Es la educación, estúpido!

Economix - New York Times Blog
October 6, 2009, 6:44 am
What Happened to Argentina?
By Edward L. Glaeser

Edward L. Glaeser is an economics professor at Harvard.

A century ago, there were only seven countries in the world that were more prosperous than Argentina (Belgium, Switzerland, Britain and four former English colonies including the United States), according to Angus Maddison’s historic incomes database. In 1909, per capita income in Argentina was 50 percent higher than in Italy, 180 percent higher than Japan, and almost five times higher than in neighboring Brazil. Over the course of the 20th century, Argentina’s relative standing in world incomes fell sharply. By 2000, Argentina’s income was less than half that of Italy or Japan.

The chart below shows the relationship between income in 1909 and income in 2000 in 1990 dollars, and Argentina is the extreme outlier. The gap between 2000 income and predicted economic success, based on 1909 income, is larger for Argentina than for any other country.

Why did that once-wealthy nation do so poorly?

In its pre-World War I heyday, Argentina thrived as a trading giant shipping beef and grain abroad. After World War II, formerly poor countries including Japan, Korea and Italy followed an export-led model to wealth. A combination of external shocks (two world wars and the Great Depression) and protectionism caused Argentina to turn inward.

Peronism was not only protectionist, but it also favored large state enterprises and significant regulation of the economy. Neither strategy has been particularly good for growth. Argentina’s inbred banking system has historically had trouble weathering severe shocks. Decades of political instability have made property rights insecure and investment unattractive.

Argentina was cursed with bad policies that bear much of the blame for the country’s problems, but why was Argentina’s public sector so problematic?

Those bad policies weren’t just bad luck. To understand Argentina’s political problems during the 20th century, we must look back to the Belle Epoque, and try to understand why, despite its wealth, Argentina was different from other wealthy countries, like the United States.

In a recent paper, Felipe Campante and I have taken an urban perspective on Argentine exceptionalism and compared Buenos Aires and Chicago in 1900.

In many ways, the two cities are strikingly similar. Chicago grew great in the 19th century as a conduit for the agricultural wealth of the American hinterland. In 1816, it cost as much to move goods 32 miles over land as to ship across the Atlantic. The enormous costs of shipping by land caused America’s population to perch on the Eastern Seaboard, dependent on an Atlantic lifeline. Over the 1800s, a great transportation network of canals and rails makes America’s rich farmland accessible. Cities like Chicago grew as the nodes of that network.

Chicago’s fortune was made by two canals, the Erie Canal and the Illinois and Michigan Canal, which turned Chicago into the linchpin on a great watery arc that runs from New York to New Orleans. Railroads complemented the waterways and enabled the rich farmland of Iowa to ships its corn, in porcine form, to eastern markets via Chicago. Chicago’s most famous 19th century industry was its stockyards, which thrived because of refrigerated rail cars that shipped slaughtered beef back east. Clothing employed even more Chicagoans, who were making garments for thousands of rural customers, supplied by Marshall Field, Montgomery Ward and Sears, Roebuck.

The story of Buenos Aires is broadly similar. Like Chicago, the city was surrounded by a vast, fertile hinterland. Buenos Aires grew as a center for transporting agricultural products east. The frigorificos, refrigerated ships, greatly increased its ability to ship beef. Clothing was also Buenos Aires’s largest industry.

But there were also major dissimilarities between the two places.

Chicago was substantially wealthier, even a century ago. Capital per worker was more than twice higher in the Windy City. Chicago was a seedbed of technological innovations, including the skyscraper, the zipper and the electric washing machine. Buenos Aires’s entrepreneurs, such as the industrious Torcuato DiTella, often succeeded by importing American technologies, as DiTella did with gas pumps and refrigerators.

The greater levels of technological innovation in Chicago probably reflected the higher levels of education in the United States. Throughout the 19th century, Chicago was almost completely literate, because the rural migrants who came to the city had been well educated in the common schools that dotted America’s farmland. By contrast, more than a fifth of Buenos Aires’s population was illiterate until 1900, reflecting the far lower levels of education in rural Argentina.

As the next figure shows, no variable from 1900 better explains success in 2000 than investment in education.

Schooling is measured by the share of the relevant populations that was enrolled in primary, secondary or tertiary schooling. Argentina may have been rich, but it was not that well-educated. In 2000, Argentina was doing about as well as would be expected based on its education levels in 1900. Long-run national success is built on human capital, both because of the link between schooling and technology and because of the link between education and well-functioning democracy.

I will return to this link, and to the puzzle of Argentine exceptionalism, in a future post.

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errores gramaticales!

bianual o bienal? insólitamente, los señores miembros del Congreso aparentan desconocer la diferencia entre una palabra y otra. Será que el pueblo tiene los representantes y gobernantes que se merece?

Pequeño homenaje.

QEPD, Cascioli.

Homenaje a los periodistas

Bad news for some

Jun 4th 2009 | BUENOS AIRES
From The Economist print edition

The president and her husband offer carrots and sticks to the news media

Illustration by Claudio Muñoz

WHEN Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, Argentina’s president, said on May 27th that she will cancel the tax debts of five private media companies, she couched her generosity in an argument about the importance of a free press. It was lofty talk from someone who often snaps back at criticism from the news media. Ms Fernández went her entire presidential campaign and most of her first year in office without giving a press conference. Her husband, Néstor Kirchner, who governs with her, gave none in his four years in the top job. Rather than warming to the Fourth Estate, though, the Kirchners are becoming more adept at media manipulation. The five firms in question have agreed to repay the debts by giving space for official advertising that paints the Kirchners in a positive light. Such propagandising is not new to Argentina but its growth under the Kirchners has been extraordinary.

The central government spent 395m pesos ($125m) on advertising in 2008, more than eight times its spending in 2003, when Mr Kirchner became president. The tax-debt swap wins the government propaganda on the cheap that will not show up in this year’s total. The first couple say these ads will not appear until after June 28th, when they face mid-term elections. However, the deal lets them spend more freely now, “knowing they have this on credit”, says Roberto Saba, a law professor.

Much of the expanding propaganda budget is used to keep small news outlets beholden to the government. Big media firms that have many private advertisers can get by without this revenue source but small ones cannot do without public-sector ads, says Maria O’Donnell, a journalist who dug up 3m pesos in advertising payments to a provincial press firm owned by a former chauffeur to Mr Kirchner.

The courts, at least, want change. In a first for Latin America, Argentina’s Supreme Court ruled in 2007 that the southern province of Neuquén had violated a local paper’s right to freedom of speech by withdrawing advertising after it had linked the governor to a bribery scandal. A larger newspaper, Perfil, hopes this ruling will help it in an ongoing case.

But the federal government’s behaviour has not shifted. A media law it is proposing contains no curbs on the politicisation of official advertising budgets. But it does restrict how many broadcasting licences a company can own. This pleases some leftists that the Kirchners want to keep sweet but it causes problems for the bulky Clarín media group, which has recently been in all-out war with the Kirchners, whom it once supported.

Opposition legislators are suspicious of an agency, with vaguely defined powers, that the Kirchners would create to implement the proposed law. Such suspicions are understandable. In April Argentina’s competition commission blocked the voting rights of two Telecom Italia directors who sit on the six-member board of Telecom Argentina. Whatever its merits in competition law, the ruling benefited Werthein, a private group that owns a big stake in the company and has close ties to the government.

In some respects a change in the law is needed. Today’s legislation was written during Argentina’s bloody dictatorship, when 500 journalists fled abroad, 80 were jailed and at least 68 disappeared and were probably murdered. Some news media are indeed concentrated in too few hands. Ms Fernández may try to push the bill through Congress before the elections, when she is expected to lose her majority in the lower house. But time is not on her side.

homenaje a la lectura

El soldado olvidado

José de San Martín

Argentine soldier, American hero

Apr 23rd 2009
From The Economist print edition

IT IS only a slight exaggeration to say that José de San Martín has become the forgotten man of South American independence. In recent years the cult of Simón Bolívar, his Venezuelan collaborator and rival, has been obsessively promoted by Hugo Chávez’s petrodollars and by the more puerile left. This has overshadowed the other great military leader of the fratricidal wars by which Spain’s hegemony over the American continent was broken. Yet San Martín is still revered as the liberator in Argentina and Chile, as well as in Peru where Bolívar’s eventual triumph would have been impossible without the other man’s pioneering invasion.

Three years ago John Lynch, a British historian, published an impeccably balanced biography of Bolívar. Now, on the eve of the bicentenary of the independence movements, he sets out to rescue San Martín from his relative obscurity. This is a harder task, for San Martín was by nature reserved. Born in the Argentine interior, the son of a Spanish colonial official, he was above all a professional soldier. Having moved to Spain as a child, he served for two decades in its army, rising to lieutenant-colonel of cavalry and fighting for three years against Napoleon’s French troops. In 1812 he switched to fighting against Spain, and sailed to Buenos Aires.

San Martín’s unique talents were “an ability to think big and a genius for organisation”. He quickly concluded that the key to securing the independence of the United Provinces of the River Plate (as Argentina was then called) lay in the conquest of Peru, the bastion of Spanish power. Having sought the obscure post of governor of Cuyó, the area around Mendoza, he used this as the base to recruit and train an army. In 1817, in a supreme feat of generalship, he led his 5,000 troops over high Andean passes to Chile, gathered them together again and fell upon the Spanish forces, defeating them at Chacabuco.

Three years later he embarked his army in ships assembled by Lord Cochrane, a brilliant, if self-serving, British naval commander operating as a privateer, and landed in Peru. But Peru was a divided society, and San Martín believed his army of 4,500 was too small to defeat royalist forces roughly double its size. Declaring himself “protector” of Peru, he spent a frustrating two years trying to persuade the country to liberate itself. With his army disintegrating through inaction and disease, San Martín sought reinforcements from Bolívar, whom he met in Guayaquil in June 1822.

Much is often made of the clash between Bolívar’s republicanism and San Martín’s avowed belief that only monarchy could provide order in independent South America. Mr Lynch argues that both men were enlightened despots. Bolívar ended up favouring a president for life, with power to name his successor; monarchy in all but name. What was really at stake in Guayaquil, as San Martín accurately put it, was that “there is not enough room in Peru for Bolívar and me.” And Bolívar had more troops, the product of his political power over greater Colombia. Showing a lack of personal ambition rare among his contemporaries, San Martín promptly withdrew. He spent the rest of his long life in voluntary exile in Europe.

A decent, moderate man, San Martín believed dictatorial government was essential in South America, but shrank from imposing it. Bolívar suffered no such restraints. San Martín may have been too cautious in Peru. But his biggest weakness was that, as he admitted, “I have a poor head for politics.”

Mr Lynch is reluctant to go beyond the documentary evidence. Thus his account of the crucial Guayaquil encounter is sparse and somewhat anti-climactic. But his book will provide a valuable corrective to the more fanciful outpourings of Bolivarianism which can be expected in the bicentennial junketing. As Mr Lynch concludes, though San Martín’s achievements were different to those of Bolívar, they were “not inferior”.

Por quién votar?

"Por primera vez en mi vida no sé por quién votar. No tengo candidatos", confiesa, inquieto, mi amigo Luis, al despedirnos después de haber compartido una cena. No es poca cosa en alguien que tiene una larga historia de certezas políticas. A poco de escuchar voces cercanas y lejanas, conocidas y desconocidas, advierto que Luis comparte una sensación extendida. Como muchos, él tiene una duda con fecha de vencimiento: el 28 de junio de 2009.

El día de las elecciones cumpliremos con una serie de pasos y requisitos específicos que, como tantas otras veces (desde aquel octubre de 1983), acabarán con una papeleta en un sobre y con el sobre en una urna.

Eso es, técnicamente, votar. Pero ¿sólo votamos el día de las elecciones? Si votar es elegir, acaso lo hagamos muchas más veces de las que creemos. Elegimos si vamos a respetar las reglas de convivencia establecidas para darle a nuestra vida un espesor humano o si no lo haremos. Según nuestra elección, no sobrepasamos las velocidades máximas en calles, avenidas y autopistas, o decidimos conducir al ritmo de nuestra impaciencia, nuestra ansiedad o nuestro deseo, desentendiéndonos de las consecuencias, aunque éstas incluyan también las vidas de otros.

Elegimos cruzar con las luces amarilla o roja del semáforo o detenernos porque ahora es el turno de otros. Elegimos estacionar en las rampas para discapacitados porque es más importante nuestra comodidad que la necesidad de ese prójimo sin rostro o, por el contrario, buscar un lugar, aunque sea lejano, y caminar, aunque sea incómodo. Elegimos sacar la basura a la hora que nos conviene, y no a la que está establecida para todos, y dejarla en la esquina para que no afee nuestra vereda. O elegimos ir tirando nuestra basura (papeles, envoltorios, pañuelos, pilas, envases) a medida que nos desplazamos y ensuciamos el espacio público convencidos de que es nuestro derecho porque "para eso pagamos impuestos". Elegimos coimear porque si no "las cosas no salen" o porque no tenemos tiempo para perder en esas mismas colas en las que otros (menos listos que nosotros) vegetan.

Elegimos evadir y transgredir todo lo que se oponga a la inmediatez de nuestro deseo, aunque esa evasión o esa transgresión rompan los códigos de la convivencia y generen riesgos y perjuicios a semejantes cuya existencia preferimos ignorar. Y a veces tales semejantes no están a la vista (literal o metafóricamente) y entonces lo hacemos con más razón, porque total, no jorobamos a nadie. Elegimos descalificar y despreciar al que no es tan vivo, tan rápido, tan astuto o tan gracioso como nosotros o al que viene de un país menos "desarrollado". Elegimos enseñarles a nuestros hijos que primero deben pensar en ellos, que deben tomar las cosas antes que otro, que se preocupen de sí y que los demás se arreglen como puedan. Y les damos clases prácticas de ello a través del ejemplo. Elegimos eludir impuestos y otras obligaciones colectivas (o con lo colectivo), aunque no aceptamos carecer, a cambio, de servicios que debían sustentarse con lo evadido. Elegimos celebrar el gol con la mano (tanto en el fútbol como en otros juegos del diario vivir) en lugar del gol legítimo y bello, y construimos una épica y una leyenda patriotera a partir de esa trampa. Elegimos llamarnos pueblo, hinchada, gente, público, fanáticos, bloggers, floggers, cibernautas, mimetizarnos en esas instancias plurales y difusas para desentendernos de nuestra responsabilidad individual (la responsabilidad, por lo demás, es siempre individual).

También elegimos no mirar hacia otro lado y acudir adonde hay una necesidad. Elegimos respetar reglas (escritas o no), leyes y normas, aunque, a veces, nos mortifiquen, porque entendemos que no están hechas en contra de nosotros, sino a favor de todos. Votamos por ceder el espacio de nuestra urgencia ante la necesidad de otro. Elegimos entregar parte de nuestro tiempo para mejorar un espacio compartido o para colaborar en un proyecto común que, acaso, nos dará menos renta que un empeño individual. Elegimos darles a nuestros hijos el ejemplo de una vida elegida, con sentido, aunque eso signifique resistirse a la facilidad de un sí consumista, y lo hacemos porque apostamos a su futuro como personas, antes que a nuestra comodidad de hoy. Elegimos actuar y construir nuestros vínculos y proyectos existenciales priorizando los valores en los que creemos antes que los valores que cotizan en la Bolsa, y apreciando lo que aspiramos a ser antes de lo que nos gustaría (o nos tienta) tener.

Cuando se dice que los pueblos tienen los gobernantes que merecen, se expresa algo más que una idea ingeniosa. Los gobernantes, los funcionarios, los parlamentarios no son invasores extraterrestres ajenos a nuestra especie ni catástrofes naturales que nos acontecen. Son emergentes, reflejos de la sociedad. Son, en el cabal sentido del término, nuestros representantes. ¿Puedo quejarme de que no respeten la Constitución cuando no respeto en el día tras día las reglas de la convivencia cotidiana? ¿Puedo quejarme del ausentismo parlamentario si falto a mi trabajo y a mis citas todas las veces que puedo, y si apaño las evitables e inexcusables faltas a la escuela de mi hijo? ¿Puedo despotricar contra la corrupción cuando yo mismo, si es posible, apuro algún trámite "por izquierda"? ¿Puedo enfurecerme con el enriquecimiento rápido e injustificado de los que gobiernan o legislan cuando estoy dispuesto a seguir atajos con el mismo fin en mi actividad privada?

Desde que nos despertamos, cada día, cada mañana, votamos. Elegimos y votamos. Con esos votos, de un modo silencioso y acaso inadvertido, vamos dándole forma y contenido a la sociedad en la que vivimos. De esa sociedad emergen quienes luego gobiernan, legislan o juzgan. Nos representan. Y lo hacen no sólo en un sentido constitucional, sino literalmente. Son espejos de la sociedad y resultantes del voto cotidiano. Tenemos un inmenso poder en el voto de cada día. El poder de transformar o perpetuar un modelo social, un modelo de gobernar, de legislar, de impartir justicia. En este aspecto, todos hacemos política. Nuestras vidas son políticas.

Este poder se ejerce a partir de una ética personal e intransferible, a partir de un proyecto de vida, a partir de un propósito existencial, de una actitud moral, de un modo de vincularnos. El voto de cada día nos define, describe nuestro paso por la vida. Si ese voto cotidiano es consciente, activo, responsable, seguramente la fecha de una elección legislativa o presidencial no nos enfrentará al crudo dilema de mi amigo Luis y de tantos y tantos otros. Sabremos a quién votar, habrá alguien que, de veras, nos represente. Nuestro voto cotidiano habrá ayudado a forjarlo. Por supuesto, lleva tiempo. ¿Por qué, entonces, no empezar hoy?

Sergio Sinai, Copyright La Nación (I guess)