More than most U.S. presidents, Ronald Reagan was a myth–and I mean that in the non-disparaging sense. A story was created around the real man, and it came to represent policies or ideology put into practice. On the economic front, this amounted to limiting government’s growth, at least in many areas (middle-class transfer programs such as Social Security were an exception).

Because the myth was so strong–redirecting American politics for decades–it has now become an obsession of the progressive Left to undo Reaganism as a historical force. In a piece at the new webzine Discourse, published by the Mercatus Center at George Mason University, I examine the recent documentary appearing on the Showtime streaming network, “The Reagans.”

I fault the makers of the show for failing to produce much hard evidence for their sweeping economic indictment of Reagan as having ushered in an era of dramatic inequality in the U.S. (I don’t get into the debate over whether inequality is of itself an adverse condition.) Now, even in a four-hour total program, a video presentation is not going to venture deeply into data analysis, I recognize that. But the numbers are important in understanding whether the shifts occurring in our nation (and world) in this era are fundamentally of a domestic political or global economic nature. I believe they are greatly the latter, although I concede (in fact, mostly celebrate) that policies such as Reagan’s played a part. It is now an easy, and sloppy, bit for polemicists of the Left to ascribe outcomes they don’t like to a symbol from those times–when many of the trends they decry preceded his time in office or have accelerated long after his immediate wake.

I also object to seemingly historical documentaries, on ostensibly neutral platforms, being used for score settling. “The Reagans” has a lot of well-crafted (if adversarial) story telling, but I don’t think the economic installment does enough justice to truth.

Here’s the link to my piece: https://www.discoursemagazine.com/economics/2021/01/27/blaming-the-gipper/

Many words—including some of my own—have been expended lately on the plight of what we used to call daily journalism.  Often they get around to saying the newspapers (and now their websites) have themselves to blame for failing to maintain a connection with their readerships.

These critiques call to mind a missed opportunity of my own from a quarter century ago. I was completing a run as a weekly columnist for the Wall Street Journal, an extraordinary opportunity that, for various reasons, I wasn’t maximizing. (This was the Business World opinion space that subsequently has been occupied, with a distinctive voice, by Holman Jenkins.) It was time to move on but such scribes typically get a valedictory. I couldn’t get that quite right, either.  Soon enough, however, I realized what I should have written instead—and now finally I will.

This is a love note back to the readers who send “letters to the editor.” It applies to all publications, but especially to those who wrote to the Journal. Back then, the mail all came from the post, and it would collect in a desk tray for the wag who ran that department, picking and headlining the few to be published. Over my 12 years at the paper, I’d be in the office at odd hours and would enjoy chances to scour the unused pile. What a wonder!

For my money, the Journal had (and has) the most valuable audience in America. It may not have the most literati, but there’s plenty of erudition and advanced degrees. Beyond that, it comprises the greatest range of business people—corporate, family, professional, enterprises of all nature—of any forum on the planet. These are the “ordinary people doing extraordinary things” that characterize the idealized U.S. economy. (And, yes, letters came in from non-business folks who fit that description as well.)

It was fulfilling to know that a million such souls were spending a part of their days with our words, and in these cases were taking the trouble to respond with some of their own. They cared enough to write, in the good faith that at least one pair of eyes would see. I am sure that now with email (let alone, social media) many, many more are chiming in. But there was something especially powerful and lasting about the paper missives, even when destined ultimately for the wastebasket.

I understood why the limited inches of letters space in the paper were dominated by the high-and-mighty or others who were addressing a mention in our stories, the institutional officers replying on behalf of an aggrieved constituency, or the professorial expert clarifying a point at issue. My private treasure was the shopowner, plumber or dentist–and many a retiree–who had a relevant bit to add. I wish I still had a few in hand to quote.

Getting back to today’s hand-wringing about the future of the press, I’d say that as much as the Google-Facebook advertising disruption has decimated the revenue stream and subscription dollars have become a life-saver for a select group of news entities, a different omen of survival is the feedback. Nowadays, it’s called “engagement.” Silence is a killer. On the other hand, the in-box of personally composed reactions was and is pay dirt, and any publisher should loudly acknowledge that.

I don’t have the potential audience I once did, but let me say thanks just the same.

Another period of singing the virtues of Chinese Communist Party (CCP) direction seems upon us, at least when it comes to steering an economy.  Just as after the Great Recession of 2008-9, China’s rebound from the Coronavirus Covid-19 has led the world. Of course, the official statistics always bear scrutiny, and public debt levels probably lend a false note to stimulus measures. But a 4.9% growth rate in third-quarter GDP looked great.

              A component of China’s recent economic and social gains has been a bolstering of rural areas, until recent decades the essence of national life but lagging since. A November report in the Wall Street Journal fleshed out the emphasis that Xi Jinping’s regime has placed on this effort. He wants to eradicate extreme poverty in the countryside by the 100^th anniversary of the CCP next year. The plan involves creating job opportunities in the hinterlands rather than having peasants flock to major cities.

              Separately, a few Chinese agricultural village projects drew notice from curators of an expansive rural-life exhibit this year at the reopened Guggenheim Museum in New York. The premise of the show, spearheaded by the celebrated Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas, is the reinvention of country life to restore its traditional appeal while addressing civic and environmental imperatives. (It is scheduled to close by Feb. 15, 2021.)

              While noting the checkered history of state- and privately driven back-to-the-farm initiatives over the centuries—including the CCP’s horrid Great Leap Forward under Mao Zedong—the Guggenheim exhibitors draw a mostly hopeful portrait of recent rural experiments on the mainland.

              Working with a study group from the Chinese Academy of Fine Arts, Koolhaus protégé Stephan Petermann takes us through a “Taobao village” that grew out of a bed furniture-making hub, becoming one of the regionally dispersed manufacturing centers of the huge Alibaba online market for buyers and suppliers. The idea is to use modern Chinese commerce to reinvigorate local economies such as this one in Jiangsu Province.  Elsewhere, we see, sleepy backwaters are transformed into enticing cultural tourism draws for China’s urban masses, while at the same time the sprucing up makes the inhabitants’ digs more livable

              In another example, from Shandong Province, an agricultural village is brought to scale with developments such as a greenhouse complexes 30 times the size of Manhattan to produce vegetables for 60 million consumers. The happy farmworkers are bused in from a high-rise district minutes away, where they enjoy the pleasures of urban living without having to leave the countryside. It seems a neat carrot, though if there is much attention paid to the stick, the hokou system by which the CCP has constrained internal migration, I missed it.

The virtues of spontaneous liberty in allocating modern economic resources—including people—are increasingly under attack.  Central planning, including softer variations of what’s called industrial policy, is again thought to have advantages, particularly when addressing society-wide challenges such as inequality and climate. Promising examples can be found—as they have been in the past, at least until human nature began to erode the harmony and enthusiasm of collective efforts.  

              Let’s revisit these Chinese pioneers in 25 years.  And compare the post-pandemic output results of various economies in maybe a year or two.  We won’t know as much about citizens of the democratic West—who aren’t willing to be tracked so closely—but the macro data may still tell a tale.

The economics of wine are complex on many fronts, but today I want to consider just the consumer end of things: Specifically, why aren’t retail wine prices rational? That is to say, at a time when purchaser information can be nearly “perfect” (by smartphone search), why such disparities in what competing shops charge for the same bottle? The price band routinely extends 20%, according to a 2011 study, and that’s more than differences in store overhead such as rent would explain. Beyond that, the cheaper sellers are not always the same merchants or where you’d expect a bargain—the lowest price points can be all over the map.

Let’s take what appears to be a typical situation: a “fine” wine selling for a nominal price of $30 (per the winery) and available for between $20 and $25 retail, before sales tax. That $5 difference persists despite: 1) the unusual wholesale controls, via distributors and importers, that exist in alcoholic beverages; 2) a retail sector that has become more concentrated in most states with the emergence of big-box sellers, but still sports thousands of independent shops; 3) the advancing ease of digital price comparisons before purchase, especially in e-commerce transactions for delivery.

On that last point first, obviously not every wine purchase or wine consumer is conducive to price comparison (although price levels figure hugely in what is bought). The buyer who is looking for one or two bottles for a looming occasion—maybe simply “tonight at home”—will not find shopping around worth it. In fact, such a person may be seeking advice from a favored wine seller, who obviously has no incentive to shave his margin.

So that sets aside maybe 80% of transactions (but a much smaller share of wine sales by total dollars. For the remainder, however, that are being bought in volume (often by the 12-bottle case) or otherwise by someone intrigued by a tasting or description into cellaring a purchase for future enjoyment, it would be frivolous to overpay by much. Eager sellers from around the country (where interstate shipping is legal) or in tight urban areas across town, will frequently get the wine to a buyer’s doorstep with no added fee,

Perhaps the especially low prices—often beyond the 20% band—can be explained by a need to clear out inventory. A store may have especially limited shelf or storage space, and want to encourage turnover. Moreover, even though wine is generally a product that ages well, unlike beer, many varietals do “lose” something after only a few years.  However, the pricing gaps also seem to occur on recent vintages as well.

Wine comes in a vast array of different types and makes—this can be overwhelming to many casual consumers and probably limits the price shopping that goes on. You often have to be precise beyond just the brand and grape (and vintage); it can matter what vineyard or cru.  Maybe the retailer itself gets confused and misprices?  Unlikely in these computerized storekeeping days. (Recently I found an apparent “steal” on a shelf price, only to be foiled at checkout—the bottles had been moved out of place.)

The truth is that wine is not as fragmented a business as those many, many labels let on. Notwithstanding the countless variation in the aisles, ownership is more concentrated. A combine like E&J Gallo or Constellation Brands puts out dozens of brands, some of which they purchased from family founders. They can offer promotions, through their distributors. But these ought to apply to everyone. Wholesale prices on wine are set at the state level, though with some allowances that favor certain vendors. So the initial pricing simply reflects what margin the retailer is aiming for. (Later markdowns can be quirky.)

Karl Storchmann, a New York University professor who edits the Journal of Wine Economics, says stores do track each other, but choose to offer select bargains much as a grocer does. “I don’t have the answer to this,” he says. “Some want to be cut throat at certain wines but not at others.” You’d expect the big-box operators like Total Wine or Costco to undersell the independents, and they usually do, but often there are outliers. And Total, unlike discounters in some product categories, isn’t going to match the best price you find.

I often use the online guide winesearcher.com to compare retail pricing (the pay site gives you a wider sort than the free one). I’ve noticed that some shops appear often among the best. One of them is Saratoga Wine Exchange in New York. I emailed Saratoga about its pricing strategy, explaining my interest, and received no response. (A visit to the physical shop provides no clue as to its secret.)

So for now, the mystery of why quality wine remains such a varied and worthwhile shopping experience is yet unsolved.  An intelligent consumer can only do the research and then do the math before making any particular bottle choice.  Meantime, any reader insights or anecdotes would be welcome in reply.

A postscript: I inquired as well with Empire Wine of Albany, N.Y. (“Ask Adam,” they invite) but this frequent discounter also did not respond.

Taiwan can take heart that rarely in the wake of a U.S. presidential election has its own fate been so quickly prominent in foreign-policy discussion. The past week has seen several major media reports either raising anxieties about Joe Biden’s new approach to cross-strait tensions with China or reassuring the democratic island of unwavering support.

The Biden camp has been sending signals that his backing would be firm, amplifying the president-elect’s own words. With the mercurial Donald Trump, however, it was a series of actions that bolstered the Taiwan ties, beginning with the receipt of President Tsai Ing-wen‘s congratulatory telephone call upon his surprise 2016 victory. Concrete engagements and arms sales followed.

Taiwan’s office in New York, effectively a consulate, is wasting no time in moving to marshal American interests for an enhanced alliance still. It plans a virtual forum for Wednesday to promote a bilateral trade agreement. Some scholars on China believe that such a boost in Taiwan’s position would be among the less provocative steps the U.S. could take, as of course the Taiwanese remain a go-between for increasingly fraught Chinese technology commerce with America (again, fraught thanks to Trump).

The Biden administration looks to pursue a more modulated, or methodical, China policy that includes reunion with international bodies that have heretofore given Taiwan a cold shoulder. Rebuilding Western alliances is thought by the incoming team to be key to shoring up barriers to Chinese aggression, which means focusing Europe’s attention.

Arguing for a basic consistency in U.S. policy on Taiwan is the fact that greater China is a rare zone for bipartisan agreement these days. Democrats in Congress share in a hard-line stance toward the PRC. But political rhetoric can melt away in the heat of a missile barrage or even a lesser confrontation that puts American resources—indeed, lives—on the line.

Not since “Quemoy and Matsu” were a lingering flashpoint in the 1960 election has a new White House begun with the Taiwan-China danger seemingly hanging over it. Assuming nothing untoward happens in the next two months, the burden will be Joe Biden’s to put a lid on possible outbreaks with a resolute, peaceful defense of democracy. If that fails, a different and daunting prospect holds: Whether the man who has called Xi Jinping a “thug” will repel any thuggish advance toward unification would then be tested.

The rapid transformation of the U.S. economy to “remote” during the pandemic—a switchover likely to endure in many respects after vaccinated immunity to Covid-19 is reasonably achieved—is gigantic testimony to the private sector’s adaptability. No official edicts beyond the initial lockdowns were necessary to bring about a relatively efficient changeover.

Start with the physical delivery services that teamed with e-commerce and eats-order platforms to bring off this dramatic expansion of what was in place before March 2020. Then there’ve been the connectivity media (Zoom being the iconic example) and fintech, which has greatly vanquished paper currency. (A coin shortage that oddly developed during the year has been only a minor event because so little is still transacted in cash.) The retail banking and brokerage businesses are now greatly cyber industries.

Personal auto use was, admittedly, a great part of society’s adaptation. “Curbside” pickup sufficed for any number of formerly indoor consumes. Few stores maintain the pull to demand entry for satisfaction. Costco is one (albeit with a website for much of its stuff). Trader Joe’s is the most adamant exception—though even there, a hack is claimed.

If business was quick to react, how did public entities fare? Not so well, in some highly visible cases.

The U.S. Postal Service continues to suffer service disruptions.  Many blame these on the Trump appointee as postmaster general, Louis DeJoy, who took office in June. His changes in overtime and sorting-machinery surely had effects, but recent delivery problems traced at least back to the pandemic’s start in March and continue today, even as some of DeJoy’s edicts have been countermanded.  USPS woes are complex and include financial shifts made years ago, but the struggle to serve its core customers seven months into an era made-to-order for its mission does not bespeak adaptability.

Another significant laggard has been the nation’s urban school systems. They have proven particularly unable to provide mass instruction so vital to economically struggling households. Unionized staff has balked at in-classroom offerings even as online attendance has faltered. Months of delay and confusion have encouraged parents to seize alternatives (starting with informal instructional “pods”) where they can.

The New York City schools exemplify the problem, even while they’ve attempted more classroom work than other big districts.  (The politics of this are that Mayor Bill de Blasio, though a union Democrat, is foremost a champion of “working” families who most need teachers on duty.) A seesaw effort to provide in-person options, plus doubts about the quality of the learning, has depleted enrollment. The Department of Education keeps its numbers close, but all indications are that it has lost thousands of students. Notably, sectarian and other private schools have gained.

Labor patterns are going to need to adjust to sustain the enlarged remote economy overall. Reliable, competent “logistics” operators will be needed. One potential source is the hugely displaced administrative-support employees, no longer being called into America’s office complexes. Job re-placements could be facilitated by local job banks and community colleges.

But the record thus far suggests that the best role for public officials may be to get out of this way. Think of how outdoor dining ramped up once zoning and parking rules were relaxed. People are perpetually ingenious at selling goods and services, come what may, as long as they aren’t otherwise encumbered.

Mass political uprisings continue to ring the globe—Kyrgyzstan, Belarus, Nigeria and Thailand at the moment—and as always a big question is whether the political ferment will culminate in widespread violence.

The situation in Bangkok is probably of most interest to Westerners because of travel familiarity—its airports are the busiest such international hubs in the world. The street protests for democracy have easy appeal, with a twist that they oppose government, military and crown at once. There is historic reason for pessimism that they can peacefully succeed, but great potential payoff if they do, given the surrounding region’s economic clout and anxious autocrats.

Demonstrations in the Ratchaprasong district focus primarily on Prime Minister Prayuth Chan-ocha, a sometimes clownish hard-liner who came to power by coup but doffed his general’s stripes for a manipulated election in 2019. Opponents want him to resign ahead of new, more fair elections. He has, for the moment, backed away from a full crackdown while the largely-compliant legislature grappled with the popular challenge in special session this week.

But Prayuth fronts for larger, historic forces of Thai domination—the military and royalty. The premier’s old comrades in uniform have shown little reluctance to play the heavies over decades of skirmishes with dissidents. Royalty, however, took a more benevolent tone during the long rule of Bhumibol Adulyadej.  Since his death in 2016, though, his son the new king, Maha Vajiralongkorn, has lost the halo of veneration. He spends much of his life in Europe as what the persistently critical Economist magazine calls “a playboy who has churned through four wives.” Now his subjects—or many of them, anyway–want his powers reined in along with his protectors’.

Although Thailand has a core of business-oriented democrats, the main threat to the ruling class in this era has come from populists supported by the rural poor. For a while in the early 2000s, they gained power under Thaksin Shinawatra, himself a wealthy tycoon. He was forced out and went into exile to avoid prosecution; at one point his sister stood in as prime minister but Prayuth’s junta put a stop to that. (She fled the country, too.)

The Thaksin allies are still around, but have been supplanted in opposition by the progressive forces of Thanathorn Juangroongruangkit, a 41-year-old business magnate, and the Ratchaprasong crowds are said to angle for him.  Formally, however, their demands are only for a government makeover and limits on the crown.  Seems that anyone taking the mantle ahead of dissolving  the current regime would just become a marked man. Meantime, there is the prospect of idle discord.

As protests mounted, Prayuth declared and later lifted a state of emergency. Of course, Covid-19 provides any strongman with a ready weapon of suppression. But idealized Thai culture (“land of smiles”) bids for at least the pretext of civility, even as there is little likelihood of political finality. Prayuth made minor concessions as the legislature adjourned–his cabinet will set up a “reconciliation committee”–but is not going anywhere.

The playboy king, meanwhile, has claimed all the huge resources of the Crown Property Bureau, so even as Thailand’s economy founders (remember that travel is a linchpin), he can bide his time through long stretches of repression. But domestic and international business interests might wish for a path to peaceful order, whatever that would be.

When the dust settles from the pandemic blowout of U.S. employment, I’ll be interested to see how many security guards this anxious nation has retained.

Although optical technologies ranging from robots to drones, plus the omnipresent video-cam in the corner, have made the watchman an endangered species in some analysts’ eyes, through 2019 the job category held up well. And the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics has forecast 3% growth for a decade (which is average for the labor force).

Does America need more than a million private hires—beyond all its sworn police–to safeguard persons and property in an era when, at least until 2020, crime has fallen to notably low levels? Even when so many functions can be performed as well or better mechanistically (think artificial intelligence/facial recognition) than we can expect of the “mall cop”?

Maybe the answer shouldn’t be yes, but likely it will be. Here are some reasons why the BLS growth prediction can come true:

• Heightened apprehension in public spaces since 9/11 shows no sign of abating, and the guards who now man the doorways to shield the occupants from terrorists or maniacs will not easily be done without, as was the case not so long ago. This is particularly true in school buildings. Essentially we have added daytime duties—more fully staffed—to what used to be an after-hours crew.
• A large chunk of the gains in this job category accompanied the rise of legal casinos. Even if bank branches shrink in the face of fintech, I doubt that online betting is going to obviate the gambling halls.  Sure, there’ve been temporary Covid-19 layoffs there as at most entertainment venues, but the social impulse will eventually win the day. For now, the intrepid hedonists must be thinned out and temp-tested by somebody.
• Politically-related disturbances in commercial areas seem to be a persistent if sporadic feature of these times. Businesses will find the ready presence of a guard to be a better shield than plywood.
• Although, at a large site, the use of remote devices may allow a manned station to suffice without other guards to “make the rounds,” the technologies will require capable hands on. So maybe you have half as many bodies but they get paid twice as much.
• To the extent that “defund the police” movements succeed, there may be a void to fill in situations where uniformed officers are still used to cordon off areas at peaceful gatherings, such as parades. If someone is going to be planting himself, better it be a guard whose pay and pension in the six figures. (Don’t think it’s possible to privatize? Consider that the District of Columbia has the highest presence of private guards in the country.)
• Finally, there’s simply more wealth to protect, whether out of legitimate worry or paranoia. Cruise any affluent neighborhood (if you’re allowed) and you at least will see a growing number of security-monitor signs out front, if not a roaming detail on the streets.  The 1% are more numerous all the time.

As the U.S. economy gets back on both feet, the payroll for private protection stands only to grow.

“Coupon clippers” is not a description Americans aspire to fit. In the French, they are rentiers, those who live off the regular payments of others. The words have the whiff of an idle, leisure class–parasitical in many eyes.

But what they are (or their forebears were) are savers, a rather more virtuous-seeming lot. Yet even by that name, they no longer smell so sweet. The Federal Reserve in its latest bent toward loose money this past week has all but condemned the financially chaste to meager droppings, by adopting a “framework” that effectively ensures super-low interest rates into the horizon.

The double whammy for savers is that this policy is part of an ongoing effort to boost the inflation rate, which if successful will further erode the yields of those bond coupons (or more likely, money-market funds and CDs). And in perhaps a triple threat, the Fed’s action appears likely to drive a further fall-off in the value of dollar, the store of savings value.

Super-low interest rates–seen by political economists as necessary oxygen for a depressed global economy in the Covid-19 pandemic–have the further effect of promoting borrowing and speculation, the very antithesis of cautious wealth management. Already, most asset prices are near historical highs, making the notion of “diversification” in place of pure savings a non-starter for those with little running room in life. And, even a future of low longer-term rates (often keyed to mortgages) cannot be assured–the fixed-income market was already driving them higher this week.

Not coincidentally, another short-run beneficiary of the Fed’s moves (known technically as financial repression) are the hugely-indebted public borrowers. Governments can try to manage their gaping deficits by getting a free pass on repayment.

It’s politically expedient, even in normal economic times, for a sovereign to want to monetize its debt. What office holder would prefer to cut spending on popular or palliative programs or raise taxes to pay for them? Better to let private financial holdings leak. (A potential political cross-current exists in middle-class retirees, including those on fixed pensions that rely on bond income–but they are still far from being a voting majority.)

So it is now official U.S policy–likely to be widely followed abroad–to punish the prudent and reward the reckless in order to try to help a third group, the struggling. It’s a devil’s bargain, and not likely to work out well in the end for any of the three.