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The Bottom Line

Evan Davis gets to the heart of the big finance stories at The Bottom Line.

In the turbulent 20th Century, you could start a riot with a piece of paper – it just had to be printed with revolutionary slogans and handed out to disgruntled crowds. In the atmospherically obsessed 21st, the same mayhem can be triggered by rolling it up and smoking it, yet soon there’ll be a bigger sin than lighting a cigarette in the building; bringing out a banknote at the checkout. Paying by cash is fast becoming a form of anti-social behaviour – the point-of-sale equivalent of wearing safety-pin jewellery, watching Jonathan Ross or window-shopping with a brick.

Seasoned users of ‘ready’ money may already be noticing a backlash against cash. While cardholders swipe and type, cash customers must ride the glare of chafing chip-and-pins, maddened by the mutual fumbling over miniaturised coins. Travellers’ only rescue from a ticket queue longer than their journey is a machine which laps up plastic, but chokes on all but the most freshly-ironed banknotes and gives no change. Sales are shifting at double-digit rates to an internet which recognises Mastercard, Visa and PayPal infallibility, but sees no virtue in any non-virtual token.

Paper profits

Not long ago, people in power loved paper money. It was a commercial invention, devised to circumvent the physical inconvenience of gold and silver. Instead of issuing invoices which then had to be swapped for precious metal, buyers and sellers started trading the bits of paper, only rarely visiting the bank to withdraw the underlying riches. Private debt had become a convenient form of currency, fulfilling the traditional requirement of storing value and speeding up exchange. This also had immense political advantages, freeing rulers from the fiscal inconvenience of scarce and theft-prone bullion.

Governments could now print notes to represent their official reserves, keeping these locked in suitably fortified central banks, and once people trusted the paper currency, more could be issued – an especially useful tactic for rulers struggling to squeeze subscriptions from their nobility, or keener to raise an army than the accompanying tax. Medieval kings and emperors could only expand the money supply this way by clipping the gold and silver coins, or smuggling base metals into the mint. Their modern successors have the happier option of issuing public debt, spending more now while passing the bill to taxpayers still too young to vote.

Issuing more public debt than private investors want to hold – today’s innocuous sounding ‘quantitative easing’ – is traditionally condemned by monetarists as cruelly clawing-back the handouts through a hidden inflation tax, but this is an occasional public indulgence in a practice that’s second nature to commercial banks. They routinely make loans that are a multiple of customer deposits, pushing assets (and corresponding liabilities) far above what is actually held in reserve. Indeed, governments only rush to quantitatively ease when banks are on their collective knees because their credit has ceased to flow.

Paper money enables the same capital to be put to work in many places simultaneously. Productivity is multiplied by turning each asset into collateral for another, and re-lending many times the wealth that used to sit idly in a vault. Securitised debt may recently have stalled the world economy, but it’s only an extension of the forces that previously drove it. That’s why governments splashed the blank cheques to redeem the chequered banks.

A bullet through the wallet

If paper money opened all these doors, why is its future in any danger? For the same reason that an abstract axe hangs over the Royal Mail, printed newspapers and music on disc. Just as we could get value from precious metal without minting it, we can now get value from an invoice without printing it. Once money’s more manageable as an electronic pulse, suspicion surrounds those who still want it in physical form.

The problem with paper money is that it leaves no ‘paper trail’. Governments have long resented the way cash transactions enable legal traders to sidestep taxes, and illegal traders to launder their profits into regular circulation. The growing skill of forgers also challenges the most jealously guarded monopoly of sovereigns, who aren’t flattered when their likeness runs off someone else’s printing press.

More influentially, big retailers and manufacturers curse cash deals that fall outside their customer databases, so it can’t then be ‘mined’ for appropriately personal marketing ploys. They also regret needing a fleet of armour-plated couriers to empty and fill their cash-heavy tills. Finance directors declare war on the ‘off card’ transaction, which lets executives scupper the expense tracking system with improbable taxi fares and budget-busting bar bills.

Cash stands accused of causing banks to crash and civilisations to clash. Lenin famously viewed debauching the currency as the quickest way to undermine capitalism. Hitler came close to putting such pecuniary subversion into effect, with a wartime scheme to bomb Britain with banknotes, a road to ruin via rampant inflation. Guy Fawkes’s belated knighthood, for services to the global firework industry, is obstructed by his financially illiterate choice of tactics. Instead of lighting the blue touch-paper, he should have been faking the banknote paper and causing an unsustainable credit explosion.

Governments seeking faster, cheaper and more visible transactions are keen to kill the dollar bill – and its counter-clogging counterparts in the euro, yen and sterling zones. Corporations are equally concerned to stamp out logistically wasteful, electronically untraceable cash flows. To meet their demands, innovators who once promised a licence to print money now offer grand designs for making it vanish. Amid a general dearth of political visions, that of cashless society stands out like a viable mortgage in a sea of sub-prime debt.

Why cook the books when they can be vaporised?

In the brave new banknote-free world, cards will rule even at the bus stop and corner store, with mobile phones as an alternative means of payment. The mobile internet will move against cash by spreading direct transfers that have already shot down the once-mighty cheque. Formerly well-thumbed Adam Smith, Charles Darwin and Elizabeth Fry will be banished to the portrait gallery, while royal heads retreat to the postage stamp.

If robbed of officially sanctioned cash, won’t people just invent their own? Economies that ran short of legal tender were famously quick to adopt a replacement, from cigarettes in prisoner-of-war camps to elaborate IOUs in post-Soviet Russia.

However, the death of cash means only the de-materialisation of money, not its disappearance. Indeed, the biggest danger is that paperless money be further detached from underlying wealth, drowning us in devalued riches. Air Miles already rival the world’s major currencies in terms of quantity and acceptability, but so many have been created that running flights for them all would fry the world before a fraction of the holders could fly round it. Second Life is shielded from excess of virtual currency only by the infinite expandability of online real estate.

Prophets of the cashless economy promise that risks of monetary excess will be reduced, with every deposit and withdrawal electronically matched. New regulatory schemes to avert further meltdowns, including a giant register of to check that banks’ balance sheet assumptions really add up, underline the faith in data-based trading to guarantee transparency and monetary stability.

What of those who can’t afford a plastic card, aren’t online and don’t carry a mobile? Cashless commerce will compound an already serious digital divide. Those barred from the virtual marketplace may have to form their own cash-trading communities, until connections to new networks are as ubiquitous and affordable as those of the savings banks and post offices they replace. Pulling out a banknote could soon be an act of solidarity with the socially excluded, but you’ll still have to swap them on windy street corners, after the tobacco smoke has cleared.

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About the author

Alan Shipman is lecturer in economics at the Open University, and a former financial journalist. His books include The Globalization Myth, The Market Revolution, and Transcending Transaction. He is involved in OU's new courses on personal finance, and research on insurance pools, 'chaos pricing' and Eastern Europe.

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One year on from their moment of meltdown, rescued institutions are again riding high, while the politicians who rescued them are paying the electoral price. The scale of the mess suggested, at the time, that banks had got onto their crash course through euphoria, miscalculation and madness. Now, the speed and low private cost with which they escaped that mess raises the equally scary likelihood that they were being rational all along.

The Great Escape

Aside from Lehman, banks have bounced back with their businesses and bonuses intact. Many have already returned to profit, with their investment banking units – whose speculative gambles were at the heart of last year’s problems – now helping to support the commercial side as it writes down its bad mortgage debt.

Lloyds, which looked to have bitten off more than it could chew by acquiring HBOS, is now a legally sanctioned giant that controls around one-third of UK mortgages and current accounts and a quarter of its business banking. Barclays, once viewed as perennially ripe for acquisition by a larger group, has now joined their ranks by cherry-picking Lehman at minimum cost. Fortis, facing bankruptcy a year ago, has announced a major UK expansion in alliance with Tesco. Merrill Lynch and Citibank continue to issue their uncompromising analysis of other firms’ finances, having buried the obituaries that were being written on their own a year ago.

Houses of Parliament at dusk.

Most of the management teams that presided over near-bankruptcy are still in place, enjoying undiminished performance and retention bonuses. Many of those dramatically turfed out of their Canary Wharf offices in September 2008 already have their feet under a comparable desk on someone else’s trading floor. And of the bosses who bet their banks and lost, there is none whose golden parachute failed to open. Even Lehman ex-CEO Dick Fuld is on hire as a consultant, just round the corner from Wall Street. Sir Fred Goodwin’s RBS pension, big enough to be a one-man stimulus package, attracts powerless resentment but continues to flow.

Meanwhile, the governments whose quick thinking made this possible are condemned, for the budgetary cost and for the scale on which their bailouts and loan guarantees seem to have feathered high-financial nests. Ironically, the more successful their rescue plans and the faster the financial world returns to normal, the worse is the electoral fallout. Gordon Brown, architect of last September’s global rescue, enjoyed a ‘bounce’ when turmoil and recession were at their worst and now sees his ratings fall with every sign of economic recovery.

Incumbents are being punished without regard to political stripe, so the by-election reversals are as bad for Angela Merkel’s Christian Democrats as for Brown’s New Labour. Bankers have become, like Ronald Biggs and Abdelbaset al-Megrahi, once unspeakable prisoners who walked out of jail, leaving condemnation raining down on those who let them out.

Sowing the Sense of False Security

Were bankers just lucky? Sadly, past crises showed a similar pattern. The biggest banks basked in the knowledge that they were ‘too big to fail’, even before the recent deepening and widening of their global interconnections. Many were emboldened in their retrospectively reckless gambles – on mortgages, securitisations and derivatives – by assurance that the state and its regulators would step in if their luck ran out.

emboldened in their retrospectively reckless gambles

With their deposits insured, their liquidity underpinned by a central bank, and their riskier loans apparently underwritten by credit default swaps, banks would have been foolish if they hadn’t taken increasing risks in pursuit of higher returns. Indeed, the management of HSBC – the only ‘Big Four’ bank to ride serenely through last year’s storms – had endured years of onslaught from activist shareholders aghast at its refusal to run down its capital, raise its leverage and gamble like the rest.

Bicycle helmets can prevent head injuries in many common accident situations. Yet their increased use is not associated with a reduction in such injuries – because helmet wearers take more risks, and are treated less carefully by other road users. Similarly, traditional banking safeguards encourage borrowers and lenders to take more risks. We’re usually grateful that they do. There were few more reckless gambles than building the first horseless carriage, microcomputer or oil-well, but lives were transformed for the better by those who did.

In most sectors, however, competition puts limits on risk-taking. Customers will go elsewhere if the firm’s product becomes too dangerous, and shareholders will desert it if the way it makes profit becomes too dangerous. Tragically, competition in financial services seems to have the opposite effect, driving companies to take more punts and fewer precautions. Customers flocked to Ice-Save because of its improbably high interest rates, shareholders to Lehman because of its impressive rates of return.

Counterproductive Competition

Alerted in 2000 (by the Cruickshank Report) to banks’ unusually high and consistent profitability, the UK government made a fundamental and possibly fatal choice. It didn’t want to regulate banks’ rates of return, as it traditionally did with highly concentrated, highly profitable utilities like electricity, gas and telecommunication. So it decided to make banking more competitive; and to encourage the combination of commercial banking, investment banking, brokerage and insurance so that big financial groups could compete along more dimensions.

In retail banking, competition meant narrowing the gap between savers’ and borrowers’ interest rates, and making up for the consequent loss of profit by offering more commission- and fee-based services. From this came banks’ substantially increased use of wholesale financial markets to raise funds, using collateralised debt as security, and the high-pressure selling tactics that led to serial mis-selling episodes. In investment banking, competition meant an erosion of low-risk trading profits, based on identifying and amending asset price misalignments. It led banks to preserve those profits by borrowing (‘leveraging’) more heavily to multiply the diminishing margin, and to supplement them with more investment in purely speculative asset-price movements.

no government can afford to jeopardise the financial sector’s profit recoveryno government can afford to jeopardise the financial sector’s profit recovery

Competition in insurance, and derivative markets, meant that bankers could often buy cover for adverse price movements. They didn’t realise (or didn’t like to mention) that the cover was ultimately underwritten by another part of the same group, or that it couldn’t possibly pay out if a general asset-price downturn caused the risks to become systemic.

Competition for the apparent expertise required to design and trade these exotic new instruments led to a steep inflation of banking and insurance salaries, topped by an even greater explosion in performance bonuses and executive share options. So banks’ profits underwent the desired moderation – but due less to competition than to the diversion of cashflow from shareholders to bonuses, and the large sums that had to be set aside for potentially non-performing investments and debts.

With banks still in delicate health until their mortgagees recover, and businesses under strain until banks can resume normal lending, no government can afford to jeopardise the financial sector’s profit recovery. So the grand regulatory schemes of a year ago, to change the rules and rebuild firewalls between financial activities, have been quietly put aside.

Banks that once, as a cosy cartel, enjoyed big private profits and got the state to subsidise their losses, have now shown that they can pull off the trick even more successfully as a competitive, deregulated industry. No wonder the politicians who pulled the world back from the brink, a year ago, are now being pilloried for letting those who pushed it there off-the-hook.

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About the author

Alan Shipman is lecturer in economics at the Open University, and a former financial journalist. His books include The Globalization Myth, The Market Revolution, and Transcending Transaction. He is involved in OU's new courses on personal finance, and research on insurance pools, 'chaos pricing' and Eastern Europe.

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The guru of central bankers, Alan Greenspan, calls it a once in a century event. Other bankers, regulators and economists who spoke to The Love of Money describe the September 2008 crisis, and developments before and after it, as the most dramatic of their lifetime. While there have often been recessions, and stock market crashes, there has been no comparably global and brutal combination of crash and recession, at least not since the Great Crash of 1929 and Great Depression that followed. . .

Yet Nassim Nicholas Taleb calls it a Black Swan, an improbable event that occurs far more frequently than we expect – partly because wrongly confuse the improbable with the near-impossible. Those who study the London, New York and other major stock markets find that ‘extreme events’ happen with unnerving regularity.

Hazard of banking: risk of falling.

How we answer this question will have a profound effect on how we now approach financial regulation – and the regulation of many other activities with unpredictable and potentially damaging effects. Until now, we have tended to take a ‘risk-based’ approach to future contingencies. This means, crudely, calculating the financial impact of what could go wrong, and the probability of its going wrong, and multiplying the two to put a monetary value on the cost if things go wrong.

The Taleb view leans in favour of a ‘hazard-based’ approach, which focuses on the impact of the disaster when it occurs. This means paying more attention to extremely unlikely events that have serious consequences. If such ‘Black Swans’ had been taken more seriously, the calamitous events of 2007-9 would have been better prepared for, or detected and averted at a far less damaging stage.

While recent events have been something of an oil slick to the Black Swans argument, hazard-based thinking risks extreme caution and conservatism. The chemical industry is currently up in arms over an EU switch towards hazard-based assessment, which would grade compounds according to their toxicity – what they can do if people are exposed to them – without regard to the likelihood of such exposure. It’s like taking the impact part of the risk-based calculation, but leaving out the probability part.

paying more attention to extremely unlikely events that have serious consequences

Critics say it is an intolerably strict implementation of the precautionary principle: the sort of approach that would ban all cars because of the fatal consequences when they hit pedestrians at speed, or disconnect all houses from piped gas because of the occasional explosion. But there may be factors that justify its application to financial services, even if it’s a retrograde step regarding fertilisers and detergents.

The risk-based approach may have fallen down by underestimating the likelihood of extreme events, and the severity of their impact when they happen. Both underestimations arise from the extreme interconnectedness of the financial system compared with other sectors. Instead of spreading and transferring risks so that mismanaged financial institutions can fail in isolation, globalisation and financial innovation appear to have heightened interdependence so that a few misguided players – Northern Rock and Lehman Brothers in 2007-8, Long Term Capital Management in 1998 – can rapidly jeopardise the whole global economy. When the costs of retrieving the situation run into billions if not trillions, the case is made for preventing the hazard, however remote its likelihood of occurrence seems to be.

Defenders of the risk-based approach would say that this is still too cautious. In curbing hazardous practices (like high leverage, securitisation, derivatives trading and credit default swaps) because of the immense damage when something goes wrong, we would forgo the equally immense benefits these confer most of the time, when everything goes right. We still risk the financial equivalent of keeping all cars behind a red flag because of the occasional road death if they travel at normal speeds.

curbing hazardous practices of the immense damage when something goes wrong

But are the benefits really so immense? This question has long been asked by those in the ‘real economy’ mystified by the source of bankers’ and brokers’ vast wealth, and was raised in August by none other than the chair of the Financial Services Authority, one of the regulators at the centre of the recent banking crisis. Lord Turner admitted that some banking activities may be ‘socially useless’, and some financial innovations simply complications introduced to give intermediaries extra profit, like a roadblock at which highwaymen extract their toll from honest traders.

Turner is not the first to point out that, if financial services are supposed to grease the wheels of commerce and reduce transaction costs, then it is not obvious why the financial sector grows rather than shrinks as an economy grows richer. The bonus-fuelled bankers say they are promoting investment and growth by letting enterprise raise funds more cheaply, get higher returns and reduce or insure against risks.

At root, though, the most useful contribution of banking is the very basic one: channelling short-term savings into longer-term investment and supplying liquidity to businesses that must buy before they sell. These operations can be – and until recently were – run and regulated separately from those of higher-risk investment banking. If the growth of exotic ‘wholesale’ operations in London and New York is not essential to – and now endangers - the safety of ‘High Street’ borrowers and savers, then a hazard-based approach to the financial sector may be justified. Less like banning the car than fitting compulsory anti-lock brakes.

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About the author

Alan Shipman is lecturer in economics at the Open University, and a former financial journalist. His books include The Globalization Myth, The Market Revolution, and Transcending Transaction. He is involved in OU's new courses on personal finance, and research on insurance pools, 'chaos pricing' and Eastern Europe.

Subscribe to Alan Shipman's posts