Bank of England joins the "forward guidance" party

The Bank of England's Monetary Policy Committee has announced that they will adopt "forward guidance" - a move which could prove psychologically self-defeating, or worse financially ruinous.

A few weeks ago I wrote in this blog that I felt the adoption of "forward guidance" by the Bank of England’s Monetary Policy Committee would be a mistake. Well, as expected, they did so, in an announcement timed to coincide with the publication of the Bank’s August Inflation Report -the quarterly document which lays out the Bank’s perception of the current state of the economy and forecasts for its performance over the next few years.

In that previous blog I highlighted the danger that forward guidance could inflict self-defeating psychological damage upon people and businesses by telling them, effectively, to ignore the good economic headlines that are increasingly appearing in the newspapers - i.e. the Bank of England doesn’t believe a word of it, and therefore won’t be raising interest rates for years to come.

The other side of the coin is potentially as dangerous. The form of guidance adopted was an assurance that the Bank wouldn’t raise rates until unemployment hit 7.0 per cent, (it is currently 7.8 per cent, and the Bank’s Report expects it to fall to 7.0 per cent only in mid-2016). In a vain attempt to preserve what’s left of the MPC’s credibility as an inflation fighter, caveats, or "knock-outs", were added to this promise. There were three of these: they wouldn’t wait that long to tighten policy if they thought a) inflation was going to be above 2.5 per cent in eighteen months to two years' time, b) inflation expectations became "unanchored", or c) "the stance of monetary policy pose[d] a significant threat to financial stability".

The nightmare scenario for the Bank, and for us all, is that policy has to be tightened because one of the "knock-outs" has been triggered before unemployment has fallen meaningfully. Imagine a world, 12 or 18 months hence, where either "knock-out" a) or b) is triggered, but unemployment is stuck stubbornly at 7.2 per cent. Given what's happening in the housing market, the prospects for acceleration thereof following this guidance, and the UK economy’s propensity to exhibit high inflation, I see a real danger that knock-out b) is the problem.

On the other hand, given the "productivity puzzle", (in this recession, productivity has dropped, and unemployment has risen less than one might normally expect), the stage seems set for productivity to rise, at the expense of employment, especially as employers become more confident and commit to long-delayed capital investment in new, more efficient plants and machinery.

If either inflation "knock-out" is triggered within the 12 to 18 months time horizon I mentioned above, that is a lot sooner than the date at which the Bank of England’s own forecasts expect unemployment to hit 7 per cent, i.e. mid-2016, (and Carney assures us 7 per cent is only a "way station" anyway, not a "trigger" for higher rates), and the danger here is that individuals and businesses are now fooled into taking on more and more debt, comforted by the Bank’s prediction that rates will stay where they are for almost another 3 years at a minimum, and the UK can already hardly be characterised as a country with low private debt. If rates do have to rise much sooner than this, then loan delinquency could sky rocket.

Outside the Bank of England. Photograph: Getty Images.

Chairman of  Saxo Capital Markets Board

An Honours Graduate from Oxford University, Nick Beecroft has over 30 years of international trading experience within the financial industry, including senior Global Markets roles at Standard Chartered Bank, Deutsche Bank and Citibank. Nick was a member of the Bank of England's Foreign Exchange Joint Standing Committee.

More of his work can be found here.

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We argue over Charlie Gard, but forget those spending whole lives caring for a disabled child

The everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over life and death.

“Sometimes,” says the mother, “I wish we’d let him go. Or that he’d just been allowed to slip away.” The father agrees, sometimes. So too does the child, who is not a child any more.

On good days, nobody thinks this way, but not all days are good. There have been bright spots during the course of the past four decades, occasional moments of real hope, but now everyone is tired, everyone is old and the mundane work of loving takes a ferocious toll.

When we talk about caring for sick children, we usually mean minors. It’s easiest that way. That for some parents, the exhaustion and intensity of those first days with a newborn never, ever ends – that you can be in your fifties, sixties, seventies, caring for a child in their twenties, thirties, forties – is not something the rest of us want to think about.

It’s hard to romanticise devotion strung out over that many hopeless, sleepless nights. Better to imagine the tragic mother holding on to the infant who still fits in her loving arms, not the son who’s now twice her size, himself edging towards middle-age and the cliff edge that comes when mummy’s no longer around.

Writing on the tragic case of Charlie Gard, the Guardian’s Giles Fraser claims that he would “rain fire on the whole world to hold my child for a day longer”. The Gard case, he argues, has “set the cool rational compassion of judicial judgement and clinical expertise against the passion of parental love”: “Which is why those who have never smelled the specific perfume of Charlie’s neck, those who have never held him tight or wept and prayed over his welfare, are deemed better placed to determine how he is to live and die.”

This may be true. It may also be true that right now, countless parents who have smelled their own child’s specific perfume, held them tightly, wept for them, loved them beyond all measure, are wishing only for that child’s suffering to end. What of their love? What of their reluctance to set the world aflame for one day more? And what of their need for a life of their own, away from the fantasies of those who’ll passionately defend a parent’s right to keep their child alive but won’t be there at 5am, night after night, cleaning out feeding tubes and mopping up shit?

Parental – in particular, maternal – devotion is seen as an endlessly renewable resource. A real parent never gets tired of loving. A real parent never wonders whether actually, all things considered, it might have caused less suffering for a child never to have been born at all. Such thoughts are impermissible, not least because they’re dangerous. Everyone’s life matters. Nonetheless, there are parents who have these thoughts, not because they don’t love their children, but because they do.

Reporting on the Gard case reminds me of the sanitised image we have of what constitutes the life of a parent of a sick child. It’s impossible not to feel enormous compassion for Charlie’s parents. As the mother of a toddler, I know that in a similar situation I’d have been torn apart. It’s not difficult to look at photos of Charlie and imagine one’s own child in his place. All babies are small and helpless; all babies cry out to be held.

But attitudes change as children get older. In the case of my own family, I noticed a real dropping away of support for my parents and disabled brother as the latter moved into adulthood. There were people who briefly picked him up as a kind of project and then, upon realising that there would be no schmaltzy ending to the story, dropped him again. Love and compassion don’t conquer all, patience runs out and dignity is clearly best respected from a distance.

All too often, the everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over who gets the right to decide whether an individual lives or dies. I don’t know any parents who truly want that right. Not only would it be morally untenable, it’s also a misrepresentation of what their struggles really are and mean.

What many parents who remain lifelong carers need is adequate respite support, a space in which to talk honestly, and the recognition that actually, sometimes loving is a grim and hopeless pursuit. Those who romanticise parental love – who, like Fraser, wallow in heroic portrayals of “battling, devoted parents” – do nothing to alleviate the suffering of those whose love mingles with resentment, exhaustion and sheer loneliness.

There are parents out there who, just occasionally, would be willing to set the world on fire to have a day’s respite from loving. But regardless of whether your child lives or dies, love never ends. 

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.