American investors fear divided government

Debt ceiling struggle raised concerns.

Suzy Khimm, of the Washington Post's WonkBlog, reports on a new Gallup poll of American investors, which asks them what they fear the most:

More than unemployment, oil prices, the housing market, tight credit, or the euro zone crisis, investors believe that a politically divided federal government could hurt the US investment climate, according to a new Gallup poll that surveyed American adults with “investable assets of $10,000 or more”:

Gallup poll

The second most common fear is the federal budget deficit. Altogether, this suggests that investors believe the recent political gridlock over the debt-ceiling and budget has been extremely harmful to the U.S. business climate. Presumably, they’re concerned that this could continue should President Obama be re-elected along with a GOP Congress, or vice versa.

Before the election, the Conservative line on coalition governments was much the same as the one these investors seem to hold: political divisions hamper the ability to make crucial economic decisions, which, especially in a depression, can lead to an inability to competently handle crisis. Two years on, those fears have been comprehensively put to bed. Far from coalition resulting in legislative gridlock, as divided government has in the US, this government has been the most radical in a decade.

The European debt crisis would obviously rank higher in a British version of this poll, but the interesting ones to see would be the relative positions of the budget deficit and unemployment rate. In both, the UK is now worse off than the US (when the deficit is expressed as a percentage of GDP, that is), but the narrative seems to be different on both sides of the Atlantic. Whereas the US has experienced its "jobless recovery", now transitioning to a "growthless recovery", the failure of the UK to experience the same levels of growth means that the unemployment rate often blends into the general gloomy economic background.

Obama signs the budget control act, raising the debt ceiling. Credit: Getty

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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I dined behind the Houses of Parliament in my sexually connected foursome

My wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple. We did not always check the significance of the date. 

I am self-employed and find that working from home, setting your own schedule, the days generally blur into each other, with weekends holding no significance, and public holidays, when those who are employed in factories, offices or shops get time off, meaning nothing. I am often surprised to go out and find the streets empty of traffic because it is some national day of observance, such as Christmas, that I wasn’t aware of. I find myself puzzled as to why the shops are suddenly full of Easter eggs or pancake batter.

Growing up in a Communist household, we had a distinct dislike for this kind of manufactured marketing opportunity anyway. I remember the time my mother tried to make me feel guilty because I’d done nothing for her on Mother’s Day and I pointed out that it was she who had told me that Mother’s Day was a cynical creation of the greetings card monopolies and the floral industrial complex.

Valentine’s Day is one of those I never see coming. It’s the one day of the year when even the worst restaurants are completely booked out by couples attempting to enjoy a romantic evening. Even those old-fashioned cafés you’ll find still lurking behind railway stations and serving spaghetti with bread and butter will tell you there’s a waiting list if you leave it late to reserve a table.

In the late 1980s my wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple, he a writer and she a TV producer. One particular place we liked was a restaurant attached to a 1930s block of flats, near the Houses of Parliament, where the endless corridors were lined with blank doors, behind which you sensed awful things happened. The steel dining room dotted with potted palm trees overlooked a swimming pool, and this seemed terribly sophisticated to us even if it meant all your overpriced food had a vague taste of chlorine.

The four of us booked to eat there on 14 February, not realising the significance of the date. We found at every other table there was a single couple, either staring adoringly into each other’s eyes or squabbling.

As we sat down I noticed we were getting strange looks from our fellow diners. Some were sort of knowing, prompting smiles and winks; others seemed more outraged. The staff, too, were either simpering or frosty. After a while we realised what was going on: it was Valentine’s Day! All the other customers had assumed that we were a sexually connected foursome who had decided to celebrate our innovative relationship by having dinner together on this special date.

For the four of us, the smirking attention set up a strange dynamic: after that night it always felt like we were saying something seedy to each other. “Do you want to get together on Sunday?” I’d say to one of them on the phone, and then find myself blushing. “I’ll see if we can fit it in,” they’d reply, and we would both giggle nervously.

Things became increasingly awkward between us, until in the end we stopped seeing them completely. 

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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