Currency wars, extra-national stimulus and Krugmania!: 5 best unusual solutions to the eurozone crisis

Five unusual solutions to the eurozone crisis, just in case you're bored of the ones that might actually happen.

1. The US and UK should engage in a currency war with the EU.

The problem the eurozone has is that European Central Bank president Mario Draghi is fashioning himself as the man with a carrot and stick. He knows that monetary policy can't solve all of the area's problems, and that national governments need to step up and do something to help the situation. Sadly, the policy he wants is more fiscal integration, which most countries are terrified of.

If European governments fall in line, then Draghi would be likely to implement the monetary easing which could really help the continent. Unfortunately, given the integration he demands is not forthcoming (because Germany is terrified of taking on Spain's debt and Spain is terrified of being a vassal state to Germany), it doesn't seem like the ECB is going to make any positive moves in the short term, instead choosing to futilely dangle the carrot a bit longer.

So what is to be done? Well, a worldwide crisis needs a worldwide solution. The Federal Reserve or the Bank of England could unilaterally start buying up euros. Matt Yglesias writes:

If the ECB just sat back and relaxed, that would make Europe's problems even worse. But the most likely scenario would be massive retaliation by the ECB and much-needed transatlantic monetary stimulus.

Of course, it's true that this solution counts on the ECB reacting in a non-insane manner, which has only occasionally been a good betting strategy.

2. If you like stimulus so much, why don't you live there?

If the rest of the world wants a solution which removes agency from the hands of the ECB and Mario Draghi entirely, then ex-Federal  reserve official Joseph Gagnon's suggestion, submitted to the Washington Post's WonkBlog, may work:

There are two other individuals who have the same power as Draghi to end the euro crisis: Ben Bernanke and Zhou Xiaochuan. The Fed could do the next QE3 entirely in Spanish and Italian bonds and it would not require a vote in Congress or Presidential approval. It would push the euro up against the dollar, but Europeans would not be in a position to complain. The People’s Bank of China is estimated to hold nearly 1 trillion euros already and it could switch them from German bonds to Spanish bonds.

In other words, rather than telling the Europeans to do some monetary stimulus, or attempting to force their hands with a currency war, the US or China could simply pump money into the European periphery. Normally, of course, if you're going to stimulate somewhere, you would rather it was your own country; but if you can stop a worldwide slump following the collapse of a massive currency bloc, that's a pretty good use of your time as well.

3. Krugmania!

A recent ING analysis (pdf) runs through six possible scenarios for the eurozone, including "Draghia" (where everyone gives in to Draghi, makes a banking union, and he does fiscal stimulus), "Inflationia" (sort of the Eurozone voluntarily doing what is described in point one) and "Bondia" (Europe introduces "eurobonds", all the countries pooling their costs of borrowing).

But if we're looking at unlikely solutions, then their sixth scenario, "Krugmania", fits the bill. It calls for lots of fiscal stimulus, mainly used for public investment, and the ECB not raising interest rates every time inflation peaks. If matched with a commitment to reducing deficits over the long term only, ING see this plan adding 3 per cent to GDP and 2 per cent to employment throughout the eurozone over the next two years.

4. Greece defaults but doesn't exit

John Cochrane, a professor at the University of Chicago, is annoyed that Greece defaulting on its debt is always spoken of in conjunction with a Grexit:

The two steps are completely separate. If Illinois defaults on its bonds, it does not have to leave the dollar zone -- and it would be an obvious disaster for it to do so.

It is precisely the doublespeak confusion of sovereign default with breaking up a currency union which is causing a lot of the run.

But the main reason why default is spoken of is that doing so allows Grexit, which allows devaluation and a recovery in exports. Cochrane suggests that it be viewed another way:

They need to say they will tolerate sovereign default, bank failures, and drastic cuts in government payments rather than breakup.

Yes, cuts. The question for Greece is not whether it will cut payments. Stimulus is off the table, unless the Germans feel like paying for it, which they don't. The question for Greece is whether, having promised 10 euros, it will pay 10 devalued drachmas or 5 actual euros. The supposed benefit of euro exit and swift devaluation is the belief that people will be fooled that the 10 Drachmas are not a "cut" like the 5 euros would be. Good luck with that.

In other words, rather than defaulting in order to exit, default in order to avoid the exit. In this scenario, Greece is a sort of sacrificial lamb; they're damned if they do, or damned if they don't, but the rest of the eurozone is only damned one way. If they take the cuts and stay in the currency, maybe Spain and Portugal can be saved, at least.

5. Pan-european austerity

Actually, maybe not. Yeah, probably wouldn't work. No, not even for Estonia, despite what the President says. Especially given the "there's no money left" argument doesn't really work when people are paying Germany to take their euros.

Pictured: A Currency War. Maybe. Photograph: Getty Images

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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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad