The Danes' counter-example

Additional stimulus hasn't caused bond yields to rise in Denmark. They're in the EU and have their o

Denmark's new three-party coalition government has announced that the primary aim of its economic policy is to secure a balance between revenues and spending and create growth by bringing forward public investment. The new Danish prime minister, Helle Thorning-Schmidt, who is Neil Kinnock's daughter-in-law, unveiled her coalition cabinet on Monday and indicated that her government would take a radically different approach from the austerity measures being adopted by other European countries. The new Danish government apparently intends to spend ten billion Danish kroner to upgrade roads, railways and bicycle paths. The stimulus agenda also includes plans to provide temporary tax credits for companies that invest in R&D and machineries along with new technologies. It said it also aimed to carry out a tax reform that would significantly reduce taxes on wage incomes.

This is a very interesting counter-example to George Osborne's and David Cameron's claims that austerity is crucial to keep bond yields low. This is what Cameron said in the rapidly revised part of his party conference speech yesterday, that in a draft version that was circulated told people to save -- when he really meant he wanted them to spend.

When you're in a debt crisis, some of the normal things that government can do, to deal with a normal recession, like borrowing to cut taxes or increase spending -- these things won't work because they lead to more debt, which would make the crisis worse. Why? Because it risks higher interest rates, less confidence and the threat of even higher taxes in future. The only way out of a debt crisis is to deal with your debts. That's why households are paying down their credit card and store card bills. It means banks getting their books in order. And it means governments -- all over the world -- cutting spending and living within their means.

Cameron's speech -- even the corrected final version -- gets it precisely the wrong way round. The only way out of a debt crisis -- if by debt crisis we mean, as he says, a situation where households are desperately trying to pay down debt because on an individual level this is rational -- is for the government to step in and spend more, at least temporarily. For the government to join in and try to save more too, which he argues is logical, is disastrous. A first-year undergraduate course in macro-economics should have taught him that!

What has happened in Denmark -- which, just like the UK, is not in the euro but is a member of the European Union? It is a nice test case, because if Dave is right -- which he isn't -- then bond yields should have soared in Denmark, even on talk of injecting stimulus. They haven't. Here is a selection of yields on ten-year government bonds for Denmark and the UK over the past couple of months or so.

 
  Denmark UK
05/10/2011 2.005 2.354
30/09/2011 2.069 2.427
23/09/2011 1.932 2.363
09/09/2011 1.975 2.456
02/09/2011 2.204 2.641
19/08/2011 2.362 2.606
12/08/2011 2.573 2.753

 

One argument the coalition has made is that the US has lower yields because the dollar is a reserve currency, so their data isn't relevant: currently their yield is 1.888 per cent. But that does present the government with a further problem, because bond yields in Sweden, which is also in the EU but not in the euro, are 1.695 per cent. They are 2.135 per cent in Canada, which is also not a reserve currency, and a paltry 0.879 in Switzerland, which really does look like a place of safety.

Based on the evidence from Denmark, putting additional stimulus into the economy has not caused bond yields to rise and they remain below those in the UK. The Danes are a much better comparison country than the Greeks, the Portuguese, the Italians or the Spanish that don't have their own central bank and currency as the Danes do; just as we do.

David Blanchflower is economics editor of the New Statesman and professor of economics at Dartmouth College, New Hampshire

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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