By Kevin D. Williamson
Friday, June 09, 2017
Well, raise my rent! Here’s a great big Muppet News Flash
from the Washington Post:
Average-priced goods are relatively expensive for low-wage consumers.
Seriously.
Today’s entry in the great national stupidity sweepstakes
comes from Tracy Jan, who is relaying the findings of the latest report from
the National Low-Income Housing Association. The report’s basic claim takes a
familiar form that falls somewhere between intellectual sloppiness and
intellectual dishonesty: People earning the minimum wage cannot afford the
average one-bedroom apartment without spending more than 30 percent of their
incomes . . . pretty much anywhere in the country. There are some variations on
the theme: Sometimes, the rent considered is for a two-bedroom apartment, and
sometimes the income considered is the federal poverty line or some figure
related to it.
All of these so-called studies — they are not really
“studies” in the true sense of the word — suffer from the same error: comparing
a low wage to an average rent.
The NLIHA paper Jan relies on is methodologically
slightly better than most entries in this genre, but only slightly. The usual
technique is to consider minimum wage vs. median rent, as in this much-cited
report from Zillow: “Zillow analyzed median rents and the income necessary
to afford them in 15,099 cities and towns nationwide. In the least expensive
city — Beecher, Michigan — a single renter would need to earn $10.64 per hour
to afford the city’s median rent of $532 per month without exceeding the 30
percent limit, significantly above both the federal minimum wage and the
Michigan state minimum wage of $8.15 per hour.”
The median rent is the rent at the 50th percentile, i.e.
the price point at which half of all rents are lower and half are higher. If
you consider the median rent, then
you just saw off the cheaper half of the market in its entirety. You know where
low-wage people go looking for rental properties? In the half of the market
that is below the median, most often. Why ignore the actual rents on the actual
apartments that actual minimum-wage workers actually rent? For one thing,
acquiring that data is hard work. For another, it does not produce nearly
enough angst and hysteria.
The NLIHA paper makes almost the same error, but instead
of the median rent in various communities it uses a “fair market rent”
calculated by the Department of Housing and Urban Development. That number,
according to the report, “is typically the 40th percentile of rents that a
family can be expected to pay” when that family is moving today, “not what all
current renters are paying on average.” That is significant because, according
to HUD’s own reporting, families moving to a new rental property with a
relatively short timeline for securing new housing typically pay slightly higher
rents than do families that haven’t moved in a while, typically about 6 percent
more. So the 40th percentile of rents for families paying a 6 percent premium —
that won’t be the dead median, but it will be in the neighborhood. It’s the
same basic problem: Comparing the incomes of minimum-wage workers against an
average rent that includes all
families moving into new rental properties, i.e. putting exclusively low wages
on one side of the scale and weighing them against the expenses of households
with incomes across the spectrum.
Needless to say — but the report does say it — these
comparisons do not “reflect the rent variation within a metropolitan area or
nonmetropolitan county.” Which is to say: They’re basically useless. Which you
might begin to suspect when you consider the fact that low-income people who
can’t afford to live anywhere mostly manage to live somewhere.
How does that happen? Hippie magic?
One of the remarkable things about people who don’t have
very much money is that they have so much money — which is to say, individuals
and families with relatively low wages may not have tons of economic power as
individuals, but as a market they are enormously powerful. America’s largest
private employer, Walmart, represents a truly enormous accumulation of capital
organized to address the problem of providing low-cost goods to people who want
or need them. Walmart doesn’t keep its prices low because it loves low-income
people, but because low-income people spend a great deal of money, and if Walmart
doesn’t give them what they want at the price they want, somebody else will.
How this works in the real world is obvious to everybody
who doesn’t write for the Washington Post:
The median cost of a new car in the United States is about $34,000, which is
well out of reach for most minimum-wage earners. You know how minimum-wage
earners get around that problem? They buy cars that cost a heck of a lot less
than the median — or they buy used cars, share cars, take the bus, etc.
Minimum-wage workers solve the problem of relatively high rents by choosing
accommodations that are well under the 50th or 40th percentile — or by having
roommates, living with their families, etc. The relationship between the
minimum wage and the median or near-median rent is an entirely artificial
problem cooked up by organizations that want more federal spending on
low-income housing (NLIHA) or by politicians arguing for a higher minimum wage.
The latter is especially popular during campaign season.
***
But there is much more to this than a pliant Washington Post reporter getting taken
by an intellectually sloppy propaganda “study.” That happens all the time.
There’s a much more interesting aspect to all this that’s worth considering.
If you drive around most American cities and their
suburbs, you might conclude that there seems to be a fair amount of apartment
construction going on. You’d be wrong: Multi-family construction hit a six-year
low in May. And the construction that is going on is not, for the most part,
meant for the lower-wage end of the rental market. From NLIHA: “Household
income has not kept up with the rising cost of rental housing. From the housing
crisis of 2007 to 2015, the median gross rent for a rental home in the U.S.
increased by 6 percent, after adjusting for overall inflation, while the median
income for renter households rose by just 1 percent.”
Why aren’t we building more housing for low-income
people?
It’s not because there’s no money to be made selling goods
and services to low-income consumers: I doubt the French Laundry does as much
business in a year as McDonald’s does in an hour, and Honda makes a lot more
money selling economy cars to regular folks than Lamborghini does selling
exotic cars to guys with yachts. Walmart makes a heck of a lot more money than
Hermes or Louis Vuitton. Somebody out there would love to be the Walmart of
low-income housing. What’s stopping them? It isn’t, strictly speaking, an
economic of technological problem: Mobile homes (which start around $30,000
new), trendy “tiny houses,” and low-income housing developments abroad all show
that we can build decent housing at prices within the reach of those with more
modest incomes. But construction is moving toward the higher end of the market.
The basic problem is that politicians won’t let
developers build housing for poor people. They don’t put it that way, but
that’s what they do. Restrictive zoning and development rules in places such as
New York City and San Francisco artificially restrict the supply of housing,
often for purely aesthetic reasons. The old housing “covenants” were racial;
the new ones are economic, with nice rich liberals in Pacific Heights basically
saying: “We like things just how they are, thanks, so why don’t you poors beat
feet on down to Stockton or wherever it is we warehouse you, right after you’re
done cutting my grass?”
The only way to make housing more plentiful is to make
housing more plentiful. What that implies, especially in the case of our big
cities, is denser development. But our big-city governments — which are almost
exclusively under Democratic control — will not allow that. New York City’s
population density is less than half that of comparable European cities (and
much less than many comparable Asian cities) and, in spite of its reputation as
a city of skyscrapers, fewer than 2 percent of its residences are in buildings
20 stories or taller, much lower than the figure for comparable cities
globally. In New York, the progressives aren’t working to allow denser
development and, hence, cheaper housing: They’re doing the opposite, proposing
to cap the number of tall buildings in the city. Forget New Jersey — there are
a fair number of New Yorkers who commute from Pennsylvania. San Francisco,
Austin, Los Angeles, the parts of Chicago or Philadelphia you might actually
want to live in . . . similar story. They’ll call it historic preservation or
“defending the character of the neighborhood” or whatever, but it’s basically
economic segregation, which, it’s probably worth noting, is still a pretty good
proxy for racial discrimination: San Francisco’s black population has decreased
by one-third in recent years, and diversity-loving
Portland saw its black population shrink by 11.5 percent in just four years.
By way of contrast, our friends at the Los
Angeles Times were surprised to learn that
Houston, way down in right-wing Texas, is the most diverse city
in the United States. Everybody knows what Houston has what people want — jobs
— but part of the attraction is something that Houston doesn’t have: zoning
laws — not very much, anyway. That makes housing in Houston relatively cheap,
which makes the area attractive to all sorts of people, including young people,
immigrants, and others earning relatively low wages.
At this point, our progressive friends will ask an
inevitable question: “Instead of making the whole country look like Houston,
which is a horrifying prospect, why not make it more like lovely San Francisco,
and then just raise the minimum wage so that people can afford to live there?”
***
That really isn’t a caricature. Here are the nice Bernie
Sanders enthusiasts at feelthebern.org making basically that argument. There’s
some high-test, weapons-grade economic illiteracy built into that question, the
short answer to which is: “Raising the minimum wage will not magic more housing
into existence, it just sends a larger pool of money chasing the same quantity
of goods, which is the classical formula for inflation.”
But the fundamental error at work here informs so much
misguided progressive economic thinking that it is worth considering at some
length, starting with the basic economics.
There is in economics something called Say’s Law, which
could be summarized as: “People produce in order to consume.” What does that
really mean? Consider the most basic and primitive economy, a small band of
hunter-gatherers at the dawn of mankind. (The
date of which we have just moved back by about half again, apparently.) Why
did those hunter-gatherers hunt and gather? It was not for the love of hunting
and the thrill of gathering, but for a much more obvious reason: to eat. The
basic facts of economics are far removed from abstraction: The point of fishing
is fish, and the point of picking coconuts is eating them. That holds true
until the level of production and social organization is high enough to allow
for the emergence of our old friends specialization, the division of labor, and
comparative advantage, all of which is another way of saying that once Throg
has more fish than he wants to eat and Grug has more coconuts than he wants to
eat, they start swapping fish and coconuts between them. And then Warg figures
out how to make useful tools out of flint, which is good for a lot of fish and
coconuts, and Yawr learns that she’s better at making thorns into fishing hooks
than anybody else in the caveman clan, which is of great interest to Fisherman
Throg, and eventually you get Corvettes and Google.
It’s the money that confuses people.
Money is basically information technology. It is a
record-keeping system. One of the interesting implications of Say’s Law — that
we produce in order to consume — is that there are not really any objective
economic values: Everything that is produced and consumed is valued relative to
everything else that is produced and consumed. If one mackerel is worth six
coconuts or four fishing hooks or one-tenth of a flint chopper, then that can
get to be a lot for your average caveman to keep up with. But it’s even more
complicated than that: Not only is everything that is produced and consumed
valued relative to everything else that is produced and consumed, everybody has
different preferences, meaning that there are as many economic-value
hierarchies as there are people — and those preference hierarchies can change
from day to day or second to second. Again, this is easier to understand if you
stick to the physical world rather than get mired in abstraction: You know
whose kids get sick of apple pie? Those of the guy who owns the apple orchard.
There’s no metaphysically “correct” exchange rate between apples and oysters
and shoes and arrowheads — everybody likes what he likes and wants what he
wants and — here’s the part that gets overlooked — has what he has.
Because we produce in order to consume, we value what we
have in terms of the things we want. The emergence of money as a record-keeping
technology makes that a lot easier to think about, but money is not the point:
The things that money gets are the point.
This is important to understand because those valuations
exist independent of money. That’s how inflation happens: We value what we
value just the way we value it, and introducing more money into the system does
not change those value judgments; it just makes money worth less in terms of
fish or coconuts. Conversely, taking money out of the system (less of a
problem, usually) doesn’t change those value judgments, either: It just makes
money worth more in terms of fish or coconuts. You do not change the underlying
value relationships by changing the record-keeping system.
That is where so much progressive economic policy goes
wrong. Ignoring the physical facts of supply and demand in the real world,
progressives attempt to game the record-keeping system in order to produce
advantages for politically favored clients or disadvantages for politically
disfavored rivals. That’s what raising the minimum wage is all about: The guy
who owns your local Burger King franchise values one hour of 17-year-old
fry-guy labor just the way he values it. That calculation is inescapably complex
— so complex that it never ends up being an actual calculation — taking into
account what the product of that hour’s labor can be traded for and the value
of that trade relative to the price of the labor. What an hour’s fry-guy labor
is worth is bound up in a vastly complex web of value judgments, and the boss’s
value judgment isn’t necessarily the most important one: Customers have a say,
too. So does the guy who wants your job and is willing to do it for a little
less money or who is able to do it a little bit better for the same money. So
does the guy who figures out how much interest to charge the boss on the loan
with which he buys his new BMW. All of those things are, for lack of a better
word, real.
Money is just how we keep track of them.
Passing a law that says you have to pay the fry-guy x + y instead of x does not change the value of the fry-guy’s labor relative to
everything else that is produced and consumed. Not really. Ultimately, it is
just a change to the record-keeping system. You could pass a law that says we
have to pay 15-year-old baby-sitters eight times what we pay hedge-fund
managers or brain surgeons, but that is not going to change how we actually
value their respective labor. Government can get pretty aggressive about this
stuff, which results in fairly predictable market distortions: When the federal
government instituted wartime wage controls, employers looking to get the labor
they actually valued on terms consistent with their actual valuation of that
labor started paying employees in health insurance and company cars instead of
paying them in money. The modern practice of offering “fringe benefits” in the
form of paid sick leave, vacation time, and other employee perks is a direct
response to the policies of the War Labor Board in the 1940s. (It is a big part
of why our health-care system stinks.) The lesson: Even in times of war and the
heavy-handed economic interventions associated with them, reality finds a way
of sneaking around the record-keeping system.
People who earn low wages don’t just have labor that is
lightly valued in terms of money: They
have labor that is lightly valued in terms of everything for which money can be
traded. That includes, among other things, housing. But it also includes
education, health care, cars, shoes, food — and fish and coconuts and flint
caveman axes, too. You can mess with the money, but those underlying value
hierarchies will reassert themselves, sometimes in obvious ways, sometimes in
unexpected ones.
With that in mind, let’s reconsider the question: If we
are unhappy about the relationship between the price of certain kinds of labor
and the price of renting an apartment, what should we actually do about that?
We could try changing the price of labor through legislation, or we could try changing
the price of renting an apartment through regulation and subsidies — meaning
that we could try messing around with the record-keeping system.
Or we could build more apartments.
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