Vickers' "electric fence" - are bankers' DIY skills up to it?

Cows, cricket, and dangerous fences.

John Vickers, the man who has laid out the plans for a redesigned  Vickers Report recommended the separation of retail and commercial activities.

Last month, having digested Vickers’ recommendations, the Parliamentary Committee on Banking Standards published its own report, advocating the “electrification” of that ring fence.

Last week, John Vickers appeared in front of the Committee to endorse the proposal. “I welcome anything that reinforces the ring fence and, in particular, I welcome this committee’s proposal to that end,” he said.

“We are now 16 months on from publication of the final report, and nothing has happened in that period which makes me doubt that ring fencing is the right structural ingredient, along with others – loss absorbency and so on – for banking reform in the UK.”

At the time the Vickers Report was published, many in the banking industry were sceptical as to whether a fence could be erected at all. Senior bankers are not known for their DIY skills… And that was before any talk of passing a current through it.

However, the solution has become generally accepted as preferable to the Volker Rule that is currently causing panic on the other side of the pond. In order to avoid similarly draconian measures being adopted here, most bankers are keeping quiet.

But one committee member, Mark Garnier MP, wanted to make sure that Vickers had faith that bankers would resist the temptation to wield the wire cutters. “Is it inevitable that banks will try and test the limits of the ring fences?” he asked. “And is there a commercial advantage in doing so?”

In response, Vickers painted a surprisingly bucolic scene. “I can’t think about this topic without reference to my own experience, in a rural cricket match a long time ago,” he reminisced. “I was on the boundary, and there were cows in the next field.

“I didn’t realise how much power there could be in an electric fence until the ball whizzed past me and I went to get it.

“Having had that experience, I wouldn’t test the boundary. In fact, I’d try and field much closer in.”

A cautionary tale that I’m sure the UK banking industry will give full consideration to. But I have my own electric fence/cricketing anecdote.

At school, our cricket pitch was surrounded by an electric fence to stop errant woodland creatures defecating on the square. It may have been effective in that aim, but did not do a great deal to prevent errant schoolboys from weeing on it. And trust me, despite YouTube evidence to the contrary, it really didn’t do anyone much harm. Indeed, in those pre-mobile, pre-internet days it passed as entertainment.

I guess it really comes down to just how much current you pass down the wire, and whose hands are on the voltage dial. Those are going to be very difficult decisions to make indeed. As admirable as Vickers’ faith in humanity is, most of the investment bankers I know would look at an electric fence as little more than a potential practical joke.

The “electrification” of that ring fence. Photograph: Getty Images

James Ratcliff is Group Editor of  Cards and Payments at VRL Financial News.

Nicola Sturgeon and Tony Blair. Photo: Getty
Show Hide image

Nicola Sturgeon's SNP, like Tony Blair's New Labour, is heading for a crash landing

The fall of Tony Blair should be a set text for anyone wishing to know what happens next to the SNP.

If there was one thing the SNP and New Labour had in common, it was the hope. Both offered themselves as a burning torch of optimism to publics that had become tired of the same old gang running things in the same old way. Both promised a fairer, more equal society and a fearless embrace of the modern world with an appealing freshness and energy. The voters bought it: both won big, repeatedly.

The thing is, if you’re elected on a mandate to be different, you’d better be different. In many areas, for a long time, New Labour managed to be just that. The smiling PM with the huge majority pushed through radical policies, some of which even worked. Tony Blair’s methodology was so successful and so convincing that the Conservatives and the Lib Dems reshaped themselves in his likeness. Arguably, a form of New Labour won in 2010 and 2015.

But, as they say, it’s the hope that kills you. When the inevitable attritional realities of governing start to weigh, when you make, as you will, bad decisions, when the list of enemies grows long, when you’ve just had your time, you’ll fall like all the rest – only, when you’ve soared so close to the sun, you have that much further to plummet.

The fall of Blair and of Labour should be a set text for anyone wishing to know what happens next to the SNP. Sunday night’s debate between the Scottish party leaders was, I think, a foretaste of what’s coming – a public that until recently was politically and emotionally invested in the Nats is growing restive. In time, this will turn to disenchantment, then anger, then revenge at the ballot box. This is the unbreakable cycle of democratic politics.

Some of us have warned since the start that the SNP had over-promised and could only under-deliver. Its raison d’etre is independence; everything else - literally everything else - is just another brick to build the path. And so education reform cannot be either radical or unpopular, even if it needs to be so to work, because the SNP cannot afford to alienate teachers or the teaching unions or parents. Bricks, you see. Same with the NHS and doctors and health unions and patients. All the separatists have done – all they could have done, given their nature - is deploy the rhetoric of the radical while in reality body-swerving hard choices and conflict at any cost. And where they have found themselves taking flak, they’ve pointed south to Westminster: "it’s no’ our fault, it’s theirs".

But voters show signs of wearying of the predictable blame game and waking up to the time-limited strategy of show-over-substance. Middle Scotland is either ignored or maligned by the middle-class socialists who drive the nation’s political debate, but it is where elections are won. The SNP has secured the support of enough of these people to win every recent election in style, but somewhere along the way the party seems to have forgotten this was a mandate not for independence, but for good government. Ten years in to SNP rule, each new audit of public services seems to wail like a warning siren – things aren’t just not improving, they’re getting worse. The SNP is not keeping its part of the deal.

So, during Sunday night’s debate it was Nicola Sturgeon, not Ruth Davidson or Kezia Dugdale, who found herself in the audience’s cross-hairs. It will have been a strange experience for a woman more used to public adulation and a clamour for selfies. There were the teachers, who complained about the damp squib that is the Curriculum for Excellence, the SNP’s flagship education policy; who pointed out that a fifth of primary pupils are leaving without basic literacy and numeracy skills; and who warned that lowering the standard of exams in order to push up the pass rate was not a mark of success.

Then there was the nurse who said she had been forced to use a food bank (the existence of which has been used repeatedly by the SNP as a stick with which to beat the Conservatives and Westminster): ‘I can’t manage on the salary I have [which is set by the Scottish Government]. You have no idea how demoralising it is to work in the NHS. Don’t come on your announced visits, come in in the middle of any day to any ward, any A&E department and see what we’re up against.’ She delivered the evening’s killer line: ‘Do you think your perceived obsession with independence might actually cost you… in this election?’

The list of reasonable criticisms is growing and will grow further. The ideological obsession with free university tuition for Scottish students is increasingly seen as a sop to the better-off, while in England the fee-charging regime has seen the number of students coming from poorer families climb. Ms Sturgeon’s demand for a quick second independence referendum, when a worried middle Scotland was focused on what Brexit might mean for its future, was tone deaf.

The SNP has another problem (one that New Labour, for all its flaws, didn’t face): its doctrine of infallibility. The Nats’ constitution explicitly prohibits its elected members from criticising the party, its policies or each other. While total unity is useful when you’re on the climb, it starts to look bonkers when the cracks are showing. Allowing public self-criticism, far from being a sign of weakness, is a necessary vent for inner tensions and a sign to voters that a political party is something more than a cult.

That ‘cult’ word has long dogged the SNP and its supporters. The party has tried hard to normalise its electoral appeal while keeping the flame of independence burning bright, but it has been a difficult balancing act. The pro-independence mob is an ugly thing when it is unleashed (and it has suited the leadership to open the cage at times). Claire Austin, the nurse who criticised the First Minister on Sunday, has found herself at its mercy. Immediately after the debate, the Nats briefed (wrongly) that she was the wife of a Tory councilor. The SNP branch in Stirling said Tebbitishly that if she was having to use food banks "maybe she needs to tighten her belt a bit more?" Joanna Cherry, a QC, MP and the SNP’s Home Affairs spokesperson, was forced to publicly apologise for spreading "Twitter rumours" about Ms Austin.

The ravening horde has largely kept its head down since the 2014 independence referendum, but we now see it hasn’t gone away - it is not enough for the SNP’s critics to be debated, they must be destroyed. This isn’t the behaviour of a normal political party: it’s the behaviour of a cult.

I might be wrong, but I have a feeling that when the SNP does fall it will fall quite quickly. Its belief in its infallibility, its inability or unwillingness to do self-deprecation or apology, will increasingly aggravate voters. There is nothing to suggest the current public policy failings will be addressed, and plenty of signs that things will get worse. How, then, do you arrest your fall?

The SNP offered hope and promised it was different, and the voters believed. The sense of betrayal could make for a very hard landing indeed.

Chris Deerin is the New Statesman's contributing editor (Scotland). 

0800 7318496