John Q

A few weeks ago, I drew up a flowchart to estimate the probability that Trump would establish a dictatorship in the US, which looked, at the time, like an even money bet.

We don’t need to speculate any more. Trump has announced the dictatorship, and there is no sign of effective resistance. The key elements so far include

• Extremists announced for all major positions, with a demand that they be recess appointments, not subject to Senate scrutiny
• A state of emergency from Day 1, with the use of the military against domestic opponents
• Mass deportations, initially of non-citizens and then of “denaturalised” legal immigrants
• A third term (bizarrely, the nervous laughter that greeted this led to it being reported as a joke).
• A comprehensive purge of the army, FBI and civil service

It’s clear that Trump will face no resistance from the Republican party. There’s an outside chance that the Supreme Court will constrain some measures, such as outright suppression of opposition media, but that won’t make much difference.

It’s possible that Trump will overreach in some way, such as carrying out his threat to execute political opponents before the ground is fully prepared. Or, his economic policies may prove so disastrous that even rigged elections can’t be won. But there is no good reason to expect this.

I can’t give any hopeful advice to Americans. The idea of defeating Trump at the next election is an illusion. Although elections may be conducted for some time, the outcome will be predetermined. Street protest might be tolerated, as long as it is harmless, but will be suppressed brutally if it threatens the regime. Legal action will go nowhere, given that the Supreme Court has already authorised any criminal action Trump might take as president.

The models to learn from are those of dissidents in places like China and the Soviet Union. They involve cautious cultivation of an alternative, ready for the opportunity when and if it comes.

The remaining islands of democracy will have some difficult choices to make. I’ll offer some thoughts on Australia, and others may have something to say about their own countries.

For Australia, the easy, and wrong, course of action will be to pretend that nothing has happened. But in reality, we are on our own. Trump is often described as “transactional”, but this carries the implication that having made a deal, he sticks to it. In reality, Trump reneges whenever it suits him, and sometimes just on a whim. If it suits Trump to drag us into a war with China, he will do it. Equally, if he can benefit from leaving us in the lurch, he will do that

Our correct course is to disengage slowly and focus on protecting ourselves. That means a return to the policy of balancing China and the US, now with the recognition that there is nothing to choose between the two in terms of democracy. We need to back out of AUKUS and focus on defending ourselves, with what Sam Roggeveen has called an “echidna” strategy – lots of anti-ship missiles, and the best air defences we can buy, from anyone willing to supply them.

I’ll be happy to be proved wrong on all this.

Note: I’d prefer not to have any post-mortems on what the Democrats did wrong. Any possible lessons won’t be relevant to the future. And a country where only a third of the population is willing to turn up and vote against dictatorship is headed for disaster sooner or later.

After Trump’s second election victory, lots of Americans are talking about emigrating, most commonly to Canada. This happens with every rightwing election win[1], but nothing ever comes of it. With the real prospect of indefinite Trumpist rule, the issues are more serious, but it seems unlikely that much will happen. But why not?

It’s fairly well known that Americans rarely emigrate. There are, for example, only about a million US citizens living in Canada at the moment. Conversely, there are around a million Canadians living in the US. These are surprisingly low numbers for contiguous countries with a common language (except for Quebec) and relatively straightforward[2] paths to migration.

A detailed illustration of a U.S. passport with the text ‘US Paort’ on the cover, lying on top of a Canadian flag background. The Canadian flag’s red and white colors with the maple leaf design are vibrant and easily recognizable behind the passport. The setting is simple, with the passport angled slightly to showcase the modified cover design, creating a contrast between the blue of the passport and the red and white of the flag.
As usual ChatGPT didn’t quite get the text right

More generally, it’s a common rightwing talking point that the USA is the country most commonly named as a desired place to migrate to. What’s less remarked is that Donald Trump’s expressed desire for more migrants from “places like Denmark” reflects underlying reality. Migration from other rich countries to the US is very limited. In 2022, about 300 000 people (excluding tourists) from Europe arrived in the US, and the majority of these were students, most of whom would probably return. And Europe includes a lot of poor countries.

