John Cochrane asks: “Just how much do ill-constructed regulations cost the US economy?” (HT Ross Levatter) A slice:
In this context I found a very interesting tidbit from Mary O’Grady’s coverage of President Milei’s reforms in Argentina.
Argentina’s deregulation czar, Federico Sturzenegger…[has] discovered a rough rule of thumb: Where deregulation happens, prices decline in the range of 30%. He has seen it in textiles, logistics and some agricultural products.
Notoriously, removing rent controls in Buenos Aires has lowered rents by about the same amount. The supply expansion overwhelmed the actual price control.
A price decline of 30% tells us that the economic benefit of deregulation is at least 30% of current income. Real GDP is price times quantity, so even if the quantity of the deregulated god does not change, a 30% decline in prices gives people that much more real income to spend on other things. And it’s a lower bound. If rents, textiles, and logistics decline in price by 30%, rent-paying businesses, clothes makers, and everyone who sends something anywhere by truck can expand their businesses.
Even 30% is a lot. That’s a decade of 3% extra growth. That’s the difference between the US and most of Europe. That’s orders of magnitude more than most conventional economists will allow as the cost of regulation.
The Editorial Board of the Wall Street Journal decries Trump’s cozying-up to labor-union bosses. Here’s its conclusion:
It’s no surprise that President Biden favored the ILA, since his wife is a union member and Democrats feed on labor money. But it’s disappointing, and an ill policy omen, to watch Mr. Trump side with a small protected class of union members instead of workers everywhere.
“Yup” (to quote Tyler Cowen).
Boston Globe columnist Jeff Jacoby isn’t a fan of the legislature of the state of Massachusetts. A slice:
It is a truism that Bay State voters have the Legislature they elected. If we sent better men and women to Beacon Hill, we would presumably have a better government. But that is much easier said than done in a state where the Legislature is effectively in session year-round and where the political culture is in thrall to the fallacy that legislating is a full-time activity, to be entrusted to well-paid “professional” lawmakers separate from the citizens they govern.
Massachusetts is not like most states, where legislatures convene each January for a strictly limited period — three to four months is typical — and go home after crafting a budget and dealing with whatever legislative priorities need attention. In a few states, including booming Texas, legislative sessions are biennial; a few months every other year is all lawmakers require to get their jobs done.
Most state legislatures, in other words, are normally not in session.
Wall Street Journal columnist Andy Kessler warns against falling for conspiracy theories. A slice:
The stereotype flipped to MAGA warriors in 2021, for those refusing to be guinea pigs for undertested Covid shots. Looking back, so-called Covid conspiracy theories—about the virus’s origin in a Wuhan lab, the efficacy of lockdowns, masks and natural immunity, vaccine testing and the negative effect of school closings on children—ended up more right than wrong.
Until recently, debunking conspiracy theories was the role of the mainstream press. Sadly, their reputation is in tatters after their Covid biases, their insistence that President Biden was sharp as a tack, and their cheerleading for wokeness. Millions of Americans now rely on podcasters, influencers and other crackpots instead. That isn’t good either.
We live in an age of loosey-goosey truth. The Twittersphere nicknamed former Washington Post reporter Taylor Lorenz “Miss Information.” “Fact checkers” are too busy analyzing every Trump utterance. Snopes can be a good conspiracy debunker, but still, people want to believe. Now more than ever, you need to make up your own mind.
So how do you debunk conspiracy theories? It’s hard. First, they must pass the smell test. Most don’t. Then ask if someone can hold a secret for that long. Don’t believe movies, podcasters or even politicians. Find some real science. Most important, figure out who benefits from spreading the story. The trick is not to let your emotions get the better of you. Question authority. But don’t believe your uncle Charley either. Remain skeptical. Then again, maybe start cooking with butter instead of canola oil—just in case.
Richard Epstein is correct: Trump’s “weak appointments don’t deserve unconditional approval.”
Richard Zoglin isn’t thrilled with the movie version of Wicked. A slice:
There’s also a puzzling disconnect in the movie’s popularity. After voting Donald Trump back into the White House in an apparent repudiation of woke ideology, the nation is flocking to a movie that could be Hollywood’s poster child for diversity, equity and inclusion. There’s certainly nothing wrong with casting a black actress (Ms. Erivo) as the wicked-witch-to-be; the opprobrium she faces for her green skin was always a stand-in for race prejudice. But the parade of stock characters and empowerment clichés—cruel father, shallow prince, haughty mean girl, misunderstood ugly duckling—plays like a preachy after-school special. (It’s an odd Oz where the most recognizably human character turns out to be the wizard, played by the amiably hangdog Jeff Goldblum.)
