Coming back from my own trip out to the provinces, I find that Simon Denyer of the Washington Post has an excellent report on the economic problems of China’s northeast. As is becoming increasingly clear, if you want to find China’s recession, the northeast is the place to look. And you don’t have to look very hard: in the first half of 2015, nominal GDP growth in both Liaoning and Heilongjiang provinces was negative (Jilin managed a meagre 4.4% gain).

The three provinces that comprise most of historic Manchuria are more dependent on heavy industry and more dominated by state-owned enterprises than the rest of the country. So they are extremely vulnerable to the current downturn, whose main feature is stagnant or declining demand for many of the products, like steel, that are made by state-owned heavy industrial companies. The northeast is not the only part of China effectively in recession: coal-mining provinces like Inner Mongolia and Shanxi are suffering, as is Hebei, the nation’s largest steel producer. But these northern and northeastern provinces are at the center of China’s current problems, as is quite clear from the data:

Simon’s piece has a couple of choice observations that encapsulate some of the problems the northeast is facing. Here is one:

“Everyone knows what the problem is. It is structural,” said an official dealing with economic policy in the Liaoning government who spoke on the condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to talk to the press.

“Everybody knows what to do. You need to change the economic structure. But what concrete steps to take? Nobody knows,” he said. “What can we do? Financial sector? You can’t compete with cities like Shanghai. High-tech industries? Those won’t flourish overnight.”

and another:

Zhou Dewen, who runs a business association in Wenzhou, scouts out investment possibilities throughout China. He has led 20 small-business delegations to the northeast, but he has not been able to work up much enthusiasm for the region.

“The northeast still thinks of itself as the big brother, because they were the first to get rich after the new China was founded,” he said. “They are sitting on their glories and not advancing with time. Their mind-set is still the old planned-economy stuff. They don’t see that small businesses can do big things.”

One of the more depressing pieces of economic news to come into my inbox recently was this piece in the Chinese-language Economic Information Daily. I translate the first paragraph below:

The Fifth Plenum will be held in October this year to research and draft the proposal for the 13th Five-Year Plan, but the Economic Information Daily has learned that as of now it is still undecided whether the economic growth target will be 6.5% or 7%. Economists have different views on China’s potential economic growth rate over the next five years, but most of them think it should be over 7%.

This is depressing because it appears to indicate (with the usual caveats about the reliability of Chinese press reports) that there is hardly any meaningful debate about China’s economic prospects at the highest level of policymaking. If the question is whether the growth target for 2016-2020 should be the same as the previous five years, or half a percentage point slower, then that’s not even asking the right question. It is also disappointing because there had previously been some discussion about whether the next five-year plan should jettison GDP growth targets entirely, and instead target other indicators more directly related to the welfare of its population (maybe China could do something crazy like, I don’t know, target inflation and unemployment instead?). A move away from the fetishization of GDP numbers and toward more realistic policymaking in China is desperately needed, and right now I’m not feeling so optimistic that it is coming.

To get a sense of the problem, sample the rest of the commentary in the article, which features quotes from lots of big names–the type of economists who speak at conferences, write op-eds and get asked to advise the government. Hu Angang, a prominent Chinese economist who has been on the academic advisory commission for a few five-year plans now, is quoted as recommending a growth target of “about” 7% for the next five-year plan period (2016-2020). He says this would imply that anything from 6.6% to 7.4% would be an acceptable growth rate, but that 6.6% would be a “floor” for growth. Peking University economist Liu Wei says potential growth will be 7% or higher until 2023. Fan Gang, another well-known economist from one of the main non-government think tanks, also thinks future growth should be 7% or higher. Wang Yiming of the Development Research Center, a major in-house government think tank, also plumps for 7%. A more cautious view comes from China Banking Association economist Ba Shusong, who warns that because of the exhaustion of the demographic dividend and slower exports, GDP growth is likely to slow to 6.5% over the next five years.

Is it just me, or is it feeling like an echo chamber in here? Of course, it is easy to find Chinese economists who are not wedded to the view that GDP growth will never fall below 7% (I even work with some). But the point is that the public discussion of future growth prospects has been extremely impoverished of late. For all the recent propaganda about a “new normal” that requires some tough adjustments to slower growth, there is little public discussion of scenarios other than continued steady 7% growth. While in the international media you can read about a full range of possibilities, from crash to boom, in the official Chinese press you rarely see numbers other than 6% or 7% growth (or even 8%–I have on this blog previously criticized Justin Lin’s insistence that growth will be 8%). It feels like the topic of future growth rates has become so politicized that, whatever people’s private views, they have little incentive to publicly argue that China should prepare for lower growth. And if that means no one is preparing for lower growth, then we have a problem.

Out in the real world, it is pretty obvious that growth will head below 7% during the next five-year plan period, thanks to extremely high debt levels, the end of a decade-long housing boom and a severe slowdown in private-sector investment. The IMF, hardly a bastion of radical views, is forecasting 6.8% GDP growth for this year, and said in its Article IV review last week that China should look for growth of 6.0-6.5% in 2016. The IMF is urging China to accept this slowdown to what it calls “safer and more sustainable” growth rates, and adapt policy to this trend. I sure hope they succeed.

China’s struggles to deal with its mounting burden of local government debt continue to make headlines, giving the dry topic of intergovernmental fiscal relations an unusual amount of relevance these days. The proximate cause of all this local government debt is obvious enough: when the world was falling apart in late 2008, the central government wanted to do a big stimulus, but didn’t want to pay for it. So instead it told local governments to spend whatever they needed on infrastructure to get growth going, and told banks to lend the local governments whatever they needed, and turned a blind eye to any irregularities in all this borrowing. But many scholars and analysts argue that the roots of the problem lie even deeper, that they are the result of a system where there is a fundamental mismatch between the huge burden of public services that local governments have to provide, and the scanty revenues the central government permits them to raise. It’s not just in infrastructure that Beijing pushes the burden down on local governments, the argument goes, but in schools and hospitals and so on. Exhibit 1 in this argument is usually some variant of this chart: From these figures, it is easy to get the impression that China’s central government is just rolling in money and not spending any of it–so no wonder local governments have to borrow so much just to make ends meet! Yet this impression is totally false. What is the central government doing with all this revenue? Simple: giving it back to local governments. Of the 6.45 trillion RMB in revenue that the central government collected in 2014, it sent 5.16 trillion back to local governments as transfers (it also spent 2.25 trillion itself, so it was running a deficit). These enormous transfers account for about 60% of total local government revenue, and are the main method by which money is redistributed from richer provinces to poorer ones. If these transfers are treated as what they really are–the main source of local government revenue–then the apparent mismatch disappears: So while it is fashionable these days to blame excessive centralization of revenues for the mess in Chinese local government finances, this clearly is not a sufficient explanation. Yet it is equally clearly the case that there are real problems in local government finances, and that many localities have to resort to extra-budgetary or extra-legal means to raise money, for infrastructure projects as well as other spending. So how to understand this? As Linda Chelan Li and Zhenjie Yang put the question in a recent article (available for free for a limited time):

The dominant view is that excessive centralization of revenues and decentralization of expenditure responsibilities have precipitated a fiscal crisis in many Chinese counties and townships, with dire consequences to local governance. The ‘gap’ argument emphasizes the relative ratio of central vis-a-vis local revenues and the impact of decentralization of expenditure, and slights the impacts of other parallel fiscal developments, in particular the large flows of central subsidies to local coffers since the 1994 tax sharing reform. As pointed out by the few sceptics, the presence of a large and growing central fiscal subsidy, of a comparable size to the centralized tax revenues, means that logically the latter cannot in itself constitute a sufficient condition for local fiscal difficulties. What then accounts for the difficulties, as localities are not blatantly short of monies?

The answer is that there is not one thing called local government in China: there are multiple levels of local government (at least three). Money does not just have to flow from the central government to local government, but between different levels of local governments. And it is easy to see that this flow might not always be smooth, or that “leakage” may happen along the way as different officials get their hands on the funds. This in fact is the key problem: the central government sends plenty of money to local governments in aggregate, but it does not end up in the right places. The lowest-level governments (counties) are where spending responsibilities are concentrated (see table below), but they are the furthest away from the flow of money from the top. And since responsibility for spending is often assigned without regard to where the revenues come from, mismatches abound. So the lowest-level governments do in fact have many fiscal obligations and often not enough resources to meet them. The better recent research on China recognizes this more complex reality. Li and Yang’s article demonstrates it through a case-study approach that documents how higher-level local governments undercut those below them, while the OECD’s urban policy review of China has a more data-driven presentation (see pages 189-212). The issue is not that the central government does not give enough money to local governments; it is that the money does not go to the right local governments. As the OECD notes, transfers are often made based on assessments of need that do not match up well with reality:

One of the limitations of the Chinese system is that the need for transfers is assessed mostly based on registered rather than actual population in a province. The problem is that the actual population is generally lower than registered population in low-income provinces, given that migrants remain registered in their home province, regardless of where they live. The government is set to henceforth include 15% of the difference between actual and registered population in the formula for determining transfers. This will partly take into account the cost of migrants to a province.

It’s understandable why the simpler account of a central-local fiscal imbalance dominates the discussion: “the central government has too much money” is a much better slogan than “the fiscal transfer system is suboptimal.” But the first the step in fixing the problem is coming to an accurate diagnosis.

One of the most interesting developments in the first year of Xi Jinping’s tenure was his iconoclastic approach to farm policy. He gave a major speech on agriculture in December 2013, in which he outlined a relaxation of China’s policy of maintaining 95% self-sufficiency in grains. As usual for speeches announcing a change in policy, there was much fiery rhetoric about why the old policy was correct: “We cannot look at grain security only from an economic perspective, we must also look at the political perspective,” he said. But in substance what Xi proposed was allowing a higher level of food imports, and focusing efforts at self-sufficiency on only a few crops with sustainable levels of domestic production. (The full text of the speech is not online, but is available in a book of Xi’s speeches, which I’m sure you own.) The new grain security slogans, with included a prominent mention of “appropriate imports,” then made their way into numerous government policy documents.

And then things stopped. As the new line started to get more publicity and public discussion, media coverage and criticism started to mount. The furor got so intense that in February 2014, the Ministry of Agriculture ended up publicly denying that the new slogans meant that China was softening its commitment to grain security. Since relaxing the grain security standard was the whole point of adopting the new slogans, this of course was not really true. But it was significant that the government did not reinforce Xi’s decision to break with past policy, but rather reaffirmed the existing policy. Possibly as a result, there have been no specific measures that actually put into practice the new grain security policy: more than a year and half after the new framework was finalized, there is still no clarity on exactly what level of imports of what products are officially considered acceptable. There have also been possibly retrograde developments, like the new national security law that names grain security as one the key parts of national security. Agricultural economist Cheng Guoqiang summarized the situation in a recent presentation: policymakers remain divided, with some emphasizing the traditional approach to self-sufficiency while others urge change, and there is no consensus on how to move forward.

Why is it important for China to change its approach to grain security? The most obvious reason is that the old one isn’t working: China imports much of its soybean supply, and recently became a net importer of corn (the concept of grain used in China is really a broad category of staples, including beans and potatoes as well as cereals). But as the excellent and indefatigable Dim Sums blog has repeatedly documented, Chinese bureaucrats’ obsession with maintaining high levels of domestic grain output has led to many other problems, like the stockpiling of grain on a vast and wasteful scale, as well as huge overuse of fertilizers and increasing degradation of land. It has also required increasing levels of government subsidy and market intervention to maintain. As the OECD has documented, China has been steadily ramping up subsidies and other farm supports at a time when many other governments have been scaling them back (in absolute terms, China is both the world’s largest agricultural producer and the largest disburser of agriculture subsidies). So in environmental and financial terms, maintaining a high level of self-sufficiency looks increasingly unsustainable–and is only likely to become more so. The chart below shows some model results from Kym Anderson (from an online presentation; here is an ungated version of the supporting paper), arguing that maintaining self-sufficiency in key products will require implausible, and WTO-illegal, levels of tariffs and trade restrictions by 2030.

Grain security is probably not the most urgent short-term issue Xi Jinping has to deal with right now, so it’s understandable that he may not want to spend much political capital to push through this particular change. But many reformist figures in China view the overhaul of grain security as a key market of progress on Xi’s pledge to give market forces a “decisive role” in the economy. Since Chinese prices for grain are higher than world prices, if market forces play a greater role, then more market forces means more grain imports. Finance minister Lou Jiwei himself, in a now-famous rant about how China can avoid the middle-income trap, named agricultural reform as one of the top economic priorities. “From seed to table, the whole chain has subsidies and interference in resource allocation,” he said at an April forum at Tsinghua University (the Chinese transcript is online; here’s an English write-up). “What should we do? Liberalize prices, preserve crop rotation, give subsidies for fallow land, and import.” Such matter-of-fact acceptance of large food imports breaks is clearly still rare in China. The desire for self-reliance, and the related tendency to see their country as alone in an uncaring world, have deep roots.

Technical note:

How exactly did Xi Jinping propose relaxing the grain security policy? This is a bit hard to explain without resorting to some Chinese terms. The original self-sufficiency policy (laid out in a 1996 white paper) was that net imports of grain were not to exceed 5% of domestic demand. But grain is not just grain; the Chinese term liangshi also includes soybeans and potatoes, among other things. Since China is now a huge importer of soybeans, mostly to make animal feed, this is clearly a big problem for the old policy. Corn (maize) imports are also now growing, and also go mainly into animal feed.

One of the new slogans (谷物基本自给、口粮绝对安全) therefore does away with liangshi, and in its place introduces two new terms: guwu, or cereals, and kouliang, or food grains. There must be “basic self-sufficiency” in cereals (rice, wheat, corn), and “absolute security” in food grains (rice, wheat). Because liangshi is no longer the operative term, the requirement to maintain self-sufficiency in soybeans (and potatoes, for that matter) has been quietly jettisoned. And since corn is subject to the looser “basic” standard, the new policy also means greater tolerance for corn imports. The problem is that there is not yet a definition of what “basic” or “absolute” self-sufficiency might mean in numerical terms, and without that clarity it is hard for officials to know how to actually implement the new policy. The text of the new national security law also refers to the old formulation of grain security in terms of liangshi, further muddying the issue.

I have a short post up at the Paulson Institute blog, in response to a question about the impact of the sharp fall in Chinese stock prices. The even shorter version:

If the rising stock market has been supporting the real economy, then that support could well be in the process of unraveling. It’s difficult to find much strong evidence of such support.

Issues considered include the wealth effect, corporate investment, and the surprisingly large contribution of the financial sector to GDP.