The Soviet spy, the birth of the IMF, and the 1940s roots of today's crisis

Crises are born from stranger places.

Although the spectacular collapse of the global economic was apparently sudden and unpredicted, it is a crisis that has been building since the structure of the global economy was put in place in the desperate days of the mid-1940s. I want to take a step back from the feverish debates taking place in the Eurozone and explore the roots of the crisis in the agreements reached at the end of the Second World War, and question the rather dubious credentials of the man who can be said to have emerged victorious from those negotiations.

In these days of Depression and the failure of the neoliberal economic model many eyes are cast back nostalgically to the 1930s and the work of Keynes is receiving a particularly rapid rehabilitation. Keynes is identified most strongly with his support for government involvement in the management of national economies. This was a lesson learned the hard way during the last global depression, and that was deliberately unpicked by intellectual and political strategies dating from the 1970s onwards. In contrast to George Osborne, Keynes focused on the national economy as a system. His idea of the multiplier effect expressed the way that government spending is not money wasted or added to a pile of debt, but rather generates further cycles of spending. It thus stimulates economic activity, supports livelihoods and generates further tax revenue.

But arguably Keynes’s contribution to the international economic system was at least as impressive. The design for what is sometimes rather pompously called the ‘global financial architecture’ ate away the last years of his life. I imagine him at Bretton Woods, arguing to defend the equality of nations against the threat of dollar imperialism: a struggle that ended in failure. It is perhaps too romantic to suggest that Keynes was heart-broken by his failure to win the debates, but within two years of the conference he was dead.

Keynes’s opponent at Bretton Woods was Harry Dexter White, the chief economic adviser of Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau.1 Our memory of policy towards the devastated countries of post-war Europe is of the US munificence of the Marshall Plan. The Morgenthau Plan is not so well remembered: its intent was to deconstruct the industrial infrastructure of Germany so that it could never again threaten the stability of Europe.2 Germany was to be returned to a peasant society. The chief author of this plan was Harry Dexter White. Those of us on the left have long assumed that Marshall investment was not motivated by compassion but by the fear of communism. How might it change our view if we were to find evidence that White may have been working for the Soviet Union?

There have long been rumours circulating to this effect, but a book published by former KGB officer Vassieliev produces fairly compelling evidence:

The most important member of the Silvermaster network and the most highly placed asset the Soviets possessed in the American government was Harry Dexter White, assistant secretary of the Treasury. More than two dozen KGB documents, spanning 1941 to 1948, spell out his assistance to Soviet intelligence.3

To put this into context we have to recall, first, that the US and Soviet Union were allies for most of the period that White worked for the US government. Secondly, wartime economies were heavily centrally controlled, and hence the ideological distance in terms of economic policy between US civil servants and their counterparts in the 1940s was considerably smaller than it became as the Cold War progressed.

More important in the context of our present situation is the role played by White at Bretton Woods, the conference held at the New Hampshire resort where the Allies debated the structure of the post-war global economy. As US Treasury Secretary, Morgenthau also chaired the Bretton Woods conference. As with his Plan for Europe, he saw the weakness of the US’s competitors as an opportunity to increase US power in the post-war world. The objective of the Bretton Woods negotiations was to put in place a structure that would achieve stability and fair competition between nations, but prevent the destructive consequences of the gold standard and the excessive competitive pressures of uncontrolled currency competition that had contributed to international tensions and eventually war.

White and Keynes were the chief negotiators for the US and UK and shared much understanding about how to design the new system. They agreed about the importance of maintaining some political control over exchange rates between national currencies, a compromise between fixed exchange rates and fully floating exchange rates that became known as the ‘pegged rate currency regime’. As White put it:

‘The absence of a high degree of economic collaboration among the leading nations will…inevitably result in economic warfare that will be but the prelude and instigator of military warfare on an even vaster scale.’4

The system of exchange rates free to move within a fixed band system achieved tremendous stability for nearly 30 years, until Nixon’s unilateral decision to cut the link between the dollar and gold in 1971.

This brings us to the crucial disagreement between the two economists: what would the world’s nations peg their national currencies to? White’s plan gave this role to the dollar, making it the world reserve currency; Keynes suggested the creation of a neutral trading currency he had called the ‘bancor’, or ‘bank gold’. This would achieve stability without limiting policy to the volume in circulation of one particular naturally occurring mineral. If the dollar became the peg currency then it would effectively enable the US to print money and buy up the world’s production in return. The link with gold prevented that in theory, but the link with gold would always be, as history proved, subject to the decision of the US President.

Speculation about White’s relationship with the Soviet secret services leads to questions about why Truman chose him to be the first Executive Director of the International Monetary Fund. It has been suggested that this might have been a protective strategy, moving White out of the administration. So while White's move to become first head of the IMF may seem incredible, in fact it sheltered him from national legal investigation in the US, and so protected the reputation of the Truman administration.

The piecing together of this jigsaw puzzle, a crucial piece of which has only come to light since the end of the Cold War, raises a series of fascinating questions. The first is what motivated Harry Dexter White to propel us into the post-war world of dollar-controlled capitalism. It seems rather a stretch to suggest that the Morgenthau Plan, heavily influenced by White, was a strategy to destabilise the societies of post-war Europe. It certainly had this effect, with votes for Communist parties soaring, especially in Italy, where only the intervention of the CIA prevented a Communist victory in the 1947 election.5

If his Morgenthau Plan was intended to ensure instability and social unrest in Europe, perhaps his Bretton Woods Plan was designed to achieve similar effects at a global scale? His success in massively enhancing the power of the dollar in the post-war world seems more obscure when viewed in terms of its potential benefit to the Soviet Union. Did he hope that the US would become massively indebted and that this would challenge the dominance of the capitalist system of which it was the heart? Did he underestimate the resilience of the free-market system, or is he still waiting to be proved right?

There are two problems with re-evaluating history in this way. First it is easy to forget the context. Both the Morgenthau Plan and the Bretton Woods agreement were drawn up before the Cold War; for example, it was originally envisaged that Russia would become a member of the IMF. Secondly, it is difficult to interpret the motivations and expectations of the players. If we are prepared to accept that White was attempting to further Russian interests, what would he have thought that meant? Building the inevitability of crises into the global financial system perhaps.

Poignantly, White may also have died of a broken heart. He suffered a heart attack shortly after giving evidence to McCarthy’s House Unamerican Activities Committee in August 1948, and died a few days later.

1. Information on White is taken from Boughton, M. (2004), ‘New Light on Harry Dexter White’, Journal of the History of Economic Thought, 26/2: 179-95.

2. The Morgenthau Plan, including the role of Harry Dexter White, was the subject of a programme in the Radio 4 Series Things We Forgot to Remember, broadcast on 7 June and available as a BBC podcast.

3. Haynes, J. E., Klehr, H. and Vassiliev, A. (2009), Spies: The Rise and Fall of the KGB in America (Yale University Press), p. 258.

4. Jones, B. D., Pascual, C. and Stedman, S. J. (2009), Power and Responsibility: Building International Order in an Era of Transnational Threats (Washington: Brookings Institution) p. 234.

5. See the interview with CIA operative F. Mark Wyatt in the CNN Cold War archive, who also identifies George Marshall as a key player in this operation.

The front cover of a 1953 edition of Time, asking what President Truman knew about Harry Dexter White.

Molly Scott Cato is Green MEP for the southwest of England, elected in May 2014. She has published widely, particularly on issues related to green economics. Molly was formerly Professor of Strategy and Sustainability at the University of Roehampton.

GETTY
Show Hide image

Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue