A Class War like Never Seen Before?

Lay-offs are the worst of the bleak options facing recession-hit companies

Some groups are becoming more creative, offering short-time working rather than redundancies observes Andrew Hill in the FT

From the videotapes to the workplace hugs, much of Broadcast News, the 1987 satire on media, looks old-fashioned. But when I watched the film again recently, as an escape from pandemic-provoked gloom, the scene where the network announces a round of redundancies seemed raw and relevant. 

“If there’s anything I can do,” says the network director, relieved at how a veteran newsman has accepted the news of his forced early retirement. “Well, I certainly hope you die soon,” responds the departing colleague. 

Similar scenes are playing out at companies around the world. Marks and Spencer, the retailer, Melrose, which owns venerable manufacturer GKN, New York-based Macy’s department store, and European aircraft-maker Airbus have all announced potential cuts in recent weeks. Manufacturing trade group Make UK has warned of a “jobs bloodbath”. Newsrooms have been particularly hard hit. 

One added twist is that some of today’s lay-off conversations with unlucky staff will take place by video link rather than in person — easier for nervous managers, but crueller for the people they are laying off. 

Another, more positive, development is that companies are becoming more creative as they brace for recession, turning to short-time working rather than lay-offs. As governments remove subsidies, what was a simple decision to hold staff in reserve, rather than fire them, will become more complicated. But avoiding permanent cuts makes sense, according to David Cote, former chief executive of Honeywell. The sheer cost of severance — in time, money and administrative hassle — mounts up. Often you have to hire the staff back to meet demand as the economy recovers. 

“If someone told you that it would take you six months to build a factory, six months to recover your investment, you’ll get a return for six months, and then you’ll shut it down, you’d never go for it because it would be ridiculous,” he writes in his new book Winning Now, Winning Later. “Yet somehow leaders think it makes sense to do the same with people.” 

Honeywell’s reliance on furlough — combined with its commitment to customers, sustained long-term investment, and attention to supplier relations — helped it bounce back.  

Research also backs up the hunch on which Mr Cote acted 12 years ago. A 2011 OECD review of 19 countries’ experience of short-time working confirmed such schemes preserved permanent workers’ jobs beyond recession. In a recent article for Harvard Business Review, Sandra Sucher and Shalene Gupta applaud US companies such as Tesla and Marriott for using furlough to soften the blow of this crisis. Such schemes let companies “maintain connections with their employees, cut costs while still providing employee benefits, and create a path to a seamless recovery”. 

Yet defending the decision in 2008 was one of the toughest points of Mr Cote’s tenure as Honeywell’s boss. 

Management, employees and investors were not “trained” to accept short-time working as a solution, he told me. Laws differed from country to country, and even state to state. In regions where furlough was put to a vote, support varied in line with the enthusiasm of managers for the measure. Elsewhere, while workers backed short-time working publicly, as Honeywell pushed through successive rounds of furlough, Mr Cote received private notes from staff urging him to “lay off 10 per cent of our people and have done with it”. As one FT reader commented when we asked recently about individuals’ experience of furlough: “Loneliness, anxiety, depression and guilt are hourly occurrences.” 

“All recessions are different,” Mr Cote says, “but they all feel miserable.” He remains convinced, though, that irreversible job cuts would have undermined Honeywell’s ability to respond to an economic upturn, ultimately harming staff, investors and customers.  

Jamie Dimon, chief executive of JPMorgan Chase, has declared that “this is not a normal recession”. Mr Cote suggests, rather, that 80 per cent of the actions companies take to respond to recession are common across downturns, whether triggered by oil crises, inflation, terror attacks or mortgage mis-selling. To managers, he offers this advice: don’t panic; think independently; keep investing for the long term; communicate; and “whatever you do, let people know you’re sacrificing too”. 

Some things, though, don’t change. “This is a brutal lay-off,” remarks Jack Nicholson’s smug anchorman, visiting the newsroom in Broadcast News, supposedly in solidarity with his colleagues. “You can make it a little less brutal by knocking a million dollars or so off your salary,” says his boss, before rapidly backtracking in the face of the trademark Nicholson glare. 

Richard Wolff: The Crash IS Coming! What To Watch For

Hysteresis means we will have scars after Covid-19

Tim Harford in The Financial Times 

In the middle of a crisis, it is not always easy to work out what has changed forever, and what will soon fade into history. Has the coronavirus pandemic ushered in the end of the office, the end of the city, the end of air travel, the end of retail and the end of theatre? Or has it merely ruined a lovely spring? 

Stretch a rubber band, and you can expect it to snap back when released. Stretch a sheet of plastic wrapping and it will stay stretched. In economics, we borrow the term “hysteresis” to refer to systems that, like the plastic wrap, do not automatically return to the status quo. 

The effects can be grim. A recession can leave scars that last, even once growth resumes. Good businesses disappear; people who lose jobs can then lose skills, contacts and confidence. But it is surprising how often, for better or worse, things snap back to normal, like the rubber band. 

The murderous destruction of the World Trade Center in 2001, for example, had a lasting impact on airport security screening, but Manhattan is widely regarded to have bounced back quickly. There was a fear, at the time, that people would shun dense cities and tall buildings, but little evidence that they really did. 

What, then, will the virus change permanently? Start with the most obvious impact: the people who have died will not be coming back. Most were elderly but not necessarily at death’s door, and some were young. More than one study has estimated that, on average, victims of Covid-19 could have expected to live for more than a decade. 

But some of the economic damage will also be irreversible. The safest prediction is that activities which were already marginal will struggle to return. 

After the devastating Kobe earthquake in Japan in 1995, economic recovery was impressive but partial. For a cluster of businesses making plastic shoes, already under pressure from Chinese competition, the earthquake turned a slow decline into an abrupt one. 

Ask, “If we were starting from scratch, would we do it like this again?” If the answer is No, do not expect a post-coronavirus rebound. Drab high streets are in trouble. 

But there is not necessarily a correlation between the hardest blow and the most lingering bruise. 

Consider live music: it is devastated right now — it is hard to conceive of a packed concert hall or dance floor any time soon. 

Yet live music is much loved and hard to replace. When Covid-19 has been tamed — whether by a vaccine, better treatments or familiarity breeding indifference — the demand will be back. Musicians and music businesses will have suffered hardship, but many of the venues will be untouched. The live experience has survived decades of competition from vinyl to Spotify. It will return. 

Air travel is another example. We’ve had phone calls for a very long time, and they have always been much easier than getting on an aeroplane. They can replace face-to-face meetings, but they can also spark demand for further meetings. Alas for the planet, much of the travel that felt indispensable before the pandemic will feel indispensable again. 

And for all the costs and indignities of a modern aeroplane, tourism depends on travel. It is hard to imagine people submitting to a swab test in order to go to the cinema, but if that becomes part of the rigmarole of flying, many people will comply. 

No, the lingering changes may be more subtle. Richard Baldwin, author of The Globotics Upheaval, argues that the world has just run a massive set of experiments in telecommuting. Some have been failures, but the landscape of possibilities has changed. 

If people can successfully work from home in the suburbs, how long before companies decide they can work from low-wage economies in another timezone? 

The crisis will also spur automation. Robots do not catch coronavirus and are unlikely to spread it; the pandemic will not conjure robot barbers from thin air, but it has pushed companies into automating where they can. Once automated, those jobs will not be coming back. 

Some changes will be welcome — a shock can jolt us out of a rut. I hope that we will strive to retain the pleasures of quiet streets, clean air and communities looking out for each other. 

But there will be scars that last, especially for the young. People who graduate during a recession are at a measurable disadvantage relative to those who are slightly older or younger. The harm is larger for those in disadvantaged groups, such as racial minorities, and it persists for many years. 

And children can suffer long-term harm when they miss school. Those who lack computers, books, quiet space and parents with the time and confidence to help them study are most vulnerable. Good-quality schooling is supposed to last a lifetime; its absence may be felt for a lifetime, too. 

This crisis will not last for decades, but some of its effects will.

Coronavirus crisis: does value investing still make sense?

The strategy that once worked for Keynes and Buffett has performed badly writes Robin Wigglesworth in The Financial Times

When Joel Greenblatt went to Wharton Business School in the late 1970s, the theory of “efficient markets” was in full bloom, approaching the point of becoming dogma among the financial cognoscenti. To the young student, it all felt bogus. 

Mr Greenblatt had already developed a taste for calculated gambles at the dog racing tracks. Reading the wildly fluctuating stock prices listed in newspapers also made him deeply sceptical of the supposed rationality of markets. One day he stumbled over a Fortune article on stockpicking, and everything suddenly fell into place. 

“A lightbulb went off. It just made sense to me that prices aren’t necessarily correct,” recalls Mr Greenblatt, whose hedge fund Gotham Capital clocked up one of the industry’s greatest ever winning streaks until it was closed to outside investors in 1994. “Buying cheap stocks is great, but buying good companies cheaply is even better. That’s a potent combination.” 

The article became his gateway drug into a school of money management known as “value investing”, which consists of trying to identify good, solid businesses that are trading below their fair value. The piece was written by Benjamin Graham, a financier who in the 1930s first articulated the core principles of value investing and turned it into a phenomenon. 

One of Graham’s protégés was a young money manager called Warren Buffett, who brought the value investing gospel to the masses. But he isn't the only one to play a role in popularising the approach. Since 1996, Mr Greenblatt has taught the same value investing course started by Graham at Columbia Business School nearly a century ago, inculcating generations of aspiring stock jocks with its core principles. 

Mr Greenblatt compares value investing to carefully examining the merits of a house purchase by looking at the foundation, construction quality, rental yields, potential improvements and price comparisons on the street, neighbourhood or other cities. 

“You’d look funny at people who just bought the houses that have gone up the most in price,” he points out. “All investing is value investing, the rest is speculation.” 

However, the faith of many disciples has been sorely tested over the past decade. What constitutes a value stock can be defined in myriad ways, but by almost any measure the approach has suffered an awful stretch of performance since the 2008 financial crisis. 

Many proponents had predicted value investing would regain its lustre once a new bear market beckoned and inevitably hammered the glamorous but pricey technology stocks that dominated the post-2008 bull run. This would make dowdier, cheaper companies more attractive, value investors hoped.  

Instead, value stocks have been pummelled even more than the broader market in the coronavirus-triggered sell-off, agonising supporters of the investment strategy. 

“One more big down leg and I’m dousing my internal organs in Lysol,” Clifford Asness, a hedge fund manager, groused in April. 

Value investing has gone through several bouts of existential angst over the past century, and always comes back strongly. But its poor performance during the coronavirus crisis has only added to the crisis of confidence. The strength and length of the recent woes raises some thorny questions. Why has value lost its mojo and is it gone forever? 

Search for ‘American magic’ 

Berkshire Hathaway’s annual meeting is usually a party. Every year, thousands of fans have flocked to Omaha to lap up the wisdom of Mr Buffett and his partner Charlie Munger, the acerbic, terse sidekick to the conglomerate’s avuncular, loquacious chairman. Last weekend’s gathering was a more downbeat affair. 

A shaggy-haired Mr Buffett sat alone on stage without his usual companion, who was stranded in California. Instead of Mr Munger, Greg Abel, another lieutenant, sat at a table some distance away from Berkshire’s chairman. Rather than the 40,000 people that normally fill the cavernous CHI Health Center for the occasion, he faced nothing but a bunch of video cameras. It was an eerie example of just how much the coronavirus crisis has altered the world, but the “Oracle of Omaha” tried to lift spirits. 

“I was convinced of this in World War II. I was convinced of it during the Cuban missile crisis, 9/11, the financial crisis, that nothing can basically stop America,” he said. “The American magic has always prevailed, and it will do so again.”

Berkshire’s results, however, underscored the scale of the US economy’s woes. The conglomerate — originally a textile manufacturer before Mr Buffett turned it into a vehicle for his wide-ranging investments — slumped to a loss of nearly $50bn in the first three months of the year, as a slight increase in operating profits was swamped by massive hits on its portfolio of stocks. 

A part of those losses will already have been reversed by the recent stock market rally triggered by an extraordinary bout of central bank stimulus, and Mr Buffett’s approach has over the decades evolved significantly from his core roots in value investing. Nonetheless, the worst results in Berkshire’s history underscore just how challenging the environment has been for this approach to picking stocks. After a long golden run that burnished Mr Buffett’s reputation as the greatest investor in history, Berkshire’s stock has now marginally underperformed the S&P 500 over the past year, five years and 10 years. 

But the Nebraskan is not alone. The Russell 3000 Value index — the broadest measure of value stocks in the US — is down more than 20 per cent so far this year, and over the past decade it has only climbed 80 per cent. In contrast, the S&P 500 index is down 9 per cent in 2020, and has returned over 150 per cent over the past 10 years. 

Racier “growth” stocks of faster-expanding companies have returned over 240 per cent over the same period.  

Ben Inker of value-centric investment house GMO describes the experience as like being slowly but repeatedly bashed in the head. “It’s less extreme than in the late 1990s, when every day felt like being hit with a bat,” he says of the dotcom bubble period when value investors suffered. “But this has been a slow drip of pain over a long time. It’s less memorable, but in aggregate the pain has been fairly similar.”

Underrated stocks 

Value investing has a long and rich history, which even predates the formal concept. One of the first successful value investors was arguably the economist John Maynard Keynes. Between 1921 and 1946 he managed the endowment of Cambridge university’s King’s College, and beat the UK stock market by an average of 8 percentage points a year over that period. 

In a 1938 internal memorandum to his investment committee, Keynes attributed his success to the “careful selection of a few investments” according to their “intrinsic value” — a nod to a seminal book on investing published a few years earlier by Graham and his partner David Dodd, called Security Analysis. This tome — along with the subsequent The Intelligent Investor, which Mr Buffett has called “the best book about investing ever written” — are the gospel for value investors to this day. 

There are ways to define a value stock, but it is most simply defined as one that is trading at a low price relative to the value of a company’s assets, the strength of its earnings or steadiness of its cash flows. They are often unfairly undervalued because they are in unfashionable industries and growing at a steadier clip than more glamorous stocks, which — the theory goes — irrational investors overpay for in the hope of supercharged returns. 

Value stocks can go through long fallow periods, most notably in the 1960s — when investors fell in love with the fast-growing, modern companies like Xerox, IBM and Eastman Kodak, dubbed the “Nifty Fifty” — and in the late 1990s dotcom boom. But each time, they have roared back and rewarded investors that kept the faith. 

“The one lesson we’ve learnt over the decades is that one should never give up on value investing. It’s been declared dead before,” says Bob Wyckoff, a managing director of money manager Tweedy Browne. “You go through some uncomfortably long periods where it is not working. But this is almost a precondition for value to work.” 

The belief that periodic bouts of suffering are not only unavoidable but in fact necessary for value to work is entrenched among its adherents. It is therefore a field that tends to attract more than its fair share of iconoclastic contrarians, says Chris Davis of Davis Funds, a third-generation value investor after following in the footsteps of his father Shelby MC Davis and grandfather Shelby Cullom Davis. 

“If you look at the characteristics of value investors they don’t have a lot in common,” he says. “But they all tend to be individualistic in that they aren’t generally the type who have played team sports. They weren’t often president of their sororities or fraternities. And you don’t succeed without a fairly high willingness to appear wrong.” 

But why have they now been so wrong for so long? Most value investors attribute the length of the underperformance to a mix of the changing investment environment and shifts in the fabric of the economy. 

The ascent of more systematic, “quantitative” investing over the past decade — whether a simple exchange-traded fund that just buys cheap stocks, or more sophisticated, algorithmic hedge funds — has weighed on performance by warping normal market dynamics, according to Matthew McLennan of First Eagle Investment Management. This is particularly the case for the financial sector, which generally makes more money when rates are higher. 

The usual price discount enjoyed by value stocks was also unusually small at the end of the financial crisis, setting them up for a poorer performance, according to Mr Inker. Some industries, especially technology, are also becoming oligopolies that ensure extraordinary profit margins and continued growth. Moreover, traditional value measures — such as price-to-book value — are becoming obsolete, he points out. The intellectual property, brands and often dominant market positioning of many of the new technology companies do not show up on a corporate balance sheet in the same way as hard, tangible assets. 

“Accounting has not kept up with how companies actually use their cash,” he says. “If a company spends a lot of money building factories it affects the book value. But if you spend that on intellectual property it doesn’t show up the same way.” 

As a result, GMO and many value-oriented investors have had to adapt their approach, and focus more on alternative metrics and more intangible aspects of its operations. “We want to buy stocks we think are undervalued, but we no longer care whether it looks like a traditional value stock,” Mr Inker says. 

Mr McLennan points out that while the core principles won’t change, value investing has always evolved with the times. “It’s not a cult-like commitment to buying the cheapest decile [of stocks]. We invest business-by-business,” he says. “I don’t know what the alternative is to buying businesses you like, at prices you like.” 

Bargain hunt

Can value investing stage a comeback, as it did in when the dotcom bubble burst in the early 2000s, or the “Nifty Fifty” failed to justify investor optimism and fell to earth in the 1970s? 

There has clearly been a shift in the corporate landscape over the past few decades that could be neutering its historical power as an investing approach. It is telling that the recent stock market rebound has been powered primarily by big US technology companies, despite value investors having confidently predicted for a long time that their approach would shine in the next downturn. Value stocks tend to be in more economically-sensitive industries, and given the likelihood of the biggest global recession since the Depression, their outlook is exceptionally murky, according to an AQR paper published last week.  

“If value investing was like driving my four kids on a long car ride, we’d be very deep into the ‘are we there yet?’ stage of the ride, and value investors are justifiably in a world of pain,” Mr Asness wrote. However, the odds are now “rather dramatically” on the side of value. 

Redemption could be at hand. there has in recent days been a cautious renaissance for value stocks, indicating that coronavirus may yet upend the market trends of the past decade. This stockpicking approach often does well as economies exit a recession and investors hunt for bargains. 

Devotees of value investing certainly remain unshakeable in their faith that past patterns will eventually reassert themselves. Citing a common saying among adherents, Mr Wyckoff argues that “asking whether value is still relevant is like asking whether Shakespeare is still relevant. It’s all about human nature”. 

Mr Greenblatt, who founded Gotham Asset Management in 2008, says that his students will occasionally quiz him on whether value investing is dead, arguing that computers can systematically take advantage of undervaluation far more efficiently than any human stockpicker can. He tells them that human irrationality remains constant, which will always lead to opportunities for those willing to go against the crowd. 

“If you have a disciplined strategy to value companies, and buy companies when they’re below fair value you will still do well,” he says. “The market throws us pitches all the time, as there are so many behavioural biases . . . You can watch 20 pitches go by, but you only need to try to hit a few of them.”

Now the world faces two pandemics – one medical, one financial

Coronavirus fears are feeding financial and economic anxiety and vice versa. Breaking the cycle will not be easy, but it is possible writes Robert Shiller in The Guardian  

 

The normally busy Schiphol airport in the Netherlands. Photograph: Patrick van Katwijk/Getty Images


We are feeling the anxiety effects of not one pandemic but two. First, there is the Covid-19 pandemic, which makes us anxious because we, or people we love, anywhere in the world, could soon become gravely ill and even die. And, second, there is a pandemic of anxiety about the economic consequences of the first.

These two pandemics are interrelated but are not the same phenomenon. In the second pandemic, stories of fear have gone viral and we often think of them constantly. The stock market has been dropping like a rock, apparently in response to stories of Covid-19 depleting our lifetime savings unless we take some action. But, unlike Covid-19, the source of our anxiety is that we are unsure what action to take.

It is not good news when two pandemics are at work simultaneously. One can feed the other. Business closures, soaring unemployment, and loss of income fuel financial anxiety, which may, in turn, deter people, desperate for work, from taking adequate precautions against the spread of the disease.

Moreover, it is not good news when two contagions are, indeed, global pandemics. When a drop in demand is confined to one country, the loss is partially spread abroad, while demand for the country’s exports is not diminished much. But this time, that natural safety valve will not work, because the recession threatens nearly all countries.

Many people seem to assume that the financial anxiety is nothing more than a direct byproduct of the Covid-19 crisis – a perfectly logical reaction to the disease pandemic. But anxiety is not perfectly logical. The pandemic of financial anxiety, spreading through panicked reaction to price drops and changing narratives, has a life of its own.

The effects financial anxiety has on the stock market may be mediated by a phenomenon that the psychologist Paul Slovic of the University of Oregon and his colleagues call the “affect heuristic.” When people are emotionally upset because of a tragic event, they react with fear even in circumstances where there is no reason to fear.

In a joint paper with William Goetzmann and Dasol Kim, we found that nearby earthquakes affect people’s judgment of the probability of a 1929- or 1987-size stock market crash. If there was a substantial quake within 30 miles (48km) during the previous 30 days, respondents’ assessment of the probability of a crash was significantly higher. That is the affect heuristic at work.

It might make more sense to expect a stock market drop from a disease pandemic than from a recent earthquake, but maybe not a crash of the magnitude seen recently. If it were widely believed that a treatment could limit the intensity of the Covid-19 pandemic to a matter of months, or even that it would last a year or two, that would suggest the stock market risk is not so great for a long-term investor. One could buy, hold, and wait it out.

But a contagion of financial anxiety works differently than a contagion of disease. It is fuelled in part by people noticing others’ lack of confidence, reflected in price declines, and others’ emotional reaction to the declines. A negative bubble in the stock market occurs when people see prices falling, and, trying to discover why, start amplifying stories that explain the decline. Then, prices fall on subsequent days, and again and again.

Observing successive decreases in stock prices creates a powerful feeling of regret for those who have not sold, together with a fear that one might sell at the bottom. This regret and fear prime people’s interest in both pandemic narratives. Where the market goes from there depends on their nature and evolution.

To see this, consider that the stock market in the US did not crater when, in September-October 1918, the news media first started covering the Spanish flu pandemic that eventually claimed 675,000 US lives (and over 50 million worldwide). Instead, monthly prices in the US market were on an uptrend from September 1918 to July 1919.

Why didn’t the market crash? One likely explanation is that world war one, which was approaching its end after the last major battle, the second battle of the Marne, in July-August 1918, crowded out the influenza story, especially after the armistice in November of that year. The war story was likely more contagious than the flu story.

Another reason is that epidemiology was only in its infancy then. Outbreaks were not as forecastable, and the public did not fully believe experts’ advice, with people’s adherence to social-distancing measures “sloppy”. Moreover, it was generally believed that economic crises were banking crises, and there was no banking crisis in the US, where the Federal Reserve System, established just a few years earlier, in 1913, was widely heralded as eliminating that risk.

But perhaps the most important reason the financial narrative was muted during the 1918 influenza epidemic is that far fewer people owned stocks a century ago, and saving for retirement was not the concern it is today, in part because people didn’t live as long and more routinely depended on family if they did.

This time, of course, is different. We see buyers’ panics at local grocery stores, in contrast to 1918, when wartime shortages were regular occurrences. With the Great Recession just behind us, we certainly are well aware of the possibility of major drops in asset prices. Instead of a tragic world war, this time the US is preoccupied with its own political polarisation, and there are many angry narratives about the federal government’s mishandling of the crisis.

Predicting the stock market at a time like this is hard. To do so well, we would have to predict the direct effects on the economy of the Covid-19 pandemic, as well as all the real and psychological effects of the pandemic of financial anxiety. The two are different but inseparable.

Seven changes needed to save the euro and the EU

Joseph Stiglitz in The Guardian

To say that the eurozone has not been performing well since the 2008 crisis is an understatement. Its member countries have done more poorly than the European Union countries outside the eurozone, and much more poorly than the United States, which was the epicentre of the crisis.

The worst-performing eurozone countries are mired in depression or deep recession; their condition – think of Greece – is worse in many ways than what economies suffered during the Great Depression of the 1930s. The best-performing eurozone members, such as Germany, look good, but only in comparison; and their growth model is partly based on beggar-thy-neighbour policies, whereby success comes at the expense of erstwhile “partners”.

Four types of explanation have been advanced to explain this state of affairs.Germany likes to blame the victim, pointing to Greece’s profligacy and the debt and deficits elsewhere. But this puts the cart before the horse: Spain and Ireland had surpluses and low debt-to-GDP ratios before the euro crisis. So the crisis caused the deficits and debts, not the other way around.

Deficit fetishism is, no doubt, part of Europe’s problems. Finland, too, has been having trouble adjusting to the multiple shocks it has confronted, with GDP in 2015 around 5.5% below its 2008 peak.

Other “blame the victim” critics cite the welfare state and excessive labour-market protections as the cause of the eurozone’s malaise. Yet some of Europe’s best-performing countries, such as Sweden and Norway, have the strongest welfare states and labour-market protections.

Many of the countries now performing poorly were doing very well – above the European average – before the euro was introduced. Their decline did not result from some sudden change in their labour laws, or from an epidemic of laziness in the crisis countries. What changed was the currency arrangement.

The second type of explanation amounts to a wish that Europe had better leaders, men and women who understood economics better and implemented better policies. Flawed policies – not just austerity, but also misguided so-called structural reforms, which widened inequality and thus further weakened overall demand and potential growth – have undoubtedly made matters worse.

But the eurozone was a political arrangement, in which it was inevitable that Germany’s voice would be loud. Anyone who has dealt with German policymakers over the past third of a century should have known in advance the likely result. Most important, given the available tools, not even the most brilliant economic tsar could not have made the eurozone prosper.

The third set of reasons for the eurozone’s poor performance is a broader rightwing critique of the EU, centred on the eurocrats’ penchant for stifling, innovation-inhibiting regulations. This critique, too, misses the mark. The eurocrats, like labour laws or the welfare state, didn’t suddenly change in 1999, with the creation of the fixed exchange-rate system, or in 2008, with the beginning of the crisis. More fundamentally, what matters is the standard of living, the quality of life. Anyone who denies how much better off we in the west are with our stiflingly clean air and water should visit Beijing.

That leaves the fourth explanation: the euro is more to blame than the policies and structures of individual countries. The euro was flawed at birth. Even the best policymakers the world has ever seen could not have made it work. The eurozone’s structure imposed the kind of rigidity associated with the gold standard. The single currency took away its members’ most important mechanism for adjustment – the exchange rate – and the eurozone circumscribed monetary and fiscal policy.

In response to asymmetric shocks and divergences in productivity, there would have to be adjustments in the real (inflation-adjusted) exchange rate, meaning that prices in the eurozone periphery would have to fall relative to Germany and northern Europe. But, with Germany adamant about inflation – its prices have been stagnant – the adjustment could be accomplished only through wrenching deflation elsewhere. Typically, this meant painful unemployment and weakening unions; the eurozone’s poorest countries, and especially the workers within them, bore the brunt of the adjustment burden. So the plan to spur convergence among eurozone countries failed miserably, with disparities between and within countries growing.

This system cannot and will not work in the long run: democratic politics ensures its failure. Only by changing the eurozone’s rules and institutions can the euro be made to work. This will require seven changes:

• abandoning the convergence criteria, which require deficits to be less than 3% of GDP

• replacing austerity with a growth strategy, supported by a solidarity fund for stabilisation

• dismantling a crisis-prone system whereby countries must borrow in a currency not under their control, and relying instead on Eurobonds or some similar mechanism

• better burden-sharing during adjustment, with countries running current-account surpluses committing to raise wages and increase fiscal spending, thereby ensuring that their prices increase faster than those in the countries with current-account deficits;

• changing the mandate of the European Central Bank, which focuses only on inflation, unlike the US Federal Reserve, which takes into account employment, growth, and stability as well

• establishing common deposit insurance, which would prevent money from fleeing poorly performing countries, and other elements of a “banking union”

• and encouraging, rather than forbidding, industrial policies designed to ensure that the eurozone’s laggards can catch up with its leaders.
From an economic perspective, these changes are small; but today’s eurozone leadership may lack the political will to carry them out. That doesn’t change the basic fact that the current halfway house is untenable. A system intended to promote prosperity and further integration has been having just the opposite effect. An amicable divorce would be better than the current stalemate.

Of course, every divorce is costly; but muddling through would be even more costly. As we’ve already seen this summer in the United Kingdom, if European leaders can’t or won’t make the hard decisions, European voters will make the decisions for them – and the leaders may not be happy with the results.

The world can't afford another financial crash – it could destroy capitalism as we know it

A new economic crisis would trigger a political backlash in Britain, Europe and the United States which could drag us all down into poverty



Call this a protest? You ain't seen nothing yet Photo: PAWEL KOPCZYNSKI / REUTERS


By Allister Heath in The Telegraph


They bounce back after terrorist attacks, pick themselves up after earthquakes and cope with pandemics such as Zika. They can even handle years of economic uncertainty, stagnant wages and sky-high unemployment. But no developed nation today could possibly tolerate another wholesale banking crisis and proper, blood and guts recession.

We are too fragile, fiscally as well as psychologically. Our economies, cultures and polities are still paying a heavy price for the Great Recession; another collapse, especially were it to be accompanied by a fresh banking bailout by the taxpayer, would trigger a cataclysmic, uncontrollable backlash.

The public, whose faith in elites and the private sector was rattled after 2007-09, would simply not wear it. Its anger would be so explosive, so-all encompassing that it would threaten the very survival of free trade, of globalisation and of the market-based economy. There would be calls for wage and price controls, punitive, ultra-progressive taxes, a war on the City and arbitrary jail sentences.





Two men walk along the road to Los Angeles in 1937, during the Great Depression





For fear of allowing extremist or populist parties through the door, mainstream politicians would end up adopting much of this agenda, with devastating implications for our long-term prosperity. Central banks, in desperation, would embrace the purest form of money-printing: they would start giving consumers actual cash to spend, temporarily turbo-charging demand while destroying any remaining respect for the idea that money needs to be earned.

History never repeats itself exactly, but the last time a recession was met by pure, unadulterated populism was in the Thirties, when the Americans turned a stock market crash and a series of monetary policy blunders into a depression. President Herbert Hoover signed into law the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act, dreamt up by two economically illiterate Republican senators, slapping massive taxes on the imports of 20,000 goods and triggering a global trade war. It was perhaps the most economically destructive piece of legislation ever devised, and it took until the Nineties before the damage was finally erased.

That is why we must all hope that the turmoil of recent days in the financial markets, and the increasingly worrying economic news, will turn out to be a false alarm. It would certainly be ridiculously premature, at this stage, to call a recession, let alone a financial crisis. But at the very least we are seeing a major dose of the “dangerous cocktail of new threats” rightly identified at the turn of the year by George Osborne, a development which will have political repercussions even if the economy eventually muddles through.

Investors in equities, including millions of people with private pensions and Isas, have already lost a fortune; they won’t be too happy when they begin to realise the extent of the damage. Growth is slowing everywhere, and the monetary pump-priming of the past few years is looking increasingly ineffective. Traders believe that interest rates won’t go up in Britain until 2019, and there is increasing talk that negative interest rates could become necessary across the developed world, further crippling savers.

No positive spin can be put on any of the latest developments. Banking shares have taken a beating; China’s slowdown continues; Maersk, the shipping giant, believes that conditions for world trade are worse than in 2008-09; industrial production slumped in December, not just in Britain but more so in France and Germany; energy prices are devastating Middle Eastern and Russian economies; and sterling has tumbled.

It is always a sure sign that panic has broken out when financial markets respond badly to all possible scenarios. The prospect of higher interest rates? Sell, sell, sell. A chance of lower rates? Sell, sell and sell again. A rise in the price of oil is met with as much angst as a decline. The financial markets remain addicted to help from central banks: they are desperate for yet more interventions, regardless of the consequences on the pricing of risk, the allocation of resources or the creation of unsustainable bubbles that only enrich the owners of assets.

This is exactly the tonic that the populists have been waiting for. Despite their dramatic emergence, they have so far failed to make a real breakthrough. The SNP was unable to win the Scottish referendum and the National Front didn’t gain a single region in France. Mariano Rajoy remains Spain’s prime minister, and anti-establishment parties have been thwarted in Germany. Even lighter forms of populism, such as Ed Miliband’s, were rejected. Syriza’s victory in Greece was one of the few genuine populist triumphs; but it was soon crushed by the combined might of Brussels and Frankfurt.






The Republican presidential nominee often proclaims that his presidency will make America a "great" country again

This could be about to change. The fact that Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders both won their respective New Hampshire primaries is certainly one remarkable indication of the state of mind of many US political activists. Any economic relapse would help Marine Le Pen’s chances in next year’s French presidential election, and further undermine Angela Merkel’s sinking popularity in Germany.

But it is in Britain that the immediate impact could be the greatest. The Brexit debate is already being overshadowed by the migration crisis, undermining the Government’s attempts at portraying a Remain vote as a safe, low-risk option; a sustained bout of economic volatility would further ruin the pro-EU case, especially given that the eurozone, rather than the City, is likely to emerge as one of the epicentres of any fresh crisis. It would be hard for bosses of large financial giants to credibly tell the electorate to vote Remain when their own businesses are in crisis.

Britain will noticeably outperform the EU this year: our labour market remains strong and our banks far better capitalised than many of their eurozone competitors, too many of which are still sitting on massive amounts of bad debt. The Chinese slowdown is worse for Germany than for us. But while the Eurosceptic cause to which some of us are partial is likely to benefit from the turmoil, it would be madness for anybody who cares about this country’s future to feel anything but dread towards the economic threats facing the world. The sorry truth is that there is very little that governments can do at this stage, apart from battening down the hatches and hoping that central banks succeed in kicking our problems even further down the road.

The global economy is slowing down. But is it recession – or protectionism?

Heather Stewart and Fergus Ryan in The Guardian

For one Chinese company that depends on global trade, fears over the worldwide economy have come to pass already. “The global economy is pretty bleak at the moment,” says Luo Dong, the owner of Doyoung, a Beijing-based exporter of frozen seafood and fruit. “This is having a big effect on us. Our clients’ sales are a lot slower than they used to be, and as purchasing power overseas drops, our exports are taking a hit.”

Luo’s observations were echoed on a wider stage last week, when the Paris-based Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development voiced the fear gripping many economists: that the drop-off in trade, driven by China, may be a harbinger of something more worrying – a global recession.

Days later, Rolls-Royce became the latest British exporter to face what it called “headwinds” from China, joining a slew of others, from carmaker Jaguar Land Rover to luxury brand Burberry. Meanwhile, commodities including platinum and crude oil resumed their decline in value as investors continued to fret about sliding demand for the raw materials of global commerce. Beijing has cut interest rates six times in less than a year and let the yuan slide against the dollar, underlining the sense of alarm about slowing growth.

Official figures show GDP expanding at around 6.9% in the world’s second-largest economy, conveniently in line with the government’s official target of “around 7%”; but outside analysts believe it may be much weaker. “We find these numbers pretty implausible,” says Andrew Brigden of City consultancy Fathom. “China is slowing a lot more markedly than the official figures show.” Fathom’s calculations, based on alternative indicators such as electricity use, suggest GDP growth of 3% or even less.

However, inside China it feels as though sluggish demand from the eurozone, rather than a homegrown problem, is to blame for the deterioration in the economic weather.

Luo, whose company exports to the US, Europe, Middle East and Africa, says exports have roughly halved since last year. “The worst market has been Europe, largely due to exchange rate fluctuations,” he says.

The European Central Bank has deliberately driven down the value of the single currency by implementing quantitative easing. “The other major factor has been labour costs here, which have gone up about a third,” Luo adds.

For the UK, so far, the impact of global trade headwinds has been relatively mild, notwithstanding the tone of alarm from exporters. Lee Hopley, chief economist at the UK manufacturers’ association EEF, says: “It’s something that’s certainly on our members’ radar, and it’s a source of concern.”

FacebookTwitterPinterest Angel Gurría of the OECD: ‘Global trade, which was already growing slowly over the past few years, appears to have stagnated.’ Photograph: Evaristo Sa/AFP/Getty Images

But for a string of other countries, especially those heavily dependent on commodities exports, the result has been economic chaos – and the OECD fears worse may be to come. After the great financial crisis hit in 2008, reports that demand for exports had “fallen off a cliff”, as it was often put at the time, were among the first signals that a deep downturn was under way.

“Global trade, which was already growing slowly over the past few years, appears to have stagnated,” said Angel Gurría, the OECD’s secretary general, presenting its latest economic forecasts and predicting trade growth of around 2% this year. “What happened in the past 50 years whenever there was such a slowdown in trade growth, it was a harbinger of a very sharp turn of the economy for the worse.”

Gurría explained that the recent slowdown in emerging market economies, led by China, had been particularly damaging because it had come at a time when the advanced economies, in particular the eurozone and Japan, were not yet growing at a robust enough pace to drive global growth.

“A further sharp slowdown in emerging market economies is weighing down on activity and trade. At the same time, subdued investment and productivity growth are checking the momentum of the recovery in advanced economies. It’s a double whammy,” Gurría said.

The OECD’s prescription for this malaise is a collective effort by the advanced economies to ramp up investment – helping to boost demand, improve productivity and generate stronger growth. A similar approach was set out by President Barack Obama on Friday, and he is likely to press for more action to prop up domestic demand at this weekend’s G20 meeting in Turkey.

But with Germany and the UK still enthusiastically espousing austerity, any commitment to new investment seems highly unlikely; so economists have been left trying to count the costs of China’s transition from high-speed, export-led growth to a new economic model at a time when demand in other markets is far from booming.

Economist and China-watcher George Magnus reckons the world will avoid recession, but the damage will be severe for economies that have hitched themselves to the Chinese bandwagon in recent years.

“In Africa, exports to China are 12% of total exports, but three-quarters of the exposure is concentrated among five countries: Angola, South Africa, Democratic Republic of Congo, Republic of Congo and Equatorial Guinea,” he said in a recent blogpost. “In Australia, exports to China are a third of total exports. In Latin America, exports to China are about 2% of regional GDP.”

Most of these countries are exporters of coal, oil and minerals, and their struggles coincide with the end of what became known as the “commodities supercycle” – a decade or so in which prices were held aloft by the belief that demand for raw materials would continue rising, as developing economies became the engines of global growth.

FacebookTwitterPinterest Protests in Brazil, which is now in recession. Photograph: Imago/Barcroft Media

Goldman Sachs’s decision to close down its loss-making Bric fund was a symbolic reminder that the days are gone when the economic rise of Brazil, Russia, India and China (the four countries from which the fund drew its name) seemed guaranteed. Indeed, Brazil and Russia are both in recession.

The US Federal Reserve’s plans to raise interest rates from near zero, which many experts now expect to happen next month, could deepen the agony of countries already struggling with plunging currencies and rising borrowing costs. The International Monetary Fund has warned of a flurry of bankruptcies in emerging economies as rates rise.

“A lot of these countries haven’t been helping themselves: Taiwan, Korea; they’ve all been cranking up their own credit growth,” says Russell Jones of Llewellyn Consulting, an economics advisory firm. But he too believes the world should escape a general slump. “I don’t think we’re on the cusp of a major downturn — probably more of the same.”

Simon Evenett of St Gallen University in Switzerland, who collates detailed data for the thinktank Global Trade Alert, offers an alternative explanation for the recent slide in trade volumes. He calculates that about half of the fall, since exports peaked in September last year, has been caused by the commodity price rout; but the rest, rather than evidence of sickly global demand, has resulted from a creeping rise in protectionism.

His analysis suggests the declines have overwhelmingly taken place in just 28 categories of product. “That’s very concentrated; that makes me doubt that it’s a global downturn.” Eight of these categories are commodities; but the rest map closely on to areas where countries have taken protectionist measures.

In the wake of the financial crisis, policymakers from the G20 countries pledged not to resort to the tit-for-tat protectionism that led to collapsing trade volumes in the wake of the Great Crash of 1929, and was ultimately seen as a contributor to the Great Depression. Since then, there has been little sign of anything with the scope of America’s Smoot-Hawley Act of 1930, which slapped import tariffs on more than 800 products.

But Evenett says there has been a flurry of more subtle manoeuvres: restricting public procurement to domestic firms, for example, or quietly tightening regulations to raise the bar against imports. “I think the China story is adding spice to it, but I think there’s more going on here,” he says.

He is concerned that unless action is taken, politicians will continue to throw sand in the wheels of the international trading system. If he’s right, the downturn seen so far may not be sending a warning signal about global demand; instead, it would be best read as a measure of the fragility of globalisation.

Another recession is coming - the only question is how bad

Jeremy Warner in The Telegraph


According to the late, and great, American economist Rudi Dornbusch “none of the US expansions of the past 40 years died in bed of old age; every one was murdered by the Federal Reserve”. What he meant by this was that all US business cycles are brought to an end not by natural causes but by the actions of the Fed in raising interest rates. The art of the central banker is to take away the punch bowl before the party gets going, but few succeed; invariably they leave it too late, so that when they do apply the brakes, the economy crashes.


A powerful US senator is proposing the Federal Reserve, pictured, is stripped of the majority of its regulatory powers


With the Fed’s Open Market Committee again hinting at a rate rise by the end of the year, are not policymakers in danger of repeating the same mistake? I believe they are – that recession risk in the US and in Britain is substantially underestimated both by policymakers and the markets. Consider the facts. The current expansion may not feel like a boom, and in many respects it isn’t. In the UK, working age disposable income has still to recover to pre-crisis levels.

Yet in both Britain and the US, the economic expansion is already a long one by historic standards. Indeed, in the US it is one of the longest ever, as defined by the National Bureau of Economic Research, proud keeper of the record on American business cycles – a full 76 months, against the 58.4 month average for the 11 post war cycles identified. Only three of these cycles have been longer.

No recession is ever predicted by official forecasting; it would be an admission of failure if it was, for the whole purpose of economic policy making is to keep things just right – not too hot and not too cold. Ultimately, the policymakers always fail. Gordon Brown, the last UK prime minister, preposterously boasted that he had abolished boom and bust. Alan Greenspan, former Fed chairman, likewise believed he could defy the gods. Both were in for a rude awakening, having failed to notice the mega-boom their policies helped create in financial services.

With this searing experience to learn from, the present generation of economic decision makers tends to be less hubristic in aim, yet even George Osborne, the Chancellor, is relying on extended growth way beyond the normal parameters of a typical business cycle to meet his target of a budget surplus by 2019/20.

As it is, there is little chance of this target being met. It will be broken on the anvil of events. Already there are worrying signs of a slowdown in the UK, with both construction and manufacturing contracting in the last quarter. Lead indicators published by the OECD, a relatively accurate predictor of past recessions, point unambiguously to a pronounced UK slowdown and to a loss of growth momentum in the US.

In Europe, things are still so bad that the European Central Bank is considering even more monetary accommodation on top of the quantitative easing and negative interest rates already applied. Likewise China, where far from raising rates, they are cutting them in an attempt to head off a hard landing which in all probability is already happening. The China Iron & Steel Association has warned of an “unprecedented” slump in steel demand and prices as China attempts to transition from investment to consumption led growth.

Central banks normally act in raising rates when the economy is booming. The curiosity of this particular expansion is that for advanced economies at least, it seems barely to have begun. If there has been a boom, you’ll be forgiven for not having been aware of it. So why is the Fed thinking of acting?

There are two reasons. First, the Fed worries that once the effect of the sharp drop in oil prices falls out of the equation, inflation will come surging back, and it wants to dampen things before this happens. The other is that it simply yearns, like the rest of us, for a degree of normality in interest rates. If it can’t do it now, with the economy growing, when will it ever?

Regrettably, it may already be too late. After seven years of “unconventional monetary policy”, the world economy is once more drowning in easy credit, with few of the underlying causes of the global financial crisis even remotely addressed.
Excessive leverage and investment risk taking is again the order of the day, not so much in Britain, but certainly in the US and previously booming emerging market economies. One small interest rate rise may be all it takes to plunge the world back into some kind of mild recession. Yet to double up, as the Bank of England’s chief economist, Andy Haldane, recently suggested as a possible answer to renewed weakness in the global economy, and pile yet further “unconventional” policy on top, risks an even bigger bust further down the line. The choice, I’m afraid, is between the economy catching a cold now, or full-blown pneumonia later.

Paralysed by political cowardice, advanced economy governments have become far too reliant on monetary voodoo to support demand, leaving central banks with an almost impossible task. Supply-side measures to turbo-charge investment, including if necessary additional public infrastructure spending, must be brought forward as a matter of urgency.

How I became an erratic Marxist

Yanis Varoufakis in The Guardian

In 2008, capitalism had its second global spasm. The financial crisis set off a chain reaction that pushed Europe into a downward spiral that continues to this day. Europe’s present situation is not merely a threat for workers, for the dispossessed, for the bankers, for social classes or, indeed, nations. No, Europe’s current posture poses a threat to civilisation as we know it.

If my prognosis is correct, and we are not facing just another cyclical slump soon to be overcome, the question that arises for radicals is this: should we welcome this crisis of European capitalism as an opportunity to replace it with a better system? Or should we be so worried about it as to embark upon a campaign for stabilising European capitalism?

To me, the answer is clear. Europe’s crisis is far less likely to give birth to a better alternative to capitalism than it is to unleash dangerously regressive forces that have the capacity to cause a humanitarian bloodbath, while extinguishing the hope for any progressive moves for generations to come.

For this view I have been accused, by well-meaning radical voices, of being “defeatist” and of trying to save an indefensible European socioeconomic system. This criticism, I confess, hurts. And it hurts because it contains more than a kernel of truth.

I share the view that this European Union is typified by a large democratic deficit that, in combination with the denial of the faulty architecture of its monetary union, has put Europe’s peoples on a path to permanent recession. And I also bow to the criticism that I have campaigned on an agenda founded on the assumption that the left was, and remains, squarely defeated. I confess I would much rather be promoting a radical agenda, the raison d’être of which is to replace European capitalism with a different system.

Yet my aim here is instead to offer a window into my view of a repugnant European capitalism whose implosion, despite its many ills, should be avoided at all costs. It is a confession intended to convince radicals that we have a contradictory mission: to arrest the freefall of European capitalism in order to buy the time we need to formulate its alternative.

Why a Marxist?

When I chose the subject of my doctoral thesis, back in 1982, I deliberately focused on a highly mathematical topic within which Marx’s thought was irrelevant. When, later on, I embarked on an academic career, as a lecturer in mainstream economics departments, the implicit contract between myself and the departments that offered me lectureships was that I would be teaching the type of economic theory that left no room for Marx. In the late 1980s, I was hired by the University of Sydney’s school of economics in order to keep out a leftwing candidate (although I did not know this at the time).
FacebookTwitterPinterest Yanis Varoufakis: ‘Karl Marx was responsible for framing my perspective of the world we live in, from my childhood to this day.’ Photograph: PA

After I returned to Greece in 2000, I threw my lot in with the future prime minister George Papandreou, hoping to help stem the return to power of a resurgent right wing that wanted to push Greece towards xenophobia both domestically and in its foreign policy. As the whole world now knows, Papandreou’s party not only failed to stem xenophobia but, in the end, presided over the most virulent neoliberal macroeconomic policies that spearheaded the eurozone’s so-called bailouts thus, unwittingly, causing the return of Nazis to the streets of Athens. Even though I resigned as Papandreou’s adviser early in 2006, and turned into his government’s staunchest critic during his mishandling of the post-2009 Greek implosion, my public interventions in the debate on Greece and Europe have carried no whiff of Marxism.

Given all this, you may be puzzled to hear me call myself a Marxist. But, in truth, Karl Marx was responsible for framing my perspective of the world we live in, from my childhood to this day. This is not something that I often volunteer to talk about in “polite society” because the very mention of the M-word switches audiences off. But I never deny it either. After a few years of addressing audiences with whom I do not share an ideology, a need has crept up on me to talk about Marx’s imprint on my thinking. To explain why, while an unapologetic Marxist, I think it is important to resist him passionately in a variety of ways. To be, in other words, erratic in one’s Marxism.

If my whole academic career largely ignored Marx, and my current policy recommendations are impossible to describe as Marxist, why bring up my Marxism now? The answer is simple: Even my non-Marxist economics was guided by a mindset influenced by Marx. A radical social theorist can challenge the economic mainstream in two different ways, I always thought. One way is by means of immanent criticism. To accept the mainstream’s axioms and then expose its internal contradictions. To say: “I shall not contest your assumptions but here is why your own conclusions do not logically flow on from them.” This was, indeed, Marx’s method of undermining British political economics. He accepted every axiom by Adam Smith and David Ricardo in order to demonstrate that, in the context of their assumptions, capitalism was a contradictory system. The second avenue that a radical theorist can pursue is, of course, the construction of alternative theories to those of the establishment, hoping that they will be taken seriously.

My view on this dilemma has always been that the powers that be are never perturbed by theories that embark from assumptions different to their own. The only thing that can destabilise and genuinely challenge mainstream, neoclassical economists is the demonstration of the internal inconsistency of their own models. It was for this reason that, from the very beginning, I chose to delve into the guts of neoclassical theory and to spend next to no energy trying to develop alternative, Marxist models of capitalism. My reasons, I submit, were quite Marxist.

When called upon to comment on the world we live in, I had no alternative but to fall back on the Marxist tradition which had shaped my thinking ever since my metallurgist father impressed upon me, when I was still a child, the effect of technological innovation on the historical process. How, for instance, the passage from the bronze age to the iron age sped up history; how the discovery of steel greatly accelerated historical time; and how silicon-based IT technologies are fast-tracking socioeconomic and historical discontinuities.

My first encounter with Marx’s writings came very early in life, as a result of the strange times I grew up in, with Greece exiting the nightmare of the neofascist dictatorship of 1967-74. What caught my eye was Marx’s mesmerising gift for writing a dramatic script for human history, indeed for human damnation, that was also laced with the possibility of salvation and authentic spirituality.

Marx created a narrative populated by workers, capitalists, officials and scientists who were history’s dramatis personae. They struggled to harness reason and science in the context of empowering humanity while, contrary to their intentions, unleashing demonic forces that usurped and subverted their own freedom and humanity.

This dialectical perspective, where everything is pregnant with its opposite, and the eager eye with which Marx discerned the potential for change in what seemed to be the most unchanging of social structures, helped me to grasp the great contradictions of the capitalist era. It dissolved the paradox of an age that generated the most remarkable wealth and, in the same breath, the most conspicuous poverty. Today, turning to the European crisis, the crisis in the United States and the long-term stagnation of Japanese capitalism, most commentators fail to appreciate the dialectical process under their nose. They recognise the mountain of debts and banking losses but neglect the opposite side of the same coin: the mountain of idle savings that are “frozen” by fear and thus fail to convert into productive investments. A Marxist alertness to binary oppositions might have opened their eyes.

A major reason why established opinion fails to come to terms with contemporary reality is that it never understood the dialectically tense “joint production” of debts and surpluses, of growth and unemployment, of wealth and poverty, indeed of good and evil. Marx’s script alerted us these binary oppositions as the sources of history’s cunning.

From my first steps of thinking like an economist, to this very day, it occurred to me that Marx had made a discovery that must remain at the heart of any useful analysis of capitalism. It was the discovery of another binary opposition deep within human labour. Between labour’s two quite different natures: i) labour as a value-creating activity that can never be quantified in advance (and is therefore impossible to commodify), and ii) labour as a quantity (eg, numbers of hours worked) that is for sale and comes at a price. That is what distinguishes labour from other productive inputs such as electricity: its twin, contradictory, nature. A differentiation-cum-contradiction that political economics neglected to make before Marx came along and that mainstream economics is steadfastly refusing to acknowledge today.

Both electricity and labour can be thought of as commodities. Indeed, both employers and workers struggle to commodify labour. Employers use all their ingenuity, and that of their HR management minions, to quantify, measure and homogenise labour. Meanwhile, prospective employees go through the wringer in an anxious attempt to commodify their labour power, to write and rewrite their CVs in order to portray themselves as purveyors of quantifiable labour units. And there’s the rub. If workers and employers ever succeed in commodifying labour fully, capitalism will perish. This is an insight without which capitalism’s tendency to generate crises can never be fully grasped and, also, an insight that no one has access to without some exposure to Marx’s thought.
Science fiction becomes documentary

In the classic 1953 film Invasion of the Body Snatchers, the alien force does not attack us head on, unlike in, say, HG Wells’s The War of the Worlds. Instead, people are taken over from within, until nothing is left of their human spirit and emotions. Their bodies are shells that used to contain a free will and which now labour, go through the motions of everyday “life”, and function as human simulacra “liberated” from the unquantifiable essence of human nature. This is something like what would have transpired if human labour had become perfectly reducible to human capital and thus fit for insertion into the vulgar economists’ models.

FacebookTwitterPinterest Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Photograph: SNAP/REX

Every non-Marxist economic theory that treats human and non-human productive inputs as interchangeable assumes that the dehumanisation of human labour is complete. But if it could ever be completed, the result would be the end of capitalism as a system capable of creating and distributing value. For a start, a society of dehumanised automata would resemble a mechanical watch full of cogs and springs, each with its own unique function, together producing a “good”: timekeeping. Yet if that society contained nothing but other automata, timekeeping would not be a “good”. It would certainly be an “output” but why a “good”? Without real humans to experience the clock’s function, there can be no such thing as “good” or “bad”.

If capital ever succeeds in quantifying, and subsequently fully commodifying, labour, as it is constantly trying to, it will also squeeze that indeterminate, recalcitrant human freedom from within labour that allows for the generation of value. Marx’s brilliant insight into the essence of capitalist crises was precisely this: the greater capitalism’s success in turning labour into a commodity the less the value of each unit of output it generates, the lower the profit rate and, ultimately, the nearer the next recession of the economy as a system. The portrayal of human freedom as an economic category is unique in Marx, making possible a distinctively dramatic and analytically astute interpretation of capitalism’s propensity to snatch recession, even depression, from the jaws of growth.

When Marx was writing that labour is the living, form-giving fire; the transitoriness of things; their temporality; he was making the greatest contribution any economist has ever made to our understanding of the acute contradiction buried inside capitalism’s DNA. When he portrayed capital as a “… force we must submit to … it develops a cosmopolitan, universal energy which breaks through every limit and every bond and posts itself as the only policy, the only universality the only limit and the only bond”, he was highlighting the reality that labour can be purchased by liquid capital (ie money), in its commodity form, but that it will always carry with it a will hostile to the capitalist buyer. But Marx was not just making a psychological, philosophical or political statement. He was, rather, supplying a remarkable analysis of why the moment that labour (as an unquantifiable activity) sheds this hostility, it becomes sterile, incapable of producing value.

At a time when neoliberals have ensnared the majority in their theoretical tentacles, incessantly regurgitating the ideology of enhancing labour productivity in an effort to enhance competitiveness with a view to creating growth etc, Marx’s analysis offers a powerful antidote. Capital can never win in its struggle to turn labour into an infinitely elastic, mechanised input, without destroying itself. That is what neither the neoliberals nor the Keynesians will ever grasp. “If the whole class of the wage-labourer were to be annihilated by machinery”, wrote Marx “how terrible that would be for capital, which, without wage-labour, ceases to be capital!”

What has Marx done for us?

Almost all schools of thought, including those of some progressive economists, like to pretend that, though Marx was a powerful figure, very little of his contribution remains relevant today. I beg to differ. Besides having captured the basic drama of capitalist dynamics, Marx has given me the tools with which to become immune to the toxic propaganda of neoliberalism. For example, the idea that wealth is privately produced and then appropriated by a quasi-illegitimate state, through taxation, is easy to succumb to if one has not been exposed first to Marx’s poignant argument that precisely the opposite applies: wealth is collectively produced and then privately appropriated through social relations of production and property rights that rely, for their reproduction, almost exclusively on false consciousness.

In his recent book Never Let a Serious Crisis Go to Waste, the historian of economic thought, Philip Mirowski, has highlighted the neoliberals’ success in convincing a large array of people that markets are not just a useful means to an end but also an end in themselves. According to this view, while collective action and public institutions are never able to “get it right”, the unfettered operations of decentralised private interest are guaranteed to produce not only the right outcomes but also the right desires, character, ethos even. The best example of this form of neoliberal crassness is, of course, the debate on how to deal with climate change. Neoliberals have rushed in to argue that, if anything is to be done, it must take the form of creating a quasi-market for “bads” (eg an emissions trading scheme), since only markets “know” how to price goods and bads appropriately. To understand why such a quasi-market solution is bound to fail and, more importantly, where the motivation comes from for such “solutions”, one can do much worse than to become acquainted with the logic of capital accumulation that Marx outlined and the Polish economist Michal Kalecki adapted to a world ruled by networked oligopolies.

FacebookTwitterPinterest Neoliberals have rushed in with quasi-market responses to climate change, such as emissions trading schemes. Photograph: Jon Woo/Reuters

In the 20th century, the two political movements that sought their roots in Marx’s thought were the communist and social democratic parties. Both of them, in addition to their other errors (and, indeed, crimes) failed, to their detriment, to follow Marx’s lead in a crucial regard: instead of embracing liberty and rationality as their rallying cries and organising concepts, they opted for equality and justice, bequeathing the concept of freedom to the neoliberals. Marx was adamant: The problem with capitalism is not that it is unfair but that it is irrational, as it habitually condemns whole generations to deprivation and unemployment and even turns capitalists into angst-ridden automata, living in permanent fear that unless they commodify their fellow humans fully so as to serve capital accumulation more efficiently, they will cease to be capitalists. So, if capitalism appears unjust this is because it enslaves everyone; it wastes human and natural resources; the same production line that pumps out remarkable gizmos and untold wealth, also produces deep unhappiness and crises.

Having failed to couch a critique of capitalism in terms of freedom and rationality, as Marx thought essential, social democracy and the left in general allowed the neoliberals to usurp the mantle of freedom and to win a spectacular triumph in the contest of ideologies.

Perhaps the most significant dimension of the neoliberal triumph is what has come to be known as the “democratic deficit”. Rivers of crocodile tears have flowed over the decline of our great democracies during the past three decades of financialisation and globalisation. Marx would have laughed long and hard at those who seem surprised, or upset, by the “democratic deficit”. What was the great objective behind 19th-century liberalism? It was, as Marx never tired of pointing out, to separate the economic sphere from the political sphere and to confine politics to the latter while leaving the economic sphere to capital. It is liberalism’s splendid success in achieving this long-held goal that we are now observing. Take a look at South Africa today, more than two decades after Nelson Mandela was freed and the political sphere, at long last, embraced the whole population. The ANC’s predicament was that, in order to be allowed to dominate the political sphere, it had to give up power over the economic one. And if you think otherwise, I suggest that you talk to the dozens of miners gunned down by armed guards paid by their employers after they dared demand a wage rise.

Why erratic?

Having explained why I owe whatever understanding of our social world I may possess largely to Karl Marx, I now want to explain why I remain terribly angry with him. In other words, I shall outline why I am by choice an erratic, inconsistent Marxist. Marx committed two spectacular mistakes, one of them an error of omission, the other one of commission. Even today, these mistakes still hamper the left’s effectiveness, especially in Europe.

Marx’s first error – the error of omission was that he failed to give sufficient thought to the impact of his own theorising on the world that he was theorising about. His theory is discursively exceptionally powerful, and Marx had a sense of its power. So how come he showed no concern that his disciples, people with a better grasp of these powerful ideas than the average worker, might use the power bestowed upon them, via Marx’s own ideas, in order to abuse other comrades, to build their own power base, to gain positions of influence?

Marx’s second error, the one I ascribe to commission, was worse. It was his assumption that truth about capitalism could be discovered in the mathematics of his models. This was the worst disservice he could have delivered to his own theoretical system. The man who equipped us with human freedom as a first-order economic concept; the scholar who elevated radical indeterminacy to its rightful place within political economics; he was the same person who ended up toying around with simplistic algebraic models, in which labour units were, naturally, fully quantified, hoping against hope to evince from these equations some additional insights about capitalism. After his death, Marxist economists wasted long careers indulging a similar type of scholastic mechanism. Fully immersed in irrelevant debates on “the transformation problem” and what to do about it, they eventually became an almost extinct species, as the neoliberal juggernaut crushed all dissent in its path.

How could Marx be so deluded? Why did he not recognise that no truth about capitalism can ever spring out of any mathematical model, however brilliant the modeller may be? Did he not have the intellectual tools to realise that capitalist dynamics spring from the unquantifiable part of human labour; ie from a variable that can never be well-defined mathematically? Of course he did, since he forged these tools! No, the reason for his error is a little more sinister: just like the vulgar economists that he so brilliantly admonished (and who continue to dominate the departments of economics today), he coveted the power that mathematical “proof” afforded him.

If I am right, Marx knew what he was doing. He understood, or had the capacity to know, that a comprehensive theory of value cannot be accommodated within a mathematical model of a dynamic capitalist economy. He was, I have no doubt, aware that a proper economic theory must respect the idea that the rules of the undetermined are themselves undetermined. In economic terms this meant a recognition that the market power, and thus the profitability, of capitalists was not necessarily reducible to their capacity to extract labour from employees; that some capitalists can extract more from a given pool of labour or from a given community of consumers for reasons that are external to Marx’s own theory.

Alas, that recognition would be tantamount to accepting that his “laws” were not immutable. He would have to concede to competing voices in the trades union movement that his theory was indeterminate and, therefore, that his pronouncements could not be uniquely and unambiguously correct. That they were permanently provisional. This determination to have the complete, closed story, or model, the final word, is something I cannot forgive Marx for. It proved, after all, responsible for a great deal of error and, more significantly, authoritarianism. Errors and authoritarianism that are largely responsible for the left’s current impotence as a force of good and as a check on the abuses of reason and liberty that the neoliberal crew are overseeing today.
Mrs Thatcher’s lesson

I moved to England to attend university in September 1978, six months or so before Margaret Thatcher’s victory changed Britain forever. Watching the Labour government disintegrate, under the weight of its degenerate social democratic programme, led me to a serious error: to the thought that Thatcher’s victory could be a good thing, delivering to Britain’s working and middle classes the short, sharp shock necessary to reinvigorate progressive politics; to give the left a chance to create a fresh, radical agenda for a new type of effective, progressive politics.

Even as unemployment doubled and then trebled, under Thatcher’s radical neoliberal interventions, I continued to harbour hope that Lenin was right: “Things have to get worse before they get better.” As life became nastier, more brutish and, for many, shorter, it occurred to me that I was tragically in error: things could get worse in perpetuity, without ever getting better. The hope that the deterioration of public goods, the diminution of the lives of the majority, the spread of deprivation to every corner of the land would, automatically, lead to a renaissance of the left was just that: hope.

The reality was, however, painfully different. With every turn of the recession’s screw, the left became more introverted, less capable of producing a convincing progressive agenda and, meanwhile, the working class was being divided between those who dropped out of society and those co-opted into the neoliberal mindset. My hope that Thatcher would inadvertently bring about a new political revolution was well and truly bogus. All that sprang out of Thatcherism were extreme financialisation, the triumph of the shopping mall over the corner store, the fetishisation of housing and Tony Blair.

FacebookTwitterPinterest Margaret Thatcher at the Conservative party conference in 1982. Photograph: Nils Jorgensen/Rex Features

Instead of radicalising British society, the recession that Thatcher’s government so carefully engineered, as part of its class war against organised labour and against the public institutions of social security and redistribution that had been established after the war, permanently destroyed the very possibility of radical, progressive politics in Britain. Indeed, it rendered impossible the very notion of values that transcended what the market determined as the “right” price.

The lesson Thatcher taught me about the capacity of a long‑lasting recession to undermine progressive politics, is one that I carry with me into today’s European crisis. It is, indeed, the most important determinant of my stance in relation to the crisis. It is the reason I am happy to confess to the sin I am accused of by some of my critics on the left: the sin of choosing not to propose radical political programs that seek to exploit the crisis as an opportunity to overthrow European capitalism, to dismantle the awful eurozone, and to undermine the European Union of the cartels and the bankrupt bankers.

Yes, I would love to put forward such a radical agenda. But, no, I am not prepared to commit the same error twice. What good did we achieve in Britain in the early 1980s by promoting an agenda of socialist change that British society scorned while falling headlong into Thatcher’s neoliberal trap? Precisely none. What good will it do today to call for a dismantling of the eurozone, of the European Union itself, when European capitalism is doing its utmost to undermine the eurozone, the European Union, indeed itself?

A Greek or a Portuguese or an Italian exit from the eurozone would soon lead to a fragmentation of European capitalism, yielding a seriously recessionary surplus region east of the Rhine and north of the Alps, while the rest of Europe would be in the grip of vicious stagflation. Who do you think would benefit from this development? A progressive left, that will rise Phoenix-like from the ashes of Europe’s public institutions? Or the Golden Dawn Nazis, the assorted neofascists, the xenophobes and the spivs? I have absolutely no doubt as to which of the two will do best from a disintegration of the eurozone.

I, for one, am not prepared to blow fresh wind into the sails of this postmodern version of the 1930s. If this means that it is we, the suitably erratic Marxists, who must try to save European capitalism from itself, so be it. Not out of love for European capitalism, for the eurozone, for Brussels, or for the European Central Bank, but just because we want to minimise the unnecessary human toll from this crisis.

What should Marxists do?

Europe’s elites are behaving today as if they understand neither the nature of the crisis that they are presiding over, nor its implications for the future of European civilisation. Atavistically, they are choosing to plunder the diminishing stocks of the weak and the dispossessed in order to plug the gaping holes of the financial sector, refusing to come to terms with the unsustainability of the task.

Yet with Europe’s elites deep in denial and disarray, the left must admit that we are just not ready to plug the chasm that a collapse of European capitalism would open up with a functioning socialist system. Our task should then be twofold. First, to put forward an analysis of the current state of play that non-Marxist, well meaning Europeans who have been lured by the sirens of neoliberalism, find insightful. Second, to follow this sound analysis up with proposals for stabilising Europe – for ending the downward spiral that, in the end, reinforces only the bigots.

Let me now conclude with two confessions. First, while I am happy to defend as genuinely radical the pursuit of a modest agenda for stabilising a system that I criticise, I shall not pretend to be enthusiastic about it. This may be what we must do, under the present circumstances, but I am sad that I shall probably not be around to see a more radical agenda being adopted.

My final confession is of a highly personal nature: I know that I run the risk of, surreptitiously, lessening the sadness from ditching any hope of replacing capitalism in my lifetime by indulging a feeling of having become agreeable to the circles of polite society. The sense of self-satisfaction from being feted by the high and mighty did begin, on occasion, to creep up on me. And what a non-radical, ugly, corruptive and corrosive sense it was.

My personal nadir came at an airport. Some moneyed outfit had invited me to give a keynote speech on the European crisis and had forked out the ludicrous sum necessary to buy me a first-class ticket. On my way back home, tired and with several flights under my belt, I was making my way past the long queue of economy passengers, to get to my gate. Suddenly I noticed, with horror, how easy it was for my mind to be infected with the sense that I was entitled to bypass the hoi polloi. I realised how readily I could forget that which my leftwing mind had always known: that nothing succeeds in reproducing itself better than a false sense of entitlement. Forging alliances with reactionary forces, as I think we should do to stabilise Europe today, brings us up against the risk of becoming co-opted, of shedding our radicalism through the warm glow of having “arrived” in the corridors of power.

Radical confessions, like the one I have attempted here, are perhaps the only programmatic antidote to ideological slippage that threatens to turn us into cogs of the machine. If we are to forge alliances with our political adversaries we must avoid becoming like the socialists who failed to change the world but succeeded in improving their private circumstances. The trick is to avoid the revolutionary maximalism that, in the end, helps the neoliberals bypass all opposition to their self-defeating policies and to retain in our sights capitalism’s inherent failures while trying to save it, for strategic purposes, from itself.

This article is adapted from a lecture originally delivered at the 6th Subversive Festival in Zagreb in 2013