We shouldn't be hanging on the every word of Britain’s new "superstar" central banker

Britain's economic debate needs to be more daring than the Bank of England can ever be, writes Jeremy Green.

Mark Carney’s "forward guidance" announcement yesterday was a new departure for the Bank of England. A publicly announced unemployment target will now help guide interest rates. Many had anticipated that Carney might introduce unorthodox policy measures, and in plumping for an unemployment target he has followed the lead of Ben Bernanke at the Federal Reserve. The measure is intended to assure markets that borrowing costs will remain low going forward, with the hope that this will spur further spending and investment in order to drive Britain’s fragile recovery.

It’s important not to place too much emphasis on the novelty of this announcement though. The Bank has not abandoned, or significantly relaxed, its commitment to price stability. The unemployment target will be jettisoned if there is a significant rise in inflation, or if continued loose monetary policy threatens financial stability. This is by no means a revolution in monetary policy.

The fact that so much attention has been lavished upon the appointment of Carney and his early policy announcements, demonstrates the overemphasis placed upon monetary policy as the only viable escape route from recession. In fact, the overdependence upon monetary policy has been a defining feature of the neoliberal era as a whole.

Ever since the anti-inflationary policies implemented by the Bank and the Fed in the early 1980s, monetary policy, coordinated by increasingly independent central banks, has been expected to play a larger role in steering economic growth. Under the high interest rate regimes of the early 1980s it was the money supply figures that were supposed to guide interest rates and provide a benchmark for market expectations, whereas now, in the context of zero-bound monetary policy, the unemployment rate is supposed to play a similar role.

As long as fiscal policy remains shackled by austerity, then the wider benefits of a looser monetary policy are likely to be meagre. Quantitative Easing has so far done much more for wealthy assets holders and share prices than it has for ordinary wages. Channelling the proactive element of the policy response to the crisis exclusively through monetary policy actually deepens our dependence upon financial markets as the engine for recovery. Doing so without redirecting credit into long-term infrastructural investment and export-led industries will reproduce the same deficiencies that have plagued the British economy.

Cheap money is likely to be funnelled into the property market, reinvigorating the speculation that led to the crisis in the first place and further concentrating wealth inequalities. Britain’s high levels of household debt will likely be aggravated, rather than alleviated, by the prolongation of cheaper credit in the context of falling or stagnant wages.

We should be talking about a proactive industrial strategy, expansionary fiscal policy and green jobs, rather than hanging on the every word of Britain’s new "superstar" central banker.

The flip side of Britain’s proactive monetary policy has been the talking-down of the potential for an expansionary fiscal policy. Quantitative Easing and fiscal austerity are the lead actors in a damaging double-act at the heart of the Coalition’s plan to restore British growth. But the key ingredients to getting out of the crisis, and providing more and better quality jobs in the process, are not austerity and cheaper consumer credit. We should be expanding fiscal stimulus and targeted investment through increased spending and taxation – tapping into the huge corporate surpluses in Britain as a source of strategically directed investment. Supply-side measures alone are entirely inadequate.

At a more fundamental level, the power and influence of an unelected and independent central banker should be a concern for all of us. In a democracy like ours, key economic decisions should be taken within a strong mandate of public accountability, not the shadowy and esoteric world of central bank policy making. The more faith we place in central banking to lead us out of the crisis, the less we place in the policy programmes of our elected politicians.

Photograph: Getty Images

Jeremy Green is a research fellow at the Sheffield Political Economy Research Institute at the University of Sheffield.

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What’s it like to be a human rights activist in post-Pussy Riot Russia?

It is five years since the feminist punk collective crashed Moscow’s Cathedral in a performance that got some of them jailed.

On 21 February 2012, five brightly-dressed members of Russian feminist punk collective Pussy Riot took to the alter of Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Saviour to protest links between the Russian Orthodox Church and its “chief saint” Russian President Vladimir Putin. “Virgin birth-giver of God, drive away Putin!” they shouted from beneath now-iconic balaclavas.

The “Punk Prayer” was both a political statement and a powerful feminist message. Six months later, a judge sentenced three of the girls to two years in prison (one was rapidly released) on a conspicuously apolitical conviction of “hooliganism motivated by religious hatred”.

These past five years, Russia’s involvement in crises in Syria and Ukraine has cast a dark shadow over relations with an increasingly cleaved-off West. The year 2015 saw opposition politician Boris Nemtsov murdered some 500 metres from the Kremlin walls.

Domestically, society has constricted people challenging the political status quo. However, low-key initiatives retain traction.

“Artists are simply silent,” says Russian curator and gallerist Marat Guelman, who left for Montenegro in early 2015. “It is better not to say anything about politics, it is better to bypass these issues.”

This is a major difference from five years ago. “Despite persecution against Pussy Riot, people were not afraid to defend them,” he says. “It was a better time.”

There are three topics artists and curators now avoid, says artist and feminist activist Mikaela. One is “homosexuality . . . especially if it involves adolescents”, she says, citing a 2015 exhibit about LGBT teens called “Be Yourself”. Authorities closed it and interrogated the galley owner. “Then the war in Ukraine,” she says. “Russian Orthodoxy is the third topic you cannot tackle.”

Marianna Muravyeva, a law professor at Moscow’s Higher School of Economics, says that aside from the government completely discarding human rights rhetoric, the most significant legal change is the “gay propaganda” law and “legislation against those who insult the feelings of believers”.

The latter came into force in July 2013. Since then, the Orthodox Church has made deeper societal incursions. Muravyeva says that the secular nature of the Soviet Union led to residual feelings of guilt towards the Church – and now it uses that “capital”.

Mikaela observes a “cultural expansion”, citing a new TV channel, radio station and three new churches in her neighbourhood alone.

Orthodox activist attacks on exhibits have increased. In August 2015, they targeted an exhibit at one of Moscow’s most prominent art galleries. Its perpetrators were found guilty of “petty hooliganism” and handed a 1,000 rouble fine (£14 by today’s rates).

“Any word written in Old Slavonic lettering is spirituality,” says Guelman. “Any work of art by a modern artist . . . depravity, sin, the impact of the West.”

Similar groups are active across Russia, and galleries err on the side of caution. Perpetrators, while self-organised, believe their actions to be state-sanctioned, says Muravyeva. They are influenced by “the kinds of messages” conveyed by the government. 

Nowadays, self-organisation is integral to artistic expression. Mikaela witnessed educational institutions and foreign foundations telling artists “we are with you”, “we know you are smart” but they cannot host political works for fear of closure. Not knowing where the “invisible line” lies foments uncertainty. “It’s self-censorship,” she says.

Dissident artist Petr Pavlensky, notorious for nailing his scrotum to the Red Square in late 2013 (“Fixation”) and setting fire to the doors of the FSB in 2015, advocates personal agency.

“Fixation” was about a sense of helplessness in Russia that must be overcome; he tried to convey the amount of power the castrated have. “Pavlensky says, ‘Look, I have even less than you’,” says Guelman. The artist and his partner Oksana Shalygina are now in France intending to seek asylum after sexual assault accusations.

Some rise to the opportunity, such as Daria Serenko. She rides the Moscow Metro carrying political posters as part of Tikhy Piket or “Silent Protest”. Her 12 February sign depicted a girl with her head in her arms inundated by the comments received if a women alleges rape (“she was probably drunk”, “what was she wearing?”).

However, as a lone individual in a public space, she experienced hostility. “Men, as always, laughed,” she posted on Facebook afterwards. Earlier this month an anonymous group pasted painted plants accompanied by anti-domestic violence messages around Omsk, southwestern Siberia.

Their appearance corresponded with Putin signing legislation on 7 February decriminalising domestic abuse that causes “minor harm”. While it doesn’t specifically mention women, Muravyeva says that the message “women can manage on their own” is a “disaster”.

On 27 January, after Russia’s parliament passed the final draft, pro-Kremlin tabloid Life released a video (“He Beats You Because He Loves You”) showing how to inflict pain without leaving a mark.

Heightened social awareness is aided by online networks. Since “Punk Prayer”, the proportion of people using the internet in Russia has exploded. In 2011, it was 33 per cent, while in 2016 it was 73 per cent, according annual Freedom House reports. Authorities have concurrently exerted stronger controls over it, eg. targeting individual social media users through broadly-worded laws against “extremism”.

Last July, the hashtag #ЯНеБоюсьСказать (“#IamNotAfraidtoSay”) went viral. Women documented experiences of sexual violence. Russian organisation Сёстры (“Sisters”), which helps survivors receive psychological support, receives “250-350” crisis calls annually.

“Over the past year, the number of applications increased,” because of the hashtag, it says. New media platforms Meduza and Wonderzine also emerged as more “socially aware” outlets. Previously “all we had was LiveJournal communities,” Mikaela says.

Bottom-up challenges are partially due to a generational shift. “Nobody bothered before,” says Muravyeva. “Those children who were born after ‘95 . . . they were already born in a very free society – they don’t know what it is to be afraid, they don’t know what it is to be self-censoring, what it is to be really scared of the state.”

Aliide Naylor is a British journalist and former Arts and Ideas Editor of The Moscow Times.

> Now read Anoosh Chakelian’s interview with Nadya Tolokonnikova of Pussy Riot