The Commercialisation Of New Zealand


Auckland University Press, 1997. 288pp.

Well-known economist and commentator Brian Easton describes the origins, theory, history and politics of the dramatic change in economic policy in New Zealand from Robert Muldoon’s interventionism to Roger Douglas’s commercialisation and beyond. It is graphically illustrated with case studies including health, education, broadcasting, environment and heritage, government administration, the labour market, cultural policy and science. Lively broad ranging and controversial, this is a valuable commentary on the ‘more-market’ prevalent in New Zealand from the mid 1980s. (Publisher’s blurb)

CONTENTS

Preface

Prologue: A Coiled Spring

The Ideas
1. The Genesis of the Commercialisation Strategy – From ‘Think Big’ to Privatisation.
2. The Economic Theory of Commercialisation
The Efficacy of Markets
Appendix: Applying More-Market to the Environment
Reforms, Risks, and Rogernomics
3. The Abandoning of Equity
4. Commercialisation versus Culture
Appendix: The Broadcasting Reforms

The Politics
5. The Troika and the Blitzkrieg
6. The Treasury: Philosopher Kings for Commercialisation
Appendix: The Treasury View of the Labour Market
7. The Private Sector
Appendix: The Growing Up of the Unions
8. Was there an Alternative?

Case Studies
9. The Health Reforms
Appendix: The Fallacy of the General Manager
10. Central Governmet
The Public Finance Act
Appendix: The Heritage Assets
11. Local Government
Local Government and Globalisation
12. Core Education
13. The Tertiary Education Reforms
Appendix: A Question of Ownership
The Debt Burden of Student Loans
The Sustainability of Student Loans
Capital Cattle
14. Science Policy
Science and Nationbuilding
Crises in the CRIs

Epilogue: Towards an Alternative
Appendix: Studying Policy

Notes
Bibliography
Index

A Coiled Spring

Prologue to “The Commercialisation of New Zealand”
  

Keywords: Political Economy & History;
 Following the introduction of refrigeration in 1881, New Zealand developed as a specialist pastoral exporter of meat, wool, and dairy products, mainly to Britain. Before that, distance from markets had confined the economy to exported quarried resources (especially gold) and wool, tallow, and grain. The freezing technology opened up the possibility of exporting over long distances carcasses and butter and cheese, while Britain’s open market for foodstuffs provided a large and profitable destination.[1]
            Throughout the first half of the twentieth century New Zealand steadily developed high productivity farming based on sheep, providing meat and wool, and dairy cows (with export beef herds developing later). It was a technology which involved sophisticated growing of grass, which was first processed by an animal, which in turn, was processed by the freezing works or dairy factory. In export terms New Zealand was a processed grass monoculture. Its state of dependence was such that in a typical year between 1920 and 1950 over 90 percent of exports were wool, meat or dairy, and over 60 percent of those exports went to Britain.
            Given a favourable climate, but not especially suitable soils, this high technology pastoral export strategy lifted New Zealand to one of the highest standards of living in the world through most of the twentieth century. However it was a third world commodity export strategy. Despite the prosperity it generated the economy suffered from the two standard defects of commodity exporting: price volatility and vulnerability to competition from others.
            These issues were acute in the early 1930s. The response was to evolve mechanisms designed to insulate the economy from price fluctuations. On the export side this largely involved smoothing farm income through allowing producer boards to borrow from the Reserve Bank. On the import side there could be some overseas borrowing to smooth export revenue deficits, but there also evolved a complex, comprehensive, and erratic system of domestic protection to save foreign funds and generate jobs (for pastoral farming is not labour intensive). External protection tended to be via import controls (first imposed in 1938) and tariffs, but it was supported by internal interventions including price controls, licensing requirements, and threat of corrective intervention for recalcitrant firms.
            The theory of effective insulation requires the correct forecasting of the average level of the commodity terms of trade (export prices relative to import prices). In fact the post war world was changing, depressing the average return for pastoral producers. Britain was less willing to permit unlimited imports of foodstuffs, not least because it was beginning to support its own farmers – a carry-over from the increased self sufficiency of the war days. Ominously, Britain was not alone in this increasing of support for farmers. A key element of the European Union was the Common Agriculture Policy which over-produced dairy and meat products, dumping the surpluses into third markets, depressing New Zealand export prices. The United States and other rich Northern Hemisphere producers behaved little better. While wool, an industrial input, was not subject to the same border discrimination, its market was being undermined by the rise of synthetic alternatives. Butter was similarly undermined by margarine. The markets and prices for processed grass were under pressure in the post war era. After a some skirmishes, the great collapse was in late 1966, when the terms of trade fell sharply. Except for a misleading recovery in the 1972-1973 world commodity boom, they have remained depressed relative to the first half of the post-war era.
 

Diversification: 1966-1979:
 Faced by a decline in pastoral profitability the economy diversified out of pastoral farming into other export activities (and into markets other than Britain). The diversification was spectacular. Farming moved into a wide range of horticultural products (most notably kiwifruit) and, to a less extent, goat meat and venison. Land was diversified into forestry, while plantations established in the 1930s began the exporting of sawn wood, chips, pulp, paper, and other wood products. There was a boom in fishing. Electricity was exported in aluminium refined from imported bauxite. Raw iron sands were shipped to Japan. Inbound tourism developed, becoming New Zealand‘s single largest foreign exchange earner.
            There was also manufacturing diversification and exporting, especially with further processing of the resources. Carcasses became boned out, wool was scoured, dairy product exports were extended to variety cheeses (and not just cheddar), casein, dairy based deserts, and even milk based pharmaceuticals. A nice little line developed in the export of dairy equipment and scouring equipment. (Later there were exports of farm advisory services and farm user computer software.)
            Markets were also diversified as the accompanying table shows. By the 1990s, Australia, Japan, the United States and Greater China were all more important than Britain, as was now the rest of the European Union. In total East Asia took more than a third of exports.


 

EXPORT DESTINATIONS FOR NEW ZEALAND
 Percent of Total
 

                                  1952 1965   1994
     Britain                      65.5 50.8    6.0
     Other 1990 European Community     12.0 17.1    9.5
     United States                11.4 12.3   11.3
     Australia                    1.5   4.7   20.9
     Japan                        1.5   4.3   14.6
     Greater China                  .0*   .7    7.7
     Middle East                    .0*   .1    3.9
     Other Asia                   0.9*  1.2   12.8
     Oceania                      0.6*  1.2    4.0
     Latin & Central America      0.9*  1.5    3.8
     Canada                       2.2   1.4    1.8
     Eastern Europe               1.5*  1.0    1.1
     Other                         2.0*  3.7    3.2
     TOTAL                       100.0 100.0  100.0
 Source: New Zealand Official Year Book (various years).
Notes:  * some exports to area groups may be in “other”
 

            These changes were socially demanding in that they involved cultural diversity. Halal killing for Middle East markets had to be instituted into the freezing works; products had to be rewrapped and marketing redesigned for new territories. The home away from home that was Britain no longer dominated export thinking. New Zealand exporting is still commodity based, but today there is a greater diversity of commodities and destinations.
            John Gould shows New Zealand exports were highly concentrated in product and country terms in 1965 compared to those of other OECD countries; they were near average by 1980.[2] The diversification effort was a major one, and that plus the fall of the terms of trade slowed down the rate of economic growth in New Zealand in the 1970s. But the changes had been almost entirely in the exportable sector with little modification to the highly protected and insulated domestic sector up to 1979.
 Reluctant Internal Restructuring: 1979-1984
 

By the late 1970s the New Zealand economy faced six major problems.
            1) While there had been considerable external diversification, the domestic economy was still insulated, and lacked the responsiveness that the external sector required. For examples: [3]
            i) Foreign exchange dealing involved a government licensed cartel of the trading banks, who charged high margins. The diversification generated more exporters who needed more complicated services.
            ii) Domestic regulation of transport forced the use of rail services which were costly and often of inferior quality.
            iii) Import licensing meant that the exporter was not always able to obtain the most competitive inputs of raw materials and services.
            2) An increasingly sophisticated population, especially the well travelled rising urban middle class, were not always able to obtain the consumer goods and services they desired. For instance
            i) Price controls on bread were discouraging the establishment of specialty varieties and specialty bread shops, which appeared when they were removed in 1979.
            ii) Shopping, drinking, and dining facilities were often restricted to inconvenient hours for the customer.
            iii) Import controls restricted entry for desired products.
            3) New Zealand faced a complicated energy problem. While traditionally self sufficient in electricity and coal, New Zealand had imported transport fuels. In the late 1960s the Maui gas field was found, then the fourth biggest in the world, by size far outstripping the standard industrial uses for gas in New Zealand. Adding to this excess energy supply was a growing excess of hydro power in the South Island. Meanwhile world oil prices rose in the 1970s (and fell in the mid 1980s).
            4) New Zealand was in a strong inflationary mode (compared to other OECD countries). Typically the annual inflation rate exceeded 10 percent throughout the 1970s.
            5) There was a severe fiscal deficit, that is the New Zealand government was spending much more than its revenue. The deficit was hidden by inflation because while the government debt grew in nominal terms, the value of the old debt was reduced in real terms. At the same time the deficit contributed to inflation by its monetary injection, and increased pressure on resources. In a further complication which is typical of the times, interest rate controls were used to keep down the cost of government debt, but they distorted investment decisions. When the wage freeze was introduced, there were income tax reductions to make the controls more palatable, adding to the deficit.
            The economy was riddled with interventions introduced to moderate unfortunate by-products of an earlier interventions. In turn they required further interventions to deal with their side effects. No one understood, or could understand, the total impact of all the interventions so numerous complicated and interactive were they. But there was an increasing view that they were bad, especially for key growth sectors.
            6) The system of government suffered from a “sclerosis”, in that it was increasingly hard to be able tackle anything but the most urgent problems. Its structures and processes had evolved to the point where their was little rationality in them, and yet they were unable to rationalize. Examples appear in later chapters of this study, so only one need be given here. In 1982 the extraordinary variety of legal statuses of the various State Owned Enterprises could only be explained by historical experience. [4] Yet attempts to create a more coherent system were stalled.
            This could be explained by the personality of Prime Minister Robert Muldoon, who had been radical in the late 1970s when first appointed to the finance portfolio but, as so happens with such politicians, was now reluctant to countenance further change. However there is a more general explanation. Mancur Olson, in his The Rise and Decline of Nations, argued that a society which enjoyed political stability, generated powerful special interest groups who reduced the flexibility of administrative and political response to new circumstances and shocks.[5]  Although the study did not become a significant part of the New Zealand debate until some years after the reforms began, it could have been a bible for the reformers. The extraordinary political stability of the post-war era, dominated in 29 out of the 35 years to 1984 by one party, National, and where in truth there was much policy agreement by the other, Labour, meant that the pressure groups seemed to have a headlock on political and administrative innovation, a sclerosis which was all the more evident given the dramatic changes to the external sector, and their pressing on the domestic sector.
 The first two problems were tackled in the 1979 budget which introduced a program of reducing external protection, and subsequently with a phasing out of some domestic interventions. Although there was market liberalisation going back to the 1950s, there was a marked quickening up to 1982, and some continuation beyond.
            The energy problem was tackled by a program known colloquially as `Think Big’, in which large energy intensive manufacturing uses were encouraged, and gas was reticulated throughout the North Island. Think Big was controversial, although the major public debate hardly covered what, with hindsight, was the major issue. While there was some recognition that there was a downside risk to the strategy if oil prices fell, little attention was given to who would bear that risk. Prices fell well below expectations. In every case the arrangements with the private investor were such that when there was a downside outcome the loss was borne by the general public (usually the taxpayer, but sometimes the motorist). It was a good example of a situation where intervention was so complicated, no-one knew what the effects would be if something went wrong. So the Think Big strategy heightened the fundamental tension in economic policy. Pressures from consumers and the diversifying export sector were for market liberalisation, while the energy based program was highly interventionist.
            These tensions were further heightened when in June 1982 the Muldoon government imposed a price and wage freeze of draconian intensity in terms of scope (almost total) and length (almost two years). A one seat majority meant the government had to be seen to be doing something about inflation (and quickly, given the possibility of a by-election). The conflict with market liberalisation, in which prices are meant to be flexible, is obvious enough, and the above story of the unintended consequences of price controls on bread choice indicates the complex outcomes of the controls. Even more complicated was the way out of the controls: how was wage and price explosion to be prevented when they ended?
            Admittedly the government continued to liberalise slowly, especially when that would put downward pressure on prices: foreign exchange dealing was opened up to all reputable comers, restrictions on inland freight transport favouring rail were dropped, while Closer Economic Relations (CER) promoted free trade with Australia. Nevertheless those in the external sector found themselves under an increasing tension of all sorts of restrictions in their domestic markets, while they sold in much more open overseas markets. Such export subsidies manufacturers and farmers received were being threatened by countervailing measures in the exporters’ markets. The government, led by the increasingly unpopular Robert Muldoon, gave the impression it was at best reluctant to liberalize, and eager to intervene. Consumer choice remained restricted.
 

Coda
 Rex Fairburn’s poem `Conversation in the Bush’, goes
 

            `Observe the young and tender fronds
            `of this punga: shaped and curved
            `like the scroll of a fiddle: fit instrument
            `to play archaic tunes.’
                                                   `I see
            `the shape of a coiled spring.’
 Many saw the New Zealand which elected a Labour government in July 1984 as a green and pleasant land. Events proved it was more a coiled spring.
 

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 Endnotes
 

1. This prologue is elaborated in Easton, In Stormy Seas (1997).
2. Gould (1985).
3. The examples come from Bollard & Easton (1985).
4. Johnstone & von Tunzelman (1982).
5. Olson (1982).
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The Abandoning Of Equity

Chapter 3 of ‘The Commercialisation of New Zealand
 

Keywords: Distributional Economics;
 

Between 1984 and 1991 the public policy objective of equity, in any of its meanings of the 1970s, was increasingly abandoned. There was no single moment when this occurred, as happened with employment policy when the Labour government downgraded the priority of full employment in its 1987 Election Manifesto. Rather a series of incremental decisions were made, each of which reduced the priority of the equity objective until eventually it was possible to introduce policies almost obliviously of their impact on the deprived.
 

There was no coherent and cogent account of the nation’s concept equity in the 1970s. Here we look at three themes – the platitudes of such agencies as the New Zealand Planning Council (NZPC), the 1972 Royal Commission on Social Security (RCSS) and the theme of poverty, and the Muldoon practice of `pareto incrementalism’. These three Ps – platitude, poverty, and pareto – all played a role in the events after 1984.
 

Platitudes
 

There were various attempts in the decade prior to 1984 to construct some sort of consensus in social policy. It amounted to little more than waffle. For example the NZPC document Issues in Social Equity says
 

“For the purposes of this study, equity has been defined as social justice, or `getting a fair go’. Attitudes towards fairness depend on the individual point of view, but the sum of individual feelings influences the degree of confidence which society has in itself and its institutions. Thus, in the interests of enhancing the cohesion and well-being of society, governments should be aware of and monitor feelings about equity.
            “It is necessary to make a distinction between equity and equality; they are associated but different. An over-emphasis on equality would ignore essential differences between people. Equity is therefore a more justifiable, and more feasible, goal for society.”[1]
 

This is quoted at length, partly because there is an interesting echo later, but also to emphasize the primitive level of the analysis. The introduction by the NZPC chairman shrewdly describes the report as a `grievance list’, and remarks that there was a `widespread lack of consensus among New Zealanders on what represents fairness in our relations with one another.’ Indeed the report gives the impression that New Zealanders – or more precisely those involved in the project – had no coherent notion of equity, or its principles and issues, but had numerous complaints about the state of society, which could be summarized in the childish, `it isn’t fair’.
Poverty
 

There was a second strand in the 1970s, which the Planning Council and government agencies in general tended to ignore, or at best to make passing reference to. It arose out of the deliberations of the 1972 Royal Commission on Social Security, which codified the existing social security system, offering a set of underlying principles, and provided a platform for future development. A notion the Royal Commission proposed was that:
 

The aims of the system should be
(i) First to enable everyone to sustain life and health;
(ii) Second, to ensure, within limitations which may be imposed by physical or other disabilities, that everyone is able to enjoy a standard of living much like that of the rest of the community, and thus is able to feel a sense of participation in and belonging to the community.
(iii) Third, where income maintenance alone is insufficient (for example, for a physically disabled person), to improve by other means, as far as possible, the quality of life available.”[2]
 

The original set of principles referred to social security system, but they became adopted in the wider context of the community as a whole. It is then not a big step to say that where the objectives of the system were not met the society was failing, and could be said to be inequitable.
 

The subsequent analysis evolved mainly around poverty, where it was argued that a household was `poor’ which had insufficient income and resources, so that they were unable to participate in and belong to their community. But there is a wider interpretation – someone may have sufficient income, but still not be able to adequately participate in their community: someone of homosexual inclination before the law reform; or a person with mobility limitations may not have adequate access to buildings important in their community’s life. Moreover the RCSS does not offer a complete account of equity, because it wrote little about the distribution of income above the poverty line, or the distributional principles behind the funding of support for the poor. Nevertheless while it is difficult to operationalize the notion of participation and belonging, this notion is not as platitudinous (or vague) as that the NZPC was pursuing.
 

Pareto Incrementalism
 

We do not know to what extent the platitudes of the NZPC report, or some other equally vague concept of fairness, were important in Robert Muldoon’s thinking as minister of finance and prime minister. We do know that he was influenced by the poverty research in the family policy element of his income tax changes.[3] Equity considerations affected his policy making in other ways.
 

When officials proposed a policy, Muldoon would often ask who would be made worse off by it. The officials would then be told to see whether anything could be done to prevent or ameliorate these deleterious effects. Implicit in this approach is a vision which sees the current system as fair (or equitable), and a change which makes anyone worse off is unfair or inequitable. This might be called this `pareto incrementalism’. Vilfredo Pareto was the Italian social scientist who is associated with the criteria that a change improves welfare if someone is better off, and nobody is worse off. Pareto incrementalism is the strategy that a policy initiative should not make anyone worse off.
 

It is nigh on impossible to run an economic policy on such a principle. It was one of the sources of sclerosis. However Muldoon’s high inflating economy had fiscal creep, where incomes move into higher tax brackets, and so average taxes tended to rise. The additional revenue this generated (relative to the rise in inflation) gave the means by which the pareto incrementalism could be pursued. Sometimes in desperation, Muldoon would actively damage the interests of a group, preferably one which was politically weak, not a supporter of his government, or which the majority of the public might think were justifiably made worse off. But generally he avoided such measures.
 

Was Muldoon inherently a pareto incrementalist? He certainly liked to give the impression that he was more decisive, and willing to make enemies. But for two of his three terms, he headed a National government elected with fewer votes than the Labour opposition, and with a narrow majority in parliament. Alienating potential supporters was something he could ill afford. Moreover for much of his term in office, the real economy was growing slowly and was difficult to manage. The Muldoon we see was a child of his times.
 

From 1984 to 1990
 

The July 1984 election introduced a new style of government, which approached the equity issues in quite different ways, which may still be summarized under the previous three headings.
 

Platitudes
 

In 1986 the Labour Government established the Royal Commission on Social Policy (RCSP), reporting in April 1988. (Chapter 8) The RCSP offered no codification of existing practice, no grand vision of what that code meant, and no foundation on which to build. It carried out widespread consultation. The 6000 plus submissions were summarized as `Voice, Choice, and Safe Prospect’.
 

Voice People want to name the world, to be heard and understood, to have someone who would listen, to have their say in matters which affected them directly, to have their say in policy …
Choice People wanted to be in a position to choose freely from amongst alternatives, to have alternatives available, to value diversity, not to have majority views imposed willy-nilly …
Safe Prospect … guardianship of the people resource; guardianship of the physical resource; guardianship of the nation.[4]
 

Note how the voice and choice objectives in particular are written about what individuals want from society, not what sort of society they want. There is some distance between these submissions and the RCSS objective of `participate in and belong to a community’. Had the objective been abandoned in the sixteen years between the two commissions?
 

The authors say their method was to `let the people speak’, but did their report reflect accurately people’s concerns? By its actions and choices, such as the contents of the series of booklets it put out to stimulate discussion, the RCSP would tend to focus the public responses in particular ways. For instance, the coded responses to submissions do not include `equity’, nor do they include `poverty’ or `social deprivation’, nor any other expression which might include these notions (e.g. `fairness’).[5] The lowest single reported term is `entitlements’ mentioned in 17 of the submissions. It seems most unlikely that less than 17 submissions mentioned poverty.
 

The contents of the RCSP’s own report also suggest a deliberate avoidance, In the 4004 pages just 2 address poverty. In over 1.5 million words, the term `poverty’ was used 157 times and `poor’ 342 times (including occasions when the use was not related to social deprivation). By contrast `Maori’ was used 6278 times, and `woman’ or `women’ were used 2313 times. What is especially extraordinary is that concerns about poverty and social deprivation had been central in the history of the development of social policy, the subject of enquiry. By turning its back on poverty, the RCSP cut off itself from any intellectual roots. Instead it continued the tradition of NZPC platitudes. Not surprisingly the RCSP had little influence on the subsequent debate (as over the 1990/1991 spending cuts). In contrast the RCSS is still quoted to this day.
 

Poverty
 

The study of poverty was quieter in the 1980s than in the 1970s. In the earlier period there was a great flowering of research, but there were few new innovations after 1984. The technical reason for the failure of the new research developments was that they were more expensive and the public resources were not available for original and innovative research. Such work that was done was repeating the work of the 1970s and updating it.
 

There was a second important reason for the lack of focus on poverty. Despite the tendency to assume that deprivation and inequality are always increasing, the evidence is that for much of the 1980s it was not. Apparently the Labour government, perhaps through some primal instinct, was still looking after some of its own supporters. For instance the real benefit level was maintained through to March 1989 – perhaps even rising a little.[6] It was cut in 1989 and 1990 (in a period when real market incomes were falling), but even then not markedly below the level it had been set at in 1975. Again, while the Labour Relations Act (1987) was meant to reform unions and industrial relations it was not meant to undermine the protections the workers had in the past. Meanwhile the more comprehensive family support benefit (introduced as the family care benefit in 1984) lifted the incomes of some poor families.
 

It is true that average real incomes were falling through much of Labour’s administration, and unemployment rising, which made distributional policy difficult (since government revenue was not as great as if production and employment had been rising). Overall there was a mild increase in poverty proportions over the 1980s. If in 1981/2 11.6 percent of the population were below the RCSS based Benefit Datum Line (BDL), by 1989/90 it was only 12.9 percent.[7] This was not anywhere that numbers that pessimists expected, and while there was anecdote to demonstrate there were poor people, the numbers were not rising rapidly.
 

Pareto
 

Pareto incrementalism, the rule that there should be no change other than one in which everybody was better off, made the Muldoon regime sclerotic. But consider removing all the interventions at once. Then everyone will be worse off from the loss of the few interventions that benefitted them, and better off from the removal of all the remainder. Suppose everybody (or almost everybody) is better off as a result, or that there is sufficient improvement in welfare so that those (or most of those) who are worse off can be compensated. The analysis can be further refined by arguing that the main beneficiaries of many of the interventions were not entitled to the gain, and so theirs could be abolished without an injustice. The example most frequently cited was holders of import licences who took a toll on every import for which a licence was used, although they did nothing other than possess the licence. The Labour government talked about the sweeping away such `privilege’.
 

Practically, it is not possible to do everything at once, but there evolved the `blitzkrieg’ approach, described in Chapter 5, where the new policies were imposed quickly – a far cry from Muldoon’s incrementalism. But how can we be sure that the conditions for the underlying overall improvement in public welfare apply?
 

Recall the economic theory which says that under certain assumptions an economy which has no interventions in the market will have a higher GDP than one in which there are interventions. (Chapter 2) More strictly, it demonstrates that under these assumptions, an unintervened market economy is pareto efficient (the situation where it is only possible to make one person better off by making another person worse off), while one where there is interventions is not. By removing all the interventions the resulting economy will be better off, in that those who are better off can compensate those who are worse off.
 

What was assumed then, was that removal of the interventions would generate economic growth, which would generate jobs (so the unemployed and redeployed would be better off), and additional fiscal revenue which could be used to give tax cuts to low income people and raise benefits. Unfortunately economic growth did not happen. While the rest of the world grew in the late 1980s, the New Zealand economy stagnated. (Chapter 8) Thus there was nothing to compensate those who unjustly suffered from the change. So the reforms pressed on with a slightly, and easier to understand, analysis. They were it, was said, to seek `efficiency’.
 

Now the term `efficiency’ is not a simple one in economics, involving a variety of notions not all of which are mutually compatible. The easiest to understand is production efficiency (sometimes called `technical efficiency’), which means that no resources are being wasted in the production process. A factory which had unutilized buildings or plant would be inefficient in that it can make the same output without having to use those resources. For an economy to be pareto efficient it has to be production efficient. Otherwise the under-utilised (and mis-utilised) resources could be deployed elsewhere, with the extra production making some people better off. On the other hand production efficiency may not mean necessarily pareto efficiency. Suppose a factory made only left-footed shoes, albeit efficiently. Switch it to half its time making right-footed shoes, and everyone with right feet would be better off.
 

However there is a third form of `efficiency’, which reduces to an increase in real GDP, or potential real GDP, irrespective of the distributional consequences. This notion of uncompensated efficiency comes from the economist Nicholas Kaldor, and relies on there being a potential pareto efficiency, that is those who are worse off from the greater GDP, could be compensated out of the gain. But it does not require the compensation to happen, as the following example illustrates. Suppose a tax reduction gave the richest man in the country an extra $1,000,001, while was funded by taking a $1 off each of a million poor, the remaining dollar coming from the savings in the tax department from having to collect less revenue. That would be an increase in real GDP by $1, and hence an increase in uncompensated efficiency, even though there was a deterioration in equity. Thus this focus on uncompensated efficiency suppresses equity considerations altogether. This focus increasingly underpinned policy, although the notion was rarely expounded, so that the public was confused in its mind with the two previous notions.
 

The trick is that once the mind is locked on to uncompensated efficiency, underpinned by a theory that a commercialist strategy generates the highest level of uncompensated efficiency, then any justification for intervention for reasons of equity may be ignored, since it was argued they would reduce uncompensated efficiency. The obscuration was furthered by shifting from judging policies by their `outcome’ (in distributional terms who were better and worse off) and instead arguing the case for `process’ – especially commercial processes after 1984. Thus more-market economic mechanisms were deemed right per se, irrespective of their outcomes – an advantageous position for the reformers since they did not have to look at the – often disastrous – consequences of their policies. As a result the Rogernomics debate became a curious non-dialogue with one side saying `we put the right policies in place’, and the other saying `look at the consequences’.
 

The 1988 Tax Reform
 

This is illustrated by the flat-tax proposal in the December 1987 package, and the subsequent tax reform. The advocates said low tax rates on rich people were good things, irrespective of the distributional consequences. In fact the flat-tax proposal – that there would be a uniform rate of income tax on all incomes – was abandoned in part because there were going to be large numbers of low income people who would be worse off. The subsequent tax reform, after the flat-tax proposal got dumped by Prime Minister Lange, reduced income tax levels substantially for those on high incomes – from 48 percent at the top to 33 percent. The result was a substantial increase in the incomes of those on high incomes. Typically those in the top tenth of income recipients were about 25 percent better off.[8] Their good fortune was offset by the reductions in the share of the bottom four-fifths, as various tax concessions (proportionally more valuable to the poor), were withdrawn.
 

However the withdrawn tax concessions were insufficient to fund all the reductions. The fiscal trick had been that the concessions had been withdrawn over the whole of the 1988/9 year, but the income tax cuts applied for only half of it. This left a long term fiscal deficit, only partly covered by the GST hike from 10 to 12.5 percent in the subsequent year, and the small real benefit cuts from changing from twice yearly to once yearly indexation. Other short term measures such as the sale of public assets hid the deficit temporarily. Labour left office in 1990 with an underlying structural budget deficit.
 

The 1990 and 1991 package
 

After the election the new National Government was confronted by a budget deficit (which they exaggerated by adding in any new policies promised by Labour). Given that it wanted to address this deficit the government had two options: to revoke some of the tax cuts or to cut government spending. National chose the second.
 

Almost all social security benefits for adults were cut, usually to well below the RCSS poverty line. Entitlement conditions were also cut. Not unexpectedly, the benefit cuts caused widespread distress among those who depended upon them, a distress which was compounded by the sharp rise in unemployment which occurred at the time. The proportion below the poverty line rose from 12.9 percent in 1989/90 to 16.3 percent in 1992/93, an increase of over a quarter.[9] The distress was so great that there was a concerted outcry by from the general public, led by the churches and community welfare organizations, and backed by survey and anecdotal evidence.
 

Such was the public outcry, and the visible evidence of hardship, that there was a perceptible change in government policies. In line with public surveys, the government announced it would pay more attention to increased funding (especially of education and health) rather than cutting taxes. Surreptitiously it eased the stringent tests on entitlements, adding special needs grants. The National Government was not able to resurrect the central role of `belonging to and participating in’, and instead introduced the objective of `social cohesion’. Recall the Issues in Social Equity’s `in the interests of enhancing the cohesion and well-being of society, governments should be aware of and monitor feelings about equity’. However, whatever its goal, the government appeared to have little idea as to how to implement it.
 

Thus there has been a substantial downgrading, if not abandoning, of equity considerations in public policy, nicely illustrated in the appendix to chapter 5, where Treasury advises on the labour market, and does not discuss its distributional and social welfare roles, nor any adverse effects on the poor by the measures it was advocating. The consequences of its policies were deemed irrelevant.

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Endnotes
1. Koopman-Boyden (1983:3).
2.  RCSS (1972:65), original’s italics.
3. Easton, Pragmatism and Progress (1980)
4. RCSP (1988:II:453-454). Omitted from the quotation are the Maori terms for the concepts.
5.  RCSP (1988I:214-5).
6.  Easton “Distribution” (1996).
7.  Easton, `Poverty in New Zealand: 1981-1993′, (1995).
8.  Measured by equivalent disposable income.
9. Easton (1995)

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The Troika and the Blitzkrieg

Chapter 5 of The Commercialisation of New Zealand

Keywords: Political Economy & History;

In principle the Minister of Finance is just another cabinet minister, but in practice he or she can be as powerful as the Prime Minister. That power comes from the importance of economic and financial issues in the politics of the country, where no other portfolio is comparable, together with the size and the scope (and the competence) of Treasury, which services the minister. While the Prime Minister has the constitutional power, including that of appointing and dismissing a Minister of Finance, in most policy matters the latter has more effect. A rough measure can be seen from the size of the respective offices which service the two positions. In 1995/6, the central activities of the office of the prime minister and cabinet were voted $4m, while Treasury was voted $59m for its advice role. The imbalance was even greater in earlier years, before the advisory arm of the prime minister’s office was built up.

This feature of New Zealand politics was obscured in the 1975 to 1984 period when the prime minister, Robert Muldoon, also held the finance portfolio. Even so there was the acknowledgement when it was said that he was too powerful as a result, and that the premier should never be minister of finance. The practical equality of the premiership and finance portfolios is moderated by the personalities of the ministers involved. The period of 1984 to 1988 was characterized by a weak prime minster and an exceptionally strong finance team.

Lange and the Ministers of Finance

David Lange’s greatest strength was his handling of the government’s relations with the New Zealand public, where he had no peer. He was also an able crisis manager, perhaps with the flaw of precipitating unnecessary crises. However his internal management of the government was much less successful, most evidently when he was in conflict with the ministers of finance.

On the other hand over most of the period of Lange’s premiership there were three ministers of finance, each an effective politician. The finance team of 1984 – sometimes called the `Troika’ – was a unique innovation. In the past there had been a junior minister assistant to the minister of finance. This was partly to share an increasingly onerous workload, together with the practicalities of the office. The appointment of a second minister became standard with Robert Muldoon. On occasions he even had two associate ministers, but they were junior in ranking, and very much under his direction.

Instead Lange appointed three extremely able politicians, Roger Douglas, Richard Prebble, and David Caygill, ranked 4th, 5th, and 7th in cabinet, and who in addition held major portfolios of Transport and Trade and Industry. The three ministers (with the parliamentary under-secretary for finance, Trevor de Cleene), had offices on the same floor of the Beehive which increased their degree of integration. There was both an institutional and physical integration of the three ministers.

In contrast the prime minister was isolated at the top of the Beehive without any really close associate. Neither Lange, nor Deputy (and later) Prime Minister, Geoffrey Palmer had any competence in economics. (Indeed, that they and two of the Troika – Caygill and Prebble – were lawyers, seemed to give them a stance of representing their client’s views – in this case Treasury’s – rather than having independent views of their own.)

The economic direction had started out badly, with little agreement in the direction of economic policy in opposition. The 1984 manifesto papered over the differences, relying on what became a characteristic feature of the Labour government, of language that was so vague it often had two meanings. Once it was agreed to, the commercialisers, who in government had the power of implementation, interpreted the text in their way, or if necessary ignored the agreed text when they could not.

Initially Lange also was part of their team too, supporting the Troika’s policies. The policy process went like this. The Troika would come to some policy conclusion based on Treasury advice, persuade Lange and Palmer of its correctness. The tight five would then take a proposal to a cabinet committee.[1] The recommendations would then go to cabinet, and then on to caucus. At each step in this decision tier, there was already a majority in agreement. This most obviously applied at the caucus level. The 1984 cabinet plus the six undersecretaries amounted to 26 (of the caucus total of 55) who usually supported the cabinet decision under the principle of collective responsibility. Allowing for a few other functionaries (whips, chairperson of committees, caucus secretary), and few loyalists, the cabinet (which might have been split when it made its decision) had a natural majority in the caucus. (Often the caucus would not even be consulted, because the cabinet knew it could rely on retrospective acquiesence.) The same process of majoritarian loyalism gave the government majority in parliament. Thus the Troika, obtaining the support of Lange and Palmer and a few loyalists in cabinet, could impose their policies on a house of 90 plus MPs, and so the country. This was a formidable degree of leverage by a few politicians over the entire country.

Adding to the effectiveness of the Troika was there was usually no coherent alternative economic policy. While Treasury marked (in the sporting sense, and sometimes in the academic sense too) virtually every other department to some extent (formally because they had to approve its expenditure), there were major areas of economic policy where the only expertise within the government was within Treasury. Yet when Treasury clashed with another government department on the latter’s patch it could rarely win, because there was now within cabinet a minister who was as well briefed as the Troika. (Chapter 8)

The Troika

Thus the ministerial structure that Lange chose gave considerable power to the Troika. It could be said to be more dispersed than under Muldoon when so much power was held by one man, but given the compliance of the prime minister with a large parliamentary majority who were also unable to resist policies that they doubted, given the unity of purpose of the three, given the consistency of that purpose with that of the most powerful economic department in the land (whereas Muldoon had been in conflict with his advisers), one could argue the Troika was more powerful than Muldoon.

The broad direction of the Troika’s policies was that there should be greater use of the market in the regulation of the economy, and an economy which was more open to the outside world. To what extent they were initially committed to full commercialization of the economy is less clear. It seems likely that the ministers started down the more-market road, and found it leading to the advisers’ commercialization strategy they had not foreseen.

Roger Douglas had been highly interventionist as a minister in the Third Labour Government from 1972 to 1975. His 1981 There’s Got to be a Better Way is a confused document. For every sentence that can be read as a precursor of Rogernomics, there is another which shows him still a keen interventionist. His scheme for carpet factories across the country made him one of the greatest of think-biggers, although mercifully it was launched while he was in opposition. It is not until 1983 that he seems to be more directly moving towards the economic policies which today we call Rogernomics, under the tutelage of a Treasury official attached to the Labour opposition.[2] When he came to office in 1984 he supported an uncontrolled float of the dollar, but he favoured a retail sales tax and had to be persuaded by Treasury into a GST.

His 1987 autobiography, Towards Prosperity, suggests Douglas’s main characteristics is that he is an activist, liking to do things. but was rather casual about what exactly they were. In a different economic regime, as occurred in 1972 to 1975, he was happy to be an active interventionist. Douglas was trained an accountant with little economics. His writing has consistently shown a lack of interest in the welfare state. Instead there is a belief that giving people cash income will resolve such issues as the distribution of health and education. Thus his support for a minimum guaranteed income, and the policies in his Unfinished Business are a continuation of what appears to be a long held belief.

Richard Prebble was the most ideologically right wing of the three on economic policy. Treasury officials quickly identified him as the economic dry and `monetarist’ in macroeconomic policy: today he is leader of ACT, the most right wing of the parliamentary parties.[3] Yet in opposition he had campaigned for a public (and intervened) transport sector. One guesses that trained as a lawyer Prebble has little knowledge of the economist’s market theory and its underlying notion of the role of efficiency that drove the reforms. Rather, he is inclined to grab simple economic ideas – bumper slogans he called them – often based on anecdotes, which he waved about with a ferocious intensity. Prebble was the most political animal of the three, a determined negotiator, a good political tactician, a superb grasp of parliamentary procedure, and a first class bovver boy. Muldoon loathed Prebble – it was like looking in his mirror.

David Caygill was the most unassuming of the three, but was as crucial to the Troika’s success, not least because of his reasonableness. When he became Minister of Finance, after Douglas in 1989, the tone of Treasury changed. Caygill was willing to look for compromises. When the funding for the cervical smear campaign was raised he asked Treasury officials to look around for a source within the budget. When the green element in the caucus wanted something done about lead free petrol, he put a differential in the petrol tax. Unlike the other two, Caygill majored in economics (and political science), although he then went onto a law degree. The course imbued him with a neoclassical market oriented microeconomics, and was more monetarist than keynesian. (He was the minister responsible for the Reserve Bank Act). He had a distaste for political lobbying of the self-seeking kind. Whereas his predecessors in the Trade and Industry portfolio, had their ministerial anteroom filled with those who wanted some handout, Caygill’s soon became empty because he refused to offer lobbyists any special concessions, other than to ease the transition to the government’s ultimate goal. Caygill was a superb negotiator. Douglas couldn’t, and Prebble wouldn’t, but Caygill would compromise on detail, providing the fundamental principles of the policy were not endangered.

This is well illustrated in his border policy, which is unique because it is the one substantial part of what we call Rogernomics which was signalled – in detail – in the 1984 Labour Party manifesto. It was a remarkable feat that a party which had been protectionist for over half a century should have promised in its 1984 manifesto substantial reductions in protection. Not that all the caucus agreed with the policy (and it was in part to be offset by the promise of a major investment fund). But in a cobbled together policy which was designed to hide the deep differences within the opposition caucus between the Douglasites and the interventionists, the border protection policy was a rare exception indicating that Caygill had persuaded enough of his colleagues to make it acceptable.

When they took office the key economics portfolios were given to Douglasites, and out of that grew Rogernomics. However it is noteworthy that there was a general acceptance of a less intervened economy among a much wider spectrum than the Troika and their acolytes. Minister of Labour, Stan Rogers, who was only a Rogernome in the wildest of rhetoric, became `Sideline Stan’ as he resolutely refused to get involved in industrial disputes, arguing that good industrial relations had been compromised by Muldoon’s willingness to intervene early and to intervene often, so that the disputants never had reason to settle between themselves, since they knew that ministerial intervention would be the ultimate resolution, perhaps with some government subsidy or concession thrown in as a sweetener.

After the 1987 election Lange tried to break up the Troika. Douglas would not give up the finance portfolio, but he was given Michael Cullen, who at that time was considered an anti-Rogernome, as an associate Minister of Finance. (Cullen was also given the social welfare portfolio). Prebble was also taken out of the associate finance portfolio, and given a group of portfolios which amounted to minister of the just corporatized state owned trading enterprises. However the portfolios were subject to Treasury advice, so in effect Prebble remained a Treasury minister (and the Troika remained on floor six of the Beehive).

Caygill also lost associate finance, retained trade and industry, and was given the ministry of health. It was a portfolio he handled with exceptional acumen by announcing he knew nothing about the area and would take a year to master it, so nothing would be done in the period. While little was publicly done loudly, there much was in preparation and announced quietly. Caygill’s successor Helen Clark got the kudos. Caygill seems to have diverged quite markedly from the other two in the Troika, in that he made no attempt to commercialize the health area. It would appear that Caygill (like Lange) believed that it was possible to make the business sector more-market, while maintaining a public social service sector. Douglas and Prebble vehemently disagree.

At some stage he began to have private doubts about the drift of economic policy. Some of his closest advisers were expressing such doubts by mid 1985. But having decided he did not like the direction the commercialisers were going, Lange failed to evolve a either a coalition of supporters within cabinet or within caucus or one in the country. There was a `kitchen cabinet’, but it seems to have nobody of the technical competence to challenge the Troika. Lange built up his prime ministerial office, but the advisers dealt mainly with fires, and there does not seem to have been a long term strategy element in it. The Royal Commission on Social Policy was established but proved ineffective. (Chapter 8) There was a Cabinet Committee on Social Equity, as an ineffectual attempt to resist the push for efficiency, which too often papered over the differences, in the tradition of the 1984 manifesto, rather than resolving them. A set of advisory committees established on social policy established in December 1987, not only cut across the Royal Commission, but in some cases was captured by commercialisers.

Lange used his power of patronage poorly. The Labour government had said that unlike the Muldoon government it would not put its supporters into the wide range of positions to which it held the power of appointment, but would put the best man or woman for the job. Of course it did not follow this in practice with any purity, but in the economic area it was ignored to appoint anti-commercializers to positions of influence, no matter how competent they were. Instead the government appointed businessmen with little loyalty to Labour (as they proved in 1990). Economists soon learned that public dissent against the current economic policies was not a pathway to opportunity, whereas uncritical loyalty had enhanced one’s career. When Lange needed economic support for his resistance to economics there was no one in a position of significance who could (or would) support him.

Thus a weak or compliant prime minister, posed against a formidable trio of cabinet ministers with economic portfolios, led the Labour government down a commercialization path. Resistance was difficult from elsewhere in cabinet and caucus because there were few alternative sources of economic advice. Those which might have been were repressed.

The Blitzkrieg Approach to Policy Making

The Troika’s ability to implement policy came not only from its ability to control parliament through the already described process of institutional leverage, but a policy approach with similarities to the blitzkrieg in warfare. In each case the `lightening strike’ involved a policy goal radically different from the existing configuration, to be attained in a short period, following a surprise announcement and a very rapid implementation. While each blitzkrieg was different in detail, at each’s heart was the aim to transform profoundly some substantial aspect of the economic and social framework. Policy blitzkriegs were nothing if not audacious.

They were a response to the perceived policy sclerosis which occurred under the previous Prime Minister. The master of the overnight raid, Robert Muldoon rarely ventured into any policy development which involved much time between announcement and implementation. Leaving aside Muldoon’s own personal style, a major reason was that the consultative process seemed to give almost every major interest group an effective veto. The blitzkrieg was expressly designed to move so rapidly that the interest groups were unable to provide an effective resistance, so the public’s immediate wishes had to be discounted, for fear they could be manipulated by the pressure groups.

Like other successful generals, Douglas has written down his strategy.

* If a solution makes sense in the medium term, go for it without qualification or hesitation. Nothing else delivers a result which will truly satisfy the public.

* Consensus among interest groups on quality decisions rarely, if ever, arises before they are made and implemented. It develops, after they are taken, as the decisions deliver satisfactory results to the public.

* Do not try to advance a step at a time. Define your objectives clearly and move towards them in quantum leaps.

* Vested interests continuously underestimate their own ability to adjust successfully in an environment where the government is rapidly removing privilege across a wide front.

* It is uncertainty, not speed, that endangers the success of structural reform programmes. Speed is an essential ingredient in keeping uncertainty down to the lowest possible level.

* Once the programme begins to be implemented, dont stop until you have completed it. The fire of opponents is much less accurate if they have to shoot at a rapidly moving target.

* The abolition of privilege is the essence of structural reform.[4]

Douglas’s formulation shows no introspection as to how one might decide that a policy solution is right. Given uncertainty of purpose is the greatest threat, the approach requires that all opposition to the reforms must come from `privilege’, or vested interests. There is no room for reflection or an alternative analysis. Once the commitment is made, speed and quantum leaps are essential: anything less is vulnerable to resistance from the vested interests. Under urgency there cannot be consultation, but Douglas thinks the public will support the reforms as it sees the benefits, including the ending of privilege.

This recipe is all the more ironic for being expounded at a meeting of the Mont Pelerin Society, founded by Friedrich von Hayek and honouring Karl Popper, whose social engineering was essentially incrementalist. In contrast the blitzkrieg is `Plato’s dream like the Leninist actuality … of an elite political order guided in the exercise of absolute political power by its supposed insight into essential reality.'[5]

The classic policy blitzkrieg was the introduction of GST, a success in contrast to the consequence the Australian experience. Chapter 1 described the successful blitzkrieg of corporatization of state trading activities followed by their privatization. Chapter 9 analyses the health reforms as a failed blitzkrieg.

After the Troika

The inherent political tensions between the policies of Douglas and Prebble and the Labour movement eventually led to the collapse of the Troika’s hegemony, and a little later the termination of the fourth Labour government.

The incoming National Government continued both the extreme commercialization policies, and their implementation by blitzkrieg. In December 1991 there was the Economic and Social Initiative which aimed to `redesign’ the welfare state, and announced the measure which became the Employment Contracts Act which redesigned industrial relations law. In July 1991 the process continued with the budget announcements which included redesigning the accident compensation scheme, the health system, the provision of public housing, and social security. This was the final great thrust of the reformers. Within weeks the government was backing down, and it found it self in constant administrative and political turmoil on all these fronts, experiencing the same cut in its electoral share in the 1993 election as Labour had done in 1990. Only the peculiarities of the First-Past-the-Post (FPP) electoral system gave it a bare majority in parliament.

What seems to have happened is that from their election in 1990, once more the `other prime minister’ took charge of policy. The new Minister of Finance, Ruth Richardson, was as enthusiastic for change as Douglas. This time the Prime Minister, Jim Bolger, a far more effective politician than Lange, steadily limited her ability to make unilateral policy, especially as the policies led to one political and/or administrative disaster after another. In this he was helped by having close friend and able administrator, Bill Birch, at number three in cabinet. (Bolger was older and more experienced than Richardson, whereas Lange was younger and less experienced than Douglas.) Various cabinet committees were put in place, chaired by Bolger with Birch as a deputy, which weakened Richardson. By the end of 1991 Richardson’s power was crumbling. Following the 1993 election Bolger was able to demote her, offering her the position of Minister of Agriculture. She resigned from cabinet instead, and shortly after left parliament.

By then blitzkriegs were extinct. Bolger had neither the mandate in the house nor the personal inclination to continue them. The new parliamentary regime, a consequence of the Mixed-Member-Proportional (MMP) electoral system, implemented by referendum in 1993, will veto future blitzkriegs. Since no party would hold a majority of seats, the ability for a few politicians to get leverage over the whole house becomes severely limited. Undoubtedly pressures for further commercialization will remain, but in the future the outcome is likely to be settled by administrative infighting, parliamentary scrutiny, and even public consultation. That is what the voters were instinctively voting for when they chose MMP over FPP.

Outcomes

Nevertheless the record of the Troika and later the National Government led by Richardson in achieving change is impressive. Appendix 3.1 provides a summary list of the changes. They are astonishing in their breadth, although in less quality and only mixed in success. Often the successful more-market reforms has been obscured by a macroeconomic policy involving a high real exchange rate, which inhibited the tradeable sector and so was antagonistic to economic growth. Other reforms are still in the balance, some are abject failures. As this study proceeds we shall see that the application of commercialization principles to non-commercial activities tend to belong to the latter group. A dictionary definition of `reform’ is `form again’. That need not lead to an improvement.

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Endnotes

[1]  A curious echo of the tight five appears in Lange’s belief in 1996 that `[w]e have still 20 or 24 cabinet ministers, and you could run the show on four or five.’ Reported in The Dominion, 16 October 1996.

[2]  Oliver (1989).

[3]  Prebble (1996).

[4]  Douglas (1993:215-238).

[5]  Flew (1989:17).

APPENDIX 3.1

EXAMPLES OF REFORMS OF SINCE 1984

Restoring the Market Mechanism

Liberalization of entry licensing into industry.

Partial liberalization of occupational licensing.

Removal of other operating barriers to industry.

Removal of price control.

Removal of import licensing.

Significant decrease in import tariffs.

Establishment of Closer Economic Relations (CER) with Australia.

Removal of financial controls.

Liberalisation of foreign exchange controls.

Floating the exchange rate.

Revision of corporate, personal, and indirect taxation.

Removal of monopoly rights on state trading.

Corporatisation of state trading activities.

Corporatisation of some local authority trading activities.

Review of competition regulation.

Liberalization of the transport sector.

Liberalization of financial services sector.

Liberalization of ports and waterfront work.

Partial liberalization of energy sector.

Removal of concessions for favoured investment.

Removal concessions for favoured sectors.

Removal of shop trading hours restrictions.

Revision of town and country planning.

Commercialization of broadcasting.

Commercialization of science research.

Reforming Core Government Activities

New relations between minister and ministries.

Introduction of accrual-based and balance sheet accounting for entire public sector.

Changes in appointment procedures of chief executive officers of government agencies.

Public sector industrial relations put on a similar base to private sector industrial relations.

Resource management law reform.

Revision of role of producer boards.

Abolition of many quangos and quasi-government organisations.

Program of asset sales.

Reorganisation of core government departments.

Reform of local government.

Reserve Bank given operational independence.

Redesign of Welfare State

Reform of delivery of social welfare provision.

Reform of provision of accident compensation scheme.

Reform of provision of compulsory education.

Reform of provision of health system.

Reform of provision of public housing provision.

Reform of provision of tertiary education provision.

Labour market reform.

Major reductions in relative benefit levels and entitlements

The Fallacy Of the Generic Manager

Appendix to Chapter 9 of The Commercialisation of New Zealand

Keywords: Governance; Health;

A central notion of the New Zealand reforms of the 1980s and early 1990s was that an able manager was capable of managing any agency in the private or public sector. This has two implications. First, it suggests that all economic activities are broadly the same, or may be treated so for policy purposes, since the required management skills and approaches are not sector specific. Second, it encourages the replacement of specialist managers, who had typically developed in the sector, with generalists who had not, but who would be loyal to the managerialist philosophy and anxious to impose it on the institution.

It might seem that this issue is marginal, except perhaps to those who were promoted or made redundant as a result. However, the consequences are widespread, and potentially destructive. For example, the theory says that the same skills are needed to run a hospital as manage a brewery: that ultimately the production of health services is not fundamentally different from the production of beer. Put so bluntly, the theory now seems laughable, even absurd, but it is a matter of record that the first chief executive officer of New Zealand’s largest Crown Health Enterprise (CHE) was previously involved in brewery management.

Arguing the fallacy of generic managers is not to argue an uncritical case for specialised managers. It is certainly not an argument for inbred management where senior managers enter the firm at the bottom level and work their way up, without any other sectoral or firm experience. A successful senior manager is likely to have had a range of experiences in a variety of agencies. Neither does rejection of the fallacy mean that a senior executive should never come from outside the industry. Rather it suggests that if a new manager comes from a sufficiently different industry, he or she will take considerable time to settle in.

Nor does the fallacy deny the existence of generic management skills which the MBA, for instance, provides to students. A good MBA graduate should be able to go into almost any junior management position. As the manager progresses, industry specific skills add to the generic ones. The fallacy of generic managers applies to senior managers.

Like most such misconceptions there is just sufficient truth in the fallacy of generic managers to deceive the unwary. A senior manager may be able to move successfully between what appear to be quite different products or firms. As an aside we should not make too much of these shifts. A misunderstanding of their nature led in the 1980s to mergers between firms of very unlike characteristics in the name of `synergies’. Typically these mergers came unstuck, and the firms – if they survived – later sold the disparate activities.

The fallacy, however, is concerned with a broader issue. While some products or services have sufficient similarities for the same skills to be broadly applicable for a senior manager, many do not. That a foodstuff CEO may make an admirable hardware CEO, does not mean that inevitably he or she will make as competent a health services CEO.

Moreover, there will always be managers, generic or otherwise, who have the talent to rise above the limitations of their training and background when placed in a new situation. Undoubtedly some of the new managers in the health services have done well. The concern is with the average level of performance, not a few isolated peaks.

The Rise of Generic Managers

There are a number of economic products and services whose characteristics are so different from the general run of commodities, that they have typically been treated quite differently from those conventionally supplied by private enterprise. Indeed the raison d’être of the public service was because its `outputs’ were so different from market ones that they required different management styles. (Chapter 10)

By the 1980s this view was under attack. The rise of managerialism reminds one that the phenomenon is not peculiar to New Zealand, although the country may well have experienced one of the most intense applications of the theory.[1] When faced with a problem of institutional reform Treasury tended to solve it by converting the institution as closely as possible to a private enterprise firm. While this may make sense for public enterprises which are functioning in a competitive market with (at least nominally) profit objectives, the extension of the model to traditional social services is more problematic.

Certainly Treasury despaired of the old public service ways, but the selection of the business alternative was a little like awarding the prize to the second singer in a competition after having only heard the first. Few Treasury officials had real private business experience (if any it was in the finance sector), so they were attracted to an idea with which they had little familiarity. Ironically Treasury is one of the few public sector organizations which has not been affected by generic managers. All its senior executives had experience as junior Treasury officials, and few have outside public sector experience, other than perhaps graduate school.

There is an evident process of the application of business management procedures starting in those public activities where they were most applicable, and moving out to steadily less applicable areas. The return of a National Government in 1990, led to managerial reforms in social services sectors, of which the health reforms are a good example.

The Health Reforms

The debacle of the health reforms is described in the main chapter. Their underlying premise was that health services were just like any other economic commodity could be supplied the same way, and ideally should also be funded privately. As Chapter 2 explains the provision of health services is very different from the standard commodity. The main strengths of normal market transactions simply do not apply to the standard health service exchange.

This elementary point, which is at the heart of why there exists a specialized subject of health economics, was dismissed by the reformers, by simply ignoring it. It was a matter of practice that none of the New Zealand economists hired by the agencies supervising the reforms were experienced health economists. Rather, generic economists with little health economics experience were employed.

The reform units did hire some overseas health economists, carefully selected for their ideological sympathies (while some of the world’s top health economists – most notably Bob Evans of Canada and Alan Maynard of Britain – who were visiting New Zealand on other business were ignored). Even so, the overnight consultants did not have enough local knowledge to be useful, while the local ones they interacted with did not know enough to give them key information. For instance, New Zealand has the peculiarity that litigation for medical malpractice is all but prohibited (by the accident compensation legislation). Thus, one of the key mechanisms for quality control of a privatised medical system is missing. Yet at no stage did the reformers address the question of quality control in a system becoming more exposed to commercial pressures.

Illustrating the effects of generic professionals by the example of economists is appropriate because the modern economist is often given the role of the ideologist, even high priest, of the managerialist revolution. The debate occurs in terms set by them. But the economists were not the only generic professionals who made elementary mistakes.

The most obvious example was Peter Troughton, the man appointed to head the National Provider Board, who had been chief executive of Telecom New Zealand, who went on to electricity distribution reorganization in the state of Victoria. Telecommunications and electricity are both network industries, so there may be sufficient overlap for a good manager to move easily between the two. But by no stroke of the imagination are health service providers. Trained as an engineer, the man exuded a charming confidence which soon betrayed a not surprising ignorance. For instance, he confused an intensive care unit with a post-operative recovery unit, a misunderstanding which could be fatal for a person suffering a cardiac arrest.

Troughton claimed that under the reforms there would be early productivity gains of 20 to 30 percent. Challenged, he said that whenever he had been involved in industry rationalization he had attained such gains. Systematic measurement of his achievements might find the gains were somewhat less than claimed, since the conventional measures have tended to look at output per person employed, and fail to allow that the redundant labour force often became self employed subcontractors. But even ignoring this the generic manager failed to observe that labour productivity gains in a capital intensive network industry, such as telecommunications, are a very different matter from those in a labour intensive service industry, such as health services.

Pressed further, Troughton cited the example of a particular hospital which was already making such gains, so he claimed. The reader will notice the logical flaw that a hospital already making such gains under the old regime, hardly suggested a new regime was needed. In any case there was no such systematic measure of productivity gains to support the claim. Some of this hospital’s gains as a result of recent improvements were cited. For instance the introduction of a preferred medicines list had the effect of cutting the hospital’s drug bill by the equivalent of a productivity gain of 1 percent.[2] The advocates without specialist backgrounds were unaware of was that preferred medicine lists had been introduced into leading hospitals a decade earlier. The instanced hospital was a laggard, not a leader.

Another claimed performance measure was the substantial reduction in waiting lists at the hospital. True, except this was the result of a special grant from central government which enabled the purchase of more inputs. The non-specialists had no institutional memory.

Generic Managers

The generic reformers appointed non-specialists to the boards of directors who would govern the CHEs according to commercial criteria. The government’s own list identified less than 5 percent of the board members as having medical health services experience. In turn, the non-specialist directors usually appointed generic managers to be chief executives, who in their turn appointed generic managers to other senior management positions. Many managers who were professionally skilled and trained in the area of health services management lost their jobs. Some were appointed to managerial positions overseas, suggesting that it was not incompetence that led to career termination in New Zealand, but incompatibility with the ideology of generic managerialism. The general perception was that the system of reform was so committed to generic management that it was a disadvantage to have health sector experience.

There is only anecdote to report on the new managers, for despite their claims to emphasize systematic management, and to monitor worker performance, there is surprisingly little effort by the managers to monitor themselves. Anecdote has medical personnel reporting that some of the new management teams did not understand the medical issues with which they were grappling, and were wasting resources as a result. It seems almost certain that ongoing efficiency improvements were delayed because the generic managers had to get up to speed in the peculiarities of their new industries. Sometimes the new managers were taken in by latest fashions, having no criteria by which to judge feasibility. At one stage the enthusiasm favoured heavy investment in information technology, a perception encouraged by the not-so-generic managers of the information technology industry.

An instructive anecdote comes from a meeting which involved presentations by three new CHE chief executives. Anxious to impress the mainly health service audience, each insisted that they had quality staff with whom they would be working to obtain performance gains. One CEO enthusiastically announced that his task was to get his staff `to own the problem’. He was promptly asked what he meant by that, since if someone went into a hospital with a medical condition the staff already worked their butts off to resolve it. The new CEO responded by saying `the problem’ was the CHE profit line, and then his voice trailed off for even he realised that his staff would not be overly impressed by the profit outcome (nor that his salary package included a bonus if he met it).

Without question the effective use of resources by clinicians (doctors, nurses, and health technicians) has been one of the persistent problems for at least a quarter of a century. Slowly clinicians began accepting that they have a responsibility to be efficient in their resource use, and that this need not compromise medical ethics. They have been even more hesitant with the notion, that providing resources to one patient, reduces resource availability to others (who perhaps are not even a patient of the clinician). Their reluctance reflects deep, and not easily resolved, ethical questions. The overall profitability of a hospital may have some connection with these questions, but in practice it is tangential and even irrelevant. In the end we have a clash of culture between generic managers focused on profit and clinicians focused on patients, with the commercialisers ineffectually claiming the two objectives are much the same thing.

The Outcome

Evaluation of the reforms is complicated by that there would have been changes, including productivity increases, even had the old regime continued. However, as the main chapter details, the reforms have been far from successful compared to the promises made. For instance, the official estimates of the gains has been revised to an increment of 1 to 2 percent a year, probably about the rate that was occurring before the reforms.

This does not prove that the generic managers failed. It could be argued that the reforms were so ill-conceived that no class of managers could succeed. Even so, there is no evidence these managers contributing to resolving a difficult situation But recall that the theory of generic managers and the related theory of the management of generic industries was central to the justifications of the reforms. If the generic reformers had not been so seduced that health services were just like any other economic activity, they would not have been so committed to appointing generic mangers.

Moreover, within a couple of years over half of the CEOs of the CHEs left, often citing their reasons as managerial difficulties. They had come to their new jobs expecting to be working in a similar environment to the commercial businesses, they knew about. They were soon disillusioned. Ian Frame, when CEO of Canterbury Health, wrote `[the] professional and commercial cultures have come face to face in a way that has not happened before. … At present there are serious tensions….'[3] He was optimistic that the tensions between management and the medical staff could be resolved. (He thought the academic medics presented a greater problem.) Ironically, or perhaps inevitably, within six months his CHE had a major industrial dispute with clinicians over work practices (as well as pay rates), and Frame had left.

Conclusion

The story told here about managers in the health reforms could be told with similar detail about the changes in a variety of other activities including education, housing, science, social services, and even the core public service itself. Generic managerialism did not lead to marked improvements in the ability of such agencies to carry out their tasks. Not surprisingly we are seeing a return to older management forms, insofar as the reversal can be undertaken without appearing to be an admission of failure. Nevertheless the language of new managerialism dominates the public discourse, even if its practice is in retreat in some places.

All public sector agencies all have a positive impact on the welfare and prospects of New Zealanders. The turmoil of reform, without any evident gains, has meant those who benefit from the agencies have suffered, as has the public purse. Undoubtedly the health of some New Zealanders has suffered too. Yet less than one might have expected. For despite the insecurity and demoralization the reforms have caused staff, they have continued to maintain their high standards of performance in health care. One would not expect generic managers to perform as well under such circumstances. Fortunately for the patients, the culture of the health professionals has triumphed, despite the attempt by new managerialism to override it.

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Endnotes
[1] Pollitt (1994).
[2] A preferred medicine list usually involves the hospital doctor being able to prescribe from a limited list. Where it is necessary to go outside the list (to more expensive drugs) agreement is required from a senior clinician or a panel.
[3] Frame (1996).

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The Health Reforms (and the Blitzkreig)

Chapter 9 of The Commercialisation of New Zealand

Keywords: Health;

Undoubtedly there was at the end of the 1980s a widespread perception that there was a problem with the health system, although in retrospect this seems to have been a grumbling rather than a deep discontent. When the reforms were being put in place the public indicated they were more satisfied with the existing structures than their earlier surveys has shown. Every health system in the world appears to beset with difficulties, which ought to be a warning to reformers that there are no easy solutions.

National had campaigned in 1990 on the typical opposition policy of agreeing broadly with the existing system but promising to be more benign. Following the election the spokesperson on health, (now) deputy prime minister Don McKinnon, was appointed to the foreign affairs portfolio, and Simon Upton was unexpectedly appointed Minister of Health. Almost certainly four issues set a context for his thinking.

Upton wrote in his Mont Pelerin Society prize winning essay:
“… there are the vicissitudes of ill-health and old age which no one can hope to avoid. These should, whenever possible, be the responsibility of individuals. It may well be desirable to require some form of compulsory insurance to cope with those who would otherwise make no provision and then become a burden at a later stage … because a service is funded out of taxation, it does not mean that the government should actually provide the service itself. In many cases it will be possible to have the work put up for competitive tender by the private sector.”[1]

The second stimulus was the negative one of the Royal Commission on Social Policy. (Chapter 8) It had convincingly demonstrated that the majority of New Zealanders were not enthusiastic about the economic reforms which gathered speed after 1984. Its alternative vision was less convincingly – backward looking, riddled with nostalgia, and almost incoherent. Upton was perfectly entitled to conclude that it offered no alternative to the sort of social policies being proposed by the reformers. The conclusion was right insofar once there was the commitment to radical change. But the fundamental lesson of the Royal Commission was that the public did not want the economic reforms, and they wanted the associated social policies even less.

So thirdly, Upton turned elsewhere for his health policy thinking. Unshackling the Hospitals[2] was in two parts. The Chicago based accounting firm, Arthur Anderson, purported to find the potential for efficiency improvements of around 30 percent, but it was based as much on wishful thinking and assumption as rigorous analysis.[3] Much of its claimed potential `productivity’ amounted to cost shifting, that is switching costs from the public sector to the individual patient, family, and community. The commissioning committee, chaired by Alan Gibbs, a prominent New Right proponent, used the Arthur Anderson findings to assert that a different management regime would obtain the more efficient outcomes. Their report advocated the fashionable separation of funding and provision, with the providers (i.e. hospitals) run on business lines. The Labour government rejected the conclusions.

The fourth major factor in Upton’s health reform thinking was his proposed reforms of the public science sector, with the separation of funding and provision, contestable funding, and the public providers being run in a more business like way in Crown Research Institutes. Yet Upton was not well suited for a blitzkrieg: he is more Hayekian than the radical engineer the approach requires. The demand for the rapid radicalism probably came from the Minister of Finance, Ruth Richardson, a close colleague of Upton. As well as a radical New Right ideological commitment, no doubt fortified by her close association with Gibbs, Richardson faced a fiscal problem, like every one of her predecessors. So did her ministry, Treasury. The New Zealand government budget had gone into severe fiscal stress in the late 1970s, when the budget deficit stayed obstinately above the sustainable level where debt servicing grows no faster than the capacity to tax.

Public spending on health, at 14.0 percent of net financial expenditure in 1993/4, is a significant part of fiscal outlays. It was claimed, wrongly, that the volume of spending on public health was rising. The mistake arose in a Treasury paper which deflated the nominal spending with the wrong price index, failing to compare apples with apples, and then using a period which maximized the size of the error.[4] In 1989 the faulty Treasury figures had mislead Labour ministers to accepting cuts to public spending. Upton quoted the incorrect figures frequently, while in opposition, and in government.[5] They were used to reinforced the thesis that the health sector was inefficient, since it appeared that while resources had been poured into the sector, outcomes had not markedly improved.

Treasury seems to have had two major objectives. The first amounted to shifting the cost of health from the government to the individual via some sort of user-pays. Aside from any ideological merits – disguised as a claim for efficiency improvements – the effect of any cost shifting would be to reduce fiscal stress, as the government’s exposure to funding health could be reduced. Practically the mechanism involves shifting the burden onto the private household, especially the sick. The other Treasury concern was to reduce its management of resources, by privatisation. Again this was partly ideological driven, but privatization can reduce fiscal stress by shifting cost blowouts into the private sector.

Surveying the Battlefield

Consider the terrain over which a health blitzkrieg would take place. On the right front of the campaigner would be high mountains commanded by the formidable medical profession, led by the New Zealand Medical Association (NZMA), with a long history of successfully resisting encroachment on its territory.

On the left front were the vast, disorganised, population: the sick, the potentially sick, their family and friends – everyone. There were a few villages of systematic organization: public health sector workers unions; charitable organizations lobbying in the health area; the pressures groups for specific public policies. The difficulty of any reform through a left flanking of the doctors was that the terrain is swampy, and a campaign needs the cooperation of the natives to find a path and help repel attack from the medics. But like its predecessor, National was in no mood to consult with the public on matters of significance.

In the centre – rolling foothills from mountains to swamp – were the recently established Area Health Boards (AHBs), amalgamating the population based delivery component of the Department of Health, with the long founded Hospital Boards. The AHBs had had a long development history, for they were presaged in the 1974 White Paper on Health. Resistance from the medical professions had been such that it had taken a decade and a half of experiment, consultation, and development to implement them fully.

Astonishingly, for that it what a blitzkrieg is about, the government chose to drive its reforms through the centre, eliminating the AHBs. It passed legislation to abolish the (two-thirds) elected boards, an extraordinary constitutional innovation more characteristic of dictatorships, but which had the advantage of erasing (literally) overnight the one institutionalised and well funded group with official moral authority who could have resisted the reforms. The philosopher-kings showed their contempt for democracy yet again.

Yet in planning its centre strike, the government overlooked some key issues. First was the state of its own forces. How committed the cabinet was to the reforms is unclear. The may have been persuaded by Upton’s intellect, but their gut commonsense may have been less convinced. Caucus was not.

Treasury officials were battle harden, fresh from past victories, eager for more. Whether there were sufficient is more problematic: some of the successful commanders had moved onto the private sector, so there was a shortage of experienced leadership. And they had other citadels to be protected, other battles to be waged. The reforms involved the Department (later Ministry) of Health, which for almost two decades had been committed to the development of the AHBs. The Department had neither the troops available, nor the enthusiasm. A third government agency, the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet (DPMC), took responsibility for the reforms, while the Department of Health administered the existing system. The result was a cumbersome structure at all levels. Seven ministers were directly involved.

Previous blitzkriegs had effectively used mercenaries, consultants from typically the financial sector. Whatever their past performance, this time the consultants were inexperienced, knowing little about the health system if they were from New Zealand, little about New Zealand if they were from overseas (and even then only the ideologically acceptable were consulted). A similar problem applied to Treasury officials. It was a bit like taking a well equipped and victorious army from the deserts of commerce, and letting it loose in the health Himalayas.

Indeed, there does not seem to have been sufficient thought about the differences in the terrain for this blitzkrieg. Smashing through the AHBs might be possible in a night, but then the troops were faced with miles of rolling countryside, up and down and up again, with no obvious camping places. Corporatisation of public health provision in under two years was perhaps the most ambitious of all the blitzkriegs.

To the Green and White Paper

In its December 1990 Economic and Social Initiative the newly elected National government announced a new health policy, which proved to be very different from that in it’s election manifesto. (The statement’s title itself was an indication of a new stance. National was not going to compartmentalise the two policy areas, as Labour had tried.) Although a health services taskforce was then established, it never finally reported, being superseded by the Minister of Health’s Your Health and the Public Health. Described as a `statement of government health policy’, its nickname `Green and White Paper’ captures some of the ambiguity. Was it a green paper for discussion: was it a white paper of government policy? The balance to green on the cover belied the intent. The major decisions had been taken: matters for consultation were minor. Its summary states the government
“has made decisions about the future of the health sector. These include
– separating purchasing from providing;
– integrating funding for all types of health service;
– allowing choice among health care plans;
– separating the funding of public health care from personal health care.
The government wants there to be a wider debate on …
– the definition of core services;
– the future financing of health services.”[6]

From whence came the ambiguities and certainties? Probably the taskforce provided a background. The Minister of Health was primarily responsible for the writing the paper. Matters for decision then went to a cabinet committee chaired by the Prime Minister. The papers then went to cabinet, more often than not headed with `these papers were received after the deadline [for papers to cabinet]’. As in Roger Douglas’ day late submission meant cabinet opposition could not prepare.

The Green and White paper was tabled as a 1991 budget paper, the night parliament passed legislation to replace the majority elected Area Health Boards with appointed commissioners for public hospitals. The budget also introduced charges for laboratory services, and inpatient and outpatient fees.

It could be argued that the user-charge proposals were not connected with the overall health reforms, although this was a government which claimed it was integrating economic and social policy. The public thought the charges and the reforms were connected. After what can only be described as administrative fiasco and public indignation, most of the charges have been withdrawn. But the damage was done. The public had been warned that the reform proposals were radical and – in its judgement – nasty. It was as if a blitzkrieg launched under the cover of darkness had signalled its presence by shooting user charge flares into the sky.

The Ultimate Destination

The uncertainty as to the purpose of the reforms seemed to imply they were merely off in a general direction with the aim of a vaguely improving the health system. But more sinisterly they appeared to be a coherent plan to move towards the privatisation of the public health system: on the supply side via the conversion of providers (especially hospitals) into private business, and on the demand side via the conversion of public sector purchasing into private purchasing by user charges and private insurance.

There were parallels with the 1985 Cabinet paper for the corporatization of state trading activities, sufficiently ambiguous to let a determined and committed group to direct the reforms towards their ultimate destination of privatization. (Chapter 1) For fundamental to the reforms was the replacement of the AHBs by Crown Health Enterprises (CHEs), which would be run on a `business-like basis’, and which would `make adequate provision in their pricing to make a return on assets’ – phrases which could have come from the earlier corporatization program. Once this had been attained it would be simple to sell the CHEs to private buyers.

Plans to privatize the demand (or purchaser) side were less elaborate. User charges for health care had been introduced and increased. The issue of major source of funding was to be left to public discussion (with an Orwellian use of the term `social insurance’ to mean private insurance). There were to be `health care plans’ which were to allow a group to take its share of government funding and manage it separately, with the possibility of adding privately to the funds, which could ultimately lead to some sort of `social’ insurance. This may have been a compromise, in the ministerial committee, arising from a refusal to commit the government to the more radical option of private funding. Certainly it appears ill-thought through. Not surprisingly the health care plan proposals were later dropped as unworkable, although there remains a residual provision in the legislation.

Despite Upton’s earlier writings, it may have seemed paranoic to argue on such evidence that the ultimate destination was privatisation of health, but as the blitzkrieg moved forward in the light of day, more became available. The so-called `Danzon’ report, Options for Health Care in New Zealand, was not a smoking gun either. It had been commissioned by the Business Roundtable, of which Gibbs was a member. The senior author, Patricia Danzon, was an American economist specialising in private insurance with impeccable right wing credentials, including a Mont Pelerin fellowship and working at the Hoover Institute. The junior author, Susan Begg, was from C.S. First Boston, which had a record of general advocacy of privatization, had benefitted from the various corporatization and privatization of government assets in various consultant roles, but had no expertise in the health sector.

The report concludes `a private insurance option … could be viewed as a final stage towards which a mixed public/private system could evolve …’ An earlier section concluded `corporatization … would also be a sensible transition path if more far-reaching reform is contemplated.'[7] Thus it argued for reforms not dissimilar to those being introduced as a step towards the ultimate destination of privatisation. The report had been sent to the Minister of Health. It had neither been published by the Roundtable, nor seen by most members of the taskforce, which gave it an air of secrecy. The Minister could have argued that it did not influence his thinking, but then an extraordinary set of appointments were made.

A key agent in the transition was the National Interim Provider Board (NIPB) located in the DPMC, which was to supervise the establishment of the CHEs. The chairman appointed to the board was Sir Ronald Trotter, chairman of Fletcher Challenge Ltd, which had been an active purchaser of public assets. Trotter, a well-known spokesperson for privatization, was also chairman of the Business Roundtable at the time of the Danzon report. He had no background in health administration. The NIPB’s chief economist was Geoff Schweir, an early advocate of privatization of state trading activities, with little or no experience in health economics.[8] Its primary consultants were C.S. First Boston, the sponsors of the Danzon report, again without specialist experience in the health sector. The NIPB hired overseas consultants of a privatization persuasion, including Danzon. Later it hired Peter Troughton, an ex-Roundtable member who as CEO had been involved in the privatization of Telecom, again with no background in health administration. This was generic management with a vengeance, with the managers committed to privatization.

The government never explained why it appointed so many pro-privatizers. Even were it a series of coincidences, and privatization of the public health system was not the ultimate destination of the government, the steps being taken would make the task simpler for a future government. The parallel with the corporatisation of the State Owned Trading Enterprises loomed large.

Resistance

The earlier review of the terrain suggested that except for the medical profession, little effective resistance might be expected. In previous blitzkriegs there had been significant public discontent, but despite attempts to resist there had been little effective opposition. It is not at all clear how the government intended to deal with the doctors. The strategy at first seems to have been one of ignoring them. Significantly there seems to have been no deliberate attempt to divide the medical profession. The purity of the justification for the reforms – they were in the national interest; resistance was only a matter of vested interest -resulted in a naive a political strategy. Surprise and speed were to be the essence of a blitzkrieg: political acumen was not. Unsurprisingly in the light of their past record, the medical profession proved doughty foes, especially through their union, the NZMA.

There were also sporadic attempts to organize the public into mass movements, but while there was the occasional meeting, march, picket, or petition the actions were the public’s protest rather than a real threat to the government. Another centre for resistance developed, which was neither simply a vested interest nor simply a mass movement.

The Coalition for Public Health where a number of union and community organizations joined together, was a gift to the media, its spokespeople providing informed commentary on the reforms. As in previous cases, this blitzkrieg was hard for the media to present. The Coalition provided a public face, and a face which reflected the concerns of the public. It is outside the scope of this paper to detail the activities of the Coalition, but crucially it was backed by the Wellington Health Action Committee (WHAC). Some idea of the breadth of the group can be obtained from the writers in the WHAC publication The Health Reforms: A Second Opinion: retired senior administrators, economists, unionists from the health sector, medical practitioners, workers in the voluntary sector.[9] In some respects the Coalition was better served than the government by its advisers, since they had combined a wider and deeper knowledge of the health system. A number of overseas health professionals passed through adding to the depth of the understanding and critique.

Part of the aim of the blitzkrieg seems to have been to replace people well experienced in the health sector, with outside business people who were often very ignorant of the sector. But as the government turned its back on the expertise in the sector, it created a pool of resentment from the pool of the redundant and threatened redundant, willing to give energy and their expertise. Those who became redundant were not necessarily the least competent, as evidenced by many being recruited to positions in overseas health systems. Threats to employees, sometimes explicit, discouraged some protest, but no doubt encouraged underground resistance. (A consultant’s report said `don’t shelter non-committed employees.[10])

One other crucial feature was that unlike many other campaigns, the Coalition had some access to funds, initially from unions but later, as it built up credibility, from doctors with a commitment to the public health system. Not that the Coalition was well funded. In total it spent a two year period the same as the government probably spent every day on its health reforms advice.

The non-party Coalition’s initial strategy was to mute the most objectional aspects of the reforms by offering an alternative which appeared to meet the government’s stated intentions without the extreme elements (such as the profit driving of the system). The approach acknowledged the defects of the AHB based system (neutralizing the potential criticism of the Coalition was merely a front for vested interests), but argued for incremental evolution rather than radical revolution. The Minister said that there not a great gap between his proposals and the alternative strategies, but the dominance of the NIPB and Treasury with their totally different ultimate destination meant that the reforms were not to be deflected.

In summary, the Coalition for Public Health had status from the organizations which supported it, it had expertise from highly competent volunteers, and it had some resources to lobby and debate publicly. That gave it credibility, in public, to the media, and grudgingly from politicians. The government may have quickly broken through the AHB line, but it unexpectedly met a second one linking the medical heights with the public plains.

The Government Response

It is not this chapter’s purpose to detail the campaign, nor highlight individual skirmishes, except insofar as they illustrate more general points. Central to understanding the campaign seems to be poor tactics and irresolution by the government.

Tactically it seemed brilliant to promise an `integration’ of primary and secondary health care, especially as it can mean all things to all people. For many general practitioners it means the anathema of being put, directly or indirectly, onto an employment relationship similar to a salaried hospital doctor. The government was under the impression that there was widespread medical support for the change, an illusion perhaps partly fostered by one of the strongest medical advocates of the reforms being Tom Marshall, deputy chairman of the NZMA, and chairman of the General Practitioners’ Association (GPA). A rebellion within the ranks had Marshall’s team toppled from the GPA and Marshall from the NZMA.

The government seemed to be beset with irresolution. The Prime Minister recognized the need for an advertising campaign to get the public onside during the February 1992 Tamaki by-election. National MPs, returning in January 1993 from their Christmas vacation – a traditional period for getting a feel of the public’s concerns – demanded a campaign. But nothing was done until May 1993, a couple of months before the new system was to be introduced. By then it was too late. And it was neutered.

Previous blitzkrieg advertising campaigns had been extremely emotional. In response to public protest to what was seen a political advertising, the Auditor-General had rules limiting government paid ones to informational content only. Even then aspects of the campaign were criticised by the Advertising Standards Board. The outcome of the $2.5 million campaign was considered, even by an Associate-Minister of Health, to be of little value. Despite the NIPB and officials beavering away, there was surprisingly little leadership. It was almost as if the generals thought a blitzkrieg involved them pointing the troops in the right direction, waving them goodbye, and returning to base.

The Blitzkrieg Failure

Any campaign whose instigator is replaced must be judged a failure. In March 1993 the Prime Minister transferred the Health Portfolio from Upton to Bill Birch, the toughest administrator in the cabinet. Birch drove the reforms through to the establishment of the CHEs (and the funders, the Regional Health Authorities (RHAs)) on time in July 1993.

In terms of its own goals, even at their most ambiguous, the government had
– abandoned health care plans (the public state firmly it wanted no change in public funding);
– abandoned the public health commission;
– abandoned the core health services definition program;
– withdrawn the hospital overnight charges and withdrawn or reduced some other user charges;
– failed to gain significant productivity gains;
– substantially increased public funding (rather than hold it, as hoped), yet various indicators (such as waiting list lengths) have not improved or had deteriorated;
– increased the exposure of ministers to minor failures in the system (because previously the elected Boards had taken responsibility), while
– despite their business goals the CHEs continued to make losses.

The lack of gains is nicely illustrated by the 1996 OECD report on the New Zealand economy. As the CHE chief executives found, funders control providers, and the OECD is funded by the New Zealand and other Treasuries. Even so the OECD commentary struggles to be positive.
“… even though the system is in its third year of operation, it is not yet clear how the reforms will ultimately affect health care in New Zealand.It is too early to observe their effects on health outcomes and to discern what impact they will ultimately have on output of the health sector as well as the organization of output provision”[11]

Despite claims before the reforms of substantial and rapid improvements, justifying the costs of the upheaval, improvements were not discernable. Claims that significant benefits were delayed but would appear in time became a monotonous litany for all the reforms. When the OECD report tried to make an evaluation it said `assessment must rely largely on a priori considerations’, that is the theory on which the reforms was based was going to be used to evaluate the outcomes. The tight prior remained the bench mark, rather than evaluated.

Inevitably over a five year period there has been some positive improvements (which could have occurred anyway, if policy development had been more incrementalist):
– there has been some separation of purchasing from provision;
– a simple form of budget holding (which can lead to improvements in management of resources) has been introduced in primary care, although there is likely to be resistance to further changes;
– there has been substantial improvements in the balance sheets and accounting systems of the public providers.

Valuable though each is, they hardly justify the turmoil the reforms have caused, not their expense: estimates range between 2 and 10 percent of a year’s Health vote. Yet the fiscal costs have probably not been as great as the political costs. Jim Bolger specifically mentioned the government’s health policies as a major reason for the substantial loss (a quarter) of National voters in 1993.

The Campsite in the mid-1990s

By 1996 it was not the tactics of blitzkrieg so much as trench warfare, where the government relied on its weight and momentum to force the reforms through, coopting people as they went. But while the health professionals left continued to service their patients, few committed themselves to the reform. At one stage the tactic of the `sap’ appeared to be evolving, undermining the public health system by increased funding of the private system. This continues, but that has not proved to be as effective as it might have seemed, probably because of the dominance of the public sector in the system, and the commitment of the public to a public system.

If by the 1993 election the health reforms were temporarily camped uneasily on a hillside, under fire from the public, by the 1996 election it was difficult not to discern preparations for a strategic retreat, even if these were overlooked by the OECD report. Bill English, the new National Minister of Crown Health Enterprises, foreshadowed (if his government were returned)
– the reduction of the four RHAs to one;
– the reduction of the number of CHEs to about half (the reforms had split 14 AHBs into 23 CHEs);
– the combining of the portfolios of the Minister of Health and Ministers of CHEs.

The other party manifestos had promised no less drastic reversals. Meanwhile CHE boards were replacing the rapidly leaving chief executives (over half went within three years) by new ones with clinical experiences.

What went wrong? From one perspective, the model was wrong. The reforms were based on the assumption that health was a generic product (Chapter 2), which could be administered by generic managers. Even the CHE boards, packed with businessmen (and the occasional woman) who have little experience of the medical industry, quickly recognized the first point. Less than six months after the appointment of the boards, the Chairman of the Crown Health Enterprise Chair’s Consultative Committee wrote `[t]he CHE group are of the view that the business of providing is not a genuine commercial mode.'[12] This culture clash is not only a recipe for worker demoralisation, poor productivity, and industrial disputes. It overflows into public perception. It was reported that `Capital Coast Health is short of blood because donors believe their blood will be sold.[13]

And yet there was a more fundamental problem. It was not just that the account of how the health system worked was irretrievably flawed. For a blitzkrieg to work, the map of the territory must also be accurate. In Roger Douglas’s words `uncertainty, not speed endangers the success’, and `dont stop until you have completed it’. But what if the plan is wrong?

It is especially ironic, that Upton, who so respected Fredrich von Hayek, advocate of organic growth of institutions, commenced down such a radical and disruptive path. If only he had recalled the sentence of Hayek, with which he concluded his prize winning essay.
Least of all shall we preserve democracy or foster its growth if all the power and most of the important decisions rest with an organization far too big for the common man to survey or comprehend.[14]

Not surprisingly the reforms generated, what was described by Alan Maynard, an eminent British health economist who was not consulted despite regularly visiting here, as `re-disorganization’.

