Yanis Varoufakis
Video 2 - Political Economy - The Red Pill in Social Sciences
Showing posts with label Greek. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Greek. Show all posts
Wednesday, 25 October 2017
Monday, 2 April 2012
Why do bankers get to decide who pays for the mess Europe is in?
There were summits about how much misery would be imposed on the Greeks – and no trade unions got a say
What you're about to read does, I admit, sound like a conspiracy
theory. It involves powerful people meeting in private offices,
hundreds of billions of euros, and clandestine deals determining the
fates of entire countries. All that's missing is a grassy knoll or a
wandering band of illuminati. There are, however, two crucial
differences: these events are still unfolding – and they're more
worrying than any who-killed-JFK fantasy I've ever heard.
Cast your mind back to the euro crisis talks last year, when the future of Greece was being decided. How much Athens should pay its bailiffs in the banks, on what terms, and the hardship that ordinary Greeks would have to endure as a result.
There were times when the whole of 2011 seemed to be one long European summit, when you heard more about Papandreou and Merkozy than was strictly necessary. Yet you probably didn't catch many references to Charles Dallara and Josef Ackermann.
They're two of the most senior bankers in the world – among the top 1% of the 1%. Dallara served in the Treasury under Ronald Reagan, before moving on to Wall Street, while Ackermann is chief executive of Deutsche Bank. But their role in the euro negotiations, and so in deciding Greece's future, was as representatives of the International Institute for Finance.
The IIF is a lobby group for 450 of the biggest banks in the world, with members including Barclays, RBS and Lloyds. Dallara and Ackermann and their colleagues were present throughout those euro summits, and enjoyed rare and astounding access to European heads of state and other policy-makers. EU and IMF officials consulted the bankers on how much Greece should pay, Europe's commissioner for economic affairs Olli Rehn shared conference calls with them.
You can piece all this together by poring over media reports of the euro summits, although be warned: you'll need a very high tolerance threshold for European TV, and financial newswires. But Dallara and co are also quite happy to toot their own trumpets. After a deal was struck last July, the IIF put out a note bragging about its "catalytic" role and claiming its offer "forms an integral part of a comprehensive package".
By now you'll have guessed the punchline: that July agreement was terrible for the Greeks, and brilliant for the bankers. It was widely panned at the time, for slicing only 21% off the value of Greece's loans, when Angela Merkel and many others agreed that financiers ought to be taking a much bigger hit. As the German government's economic adviser, Wolfgang Franz, later remarked in an interview: "If you look at the 21% and our demand for a 50% participation of private creditors, the financial sector has been very successful." Another way of putting it would be to say that the bankers overpowered even the strongest state in Europe.
None of this was inevitable. Iceland had made it clear that simply defaulting on one's loans didn't immediately lead to economic apocalypse. Across Greece, there were massive, repeated protests about the enormous spending cuts that citizens would suffer by paying off Goldman Sachs and the rest. And there was a growing movement in Greece and Portugal and France, among other countries, questioning the legitimacy of some of these loans.
None of these voters, none of these opinions got even a fraction of the consideration, let alone the face time, that was extended to Dallara and Ackermann. At Corporate Europe Observatory in Brussels, Yiorgos Vassalos has been tracking the negotiations over Greece: by his reckoning only the IIF got to have such personal, close-up access. These were summits settling how much misery would be imposed on the Greek people – and no trade unions or civil society groups got a say in them. "The only key players in those meetings were European governments and the bankers," says Vassalos.
Mindful of appearances, the EU has been less eager to admit to the influence of the bankers' lobby. When European officials were first asked by Corporate Europe Observatory about the extent of IIF access, they responded that it was limited to the Greek government. Only when it was pointed out that the Wall Street Journal and Bloomberg were reporting that Dallara met Merkel and Nicolas Sarkozy at midnight at an October summit to finalise a bigger reduction of the value of Greek debt did the officials back down: the IIF, they agreed, had been negotiating with a range of governments, on a whole host of issues to do with Greece's future.
So the bankers whose excesses helped land Europe in this mess then get to sit round the big EU table, like any other government, and decide who should pay for it. And the answer, unsurprisingly, is: not them. The bigger question is: why finance has been granted such power? In a forthcoming paper entitled Deep Stall, the Centre for Research on Socio-Cultural Change gives one compelling reason: because so many countries across Europe are, through both their public and private sectors, so dependent on financiers in other countries for credit. That includes Britain, which relies on 10 eurozone countries for loans worth over 70% of its annual national income – a higher proportion even than Italy. The tale of the IIF and how it got such a powerful say on the fate of ordinary Greeks is really a chapter in a much bigger story of how governments across the western world got swallowed up by their finance industries.
Cast your mind back to the euro crisis talks last year, when the future of Greece was being decided. How much Athens should pay its bailiffs in the banks, on what terms, and the hardship that ordinary Greeks would have to endure as a result.
There were times when the whole of 2011 seemed to be one long European summit, when you heard more about Papandreou and Merkozy than was strictly necessary. Yet you probably didn't catch many references to Charles Dallara and Josef Ackermann.
They're two of the most senior bankers in the world – among the top 1% of the 1%. Dallara served in the Treasury under Ronald Reagan, before moving on to Wall Street, while Ackermann is chief executive of Deutsche Bank. But their role in the euro negotiations, and so in deciding Greece's future, was as representatives of the International Institute for Finance.
The IIF is a lobby group for 450 of the biggest banks in the world, with members including Barclays, RBS and Lloyds. Dallara and Ackermann and their colleagues were present throughout those euro summits, and enjoyed rare and astounding access to European heads of state and other policy-makers. EU and IMF officials consulted the bankers on how much Greece should pay, Europe's commissioner for economic affairs Olli Rehn shared conference calls with them.
You can piece all this together by poring over media reports of the euro summits, although be warned: you'll need a very high tolerance threshold for European TV, and financial newswires. But Dallara and co are also quite happy to toot their own trumpets. After a deal was struck last July, the IIF put out a note bragging about its "catalytic" role and claiming its offer "forms an integral part of a comprehensive package".
By now you'll have guessed the punchline: that July agreement was terrible for the Greeks, and brilliant for the bankers. It was widely panned at the time, for slicing only 21% off the value of Greece's loans, when Angela Merkel and many others agreed that financiers ought to be taking a much bigger hit. As the German government's economic adviser, Wolfgang Franz, later remarked in an interview: "If you look at the 21% and our demand for a 50% participation of private creditors, the financial sector has been very successful." Another way of putting it would be to say that the bankers overpowered even the strongest state in Europe.
None of this was inevitable. Iceland had made it clear that simply defaulting on one's loans didn't immediately lead to economic apocalypse. Across Greece, there were massive, repeated protests about the enormous spending cuts that citizens would suffer by paying off Goldman Sachs and the rest. And there was a growing movement in Greece and Portugal and France, among other countries, questioning the legitimacy of some of these loans.
None of these voters, none of these opinions got even a fraction of the consideration, let alone the face time, that was extended to Dallara and Ackermann. At Corporate Europe Observatory in Brussels, Yiorgos Vassalos has been tracking the negotiations over Greece: by his reckoning only the IIF got to have such personal, close-up access. These were summits settling how much misery would be imposed on the Greek people – and no trade unions or civil society groups got a say in them. "The only key players in those meetings were European governments and the bankers," says Vassalos.
Mindful of appearances, the EU has been less eager to admit to the influence of the bankers' lobby. When European officials were first asked by Corporate Europe Observatory about the extent of IIF access, they responded that it was limited to the Greek government. Only when it was pointed out that the Wall Street Journal and Bloomberg were reporting that Dallara met Merkel and Nicolas Sarkozy at midnight at an October summit to finalise a bigger reduction of the value of Greek debt did the officials back down: the IIF, they agreed, had been negotiating with a range of governments, on a whole host of issues to do with Greece's future.
