Jeff Bezos poses on a lorry after handing over a two billion dollar cheque to Indian Vice President and Country Manager of Amazon.in, Amit Agarwal, in Bangalore. Photo: Manjunath Kiran/AFP/Getty
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The party is over for Amazon

The retail giant was unstoppable – until this year. What happened?

At Business Insider’s annual Ignition conference Tuesday, CEO Jeff Bezos explained why Amazon’s stock price keeps rising despite almost zero profits: the company continues to invest in new businesses, and Amazon’s investors are OK with that. “If you’re going to take bold bets, they’re going to be experiments,” he said. “And if they’re experiments, you don't know ahead of time if they're going to work. Experiments are by their very nature prone to failure. But a few big successes compensate for dozens and dozens of things that didn’t work.”

But Amazon hit a road bump in 2014: its stock is down 18 per cent, and investors are no longer optimistic about the company’s outlook. This year has exposed the limitations of Bezos’s business strategy.

For most of Amazon’s existence, the company has been barely profitable. From 2007 through 2013, its revenues quintupled from $14.8bn to $74.45bn, but profits dropped from $436m to $273m. Note: that's billions in revenue, and just hundreds of millions in profits. Meanwhile, Amazon’s stock has consistently risen because investors didn't care about the dwindling profit margins. Bezos’s strategy worked: Amazon is now the US leader in online retail. It’s so big that the editor of the New Republic, Franklin Foer, wrote a cover story declaring the company a monopoly.

Then 2014 hit, and investors turned on the company. When Amazon announced on Monday that it would issue new unsecured debt, Moody’s downgraded the company’s outlook to negative. There are two reasons for this change in investor sentiment.

1. Revenue growth has slowed from 40 per cent in 2010 and 2011, to 27 per cent in 2012, to 22 per cent in 2013. This year it is projected to be between 16 and 20 per cent.

2. Amazon’s newest investments aren’t paying off. The most notable failure has been the Fire phone, which has received terrible reviews. In October, the firm took a $170m write-down loss as its inventory piled up and the company cut the cost of the phone from $200 to 99 cents. The Fire’s failure, at least so far, does not necessarily reveal a flaw in Bezos’s strategy. After all, if you make big bets, you’re going to have some major failures as well. “What really matters is that companies that don’t continue to experiment – companies that don’t embrace failurethey eventually get in a desperate position, where the only thing they can do is make a ‘Hail Mary’ bet at the very end,” Bezos said on Tuesday. Of course, not all of Amazon’s recent investments have failed. Fire TV, for instance, has been a success. But investors get nervous when those bets fail to pay off at the same time the core business’ growth slows. And the Fire phone was a big bet that has not worked.

Matt Yglesias, then writing for Slate, predicted this in January. “Amazon gets away with relentlessly investing in the future only because, for now, investors have faith in Bezos and his strategy,” he wrote. “But that faith has been tested in the past, and it’s likely that some future convulsion in markets will cause it to wane again.” Yglesias didn’t see any reason for this strategy to fail soon, much less this year. “For the foreseeable future, the party can – and willgo on, crushing everything in its path and generating mighty gains for consumers.”

On that point, Yglesias was wrong: investors have turned the lights on. The party is over. And yet, if his comments on Tuesday are any indication, Bezos isn’t planning to change his strategy anytime soon. That’s good news for Amazon’s penny-pinching customers, but could mean a rocky 2015 for the retail giant.

This article first appeared on newrepublic.com

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue