A Stitch in Haste

Economists and political scientists often use location economics to explain politics.

Here’s a typical example: Assume a public beach that is 100 yards long, like an American football field. Two ice cream vendors selling identical products are granted a government duopoly on the condition that their prices are fixed. Customers are located uniformly along the beach.

The only way the two vendors can compete is by deciding where along the beach to sell their ice cream. Customers will, if they’re rational, simply go to whichever vendor is closer. However, assume that they will not walk more than a certain distance to get their ice cream, perhaps 25 yards.

Economics, and game theory, tell us that the optimal strategy for the two vendors is for each to locate on one of the two 25-yard lines (i.e., to carve up the market and not really compete against each other at all). But that assumes both cooperation and communication (or the more loaded term, “collusion”). Without cooperation, one vendor will try to encroach on the other’s territory by moving closer to the “50-yard line.” The other will reciprocate by also moving closer to “midbeach.” Without cooperation, they will eventually be on top of each other at the middle, with both losing customers at either end (i.e., “goal line”) of the beach.

It’s actually a little more complicated than that, but it’s the basic result, and is a variant of the classic “Prisoners’ Dilemma” (i.e., that lack of communication and cooperation can lead to sub-optimal results for all parties).

Political scientists have applied this reasoning to two-party politics, with “the beach” becoming the “liberal-conservative spectrum.” Theoretically the major-party candidates should “split the market,” with the Democrat locating halfway between the radical left and the mainstream moderate positions, and the Republican doing the same with conservatives. But then the Prisoners’ Dilemma kicks in and each moves to the center to try to capture moderate voters, and by Election Day the differences between the candidates almost completely evaporate.

Well, it seems to me this model of location economics explains perfectly the nominally inexplicable stories recently about John McCain supporting a bigot initiative in his home state, and Jerry Falwell doing a mini-flip-flop in favor of (some) anti-discrimination rights for gays.

Falwell is the easier anomaly to explain. He is locked in a classic “location duopoly” with Pat Robertson, recently of Sixth Commandment notoriety (see my previous post).

As the “backlash” against Vermont and Massachusetts fades into distant memory (i.e., 10 months ago), gay marriage is dropping off most people’s radar screens. Even relatively radical fundamentalist Christians are starting to realize that the fire and brimstone are simply not coming.

So if you define the “beach” as the political spectrum, or even just as the conservative Christian political spectrum, then why shouldn’t Falwell jump on this opportunity to distance himself from Robertson by moving to the mainstream on gay rights? Perhaps Falwell, who has his own agenda and his own earthly interests, is tired of being lumped together with Robertson. A relatively straightforward case of location economics.

McCain is more complicated. He’s considered among the most moderate (i.e., leftist) of Republicans. Is he adopting more “midfield conservative” positions within the conservative spectrum? Is he positioning himself against other potential Republican candidates by pandering to the supposed Republican base (i.e., fundamentalist Christians)?

McCain has repeatedly shown himself to be a man of politics rather than a man of principle, so whatever his motivation in pandering to bigots, it is undoubtedly driven by politics rather than by anti-gay animus. That may be sad, but it’s hardly surprising.

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