ECB keeps its head in the sand as German economy contracts

Draghi, where are you?

The Economist's Ryan Avent has made waves with a well-timed punchy question: why are we acting like the fact that the eurozone hasn't actually imploded means everything is alright there?

Some perspective is in order. Real euro-area output is at roughly the level of the end of 2006 and it is declining. The euro-area economy hasn't grown since the third quarter of 2011. Total employment is below the level first attained in the second quarter of 2006 and it is declining. The unemployment rate is of course at a record high 11.8%. And inflation—both core and headline—was virtually nil in the second half of 2012.

That's simply a dismal macroeconomic performance.

The European Central Bank deserves some credit for having halted the repeated attacks on the currency — and perhaps that credit should go to the president of the bank, Mario Draghi, himself. His declaration last July that the euro would be preserved "whatever it takes" is widely held to have been the turning point at which the survival of the euro was assured.

But the ECB's target should be higher than merely ensuring the continued existence of the currency it was created to oversee. And it's not just that the bank is trying, but failing, to boost demand in the eurozone. It has done, essentially, nothing. Interest rates remain well above even the zero-bound where conventional monetary policy falls apart, and its unconventional measures — which it was happy to employ when it was in a do-or-die situation — have been non-existent.

According to statistics released yesterday, Germany contracted by 0.5 per cent in the fourth quarter last year. Germany! That's the country that's supposed to be the beating heart of the eurozone. It's one thing when the analysis was that the ECB was unfairly trading Greek health for Germany; but based on who's being touted as success stories these days, you'd be forgiven for thinking that it's trading German health for Estonian. (Estonian GDP grew by 8 per cent in 2011, but that still left it 9 per cent below its pre-crisis peak — it's certainly not an unambiguous success story).

Draghi is apparently hoping that global growth will sweep in and restore the European economy from without, and that all he needs to do is keep it ticking over until then. But the job of a central bank governor is not to wait for dei ex machinae. And given the size of the eurozone, it may be rather hopeful to conclude that the is such a thing as a separate worldwide economy. Can the rest of Europe have a proper recovery with the eurozone depressed? What about the economies of North America, or Japan?

There's a temptation, especially on the part of those pessimistic about the EU in general, to throw their hands up and declare the situation irreconcilable. But despite — maybe because of — the ECB failing to even recognise there's a problem, it's not clear that it has no possible solutions. Once it gets its head out of the ground, maybe it will realise there are things it could have been doing all along.

Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism