Why we still need a public inquiry into the banks

A Leveson-style inquiry would expose the web of patronage and lobbying.

Listening to the Commons exchanges yesterday on the Chancellor’s proposal for a Parliamentary Committee of Inquiry into the LIBOR scandal was depressing.  It was the Commons at its worst: blame shifting; moralising; and, above all, opportunistic point scoring across the floor.  It’s not just the bankers who don’t get it; lots of MPs also do not realise the scale of the disaster that is the UK financial system.  A Parliamentary inquiry is a quite inadequate response to the scale of the problem. Some Parliamentary inquiries, notably those by the Treasury Select Committee, have done good work.  But even when not beset by party divisions they simply have not measured up to the job.  As in the notorious case of Fred Goodwin, they end up largely scapegoating individuals. Now Bob Diamond has followed his chairman in falling on his sword. It’s just as well he doesn’t have a knighthood; he could kiss it goodbye. 

Andrew Tyrie is an honourable man and will do his level best with the inquiry – if it happens.  But we can already see how inadequately he conceives the task: the inquiry will be "ring-fenced" (his words) to examine what the LIBOR tells us about the culture of the City. The LIBOR scandal is being trailed by the financial establishment as precisely that: a scandal.  In other words, a single disgraceful event, and in the manner of all scandals in Britain it is taking a predictable course: moralistic fulminations, and the sacrifice of a few prominent scapegoats.  Morals are important;  the amorality revealed in the Barclays’ e mails is shocking to normal people.  And  it is certainly the case that wrongdoers need to be pursued and punished.  But here at CRESC, where we have been tracking the financial crisis since 2007, we have been  arguing for some time that there are fundamental defects in our financial system, and that these won’t be solved by short term hunting down of scapegoats.  Faced with the  LIBOR scandal, politicians, bankers and regulators have responded  with the traditional Claude Rains defence: like Captain Renault, the character played by Rains in Casablanca, they are shocked, truly shocked, to discover that illicit gambling has been going on in the casino of the City of London.  But  the problems won’t be solved by firing a few top bankers, prosecuting a few white collar criminals, or even by conducting an inquiry into the workings of LIBOR – necessary though all these are.  We need to dispense with the illusion that a casino is the best way to organise the financial system for a modern economy – a truth that Keynes famously expressed many decades ago.

Our research reports show that the claimed economic benefits of the City for the "real" economy are an illusion, the product of effective PR over the years by the City elite.  Boring old manufacturing contributes about twice as much as glitzy financial services to the nation’s tax coffers.  And the City is doing nothing to solve our unemployment problems: throughout the great financial boom up to 2007 employment in finance was flat.  The  PR offensive has been effective because the City has enjoyed unique privileges in the government of finance, and unique access to top policy makers: both the Labour and Conservative parties have, in office, relied on paymasters from the financial elite.  And in turn they have, disgracefully, inserted financiers into key decision making positions.

The result is that the City is a web of markets proliferating increasingly complex and risky financial instruments that do little or nothing to promote welfare or efficiency in the wider economy.  The "other" scandal last week – the outrageous rip off at the expense of small business – is no single accident; it reflects the fact that finance is now in the business of creating and selling financial instruments regardless of the social harm they create.  Adair Turner’s condemnation of "useless" financial innovations is an understatement; the City has moved beyond the creation of the useless to the manufacture of the positively malign.

We need a full Leveson-style inquiry to examine how the casino is working, and to examine the web of patronage and lobbying that has allowed the City casino to trade with impunity.  An inquiry will be uncomfortable for many who were prominent in the New Labour years, and it is to the credit of Ed Miliband and Ed Balls that they have, nevertheless, recognised that full transparency is needed. We need an inquiry on the scale of Leveson, with the power to uncover the cultures and institutions that persuaded City operators that they could operate with impunity.  And we might yet get it if Labour refuses to play ball with Osborne’s proposal. But more important even than an inquiry, we need  a fundamental redefinition of the social and economic roles of finance. Banks must become public utilities with the duty to serve the wider economy, not players in casinos.  A Leveson-style inquiry would help provide the catharsis to  bring us to that point.

To read the full CRESC evidence and argument, download our report.

The claimed economic benefits of the City for the "real" economy are an illusion. Photograph: Getty Images.

Michael Moran is adjunct Professor of Government and Business in the University of Manchester Business School.

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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