The curious case of Standard Chartered

And another bad week for banking.

This has been another bad week for the banking industry. For all that some sections of the media will enjoy presenting the allegations against Standard Chartered as the latest example of greedy bankers putting financial interests before ethics or morals, this episode feels more nuanced

That it involves the self-proclaimed "boring bank" Standard Chartered, previously praised by myself and several much wiser industry experts for its prudence and caution through boom and subsequent financial crisis, is unexpected. That it involves a UK bank allegedly consorting with drug dealers, terrorists and Iranian militants seems even stranger. So what does this episode teach us about the state of banking?

1. The banking industry is no longer held in high regard. Had the allegations been made against a firm in another industry or profession there would have been genuine shock as well as outrage. But we appear to have reached some kind of greed fatigue when it comes to bankers. The only surprise at this latest revelation was that it involved a bank formerly thought to be above the rest. Standard Chartered’s reputation (not to mention its share price) has taken a hit and will take a while to recover.

2. International finance is extremely complex. This is easy to believe because it’s only when a fresh scandal breaks that some new complexity of the financial system is revealed. Very few outside the Square Mile knew a collatoralized debt obligation from a credit default swap before the 2008 financial crisis. Some within the City (including senior figures) struggled to explain them even when they’d turned bad and taxpayers were footing the bill. Every awkward revelation since has unveiled a bit more complexity. One reason ex-Barclays CEO Bob Diamond gave little away to the Treasury Select Committee was because they didn’t know enough of the detail. A simple question from Bob about which Libor rate they were referring to would have stymied most of the committee. Very few people understand enough to take bankers to task. Regulating and overseeing this complexity is tough. It’s hard to even begin to guess where the next scandal will be, what fresh villainy it will reveal and what new complexity will be uncovered. We need banking legislation that can cover what Donald Rumsfeld would call the unknown unknowns.

3. We need prudence back. It became something of a comical phrase after Gordon Brown first wore it out as chancellor and then abandoned it when the sums got tricky. But effective regulation of banks requires prudent valuation of their complex financial dealing and of assets and liabilities. It used to be an essential element of all accounting best practice, but has been increasingly forgotten as modern standards (including IFRS) place the emphasis elsewhere. More thorough auditing and prudent valuation of all banking activities would be a sensible start.

4. We need banks to exercise self-control. It’s obvious that current systems for regulation haven’t worked. While some changes are taking place on a national level, there is still not enough international co-operation. On the plus side, the most recent scandals have come to light as a result of regulators investigating and reporting on alleged bad behaviour. But it’s a slow process and is all too retrospective. As always, financiers are innovating ahead of regulators. Bankers hate the idea of introducing excessive regulation on financial markets. And it wouldn’t help the world economy. But they have to show that the financial services industry can take responsibility for its own actions. We don’t need more regulation, but we do need better, more effective regulation. This requires better internal auditing, stronger compliance regimes and more self-control on the part of the banks. To use Diamond’s phrase, we need more banks with a culture where people behave ethically when no one’s watching.

5. Regulators are also subjective. One of the problems the Standard Chartered case has highlighted is that the complexity, power and importance of banking itself means that banking regulation must also be highly complex. It also attracts the attention of some who would seek to use the potential power for other means. The focus of the Standard Chartered allegations on dealing with Iran has led some observers to suggest the claims serve a wider political purpose in the US. While it’s not clear what that purpose might be, other than rubbishing London at the expense of New York, the claim highlights how national best interests are rarely aligned with either individual commercial goals or the wider global good.

6. It’s time for an international banking amnesty. With each revelation of wrongdoing we learn something new about the banks and something depressing about our society. We should waive further fines or punishments if all the banks agree to sign up once and for all to a thorough and totally transparent immediate assessment of all of their books. Like some sort of one-off super-audit, it would allow them to own up now to all the things they would normally like auditors and regulators not to see. We need to know where all the bodies are buried, right across the system.

This article first appeared in economia.

Standard Chartered. Photograph: Getty Images

Richard Cree is the Editor of Economia.

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism