The platinum coin is killed as America careens toward default

The platinum coin is dead, long live the debt ceiling.

On Saturday evening, the Washington Post's Ezra Klein dropped a bombshell: The platinum coin gambit – the plan to circumvent the American debt ceiling by minting a trillion-dollar coin and depositing it in the Federal Reserve – is dead. Klein writes:

That’s the bottom line of the statement that Anthony Coley, a spokesman for the Treasury Department, gave me today. “Neither the Treasury Department nor the Federal Reserve believes that the law can or should be used to facilitate the production of platinum coins for the purpose of avoiding an increase in the debt limit,” he said.

The Treasury's take on the law is one thing; but the Federal Reserve, as a quasi-independent body, is really what's put the kibosh on the whole plan. If it doesn't believe that using a platinum coin to circumvent the debt limit would be legal, that's it. The lynchpin of the plan was that the Treasury, after using powers granted to it through a loophole in a law intended to let it mint commemorative coins for collectors, would be able to deposit the coin in its account in the Fed. If the Fed won't take it, the plan's bust.

Joe Weisenthal, the most consistent advocate of the platinum coin, points out that it's hard to work out what point of law the Fed was actually trying to apply here:

It seems odd that the Fed would decide that there's some legal tender that it will recognize, and some legal tender that it wouldn't recognize.

Paul Krugman, who became a high-profile advocate of minting the coin last week, asks what the administration's plan is now, but also somewhat unfairly places the blame on Obama. Given the White House's comment to Buzzfeed focuses on the Fed, it seems like they weren't exactly behind the move to pre-emptively remove the bargaining chip from the table.

Regardless, the administration's position now is clear. The debt ceiling must be lifted, and they will offer no "concessions" to do so. With the platinum coin out of the equation – and with the so-called "constitutional option", where the President cites the 14th amendment's command that the validity of the public debt "shall not be questioned" and ignores the debt ceiling, ruled out by the White House last month – the Republicans can be under no illusions that if they fail to concede, America will definitely have a messy government shutdown, and will likely enter technical default on its public debt. The only question that they have to answer is whether they have an ounce of rationality left, or if they'll take the whole system down, themselves included.

Past experience suggests that the latter is worryingly possible. For one thing, conservative economists like John Cochrane have been minimising the effect of hitting the ceiling. Cochrane casts doubt on possibility of default by rightly pointing out that the Treasury has enough income to make debt repayments even if the ceiling is hit. But by ignoring the practical aspects of hitting the ceiling, he bypasses an important point. The treasury pays its bills with a vastly complex, automated system. It is not clear it has the technology to "prioritise" debt repayments, nor is it clear that to do so would be legal.

And even worse, those GOP members who do understand the likelihood of a default aren't too concerned. Politico's Jim Vandehei, Mike Allen and Jake Sherman write:

GOP officials said more than half of their members are prepared to allow default unless Obama agrees to dramatic cuts he has repeatedly said he opposes…

“For too long, the pitch was, we’ll deal with it next time,” said Rep. Jason Chaffetz, a conservative from Utah. He said GOP lawmakers are prepared to shut things down or even default if Obama doesn’t bend on spending. “No one wants to default, but we are not going to continue to give the president a limitless credit card.”

If the US did default on its debt – even just by paying a coupon a day late – the international knock-on effects would be massive, and unprecedented. Now that every option for preventing that has been taken off the table save for negotiating with the most radical congress ever, the financial community may start to take note.

Photograph: Wikimedia Commons

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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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