There’s a lot more migration between other rich countries, including between other Anglospheric countries. For example, although Canada has about a 10th of the population of the US, there are about half as many Canadians in Australia (50 000) as Americans (100 000).

The conclusion I draw is that the US is very different from other, superficially similar countries, I’ve visited the US on lots of occasions and had a couple of extended stays totalling two years. But it still seems a very foreign place to me, much more so than New Zealand or the UK, where I’ve been less frequently. And I imagine the same is true, in reverse, for Americans abroad.

Looking at the recent election results, they are in part a reflection of global trends (anti-incumbent, anti-migrant etc). But the vote for Trump was substantially higher than for most of the far-right policies in other countries. I think (hope) that this reflects some specifically American factors.

The option of moving to Canada is, for most Americans, an illusion. They will have to sort out their problems at home, as best they can.

fn1. In the event of a Democratic victory, there aren’t a lot of options for rightwingers, even ignoring practical difficulties. Lots of them have nice things to say about Hungary, but I think only Rod Dreher has moved there. Same in spades for Russia.

fn2. Migration is never easy. But, excluding moves within the EU, Canada-US migration seems to be about as straightforward as anywhere. CUSMA (formerly NAFTA) makes it relatively easy to get work permits, and thereby make the contacts needed for employer sponsorship.

There’s not much I can do about it, but I still spend a lot of time thinking about what I, and others outside the US, should do if that country ceases to be a democracy. But, it doesn’t seem as if lots of other people are thinking this way. One possibility is that people just don’t want to think about it. Another, though, is that I’ve overestimated the probability of this outcome.

To check on this, I set up a flowchart using a free online program called drawio. Here;s what I came up with

I hope it’s self-explanatory. The bold numbers next to the boxes are the probability of reaching that box. The numbers next to arrows coming out of decision nodes (diamonds) are the probability of that decision.

I also apologize in advance if there are any arithmetic errors – my degree in pure mathematics doesn’t insulate me against them.

If the US were remotely normal, every entry on the left-hand edge ought to be equal to 1. Harris should be a sure winner, Trump shouldn’t find any supporters for a coup, the MAGA Republicans in Congress should be unelectable and the moderate program proposed by Harris should be successful enough that Trumpism would be defeated forever.

But that’s not the case. There are two end points in which US democracy survives, with a total probability (excessively precise) of 0.46, and one where it ends, with a probability of 0.54. By replacing my probabilities at the decision nodes with your own, you can come up with your own numbers. Or you may feel that I’ve missed crucial pathways. I’d be interested in comments on either line.

Note: Any Thälmann-style comments (such as “After Trump, us” or “Dems are social fascists anyway”) will be blocked and deleted.

We’re in another round of concern about the “death of the book”, and, in particular, the claimed inability or unwillingness of young people to read full-length books. I’m not going to push too far on the argument that this complaint is ancient, but I can’t resist mentioning the response of my younger brother, who, when asked if he wanted a book for Christmas, answered “thanks, but I already have one”). That was around 50 years ago, and he went on to a very successful legal career.

Fifty years ago, the main competitors for books were TV and radio. Critics at the time decried the passive mode of consuming these broadcast media, compared to the active engagement required by reading. Now, in many respects, the complaint is the opposite. The various services available on the Internet are interactive, and engrossing, finely tuned to keep our attention.
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Over the eight decades following the end of World War II, the US has taken part in dozens of land wars, large and small. The outcomes have ranged from comprehensive victory to humiliating defeat, but all have received extensive coverage. By contrast, the US Navy’s admission of defeat in its longest and most significant campaign in many decades, has received almost no attention. Yet the failure of attempts to reopen the Suez Canal to shipping has fundamental implications for the entire rationale of maintaining a navy.

Operation Prosperity Guardian was launched in December 2023, following a series of attacks on shipping undertaken by Houthi rebels. The US dispatched a carrier strike group, led by USS Dwight D. Eisenhower, and supported by ships from the Royal Navy and other European forces. Despite intensive bombardment of Houthi positions, attacks on shipping continued and traffic through the Suez canal fell by 70 per cent.

In July, the Dwight D. Eisenhower quietly returned to returned to Norfolk, after what the Navy correctly described as “a historic nine-month combat deployment” but not historic in a good way. The strike force without achieving any of its goals. And then, in late August, came the official admission of  defeat As reported by Voice of America:

Vice Admiral George Wikoff, who heads the U.S. naval efforts in the Middle East said that not only have U.S. strikes and defensive efforts done little to change the Houthis’ behavior, it now appears unlikely the group will be swayed by military force.

“The solution is not going to come at the end of a weapon system,” Wikoff told an audience in Washington, speaking via video from U.S. 5th Fleet headquarters in Bahrain.

“We have certainly degraded their capability. There’s no doubt about that. We’ve degraded their ability,” he said. “However, have we stopped them? No.”

Why has this failure attracted so little attention? Why, for example, has it not even been mentioned by either side in the course of the Presidential election campaign? The answer, quite simply, is that the strategic rationale for the mission turned out to be spurious. “Vital shipping lanes” are not actually vital at all.

The closure of the Suez canal has, indeed imposed higher insurance costs on shippers using the canal, and has led much of the traffic to be diverted to the longer route around the Cape of Good Hope. But the overall impact on freight rates has been modest, and any effect on global economic activity has been too small to be observable. 

There shouldn’t have been any surprise here. Despite some hyperbolic claims at the time, the six-day blockage of the Canal in 2019 (due to the grounding of the Ever Given) caused only modest disruptions, with massive insurance claims being quietly settled for much smaller amounts

More notably, the Canal was closed for lengthy periods in the 20th century allowing studies of the economic impacts. These turned out to be very small except for India and Pakistan, both of which were then heavily dependent on trade with the UK and Europe.

And what is true of the Suez Canal is just as true of other “vital shipping routes”, such as the Straits of Malacca. It’s almost always better to take the long way around (for example through the Sunda straits or even through Australian waters in the Southern Ocean) than to fight a war to keep a short cut open.

On the other side of the coin, the failure of Russian attempts to block Ukraine’s exports of wheat and grain provides further lessons on the limits of naval power. Ukraine’s tiny navy was wiped out on the first day of the 2022 invasion. But Russia’s much-touted Black Sea Fleet has fared little better, being driven from its Sevastopol base to ports in Russia, out of reach of Ukrainian missiles. By sailing close to the western coast of the Black Sea, ships carrying Ukrainian grain can be protected by land-based defences, while sailing in waters too shallow to permit attack by submarines.

In summary, as a recent commentary put it, the failure of Prosperity Guardian poses an “existential threat” However, the threat is not to the world economy but to the US navy and, indeed, all the navies of the world. If keeping “vital trade routes” open is neither militarily feasible nor economically important,  a large part of the rationale for surface navies disappears.  

It’s unlikely that defeat by the Houthis will have much effect on perceptions of the US Navy in the short run. But with so many other demands on the defense budget, the rationale for maintaining a massive, but largely ineffectual, surface fleet, must eventually be questioned.

I haven’t discussed the broader horror of the various Middle East wars, which gave rise to the Houthi attacks. My long-standing view is that the US can do nothing useful and, beyond humanitarian aid, should do nothing to help any party. Please don’t derail discussion by talking about this.

My latest in The Guardian

Announcements from major employers, including Amazon and Tabcorp, that workers will be required to return to the office five days a week have a familiar ring. There has been a steady flow of such directives. The Commonwealth Bank CEO, Matt Comyn, attracted a lot of attention with an announcement that workers would be required to attend the office for a minimum of 50% of the time, while the NSW public service was recently asked to return to the office at least three days a week.

But, like new year resolutions, these announcements are honoured more in the breach than the observance. The rate of remote work has barely changed since lockdowns ended three years ago. And many loudly trumpeted announcements have been quietly withdrawn. The CBA website has returned to a statement that attracts potential hires with the promise, “Our goal is to ensure the majority of our roles can be flexible so that our people can work where and how they choose.”

The minority of corporations that have managed to enforce full-time office attendance fall into two main categories. First, there are those, like Goldman Sachs, that are profitable enough to pay salaries that more than offset the cost and inconvenience of commuting to work, whether or not they gain extra productivity as a result. Second, there are companies like Grindr and Twitter (now X) that are looking for massive staff reductions and don’t care much whether the staff they lose are good or bad.

Typically, as in these two cases, such companies are engaged in the process Cory Doctorow has christened enshittification, changing the rules on their customers in an effort to squeeze as much as possible out of them before time runs out.

We might be tempted to dismiss these as isolated cases. But a recent KPMG survey found that 83% of CEOs expected a full return to the office within three years. Such a finding raises serious questions, not so much about remote work but about whether CEOs deserve the power they currently hold and the pay they currently receive.

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Like most academics these days, I spend a lot of time filling in online forms. Mostly, this is just an annoyance but occasionally I get something out of it. A recent survey in which the higher-ups tried to get an idea of how the workforce was feeling, asked the question “Do you think of the University as We or They?”.

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This study showing that US academic faculty members are 25 times more likely than Americans in general to have a parent with a PhD or Masters degree has attracted a lot of attention, and comments suggesting that this is unusual and unsatisfactory. But is it? For various reasons, I’ve interacted quite a bit with farmers, and most of them come from farm families. And historically it was very much the norm for men to follow their fathers’ trade and for women to follow their mothers in working at home.

So, I decided to look for some statistical evidence. I used Kagi’s AI Search, which, unlike lots of AI products is very useful, producing a report with links to (usually reliable) sources. That took me to a report by the Richmond Federal Reserve which had a table from a paper about political dynasties.

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… at least in the “Anglosphere”

One of the striking features of the racist riots in Britain has been the wide spread of ages among those (nearly all men) convicted so far[1]. This is unusual, since criminal violence of all kinds is most commonly associated with young men. And it’s a counter-example to what has become a standard talking point.

The belief that young men have shifted strongly to the right and far-right has become a background assumption for lots of political journalism. But there’s plenty of evidence that, in Britain and other English-speaking countries[2], both young men and young women are more likely to support left and centre-left parties. The recent UK election gives a striking example

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The age gradient here is stunning. That probably reflects the division over Brexit a disaster inflicted on the young, primarily by nostalgic retirees (the vast majority of this group voted for Tories/Reform in 2024). If you squint you can see a slightly larger gender gap among young voters than in older cohorts. But, as is true elsewhere, this reflects a leftward shift among young women, rather than a move to the right by men.
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As requested by a couple of commenters, I’ve created a separate thread to discuss the issues raised by commenter “closet conservative” in response to my post on US academia. I’ll moderate, but not participate

I have a letter in The Chronicle of Higher Education responding to Steven Teles’ call for more conservative college professors. It’s a shortened version of a longer piece I wrote, which I’m posting here.

The fact that conservatives are thin in the humanities and social sciences departments of US college campuses is well known. A natural question, raised by Steven Teles, is whether the rarity of conservative professors in these fields reflects some form of direct or structural discrimination.

But the disparities are even greater in the natural sciences. In 2009, a Pew survey of members of the AAAS found that only 6 per cent identified as Republicans and there is no reason to think this has changed in the subsequent 15 years. One obvious reason for this is that Republicans are openly anti-science on a wide range of issues, notably including climate science, evolution and vaccination.
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From The Guardian

Among many other challenges in dealing with the failure of urban policy in Australia, the Minns (NSW state) government is faced with the task of renegotiating, or repudiating, the disastrous set of contracts for toll roads in New South Wales made by its predecessors (Labor and Liberal) with the Transurban group. As a review by Allan Fels and David Cousins has found, the government is at risk of being held hostage by toll operators. According to Fels and Cousins, immediate legislation is needed “as a backup to negotiations and to give the government power if necessary to determine final outcomes”.

This is by no means an isolated case. The failure of the National Electricity Market, premised on the idea of competition between private companies, has led state and federal governments to re-enter the business of electricity generation, storage and transmission. The disastrous experiment with private prisons in NSW is being unwound. Plans for the eventual privatisation of the NBN, established in response to the failure of the privatised Telstra to deliver national broadband, have been abandoned.

In the United Kingdom, where the Thatcher government of the 1980s led the way in privatisation, the complex and difficult process of renationalisation has been going on even longer. Rail privatisation was partially reversed with the renationalisation of Railtrack under the Blair Labour government, further limited under the Tories, and is now likely to be completely reversed.

The UK’s new Starmer government is also grappling with the impending failure of Thames Water, privatised under Thatcher and stripped bare by its private owners. Australian readers won’t be surprised to learn that the “millionaires factory”, Macquarie Group, was a leading player here.

The end of the UK’s private finance initiative (PFI), the model for Australian public-private partnerships, is already producing huge problems. But it is now clear to everyone that dealing with these problems is better than persisting with the hopeless failure of PFI.

Even Thatcher’s greatest political success, the sale of council homes, looks a lot less appealing in light of the current housing crisis in the UK, paralleling that in Australia. It seems clear that governments will need to re-enter the business of building and operating social housing in big way.

In fact, the failures of privatisation are numerous and obvious, while unambiguous successes are hard to find. Claimed examples, such as the pharmaceutical enterprise CSL, turn out, on closer examination, to have used public money to build private empires.

Why, then, was privatisation such a popular policy, at least among those who dominated the policy debate from the 1980s until recently?

The simplest explanation is that politicians saw privatisation and private infrastructure as a way to get access to a big bucket of money, which could be spent on popular projects without the need to raise taxes. This was a fallacy, refuted many times over, but resurrected just as often in zombie form. Either the government hands over the right to collect revenue to private operators, as in the case of toll roads, or the public forgoes the earnings of government business enterprises, as with asset sales.

Even now this lesson has not been fully absorbed. On the one hand, the Victorian Labor government has begun the process of reversing Jeff Kennett’s privatisation of the State Electricity Commission of Victoria. On the other, having sold its land titles office, Labor is now poised to sell the Births, Deaths and Marriages Registry where it has already increased charges for the provision of legally required information.

Economists who advocated privatisation mostly avoided this silly error. Indeed, the NSW Treasury repeatedly warned against treating private provision of infrastructure as a “magic pudding”. But, under the influence of neoliberal ideology, they committed a subtler error. Rather than examining the fiscal outcomes of privatisation, they assumed public investments should be subject to a large risk premium to make them comparable to private alternatives. This premium was not needed to cover the actual loss from failed public investments, which has historically been low. Rather, it reflected the mysterious “equity premium” demanded by private investors in financial markets. At least until the GFC, neoliberal economists relied on the “efficient markets” hypothesis to conclude that the price observed in financial markets must be the right one. In a world where meme stocks and crypto scams are now a central part of the financial system, such a hypothesis is no longer credible.

Finally, of course, there were huge profits to be made in the financial sector from the sale process and from exploiting weaknesses in the regulation of privatised companies. The list of former politicians who have sold public assets and ended up with lucrative post-politics careers is, incidentally, rather long.

The era of privatisation is nearly over, at least in Australia and the UK. But cleaning up the mess left behind will take years, or even decades.

Joe Biden’s withdrawal from the US presidential election has prompted me to write down a few thoughts about getting old and being old.

First up, I’m going to rant a bit (in classic old-person mode) about how much I loathe the various prissy euphemisms for “old” that appear just about everywhere: “older”, “aging”, “senior” and, worst of all, “elderly”. I am, of course, aging, as is everyone alive. Similarly, like everyone, I’m older than I was yesterday and older than people who are younger than me. What no one seems willing to say out loud is that, at age 68, I am old. As Black and queer people have already done, I want to reappropriate “old”.

It’s not hard to see why people are so timid when talking about getting, and being, old. It is, after all, a journey that has only one terminus. At one time, only a fortunate minority survived long enough to reach old age. But now, most people do, and it would be good if we talked more honestly about it.
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What to do when we can’t trust our own eyes (or at least, the videos we are looking at.

I spoke last weekend at a panel discussion on Navigating Lies, Deepfakes & Fake News, organised by McPherson Independent. This a group promoting the idea of an independent community candidate in the electorate of McPherson south of Brisbane, currently held by the (centre-right to right) Liberal National Party. It’s part of the broader disillusionment with the two-party system we are seeing in Australia and also in the recent UK election.

It was a great discussion. I prepared some preliminary notes, which I’ve provided below. Comments and constructive criticism most welcome

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