economy before you can worry about how fast its productivity is improving. So there’ll be a time to debate which policies would or wouldn't do most to enhance productivity, but we have more pressing matters to attend to.

Some in the don’t-waste-the-crisis party can be forgiven because they’re under 50 and have no memory of what happens in recessions. But as my colleague Shane Wright has said, most of them are "the usual suspects, falling back on their usual agendas".

They have no genuine concern about the economy’s present life-threatened state, but are business people engaged in rent-seeking, or economists running off faith in their economic model, whether or not it’s supported by empirical evidence their theory actually works.

These urgers have forgotten that micro-economic reform seeks to increase economic growth by making the supply (production) side of the economy work more efficiently. It delivers results only over the medium to long term. It’s thus no substitute for macro-economic management, which deals with managing the demand side of the economy in the short term.

Right now, the prospect of a 10 per cent unemployment rate tells us we have more supply than we’re able to use. Clearly, our problem’s that demand is insufficient. The improvement in economic efficiency we assume we could gain by, say, taxing land rather than the transfer of it, is minor compared with the monumental inefficiency we know for certain is occurring because 10 per cent of our workers can’t find work. Macro inefficiency always trumps micro inefficiency.

Right now, we don’t even have an economy that’s functioning, much less functioning well. Much of it’s closed - locked up by government decree. We’re starting to ease the lockdown, but we won’t be opening our borders for another year or two.

When we do have most of the lockdown removed, what will we see? The economy won’t snap back. Not even bounce back in any significant way. True, once businesses are allowed to reopen they’ll be making some sales rather than next to none. But with so many households unemployed, sales won’t go back to anything like where they were.

Most households and businesses will be in cost-cutting mode. Firms have been incurring overheads while earning little. Even those households still working will be worried about their big mortgages and fearful of losing their own jobs. As Treasury secretary Dr Steven Kennedy has warned, “some jobs and businesses will have been lost permanently”.

Most firms and households will be getting back to some semblance of normality, but few will be doing much that causes the economy to grow in any positive sense. As Reserve Bank governor Dr Philip Lowe has said, firms and households are suffering from a "high level of uncertainty about the future" and will engage in "precautionary behaviour". They’ll be saving not spending.

Sound like a bounce-back, or an economy still in the intensive care unit? Ask yourself this: which are the forces that will propel the economy forward? It won’t be the main factor we’ve relied on in recent years – high immigration. Our population’s now falling, as people on temporary visas are sent home and not replaced. (Not that population growth does anything much to lift income per person.)

It won’t be “external stimulus” because the rest of the world is growing faster than us (it isn’t), or a lower dollar is making our exports cheaper to foreigners because we’ll continue banning foreign tourists and overseas students. Export commodity prices aren’t rising.

It won’t be growth in real wages (employers will compulsively demand a wage freeze) nor a "wealth effect" from rising house prices prompting households to cut their rate of saving. And a key missing piece: it won’t be big cuts in interest rates to encourage borrowing and spending.

That leaves only "fiscal stimulus" – the budget. The huge government spending so far has merely limited the extent of the economy’s fall. Should Scott Morrison soon start winding it back as he says he plans to, we could fall even further.

No, if we're to actually recover what will come next is a lot more government spending, particularly on useful projects. It can only be a government-led recovery.

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After the anti-social lockdown comes the anti-jobs recession

Until now, old farts like me have thought it a terrible thing that next to no one under 50 has any experience of how terrible recessions are. Even ABC guru Dr Norman Swan sees the costs of the lockdown as mainly social: the boredom, loneliness, anxiety, depression, suicide and domestic violence. Really? That’s as bad as it gets, eh?

But at least our lack of herd immunity from unrealistic expectations means only us old-timers will be expecting this recession to be pretty much the same as those we experienced in the early 1990s, the early ’80s and the mid-1970s. That’s good because this recession will be markedly different to any of those.

Usually, recessions happen because of governments’ policy error. Their attention wanders while the economy is speeding down the road, but then they realise how high inflation’s getting and they panic. They jam on the interest-rate brakes but hit them too hard for too long, and the economy ends up careering off the road and hitting a tree, with many people losing their jobs.

That’s why former prime minister Paul Keating said our last major recession was “the recession we had to have”. He was trying to conceal the truth that all recessions happen by accident.

Until now. Uniquely, this recession has happened because of a knowing act of government policy. It’s “the recession the medicos said we had to have” as the only way to stop the virus killing people.

As we’re about to discover, it’s a huge price to pay. And a month or two cooped up at home is the least of it. Many of those people who’ve lost their jobs will still be cooped up at home many months after the rest of us have resumed normal lives.

And let me tell you, being unemployed for months on end also has adverse social consequences: feelings of anxiety, inferiority and worthlessness, depression, suicidal thoughts, money worries that lead to marital conflict, breakups and violence.

It’s because this recession is happening by government decree – by the government ordering many industries to cease trading – that it will be so much bigger than usual. Usually, economies slow for months before they stop; this time, most industries stopped on pretty much the same day. (Not to mention that the same thing has happened around the world to the countries that buy our exports.)

This recession will be so big and bad that not even the official always-look-on-the-bright-side brigade is trying to gild the lily. Reserve Bank governor Dr Philip Lowe said last week the recession would be a “once in a lifetime event”.

“Over the first half of 2020, we are likely to experience the biggest contraction in national output and income we have witnessed since [the Great Depression of] the 1930s,” he warned.

More specifically, his best guess was that real gross domestic product would fall by about 10 per cent over the first half of this year, with most of that in June quarter. The unemployment rate is likely to have doubled to about 10 per cent by June, though the total hours worked in the economy is likely to fall by much more than that would suggest: about 20 per cent (because many of those on the JobKeeper payment won’t be working much, but won’t be counted as unemployed).

Preliminary figures from the Australian Bureau of Statistics show that employment fell by about 780,000 people over the three weeks to April 4. And so far, 3.3 million workers are covered by JobKeeper.

This week, Treasury Secretary Dr Steven Kennedy said that whereas unemployment rose to higher levels than this in the Great Depression [to 20 per cent], it did so over the course of a couple of years, compared with just a couple of months this time. “We have never seen an economic shock of this speed, magnitude and shape, reflecting that this is both a significant supply [shock] and demand shock,” he said.

The shock to supply comes from the government closing our borders to foreign tourists and overseas students, and ordering so many industries to cease supplying goods and services to their customers. The shock to demand comes from the loss of wages to workers laid off, the loss of profits to firms unable to sell their products, and the loss of confidence that spending big by households and firms at this time sounds like a good idea.

But the differences between this coronacession and previous recessions don’t stop there. As we’ve seen, recessions are usually preceded by booms. Not this time. Former top econocrat Dr Mike Keating has noted that our economy was performing very poorly for some years before the virus hit.

“Over the three years . . . to December 2019, real GDP growth averaged only 2.3 per cent, business investment was flat, labour productivity did not increase at all and real wages averaged only a 0.4 per cent annual rate of increase,” he says.

One thing this means is that whereas the fall in real incomes caused by a recession usually reverses only some of the strong growth in incomes during the preceding boom, this time the fall in incomes will be a much bigger setback.

Yet another difference this time is that, whereas the Reserve Bank responds to a recession by using its “monetary policy” to slash interest rates and impart a big stimulus to borrowing and spending, this time rates are already so low it’s been able to cut them by a mere 0.25 per cent before reaching its effective zero bound.

During the global financial crisis in 2008, it cut the official interest rate by 4 percentage points in five months. So the budget – “fiscal policy” - is the only instrument the government has to respond to the recession.

There is, however, one important respect in which this recession will resemble all others: unemployment shoots up a lot faster than it comes back down. I’d be sceptical of any happy talk about the economy bouncing back. Crawling back, more likely.

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Morrison and the medicos must also avoid complacency

They say Australians always respond well to a crisis, and it seems it's true. Even in these days of disposable leaders, Kevin Rudd deftly stopped the global financial crisis from sucking us into the Great Recession, and now Scott Morrison has got on top of the corona crisis in a way few would have expected. His approval rating has soared. But I still wouldn't want to be in his shoes.

Why not? Because, as an old econocrat explained to me long ago, if you dispose of a crisis with too much ease – without a titanic struggle – you get precious little gratitude from the voters. If it was that easy to fix, it can't have been much of a crisis in the first place. Indeed, all that money you spent – well, most of it must have been a waste. That's the very way his political opponents have sought unceasingly to denigrate Rudd's unbelievably skilled performance in 2009.

And now Morrison faces the same risk. Everyone's saying he – along with the premier cats he's been herding – has done surprisingly well in controlling the outbreak. But that's not true. The unvarnished truth is that – if you'll forgive the expression – he hasn't just done well, he's killed it. He set out merely to "flatten the curve" but in fact has driven it down almost to zero. And done so with just 80 or so people losing their lives so far.

In the jargon of the epidemiologists, he and the premiers have succeeded in getting "R" – the average number of other people infected by someone who's contracted it - below 1, meaning it's dying out.

Utterly uncharacteristically for a politician of any stripe, Morrison has sought to play down this achievement. Why? Because the whole world has a year or years to go before the virus is tamed and, in the interim, some mishap on our part could cause the virus inside our borders to become undead.

That's why Morrison and his medico advisers live in fear that any loosening of the lockdown could lead us to become "complacent" and flip to the opposite extreme, stopping all social distancing.

But keeping us locked down as tight as possible for as long as possible offers no solution to Morrison's challenge as our leader. That's because, though we care deeply about saving lives, we also care about saving our livelihoods. Our success in getting on top of the virus has been bought at the cost of shutting down most of the economy, with hundreds of thousands of workers losing their jobs.

Morrison's problem is that, because it was so relatively painless, his remarkable success in driving out the virus will soon be forgotten, whereas the continued dysfunctional state of the economy – the way-high unemployment – will be upmost in people's minds come the election in 2022.

And, even now, his critics – mostly from his own side – are concluding that his measures to deal with the virus grossly overestimated the size of the problem and have decimated the economy for no good reason.

For instance, we were terribly worried about the risk of hospitals being overwhelmed by patients who couldn't get proper treatment to prevent them from dying. We had to delay the virus' spread while we more than doubled the existing number of 2200 intensive care beds. Fine. Last time I looked, there were 43 virus victims in ICU.

But such criticism is just being wise after the event. It forgets that we had to respond quickly and forcefully to a new virus, the characteristics of which we knew next to nothing about. The best we had to go on were numbers from China, which proved much worse than our own experience.

The medicos' original modelling assumed Wuhan's R – reproduction number – of 2.68, whereas their more recent modelling using Australian numbers shows we started with Rs above 1 only in Victoria and NSW, before falling below 1 in all states bar Tasmania.

Morrison's deeper problem is that the longer he keeps the economy locked down, the less there will be left to reopen. So avoiding complacency cuts both ways. You and I must not become complacent about hygiene and social distancing, but Morrison and his medicos must not be complacent about the enormous economic (and social) cost that our success in getting on top of the virus is inflicting on all of us.

The solution is to take advantage of our success in taming the virus by moving quickly to replace the sledgehammer measure of closing down most of the economy with the less economically damaging measures of much more testing, better tracing of people exposed to the virus, and jumping on any local outbreaks ASAP. The new app is a big part of this shift to less invasive cures for the disease.

These are the three things Morrison has been quietly saying we need to get organised before we consider easing the lockdown. But now he needs to move strongly in dismantling much of it while, naturally, retaining our closed borders.

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How would Jesus treat people on the dole?

Since it’s Easter, let me tell you about something that’s long puzzled me: how can an out-and-proud Pentecostalist such as Prime Minister Scott Morrison be leading the most un-Christian government I can remember? Fortunately, however, the virus crisis seems to be bringing out his more caring side.

Many people think being a Christian means being obsessed with sexual matters - abortion, homosexuality and same-sex marriage – plus, these days, their human right to discriminate against people who don’t share their sexual taboos.

But if you read the four gospels recording what Jesus did and said, one message you get is one rarely emphasised by his modern-day, generally better-off followers. Jesus was always on about the plight of the poor, and was surprisingly tough on the rich.

Jesus gave his followers a new commandment, that they love one another. “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples.” Asked who was the neighbour we should love as our self, he told the parable of a despised Samaritan, who rescued a man bleeding in a ditch while two upright church-goers “passed by on the other side”.

Jesus said he came to “proclaim the good news to the poor”. “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. . . But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort.”

To the rich he advised: “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed.”

Jesus blessed those who had been kind to others: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”

When a young man asked Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life, he said: “Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” But the young man “was shocked, and went away grieving, for he had many possessions”.

All this compares badly with the actions of the Coalition government, in which Morrison has always played a senior role. As minister for immigration, he was more ruthless than Labor in turning away strangers who came by boat seeking asylum. Those who did make it were treated harshly, to ensure any further strangers got the message about how unwelcome they’d be.

A lot of people like to divide the poor between the deserving and the undeserving. Like Labor before it, the Coalition has pandered to this un-Christian attitude. It favours “lifters” over “leaners”. Morrison himself introduced the ethical code that only those judged to have “had a go” will “get a go”.

The deserving poor are people on the age pension; the undeserving are the unemployed, single parents and probably most of those claiming the disability support pension. I went out and found a job; what’s stopping them doing the same except their own laziness?

Labor always pandered to the widespread “downward envy” of the jobless, but the Coalition has doubled down, reintroducing work for the dole despite all the reports saying it does nothing to improve people’s employability, making people run down their savings and wait longer to be eligible for the dole, making people prove they’ve approached an unreasonable number of employers each fortnight and suspending their payment if they fail, or miss an appointment for any reason. Not to mention the "robo-debt" scandal.

The Coalition wants to control how people spend the dole by paying them by card rather than cash. It wants regular drug testing of those on the dole. And it has steadfastly resisted widespread public pressure to increase the paltry amount of the dole, even though Labor has finally been shamed into abandoning its own longstanding hardheartedness.

But now, however, having adopted the slogan “we’re all in this together” – one beloved of my co-religionists in the Salvos - in his battle against the virus, Morrison seems to have had a change of heart. Whereas Kevin Rudd studiously avoided including the unemployed in his two cash splashes, Morrison has included them with other welfare recipients in his two $750 payments.

His temporary “coronavirus supplement” effectively doubles the rate of unemployment benefits to about $550 a week. He must know that returning the dole to $40 a day after six months won’t be politically possible. Meanwhile, his temporary JobKeeper payment of a flat $750 a week undercompensates higher wage earners while overcompensating lower wage earners, including many casuals.

In all, a Christlike turn for the good.

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Some major contagions have nothing to do with you-know-what

It’s a long weekend so, though we’re barred from enjoying it in the usual way, let’s at least forget the V-word. How about a quiz?

Let’s say the government is preparing for the outbreak of an unusual disease (no, not that kind of disease) that, should we take no action, is expected to kill 600 people. The government could act to combat the disease in either of two ways.

If program A is adopted, 200 people will be saved. If program B is adopted, there’s a one-third chance that 600 people will be saved, and a two-thirds chance that no one will be saved. Which one would you choose?

If you chose A, congradulations. You’re in good company. When this psychology experiment is run, about 72 per cent of subjects favour A and only 28 per cent favour B.

But then the government consults the epidemiologists. Their advice is: forget A and B, and consider program C or program D. If C is adopted, 400 people will die. If program D is adopted, there’s a one-third chance no one will die and a two-thirds chance that 600 will die. Which one would you choose?

If you chose D, more applause. In laboratory experiments, that’s what 78 per cent of subjects choose, leaving only 22 per cent choosing C.

But if you look at the four options again you find that program A and program C are the same. Under A, 200 out of 600 are saved; under C, 400 out of 600 die. It’s just that A highlights the positive, whereas C highlights the negative.

That 72 per cent of subjects favoured A, but only 22 per cent favoured C tells that most of us instinctively favour the safer, more certain outcome. Program B, remember, contained a two-thirds chance that no one would be saved. This instinctive preference confirms economists’ conventional assumption that most people are “risk-averse”.

But a closer look also reveals that program B and program D are the same. Program B offers a one-third chance that 600 people will be saved and a two-thirds chance that no one will be saved, whereas program D offers a one-third chance no one will die and a two-thirds chance that 600 will die.

(If you can’t see that, remember that, in probability theory, the expected outcome is the possible outcome multiplied by the probability of it happening. So B is ⅓(600) + ⅔(0) = 200. And D is ⅓(600) + ⅔(0) = 200.)

But if options B and D are the same thing expressed in different ways, how come the experiments show only 28 per cent of subjects choosing B, but 78 per cent choosing D? It’s because, relative to option C, which offered only the certainty that 400 people would die, option D offered a one-third chance that no one would die, and most subjects thought that was a risk worth taking.

This shows that, while it’s generally true that most people are risk-averse, as conventional economics assumes, a more powerful human characteristic – which conventional economics ignores – is that most of us are “loss-averse”.

A key insight of behavioural economics is that we hate losing something much more than we love gaining something of the same value. So much so that, surprisingly, we’re willing to run risks to avoid any loss.

If you hadn’t noticed, when you look closely you see that all four options offered the same “expected value”: 200 people saved, 400 lost. If everyone had realised this at the time, they should have been equally divided between the options.