So the bankers whose excesses helped land Europe in this mess then get to sit round the big EU table, like any other government, and decide who should pay for it. And the answer, unsurprisingly, is: not them. The bigger question is: why finance has been granted such power? In a forthcoming paper entitled Deep Stall, the Centre for Research on Socio-Cultural Change gives one compelling reason: because so many countries across Europe are, through both their public and private sectors, so dependent on financiers in other countries for credit. That includes Britain, which relies on 10 eurozone countries for loans worth over 70% of its annual national income – a higher proportion even than Italy. The tale of the IIF and how it got such a powerful say on the fate of ordinary Greeks is really a chapter in a much bigger story of how governments across the western world got swallowed up by their finance industries.
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
How we fell out of love with Keynes
The same intellectual
retreat can be seen all over the western world and it shows that noble
intentions and half-decent ideas don't get you very far
The Greek crisis acted as a parable of
what happens when countries borrow too much. Photograph: Anne-Christine
Poujoulat/AFP/Getty Images
Remember all that talk about never letting a crisis go to waste?
All those frontbenchers – from across the political spectrum – who
swore that the banking crash would change economic policy for good?
Vince Cable and Alistair Darling traded their favourite bits of Keynes
and state intervention was firmly back in fashion. Well, you can rip up
those fine, fevered promises and stick them in the bin. That at least
is the big message out of last week's budget.
Oh, we all know what the papers reported: the granny tax, the kid gloves for the super-rich, and George Osborne's tin ear. But just as notable was what they didn't pick up: any meaningful dispute over the big picture. Labour's two Eds concentrated their attack on the chancellor for the fairness of his individual measures and kept schtum about the overall cuts strategy, of which they are only a small part.
The business lobby applauded the drop in corporation tax and the bungs for Grand Theft Auto and Richard Curtis (or, as they're officially known, relief for the British video games and film industries), but let the coalition off the hook on its promises to rebalance the economy.
How very different from Osborne's previous budgets. Over its first couple of years, Lib Dem wobbles and the European meltdown forced the coalition's austerity programme front and centre in political debate.
As for reform of Britain's listing economy, the strapline for last year's budget was that it would start "the march of the makers". Yet with the euro crisis temporarily on simmer, and the chancellor still clinging to his Plan A, the argument of ideas has gone all-but-silent.
Going by last week's squalls, what has replaced it is a giant scrap about who should lose most: OAPs or the young, the super-rich or welfare claimants.
As the cuts go deeper and further, and living standards remain depressed, this visceral battle of sectional interests will surely only escalate. Meanwhile, the political classes are busy getting back to business as usual. Last week's announcement of infrastructure privatisation suggests the new orthodoxy for Cameron and Osborne: when in doubt, Thatcherise it. As for the banks, where all this began, they are firmly back in charge. You know all about the bonuses, but even more telling is this underreported Treasury announcement from last week: the banks' miserliness with credit has forced Osborne to take £20bn of taxpayers' cash and use it for loans to small businesses. But wait for it: this money – your money – will be given to the same big banks to lend, with the minimum of public oversight. Take it from me: those last two sentences do not improve on rereading.
Blame Tory ideology, if you like, or Labour's failure to offer an alternative, but this is what those fervent avowals from MPs between 2008 and 2010 have given way to. As Old Whiskers might have said: all that is solid melts into hot air.
The same intellectual retreat can be seen throughout the Western world. John Quiggin, author of Zombie Economics, and political scientist Henry Farrell, have just published a fascinating paper charting how governments, central bankers and economists changed in the four years after Lehman's collapse from being "Keynesians in the fox hole" (as one Chicago academic put it) to merchants of austerity.
The tale Farrell and Quiggin tell is a simple, but compelling one. In autumn 2008, the policy-making establishment was in deep panic. The world they had constructed was collapsing around their ears, and ministers and economists had no idea how to respond. Amid this confusion, the long-marginalised followers of Keynes were able to win panicked international support for their economic-stimulus packages and reform of the financial sector. But no sooner had the global economy stabilised than governments and central bankers (led by Jean-Claude Trichet in the eurozone) returned to their old ways. They were urged on by the now-rescued and boisterous finance sector. And of course there was then the Greek crisis, offering a seemingly irresistible parable of what happened to countries that borrowed too much.
Never mind that the Greece story doesn't tell you much about any other country apart from Greece. Never mind that the principal argument of the Keynesians that you don't cut public spending amid a slump is as true now as in 2008. The conclusion one takes away from the past four years is that it wasn't the free-marketeers who were on the wrong side of history – it was all those good-hearted people punching the air and proclaiming the arrival of some progressive moment. The conclusion one takes away from Farrell and Quiggin's paper is that noble intentions and half-decent ideas don't take you very far. You need an adequate political vehicle, which Labour has plainly failed to provide, and some hard-headed analysis too.
Still, there's always the next crisis. And the failure to reform the economy pretty much guarantees that another one will come along.
Oh, we all know what the papers reported: the granny tax, the kid gloves for the super-rich, and George Osborne's tin ear. But just as notable was what they didn't pick up: any meaningful dispute over the big picture. Labour's two Eds concentrated their attack on the chancellor for the fairness of his individual measures and kept schtum about the overall cuts strategy, of which they are only a small part.
The business lobby applauded the drop in corporation tax and the bungs for Grand Theft Auto and Richard Curtis (or, as they're officially known, relief for the British video games and film industries), but let the coalition off the hook on its promises to rebalance the economy.
How very different from Osborne's previous budgets. Over its first couple of years, Lib Dem wobbles and the European meltdown forced the coalition's austerity programme front and centre in political debate.
As for reform of Britain's listing economy, the strapline for last year's budget was that it would start "the march of the makers". Yet with the euro crisis temporarily on simmer, and the chancellor still clinging to his Plan A, the argument of ideas has gone all-but-silent.
Going by last week's squalls, what has replaced it is a giant scrap about who should lose most: OAPs or the young, the super-rich or welfare claimants.
As the cuts go deeper and further, and living standards remain depressed, this visceral battle of sectional interests will surely only escalate. Meanwhile, the political classes are busy getting back to business as usual. Last week's announcement of infrastructure privatisation suggests the new orthodoxy for Cameron and Osborne: when in doubt, Thatcherise it. As for the banks, where all this began, they are firmly back in charge. You know all about the bonuses, but even more telling is this underreported Treasury announcement from last week: the banks' miserliness with credit has forced Osborne to take £20bn of taxpayers' cash and use it for loans to small businesses. But wait for it: this money – your money – will be given to the same big banks to lend, with the minimum of public oversight. Take it from me: those last two sentences do not improve on rereading.
Blame Tory ideology, if you like, or Labour's failure to offer an alternative, but this is what those fervent avowals from MPs between 2008 and 2010 have given way to. As Old Whiskers might have said: all that is solid melts into hot air.
The same intellectual retreat can be seen throughout the Western world. John Quiggin, author of Zombie Economics, and political scientist Henry Farrell, have just published a fascinating paper charting how governments, central bankers and economists changed in the four years after Lehman's collapse from being "Keynesians in the fox hole" (as one Chicago academic put it) to merchants of austerity.
The tale Farrell and Quiggin tell is a simple, but compelling one. In autumn 2008, the policy-making establishment was in deep panic. The world they had constructed was collapsing around their ears, and ministers and economists had no idea how to respond. Amid this confusion, the long-marginalised followers of Keynes were able to win panicked international support for their economic-stimulus packages and reform of the financial sector. But no sooner had the global economy stabilised than governments and central bankers (led by Jean-Claude Trichet in the eurozone) returned to their old ways. They were urged on by the now-rescued and boisterous finance sector. And of course there was then the Greek crisis, offering a seemingly irresistible parable of what happened to countries that borrowed too much.
Never mind that the Greece story doesn't tell you much about any other country apart from Greece. Never mind that the principal argument of the Keynesians that you don't cut public spending amid a slump is as true now as in 2008. The conclusion one takes away from the past four years is that it wasn't the free-marketeers who were on the wrong side of history – it was all those good-hearted people punching the air and proclaiming the arrival of some progressive moment. The conclusion one takes away from Farrell and Quiggin's paper is that noble intentions and half-decent ideas don't take you very far. You need an adequate political vehicle, which Labour has plainly failed to provide, and some hard-headed analysis too.
Still, there's always the next crisis. And the failure to reform the economy pretty much guarantees that another one will come along.
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
This is no return to ancient Greek democracy
Wednesday, 02 November 2011
There may be nothing new under the sun, but according to the ancient Greeks it is quite the celestial Johnny-come-lately. Long before the sun, long even before the Titans rose and fell, and Zeus slew his father Cronos to seize control of Olympus, there was only Chaos. The mother of all things is back in charge as the muthah of all financial crises moves closer – thanks to the modern Greeks – to sucking us all into the Abyss (Chaos's firstborn, as you cosmology fans well know). Perhaps by now a semblance of order has re-asserted itself over the mayhem prevailing at the time of writing, with markets in freefall and confusion reigning over Greece's forthcoming referendum on the euro bailout. If so, it won't last long.
The date of that vote is as unclear as any intricate political
calculations behind Prime Minister George Papandreou's decision to call
it, or even whether he informed the Franco-German neo-axis powers before
announcing it. Nor is it obvious what the precise implications for
Europe might be, other than perfectly hideous.
Chaotic hardly seems an adequate adjective. The Greeks have unleashed pandemonium, and if there is any hope remaining in Pandora's box this time around, you'd want the Hubble Telescope to locate it. In the frantic quest for an upside, all I can dredge up is gratitude that I took the mediocre redbrick degree in Classics, hence all the tiresome and pretentious allusions, rather than in economics. Now that would have been a waste of time. No professional economist has much clue what's going on, beyond a basic appreciation that we are, as Richard Littlejohn will surely put it, going to Hellas in a handcart.
What is abundantly clear is that all the comparisons between this grumbling nightmare and the approach to war in 1939 were less fanciful than one would have liked, though in the globalised age everything moves faster. There was almost a calendar year between Neville Chamberlain declaring peace for our time and war with Germany. From the moment Angela Merkel and Nicolas Sarkozy waved their Greek bailout paper in Brussels and Mr Papandreou's startling announcement were barely five days.
Why he did so is the source of contention, but we can probably rule out any driving passion to invoke the memory of fifth century BC Athens. Some muscular Eurosceptics will posit that, in offering the plebiscite denied us, Mr Papandreou honours his nation's status as the birthplace of democracy. But politicians tend not to think in such grandiose terms when trying to navigate a course between a rock and hard place. Or, to continue this whirlwind odyssey through half-remembered lectures, between Scylla and Charybdis. The waters may be uncharted, but the menaces to Greece are in plain sight. On one side stand the unforgiving rocks of unending austerity within the eurozone, struggling to tame sovereign debt which remains crippling despite that offer of a 50 per cent haircut. Already suffering horribly and riven by civil unrest, the Greeks do not much fancy a future of penury under German dominion, as the explosion there of Nazi-themed cartoons and graffiti confirms.
On the other side lies the dreaded whirlpool of "disorderly default"... leaving the euro in disgrace, and attempting to return to growth via a devalued drachma, with no protection from the world's second reserve currency. Which is the quicker route to perdition is anyone's guess, but from this remove it looks a bit like offering a terminal patient the choice between a revolver and the hemlock.
Mr Papandreou, who seems neither a madman nor a nihilist, will not have taken this apparently deranged last throw of the dice without feeling irresistible pressure. Apart from a livid electorate, he is assailed by an opposition so irresponsible in promising cure without pain that it makes Ed Balls look like Stafford Cripps the day his hairshirt returned from Sketchley's with a wire-wool lining. In delegating the decision, he presumably believes this is the only possible way to compel the opposition to face reality and to scare the electorate into accepting that the alternative is worse than the bailout. It is, to put it gently, a monstrous gamble.
It is also playing with fire on behalf of the rest of us, within and outside the eurozone. If Greece goes, as begins to look inevitable, the fall of Italy becomes more imminent... and as with their respective empires long ago, the latter is rather more threatening to the rest of Europe than the former. Perhaps when your liver is being daily devoured by vultures, you can be forgiven for losing sight of any obligation to the world beyond your shores.
It hardly behoves a country that slags the euro off from the sidelines at every turn – to borrow from Mr Sarkozy's trenchant rebuke to David Cameron – to lecture others on the altruistic need to remain in it. But there is a strong sense that, just as with the supremacy of chaos, the Greeks have been here before. Disguised as a white bull, Zeus kidnapped Europa and ravished her. With this referendum, Greece seeks to take Europe hostage and is screwing her in Olympian fashion once again.
Chaotic hardly seems an adequate adjective. The Greeks have unleashed pandemonium, and if there is any hope remaining in Pandora's box this time around, you'd want the Hubble Telescope to locate it. In the frantic quest for an upside, all I can dredge up is gratitude that I took the mediocre redbrick degree in Classics, hence all the tiresome and pretentious allusions, rather than in economics. Now that would have been a waste of time. No professional economist has much clue what's going on, beyond a basic appreciation that we are, as Richard Littlejohn will surely put it, going to Hellas in a handcart.
What is abundantly clear is that all the comparisons between this grumbling nightmare and the approach to war in 1939 were less fanciful than one would have liked, though in the globalised age everything moves faster. There was almost a calendar year between Neville Chamberlain declaring peace for our time and war with Germany. From the moment Angela Merkel and Nicolas Sarkozy waved their Greek bailout paper in Brussels and Mr Papandreou's startling announcement were barely five days.
Why he did so is the source of contention, but we can probably rule out any driving passion to invoke the memory of fifth century BC Athens. Some muscular Eurosceptics will posit that, in offering the plebiscite denied us, Mr Papandreou honours his nation's status as the birthplace of democracy. But politicians tend not to think in such grandiose terms when trying to navigate a course between a rock and hard place. Or, to continue this whirlwind odyssey through half-remembered lectures, between Scylla and Charybdis. The waters may be uncharted, but the menaces to Greece are in plain sight. On one side stand the unforgiving rocks of unending austerity within the eurozone, struggling to tame sovereign debt which remains crippling despite that offer of a 50 per cent haircut. Already suffering horribly and riven by civil unrest, the Greeks do not much fancy a future of penury under German dominion, as the explosion there of Nazi-themed cartoons and graffiti confirms.
On the other side lies the dreaded whirlpool of "disorderly default"... leaving the euro in disgrace, and attempting to return to growth via a devalued drachma, with no protection from the world's second reserve currency. Which is the quicker route to perdition is anyone's guess, but from this remove it looks a bit like offering a terminal patient the choice between a revolver and the hemlock.
Mr Papandreou, who seems neither a madman nor a nihilist, will not have taken this apparently deranged last throw of the dice without feeling irresistible pressure. Apart from a livid electorate, he is assailed by an opposition so irresponsible in promising cure without pain that it makes Ed Balls look like Stafford Cripps the day his hairshirt returned from Sketchley's with a wire-wool lining. In delegating the decision, he presumably believes this is the only possible way to compel the opposition to face reality and to scare the electorate into accepting that the alternative is worse than the bailout. It is, to put it gently, a monstrous gamble.
It is also playing with fire on behalf of the rest of us, within and outside the eurozone. If Greece goes, as begins to look inevitable, the fall of Italy becomes more imminent... and as with their respective empires long ago, the latter is rather more threatening to the rest of Europe than the former. Perhaps when your liver is being daily devoured by vultures, you can be forgiven for losing sight of any obligation to the world beyond your shores.
It hardly behoves a country that slags the euro off from the sidelines at every turn – to borrow from Mr Sarkozy's trenchant rebuke to David Cameron – to lecture others on the altruistic need to remain in it. But there is a strong sense that, just as with the supremacy of chaos, the Greeks have been here before. Disguised as a white bull, Zeus kidnapped Europa and ravished her. With this referendum, Greece seeks to take Europe hostage and is screwing her in Olympian fashion once again.
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