Effective health reform probably requires an incrementalist approach, involving consultation with the public and the bloody-minded vested interests. Mrs Thatcher tried on a couple of occasions to carry out a major restructuring, and each time backed down in favour of incrementalism: the re-disorganization task was too large, and the public health system too important to the public to allow an all out assault to succeed. Health is the part of the welfare state which most touches everyone, including the articulate middle class and the swinging voter. The political power of the medical professions arise not only from their power over life and death, but also because they are close to the heart of community and individual aspirations – closer apparently than the politicians of the 1980s and 1990s.

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Endnotes
[1] Upton, (1987:24, 26).
[2] Hospital and Related Services Taskforce (1988).
[3] Arthur Anderson (1987).
[4] Easton, `Faulty Figures’ (1987), Scott (1990), Bowie (1992), Easton & Bowie (1992).
[5] Upton (1990, 1991:8)
[6] Upton (1991:132).
[7] Danzon & Begg, (1991:85, 57).
[8] Oliver (1989:19).
[9] WHAC (1993).
[10] Coopers & Lybrand (1993).
[11] OECD (1996:117).
[12] P.D. Wilson, letter to the Ministers of Health, Crown Health Enterprises, and Finance, 17 December 1993, para 6.9.
[13] Evening Post, (October 1993:3).
[14] Upton (1987:38).

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Public Finance Act

From The Commercialisation of New Zealand, p.173-176.

Keywords: Governance

The PFA had two main features. First it put the government accounting onto a new basis, which was largely parallelled by commercial practices, based on Generally Accepted Accounting Practice (GAAP), set down by a non-government board of the Society of Accountants.

In many ways the new form of financial statements required by the PFA represented a major step forward, incorporating the developments in public sector accounting and financial reporting since the previous public finance act of 1977. At a superficial level they are easier to read and understand by the layperson. Government accounting was switched to an accrual method, which avoided oddities such as the practice of the Ministry of Works finding it had unspent funds, and purchasing shingle before the end of the financial year, selling it after to recover the cash. The new financial statements also require disclosure of contingent liabilities, which means the government will not be able to hide potential costs which may arise from its decisions without telling parliament, as occurred with many of the Think Big projects.

But there are oddities. For instance the balance sheet (or, as it is now known, ‘statement of financial position’) shows a deficit in the Crown Balance, but ignores the sovereign right to tax, which swamps any of the other items in the account. Noting that many countries’ tax revenue exceeds 40 percent of GDP, the sovereign right could be valued at least $360b,[1] whereas in June 1995 total reported assets were $54.5b and liabilities $57.6b (a deficit on the reported government balance of $3.1b). The omission is to make the financial statements almost totally meaningless as a measure of the strength of the government’s position.

The neglect probably reflects not only that the right to tax is difficult to value, but there being no commercial equivalent, the underlying conceptual issues were not addressed. Perhaps it reflects the commercial sector’s hostility to the power of a government to tax. Whatever the rights and wrongs, it is clear that it is difficult to give any meaningful interpretation of the Crown Balance other than the arithmetic difference between a certain set of assets and liabilities, valued in a certain way.

A significant feature of the PFA was the change in the arrangements by which the government of the day acquired monies from parliament. First there was the jargon: Ministers sought ‘outcomes’, while departments delivered ‘outputs’ ‘contracted’ by the minister to enable the achievement of desired government outcomes. Ministers would ‘purchase’ from the departments (strictly it is with the chief executive of the departments, see below) to provide the desired outputs, and parliament votes the requested funds. One can see in this new arrangement, the introduction of a market and commercial notions.

While one may idealize these arrangements, arguing it enhances accountability, the practicalities are rather messy. Consider the finance vote, whose 1995/6 ‘outcome’ was:

“The appropriations in Vote Finance will make an important [sic] contribution to a number of the Government’s strategic objectives for the public sector. They will fund policy advice aimed primarily at the maintenance and acceleration of economic growth, and a number of strategic objectives in other areas, including enterprise and innovation, external linkages, education and training, social assistance, Treaty claims settlement and health.”[2]

One is not overwhelmed with the impression of clear outcomes desired by the Minister (and in truth his actual desires are more likely to be to get reelected, make people feel better off, and lead a quiet but respected life). Now look at first ‘output class’ of Treasury, ‘Policy Advice: General Economic and Fiscal Strategies’:

“Provision on the economy, including the government’s overall economic and fiscal strategies and macroeconomic forecasting and monitoring.”

Well, yes. One is left with the impression that those in Treasury who recommended the conceptual framework of the PFA did not consult with their colleagues as to whether it was practicable in Treasury (any more than those colleagues consulted with other departments on their policy proposals). The hard notion of an output has reduced to a warm fuzzy, as is true for the many other outputs of all the government departments. How a parliament or minister is to judge objectively the quantity (let alone quality) of such an output is a mystery. Perhaps it is a facade to give the impression that there was some accountability, or that there was greater accountability than in the past.

How a game is scored affects the way it is played. A system dominated by commercial accounting practices with their emphasis of the measurement of profit is going to reduce the significance of activities which do not make a profit. Not surprisingly government departments were pushed into corporatizing and privatizing their activities or contracting them out to the private sector. That which remained were seen as cost centres, with the benefits of what was supplied reduced tending to be neglected.

In 1995/6, parliament voted $5.8m for the Treasury output class described above. How is one to decide that is the right amount? Prior to the 1989 statute, parliament had voted an amount to reflect the inputs of the activity: so much for wages and salaries, so much for transport, so much for buildings, so much for miscellaneous expenses, and so on. One had some idea of how many officials were being provided and, quality aside, that gave some idea of the amount of activity. This detailed parliamentary control became less functional with the new responsibilities of chief executives under the SSA.

The term ‘purchase, explains the fallacy. As Chapter 2 described, when someone purchases bread they have a reasonably clear idea what it is they are obtaining, and they do so in a reasonably competitive market. Neither of these properties apply to the `purchase’ of advice from Treasury. (In regard to the second property, the transaction is between a monopsonistic minister and a monopolist department, for Ministers do not have the opportunity to tender to other institutions for the advice they receive using the funds provided for Treasury.) When we purchase bread, we are not greatly concerned about the inputs that went in to make the bread because the output is reasonably well defined (and competitively delivered). Where it is not, the input and production processes are of far greater interest. For instance a woman purchasing a dress is likely to examine the material, the stitching and the cut, even where it is made – as well as looking at the label.

The input approach is not necessarily superior to the output one. Both have defects. What is relevant is the way in which a pseudo-commercial approach was uncritically adopted. While both sides (supply and demand, inputs and outputs) were addressed, the balance was swung to the reduction of the usage of resources at the expense of the provision of service. Under very great pressure because of the stagnation of the economy and the fiscal deficit, the government kept arguing that gains could be made by reducing the resources available to departments, and cut the available funds. Departments, already under pressures from burgeoning demands often as a result of the economic stagnation, tended to reduce service as a means of coping with the reduced resources available to them. There was no real mechanism for the government to assess this service reduction. While people felt it, and often indicated their resulting distress to the politicians, there was no effective means for parliament to evaluate the service cuts either, other than to parade glaring instances. The final section of this chapter examines one dreadful outcome.

Endnotes
1. Using a real discount rate of 10 percent p.a.
2. It is not relevant for this study’s purposes but the government has a set of nine Strategic Results Areas (SRAs), alluded to in this outcome. In one sense the SRAs are platitudinous too, but they are not without their interest. It is instructive that the 1993 ones excluded any reference to culture, heritage, leisure, or nationhood, or to the requirements of a liberal democracy. The omissions are probably a start-up oversight, and will be included in some way in the next set of SRAs.

The Growing Up Of the Unions

Appendix to Chapter 7 of The Commercialisation of New Zealand

Keywords: Labour Studies;

The union movement will think of itself as largely marginalized by and marginally involved in the commercialization shift. This appendix explores another story: one which advocates of the reforms should be keen to point out. All institutions find it very difficult to reform themselves. Genuine institutional reform involves some external pressure. This is the case study of the union experience, but there are numerous others including the corporatization of state owned enterprises (Chapter 1).

The Origins of New Zealand’s Union Structure

The earliest New Zealand unions came from Britain and were organized on a craft (or occupational) basis. Later the Australian union experience was influential, especially from some industry based unions. This overlapping of occupational (horizontal) and industrial (vertical) union structures has been a persistent feature of New Zealand unionism.

The typical union was very small. As late as 1983 there were 248 unions with 527,545 members, an average of 2127 members per union. However almost four fifths of these unions had fewer than 2000 members, covering 16 percent of the unionized workforce. On the other hand there were 15 unions, each with over 10,000 members covering over half of the unionized workforce. [1] Small unions faced considerable difficulties servicing their members.

Yet many small unions persisted. They did so because they were a creation of legislation. Under the law it was feasible for a union to never to meet most of its members. All its officers had to do was negotiate the award annually with employers and collect the subscription via an employer levy. Compulsory unionism meant that the worker had no opportunity to opt out, even where he or she was getting no direct services from the union and was being paid above the award rate (which only set minima). Thus it was possible for a single union to organize a handful of members at each of numerous work-sites.

So, together with an historical inertia, unions existed in both horizontal and vertical forms. Often there was more than one union per work-site – the most notorious being at the Tasman Mill in Kawerau, where there were 12 unions and frequent and bitter inter-union disputes.

The New Economy and the Need for Union Reform

One of the major consequences of the external diversification described in the prologue was that increasingly sectors which had been in the protected domestic market found themselves in the exposed external sector. Now the whole of the primary sector was involved in exporting, and not just pastoral farming. Manufacturing increasingly switched from almost solely domestic supply to export supply, either directly or indirectly supplying other exporters. This indirect supply meant that many service activities were also involved in the export effort. (Today the tourism sector is the single biggest foreign exchange earner.)

These changes made much of the traditional union structure increasingly inappropriate. The design of a union structure from scratch in the new economy would be likely to favour work-site or enterprise arrangements. Consider three factories in the same town, one producing timber, one packaged dairy food, and the third produced a household durable. Suppose they are all supplying a local market, protected from overseas competition. The industrial relations and pay rates for the three firms could be much the same and, indeed, much the same as for similar factories in another part of the country. Now suppose, following the diversification, the timber is going to Japan, the dairy food to Thailand, and the durables to Australia. Each firm will have a whole range of problems specific to it, arising out of its different markets and marketing conditions. Inevitably this will affect industrial relations within the firm. There will remain commonalities, but faced by the diverse requirements of exporting each firm will want to adapt its working conditions for its specific markets.

This pressure for work-site specific flexibility was reinforced by two other major changes: increasing technological complexity and changing social demands by workers. The union movement was not insensitive to such pressures. For instance in 1987 the Federation of Labour was replaced by the New Zealand Council of Trade Unions (CTU) which incorporated public sector unions into the peak organization for the first time. There were constant – not always successful – attempts to give women’s concerns a more prominent role in union activities.

Undoubtedly the most important direct source of change in the 1980s was the 1987 Labour Relations Act (LRA), and the provisions in the 1988 State Sector Act which required public sector industrial relations to follow private sector arrangements more closely. The original provisions in the Labour Relations Bill were markedly changed following consultation (or pressure) from the unions, although the public sector unions were much less successful in changing their legislation. (Chapter 8)

That the size of the unions registered under the new act was to be at least 1000 workers, led to some rather odd amalgamations of small unions collecting under the same umbrella organization in artificial amalgamations. Nevertheless by 15 May 1991, when the LRA was repealed, there were 80 unions, of which only 4 had fewer than 1000 members. However the growth had been in the medium size unions, with still only a score of unions with 10,000 members or more, covering 72 percent of workers (compared to 53 percent in 1983). And if there were fewer, larger, and even potentially stronger unions, the structure was still not aligned with the new economy, as the artificial amalgamations illustrated.

In May 1989, the CTU responded to the changing economic circumstances (and the LRA) with Strategies for Change [2] which aimed to encourage voluntary amalgamation and exchange of union members to align the unions more closely to an industrial and sectoral structure. Identifying 14 sectors (containing over 100 industries between them), the strategy was that within five years any union would have a presence in only those over which it had total coverage, and in not more than two others. It was hoped that in a particular industry (but not sector) there would be only one or two unions because `three unions is becoming impracticable; four or more unions is unmanageable’. There is a tone of urgency in the report arguing `change is overdue’, but there was little progress before the 1991 Employment Contracts Act (ECA) overwhelmed the assumptions upon which it was based.

Another evolving change was the beginning of a move to single enterprise awards for large firms, breaking them out of the national award, and composite industry awards in which a number of unions combined their awards to a single one, as in the case of the plastics and packaging industry composite award.

One can see these changes as a response to the new economic environment and a movement towards realigning the union structure to one based on industries. However the changes were ponderously slow. As they were voluntary, an individual union could veto a change. In particular changes were inimical to the occupational-based unions, organized across a number of industries and sectors. This is well-illustrated by the experience of the clerical workers’ unions.

The Clerical Workers’ Unions [3]

The clerical workers’ unions were a classic example of horizontally based unions, which organized a few workers on each of numerous work-sites. In 1983 the New Zealand Clerical Workers’ Association (NZCWA) had 50,000 members on 20,000 work-sites, or 2½ workers a work-site. Over half the New Zealand Clerical Workers’ Union’s (NZCWU’s) work-sites in 1990 had just one member, and only 3 percent employed more than 20 workers. They were quintessentially a creation of statute. Unionized clerical workers were marginal until the 1936 amendment to the IC&A Act. When the statute dramatically changed in 1991 to the ECA, the union as dramatically collapsed.

There had not been a lot of membership involvement in the unions’ activities. Between 1981 and 1990 voter turnout at annual general meetings of the Northern Clerical Union (NCU) fluctuated between 2½ and 5 percent, while only 20 percent took part in the 1989 postal ballot to elect the executive. A similar proportion voted in the 1991 postal ballot to wind up the NZCWU. A 1976 survey of members of the NZCWA found that 68 percent would vote for a voluntary union, and 41 percent would not join it.

It is easy to explain this by their members being predominantly isolated workers on most work-sites, mainly woman, often working part-time, and experiencing a high turnover. But there were other factors. The Chief Judge of the Labour Court found in 1990 the NCU’s `rules do not foster democratic principles or nourish the exercise of democratic rights.’ Indeed on occasions the management of some of the unions was thoroughly undemocratic. When the clerical unions were a part of Fintan Patrick Walsh’s base in the trade union movement, giving him significant voting power in the Federation of Labour over which he presided, members of the unions were rarely, if ever, consulted on how that power should be exercised. Throughout the academic reports on the union in the 1980s are accounts of power struggles.

The situation was possible because, once an unqualified preference clause was included in the award – a situation which pertained for almost all of the unions’ post-1936 history – clerical workers had to belong to the relevant union, irrespective of the quality of service they were receiving from it. As the unions themselves on occasions acknowledged, it was virtually impossible to provide any quality of service to members dispersed across so many work-sites. For many members, the dues were just another impost, a tax on their income, for which they received only the vaguest return – if any.

On the other hand, there were dedicated officials of the clerical unions who were conscientious and active about their responsibilities to members, and who were labouring under great difficulties of dispersed membership. Moreover the unions could make some proud claims for gains for its members, including an active campaign against sexual harassment in the 1980s, and their representing women’s point of view in the peak councils.

But when the ECA was introduced in 1991, the clerical workers’ unions had little future. By the end of the year the NZCWU had transferred its remaining members to other unions who were better organized on the work-sites, while the two remaining regional unions amalgamated with other unions. Today a clerical worker in the private sector, if unionized, is likely to belong to a multi-occupational union on the work-site and she may see her organizer more frequently than in the past. (But she is less likely to be unionized.)

Peter Franks concludes that `the union’s demise was the result of its dependence on protective legislation, its structural problems, and the failure of its attempts to solve these problems.'[4] The situation was even more complex. An occupational union, organized across a multitude of work-sites with few workers in most sites is inherently vulnerable. Only the most supportive legislation enables it to exist. Any significant reduction of that support results in a collapse of the union.

Ironically, one feature of the CTU’s Strategies for Change had thus been implemented, albeit by the ECA which was otherwise an anathema to the union movement. Implicit in the proposal was that many clerical workers would be organized by an industry rather than occupational union, as has occurred under the ECA.

There is a nostalgia about the clerical workers’ unions, especially because in later years they were strongly feminist and addressed some crucial labour market issues which affected women. Nevertheless, we might ask whether, in an environment in which clerical workers are organized under enterprise and industry based unions, the workers are getting a better deal, and whether in the long run the union movement, and workers, will benefit from less gender segregation. Even if the answers to those questions are yes, today many clerical workers get no union support and may well be worse off.

Responses to the Employment Contracts Bill (ECB)

We can partly trace union responses to the Employments Contract Bill on the spectrum from independency to dependency on statute. There is some dispute as to what happened. What is not in dispute is that in April 1991, the CTU had a proposal for a 24 hour general stoppage on April 30. This was defeated on a card vote of 250,122 against and 190,910 in favour. The exact voting lines are not published, but Sarah Heal suggests that the opposition to the national strike included the Educational Institute, Engineering Union, Financial Sector Union, Nurses Union, Post Office Union, Post-Primary Teachers Association, Public Service Association, and in fact `most of the major unions’. [5] Supporters for the action included the Service Workers’ Federation and clerical workers’ unions.

Heal attributes the failure to call the national strike to the conservatism of the CTU leadership. Ellen Dannin, in a more reflective study which is nevertheless sympathetic to the notion of national actions, describes the CTU engaging in a complex response which included going around the bill, and talking directly to employers. Many unions despaired of the prospects of significantly modifying, let alone defeating, the bill. She reports how the Engineering Union was giving priority to the transition to the post LRA environment.[6]

It would seem that those unions opposing the one day stoppage were more successful in that transition, generally having suffered smaller proportional losses than those who supported the strategy. Those that thought they could survive under the ECA, albeit at a reduced scale, opposed the national stoppage, while those who thought they could not, or that they would suffer most greatly, supported it. Given the greater membership losses of the advocates, if the CTU were to re-consider the motion in 1991, the outcome would be a greater proportion opposed to the national stoppage.

What responses had a clerical workers’ union to the Employment Contracts Bill when, as subsequent events proved, it was faced with certain demise if it were passed? There were not many, other than to use every means possible to prevent the bill’s passage, no matter how low the probability of success. A national strike was a viable strategy for those faced with obliteration under the ECA, even if the proponents knew a relatively low proportion of their own members would participate. Even a very small probability of success made it worthwhile for the clerical workers’ unions, because they had hardly any other strategy.

However, there were more options for those who might survive under the new regime, albeit at a more limited scale. The public sector unions, with a long history of voluntary unionism, knew they had a core of workers they could rely on, although there would be attempts to split off workers into house unions and to non-membership through individual contracts. Private sector unions who had a core of readily unionizable workers knew they would lose some from the abandonment of compulsory unionism, so they needed to maintain as much wavering support as possible around their core. A national strike was only one option, and not a particularly attractive one in comparison to preparing for the new industrial relations environment. Indeed the strike could have reduced that preparation if it diverted energy, while antagonizing workers which the unions hoped to retain in the new environment, and also the more sympathetic employers with whom they hope to work in the future.

Behind the advocacy of the national strike appears to be the belief that it would have been effective. Brian Roper writes about the failure of the CTU `to organize and lead the kind of generalised strike action that would, at the very least, have forced the National Government to substantially amend (if not withdraw) the legislation.'[7] Was that possible? Would not such an action have strengthened the resolve of the government to proceed with the legislation and to break the union movement, while alienating goodwill among the sympathetic population which was not unionized? In any case would there have been sufficient worker commitment to such a course? What if the CTU had thrown a party and hardly anyone came? Heal’s assessment of the size and effectiveness of the various sporadic actions that happened in lieu of the national strike seems optimistic. She reports a number of such activities, but one gets little sense of their overall size; the extent they involved a few zealots, or they were mass actions. The claim that 60,000 people marched against the ECB (including those who did so in their lunch time) is either not sourced or attributed to The People’s Voice. Perhaps as good a test of the counterfactual of what would have happened if there had been a national strike is the experience in the Australian state of Victoria. When the Kennet government introduced a bill based on the New Zealand ECA, mass workers’ actions occurred, but they had no effect on the legislation.

The Aftermath of the ECA [8]

If there were 80 unions with 603,118 members when the ECA was implemented in May 1991, there were 82 unions with only 375,906 members three and a half years later in December 1994. The increase in unions reflected the collapse of the umbrella unions created by the LRA back to their old constituents, and house-unions formed in the public sector and some enterprises which split off from their traditional unions.

These additional unions disguised the demise of a number of traditional unions which either had collapsed or been absorbed into other unions. The reduction in union coverage was 27 percent. However industrial coverage patterns differed. One group (agriculture, fishing & hunting; mining & related services; construction & building services; and retail, wholesale, cafes, & accommodation) experienced reductions in excess of 60 percent over three years; a second (manufacturing, transport & communication, and finance and business services) lost between 22 and 24 percent; public and community service lost 13 percent; and energy and utility services reported a gain of 15 percent. Excepting the miners, the greatest losses occurred in industries whose organizing situation resembled clerical workers – numerous work-sites, few workers per site, woman or detached workers, who were often low skilled. (In 1995, the Engineering Union began a successful recruiting drive in the mining industry.)

There are appear to be some stabilities. The CTU covered 86.5 percent of total union membership in 1991 and 79.0 percent in 1994, with TUF covering another 6.2 percent, so that the total of the two peak organizations was 85.2 percent, or almost the same as three years earlier. While there were 20 unions with over 10,000 members in May 1991, covering 72 percent of all unionists, there were only 10 such unions in December 1994 but they now covered 69 percent of unionists. Thus the union movement was becoming more concentrated into relatively fewer unions, but covering a smaller proportion of the workforce.

Conclusion

The industrial relations legislation from 1894 to 1991 created unions which were essentially wards of the state, unable to function outside the umbrella of the statute. Unfortunately the resulting union structure reflected an economy which began disappearing in the late 1960s. The union movement was not able to change sufficiently, especially because of the existence of occupational unions organizing a few of workers in each of numerous work-sites.

Ironically the Employments Contracts Act, whatever its other defects – and the union movement would say there are many – created a union structure much closer to that which the CTU argued for in the late 1980s, although with many fewer members and lower coverage. It was also a structure closer to what might be prescribed for an economy whose external sector is much more diversified and whose domestic economy is much more open to the world. Increasingly there is one, or a co-operating handful, of unions in each industry and more often there is one union per enterprise. Horizontal unions organizing a particular occupation in many industries have all but disappeared. The outcome is not perfect, for there are inherent tensions in a union which covers skilled and unskilled workers, while not all unions have faced up to the challenge implied by increasing numbers of women workers.

The economic diversification which began in the 1960s, exposed more sectors to international competition, thereby posing a challenge to the union movement with which it had great difficulty grappling. The difficulty is well illustrated by that few accounts of the events described here include any economic dimension.

The converse does not mean that industrial relations are totally determined by economic circumstances. But because now each industry (and enterprise) is increasingly exposed to international competition specific to its circumstances, its industrial relations has to be designed to be a part of the response. This suggests a far greater flexibility in the IR structure than occurred a couple of decades ago. In particular the horizontal linkages between firms have to be less rigid. Each enterprise now needs a greater degree of autonomy in setting its pay and conditions.

By shaking off unions over-dependent on state legislation the union movement has freed itself to a greater extent from state control. One suspects that, given the experiences of the decade after 1984, the labour movement will not be keen to return to state dependence again. It might even argue that part of the ineffectiveness of unions – and other agencies of a leftish bent in the 1980s – was they were too dependent on the state, so that when the state turned on them, their ability to resist was extremely limited. A union movement more outside the apparatus of the state, and less tied to statute, may be able to play a more independent and constructive role in the development of the nation.

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Endnotes
[1] The data on union size comes from the New Zealand Official Yearbook (various years), and Harbridge et al 1995.
[2] CTU (1989).
[3] Interpretations in this section are my own, and are not necessarily that of Dannin (1995), Franks (1991, 1994) Hill (1994), or Hill & Du Plessis (1993) on which much of the account is based.
[4] Franks (1994:209).
[5] Heal (1995:277).
[6] Dannin (1995:85).
[7] Roper (1995:269).
[8] This section uses Harbridge et al (1995) and Harbridge & Hince (1993).

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GLOSSARY OF TERMS IN SOCIAL COST ESTIMATION OF SUBSTANCE ABUSE

This was published as an appendix to E. Single, D. Collins, B. Easton, H. Harwood, H. Lapsley, & A. Maynard (& R. Bowie) (1997)<> International Guidelines for Estimating the Costs of Substance Abuse (Canadian Centre for Substance Abuse)

 

Keywords: Health

 

Forward

Each discipline has its own terminology. In an growing interdisciplinary area as for the evaluation of substance abuse, such terminology while necessary can be a hindrance. The following glossary is of terms which have come up in the course of the work thus far. The glossary is confined to terms used in the various papers and does not claim to be comprehensive, or to replace more extensive dictionaries of health economics.

            Wherever possible a standard dictionary term is used. Where there are a variety of definitions we have used the one which corresponds most closely to that in the papers.

            In some cases where the term is relatively new and/or contentious, or will be unfamiliar to the non-specialist economist, there is some elaboration of its meaning. We have clustered some common terms, often opposites, together so the reader can gain a better idea of the distinction or contrast that is being sought. Words in bold in the text have their own reference.

             We are grateful to David Collins and Helen Lapsley for commenting on an earlier draft, but take full responsibility for any errors and omissions.

Brian Easton and Robert Bowie

 

abuse see use

 

addiction & dependence can be treated as synonymous in the case of drugs/substance. Addiction is defined by Jacob and Fehr as “a state of dependence upon a drug substance which is harmful to physical or mental health, social well being, and/or economic functioning”. This poses a problem for economists as to what extent the phenomenon involves irrationality.

 

avoidable costs & unavoidable costs. In the context of cost-of-illness studies avoidable costs are those which could be avoided in the future if the appropriate treatment or policy were to be implemented. However some costs are the result of actions taken in the past, and are unavoidable, despite the new treatment or policy. If everyone stopped smoking, there would still be morbidity and mortality effects from the physiological damage of past smoking. The continuing costs of these would be unavoidable.

 

benefit cost analysis see cost benefit analysis

 

benefits see costs

 

consequences/causality/costs is a summary of the three step process in the Harwood paper for the framework for cost of illness studies. The elaboration is

– identify the tangible consequences attributable to substance abuse;

– document causality between substance abuse and the consequences, and quantify frequency;

– assign economic values.

Maynard et al use a parallel identification/measurement/valuation framework.

 

core & non-core. Core costs in relation to substance abuse are those which occur primarily within the domain of the health system, while non-core costs occur outside it. The public health sector is a part of the core, but so is the private health sector. See institutional arrangements.

 

cost-benefit, cost-effectiveness, cost-of-illness analyses & QALYs. Cost-benefit analysis (CBA) a.k.a. benefit-cost analysis involves the enumeration and evaluation in terms of a common unit, usually money, of all opportunity costs and benefits of taking a particular action. The costs and benefits are measured from the societal viewpoint, and usually ignore the distribution within the nation. If the benefit of an action exceeds the costs then there is a sense in which it is the interests of the nation to take that course. Where there are costs and benefits through time, the method involves discounting. Cost-effectiveness analysis (CEA) is the procedure for identifying the least-cost means of pursuing a particular objective. For instance there may be two (or more) treatment alternatives. A CEA would evaluate which treatment produced the given outcome using least resources. QALYs, or quality adjusted life years, measure any years of life gained from a treatment adjusted for consequential changes in the quality of the life as the result of an improvement in the enjoyment of the years from reduced pain, increased mobility, and so forth.

 

cost-effectiveness analysis see cost-benefit analysis

 

cost-of-illness analysis (COI) asks what are the total costs incurred by a particular illness. Since  the cost measure is an opportunity cost, they in effect ask what would be the resources released to society if the illness did not exist. Thus the cost-of-illness is related to the benefits from a cost-benefit analysis. The economic and social costs of substance abuse are a cost of illness analysis.

 

costs, opportunity costs, historical costs, & benefits. Opportunity cost is the value of a resource in its most highly valued alternative use. It is the concept economists use when valuing costs. They ask if a resource is not used for this purpose what is its value in the next best purpose. In a competitive market in which all goods are traded and where there are no market imperfections, the opportunity cost of a resource is revealed by its market price. However these assumptions do not always hold, as when the resource not bought and sold, that it is non-market. Sometimes payments which appear to a layperson to be costs are not opportunity costs, and are left out of the calculations or calculated in a different way. e.g. historical costs and transfers. Historical costs reflect the past payments for a resource, but they may not represent the opportunity cost. If some medical equipment it is now useless, its opportunity cost is zero or the scrap value, while its historical cost is the cost of purchase, less depreciation. Benefits are the gains, before costs are deducted, of any particular course of action, preventive program, therapy, treatment, etc. They are usually valued in money terms. Ideally the valuation is willingness-to-pay.

 

counterfactual propositions are the situation which the economist sets up as the alternative to the current one in order to assess the benefits and opportunity costs (e.g. for a cost-benefit analysis) of a different policy or treatment or circumstance. For instance the economist may be investigating the policy of raising taxes on alcohol, or of a new treatment regime for a narcotic, or the situation in which tobacco had never been available. Cost-of-illness studies have the counterfactual proposition that the illness does not occur. There may be more than one counterfactual proposition to a situation, so the results may be very sensitive to the exact assumption. For instance, it could be argued that the counterfactual to a situation without alcohol is greater use of narcotics.

 

demographic approach & human capital approach. The demographic approach described in detail in the Collins and Lapsley paper involves the  counterfactual proposition of what would have occurred to the population if the illness (or whatever) had never occurred in the past. It is essentially a retrospective approach, and reflects a national accounting method. Some of the costs included in the demographic approach are unavoidable as far as a cost-benefit analysis is concerned. The human capital approach discussed in the Harwood paper and used extensively in cost-benefit analyses involves traces the future effects of the change in policy (or whatever) on the population. Its counterfactual proposition is about what would happen if the illness ceased from the present, and values future gains by discounting into the present. It is essentially a prospective approach, dealing only with avoidable costs.

 

dependence see addiction

 

direct costs & indirect costs. In health economics direct costs are usually the costs to the core health system. Indirect costs are those incurred elsewhere, notably but not exclusively productivity lost. However elsewhere in economics the terms refer to variable costs and fixed costs respectively, and these (or other) definitions sometimes are used in health economics.

 

discount rate see discounting

 

discounting, discount rate, & present value. Discounting is the procedure by which a flow of benefits or costs incurred or accruing at different points in time is expressed as an equivalent money sum at a single point in time, normally the present. It is especially important where there is an investment element to the activity. Discounting involves the use of a discount rate, which is difficult to measure or agree upon. In principle the discount rate is the rate of exchange between money sums at different times, in effect an interest rate. In the case where the sum is discounted back to the current date, it is called the present value.

 

double counting, insurance. Double counting is the phenomenon where a resource is included in a total more than once. It needs to be avoided. For example insurance spending has to be split into two components. The first is the actual cost of administering the scheme, the transaction cost. The second is the payment to the insured. This benefit is offset by the cost in the insurance payment. It would be double counting to include the insurance payment (except for the transaction costs) such as for the motor vehicle coverage, and the cost incurred by the payment the insurance covered, such as the cost of car repairs.

 

external costs see internal costs

gross costs & net costs. Gross costs consists of all costs, and ignore any offsetting benefits. If the benefits are deducted the remainder are net costs. In the event of a net cost being negative (i.e. benefits exceeding gross costs), there is a net benefit.

 

human capital approach see demographic approach

 

identification/measurement/valuation is the summary of the three step process in the Maynard et al paper for the costs of illness studies.the elaboration is

– which elements to include in the work;

– how to measure the effects in each area over the relevant time period;

– how to value these effects in a common unit of account.

Harwood uses the parallel consequence/causality/cost framework.

 

illicit drugs & licit drugs. It is usually unlawful to use illicit drugs, which typically include narcotics. Licit drugs are those whose use in generally lawful, and usually include alcohol and tobacco. (Although in some countries alcohol consumption is unlawful.) Note that it is possible to misuse a licit drug as occurs with some prescription drugs. Economists do not distinguish drugs by their legal status as much as by their effects, noting that making some unlawful may be a means of regulating their use. The complication is that market for illicits are distorted, and data hard to obtain, so it is very difficult for an economist to analyze them. What is important about the distinction is that the current evidence suggests that in many countries licit drugs generate more economic costs than illicit ones, so it is likely to be inefficient for policy to concentrate solely on illicit drugs.

 

incidence, prevalence & point prevalence. Incidence is the number of instances of illness commencing, or of persons falling ill, during a given period for a population. It is about new events. Prevalence is the number of instances of a given disease or other condition in a given population at a designated time. If the period is not mention, the concept usually refers to the situation at a specified point in time, that is point prevalence.

 

indirect costs see direct costs

 

insurance (treatment of) see double counting

 

institutional arrangements differ from country to country. Thus they may influence the balance between private and public costs, since some countries make greater use of user charges, and consequentially the balance between internal and external costs. Institutional arrangements may also influence the effectiveness of policies, if for instance greater internalization of decisions reduces the quantity of substance abuse.

 

intangible costs see tangible costs

 

internal costs & external costs. Economists usually assume that individuals make decisions in their own interests. The costs and benefits and benefits taken into account are internalized while those which are ignored are external to the decision. These externalities occur when the individual making a decision ignores the consequences of their decisions on others (other than the further effect it might have on them). A complication is that while internal costs are private costs to the decision-maker, some of the external costs may be private costs to others. The complement of private cost in the context of these studies is social cost, some of which may be in the private sector.

 

irrational see rational

 

licit drugs see illicit drugs

 

market & non-market. the point of this distinction is to observe that while many costs and benefits occur tangibly in the market others, of sometimes greater importance, occur outside it. This includes intangibles but also activities in the household and elsewhere such as carework and housework, which is not paid, but nevertheless involves the resource of labour effort (and which may be diverted from the market).

 

morbidity & mortality. Morbidity is any subjective or objective departure from a state of physiological or psychological wellbeing. (Sickness, illness, and morbid condition are synonyms in this sense.) Mortality refers to death.

 

mortality see morbidity

 

national accounts are a system of analysis the production, distribution, expenditure, and financing of a nation. In recent years the international standards have been extended from a primary concern on market activities, to cover non-market ones such as the environment and housework. Some features of cost-of-illness studies can be seen to be in a national accounting framework.

 

net costs see gross costs

 

non-core see core

 

non-market see market

 

non-quantifiable see quantifiable

 

non-rational see rational

 

opportunity costs see benefits

 

point prevalence see incidence

 

present value see discounting

 

prevalence see incidence

 

private, public, and social costs. Private costs have two meanings in the economics literature. They may refer to the costs considered by the single private decision maker (internal costs), or they may refer to the costs of those in the private sector, not carried by the public sector. As a rule public costs refer to costs in the public (i.e. government) sector. The complement of private costs in the first sense of the private decision maker is usually social costs. Because there is no uniformity of definition, the terms “public” and “private” should always be treated with care.

 

productivity loss. As a result of illness a person may be less productive because of higher absenteeism or poorer output on the job. This loss of production is included in the costs of illness. In principle loss of productivity should cover consequences outside the market economy, such as reductions in human carework and housework by the sick person.

 

prospective & retrospective. A retrospective analysis typically involves a counterfactual proposition about an event which might have occurred in the past as it impacts on the situation today, whereas a prospective analysis asks about the effects of a counterfactual event with effects which begin at the point in time of the analysis (or shortly after) with consequences into the future.

 

public costs see private costs

 

QALYs (quality adjusted life years) see cost-benefit analysis

 

quantifiable & non-quantifiable Many benefits and costs are directly quantifiable (or measurable), or can be indirectly quantified. However in the case of some of the most important – often social – ones it is not possible (or easy) to do so, and these are called non-quantifiable. Sometimes ad hoc methods are used to put estimates on non-quantifiable costs, rather than leave them out of the evaluation altogether.

 

rational, non-rational & irrational. Economics assumes that individuals are generally rational, pursuing their own best interests as best they. (“Bounded” rationality recognizes they may not have the information, time, or best decision strategies to do so – that decision making involves costs.) Note that the internal decision may ignore the external costs to others. However the existence of addiction and drug abuse may suggest that sometimes individuals act irrationally, failing to pursue their own best interests, even in a bounded way. Collins and Lapsley explore this issue further in the section on addictive and non-addictive consumption. Their conclusion is that where drug consumption is irrational, the expenditure on the drugs is not a benefit to the individual and hence is a part of the total costs of abuse.

 

retrospective see prospective

 

social costs see internal costs and private costs

 

social value from gains of additional life years see value of life

 

tangible & intangible. Tangible costs and benefits are those which can be easily measured in money terms. Intangible ones cannot be so easily measured, although it is often useful to make an attempt to do so (perhaps using a willingness to pay approach). Very often the intangible costs involving changes in quality and length of life prove to be more important in the valuation than the tangible ones.

 

transfers (such taxes, subsidies, and welfare payments) do not relate to resource costs, so that the cost to one is offset by the benefit to someone else. (As when somebody’s tax is another’s social security payment.) It would be double counting to include the transfer payment as a cost, not to offset the contribution. Again transaction costs may be relevant.

 

transaction costs are those costs involved in a transaction. They include any costs for administering the transaction (e.g. the government and private compliance costs of the inland revenue system), plus any loses from behavioral responses (as when taxpayers reduce effort because of higher tax rates). The past practice has been to assume transaction costs may be neglected because they are small. They may not be.

 

unavoidable costs see avoidable costs

 

use & abuse Economists tend not to judge the usefulness of the use of a product or substance to the user, other than in terms of the user’s assessment. However the existence of addiction and irrational behaviour would seem to undermine that assumption. Other disciplines seem not to have a rigorous definition of abuse. A medical definition might be “drug abuse is deemed to occur when a relevant aetiological fraction is greater than zero, i.e. when drug abuse adversely affects the health of the user”. Economists tend to assume that a rational user takes this detriment into consideration when they are making the use decision. Sometimes the term is used pejoratively. Abel’s Dictionary of Alcohol Use and Abuse remarks, no doubt ironically, that alcohol abuse is “consumption to the point where it results in social disapproval”, which is the sort of judgment that economists’ try to avoid. Even so the term may be used as a short-hand for some longer concept which is carefully defined. For instance Collins and Lapsley define the term in their paper as “when the use of a drug or substance imposes social [external] costs in addition to private [internal] costs”, and devote an entire section to refining their definition.

 

value of life recognises that the effect of a treatment (or policy) may be to save lives, and that this effect should be included in a cost-benefit analysis. Otherwise the analysis would ignore life enhancing treatments, and comparisons would favour those which made no such comparisons. On the other hand the notion of putting a finite sum on the “value of life” might seem offensive. To put an infinite sum, however, would mean that there could be no trade-off for improvements in the quality of life. For example a CBA would be likely to favour a zero speed limit for cars if the value of life was infinite. The study’s approach has favoured the replacement of a value of life concept with a social gains from additional life years. Whichever concept is used, it is difficult to get an agreed value for the item. A description of approaches for estimating the value of life will be found in the Maynard et al paper.

 

willingness to pay is a measure of benefit opportunity cost, especially where an intangible is involved. Measurement can involve a polling individuals, asking what they would pay for the resource or outcome. There is a growing body of empirical studies – such as using surveys – which attempt to measure the willingness to pay.

 

 

 

References

 

Abel, E.L. (1985) Dictionary of Alcohol Use and Abuse: Slang, Terms, and Terminology, Greenwood Press, Connecticut.

 

Jacob, M.R. & K. O. Fehr (1987) The Addiction Research Foundation’s Drugs and Drug Abuse: A Reference Text, Toronto.h

In the Dark: The State Of Research into the Economy Is an Embarrassment

Listener28 June, 1997.

Keywords: Macroeconomics & Money;

The economy seems to have been in a growth slowdown. It is not easy to tell its current state because the data is incomplete. But as best can be judged, the upswing phase of the business cycle following the long recession of the late 1980s is over, and the economy is now expanding at a modest rate. The upswing was heralded by ideologues as a permanent and sustainable. The more cautious commentators recognised that this was a cyclical recovery, and economic growth would then slow down. It has. What does that tell us about the long term prospects of the economy?

In my 15 February 1997 column I criticised an article by three New Zealand economists for their selecting only the material which suited them. This was confirmed when one replied in a letter (March 29), which also ignored any contradictory evidence (while misrepresenting my position). Readers of my 17 December 1994 column would seem to be more knowledgeable than the letter writer, because they have seen the entire data set of our post-war growth record. Evident in that data, is that there have been two sustained long term growth periods in our recent history – up to 1966, and from 1978 to 1985. In those periods the economy grew about the same rate as the rest of the OECD. Between the two periods was one of relative stagnation due to the collapse of export prices. There was also a period of stagnation – even contraction – from 1986 to 1992.

My problem about what is now happening is not that of selecting opinion to suit my prejudices, but of identifying research, which is helpful. There has been a big cut back in relevant research in recent years, especially that which might contradict the official ideology. I especially miss the long term forecasts made by BERL consultants Bryan Philpott, Dennis Rose, and Adolph Stroombergen. Among the exercise’s strengths in the forecasting process the inclusion of each industrial sector’s assessments about its prospects. The last forecasting was published five years ago.

Events have rolled on, and we are entering period when the winding down of the Maui gas field becomes important. The ideologues seem to suggest the “think big” projects were a disaster and had little positive effect on the economy. The research is more equivocal, for there were some significant real impacts, although the return was not as much as was promised. So the phasing out of the hydro-carbon processing plants will depress overall growth. In addition a number of plants – most publicly in the car assembly industry and NZ Steel – are getting to the end of their lives and need refurbishing or – and this seems all too likely in some cases – closedown. The manufacturing sector may be about to undergo another substantial downsizing. If this sectoral contraction occurs it will slow down the growth rate of the overall economy.

The best guess for the long run growth rate is about the same as for the rest of the OECD (perhaps a little less), unless we get hit by a major external shock as occurred in the late 1960s, or if economic policy goes awry as it did in the 1980s and early 1990s. While the ideologues promise a higher growth rate, I have not seen them provide any evidence to support their prognoses. (It is “trust me baby, I know what I am doing”, although they did not seem to have in the past.)

The macroeconomic policy – especially the high exchange rate and interest rates – are cutting back the key industries upon which growth depends. A further deterioration in the external deficit, warned about in earlier columns, suggests the danger of a balance of payments crisis may be closer.

It is nonsense to say public spending will damage economic growth, but equivalent tax cuts will not. The covert ideology is the speaker prefers private goods and services to public ones, a perfectly respectable stance for with which economists have no particular competence to argue. If the public want more spent on health, education, and the environment, our job is to tell how to do it, not “you cant because I dont like the idea.”

It is most unfortunate that the economic debate is dominated by those in the financial industry, which functions quite differently from ordinary producers. It does not follow what is good for the financial sector is good for the rest of us. The economic commentary by numerous independent economists of varying views that was characteristic of the 1970s has all but disappeared. So has the research, which gave the debate a connection with reality.

This, you have probably realised, is a column for budget week. If, dear reader, you hear during it only a lot of jargon ridden self-serving ideology without much analytic content by exceedingly confident commentators who have been frequently wrong in the past, then you will recognise the economic debate is on track to depression, even though the economy may not be.

Globalization and Local Cultures: an Economist’s Perspective.

In J. Davey (ed) Globalisation and Local Cultures: Emerging Issues for the 21st Century, the proceedings of a seminar is sponsored by the Federation of New Zealand Social Science Organisations, the Royal Society of New Zealand, and the New Zealand National Commission for UNESCO. 27 June, 1997. p.20-27.

Keywords: Globalisation & Trade; Literature and Culture;

Globalization might be justified by David Ricardo’s pregnant insight of 150 years ago, that it may be in the material interests of a region or country to withdraw from producing a product where it had an absolute advantage in production, in order to produce another commodity for which it had a comparative advantage. By trading the comparative advantage commodity to another region or country in exchange for the other commodity, both benefit. This suggests regions or nations will become increasingly specialized in the production of products which can be traded, presaging the globalization of the world economy which has been evolving since the nineteenth century, if not earlier.

However, elegant though the theory of gains from trade may be, the analysis requires many assumptions, not all of which are plausible. We might ask why the more protectionist theory of Georg Friedrich List did not dominate. Economists have put a lot more effort into developing Ricardo’s normative account of trade than they have List’s. Indeed we know more about the defects of Ricardo’s theory because of this effort, and most of what we understand about List’s theory is via our understandings of Ricardo’s.

So why did economists put so much effort into Ricardo’s theory, rather than List’s? One answer is that it involves a more intellectually elegant analysis, but that does not make it true. A second explanation is that there is an intrinsic truth in Ricardo which is not in List. But what independent evidence do we have to decide on such inherency? It is a circular argument to use globalization as a justification for the truth of Ricardo’s theory, since earlier we were using Ricardo’s theory to predict globalization.

We can avoid the circularity if we take a less normative approach, and focus on the behaviour of the market from a positive perspective – a concern about how the world works, rather than how it ought to work. In particular I want to argue that given appropriate production conditions market forces will integrate individual markets into larger regional, national, and international ones. Indeed the market process seeks out and generates those production technologies which favour global integration. This approach sets aside the preoccupation of economists and non-economists alike about whether market forces and the process of globalization are good or bad. Once the market is treated as an amoral phenomenon we can make judgements about its outcomes without taking on all the normative baggage that has been loaded onto market forces.

What are the supply-side changes which are driving globalization? There are two key ones. The first is the falling costs of transport. As far back as we have records new technological innovations, including infrastructural and social technology developments, have reduced the carriage costs between regions and now nations, not only the transport of physical items such as goods, but also information by the use of such carriers as cables, the electro-magnetic frequency spectrum, satellite, and now the Internet.

Second, is the increasing importance of the simplification of production processes, the standardization of products, and economies of scale where the average costs of production fall as output increases. Falling transport costs allows these possibilities. to be reaped. Consider an economies of scale example.

The typical Asian car assembly plant can make between 80,000 and 100,000 units (cars) a year. Their present plans are to increase the production scale by 50 percent to plant volumes of 120,000 to 150,000 units a year. Often this is in countries which cannot absorb that number of a particular make, so the plans depend on their exporting the surplus production, which is feasible because of the falling transport costs.

New Zealand’s total purchases of new cars is about 60,000 units a year, that is, smaller than the minimum single plant size. Thus the ability to maintain car assembly in New Zealand depends on the finding of export markets.

Protection of a domestically oriented New Zealand car assembly industry is not a viable option insofar as it burdens car purchasers with more expensive cars. Moreover New Zealanders like to have a choice of the cars, a choice that derives from affluence and from their knowledge (which has arrived cheaply from the rest of the world) that there is choice. New Zealanders’ car demands could not be provided by a single car assembly plant.

The Ricardian theory of the gains from trade do not quite apply here, because economies of scale undermine the analysis (as List would have pointed out). However ignoring that for a moment, the Ricardian theory does not say that the car assembly workers would be better if there was free trade. It says that car purchasers will be better off with cheaper cars. The theory also requires that the car assembly workers are instantaneously redeployed into some other production activity, and strictly it also requires that the workers be compensated by car purchasers for the lower wages and inferior working conditions of their new jobs. Nevertheless, given these assumptions – and a few others – we know that the car purchasers will still be better off even after the compensation, although in practice it rarely happens.

You will observe that globalization requires some support from the governments and pressure groups to moderate and reduce national protection. One could call upon the Ricardian theory to explain why governments might be anti-protectionist, although it is hard to believe that they are as sensitive to the needs of consumers as that claim requires. New Zealand knows more than most how the interests of food consumers are regularly ignored, by their governments, in favour of the interests of food producers. I want to suggest three major reasons why governments have tended to be anti-protectionist, and thus favour globalization.

The first is well illustrated by Jacque Monet’s insight that if the economies of the West European nations could be sufficiently integrated, they would not be able to go to war again. This “make trade, not war” has been a central theme of international economic negotiations. Thus Clinton has recently favoured the MFN tariff for the People’s Republic of China in order to better integrate China into the world community. It is not a foolish strategy. The costs of the European Union’s Common Agriculture Policy are negligible in comparison to the costs of another major European conflict, even if did not go global or nuclear.

The second factor is the increasing dominance of multinational corporations in international trade. Their interests are the entirely amoral purpose of the pursuit of profits. In the low transport cost, high economies of scale industries which they operate, the corporations can better pursue profits with lower barriers to trade. In particular circumstances they may benefit from protection, but lower protection levels are better than higher levels across their entire operations. Thus they place a considerable pressure on nation states to lower the barriers. They do this directly by political actions, but the sheer pressures of international competition probably have a greater effect. If one country gives an advantage to the international corporations, all other countries are faced with either not responding and losing their industry or behaving as competitively.

The third fact follows. What are the options a government faces for its border strategy? One is to shift towards free trade – perhaps reluctantly, perhaps incrementally, as the political situation allows. The option of a constructing a system of rational border assistance is much more difficult. Even the Ricardian theory predicts there is an optimal non-zero level of border assistance, but little work has been done on how to achieve it practically, a consequence of the lack of investigation of List’s theory. The difficulties arise because giving assistance to one industry is likely to penalize others, so that each industry presses for assistance even though it may damage other sectors and the economy as a whole. Devising the optimal level tariff and subsidy regime is far from easy.

The free trade strategy has the further advantage for a small country that the growth of the export sector seems to be a major stimulus to overall economic growth of small economies (of which New Zealand is an example). This is an empirical regularity, with not a lot of theoretical underpinning. Such evidence we have suggests that the important factors which cause dynamic export sectors to uplift the rest of the economy are omitted from the standard Ricardian theory. A country committed to a dynamic export strategy is not able to assist its exports directly because the importing nation is likely to object (although as the Asian nations show, it is possible to rig the home market to assist the exporters indirectly). By pretending to be a free trader, even if one is not, the small country can join in the pressure to open other markets for their exporters.

Drawing these threads together we can see a set of reasons which together have caused most nations in the world economy to favour moving towards free trade for pragmatic reasons, rather than the ideological ones of the free trade rhetoric.

I have spent sometime arguing this, because I do not need the baggage about how free trade is an inherently good thing. Sometimes it is beneficial. Sometimes it is not. For almost 200 years pragmatic economists have sought to identify the circumstances for which free trade is beneficial, either within a national or regional market, or internationally. A basic assumption is that almost always the performance measure is some measure of production or consumption of goods and services. The underlying assumption is that the cultural context is not affected by the trading.

Indeed economists have a lot of difficulty dealing with culture, a phenomenon well illustrated by Tony Simpson’s cross-examination of a Treasury official at the 1986 Royal Commission on Broadcasting, and reported in chapter 3 of my The Commercialisation of New Zealand. The book goes on to show how vital is the economist’s assumption of stable preferences, and how once this is undermined the efficacy of commercialist policies towards broadcasting (and related activities) does not make sense. Treasury, and for that matter the Business Roundtable, come from a very narrow sect of the broad church of economists. Institutional economists and economic anthropologists have more useful things to say about culture. However economics analysis works best where personal preferences and culture are unchanging.

It is not accidental that this lecture has just reached the stage of discussing culture. Economists’ globalization literature does not use it much, taking it as given and unchanging. The impact of the Europeans on Polynesians demonstrates the nonsense of the assumption that culture can be treated as constant following a change in trading circumstances.

I do not know whether the that impact was ultimately good or bad for the indigenous culture. To be frank I am not even sure how to articulate the implicit research program. Economics is based upon quantifiable concepts, which despite various weaknesses, generally represent some sort of reality. (When economists ignore this principle – as with business confidence – they tend to go off the rails.) Despite attempts to estimate the size of the cultural sector – which I report on below – there are no satisfactory metrics for culture.

I have one empirically testable hypothesis: those who think free trade is almost always a good thing are likely to think the cultural impact was (and is) good; those who think trade is generally a bad thing are likely to think the cultural impact was bad (and is) too. Not belonging to either camp – believing there is no encompassing generalization about the benefit of international trade – leaves me unsure about the answer to the question whether the impact of Europeans on indigenous culture was generally good or bad.

There is an absolutely crucial issue. A healthy culture is not static but evolves, even if economists have little to say about that. The right of the indigenous to development, articulated in the Waitangi Tribunal’s Muriwhenua fishing decision, covers cultural development as well as economic development (if it makes any sense to distinguish them). Here are a couple of illustrations of this phenomenon.

I was involved in the Maori broadcasting claim, which went eventually to the Privy Council. Now neither the Maori who signed the Tiriti, nor Queen Victoria knew much about the electromagnetic spectrum (light excepted). Nevertheless it was made quite clear by the courts, and accepted by the Crown, that the Maori had rights to use the broadcasting spectrum as a part of the preservation and promotion of their Maoritanga. In the Maori broadcasting network we have a practical illustration of the development of their culture in terms that could not have been envisioned at the time of first contact.

My second example is that occasionally I go to low level hui run under Maori kawa. However, rather than sending the women out from the meeting an hour before to prepare lunch, someone goes across the road and gets a couple of KFC chicken hampers, which are placed on the table and, after a karakia, we eat. Later, after lashings of tea, we go back to a meeting which continues to proceed under the regular kawa. KFC is a multi-national, but I invite you to wonder whether – for this iwi anyway – it is also a part of its Maoritanga. It is not a question I raise lightly, but it points to the possibility that globalization need not be detrimental, but can be, and is, incorporated into a living indigenous culture in what appears to be a constructive way.

There was a second reason for choosing the KFC example. Statistics New Zealand has collected together data for the cultural sector. It covers such things as heritage, library services, literature, performing arts, visual arts, film and video, broadcasting, religious activities, secular community activities, festivals, and cultural education and training. The data are incomplete, but about 4 percent of the 1991 census labour force was employed in the sector. Its market production is also probably about 4 percent of GDP, and non-market activity may be even higher. However we do not know how much of the sectors’ inputs are imported, and so how important the global economy is in the supply of such cultural artifacts.

In any case, as the KFC example shows, there is a problem with this definition, because what food we eat and how we eat it is a part of culture. There are few goods and services we consume which are not. It is no accident that the McDonald’s restaurant chain is often used as a symbolism of globalization. The image of McDonald’s is the same food being served in every corner of the world – a homogenization of culture where both the beef and the sizzle are determined by a single international corporation. It is easy to be captured by this image. But is it true?

Economists have a theory of global convergence, which suggests, broadly, that in certain respects economies will tend to converge – to a similar growth rate, and perhaps similar forms of economic regulation and even economic structure. The theory applies to the rich countries of the OECD, and a number of rapidly developing third world countries which are expected to join them. Its implication is that countries of the rest of Central Europe and other third world countries will in turn have a similar experience. McDonald’s might be said to illustrate this phenomenon.

But even if the theory gives a representation of the future reality, it says nothing about a cultural convergence. Of course there will be some commonalities in consumption patterns, but that is not the same thing. There are counter examples. For instance, England has been settled for thousands of years, politically united for almost a thousand, with a high degree of transport integration for over a hundred, and with McDonald’s restaurants littered throughout a land area somewhat smaller than New Zealand. Yet there remain distinct regional differences. The point is further illustrated – perhaps less compellingly because there is not the same history of union – by the enormous regional differences in the United States of America and of the European continent. Moreover within regions there are often active sub-cultures – perhaps based on religion or ethnicity – as is in the case of the Maori in New Zealand.

Even so we observe strident chauvinism to protect these regional and other cultures. The Canadian resistance to Americanization is an example, while the European Union is actively concerned with the protection of local cultures. However the term “protection” alerts an economist that this may not just be cultural policy, but backdoor economic protection.

As a general rule policy promotion of culture involves some economic intervention, with characteristics of industrial assistance. For instance, the preservation and promotion of the Maori language has involved the public subsidisation of Maori broadcasting. Doing the same for the local music industry may avoid direct subsidies by local content quotas which an economist treats as a form of assistance in that they alter the allocation of resources.

Such assistance is not a trivial issue, but one which world trade policy has bumped against when some nations have insisted on the right to intervene to protect and promote their local culture. Inevitably that brings in possibilities of using cultural protection as a justification for economic protection. While no one is likely to argue that locally produced cars are an integral part of a local culture to justify the assembly industry being given privileged treatment, there have been other products for which such a claim has been made – German beer for instance. But how to deal with the claim that the existence of an assembly plant is vital to the region’s economic survival, without which the local culture will collapse?

How does this affect New Zealand, with its own distinctive culture? Government policy identifies one. Its “Fundamental Principles for the Coalition” in The Coalition Agreement of December 1996 includes

“To recognize the crucial role of our cultural heritage, our shared history and that differences and diversity have developed which represent both challenges and opportunity. This heritage has forged a special New Zealand identity, has been the source of our values and determines the direction we should be taking.”

and

“To undertake government in a manner that generates pride in New Zealand values and character, that emphasises the interest of New Zealanders and builds on the benefits of the New Zealand environment and our opportunities to enhance the quality of life for the people.”

I take the definition of culture to be something like the ‘dominion of signs’, an immaterial phenomenon which nevertheless requires material vehicles (artifacts) to carry them. Among those vehicles are books, so it follows that for New Zealand culture to be preserved and promoted it needs books to preserve old and create new signs for the culture.

As it happens book production involves substantial economies of scale (arising from significant setup costs) in the range in which New Zealand consumers typically purchase. The purchasers appear willing to pay a premium – it is thought about 15 percent of the sale price for a New Zealand novel over a foreign one. (1) But this is often not sufficient to compensate for the higher unit costs of production. Such conditions are a standard one for some industry assistance, probably by a subsidy to native producers, rather than a tariff or other restriction on imports. The very notion of a distinctive New Zealand culture means that it is only rarely that there would be a significant export market.(2)

This prima facie argument for assistance is already recognized in television production. The costs of local production are so high for some kinds of program which substitute for overseas productions that New Zealand would have none of that kind produced without a subsidy from New Zealand on Air. Just as Maoritanga needs support to survive against the dominant European based culture, New Zealand’s entire culture needs support to survive against the rest of the world, a pressure in this case compounded by its main language, English is the global lingua franca. Thus there is no natural protection from a distinctive language, as occurs for the Danes.

There is an even more astonishing legal recognition of the need for assistance of local culture from an overbearing larger culture than that in the Broadcasting Act. At no point in the litigation over the access of Maori to broadcasting did anybody – not even Treasury or the Business Roundtable – argue that Maori language and culture was not entitled to assistance, nor that it could survive in the English language, Pakeha-dominated New Zealand culture without such assistance. The argument was about how, given there was an obligation – enshrined in law, in the Tiriti, in the rights of the tangata whenua, and in the rights of a significant minority culture – to ensure the survival of Maoritanga. The litigation was only over the adequacy of the government’s proposals to achieve that. Exactly the same general argument applies to the existence of other significant minority cultures in New Zealand, and to the existence of New Zealand culture (majority and minority) in a globalized world.

This conclusion leads to two, perhaps three, policy issues. The first is, which minority cultures in New Zealand are considered significant (in addition to the Maori)? Perhaps an economist has not got much to say about this. I am not even sure what other discipline has much to contribute to the identifying those cultures either, although many would claim an advocacy role.

The second question is having precisely identified what cultures, or components of cultures, are to be preserved and promoted, what is the best form of assistance? Although there are no general policies, economists can contribute to the design of assistance packages. There are also some specific guidelines. In particular no culture can be offered unlimited assistance. Pragmatically we cannot afford it, especially as excessive assisting of one will inevitably lead to demands for assisting others.

But there is a more principled reason. It is clear, even if we look at only the narrowly defined cultural sector, that the total amount of government assistance is small relative to that funded by the private sector. That is the way it should be. It is an anathema to a liberal democracy for its culture to be greatly influenced by the government. The role of government is to assist cultural evolution, not direct it. Any limited assistance has to be carefully designed to give the maximum role to private activity. Yet it may also want to influence the balance of private activity. There might be a danger in Auckland being too dominant on the New Zealand cultural scene, or of the corporate sector being too dominate, and so on.

(I must confess that while I said that in principle economists knew how to help develop assistance schemes that should be reasonably effective and efficient, I would have some reservations at letting the entire profession loose on culture policy. Some are so ideologically anti-intervention and would have little to contribute to pragmatic design, while others make philistines appear connoisseurs. But these reservations may also apply to those in other professions.)

My third question is perhaps a subset of the second, but deserves separate consideration in the context of this seminar. What modifications to an international trading regime based on free trade are necessary to protect local cultures? Again I am not going to offer answers, for I am sure they are not simple.

It is at this point that the distinction I explored at the beginning of the paper becomes important. Those who favour free trade for ideological reasons will attempt to minimize measures to protect and promote local cultures. Those who see the pragmatic case for free trade (outlined above), who think that sometimes (or even generally) free trade gives beneficial outcomes but that there are exceptions, will recognize that cultural preservation may be one such exception. That does not mean the pragmatist accepts unlimited assistance: hence my earlier remarks on the need to design measures to ensure they were efficient and effective. Those who uncritically support assistance are as ideologically driven as the uncritical free traders.

If this paper has not tackled the hard questions of the details of what is to be done about the impact of globalization on local culture, it is because it has tried to set up a general framework grounded in economic theory, but which reaches out from the static assumptions which economists tend to make about culture to its more dynamic reality.

Endnotes
1. Many foreign publishers sell into New Zealand at a discount, a possibility arising from the low marginal cost of additional stock, especially if they have overestimate demand and have a backlog of unsold stock.
2. New Zealand authors do publish overseas, but many successful authors have to establish themselves here in the first instance. In any case, the overseas publishers are likely to be looking for different material. (Maori literature sells well here, but poorly overseas.)

Up in Smoke, Down the Drain: How Tobacco Use and Alcohol Abuse Cost Us $39b

Listener 21 June, 1997.

Keywords Health

New figures released this week indicate that tobacco and alcohol abuse cost the nation far more than hitherto thought. In my report The Social Costs of Tobacco Use and Alcohol Misuse, I estimate that the abuse of licit drugs costs the nation $38.6b(illion) in 1990. Some $22.5b is attributable to the costs of the use of tobacco, while $16.1b arises from the misuse of alcohol.

What do such large numbers mean? There will be many who will quote the totals to indicate that licit drug abuse is major blights on society, and that we should do our best to eliminate the abuse. Others will want to have an understanding of the figures in order to avoid misusing them. Here is a brief introduction: tobacco first because it is easier.

We know active (and passive) smoking is bad for one’s health. All tobacco consumption generates bad effects. But how bad? To answer questions about the costs of tobacco use we have to have a “counterfactual scenario” – that is an alternative situation – for one of the most basic rules of economic analysis is that costs must always be measured relative to some alternative. So suppose we ask what New Zealand would have been like had tobacco never been introduced here, and so there never had been any smoking.
* The population would be bigger, as people lived longer.
* It would be healthier, because smokers are less healthy than non-smokers.
* There would be more production, because smoking worker’s poor health means they take more time off, and their productivity is lower when they are working.
* The health system would not have to treat a variety of illnesses caused by smoking.
* There would be less litter and fewer fires (which also use resources).
* The sums spent on cigarettes and other tobacco products could be used for other purposes. (There is a tricky problem here about what to do about the benefits from smoking tobacco. Because of the addictive nature of tobacco these benefits appear to be small.)

Over the years researchers have measured the costs of the various components. I brought together the estimates of the loss of production, and the resources used for medicine and elsewhere, updated them, filled in some gaps, and added them up. The total costs of lost or diverted resources because of smoking came to $1.2b, or about 1.7 percent of GDP.

This is not the total of the social consequences, because smoking also shortens life and causes poorer quality of life among the living. Can we put a value on that? Public policy has to. If it did not, then it would either ignore the consequences of policy decisions on life, or it would only consider the implications for life and ignore everything else. When roads are designed we could ignore safety and build roads that kill, or we could design them so safe the traffic could not move. In practice we trade off loss of life and injury against the resources needed to prevent accidents. Surveys of New Zealanders show us willing to spend about $2 million to preventing a traffic accident that would end a life 35 years early. This figure, equivalent to spending $200,000 to prolong life for one year, is used in road design, and is the official “value of life”.

That value can be applied to the delaying death if there had never been smoking. In 1990 there would have been an extra 70,000 people alive had no tobacco been smoked in New Zealand. Since 70,000 times $200,000 equals $14.0b, the `mortality’ effect of tobacco at $14b for 1990. I also allowed for those alive who suffer as a result of smoking: a hacking cough, general ill health, aggravated asthma, emphysema, or endstage cancer. The figure I came up for 1990 was $7.3b. Although subject to a wide margin of error, it indicates the `morbidity’ effects of tobacco are substantial. The total value of the effects of death and illness from tobacco came to $21.3b.

It would be wrong to compare the $21.3b with Gross Domestic Product (GDP) which only measures material output. It is better to compare it with what might be thought of as the total value of life in 1990, which comes to about $630b (the population of 3.15 million times $200,000). Thus tobacco reduces our quality of life and living by about 3.2 percent, as well as reducing material output by 1.7 percent.

The cost of alcohol misuse is based on an alternative counterfactual scenario, since not all alcohol consumption is bad for health. (Moderate drinking can give modest health gains to some people.) So to calculate the social costs of alcohol abuse it was assumed that there is no misuse of alcohol: no excessive drinking, no violence arising from alcohol misuse, no alcoholism, no accidents, no resulting deaths, and so on. The effects listed above of a bigger and happier population and more production, and resources wasted on tobacco broadly apply to alcohol. Although fewer people die from alcohol misuse, they die younger and there are bigger production losses.

The estimated costs in material output terms, either gained (such as from higher work productivity) or avoided being spent (such as on medical care and road accidents) comes to $2.9b, or about 4.0 percent of GDP, in 1990. The population would have been about 30,000 larger, worth $6.0b in 1990. My estimate for the reduction of the quality of life of the living (including suffering non-drinkers) is $7.2b. Thus the mortality and morbidity effects come to $13.2b in 1990, a reduction of 2.0 percent of the total value of life. With material costs the total is $16.1b.

In total then, licit drug abuse reduces the material resources available to us for other purposes by 5.7 percent of GDP, and reduces the measure of human welfare by 5.2 percent. Without the material loss would fund an extra fortnight’s holiday: the population loss is equivalent to another town the size of Dunedin.

The obvious policy implications are that tobacco use is a major cost to society, and should be discouraged. Public policy has been increasingly committed to that goal over the last two decades. Public health specialists talk about the “tobacco epidemic”, insisting that ending smoking is the single best means we have of improving the population’s health. The $21.3b annual social costs of tobacco use support their diagnosis.

The efforts to reduce smoking seem to be paying off in terms of individuals giving up smoking. The just released 1996 census statistics have 609,297 people saying they were regular smokers, compared to 721,116 who said they were regular smokers in 1981 when the question was last asked. Given the population has increased by about 15 percent over the fifteen years and given also that individual smokers are smoking less. Recent policies have had some success. But the young are still starting smoking. Their puffing for a typical 30 odd years before giving it up will impact on the nation’s health, welfare, and medical services through to the middle of next century. The social costs of tobacco use are coming down, but slowly.

A second policy conclusion is that the social cost of alcohol misuse is not much smaller than that of tobacco use. Yet perhaps we have not been as socially committed to dealing with this epidemic. Still, there have been gains in public education and understanding, in the host responsibility program, and the elimination of drink driving. The data tends to suggest that again youth misuse remains severe, although it would be foolish for the oldies to say only the young misuse alcohol. (Where did the young drinker (or smoker) learn bad habits?)

Let me add, although this does not come out of the statistics, that while there are major issues of public policy they are also, in my view, matters of personal responsibility. Smoking parents are not only damaging the growth of their young children through their passive smoking (fatally in the case of some foetuses), but they (and other adults) are setting a bad example for their adolescent children even if later they give up. Unfortunately many are so addicted they cannot give up, but at the very least they need to say to the young “dont make the mistake I did.” Similarly good drinking behaviour will best arise from each of us setting a good example. (And if that involves drinking less than the rate, which maximises brewery profits, so be it. Better the alcoholic beverage producers and vendors who are actively encouraging good drinking habits. In the long run that will do more for their profitability, and the nation’s welfare.)

Other work I have done demonstrates that the smoking epidemic has been much more damaging to the Maori, who tend to smoke more and are more reluctant to give it up. It is especially heartening to see the Maori have in recent years taken personal responsibility to heart and are running their own campaigns.

Especially interesting in any research is the new findings it generates (as well as the old ones it confirms). I was surprised by the size of the morbidity effects of smoking and drinking abuse. They suggest that the destruction of life quality is not insignificant. The quadriplegic from a drunken road accident may be only marginally better off than someone killed; nor should we ignore the battered and traumatised women and children from bouts with drunks.

Another surprise was that while data does not exist to carry out the same quantitative exercise on the social costs of illicit drugs such as cannabis and narcotics, comparable Australian work suggests that the drug problem we face is tobacco use first, alcohol misuse second, and the illicts a long way behind. That is not always the public perception.

The third surprise, was that while the alcohol gains are a little smaller, and perhaps harder to obtain because the distinction between misuse and sensible use is harder to make, the gains are likely to be much quicker than from the elimination of smoking.
The policy implications of this study, and the many which underpin it, are still being worked upon. At issue is whether we continue with past policies, or whether new initiatives are required. We should not ignore the big gains to the nation’s health, welfare, and economy from cutting out all smoking, and eliminating drinking misuse.

Those who would like greater detail may obtain the report from the Department of Public Health, Wellington School of Medicine, Box 7343, Wellington South, for $15. The study was funded by the Alcohol Advisory Council of New Zealand, the Health Research Council, the Public Health Commission, and the Wellington School of Medicine (none of whom are responsible for the findings).

Money Speaks: The Information Battle Is Now Fought in the Market Place

Listener: 14 June,1997.

Keywords: Business & Finance; Literature and Culture;

Once it was “knowledge is power”, so the powerful kept the knowledge from the populace. Integral to the evolution of democracy was the making available of that information to everyone. Perhaps the high point was the 1982 Official Information Act (OIA), which makes it much easier to find out what the government is doing – or not doing.

A key element was the increasing availability of cheap means to carry the knowledge. Initially books were very restricted. The title “reader” for a senior university academic refers to the days when hand written books were chained to desks, and read out to the students. Moveable type transformed that. In the first fifty years of printing the numbers of printed texts exceeded all the manuscript texts provided in the previous thousand years.

It is important to distinguish between information and carrier. Philosopher Karl Popper described three worlds: the objective world, the subjective world that goes on in our minds, and a third world of ideas. However access to that third world, so crucial to the development of humankind, depends on artifacts from the objective world. Control those, and the ideas are controlled too.

Books are uncontrollable – even the restrictions in the Soviet Union were evaded by the typed copy of the samizdat which were secretly circulated; bibles were smuggled in. However the increase in types of carriers of information has meant that books are no longer the only, nor perhaps even the most important, source of formal knowledge. Journals and magazines, photocopies (which make the OIA workable), broadcasting, and now electronic data are all significant today. One might think this explosion of carriers would make information more accessible, but there are countervailing pressures to restrict accessibility. They are typically commercial.

Many people who thought such issues are irrelevant to them were nonetheless outraged when major sporting fixtures became broadcast on pay-television. But if some individuals are willing to pay to watch, what is the commercial logic of showing the game on a free-to-air channel?

Another retreat could be the pressure on public libraries to impose user charges. The free library movement was a nineteenth century commitment to making books available to all, even those who could not afford them. Above the entrances of Carnegie endowed libraries was the motto “free to all.” Yet, recent legislation requiring local authorities to review their activities has some investigating charging for their public libraries.

The same phenomenon is occurring at the national level, with the National Library and National Archives under pressure to charge users more because of the declining funding from central government. (The next thing they will be charging us for our certificates of births, deaths, and marriages.) Statistics New Zealand (SNZ) is in a similar position. There is a general acceptance that it should charge for adding value to its base statistics (as the Met Office does for the more attractive weather information it provides to the newspapers), but the statisticians recognize that they have a moral obligation to provide much of their data at lowest cost possible. The social science research ethic requires that the findings be reported back to those who are investigated. There is also the practical. SNZ relies on voluntary cooperation in its surveys, and needs to give something in return. What would it cost the government if we became so disgruntled we insisted on being paid before we filled in any forms?

The same applies to some of these other institutions. Would Walter Nash have bequeathed his invaluable papers to the state if he had known that National Archives might one day charge for their access? No wonder the archivists and the librarians are shoulder to shoulder with the statisticians resisting user charges.

Today “information is a resource” is the driving force. It argues all resources should be managed on commercial principles. and that the carriers should be charged for because it is hard to charge directly for the information itself. The logic is riddled with errors. Is information a resource? Should all resources be charged for? Are commercial issues all that matter? Most of all, “information is a resource” obscures “knowledge is power”. One suspects the rich and powerful are enthusiastic about restricting information to only those who can pay.

It is not sufficient to say that the world wide web has increased access to information. Not everything is on the web (much of that which is, is of low quality). What useful information to citizens is being put on the web, and by whom? in addition, the citizen faces setup costs of a computer and the transaction costs of line access (both, note, supplied commercially) to be overcome. Should our libraries be offering online access to the web? (And at what cost?)

The economist in me says there has to be some user charges for some information. But I would want their scope and level decided after a coherent and thoughtful debate. Instead we have fiscal and legislative bullying generating pressures to succumb to commercialisation, while democrats of goodwill resist.

Team Spirit: Has MMP Ended the Dominance Of Cabinet?

Listener: 31 May, 1997.

Keywords: Governance;

The view which blames all our current political and government difficulties on MMP cannot be correct. MMP is a method for electing members of parliament. How they behave is a result of the arrangements within Parliament House, not who gets elected. We may not even be able to blame MMP for coalition government. National won only 30 of the 65 electorate seats. Even increasing that by 2 to allow for the Wellington seats from which it tactically retreated, National would still have won less that half the electorate seats. So probably under a FPP election National would still have formed a coalition government with New Zealand First which won 6 electorate seats.

No doubt the current political regime suffers from an overhang of FPP politicians who have not really come to terms with the new circumstances and by seniority have excessive influence. But NZF also made a strategic decision which has, temporarily I think, distorted the MMP outcome. It was not its decision to form a coalition with National, but the announcement that it would be a strategic alliance which would last past the next election.

The model seems to have been the Australian political right, where the Liberal and the Country Parties have such an alliance. It works there partly because they have a different (Single Transferable) voting system but also because each party has a well defined electoral base (the Liberals are the urban right). It is not obvious that can happen here. It has been suggested that NZF will become the Maori party – a brown National. But while there are some Maori who are strong National supporters (under MMP they can vote for National anyway), will the mass of Maoridom will want to be locked into that role? Moreover the handful of Maori seats may be useful to National, but it needs another more substantial partner.

In any case should not the two partners of such an alliance simply amalgamate? Or, to put the point the other way around, how does NZF distinguish itself from the National, so that voters – brown or white – will support it, rather than directly voting National?

One answer, the MMP answer I would think, is that NZF (or whoever is the minor partner in a coalition government) can behave differently in parliamentary deliberations, being seen by the public to moderate the extremism of the dominant party. I did not form a view on the legislation to change the employment conditions of kindergarten teachers, because it was rammed through parliament without consultation. There may have been a reason for this urgency, except we were not told that either. The impression was that a cabinet decision was forced on parliament with the two government caucuses as lobby fodder, just as happened in FPP parliaments. (Given the procedure, the public must suspect there were dishonourable reasons for the change.)

Consider NZF’s strategy over the proposed liberalization of the postal market. I have an open mind on the issue, especially as it involves the difficult area of network economics. However it is clear the change is a form of privatization, insofar as some services provided by the publicly owned Post Office will in future be provided by the private sector. And we know that this policy change is (and is intended to be) a step on the way to the sale of the Post Office to the private sector.

Under the old FPP approach, the legislation would go to a select committee, where it would be forced through as the cabinet required, irrespective of the evidence presented by the public, together with a denial that the legislation breaks the intent and spirit of the coalition agreement that the Post Office would not be privatized. Even the public who supported the change would be contemptuous of the politicians’ dishonesty, and reluctant to vote for them next time round.

Where NZF could make a difference is if it insists that the select committee judge the issue on its merits, and accepts, amends, or rejects the legislation on that basis alone. If it was decided to proceed, NZF would explain that while the proposal contradicted the coalition agreement (which is, after all, open to amendment as events progress), the party concluded it was in the nation’s interest to proceed with the partial privatization.

Repeating this approach on controversial legislation, would enable the minority party in the coalition – in this case NZF – to present itself as moderating the power of the executive in favour of parliament and the people, thus distinguishing itself from parties who are strongly committed to a radical policy program (such as ACT).

As it seems likely that non-policy issues will determine the future of NZF, this strategy may seem irrelevant. Yet there will be another coalition whose minority party will face exactly the same dilemma. Do we continue with the dominance and arrogance which characterized FPP governments or, as intended by those who supported MMP, do we get a little more democracy back into government in between elections?

Regarding Henry:

The Absolutely First-Rate Refugee who was the Maker of the Modern Treasury.

Listener 17 May, 1997.

Keywords: Political Economy & History;

Henry Lang (1919-1997)

The refugees who fled the tyranny of Central Europe in the 1930s benefited New Zealand’s cultural, intellectual, and government life far in proportion to their small numbers. Examples range from architect Ernst Plishke to his stepson Heinrich Lang, who became Secretary of the Treasury, and contributed much else besides.

It must have been hard for the 19 year old, arriving in 1938 at this raw end of the world from comfortable cosmopolitan Vienna, overshadowed by the repression against Jews. If initially he was treated as an alien, New Zealand was for him a country of opportunity. He went part-time to university, served with the RNZAF, and in 1946 joined the Treasury’s elite Economic Stabilization Commission. The experience resulted in a profound commitment to the egalitarian New Zealand.

Although “Mr Lang” to Mr Muldoon, he was “Henry” to everyone else. While he was awarded an Order of New Zealand (our highest honour restricted to 25 living people), he never accepted a knighthood. “Sir Henry” was unthinkable.

By the early 1960s Henry was the enfant terrible, chief economist at the Treasury. He became Secretary in 1967, and resigned in 1977, years before he had to. There were many reasons, but undoubtedly one was his distaste for finance minister Muldoon, who perhaps reminded him of elements of the authoritarian style from which he had escaped.

To all he was a courteous European gentleman. His kindness was legendary. He retained his Austrian accent. It was once a sine qua non of being a Treasury official to be able to do a fair imitation of it, but always with affection. He had personally recruited them. But with a degree in philosophy as well as one in economics, he never confined recruitment to commerce students. When approached to join the Treasury one classics scholar demurred saying he was not an economist. Henry replied “but can you write?”

Yes, in the 1970s Treasury officials could write. It was a lively and exciting place which actively encouraged debate. It suited Henry’s temperament to have disputes between, say, keynesians and monetarists. He would insist they explore fundamentals, and compromise on a common sensible policy. Under him the Treasury attained the excellence which it prides itself on (although not always attaining). He described his best as “absolutely first rate”. That competence, plus the cabinet minute that all expenditure proposals require a Treasury paper, gave the Treasury its power. I once mentioned the myth that he and Muldoon had instituted the rule. Henry looked shocked, and explained it was before his time.

“More market”, the view that very often interventions were inefficient and ineffective, seems to have developed in the Treasury in the 1950s. Henry was a leading advocate of more market but he certainly was not an extreme commercialiser. After he retired he remained discreet, but there are enough hints that he had worries about some policy developments. How extensive they were we may never know, although at the very minimum he must have been concerned when narrow economic models replaced broad vision and the policy debate was limited to a single option. When I saw him to recall his memories of Bernard Ashwin, the Treasury Secretary who was his mentor, we would finish with a discussion on current policy issues. He could not bear not knowing all the significant arguments on an issue.

I suspect his years after retirement were lonely. Not that he lacked good friends, but his immense talents in policy development were under-utilised. Muldoon, of course, cut him off, but one of the earliest signals I got of the post-1984 policy upheaval, was an official telling me the new regime was keeping Henry out of economic policy, because his ideas were old fashioned. They came from the now abandoned corporatist tradition of the 1940s, where New Zealanders got together, consulted, and got a commonality of agreement.

Excluded from economic policy, Henry continued to work in the public interest in many areas, including the arts, about which he was passionate (as he was about skiing). He was a representative of the wider public on the Press Council, where he used his intelligence, common sense, experience, and sense of justice on our behalf, even though we did not know it. Yet his post-retirement potential was not fully utilized. Had those skills been applied to the 1991 health reforms, for instance, a lot of the stupidities would never have happened.

In the end Henry was, in my experience, a unique mix of insider and outsider. Being Secretary of the Treasury, together with his enormous network of friends made him insider par excellence. But the experience of a refugee plus a shrewdness of wit meant he accepted there were other points of view – a valid outside to the Wellington inside.

Of course Henry Lang was a New Zealander; a great New Zealander. But he was one distinctively from Central Europe. That we were able to use him so fruitfully, despite his minority background, was to our benefit, a benefit he was glad to give. But one cannot help regretting that in the later years we did not use him as fully as we might have.

Accounting for a Difference: How Should We Judge Jeff Chapman?

Listener May 3, 1997.

Keywords: Governance

In 1978 the then Auditor General, Fred Shailes, publicly complained about the antiquated state of the nation’s public sector accounting. A younger man in the Audit Office, Jeff Chapman, seized the initiative by persuading the Society of Accountants to establish a committee to develop new standards for accounting in central and local government. …

… Chapman was the first chairman of the committee which in 1987 produced the pioneering “Statement of Public Sector Accounting Concepts” (SPSAC), although his views did not always dominate. Yet without him the new approach might never have got off the ground.

While accounting is a worthy rather than exciting subject, the framework that SPSAC created has had a very considerable impact on the practical functioning of our public service:
– It demanded accrual accounting in the public sector which, unlike the cash flow accounting of the old regime, recognizes revenue and expenses as they are occur, not when the cash is received or paid. No more could government departments pay at the end of one accounting year for work to be done in the next in order to hide cash surpluses, nor would the Ministry of Works have an incentive to buy shingle in March, to get its cash off the books, and resell the shingle in April to get the cash back again;
– It required a distinction between operational and investment expenditures, so that the New Zealand Forest Service would treat planting and tending trees as an investment rather than an expense;
– It made the accounts transparent. No longer could a local body be near bankrupt, and yet its books not show it. We can tell from today’s accounts of the Crown Health Enterprises (but not their predecessor Area Health Boards), that most are in severe financial stress. Even if they no debt to pay interest on, many would still be making a whopping loss. (Some 14 CHEs have “letters of comfort” from the government, which in effect says `this CHE is not financially viable, but the government will bail it out if necessary’.);
– It required comprehensive financial reporting of all dimensions of a public bodies activities including its service performance. The idea was that performance was not just a matter of a financial bottom line, but that reports should provide a more broadly based scorecard by comparing accomplishments with real objectives and activities. (Interestingly, the government has strayed from this standard, and a number of agencies – including TVNZ and the CHEs – are not required to provide service performance reports. Just think if TVNZ was required to report on the service it provides its viewers, and not only whether it made a profit).

The principles underlying the new SPSAC approach were incorporated into the 1989 Public Finance Act, although some of its spirit was lost as the new regime has confused the reporting and accountability functions of financial statements with the controlling functions of Treasury.

And Chapman, deservedly, went onto higher things: first the Chief Executive of the Accident Compensation Corporation ACC (although Ian Campbell in his Compensation for Personal Injury is critical of his performance there), and thence to Controller and Auditor General with, in 1989, presidency of the Society of Accountants, and leader of the nation’s accounting profession. Sadly however, he suffered from a serious character flaw, perhaps of avarice, abused his position of responsibility, and has been incarcerated.

It is not my intention to in any way diminish the disgrace of his fraudulent actions. But there is a context. First, while the appointment to the ACC was justifiable, we need to ask how a man already in financial difficulties was promoted to leadership of the Audit Office without anyone noticing. This suggests a serious failure in the senior state sector appointment procedures.

Second, it is most unlikely that Chapman is the only chief executive in the history of the recent public service to suffer from such a character flaw. What happened to the others? It is not my intention to suggest there are other chief executives rorting their departmental finances, although some may have other personality flaws, damaging their departments in other ways. My point is that the checks and balances, which restrained the character deficiencies of past departmental heads, were substantially reduced under the 1988 State Sector Act. Today’s chief executives have so much power that, apparently in one case, fraud could be practised for over five years without anyone finding out (and with the perpetrator getting promoted to another department). The 1988 State Sector Act seems based on the premise that the heads of our government departments are models of human perfection. Some are not. Is that a rational assumption? Should we not expect the odd character flaw in the occasional chief executive?

Flawed and yet talented, Chapman’s fraud is totally unacceptable. But without him the SPSAC, and those major improvements in government accounting, may not yet have happened. The story has elements of a Shakespearean tragedy in which a leader is destroyed by a fatal defect. One recalls Othello’s last words: “I have done the state some service, and they [should] know’t”.

Callovers, Chalkies & Chips:

Once Upon A Time You Could See the Stock Market.
Listener: 19-26? April, 1997.

Keywords: Business & Finance; Globalisation & Trade;

While economists talk about “markets”, and business commentators personify them, it is rare to be able to see one as they are described in the textbooks. The stock market, which buys and sells company shares once had such a visible presence. David Grant’s book Bulls, Bears, and Elephants: A History of the New Zealand Stock Exchange is rich with stories of share market dealing – not all of which were honourable. It also pictures the stock market through time.

Picture 1 (page 64) shows the 46 members of the Dunedin stock exchange in August 1900 at a “callover”. Just to the right of the picture were three men who announced each share in turn and the members would call out the price they wanted to buy or sell.

This lasted until the 1960s. The book has a pair of pictures of the very small Invercargill stock exchange in 1920 and 1960. You can hardly tell the difference except by the clothing the brokers wore. Picture 2 (page 214) shows the last callover in Auckland in September 1963, with three men up front recording the sales.

Shortly after, the regional exchanges switched to “post trading”, with a blackboard at one end, on which the brokers’ offers and sales were chalked up. This is the public’s most common view of the stock exchange, because most of the floors had public viewing galleries. Note the collective telephones in Picture 3 (page 217) of the Wellington trading floor in 1972. In the callover era telephones were discouraged because they were thought unfair. Note also the mini-skirt of the “chalkie”. There is a myth that the height of the fashionable skirt correlates with the price of shares.

By 1990 dresses lengthened, and there were individual phones for seated brokers. Picture 4 (page 270) It is almost as if the upfront three of the callover had been replaced by a chalkie. The phones meant that the regional stock exchanges were integrated, since a broker could find out what was happening elsewhere and adjust his (or after 1981, her) bids accordingly. In 1996 there were 6 female and 212 male brokers.

And so telecommunications steadily took over until in 1991 the trading was switched to computers, with no trading floor. Picture 5 (page 358) shows the beginning of the end, as Minister of Justice, Doug Graham, switches on the new system. Today the physical presence of the actual stock exchange is some chip in a national computer, with myriads of wires attaching it to computer screens, such as the one in the back of the picture, often miles (and hundreds of miles) away from the chip which replaces the chalkies. One chief executive calls his screen room, “Star Wars”.

Today teachers can no longer take their students to the local exchange to show what a textbook market looks like. There are still a few such markets, but increasingly telecommunications and globalization are eliminating them, replacing a place where it happened with the flickering of a screen.

(I seem to have lost the original of this photo-essay, so I am not sure when it was published.)

Health Disservice:

We Spend More on Health Care. Where Has it All Gone?
Listener: 12 April, 1997.

The great twentieth philosopher, Karl Popper advised scientists to be aware of how the scientific problem with which they are concerned changes over time. The same applies to policy advisers. Policy problems change, so the unaware adviser or politician may be trying to resolve an outdated issue.

Why, for instance, do we keep spending more on health? There are some standard truisms, which give partial answers. The population is aging, and an older population requires more health care. New diseases – spectacularly AIDS – have appeared. We also spend to cover inferior life styles. The effects of the big increases in tobacco consumption of half a century ago are still working their way through the medical system. New technologies are more expensive.

We are also getting more health gain from the extra spending. Fifty years ago life expectation was 69 years, today it is nearer 76 years. We could justify the additional expenditure in terms of the 9 additional years of life (although medicine is not the only factor in the prolongation). But that would miss the point. Today much of medical care is not concerned with saving (or prolonging) life. It is concerned with making life more comfortable, of enhancing life.

Put this way, the point is obvious, but I am not sure that we have incorporated it into our health care policy thinking. The standard image of what the medical system provides is – say – treatment for an inflamed appendix. If the treatment is not provided the complications can cause death. On the whole the system deals with emergencies reasonably well. But an increasing proportion of spending on health care – on the elderly, the disabled, the mentally unwell, even physician’s and surgical care in hospitals – is more about improving the quality of life than extending its quantity. Of course a better quality of life will often prolong life, but there is health care which would not make that claim. Hospice care for someone dying of, say, cancer, may not actually prolong life. The aim is to make the patient as comfortable as possible, and to enable friends and family to adjust to the death. But even if hospice care does not prolong life, most people would still consider it an appropriate activity for the medical system.

Other examples are less clear cut, but the principle is clear. Medicine does not just save lives. Often it makes living more tolerable. This change has crept upon us, without careful thought about its implications. Fifty years ago, when we were fashioning the public health system as we know it today, the expression “elective surgery” did not even appear in the Shorter Oxford Dictionary. Today the term is so familiar it appears in the much smaller Concise Oxford Dictionary. But if in principle we distinguish between emergency surgery which saves lives, from treatments which improve lives, we still tend to treat all waiting lists for surgery as of equal importance. This is not to say that early elective surgery is valueless. Sometimes great pain is relieved by it. But conceptually it raises different issues from our traditional notions of surgery which underpin our accounts of proper health policy.

Our society tolerates quite wide differences in life comfort. Some people eat well, live in luxurious houses, experience varied and entertaining lives in interesting and socially respected jobs, while others have only access to poor diets, inferior housing, limited recreation, and a series of low quality jobs interspersed by depressing bouts of employment. It would be easy to extrapolate from here and ask why the state should provide the elderly poor with a hip replacement surgery? It did not provide much support when the person was younger.

I have not the space here to discuss whether all such social inequalities are unacceptable (although I insist they have increased in the last decade). Addressing only the health area, I want to suggest we are faced with a policy issue which is not a matter of whether we provide life saving treatment to all those in need, but to what extent we provide life enhancing care. Obviously we cannot provide all the care to make everyone as comfortable as possible (any more than we do that for their food, housing, and recreation). So we might have a public policy strategy which aims to keep everyone to a minimum degree of attainable comfort.

This is not as radical as it as first sounds. The 1991 health system reforms included a proposal that there would be a defined core of health care to which we would all be entitled from the public system. Despite the then minister, Simon Upton, saying this core was crucial for the reforms he was implementing, there is still no defined set of such entitlements. The committee charged with identifying it found the task too hard. (Instead of admitting their incompetence and resigning, they redefined their purpose. No wonder the health reforms have collapsed.) Yet the issue remains. What are we entitled to from the public health system, not just in terms of life saving treatments. but life enhancing ones?

Was There a Treaty Of Waitangi?: Was It a Social Contract?

A revised version of ‘Was There a Treaty of Waitangi, and was it a Social Contract?’ Archifacts, April 1997, p.21-49.

Keywords: History of Ideas, Methodology & Philosophy; Maori; Political Economy & History;

This paper arose out of consideration of what at first seemed to be a very straightforward problem.[1] In 1989 I was working with the Maori claims in regard to the broadcasting reforms.[2] I have told much of that elsewhere,[3] but the matter led to an investigation of the origins of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, in order to understand the entitlements to the property rights of the radio frequency spectrum by the Maori and by the Crown.

This required rereading the Tiriti. The problem, not original, is this: the official English version of Te Tiriti o Waitangi says the Crown guaranteed to the Maori:

“the full, exclusive, and undisturbed possession of their lands and estates, forests, fisheries, and other properties …”

The Tiriti which was signed at Waitangi has the following expression at the equivalent point in its text:

“te tino rangatiratanga o o ratou wenua o ratou kainga me o ratou taonga katoa.”

An early official translation of this phrase was provided by T.E. Young of the Native Department in 1869:

“full chieftainship [footnoted – `tino rangatiratanga’] of their lands, their settlements and all their other property.”[4]

More recently Hugh Kawharu translated it to

“the unqualified exercise of their chieftainship over their lands their villages and over their treasures all.” [5]

The two expressions are obviously not the same, even if we ignore the “forests, fisheries” in the first. “Full, exclusive, and undisturbed possession” is a more limited concept than “tino rangatiratanga” since even in narrow terms the latter involves much wider property rights (an important consideration in the case of the radio frequency spectrum). We might equate “estates” with “kainga”, one meaning of which in the Williams Dictionary of the Maori Language is “field of operation, scope of work”, although again the latter is a wider notion.[6] Meanwhile “other properties” seems a narrower concept than “taonga katoa”, since the latter could involve non-properties (such as the Maori language – and the radio frequency spectrum).

If there is any doubt about the magnitude of the difference, compare the translation of the relevant phrase from the English official text into Maori by T.E Young in 1869:

“te tino tuturutanga o o ratou whenua o o ratou motu ngaherehere o o ratou wahi hiinga ika, o era atu rawa e mau ana i a ratou katoa i ia tangata ranei o ratou mo te wa e hiahiatia ai e ratou ki puritia e ratou.”[7]

While it could be argued that the differences are a result of a very poor translation, that does not explain the omission of forests and fisheries however, and it does not explain why the Tiriti article is everywhere more encompassing in terms of the Maori rights than the English version.[8]

The Drafting of the Treaty

Hobson arrived in New Zealand in early 1840 with a set of instructions from Lord Normanby, the British Secretary of State for the Colonies. Despite the instructions to treat with the Maori, no draft treaty was included. This surprising omission gave Hobson considerable freedom.

The resulting Tiriti has a three part structure which is also evident in the earlier drafts: there is a preamble which describes the context in which the treaty arises written from the British perspective; a central portion of the three articles; concluding with an attestation for the Maori signatories.

There are four known separate texts of a draft treaty in English (and none in Maori): one is in the handwriting of James Freeman, Hobson’s secretary, which covers a preamble and three articles; a preamble in Hobson’s handwriting with amendments by Busby; and two versions (a copy and a cleaner version) of the three articles and the attestation in Busby’s handwriting. The texts are set out in the first four appendices in a form which facilitates comparisons.

My account of the drafting largely follows Ruth Ross’s 1972 article (which is also largely followed by Claudia Orange),[9] but there are some differences (or elaborations) of interpretation, especially as to what happened after the 4th of February, when the English draft was handed to the Williamses for translation. I see two important differences before then.

First it is clear from textual comparisons, even though Ross is more ambiguous about it (and the Facsimiles of the Treaty of Waitangi presentation order is incorrect, presumably because it follows the order which Hobson left the drafts in), that the Freeman draft precedes the Hobson draft.[10] Freeman’s is shorter, and much more primitive in its characterization of the existing situation of Maori politics. Hobson’s draft is a development from the Freeman draft’s preamble (and Busby’s draft elaborates the articles).

I have tried to reconstruct the historical sequence which lead to the writing of the Tiriti. The reconstruction is summarised in Appendix VI, whole Appendix VII lists the various documents which are involved, including some which are conjectured.

29 January (Wednesday)

Hobson arrives in Bay of Islands from Sydney. He sees Busby on this day. Over the next few days Hobson, Busby, and Freeman discuss the proposed assembly of chiefs.

30 January (Thursday)

Colenso prints invitation to assembly. Henry Williams visits Hobson. Hobson, Busby and Freeman (and Williams?) begin serious discussion on contents of the proposed treaty. The reason we cannot be certain about Williams involvement is that there is no precise record. of his involvement. The daily journal which is available frustratingly stops on 30 January 1840.[11] I shall assume – as most historians do – that Williams was intimately involved.

31 January & 1 February

Out of these discussions we assume Hobson directs Freeman to prepare a draft treaty, which he does over the next few days when Hobson visits Waimate and the Hokianga.

Freeman’s draft included a preamble, two articles (what was to be the third was a part of the preamble), and no attestation. Some alterations were made directly on the text. These included some changes to words, but the most important change was to reorganize Freeman’s text into a preamble and three articles.

2 February (Sunday)

Hobson, Freeman, Busby Freeman and Williams discuss Freeman’s draft Despite making alterations on it, they decide the text is still inadequate, and Hobson begins his own draft.

3 February (Monday)

However he only revises the preamble. He was not well and sent his officers to Busby with ‘some notes, which they had put together as the basis of Treaty’. Busby ‘stated that I should not consider the propositions contained in the notes as calculated to accomplish the objective’.[12] He wrote a fair copy of the first draft (which is in the Busby Papers), and gave it to Hobson. This second Busby draft is held in the National Archives.

This is the second point at which the historical evidence modifies Ross’s conclusions. She plays down the role of Busby in the drafting of the treaty, although it is unclear whether she means the English language draft, or the Tiriti.[13] A comparison of the ‘final’ English draft text, and the preceding ones show that Busby had a considerable input into the final English draft. He modified Hobson’s preamble (and it is likely that earlier he was involved in developing it), dramatically changed articles one and two, and appears to have been the sole writer of the attestation. Even the third article has a spelling correction made by Busby. One might also detect in the Busby version an account of New Zealand which is more sensitive – or even favourable – to his efforts as British Resident.[14] Hobson broadly agrees with this account, contradicting Ross insofar as she is referring to the English drafts. He wrote to Busby, ‘I beg further to add that through your disinterested and unbiased advice, and to your personal exertions, I may chiefly ascribe the ready adherence of the chiefs and other natives to the Treaty of Waitangi. …’ [15]

Busby says there was no alteration of the draft he submitted to Hobson other ‘than a transposition of certain sentences, which did not in any degree affect the sense.’[16] It is not obvious from the available documents what change he is referring to,[17] and it may well be that later in his life Busby’s recall of the detail is inaccurate, as is evident in some of his accounts of the events at Waitangi.[18] In the final Busby draft the word ‘severally’ in the second article is replaced by ‘individually’, possibly in Freeman’s writing, there is a ‘signature of the British plenipotentiary’ added after the third article, there is an addition which is crossed out at the beginning of the attestation, and there are a number of marks to indicate that a substantial content of Busby’s attestation was to be omitted.[19]

It is this omission, plus the claim that Busby’s articles ‘were in a large measure an expansion of those in Freeman’s notes’, which leads Ross to conclude that ‘Busby’s claim to have “drawn” the treaty is thus a considerable exaggeration even if applied to the various English versions.’[20] However, the differences between Freeman’s and Busby’s versions are greater than Ross implies.

4 February (Tuesday) – morning

The amended preamble and Busby’s clean copy are discussed by Hobson, Busby and Freeman (and Williams). The Busby draft is amended. Freeman writes a clean copy of the composite Hobson-Busby draft, probably in early afternoon, which has been lost.[21]

4 February – from 4pm

Henry Williams tells us that he was given a draft to translate about 4pm on the 4th. (His son Edward was also involved. We do not know about their respective contributions, and for simplicity of presentation the expression ‘Williams’ refers to father and/or son – unless there is an indication to the contrary.) At this point there are no further texts available until that of the Tiriti signed on the 6th.

5 February (Wednesday)

We know that on the 5th, the text in English was read to the gathering. It seems most unlikely that they would have read from the two pieces in different hand writing that are in National Archives. The likely read text was the lost Freeman draft. Then the Williams translation in Maori was also read. The Maori had various concerns. The accounts of the events, especially Colenso’s which is the most detailed, make little direct reference to the text of the treaty presented to the Maori.[22]

The Translation to the Tiriti

We must be careful, but let us try to construct what the Maori might have said had they directly addressed the text of the treaty presented to them on 5 February (noting we do not have that text). There would have been two areas of a literal translation of the Hobson-Busby draft to which they would have been particularly sensitive.

In the first article, and elsewhere, is the thorny issue of the translation of the term ‘sovereignty’. Young in 1869, and more recently Ann Salmon, have suggested that the best term for sovereignty would be ‘rangatiratanga’.[23] This presents two problems. First, in Maori the first article would have said that the rangatira would have ceded their rangatiratanga, which would have sounded a little odd, if not inflammatory. Second, we know at some stage, and certainly by the final one, the term ‘rangatiratanga’ is guaranteed in the second article – and it involves a very complicated story to transfer the term from the first article to the second. Thus I am inclined to the view that the Williams initial translation did not use the term ‘rangatiratanga’. What term might they have used for sovereignty? An obvious one was “mana”, given that the two words were equated in the 1835 Declaration of Independence. This could have been even more inflammatory. Did the Williams’ translation use ‘kingitanga’ at some stage, a term Salmon is attracted to. But why would it not have been used in the final draft? And then there is the simplest possibility that the term ‘kawanatanga’ was used from the beginning, although it suggests that Williams had some notion of sovereignty different from the absolute sovereignty of cessions.

A possible scenario is that the translation of ‘sovereignty’ was originally ‘mana’, and it was changed to ‘kawanatanga’ at a later stage, although whether that was before or after the hui on 5 February I cannot say.

The second problem is whether in the second article the phrase which guaranteed the Maori possessions was sufficiently encompassing. This is not to suggest that the Maori involved foresaw that one day the phrase should cover the Maori language (and certainly not the radio frequency spectrum), but it seems likely that they would want guarantees over everything they possessed or had chieftainship over. Again did the Williamses alter this in the course of the pre-hui discussion, or did they after?

These are obvious changes, but there may have been others, perhaps of a minor kind. One suspects that the Williams drafts of the translation of the Hobson-Busby draft were littered with many changes as father and son (and perhaps others), struggled with the issue of translating a complicated conceptual ideas into acceptable Maori – acceptable both linguistically and politically.

What we have been discussing here is how the Maori might have responded had they been confronted an accurate version of the translation of the Hobson-Busby text. Another question is how did the text get changed in the way that it did, apparently responding to potential or actual Maori concerns? Leaving aside accident, there appear to be two main explanations. The first is that Henry Williams and others saw the potential reaction of the Maori and modified the translation in response to those perceived concerns. The second is that the Maori responses in the hui of the 5th resulted in modifications to the text.

The most comprehensive account we have of the debate is Colenso’s. Compared to the six or so hours of the hui, even adjusting for the time taken in protocol and translation, Colenso’s account is a very brief summary of the discussion. Moreover his report is in English, and it seems likely that Colenso was not fully conversant with the contents of the treaty being presented to the Maori. The only group with a hard copy of the text was Hobson’s, so neither Colenso nor the Maori speakers could refer to a written text. Not surprisingly then, neither the Maori (nor Colenso) directly address the contents of the treaty verbally presented to them. However Colenso’s version of the speeches may be readily interpreted as addressing the first article (although not the second), and it is not difficult to envisage that alterations were deemed necessary. Possibly ,the alterations were described as improvements to the translation, to better capture the intentions in the Hobson-Busby draft (as understood by Williams).

We know the Williams clean copy of the 5th was changed in the evening after the hui. As his son-in-law Hugh Carleton reported ‘an alteration was made while the draft was under consideration.’ [24] The revised draft was then handed to Richard Taylor who copied it out onto the parchment, which was signed on the 6th.[25] The signed Tiriti was by now a much revised translation of the text which Freeman gave the Williamses on the afternoon of 4 February.

Much of this is surmise. But it is plausible assumption, not wild conjecture. Unfortunately we do not have the documents which enable the hypothesis to be directly tested. Neither the English text the Williamses was asked to translate, nor draft translations in their handwriting have been found. Taylor mentions that he kept the copy from which he made the final version, but it is not in his papers. The remainder were once among the Williams papers, but again we do not know what happened to them.

Carleton says that there was ‘an alteration’, but we do not know what it was, nor whether there were more. As Ross asks ‘was the alteration of any consequence? Was there in fact only one alteration?’[26] The most plausible answer to the first question is a ‘yes’, and the second is a ‘no’, since Taylor describes the Williams ‘clean’ copy of the morning of the 5th as a ‘rough’ draft in the evening. The change of adjectives suggests there was more than a minor change in the text. We do not know whether Hobson appreciated there were major differences between the English draft and the actual agreement. (He may have known there were differences, but thought them unimportant on the advice of Williams.)

This discussion assumes that the Williams made as accurate translation of the Hobson-Busby draft treaty as they were competent to do so, and consistent with their understanding of the issues. There is a view that they deliberately modified the draft for personal gain. They might have, but it the assumption is unnecessary. Te Tiriti o Waitangi as we know it to day does not require dishonesty in the translation, and parsimony suggests that claims of deceit and mistranslation are unnecessary. Moreover, that an English version was read on the 5th as well as Maori text suggests that as far as Williams was concerned the latter was as honest a translation as he could do, since there was a danger that someone may have identified any differences.

As a final point, the conventional story of how the Treaty of Waitangi was created describes the argument being offered to the Maori who accepted it without any significant alteration to the text. Put so bluntly such a scenario seems unlikely. Indeed, the Maori account of the signing of the Tiriti emphasizes the central importance of the debate which took place on February the 5th. The difference between the likely Maori translation of the Hobson-Busby draft and the final Tiriti appears to be a documentary confirmation of that oral tradition.

Was There A Treaty of Waitangi?

6 February (Thursday)

Ruth Ross titled her 1972 paper ‘Te Tiriti o Waitangi’, arguing that ‘this much is clear: the drafts, in English or in Maori, were merely drafts; it is the Maori text which was signed at Waitangi.’[27] Indeed, it was the Maori text that was signed on all other occasions, except at the Waikato Heads and the Manukau Harbour, where the actual events and understandings are a mystery.[28] It is this Waikato Heads text which gives rise to the English version of the Tiriti which appears in legislation and elsewhere. Thus there is a firm ‘yes’ to whether there was a Treaty of Waikato Heads, but if by the Treaty of Waitangi is meant an English text of the Tiriti, there was no such document at Waitangi on 6 February. The closest was the Freeman clean copy of the Hobson-Busy, which was probably read on the 5th, but is not mentioned on the sixth, and in any case the Tiriti which was signed seems to have had some significant alterations from it.

After 6 February 1840

Subsequent events reinforce this conclusion. Hobson had only the Maori version printed by William Colenso. When James Clendon, the US Consul in the Bay of Islands, reported the events at Waitangi to the US Secretary of State in a letter of 20 February, he was unable to obtain an official translation, but sent a unofficial one.

I have included the Clendon-US translation of the Tiriti as Appendix V. It is the earliest translation of the Tiriti we have. Who translated it? It is in Clendon’s handwriting but he was not the translator. Nor does he say who did the translation. It seems likely he would first have gone to one of the Williamses. Perhaps it is their translation. Of all the translations I have seen it is the one closest to the Hobson-Busby draft. It translates ‘kawanatanga’ into ‘government’, ‘rangatiratanga’ into ‘possession’, ‘taonga’ into ‘property’, and omits ‘forests, fisheries’.

If it were argued that these parallels were the result of the translator referring to the Hobson-Busby draft, then consider who had access to it. Only the official party and the Williamses had copies. That the official party was not involved in the translation (Clendon said it was not ‘official’), points to the translation being a Williams one. Another piece of circumstantial evidence is that we do not have the draft translation from which Clendon copied. It could be with the other missing Williams papers. If Colenso or Richard Taylor – the other possible translators[30] – had done it, they would probably subsequently mentioned the exercise and, likely as not, given a different translation from the Hobson-Busby draft (which they are unlikely to have seen). In any case, the Clendon-US translation is not in their papers (although Taylor’s are incomplete because the translation he transcribed is not there either).

The circumstantial evidence that the Clendon-US translation is by Williams is tantalizing. It is not enough for the ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ of a criminal court. But in our current stage of knowledge the hypothesis meets the ‘balance of probabilities test’ of a civil case. Suppose it is a (or the) Williams translation, made not later than a fortnight after the actual signing at Waitangi. Then more than any other document it has the claim to be ‘the’ Treaty of Waitangi, the English text version of the Tiriti signed at Waitangi. If it is, it would be ironic that this document is held in the US National Archives.

Apparently Henry Williams did not think his translation markedly changed the meaning of the English text he had been given. The implication of his certification of the English version, forwarded to the Secretary of State in October 1840, was he thought he had made no major change.[31] If the Clendon-US text is a Williams translation of the Tiriti then Williams could reconcile the Tiriti with the Hobson-Busby draft as his certification suggests.

For further evidence of the low status of the various English versions after the signing of the Tiriti, consider the numerous translations made in the 1840s by those involved in land deals around Auckland. They are closer to the Maori Tiriti (presumably based on Colenso’s poster) than the one Clendon sent to the US.[32] If everyone was translating the Tiriti, then they are implying the official version in English was non-existent, unimportant, or irrelevant. In the 1840s the general view among settlers seems to have been there was no Treaty of Waitangi, but there was Te Tiriti o Waitangi which had to be translated into English.

Hobson’s behaviour adds support to the lower status of the English ‘version’. Ross reports on five versions which Hobson forwarded to his superiors in Sydney and London. There are differences between them. The main difference is that three have the Hobson-Busby preamble, two the Freeman one. (One omits ‘forests, fisheries’.[33]) A sixth version attributable to Hobson is in Clendon’s letter to the Secretary of State on 7 July, where the preamble is again Freeman’s (but ‘forests, fisheries’ are included).[34]

What are we to make of all this? Surely it is that there was no English text of the Tiriti at the time of signing, or shortly after, that Hobson cobbled together what they could after recognizing the lack.

Was The Treaty of Waitangi Intended to be a Social Contract?

The problem which began this quest – the discrepancy between the rangatiratanga/possession provisions in article two of the Tiriti and the official English version – has been largely settled, at least in my mind. The differences between the two phrases are real, and arise not from faulty translation, but because the first reasonably accurate translation of the phrase in the Hobson-Busby draft was modified, probably as a result of demands by the Maori at the (first) hui on 5 February for a more encompassing notion of their possessions which they would retain. The Tiriti version is what the Maori agreed to, and what Hobson signed up to, although he may not have been aware of the import of the differences between the Hobson-Busby draft and what he signed. This account involves some conjectures, but it is consistent with the evidence and involves the least implausible set of assumptions to cover the missing evidence.

The alterations were not merely mechanical drafting or translation changes. A comparison of the Freeman and Hobson/Busby drafts shows a shift in the underlying vision. Freeman’s is essentially a treaty of cession, as Normanby intended. By the time Busby and (probably) Williams had finished, the vision appears to have changed to something which is beginning to look like a social contract.

An indication of the magnitude of the shift is in the so-called ‘unsigned treaty’. Hobson had spent a month with Governor Gipps in Sydney before he sailed to New Zealand. They must have discussed the Treaty, and presumably ended up with some common understandings. Gipps presented the ‘unsigned treaty’ to a group of Maori in Sydney on 14 February 1840. (They refused to sign.) It was a treaty of cession with the crown having exclusive preemption right. It transfers sovereignty to the Crown and offers in return only the protection of the Crown with no reference to British rights and privileges.[35] By comparison, Freeman’s draft is more sensitive to Maori issues, and suggests that even at that early stage there had been input by Busby and Williams since the discussions with Gipps.

This is most evident in the articles. Article one does not change a lot. Its equivalent in the Gipps treaty says that ‘Queen Victoria, shall exercise absolute Sovereignty in and over the Native Chiefs, their tribes and country, in as full and ample a manner as Her said Majesty may exercise Her Sovereign authority over any of Her Majesty’s Dominions and subjects, with all the rights, powers, and privileges which appertain to the exercise of Sovereign authority.’[36] In the Freeman draft it is reduced to ‘cede to Her Majesty in full Sovereignty’, which might be treated as a condensed version of the Gipps expression. Busby elaborated it to ‘cede … absolutely and without reservation all the rights and powers of Sovereignty which the said Confederation or individual Chiefs respectively exercise or possess …’ The phrase in the Tiriti becomes (as translated by T.E. Young) ‘give up entirely to the Queen of England for ever all the government of their lands.’[37] The translation by Miriam Penfold and Anne Salmond is ‘… give completely to the Queen of England for ever – all the Governorship of their lands.’[38] The size of the change is dependent upon how one evaluates the meaning of kawanatanga.

(Incidentally, the Gipps ‘Treaty’ shows it would be wrong to attribute the idea of the full transfer of sovereignty being solely due to Busby and/or Williams. Clearly Hobson and Gipps had contemplated this before they were involved. [39])

We can begin to see a shift in article three. The version of the Gipps treaty offers no more than the Queen ‘does hereby engage to accept the said Native Chiefs and Tribes as her Majesty’s subjects, and to grant Her Royal protection to the[m] …, in as full and ample manner as Her Majesty is bound to afford to other of Her Majesty’s subjects and Dominions.’ Freeman’s drafts more consciously offers ‘Her Royal Protection and imparts to them all the Rights and Privileges of British Subjects’, a sentiment which is continued through the other versions.

