The end of free banking could be an opportunity for other financial institutions

Building societies and credit unions stand to benefit if we move towards a paid-for model.

While many of us start to recover from the shock revelation that charge-free bank accounts are a myth, and that banks have been incentivised to mis-sell other financial products for their loss-leaders, some financial institutions like building societies and credit unions are quietly looking forward to the end of free banking.

After the scandals that have hit banks over PPI misselling and the £9bn set aside to recompensate those who were its victims, bankers and regulators have shared a rare platform in agreeing that an end to free banking could prevent similar future episodes.

The argument goes that banks were only scheming because fees aren't being levelled towards customers for their accounts, and so inevitably it became necessary to cross-subsidise from one profitable bit of the operation to in-credit personal current accounts free of charge.

Indeed as the newly-appointed chairman of Barclays, Sir David Walker, has said: "Because banks are not charging, it drives them inexorably into this sort of position”.

The issue has been raised in parliament and will be raised again at the Parliamentary Commission on Banking Standards where bankers have already submitted evidence, highlighting free banking as one of the things that led to bad behaviour.

One of the practical problems that awaits this (some call it an inevitability) is if one bank makes the leap and starts charging, the likelihood is that their customers will run and go elsewhere. To be a renegade over this can promise a huge money loss, which undermines the point in doing it in the first place - some risks just don't come naturally to banks.

Of course the other problem is that if it became a trend among banks, nobody can promise against an outbreak in customer dissatisfaction. One of the concerns being raised is that for unethical banking, the general public is being asked to subsidise another income stream for Barclays, HSBC, RBS and Lloyds.

For Phillip Inman, economics correspondant of the Guardian and the Observer, this is like a pickpocket saying he was forced to steal wallets because he was denied other sources of income. The only way of stopping a naughty banker from selling you stuff you don't need, in other words, is by giving him money. One can understand the discontent at this twisted logic.

But from another angle some institutions are seeing an opportunity. While one of the appealing planks of David Cameron's big society was the building up of smaller financial institutions, realists could see the many market entry barriers for types like building socieities and credit unions.

While the mainstream is already occupied by big banks, it was discussed at the KPMG’s 22nd annual Building Societies Database recently that: “almost half of the UK’s 47 financial mutuals had increased their profit in the year to April 2012, and that they would benefit further from the end of free banking.”

This isn't the first time I've heard something similar. Speaking to someone recently who works close to the credit union industry, who preferred to go unidentified, they told me that Barclays' talk of transparent charging structures has made the prospect of credit union modernisation very interesting indeed.

Credit unions have always had such a structure, and if paid-for accounts led to more competition among smaller players then the notion of a credit union membership rise increases the chance of them lending more money, particularly to those who are currently having difficulties remaining creditworthy or are thinking about going to a payday lender.

Trouble is the paid-for model comes with many problems. Too many, perhaps. People don't want to be charged a fee. Customers may end up kicking up a fuss about who their banks lend to on the grounds that their fees subsidise them, which when trying to maintain an image of middle-class respectability, may see the number of creditworthy people diminish.

Though most of us do want more competition and for places like credit unions to have more relevance in the market. Some very complex conversations and arguments are going to be had over this subject, that much is for sure, but it is interesting to note that advocates for an end to free banking are not only the usual suspects alone.

A high street bank. Photograph: Getty Images

Carl Packman is a writer, researcher and blogger. He is the author of the forthcoming book Loan Sharks to be released by Searching Finance. He has previously published in the Guardian, Tribune Magazine, The Philosopher's Magazine and the International Journal for Žižek Studies.
 

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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