Did you hear the one about the honest, hard-working and decent banker?

No, really, did you?

Despite this being the worst week yet for an industry that’s had more than its fair share of miserable weeks in recent years, and even in spite of the fact that the accusations against the so-called “banksters” have escalated from a lack of morality to potential criminality, there remain plenty of honest, good and moral men and women working in financial services. Many of them are even in the most senior positions

Take, for example, the old story (retold to me this week) about Lord Mervyn Davies, when he was boss of Standard Chartered. As the drama of Bob Diamond’s resignation over the role of Barclays in Libor-rigging unfolded, I was offered this wonderful insight that explains why few expect Standard Chartered to be implicated in this most serious episode of financial misadventure. It also explains why Standard Chartered wasn’t quite as exposed to the financial crisis as many of its competitors.

Some time in 2006, one of Standard Chartered’s financial rocket scientists met with Davies to let the bank get involved in the sort of complex transactions that were all the rage at the time and that were making rivals (both institutions and individuals) so rich. Davies, clearly not a stupid man, asked the boffin to explain the scheme. About 20 minutes later Davies stopped him and admitted he hadn’t understood a word. A sure sign of his intelligence and honesty was that he was confidant enough to show his ignorance (not something very prevalent in banking boardrooms at the time). He gave the boffin another go, who then took half an hour to explain his ideas in plain English. Davies thanked him for his time but still didn’t follow. He is reported to have said, because he couldn’t understand the scheme, there was no way he was prepared to let the bank get into it. Two years later that already looked to be a good call; six years on it looks like the wisest possible decision.

There is danger that this sort of story makes Davies appear something of a throwback to a much-vaunted "golden age" of banking. While this week has been bad, we must resist glorifying the past or go misty eyed over an era before the Big Bang opened the City up and all those brash Americans brought their naughty ways over here. The old City was the worst kind of closed shop. Deals – rather, gentleman’s agreements – were sewn up over lunch or a round of golf, and in this age diversity meant hiring from both Oxford and Cambridge. Women, if they were in the boardroom at all, were there to make tea and take notes.

It may have its faults, but the modern financial services sector is a rare example of a UK success story. And the whole economy benefits from a thriving financial services industry. But that’s exactly why wrongdoing (especially crime) must be rooted out and acted on swiftly. Criminality must be punished as such and all financial gains must be recovered, as they would be elsewhere.

All this requires adequate regulatory oversight and proper legal protection. It’s why the government must recognise that its Financial Services Bill is not fit for purpose as it is and needs a radical overhaul.

The good news is that there is still time to get it right. But it requires politicians to stop pointing fingers over whether light-touch, tripartite regulation caused the mess and see that the proposed twin peaks regulation is equally flawed. There are myriad specialists arguing that while politicians quibble over quantity of regulation, it’s the quality of those rules that matters. Politicians must take this opportunity to learn from other people’s mistakes and create the support and regulatory structures that allow us all to be confident of hearing many more stories about decent, honest bankers in the future.

This article originally appeared in Economia

London. Photograph, Getty Images

Richard Cree is the Editor of Economia.

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This election has sparked a weird debate – one in which no one seems to want to talk

 The noise level hasn’t risen above a low gurgle in the background.

If this is a general election in which the tectonic plates are shifting, they’re the quietest tectonic plates I’ve ever heard. All the parties are standing on pretty radical platforms, yet the noise level hasn’t risen above a low gurgle in the background, like a leaking tap we can’t be bothered to get fixed.

Big issues are being decided here. How do we pay for care, or health, or education? How do we square closed borders with open trade, and why isn’t anyone talking about it? Democracy is on the line, old people are being treated like electoral fodder, our infrastructure is mangled, the NHS is collapsing around us so fast that soon all that’s left will be one tin of chicken soup and a handful of cyanide capsules, and we face the prospect of a one-party Tory state for decades to come. All this and yet . . . silence. There seem to be no shouts of anger in this election. It’s a woozy, sleepy affair.

I knew something was afoot the moment it was called. Theresa May came out of No 10 and said she was having an election because she was fed up with other parties voting against her. No one seemed to want to stand up and tell her that’s a pretty good definition of how functioning democracy works. Basically, she scolded parliament for not going along with her.

Why were we not stunned by the sheer autocratic cheek of the moment? With news outlets, true and fake, growing in number by the day, why was this creeping despotism not reported? Am I the only one in a state of constant flabbergast?

But the Prime Minister’s move paid off. “Of course,” everyone said, “the real argument will now take place across the country, and we welcome,” they assured us, “the chance to have a national debate.”

Well, it’s a pretty weird debate – one in which no one wants to talk. So far, the only person May has debated live on air has been her husband, as Jeremy Corbyn still wanders the country like an Ancient Mariner, signalling to everyone he meets that he will not speak to anyone unless that person is Theresa May. Campaign events have been exercises in shutting down argument, filtering out awkward questions, and speaking only to those who agree with every word their leader says.

Then came the loud campaign chants – “Strong and stable” versus “The system’s rigged against us” – but these got repeated so often that, like any phrase yelled a thousand times, the sense soon fell out of them. Party leaders might as well have mooned at each other from either side of a river.

Granted, some others did debate, but they carried no volume. The Ukip leader, Paul Nuttall, achieved what no one thought possible, by showing the country that Nigel Farage had stature. And there’s a special, silent hell where Tim Farron languishes, his argument stifled at every turn by a media bent on quizzing him on what sort of hell he believes in.

Meanwhile, the party manifestos came out, with titles not so much void of meaning as so bored of it that they sounded like embarrassed whispers. Forward, Together; The Many Not the Few; Change Britain’s Future: these all have the shape and rhythm of political language, but nothing startles them into life. They are not so much ­clarion calls as dusty stains on old vellum. Any loosely connected words will do: Building My Tomorrow or Squaring the Hypotenuse would be equally valid. I still pray for the day when, just for once, a party launches its campaign with something like Because We’re Not Animals! but I realise that’s always going to stay a fantasy.

Maybe because this is the third national vote in as many years, our brains are starting to cancel out the noise. We really need something to wake us up from this torpor – for what’s happening now is a huge transformation of the political scene, and one that we could be stuck with for the next several decades if we don’t shake ourselves out of bed and do something about it.

This revolution came so quietly that no one noticed. Early on in the campaign, Ukip and the Conservatives formed a tacit electoral pact. This time round, Ukip isn’t standing in more than 200 seats, handing Tory candidates a clear run against their opponents in many otherwise competitive constituencies. So, while the left-of-centre is divided, the right gets its act together and looks strong. Tory votes have been artificially suppressed by the rise of Ukip over the past few elections – until it won 12.6 per cent of the electorate in 2015. With the collapse of the Ukip vote, and that party no longer putting up a fight in nearly a third of constituencies, Theresa May had good reason to stride about the place as cockily as she did before the campaign was suspended because of the Manchester outrage.

That’s why she can go quiet, and that’s why she can afford to roam into the centre ground, with some policies stolen from Ed Miliband (caps on energy bill, workers on company boards) and others from Michael Foot (spending commitments that aren’t costed). But that is also why she can afford to move right on immigration and Brexit. It’s why she feels she can go north, and into Scotland and Wales. It’s a full-blooded attempt to get rid of that annoying irritant of democracy: opposition.

Because May’s opponents are not making much of this land-grab, and because the media seem too preoccupied with the usual daily campaign gaffes and stammering answers from underprepared political surrogates, it falls once again to the electorate to shout their disapproval.

More than two million new voters have registered since the election was announced. Of these, large numbers are the under-25s. Whether this will be enough to cause any psephological upsets remains to be seen. But my hope is that those whom politicians hope to keep quiet are just beginning to stir. Who knows, we might yet hear some noise.

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

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