The biggest shift is in article two which moderates article one (as does article three). The Gipps treaty offers ‘the express understanding that the said Chiefs and Tribes shall retain for their own exclusive use and benefit their comfortable maintenance and residence.’ The Freeman draft offers nothing additional to article three. The Busby draft places obligations on the Crown to guarantee ownership of land resources, and other possessions, while the Tiriti refers to rangatiratanga, and an even wider set of property (or possession) rights.

Also instructive is the section from the attestation, which was subsequently removed (perhaps by Hobson, more probably Williams), is a very Hobbesian account of a country in strife which needs a sovereign to provide law and order, with its references to ‘weaknesses and inability to repress dissensions’, and ‘the want of laws and authority to restrain and punish the evil disposed and criminal’.

Suppose one were to write a social contract in the context of Waitangi in 1840. It might consist of two or three clauses, one of which transferred some sort of governing power to a governor, and a second which preserved certain rights to those who had transferred that power. Those rights would be in two categories: general civil rights (although some modern social contract theory would tend to have the rights and privileges provisions prior to the articles, as occurred in the original Freeman draft), and specific rights which would include property rights. Add a preamble and attestation, and one has a social contract which would look like the Hobson-Busby draft or the Tiriti.

Moreover the resulting structure of the final Hobson-Busby draft is elegant compared with, for instance, the Gipps unsigned treaty. The contrast is sufficient to suggest that there was at least one thoughtful and creative mind devising the treaty proposal. It could have been Busby or Williams, perhaps both.

A number of people have argued that the Tiriti is (or was) in fact a social contract.[42] There is a myth, which I recall first hearing in my adolescence, that the Tiriti was a Hobbesian social contract, something which I reported well before I had come to the conclusions discussed here.[43] Could it have been?

The idea of a social contract (or ‘social compact’, or ‘original contract’) was out of fashion in the middle of the nineteenth century. David Hume’s criticism that the notion was a theoretical construct and not an empirical reality seemed pretty compelling. However at Waitangi in 1840 there was a situation in which some sort of social contract could become a reality. Yet if an idea is unfashionable amongst the intellectual elite, the populist may still maintain the myth for generations – a phenomenon discussed further in the conclusion.

In any case we know that the notion of a social contract was discussed in the early part of the nineteenth century, if not among philosophers, then in sermons. Although the social contract is presented as a part of political philosophy, which it is, there is an older tradition of it in theology, deriving from the Old Testament covenant. We have a sermon of Richard Whately (who became Archbishop of Ireland) preached in 1821 in London, in which he discusses the social contract. While it is unlikely that Busby, Freeman, Hobson or Williams heard that particular sermon, they may have heard a similar one elsewhere.

This is conjecture, but we cannot rule out the possibility that Hobson and, more importantly, Busby and Williams intended their treaty to have the elements of a social contract as an integral part of the cession. Indeed, Busby was aware of the notion of a social contract, which he advocated for New Zealand. He wrote in September 1865, recalling a time after the 1835 Declaration of Independence:

“There were not wanting however among the chiefs some who had the sagacity enough to perceive that something more was necessary than the abstract assertion of rights of a Government, and the recognition of the parties in whom these rights are vested – ‘It was very well’ they said ‘for such of them as were well disposed – but how were those to be managed, who were disposed to rebel?’ ‘Such persons would pay no attention to the laws enacted by the chiefs, and who was to compel them?’ Here was an actual trial of what could be done by the ‘Social Compact’ and those who maintain that theory of the origin of governments rather than admit that ‘all power is God’ and that Governments are of his ordinance might take a lesson from the primitive ideas of the New Zealanders. They – that is the more sagacious amongst them – said, in effect, that God had denied to them the blessings of a Government and Legislature, and they had themselves no power to establish such Institutions.’”

This is the only reference to a social contract thus far found in Busby’s papers. It is no surprise that he was aware of the notion, since he was widely read. The focus of his last 30 years was the grievances he had with the Crown over land dealings, alas, and in this litigious process his interpretation of the Tiriti reads as if he was concerned with the Freeman draft version, with its emphasis on preemption in Article Two.

Nevertheless, even if this extract is not quite a smoking gun, on the balance of probabilities there was a conscious element of construction as a social contract in the Busby draft, given that Busby was favourably inclined to the notion.

It is even less conjectural – although I have not direct evidence – that because the treaty presented to the Maori was very evidently in the form of a social contract, the missionaries would have seized upon that interpretation, presenting it as a covenant between Crown and the Maori. The Maori appear to have readily accepted this interpretation, as down the years they have described the Tiriti as a ‘covenant’.

Henry Williams may have been crucial here, although there is no direct evidence that he ever contemplated a social contract. More work is required on teasing out the political theories of protestant missionaries, such as Williams, but it is tempting to assume that there was an element of the liberal social contract. Henry William’s contribution, if any, might be indicated by ‘kawanatanga’ as his choice for ‘sovereignty’, rather than ‘mana’, ‘rangatiratanga’, or ‘kingitanga’. This moderates the agreement in a minimalist direction. We would need to know more about Williams’ political thinking before we would be confident of this hypothesis.[14]

There is an interesting implication from the modifications to the various drafts. We described the Busby version as Hobbesian, and it certainly has a centralist ring to it. However as a result of the modifications the resulting social contract in the Tiriti is one of greater equality between the governor and the governed. So if the Tiriti is (or was) a social contract it is one of a liberal state where the powers of governance are the minimum necessary. Had this aspect of the Tiriti not been breached too, the path of New Zealand development would have been quite different.

Conclusions: Myths and the Treaties at Waitangi

The title of this paper asks two questions which can now be answered.

First, was there a Treaty of Waitangi? The answer is almost certainly no, if we mean that there was a document in English at the time of the signing of the Tiriti which was a parallel translation of the document that was signed. There was a Treaty of Waikato Heads which is what today we call the ‘Treaty of Waitangi’. However, the most likely candidate for the Treaty of Waitangi, the closest we have to a document which could be called a ‘Treaty of Waitangi’, is the translation of the Tiriti sent by James Clendon to the United States government a fortnight after the signing at Waitangi. Although we do not know for certain who did the translation, the most likely candidate was a Williams.

Second, was it a ‘social contract’? The answer is that the treaty which Hobson and Busby drafted had elements of a social contract including in the way it was structured. The circumstantial evidence suggests that at least the advice from Busby and probably the advice from Williams was influenced by some notion of a social contract. The subsequent modifications as the treaty was translated, subject to robust debate at the hui on February 5, and then altered again, strengthened the social contract element of the final form of the Tiriti, particularly towards it reflecting a more liberal arrangement in which political power was more dispersed, rather than concentrated in the sovereignty of the Crown.

The first conclusion is likely to be controversial because it contradicts the myth of the Treaty. Myths may be true or false. The myth of the Treaty of Waitangi is false, even though it is widely held. Despite Ross’s seminal article, 18 years later in 1990 the nation celebrated the sesqui-centenary of the signing of the Tiriti on the basis that there were two documents of equal historical status and validity, one in English and the other in Maori. A stronger form of this myth is that the English language Treaty is the superior or more relevant one.

This conclusion even challenges the interpretation that when a treaty is agreed in two languages, in law the version in the native language is to be preferred, so that the Maori version of the Tiriti o Waitangi is superior. There were not two documents in different languages agreed at Waitangi. There was not a document in English that was agreed on: there was probably not even a document in the English language that could be treated as a translation of the document agreed to. Insofar as there was a document in English (the Hobson-Busby draft) it was only a draft, and there seems to have been sufficient changes in the translation to give it no more status than that at the signing. The myth of the Treaty of Waitangi is based on a misinterpretation of the historical facts.

Myths are an integral part of a community’s account of their perception of themselves. Their existence tells us much about those who hold them. The myth of the Treaty of Waitangi is a part of the European belief that the Maori signed away their sovereignty – that it was in essence the treaty of cessation which Gipps had in mind. The vast majority of Maori signatories agreed only to the Crown’s governance of the nation, and it may be that the chiefs at the Waikato Heads and Manukau who signed the English language Treaty of Waikato Heads, which is the official version of Tiriti in English, had that understanding too.

Thus the myth of the Tiriti being a social contract has an historical element of truth, even if the vision was not conscientiously pursued in later years. Its contemporary relevance of the is unclear. It may merely be a matter of historical accuracy, or perhaps of nostalgia for a path of constitutional development which New Zealand failed to realize. But following John Rawles’ Theory of Justice the notion of social contracts has become fashionable again. It may be that the myth of the Tiriti as a social contract has a significant contribution to the ongoing constitutional and political development of New Zealand. Those who advocate the Tiriti being the foundation document of New Zealand are implicitly arguing that New Zealand society is founded on a social contract.

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Endnotes
1. Earlier versions of this paper included ‘Was There a Treaty of Waitangi; and Was it a Social Contract?’, Archifacts, April 1997, p.21-49; a paper to ‘He Korero Tawhito, He Korero Hou: History Here and Now’, Conference, Wellington, 8-11 February, 1996; and ‘Contract, Covenant, Compact: The Social Foundations of New Zealand’, address to Spring Lecture Series of St Andrews Trust for the Study of Religion and Society, published in Socialist Politics, Issue 90/3,4.
This project involved many people, who while not responsible for the views or errors in this paper have contributed to its development in various ways. They include Whatarangi Winiata, Piripi Walker, and Martin Dawson who were involved in the broadcasting claim; participants at the vigorous but informal lunchtime seminars at the Stout Research Centre, especially Brad Patterson and Richard Hill; various librarians and archivists at the Alexander Turnbull Library, the Auckland Public Library and National Archives; Claudia Orange who has patiently responded to a curiosity which bordered on pestering; Barry Rigby of the Waitangi Tribunal; Melissa Bray who looked up some material in the Hocken Library for me; and Manuka Henare who has provided me with discussion and his copious annotated record of Busby’s papers. Although I never met her, this paper is in greatest debt to Ruth Ross.
2. B. H. Easton, A Pakeha Economist’s Perspective on the Maori Broadcasting Claim, Commissioned by the New Zealand Maori Council, Wellington, 1989.
3. B. H. Easton, Working with the Maori: Consultancy, Research, Friendship, seminar paper for NZIER, 2 August, 1995, Working Paper Economic And Social Trust On New Zealand, 95.44.
4. AJLC, 1869:69-71, reported in C. Orange, The Treaty of Waitangi, Wellington, 1987, p.263.
5. I. H. Kawharu, Waitangi: Maori and Pakeha Perspectives of the Treaty of Waitangi, Auckland, 1989, p.319.
6. H. W. Williams, Dictionary of the Maori Language, Wellington, 7 ed, 1971. p.86. Oddly the 1971 edition of the Williams dictionary does not give a meaning of kainga as ‘village’, which is the common interpretation today. The implication of Bruce Biggs, Complete English-Maori Dictionary, Auckland 1981, is that there is no word for village in the William’s dictionary which it reverses. The translation which Clendon sent to the US government translates ‘kainga’ as `dwellings’ (Appendix V).
7. C. Orange, op. cit., p.264.
8. B. Biggs, ‘Humpty-Dumpty and the Treaty of Waitangi’, in I. H. Kawharu, op. cit., graphically describes some of the translation difficulties.
9. R. M. Ross, ‘The Tiriti o Waitangi: Texts and Translations’, New Zealand Journal of History, VI, 2 p.129-57.
10. Facsimiles of the Declaration of Independence and the Treaty of Waitangi, 1877, reprinted Wellington, 1976.
11. Henry Williams reports first visiting Hobson on 30th. L.M. Rogers, The Early Journals of Henry Williams: 1826-1840, Christchurch, 1961, p.477.
12. Ross, op. cit., p.132.
13. ibid. p.139.
14. The reference to ‘Victoria at Waitangi’ may have been Busby the property developer, with an eye to publicizing the township he was promoting.
15. 1 Sept 1840, reported in J. Busby, Appendix to a paper read at the Meeting of the National Association for the Promotion of Social (sic) at York on the 23 Sept 1865 and Published with their Transactions, Busby Papers, MS 46, Box 2, F7, Auckland City Library, pp.92-3.
16. J. Busby, Remarks upon a Pamphlet entitled ‘The Taranaki Question, by Sir William Martin’, Auckland, 1860, pp.3-4.
17. The most obvious case of a transposition of sentences occurs in the Freeman draft, with the shift of what is now the third article.
18. J. Busby, op. cit., 1860, p.145.
19. Page 1 and 2 have a line down their side, as has page 4 after the place set down for the chief’s signatures. Most of the rest of page 4 is crossed out. There is a large cross on page 3, immediately after the date. The implication, which subsequent documents support, is that everything on page 3 from the cross to the witnessing was to be deleted. The deletion does not markedly alter the sense of the draft, but eliminates unnecessary or contentious justifications.
20. Ross, op. cit., p.145.
21. Hugh Carleton reports the making of the clean copy. The Life of Henry Williams: Archdeacon of Waimate, 1877, Wellington edition, 1948, p.313,. He is quoting a manuscript by Williams Early Recollections, which seems to have gone missing, with the Williams diary after January 1840, and other relevant papers which presumably included the early draft translations. It seems likely, that Carleton, Williams’ son-in-law was the last person to see the complete Williams’ papers.
22. W. Colenso, (1890) The Authentic and Genuine History of the Signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, Wellington, 1890.
23. A. Salmond, Submission for the Waitangi Tribunal – Muriwhenua Land Claim. Doc F19, 1995.
24. New Zealand Parliamentary Debates, 1864-2, p.292.
25.The grammatical and spelling errors that Biggs noted are probably transcription errors made by Taylor. Biggs, op. cit.
26. Ross, op. cit., p.133.
27. ibid , p.129.
28. ibid , p.136.
29. J.R. Clendon, Letter to Secretary of State, United States of America, 20 February, 1840, in Micro 2607, RG59: Despatches from US Consul in the Bay of Islands & Auckland, National Archives.
30. Taylor was away with Hobson to the Hokianga hui at the time Clendon was writing.
31. Ross, op. cit., p.135
32. In Clendon’s Papers in the Auckland Public Library, 1839-72, NZMS 705, Clendon House Papers, Box 1/1, there is one of the prologue and first two articles – probably the final page is lost – which is quite different from the one he sent to the US.
33. Ross, op. cit., p.134.
34. Clendon, ibid , 3 July 1840, op. cit.
35. E. Sweetman, The Unsigned New Zealand Treaty , Melbourne, 1939. A transcription of the Gipps treaty is in C. Orange op. cit ., pp.260-61.
36. ibid , p.64.
37. Orange, op. cit., p.265.
38. Salmond, op. cit., p.5.
39. In an earlier version of this paper I attributed this belief, as far as Williams, was concerned to Paul Moon, citing his The Path to the Treaty of Waitangi: Te Ara Ki Te Tiriti (2002). Paul tells me that this misrepresents his account, in which case I am happy to make this acknowledgement of my earlier error.
40. Sweetman, op. cit., p.64.
41. ibid . p.64.
42. e.g. B.H. Easton, ‘For Whom the Treaty Tolls’, Listener , February 5, 1990, p.116, and ‘Contract, Covenant, Compact: The Social Foundations of New Zealand’, op. cit.; R. E. Ewin, ‘The Treaty of Waitangi and Hobbes’s Condition of Mere Nature’, in G. Oddie & R. Perret (ed) Justice, Ethics and New Zealand Society , Auckland, 1992, pp.60-72; J. Tichy, & G. Oddie ‘Is the Treaty of Waitangi a Social Contract?’ in G. Oddie & R. Perret (ed) op. cit. pp.73-90; G. Fleming, The Treaty as Social Contract , paper to the New Zealand Political Studies Association, Conference, August 1995.
43. Easton Listener 1990, op. cit.
44. J. Busby, op. cit., 1865, pp.87-88. In the margin next to the paragraph is: ‘I confess it does not strike me in this light. It only appears to me that this “Social Compact” was asking to talk and deliberate, but not to go a step further and act.’ I am grateful to Manuka Henare for drawing my attention to this quotation.
45. Something of Williams’ political views will be found in Carleton, op. cit., pp.126-128. Moon op. cit. discusses the views of the evangelical missionaries to which Williams belonged.
46. Ross, op. cit., p.138. (It is very appropriate, that she should have the last word.)

APPENDICES OF DRAFTS OF THE TREATY

I Drafts of the Preamble – Freeman’s and Hobson’s * not included
II Drafts of the Articles – Freeman’s and Busby’s * not included
III Drafts of the Attestation – Busby’s *not included
IV The Sources of the Treaty not included
V The Clendon-US translation of the Tiriti.
VI The Genesis of the Tiriti

* Notes
The drafts come from the Facsimiles of the Treaty of Waitangi (1877), except Busby’s original draft is from Busby’s private papers. The Clendon-US translation of the Tiriti comes from Clendon, op. cit. 20 February, 1840. All were originally in handwriting, which is not always easy to read.

APPENDIX V: THE TRANSLATION SENT BY CLENDON TO THE US

Her Majesty Victoria Queen of England in her Gracious consideration the Chiefs and people of New Zealand and her desire to preserve to them their lands and to maintain peace and order amongst them, has been pleased to appoint an Officer to deal with them for the cession of their sovereignty of their country and the Islands adjacent to thereto(?) – and saving that many of her Majesty’s subjects have already settled in the country and more constantly arriving. And that it is desirable for their protection as well as the protection of the Natives to establish a Government amongst them. Her Majesty has accordingly been pleased to appoint me William Hobson a Captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy to be the Governor of such parts of New Zealand as may now or hereafter be ceded to Her Majesty. And proposes to Chiefs of the confederation of the United Tribes of New Zealand and the other chiefs to agree to the following Articles.

Article the First
The Chiefs of the Confederation of the United Tribes of New Zealand and the other Chiefs who have not joined the Confederation cede to the Queen of England for ever the entire Sovereignty of their country*
(*This is the correct text. An earlier version on the webiste was wrong. I am grateful to Martin Doutré for pointing this out. BHE. 15 May, 2004.)

Article the Second
Her Majesty the Queen of England confirms and guarantees to the Chiefs and Tribes and to all the people of New Zealand the full possession of their Lands, dwellings, and all their property. But the Chiefs of the confederation Tribes and the other Chiefs grant to the Queen the exclusive right of purchasing such lands as the proprietors thereof may be disposed to sell at such prices as shall be agreed upon between them and the persons appointed by purchase from them.

Article the Third
In return for the cession of the sovereignty to the Queen of England the people of New Zealand will be protected by the Queen of England and the rights and privileges of British subjects will be granted to them.

signed William Hobson, Consul and Lieutenant Governor

Now we the Chiefs of the confederation of the United Tribes of new Zealand being gathered at Waitangi and we the other chiefs of New Zealand having understood the meaning of these Articles accept of them All.
In witness whereof our Names and Marks are affixed.
Done at Waitangi on the sixth day of February in the year of our Lord One Thousand and Eight Hundred and Forty.

The following note was appended
Item: This translation is from the Native document and [is] not a Copy of the Official document in English from which the Native one is made and although the words may be different from what they are in the Original(?) I think the sense is much the same but on the return of Captn Hobson from the ? I shall apply officially to him for a copy and translation of the Treaty for the purposes of sending it to the Government of the United States
James R Clendon (signed)
US Consul

VI: THE GENESIS OF THE TIRITI

The following is the scenario developed in the text. Where possible, the chronology follows that in Orange (1987).

Actual or conjectured texts are labelled with two letters (and sometimes a number). On the first occasion it is mention the symbol is emboldened. An asterisk indicates the text is in Maori. The various texts are summarized at the end.

1839

14,15 August: Normanby’s Instructions to Hobson – do not contain a draft or model treaty.

27 December: Hobson arrives in Sydney, where he stays until 18 January. He spends much time with Gipps. Presumably they discuss the contents of Normanby’s instructions, and the treaty which they imply. It is conjectured that the notion of the treaty they discuss is captured in the “unsigned treaty”, which Gipps offers to some Maori on 14 February (GT).

1840

29 January: Hobson arrives in Bay of Islands. He sees Busby on this day. Over the next few days Hobson, Busby, and Freeman discuss the proposed assembly of chiefs.

30 January: Colenso prints invitation to assembly. Henry Williams visits Hobson. Hobson, Busby and Freeman (and Williams?) begin serious discussion on contents of the proposed treaty. (about) Hobson directs Freeman to prepare a draft treaty based on the previous discussions.

31 January: Hobson goes to Waimate and Hokianga.

1 February: Hobson returns from Hokianga.

2 February: Sunday. Hobson and Busby (also Freeman and Williams?) discuss Freeman’s draft (FD). Make alterations on it, but decide it is still unsatisfactory. Hobson begins own draft (HD).

3 February: Hobson is too ill to complete draft. He sends his draft preamble, and the Freeman draft to Busby. Busby amends Hobson’s draft preamble, and writes down his own articles and attestation. (BD1) He then rewrites the latter into a clean copy. (BD2)

4 February (morning): The amended preamble and Busby’s clean copy are discussed by Hobson, Busby and Freeman (and Williams?). Busby’s draft is amended. Freeman writes a clean copy of the composite Hobson-Busby draft (HB), probably in early afternoon.

4 February (from 4pm): Henry and Edward Williams are given the Hobson-Busby draft to translate. They do this in the evening (W1*). Williams prepares clean copy for hui (W2*).

5 February (9am-10am): The Williams translation is looked at by Busby and Hobson. Busby suggests one amendment ‘whakaminenga’ for ‘huihuinga’.

5 February (10am onwards): The Maori and others gather. Hobson reads an English text (i.e. HB). Henry Williams reads his (amended) translation of the Hobson-Busby draft (i.e. W2*). There is considerable dissatisfaction among the Maori.

5 February (from about 4pm): Meeting breaks up. Henry and Edward Williams further amend the text in the light of the discussion that day. The text (i.e. W2*, but now a ‘rough’ copy because of alterations) is given to Taylor, who writes it out on parchment (making a couple of transcription errors) that evening. This is the Tiriti o Waitangi (TW*).

6 February: At the second meeting the Maori sign the Tiriti o Waitangi (TW*).

8-17 February: Colenso prints copy of the Tiriti (CT*).

9-18 February (i.e. afterwards): Clendon obtains copy of Tiriti, but is unable to obtain copy of English translation. Goes to one of the Williams (Henry?).

10-19 February (i.e. afterwards) Williams provides Clendon with a translation of Tiriti (W3).

20 February: Clendon transcribes the Williams(?) translation which he sends to US Secretary of State (CU), with copy of Tiriti printed by Colenso.

Summary Table

NAME DESCRIPTION DRAFTER/ SOURCE WRITER DATE DRAFTED DATE AMENDED STATUS CURRENT LOCATION
GT Gipps Treaty; ‘Unsigned Treaty’ Treaty submitted to Maori in Sydney Gipps? ?  ExistingMitchell Library, Sydney.
FD Freeman’s Draft Preamble & Articles Dictated by Hobson? Freeman 31 Jan? 1 Feb? Existing National Archives
HD Hobson’s Draft Preamble Hobson Hobson 1 Feb? 3 Feb by Busby? Existing National Archives
BD1 Busby’s First Draft Articles & Attestation Busby Busby 3 Feb Existing Busby Papers, Auckland Institute & Museum Library
BD2 Busby’s Clean Copy Article & Attestation Busby Busby 3 Feb 4 Feb (morning) by Hobson Existing National Archives
HB Hobson-Busby Clean copy of HD & BD2 HD & BD2 Freeman? 4 Feb (afternoon) Reported Lost – in Williams papers?
W1* Williams’ First Draft Translation of HB HB Translated by the Williamses One of the Williams 4 Feb (evening) 5 Feb (morning) by Busby Conjectured Likely to have been in the Williams Papers
W2* Williams’ Second Draft Clean copy of W1* presented to Maori on 5 Feb W1* One of the Williams 5 Feb (morning) 5 Feb (evening) Reported Likely to have been in the Taylor Papers
TW* Tiriti o Waitangi Parchment, signed on 6 Feb W2* Taylor 5 Feb (evening) Existing National Archives
CT* Printed Tiriti Printed Version of Tiriti TW* Printed by Colenso Between 8 & 17 Feb Existing Numerous locations
W3 Williams’ (?) Translation Unofficial Translation of Tiriti for Clendon TW* translation by Williams? Williams? After CT* Conjectured Likely to have been in the Williams Papers
CU Clendon-US W3 in Clendon’s handwriting W3 Clendon After W3, by 20 Feb Existing US National Archives

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The Social Costs Of Tobacco Use and Alcohol Misuse

Report prepared for the Alcohol Advisory Council of New Zealand, the Health Research Council of New Zealand, and the Public Health Commission. Contents and Executive Summary. Published in full as Public Health Monograph No 2 Department of Public Health, Wellington School of Medicine.

Keywords Health; Regulation

CONTENTS

Introduction and Acknowledgements
Executive Summary

1. The Cost-of-Illness Framework for Measuring the Social Costs of Substance Abuse

2. The Social Costs of Tobacco Use

3. The Social Costs of Alcohol Misuse

4. Conclusion: Comparing the Social Costs of Tobacco Use and Alcohol Misuse

Appendices
1. The Value of Life
2. The Value of Life in New Zealand
3. The Problem of Valuation when the Consumer is Addicted

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

1. Social Cost of Drug Abuse studies are an example of cost-of-illness studies.

2. Cost-of-illness studies are based upon the valuation of the additional costs and benefits of a carefully specified counterfactual scenario.

3. The counterfactual scenarios used in this study are:

Tobacco Use: There is, and has been, no consumption of tobacco and the alternative consumption and other activities are benign.

Alcohol Misuse: Alcohol consumption which exceeds a “safe” limit does not occur, and people change their behaviour for consumption levels below that, so their behaviour is not inappropriate.

4. In the counterfactual scenario, people live longer and have a healthier life (the intangible costs), and there is less expenditure both directly and indirectly associated with the drug consumption (the tangible costs), which also have to be adjusted for any benefits from the consumption of the drugs.

5. The estimates of the social costs for tobacco use and alcohol abuse for the 1990 year are summarized in the accompanying table.

6. Tobacco Use
The use of tobacco has
– reduced the New Zealand population by about 2.0 percent;
– reduced the overall quality of life (intangible costs) by about 3.2 percent (including the population loss);
– reduced the available material goods and services (tangible costs) by around 1.7 percent (of GDP).

7. Alcohol Misuse
The misuse of alcohol has
– reduced the New Zealand population by about 0.8 percent;
– reduced the overall quality of life (intangible costs) by about 2.0 percent (including the population loss);
– reduced the available material goods and services (tangible costs) by around 4.0 percent (of GDP).

8. The study concludes that:

THE SOCIAL COSTS OF TOBACCO MISUSE AND TOBACCO ABUSE ARE VSSQ – VERY SIGNIFICANT, SOME QUANTIFICATION.

SUMMARY TABLE

SOCIAL COSTS of TOBACCO USE & ALCOHOL MISUSE
Measured Relative to Stated Counterfactual Scenarios
(1990)

Tobacco
Intangible
Effect of population mortality $14,000m
Effect of population morbidity $7,250m
Tangible
Reduced production from mortality $400m
Reduced production from morbidity $145m
Additional resources from consumption $580m
Additional resources from not have to treating induced diseases and other consequences $205m

Less
Benefits from consumption $-125m

Total Costs of Abuse $22,470m

Intangible Costs
Total $21,250m
Percentage of total human capital 3.2%
Tangible Costs
Total $1,220m
Percentage of GDP 1.7%

Population Decrease 2.0%m

Alcohol
Intangible
Effect of population mortality $6,000m
Effect of population morbidity $7,200m
Tangible
Reduced production from mortality $600m
Reduced production from morbidity $1,200m
Additional resources from consumption $900m
Additional resources from not have to treating induced diseases and other consequences $750m

Less
Benefits from consumption -$540m

Total Costs of abuse $16,110m

Intangible Costs
Total $13,200m
Percentage of total human capital 2.0%
Tangible Costs
Total $2,910m
Percentage of GDP 4.0%

Population Decrease 0.8%