Are the ratings agencies doing us a favour?

At every stage of this crisis, action has been forced on politicians by the markets.

James Carville, Bill Clinton's pugnacious chief of staff, once said that, if he were to be re-incarnated, he would like to come back as "the bond market because then you can threaten anyone". With Europe's capitals still reeling from the decision by Standard & Poor's to downgrade the credit rating of nine eurozone countries, he might consider reincarnation as a rating agency instead.

In the European Parliament last week, German conservative Elmar Brok accused S&P of having "declared a currency war against us" and was widely applauded. Many rightly question the legitimacy of the power wielded by the big three rating agencies -- S&P, Moody's and Fitch -- which can effectively hold countries to ransom particularly as they were responsible for awarding AAA ratings to the asset backed securities made up of sub-prime mortgage loans which caused the 2008-9 crisis. Such is the herd behaviour of financial markets that a decision to downgrade a country's rating is taken as gospel truth, with the result that a nation's borrowing costs go up, putting a further squeeze on their public finances.

S&P's bombshell was merely the latest overreaction by the markets to the sovereign debt crisis -- Spain and Cyprus suffered a two notch hit despite having, like France, a far better debt and deficit situation than the UK - but it scarcely came as a surprise. Although there was cautious optimism early in the month when Spain and Italy managed successful bond auctions with the interest rate falling to its lowest level since last summer, rumours about a mass downgrade by the ratings agency were doing the rounds before Christmas.

But while "Black Friday" moved the condition of the eurozone -- as well as the rest of the EU including the UK -- from serious to critical, the political symbolism of S&P's move was as important as its implications for Europe's economies.

This is because while it is right to question the illegitimate power of the rating agencies, and their role in creating and then deepening the current crisis, it is the failure of Europe's supine political leaders that has ceded control over economic policy from democratically elected governments to rating agencies and the bond markets. For all their protestations about US rating agencies declaring war on the euro the reality is that Brok's boss, Angela Merkel's pursuit of a masochistic and fundamentally unworkable monetary policy is, in large part, responsible for S&P's decision.

In fact -- though it pains me to say it -- the rating agencies are actually doing us a favour. At every stage of this crisis action has been forced on politicians. For example, in early 2010 Merkel and most other EU leaders promised that there would never be an EU bail-out fund. Then market pressure meant that, in May 2010, the European Financial Stability Facility was created. Then they said that there would never be a permanent bail-out fund. In spring 2011 the EU treaties were amended to set up the European Stability Mechanism. Apparently there would never be a hair-cut on Greek debt. The December EU summit offered a 50 per cent right-down of Greek debt which is now being concluded between the Greeks and bond-holders. We have gradually edged towards sensible crisis-resolution not thanks to politicians but because of the financial markets.

Moreover, before we rush to condemn the markets, we should also remember that the departure (finally) of Italy's oft-disgraced but indefatigable leader Silvio Berlusconi was brought about not by one of his many scandals but because yields on Italian debt were spiralling out of control. To misquote the Sun: It was the bond market wot done it.

We are, of course, treading on very dangerous ground when unaccountable markets or neighbouring governments are able to force out elected governments but is there some truth to the idea that the debt crisis is too important to be left to politicians?

Last October Luxembourg's Prime Minister Jean Claude-Juncker came out with the phrase that defines the political response to the crisis thus far. "We all know what to do, we just don't know how to get re-elected after we've done it," he said. It's a remark that is both infuriating, but accurate. I suspect that even Merkel and Sarkozy know that their beloved fiscal compact treaty, with its rigid budget discipline, is at best a diversion and at worst a complete waste of time. The prospect of either of them admitting this before their respective elections is extremely remote. The real solution for the euro area -- which will inevitably involve a large dose of money-printing by the ECB and common Eurobonds alongside stricter rules on budgetary discipline, and possibly the exit of several countries -- seems to be too frightening a prospect for politicians to dare mention it.

But Europe's political leaders need to decide, and quickly, if they have the balls to take the difficult and unpopular decisions that are necessary if the euro is to survive and the European economy to recover. If they choose inertia then the rating agencies and bond markets will continue to decide for them. And as for those who worry about Juncker's dictum, the demise of Berlusconi should carry a salutary warning: the markets don't care if you won the last election, if you can't govern, you're a goner.

Ben Fox is chairman of GMB Brussels and political adviser to the Socialist vice-president of economic and monetary affairs.

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What kind of Christian is Theresa May?

And why aren’t we questioning the vicar’s daughter on how her faith influences her politics?

“It is part of me. It is part of who I am and therefore how I approach things,” Theresa May told Kirsty Young when asked about her faith on BBC Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs in November 2014. “I think it’s right that we don’t sort of flaunt these things here in British politics but it is a part of me, it’s there, and it obviously helps to frame my thinking.”

The daughter of a Church of England vicar, Rev. Hubert Brasier, May grew up an active Christian in Oxfordshire. She was so involved in parish life that she even taught some Sunday school classes. She goes on in the Desert Island Discs interview to choose the hymn When I Survey the Wondrous Cross sung by a chapel congregation, and recalls being alone in church with her parents, kneeling and singing together.

Despite her intense attachment to local CofE life, Theresa May’s role as a Christian in politics is defined more by her unwillingness to “flaunt” (in her words) her faith.

Perhaps this is partly why, as a Christian, May avoided the scrutiny directed at Lib Dem leader and evangelical Christian Tim Farron over the past week of his stance on homosexuality and abortion.

As Farron wriggled – first saying he didn’t want to make “theological pronouncements” on whether or not being gay is a sin (and then, days later, announcing that it isn’t) – May’s critics scratched their heads about why her voting record on such matters isn’t in the media spotlight.

She has a socially conservative voting record when it comes to such subjects. As the journalist and activist Owen Jones points out, she has voted against equalising the age of consent, repealing Section 28, and gay adoption (twice).

Although her more recent record on gay rights is slightly better than Farron’s – she voted in favour of same-sex marriage throughout the process, and while Farron voted against the Equality Act Sexual Orientation Regulations in 2007 (the legislation obliging bed and breakfast owners and wedding cake makers, etc, not to discriminate against gay people), May simply didn’t attend.

May has also voted for the ban on sex-selective abortions, for reducing the abortion limit to 20 weeks, abstained on three-parent babies, and against legalising assisted suicide.

“Looking at how she’s voted, it’s a slightly socially conservative position,” says Nick Spencer, Research Director of the religion and society think tank Theos. “That matches with her generally slightly more economically conservative, or non-liberal, position. But she’s not taking those views off pages of scripture or a theology textbook. What her Christianity does is orient her just slightly away from economic and social liberalism.”

Spencer has analysed how May’s faith affects her politics in his book called The Mighty and the Almighty: How Political Leaders Do God, published over Easter this year. He found that her brand of Christianity underpinned “the sense of mutual rights and responsibilities, and exercising those responsibilities through practical service”.

May’s father was an Anglo-Catholic, and Spencer points out that this tradition has roots in the Christian socialist tradition in the early 20th century. A world away from the late Victorian Methodism that fellow Christian Margaret Thatcher was raised with. “That brought with it a package of independence, hard work, probity, and economic prudence. They’re the values you’d get from a good old Gladstonian Liberal. Very different from May.”

Spencer believes May’s faith focuses her on a spirit of citizenship and communitarian values – in contrast to Thatcher proselytising the virtues of individualism during her premiership.

Cradle Christian

A big difference between May and Farron’s Christianity is that May is neither a convert nor an evangelical.

“She’s a cradle Christian, it’s deep in her bloodstream,” notes Spencer. “That means you’re very unlikely to find a command-and-control type role there, it’s not as if her faith’s going to point her in a single direction. She’s not a particularly ideological politician – it’s given her a groundwork and foundation on which her politics is built.”

This approach appears to be far more acceptable in the eyes of the public than Farron’s self-described “theological pronouncements”.  May is known to be a very private politician who keeps her personal life, including her ideas about faith, out of the headlines.

“I don’t think she has to show off, or join in, she just does it; she goes to church,” as her former cabinet colleague Cheryl Gillan put it simply to May’s biographer Rosa Prince.

The voters’ view

It’s this kind of Christianity – quiet but present, part of the fabric without imposing itself – that chimes most with British voters.

“In this country, given our history and the nature of the established Church, it's something that people recognise and understand even if they don't do it themselves,” says Katie Harrison, Director of the Faith Research Centre at polling company ComRes. “Whether or not it’s as active as it used to be, lots of people see it as a nice thing to have, and they understand a politician who talks warmly about those things. That’s probably a widely-held view.”

Although church and Sunday school attendance is falling (about 13 per cent say they regularly attend Christian religious services, aside from weddings and funerals), most current surveys of the British population find that about half still identify as Christian. And ComRes polling in January 2017 found that 52 per cent of people think it’s important that UK politicians and policy-makers have a good understanding of religion in the UK.

Perhaps this is why May, when asked by The Sunday Times last year how she makes tough decisions, felt able to mention her Christianity:  “There is something in terms of faith, I am a practising member of the Church of England and so forth, that lies behind what I do.”

“I don’t think we’re likely to react hysterically or with paranoid fear if our politicians start talking about their faith,” reflects Spencer. “What we don’t like is if they start ‘preaching’ about it.”

“Don’t do God”

So if May can speak about her personal faith, why was the nation so squeamish when Tony Blair did the same thing? Notoriously, the former Labour leader spoke so frankly about his religion when Prime Minister that his spin doctor Alastair Campbell warned: “We don’t do God.” Some of Blair’s critics accuse him of being driven to the Iraq war by his faith.

Although Blair’s faith is treated as the “watershed” of British society no longer finding public displays of religion acceptable, Spencer believes Blair’s problem was an unusual one. Like Farron, he was a convert. He famously converted to Catholicism as an adult (and by doing so after his resignation, side-stepped the question of a Catholic Prime Minister). Farron was baptised at 21. The British public is more comfortable with a leader who is culturally Christian than one who came to religion in their adulthood, who are subjected to more scrutiny.

That’s why Gordon Brown, David Cameron and Theresa May can get away with talking about their faith, according to Spencer. “Brown, a much more cultural Presbyterian, used a lot of Biblical language. Cameron talked about it all the time – but he was able to do so because he had a vague, cultural, undogmatic Anglicanism,” he tells me. “And May holds it at arm’s length and talks about being a clergyman’s daughter, in the same way Brown talked about his father’s moral compass.”

This doesn’t stop May’s hard Brexit and non-liberal domestic policy jarring with her Christian values, however. According to Harrison’s polling, Christian voters’ priorities lie in social justice, and tackling poverty at home and overseas – in contrast with the general population’s preoccupations.

Polling from 2015 (pre-Brexit, granted) found that practising Christians stated more concern about social justice (27 per cent) than immigration (14 per cent). When entering No 10, May put herself “squarely at the service of ordinary working-class people”. Perhaps it’s time for her to practise what she preaches.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.

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