Wednesday, December 22, 2004

More, or Less, Social Security

OK, the moral problem, or question, of privatizing Social Security, seems pretty obvious: Do we really want everyone to be on their own in old age, proudly bearing their latest statements from the “private investment accounts” they started back in 2005? Or do we, the living and the working, want to make sure that the elderly are not indigent, ever, and demand, accordingly, to pay taxes in the present to accomplish this redistributive purpose?

The economics of the issue are murkier. The privatizers cry wolf (“Crisis!”) because they know that’s the only way to detach the majority of Americans from the ancient Christian and the modern socialist criterion of need—that is, from the idea that what we get in the form of income, goods, or love, or God’s forgiveness, is not what we deserve, it is what we need.

The approach of the privatizers is simple and sensible and dishonest: “The people won’t go for this unless we can convince them they have no choice. Unless we tell them apocalypse is impending, they don’t budge.” Sound familiar? Mushroom clouds are gathering, only this time it’s over the Social Security Trust Fund.

Like the neo-cons at DOD after 9/11, like the folks at Club for Growth, and like their allies who follow Grover Norquist in his mad quest to “starve the beast”—to kill the welfare state—these guys were just waiting around for the evidence, such as it is, that they need to validate conclusions they’ve already reached.

But let’s have a look at some of it. Briefly, believe me. The Financial Times of 12/16/04 is pretty interesting here [see also Talking Points Memo of last three days: I wish I could do the link thing]. “It is impossible to argue that the US cannot afford to fund the Social Security gap,” the editorial writers state, “but can afford permanent tax cuts and last year’s Medicare benefit—both of which cost more in present value terms.”

Just so. There is no “crisis,” according to these extremely pro-capitalist writers, because the system as it stands takes in more than it pays out, and will continue to accumulate surpluses until about 2020, when the Fund begins to pay out big time. Still, “it will be 2042 before it runs out, and even then the present level of contributions will cover more than 70 percent of obligations.” Hmm.

So there’s no funding crisis for Social Security until, oh, about 2050. Meanwhile, what’s the matter? Well, meanwhile, nothing. In the long run, however, you need either greater returns on the Trust Fund’s investments or smaller benefits for the retired recipients if you want to keep the system intact, legitimate, and credible.

What is to be done? Privatization is a moral and economic disaster. It announces that our collective responsibility for the generation that precedes us, for those who made our lives possible, is quaint. Turn this around and ask yourself, would you disown the next generation, whether it’s composed of your own kids or those of your neighbors, your friends, your colleagues, or, for Chrissakes, your enemies? Of course not.

And don’t tell me that the market can solve this moral problem because those who have diligently accumulated will have the appropriate apartments and appointments in their dodderhood.

I’ve seen this shit. My grandmother, a crazy Irish immigrant, ran a nursing home that was her own home, and it was as scary, as Hobbesian, a place as I’ve ever been. And I’ve been on a bus with members of the Ku Klux Klan, and I’ve been in fights with bikers, and I’ve heard tenured professors tell me that revolution is the only answer to the problems we face. I was terrified every time.

But nothing is as scary as guiding and touching and smelling old people, sick people, the ones who can’t take care of themselves—at close range, when you have to figure out what to do next, whether to hold them, or get the bucket and hope for the best, or maybe feed them. Or just go to sleep, once you’re done.

Yes, it’s the feel and the smell of death. It’s comforting, and it’s bracing, and it’s necessary. In its absence, all those old people are mere abstractions. Say goodbye.

America's Biggest Problem?

Here is my first contribution to a new blog forum created by The Casual Observer. The deal is that us invited bloghounds write a little ditty about an issue posed by Mr. CO, an ecumenical and intelligent kind of guy. The question was, What is the biggest problem facing America?

The biggest problem facing America right now is work. Put it as two questions. How do we occupy ourselves, and why? What is the proper relation between your effort and your reward, between your work and your income?

It used to be that our occupations defined us. Once upon a time, work was the cauldron in which your character was forged. In some ways, it still is. Who hasn’t been asked “What do you do?” And then watched as expectations took shape on the face, in the eyes, of the stranger who asked the question?

A century ago, there was a similar sense of crisis, or at least frustration, in trying to define the meaning and significance of work. The Populists and the socialists claimed that the paper-pushing mental labor of bankers, lawyers, merchants, and intellectuals—all those prissy “middlemen”—was not productive. In fact they insisted that such labor was parasitic.

By this they meant that the incomes of the bankers, et al., were deducted from the sum of value created by others, by the productive labor of the “toiling millions.” Their assumption was that your consumption of goods was authorized by your production of goods. You weren’t supposed to get more than you contributed to the sum of value, to the stock of real, tangible goods.

Not a bad idea, mind you. It’s what animates some of the more strenuous versions of the labor theory of value—including that purveyed by Marx.

But with the rise of a corporate kind of capitalism, mental labor became central to every enterprise and every sphere of social life. Witness the emergence of higher education as we know it, ca. 1890-1920. Witness the little magazines, the young intellectuals, the government agencies employing sincere young men and the settlement houses employing sincere young women, all in the same moment.

This kind of mental labor looked suspicious from the standpoint of most Americans, not just Populists and socialists (although, if you do the math, these folks were probably the majority of voters in 1894 or 1896). Then as now, people wanted a transparent, tangible, reasonable relation between effort and reward—you were supposed to earn what you received as income.

But how to measure this relation? What exactly do intellectuals and other paper pushers do? Like bankers and lawyers, they clearly don’t produce anything tangible or measurable, or even enjoyable.

The crisis of a century ago was solved by admitting mental labor into the category of work as such, but it took a while. The question, then as now, was How should we think about the relation between effort and reward, between work and income? The question never went away, of course, and it has been answered in interesting ways by recent “reforms” of both welfare and Medicare, under both liberal and conservative presidents, as well as by Social Security and other redistributive programs.

But we are now at a real crossroads. There is no way that private investment can produce enough jobs to employ even the slowing growth of the labor force. Since 1919, we have seen economic growth (larger output of goods and increasing productivity), as a result of declining net private investment and of declining labor inputs to expanded goods production.

Since the 1930s, public policy has acknowledged this very basic fact by attempting to detach the receipt of income from the production of value through work—via the programs I already mentioned, but also by developing the notion of “human capital,” by treating education as the basic industry of the U.S., by trying to come to terms with what is clearly a “post-industrial society.”

But what now is to be done? None of us, left or right, wants to abolish a transparent, tangible, reasonable relation between effort and reward, between work and income. That’s why we tell our children to work hard in school, and why we laugh, or cringe, when someone says Jack Welch earned what he now gets from G.E.

What is to be done is, quite simply, to stop acting as if we can restore the moral universe of the 19th century. We have to understand that our rewards are not, and cannot be, the function of our measurable efforts. I’m not invoking luck here, people, I’m telling you that there’s not enough work to do. And the private sector, the “supply side,” can’t change that. Either we redefine work or we redefine income. How about both?

This is the biggest problem because it is at once an economic, a social, a political, and, most importantly, a moral problem.

P.S. Matthew: MM got this from me, not vice versa: see Pragmatism and Political Economy (1994), Part I