There’s so much talk about government efficiency right now, without much real attention to the meaning of the word.  Merriam-Webster defines efficiency as  “productive of desired effects; especially, capable of producing desired results with little or no waste (as of time or materials).”  The Collins Dictionary elaborates: “performing or functioning in the best possible manner with the least waste of time and effort; having and using requisite knowledge, skill, and industry; competent; capable.” 

Setting aside the fundamental difference in mission between a for-profit business and the U.S. government, I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that, if we did actually want our government to run like a business, we would want it to run like a successful business: efficient, stable, publicly held and answerable to stockholders, with a board of directors not mired in conflicts of interest. Most well-run businesses follow internal guidelines known as “best practices,” designed to produce optimum results (such as effective products or successful outcomes for their clients) and to avoid liability issues, financial instability and market upheavals. 

Specific best practices vary depending on the type of business, but the methodologies are similar: the business sets goals, defines quality and success in the context of its sector, collects and analyses performance data, invests in innovation, exercises due diligence in decision-making, and works continuously to improve its products and operations.

Procurement decisions are usually based upon an analysis of “best value”—the most advantageous combination of cost, quality and sustainability—rather than cost alone. These management practices help ensure stability and long-term profitability. 

By contrast, when a flying squad of hatchet wielders descends upon a corporation, that’s a hostile takeover, and the goal is not to operate the company but to cannibalize it and liquidate the assets.  

A more apt model might be found in the non-profit sector. If we wanted our government to operate like a well-run nonprofit, such as a 501(c)(3) charitable organization, we would have to meet a higher set of standards and level of scrutiny:  for example, directors of reputable nonprofits generally serve as volunteers without compensation, and staff salaries are a matter of public record. Excessive compensation for top executives can be flagged by the IRS, especially if it is out of proportion to the organization’s overall size and budget. In rare cases, it can result in loss of nonprofit status.  And while there is no hard-and-fast rule, well-managed nonprofits are generally expected to spend no more than 40 percent of their budgets on operating and administrative costs such as staff pay, office expenses and the cost of fundraising, and to deliver 60 percent of their funds to the people they serve, through direct programs and services in keeping with their mission.   

The business analogy really starts to fall apart when we look at the role the public plays in this “corporate” government model.  If the government is like a business, with our elected representatives as the board of directors and the president acting as a CEO, what are the citizens?  We seem to be both investors and clients at the same time, and captive ones at that. As taxpayer/shareholders, however small, don’t we have the right to expect a return on our investment in the form of “continuous improvement” regarding things like safety, stable markets, infrastructure, health, education and the environment? Does anybody actually think that what’s going on right now can remotely be described as promoting efficiency built upon knowledge, skill, industry and competency? 

It more closely resembles an exercise in disaster capitalism, in this case the exploitation of a human-created and entirely avoidable economic crisis.

One of the only amusing developments over the last very unamusing six weeks has been the outrage in certain quarters over the call for consumer boycotts against businesses that have distorted the political landscape with dark money and are seen as overtly involved in promoting, funding and, in the present moment, actively carrying out the chaotic destruction of our federal institutions. But in the flawed mental construct of the government as a species of business—particularly one conceived as so venal and gleefully destructive—what could be more natural than withholding our patronage? Snapping our purses shut is one of the most powerful ways we can express solidarity and exert leverage. It’s called consumer choice.