Well, the post I made
just yesterday still applies here:
—
The Soviet Union’s economy two biggest problems were quality control and allocation. Outside of the military industries, formal QC did not exist. Since workers, or to be more accurate various work groups, were being judged on a per product, they found it better to do stuff like produce ten million defective products than 9,999,999 excellent products.
The other, somewhat related, problem was one of allocation. You could have a perfectly good factory that could be producing lots of useful things if only you had one extra eensy-weensy part, but unless the higher-ups had allocated you that part, you were out of luck. If that part happened to break, getting a new one would depend on how much clout you (and your superiors) pulled versus how much clout other people who wanted parts (and their superiors) held.
To use one example, a pig farmer in Siberia needed wood in order to build sties for his pigs so they wouldn’t freeze – if they froze, he would fail to meet his production target and his career would be ruined. The government, which mostly dealt with pig farming in more temperate areas, hadn’t accounted for this and so hadn’t allocated him any wood, and he didn’t have enough clout with officials to request some. A factory nearby had extra wood they weren’t using and were going to burn because it was too much trouble to figure out how to get it back to the government for reallocation. The farmer bought the wood from the factory in an under-the-table deal. He was caught, which usually wouldn’t have been a problem because everybody did this sort of thing and it was kind of the “smoking marijuana while white” of Soviet offenses. But at that particular moment the Party higher-ups in the area wanted to make an example of someone in order to look like they were on top of their game to their higher-ups. The pig farmer was sentenced to years of hard labor.
In another instance, a tire factory had been assigned a tire-making machine that could make 100,000 tires a year, but the government had gotten confused and assigned them a production quota of 150,000 tires a year. The factory leaders were stuck, because if they tried to correct the government they would look like they were challenging their superiors and get in trouble, but if they failed to meet the impossible quota, they would all get demoted and their careers would come to an end. The alleged solution those who only think they know anything about the Soviet economy say they would have resorted too - that is lying about the number of tires produced - wasn’t actually achievable because those tires would then have to go somewhere and if nonexistent tires don’t show up at the car factory like they are supposed to, then the whole lie gets blown wide open and the factory workers and managers now face all the same consequences as failing, but with the added bonus that they get charged for fraud against the State.
But hope shines eternal: the tire factory learns that the tire-making-machine-making enterprise had recently invented a new model that really could make 150,000 tires a year. In the spirit of
Chen Sheng, they decided that since the penalty for missing their quota was something terrible and the penalty for sabotage was also something terrible, they might as well take their chances with a lie they might actually be able to pull off and destroyed their own machinery in the hopes the government sent them the new improved machine as a replacement. To their delight, the government believed their story about an “accident” and allotted them a new tire-making machine. However, the tire-making-machine-making company had decided to cancel production of their new model. You see, the new model, although more powerful, weighed less than the old machine, and the government was measuring their production by kilogram of machine. So it was easier for them to just continue making the old less powerful machine. The tire factory was allocated another machine that could only make 100,000 tires a year and thus they were right back where they started.
Throughout the life of the Soviet Union, various reform ideas were drafted on how they might deal with the allocation problem. Some even made it as high as the senior leadership. None were ever fully implemented and those which were partially implemented frequently faced a political backlash that resulted in them then getting yoinked after only a half-decease, at the most. It might be interesting to argue how things might have turned out had someone willing and able enough to rise to the top of the USSR was able to force through, say, Leonid Kantorovich’s proposal to use linear programming as an allocation method, but inevitably I get the feeling those “what if’s” are fundamentally speculative.