Why were we so sure that A and C were much more attractive that B and D? Well, one possibility is that most of us aren’t much good at maths. But the more important explanation is that we are heavily influenced by the way a proposition is presented to us – by the way it’s “framed”, as psychologists say. The same proposition can be packaged in a way we find attractive or repellent.

This, too, is a truth that conventional economics knows nothing of, but behavioural economics – the school of economic thought that uses psychology to throw light on economic issues – has brought to economists’ attention.

Putting it differently, the choices we make are heavily influenced by the context in which we make them. This is one of the key arguments advanced by Robert Frank, an economics professor at Cornell University, is his new book, Under the Influence.

Frank notes that standard economic theory says the spending decisions we make depend only on our incomes and relative prices. People’s assessments of their needs and wants are assumed to be completely independent of the spending decisions of others around them.

But this too is where the assumptions of standard theory are unrealistic. In real life, the things we buy and do are often heavily influenced by the “context” of what our friends are buying and doing.

We wear the clothes we think are fashionable, and we judge what’s fashionable by what our friends are wearing. The best way to predict whether a young person will take up smoking is whether their friends smoke.

We have an impulse to conform – which is stronger than we often realise. That’s why we can’t resist buying toilet paper when others are grabbing it, or selling our shares when others are quitting the market.

Psychologists call this phenomenon “behavioural contagion” – our tendency to mimic the behaviour of others. When some things start to become popular, they often become very popular. Same if they start becoming unpopular.

Frank notes that our tendency to copy what others are doing can have positive consequences (as when people exercise more because their friends are doing it) or negative consequences (as when we drink heavily because the people we live with are).

He argues that economists ought to be more conscious of behavioural contagion because of the opportunities they present for governments to use taxation to encourage us to make better choices.

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For this to work, we must really be 'all in this together'

There are two ways Scott Morrison can play this coronacession: he can spread the pain as fairly as possible, or he can yield to all his political instincts and play favourites. You know: lifters get looked after, leaners take their chances. Those my tribe judge to be not "having a go" won’t be given a go.

Fortunately, Sunday’s second, $66-billion assistance package suggests Morrison’s trying hard to overcome his instincts, be more statesman-like and not exclude unpopular groups from assistance. He’s got further to go, however.

The poor are the biggest losers in every recession and that will be just as true in the coronacession. Those who are able to keep working will be the least affected; those who lose their jobs will be the most affected.

The strongest reason for Morrison to take steps to spread the pain more fairly is that it’s the right – you could almost say the Christian – thing to do. But he has extra, more pragmatic reasons for doing so. One is that it's easier to get everyone to cop their share of the burden – and to pull their weight – if they believe the burden’s being shared fairly. If they know that "we’re all in this together" is more than an empty slogan.

A special reason in this virus-induced recession is that if you leave the poor – the unemployed, the casual workers, the sick and the homeless – feeling ignored and excluded, you rob them of both the motivation and the financial and physical ability to play their part in not spreading the virus to others. If you’re not caring, they become the weak link in your efforts to lower the infection rate.

One fairness principle Morrison adopted from the start is to avoid assisting big business (with the exception of the airlines), but rather ask them to do the right thing by their employees and customers.

Despite the cheap money the banks are getting from the Reserve Bank, it’s clear they’ve gone further with their concessions to small business borrowers, people with mortgages and even term-depositors.

Their profits and shareholders will take a big hit – the first big hit since the recession of the early 1990s - which raises a broader fairness question: if you can’t afford to keep paying your workers, how can you afford to keep paying dividends?

For big businesses, including banks and energy retailers, to move against customers who get behind on their payments in the normal way would make this recession even deeper, and help no one – as the government seems to be making clear to them in private.

The same principle holds for landlords, even though these are mainly what you’d class as small businesses. Evicting tenants at a time like this gets you nowhere. No one gave landlords a guarantee that negatively geared property was one-way bet.

The second package has used a temporary "coronavirus supplement" to effectively double the Newstart allowance for six months. Good move. It’s also a tacit acknowledgement of the truth of the almost universal criticism that the present dole is impossible to live on.

At first the government thought to pay the higher allowance to newly unemployed people but not the existing jobless, but fortunately has thought better of the idea. Now it needs to make sure the infamous Centrelink (since renamed Services Australia – irony, I presume) understands its political masters no long require it to hassle people more than help them.

It would also help to avoid saying that those newly on the dole were there "through no fault of their own", thus implying that those already on it were there through some fault of their own.

The new package’s doubled cash-flow support payments to small and medium businesses should help keep more employees in jobs, though the use of payments based on employers’ remittances of their employees’ pay-as-you-go tax instalments (intended to prevent firms from taking the payment but dismissing the staff) is biased in favour of firms with highly paid (and taxed) employees and against those with poorly paid employees, including casuals.

Many firms will fall back on the new $20,000-over-six-months minimum rebate, which is unlikely to stop many low-paid and casual workers being let go.

A quarter of all employees are casuals, and adding the pseudo self-employed (including those in the "gig economy") takes to 37 per cent the proportion of workers who have no paid sick leave. The second package’s failure to improve on the earlier arrangement for those people to be eligible to apply for the little-used "sickness allowance" will leave many still tempted to keep working when they should be at home in bed.

And the failure of either package to do anything to help the homeless leaves a gaping hole in our efforts to protect their lives from the virus, or to slow its spread.

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It's the coronacession: closing down on doctors' orders

It’s now clear that we – like most countries – are already in a recession that promises to be long and severe. It will be a recession unlike any we’ve previously experienced. Why? Because it’s happening under doctors’ orders. So it deserves a unique name: the coronacession.

It’s taken a few weeks for this to become obvious, mainly because economists don’t know much about epidemiology and it’s taken the nation’s medical experts until now to make clear that their preferred response to the virus will take months to work and involve closing down much of the economy.

We already know that real gross domestic product is likely to contract in the present March quarter and it’s now clear that last week’s $17.6 billion stimulus package is unlikely to fully counteract the fall in economic activity – production and consumption – during the imminent June quarter, brought about by the government’s measures to impose “social distancing” and encourage “self-isolation”.

Since the medical authorities are only now suggesting that these efforts to slow the spread of the virus may need to continue for six months – which, considering their bedside-manner efforts to break it to us gently, may well prove an underestimate – it won’t be surprising if the economy also contracts in September quarter.

Of course, Sunday’s further stimulus package has been designed to offset the loss of wages and profits that will arise from pretty much closing the economy down, but I’m sure the government and its econocrats realise we’re long past the stage of pretending that avoiding two successive quarters of “negative growth” means avoiding recession.

As Finance Minister Mathias Cormann now readily concedes, “businesses will close and Australians will lose their jobs”.

It’s the business closures, falling employment and rising unemployment and underemployment that characterise a recession – and are the reason why, in normal times, governments and central bankers try so hard to prevent them, not bring them about.

Once these developments fill the headlines, what happens to GDP each quarter will be of only academic interest.

To fill out Cormann’s cryptic description of what is coming, many businesses will close their doors – some temporarily, some for good - partly because the government has cut off their access to customers (the airlines, inbound tourism, sporting, arts and entertainment events) and also because it has encouraged people to stay at home, minimising travel, trips to supermarkets and shopping centres and visits to restaurants, pubs, cafes and coffee shops.

The many people working or studying from home can be expected to spend less than they normally would.

The nation’s income from exports will fall, particularly because of the government’s bans on the entry of foreign tourists and students. The recessions in other countries will reduce their demand for many of our other exports.

Of course, our recession will reduce our demand for imported goods and services (we won’t be taking overseas holidays for the foreseeable, for instance) and, in some cases, parts and goods we need to import won’t be available until Chinese factories are fully back to work and have caught up with their backlog.

As businesses find they have few or no customers, they will seek to wind back their activities, leading many to stand down staff or make them redundant. Casual workers will discover there are a lot fewer or no shifts for which their services are required.

So, fewer sales of goods and services lead to less production of goods and services, which leads to less work done, jobs lost and less income earned by workers, who then have less to spend, even on essentials such as rent and utility bills.

You see from all this that - although the virus came to us from overseas, and although so many other countries are in the same position as us that there’s a world recession - it’s not the rest of the world that’s dragging us down. No, it’s our decision to seek to minimise the number of deaths from the virus by slowing down its spread through the population, and doing so by closing down much of our economy for months on end.

As is their practice, our medicos have focused on saving lives and protecting our health, and haven’t worried too much about what their medicine would cost, or who’d be paying for it.

You and I will be paying the cost – with those who lose their jobs paying a mighty lot more than the rest of us – and it will be the responsibility of the government, advised by its econocrats, to do everything it can to minimise that cost and spread the burden fairly.

How? By spending big. How big? Not last week’s $17.6 billion, more like $176 billion. The second stimulus package we see on Sunday will be just another instalment.

This will blow the federal budget out of the water. It will be hit in two ways: not just by the extra spending and tax cuts the government chooses to make, but also by the simple fact that businesses and individuals who earn less income pay less income tax. Workers who lose their jobs not only cease paying any income tax, they have to be paid unemployment benefits.

But here’s the trick: the more the government skimps on the cost of cushioning the effects of its own decision to shut down much of the economy, the deeper and more protracted the recession will be and the longer it will take to get the economy back to running normally once the threat from the virus has passed.

Paradoxically, that means the more you skimp on the cost to the budget, the bigger the deficit you end up with, and the further off into the future the return to surplus becomes.

The measures announced on Thursday by the Reserve Bank, particularly the cheap funding to banks for loans to small businesses, will help a little, but the game is pretty much over for the Reserve and its “monetary policy”. From now on, everything turns on what Scott Morrison does with his budget.

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At last we’ve been shown the virus game plan. Boring

I grew up in the Great Depression. Well, not really, but there were times when it certainly felt like it. The Depression was my father’s favourite topic of breakfast conversation and I got to hear a lot about it, particularly the questionable behaviour of someone called Jack Lang.

It wasn’t until long after my father had been "promoted to Glory", as the Salvos say, I learnt from my sisters that the Depression had been his finest hour. In those terrible times, a generous government made thousands of unemployed men trudge from town to town to be eligible for "the susso" – a woefully inadequate sustenance allowance, often paid in kind.

Men moving around the backblocks of Queensland soon learnt to come to the back door of my father’s Salvation Army quarters, where the captain would go to quite extraordinary lengths to help them along their way.

Now, I’m not for a moment implying that what we’re about to go through as we cope with the coronavirus bears any comparison with the Depression, which lasted for most of the 1930s and drove the rate of unemployment to reach 20 or 30 per cent.

No, I’m just saying this crisis will turn our lives on their head for so much of this year that we’ll remember it for the rest of our lives and won’t fail to tell our kids about it in years to come.

It’s clear that, after a few weeks of unthinking panic and silliness, we’ve reached the business end of the epidemic as "community transmission" – spreading of the disease between people who had no known contact with a confirmed case or who had arrived from a badly affected country – begins in earnest and the authorities get progressively tougher in imposing "social distancing" – slowing the spread of the virus by keeping people apart.

This is a steep learning curve for everyone: politicians, medical experts and even all-knowing journalists. But the road map of where we’re headed, what it involves and roughly how long it will last – say, six months – is now apparent.

The authorities faced a choice between letting the contagion rip – getting it over quickly, but with an overwhelmed health system, serious cases going untreated and too many oldies and medically compromised people dying – or trying to slow the spread so the health system copes and deaths are minimised.

Unsurprisingly, they chose to "flatten the curve", using self-quarantine of people who may have the disease or do have a mild case, self-isolation (staying at home to avoid contact with others) and social distancing – banning large gatherings, restricting travel, maybe closing schools, encouraging people to work from home, and urging people to minimise their contact with others.

While slowing the spread reduces the number of deaths, it’s by no means certain it will reduce the number of people contracting the disease. The big price to be paid is prolonging the disruption to people’s daily lives and, hence, to the economy. Less paid work will be done, many will earn less income, less money will be spent, and unemployment and underemployment will rise.

A less obvious price is that the extraordinary lengths we will be going to to limit deaths will leave many people fearing the virus is a much greater risk to their health than it is. The great majority of people who get it will suffer no worse than a bout of flu. But the fear may be a good thing if it makes the hale and hearty more diligent in their hand-washing and avoidance of social contact.

Have you realised what this means for most of us? We’re about to go though a period of weeks or months of staying at home and rarely going out. This is obvious for the elderly and health-impaired, but will also apply to those who have to work from home, those casual workers whose shifts are cancelled, school and uni students attending classes online, and parents who can’t work because they have kids to mind (and shouldn’t be asking old grandparents to help out).

As I contemplate it for myself (I’ll soon be off on five weeks’ staycation), a word springs to mind, starting with b and ending in -ing. Social work academics are writing papers about "cabin fever" – fever in more ways than one.

It won’t be lost on a lot of people that the arrival of pandemics – this may be the worst, but it’s not the first and won’t be the last – is an unwelcome consequence of the globalisation of the world economy.

Against that, however, the digital revolution has made it easier for many screen-based workers to work from home and for students to view lectures. Teleconferencing is a reasonable substitute for face-to-face meetings and interstate business trips. The range of home entertainment is a lot wider and of better quality since the advent of such things as streaming video. You may not be able to attend football matches, but you can still watch them on telly.

Mobile phones make it much easier to co-ordinate with family members, and Facebook lets you keep up with friends. And not forgetting that e-commerce lets you keep spending. Which will be nice. But it doesn’t change the fact that "social distancing" is contrary to all our instincts as social animals.

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Avoiding the R-word won't be as easy as boosting June quarter

Sorry to be blunt, but anyone who thinks avoiding a second quarter of decline in real gross domestic product means avoiding recession needs a lesson in economics.

It’s clear that Scott Morrison’s $17.6 billion stimulus package – what you might call Kevin Rudd with Liberal characteristics – was aimed primarily at boosting economic activity in the June quarter. Fully $11 billion of the $17.6 billion will be spent or rebated from the budget during the quarter.

Half of that will come from the cash-flow rebates to employers, and most of the rest from the $750-a-throw cash splash to social welfare recipients (including parents receiving family payments).

Not all the cash will have been spent, of course, but our and other countries’ experience suggests a lot more will be than you may expect. Former prime minister Rudd’s two cash splashes in 2008 and 2009 are immediately apparent in the retail sales figures of the time.

In any case, to the possible $11 billion you have to add well over $4 billion worth of spending on cars, vans and equipment by small and medium-size businesses, induced by the temporary investment incentive, which will be spent before June 30 but won’t hit the budget until next financial year.

This helps explain why Treasury estimates that the stimulus package will add 1.5 percentage points to whatever other growth or contraction in real GDP we get in the June quarter. Since growth in a normal quarter would be about 0.5 per cent – and, for comparison, Treasury and the Reserve Bank have estimated that the coronavirus will subtract 0.5 percentage points from growth in the present March quarter – this suggests the package stands a good chance of stopping next quarter being a second successive quarter of "negative growth" – contraction.

So, recession avoided? No, all that would have been avoided is having the financial markets and the media running around like headless chooks, shouting the R-word – and so frightening the pants off the rest of the populace – just as it was avoided in the March quarter of 2009, after Rudd’s carefully timed second cash splash.

Let’s be clear. Just as it was exactly right for Rudd and his advisers to do everything they could to avoid a second successive quarter of contraction, so it’s exactly right for Morrison and his advisers to do the same. That’s not because the two-quarters rule makes any sense, it’s because so many silly people think it makes sense.

When you’re trying to head off – or at least minimise – a recession, what people think and feel (their animal spirits) matter as much as what they actually do, for the simple reason that what people think and feel – their "confidence" – ends up having so much influence over what they do.

(What a pity the epidemiologists don’t have the same tried-and-true template for responding to a virus outbreak that economists have for responding to the risk of recession.)

But what anyone who wants to be smarter than the average bear needs to know is that the two-quarters rule makes little sense. It’s no more than an arbitrary rule of thumb with no science behind it. It appeals to the simple souls in the financial markets and the media because it’s simple, objective and (the killer argument) involves minimum waiting.

Only trouble is, for a rule of thumb it doesn’t work well. As the independent economist Saul Eslake demonstrated some years ago, it throws out too many false negatives. That is, it can tell you we don’t have a recession when we do. For instance, two negative quarters separated by even a zero quarter tells you we’re home free. Really? How long will the punters swallow that?

But another problem is that it focuses on the wrong variable – production – when what we really care about is employment and unemployment. Dr David Gruen, now boss of the Australian Bureau of Statistics, once proposed the most watertight definition of recession: "A sustained period of either weak growth or falling real GDP, accompanied by a significant rise in the unemployment rate."

And Eslake has road-tested a different rule, showing it has produced no false signals. It defines recession as "any period during which the rate of unemployment rises by more than 1.5 percentage points in 12 months or less".

Guess what? In the nine months between September 2008 and June 2009, the rate of unemployment rose by 1.6 percentage points to a peak of 5.9 per cent, but then fell back to 5.1 per cent over the following year. So we did have a recession, but it was so short and mild the punters didn’t notice it.

And taming recession so successfully brought Labor no thanks at the ballot box.

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