Credibility and the confidence fairies

Low interest rates have nothing to do with "our hard-won credibility"

In 1994, the Conservative Government proposed a rise in fuel VAT from 8 per cent to 17.5 per cent. It was defeated by a Labour-backed motion and Shadow Chancellor Gordon Brown looked to have won a major economic battle. But Chancellor Ken Clarke made a stirring speech defending the economic fundamentals of the policy and accusing Labour of recklessly undermining the nation’s prosperity, culminating by calling Brown a "silly billy".

Today, David Cameron made his own stirring speech, laying out his plan for how Britain could finally begin a recovery. But like Clarke before him, he wanted to defend his economic fundamentals from the Labour line, saying:

Those who argue we should spend more want us to borrow more, driving up our deficit and our debt and putting our hard-won credibility and low interest rates at risk.

The argument behind all this is, of course, whether the government is right to make deficit reduction "line one, clause one, part one" or whether a slower approach would make the economy grow faster, which would increase the size of the pie, allowing more debt to be paid off.

Despite losing public backing for their tackling of the economy as well as outspoken criticism from the economics profession – for example, Nobel Prize-winner Paul Krugman here – the government will not be fazed.

And it all rests on one argument:

Government bond yields are at an all-time low, which means the UK is seen as a safe place of investment and therefore the government’s plan is the right one. Economics professors across the Golden Triangle must squirm every time they hear another one of their protégés pull this one out on Question Time.

And that is because the low-bond-yield argument is a choreographed hoodwinking of the British public. To say that our rates are 1.85 per cent, compared to 6 per cent in Ireland, 12 per cent in Portugal and 28 per cent in Greece, is like saying that the PM picks up a tan quicker than an inmate of Her Majesty’s Prison Service. Yields reflect risk, and in those countries, there is real risk that the Governments will default on their debts. The same has never been said of the UK.

Instead the "risk premium" paid on gilts is based on the fact that we are a safe haven in a turbulent financial world and investors are willing to accept lower returns than normal because their risk in the UK is relatively lower than in the Eurozone. But this is not normal. Look up any economics textbook, it will tell you that the more global investors buy Government bonds, the more they are at risk (of losing money if the pound depreciates), therefore the higher the risk and the rate will be; in normal times bond yields are high the more of them are supplied to the private sector.

Indeed, as Jonathon Portes highlights here, confidence has grown in the UK at the start of 2012 (as measured by the rise in share prices of FTSE250 companies) and the bond-yield has risen alongside it. His graph is below:

More worryingly, a recent paper has shown empirically that current ten-year bond yields are a good benchmark of growth rates in ten years’ time. That would mean 1.85 per cent growth by 2022- the OBR expect 3 per cent growth by 2015.

But what about the interest rates that the PM is so keen to keep down for the sake of struggling homeowners?

As an economy grows in confidence and bond yields rise, yes, eventually interest rates should rise too, so mortgage and loan repayments will increase. But surely this is to be expected in a healthy, growing economy, with increasing incomes?

A Manchester United fan, for example, must accept that the price of supporting Manchester United is that you will pay higher ticket prices than you would as a Wigan fan.

Low interest rates are a symptom of the problem, not the solution.

This can be seen quite clearly in a country whose interest rates and bond yields have been rock bottom for over a decade: Japan. The charts below compare GDP (only up to 2007, to focus more clearly on growth trends before the recession), 10-year government bond yields and interest rates for the UK and Japan since 1992, when the Japanese economy sank into a recession from which it has never fully recovered.

Click for big

Indeed, Japanese homeowners are now accustomed to close-to-zero interest rates following a “lost decade”. Is that the ultimate aim of the UK Government’s austerity plan? If not, they might be forced before long to accept that Labour had it right all along. Silly billies.

Pictured: Confidence fairies. Maybe. Photograph: Getty Images

Dom Boyle is a British economist.

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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