The essence of economics

Gordon Robinson, Contributor

We've not visited the Apochrypha for a while, so let's travel through the web of time to that land of tall tales, imaginary characters and stimulating portents.

This visit finds Oma D'unn's mother in distress. Regular readers or sci-fi freaks recognise Oma as being like a moon (bright only in the dark) having earned his PhD in logic from the university. His friend, R.U. Shaw (named after a chap with the initials G.B.S. who, when asked, "Are you Shaw?", answered, "My dear old thing, I'm certain of nothing!"), wanted him for advice on interest rates and foreign-exchange values. You see, Shaw had taken Oma's last advice on logic, bought a lawn mower (see 'The Essence of Logic', Gleaner, March 9) and, voila, was almost immediately appointed finance minister.

His first major initiative was to ask the banks, as intermediaries, to arrange a reduction of interest rates on Government loans from the general public. Banks happily encouraged their customers to agree with this scheme, but when lending money to those customers, seemed in no hurry to follow suit. So, the public was delivered a double whammy by collecting less on their investments but continuing to pay high interest rates on their loans.

Revaluation gone bad

Then Shaw's life became even more complicated. The currency, whose devaluation had been accelerating like a Toyota whose driver had applied the brakes, suddenly began to revalue. At first, Shaw rejoiced, but soon realised that this was bad news because the main reason for the revaluation was a lack of foreign-currency demand due to business-sector impoverishment, consequent upon an economy in rapid recession.

One solution was to push-start the economy by reducing interest rates for all borrowers, but the banks wouldn't cooperate. No matter how many edicts R.U. issued; how loudly he blustered; only the interest rates to be paid by Government were reduced.

In desperation, he went looking for Oma. But Oma hadn't been home for days, hence his mother's anguish. She begged R.U. to ask Oma to at least give her a call whenever Oma was found.

R.U. looked everywhere - no Oma. Eventually, in desperation, he entered a public sanitary convenience. Under one closed stall door, he spotted two hairy ankles. Sure he'd found D'unn. He bent down to let Oma know who was present. "R.U., D'unn!" he shouted

"Yes," came a muffled reply.

"For God's sake," boomed an exasperated Shaw, "call your mother!"

The embarrassment of being thrown out of a public sanitary convenience on his ear by the stall occupant (whose mother had recently died) taught Shaw a valuable lesson. When conversations can bring enlightenment, it helps to ensure that all are singing from synchronised hymn sheets before leaping to conclusions and making rash, inflammatory demands. It's also helpful to distinguish the exchange from one between the blind, deaf or spastic by pretending to be at a train crossing where stopping, looking and listening are more crucial than talking.

The logical solution?

Shaw eventually found Oma lecturing university students about the dangers of verbal diarrhoea (aka 'runnings') and asked for the logical solution to his economics dilemma. Oma told him to buy a wheelbarrow.

"What?" bellowed Shaw.

"Look," said Oma, "You wanted to be finance minister. I told you to buy a lawnmower. Didn't it work?"

"It worked," R.U. grudgingly admitted.

"Well," said Oma earnestly, brow furrowed in profound philosophical thought, "there's a deep rural Apochryphan district named Moneyleague. It's very isolated. Only locals, drug lords and pastors go there. The only economic activity is cattle rearing and only one farmer owns a bull. All others must transport their cows to his farm for servicing."

Shaw listened keenly.

"Another farmer," Oma continued, "was so poor he had one cow and no transport, so he used a wheelbarrow to deliver his cow for servicing. Now, farmers know to service cows several times for best results so, at dawn on three consecutive mornings, the farmer loaded his cow into the wheelbarrow and pushed it over to his neighbour's farm where the dirty deed was swiftly accomplished. On the fourth morning, he awoke to find the cow waiting for him in the wheelbarrow."

Shaw appeared confused.

Oma went on: "Apart from remembering this story every time I see young secretaries in office car parks after work waiting to be picked up by older bosses, it's a reminder that, after pushing government paper around for decades, you can't expect banks to immediately accept new paradigms. They like the old wheelbarrow. You must buy them a new one."

Peace and love.

Gordon Robinson is an attorney at law. Feedback may be sent to columns@gleanerjm.com.