Bank bonuses and the Barclays myth

We, the taxpayers, saved Barclays too!

From the BBC:

Banking giant Barclays has seen its full-year profits increase by 92 per cent to £11.6bn ($18.2bn) in 2009.

The news story goes on to add:

The bank, which did not take any direct state help during the financial crisis, said its total bonus payouts for staff had been reined in to £2.7bn.

First, the fact that multibillion-pound bonuses in the midst of a recession are described as having been "reined in" says all you need to know about the excess and greed that has blighted the banking sector in recent years.

Second, notice the key disclaimer slipped in, early on:

The bank, which did not take any direct state help during the financial crisis . . .

I've heard a version of this line again and again, in the context of Barclays, ever since the government's bailout of the banks in late 2008. Last night on LBC, for example, the business reporter went out of her way to remind listeners that Barclays hadn't taken any government money -- in other words, it is less culpable for the crash and less accountable to the public for what it does with its profits now.

What a load of rubbish.

Barclays, as the Beeb's business editor Robert Peston points out later on, in the same story, benefited indirectly:

. . . from a windfall generated by the emergency rescue of the global economy undertaken by governments and central banks, an emergency rescue that was needed in large part because of the havoc wreaked by the excessive risk-taking of banks.

The banking sector, which Barclays is part of, would not exist today were it not for the billions stumped up by British taxpayers in the form of bailout money, short-term loans, loan guarantees and quantitative easing. Even the Barclays boss, John Varley, has acknowledged the crucial role played by the government in rescuing the City as a whole:

There are two ways I would say the system as a whole benefited generically.

One was in the injection of liquidity undertaken by the Bank of England and a new structure put in place in March 2008.

And the other was the making available of guarantees from government for funding undertaken by banks.

It is important to recognise that in each case the banks were encouraged to use these new structures that were put in place and we did.

It is also important to recognise that we were required and we did pay a price for these things but I'm not trivialising the importance of the intervention. It was important.

So Barclays has to behave responsibly. Massive bonuses are unjustified, irresponsible, offensive and dangerous.

Let's not forget either that Barclays only avoided crashing like Royal Bank of Scotland through good fortune: had the former succeeded in buying the debt-ridden ABN Amro in 2007, instead of the latter, Varley might be as reviled and ridiculed today as Fred "the Shred" Goodwin. What a lucky man . . .


Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood