Watering down Basel III's not a sop to the banks

But it is still a hallmark of some worryingly misguided thinking.

The changes to the Basel III international banking regulations have been widely reported as a sop to financiers. But what actually happened?

The Basel regulations are about the stability of the banking system. When the third Basel accord comes into effect this year, it will introduce strict new requirements how leveraged-up banks can be, as well as mandating that they hold enough liquid assets to cover all of their cash outflows for a month. The idea is that by requiring these safety nets, the amount of revenue banks can make is curtailed, but so too is the risk that they will go belly-up in the event of another crisis.

The problem with Basel III is that reducing the amount of leverage a bank is allowed to use is the same as reducing the number of loans it is allowed to make, assuming its available capital stays the same. Reducing the number of loans is sort of what we don't want to happen, what with much of the developed world still being deep in depression and businesses clinging to survival by the skin of their teeth.

In fact, as the NYT's Andrew Ross Sorkin writes, the chances of a leverage induced crisis are quite low.

The change in Basel has been painted, by none-other than Mervyn King, as a trade-off. We thought that the big risk would be another bust; but now we know the big risk is a dead recovery. So lets water down the regulations. King said:

Since we attach great importance to try to make sure that banks can indeed finance a recovery, it does not make sense to impose a requirement on banks that might damage the recovery.

But the problem is, it's not Basel's leverage requirements that have changed. It's the liquidity ones. And they are a lot more important to implement sooner rather than later.

Leverage requirements are important in case we find ourselves in a situation like 2008, where the value of the assets banks are holding drops precipitously. Banks suddenly find themselves much poorer than they thought they were, and a wave of failures sweeps through the system. But we are a long way from the sort of bubble which is required for leverage requirements to be needed. First we need a recovery.

Liquidity requirements, on the other hand, guard against bank runs. And bank runs are a symptom of lack of faith in the system – something which remains very real today. The dilution of Basel now delays the implementation of those requirements, meaning that the risk of bank runs won't be actively fought until 2019; and it also weakens the very requirements themselves, allowing banks to claim a far larger pool of assets as "liquid capital".

Felix Salmon points out that what's really happening is that Basel III has become the latest in unconventional central bank actions:

The committee has clearly determined that if you’ve run out of ammunition in terms of interest rates and quantitative easing, then when you’re searching around for some other monetary-easing tool, regulations are a reasonable place to look. And I really don’t like that precedent. Monetary policy should be entirely separate from bank regulation, even if central banks should properly perform both roles. With the ink barely dry on the Basel III agreement, now is no time to start diluting it for the sake of some hypothetical temporary future marginal boost to growth.

It's important to point out that the actual changes may not be that bad. Alphaville's Lisa Pollack argues that there's a fair amount of whinging which ignores that the weakened regulations are still perfectly perfectly capable of fighting a liquidity crisis. But the principle of the change is still concerning. Regulators decided what would be the best and safest way of running banks, and then changed their mind based, not on new evidence that they could achieve the same safety with less stringent regulations, but on completely different criteria. That bears the hallmarks of the thinking which got us into this problem in the firs place.

A man walks down the banks of the Rhine in Basel, Switzerland. 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 UK press’s timid reaction to Brexit is in marked contrast to the satire unleashed on Trump

For the BBC, it seems, to question leaving the EU is to be unpatriotic.

Faced with arguably their biggest political-cum-constitutional ­crisis in half a century, the press on either side of the pond has reacted very differently. Confronting a president who, unlike many predecessors, does not merely covertly dislike the press but rages against its supposed mendacity as a purveyor of “fake news”, the fourth estate in the US has had a pretty successful first 150-odd days of the Trump era. The Washington Post has recovered its Watergate mojo – the bloodhound tenacity that brought down Richard Nixon. The Post’s investigations into links between the Kremlin and Donald Trump’s associates and appointees have yielded the scalp of the former security adviser Michael Flynn and led to Attorney General Jeff Sessions recusing himself from all inquiries into Trump-Russia contacts. Few imagine the story will end there.

Meanwhile, the New York Times has cast off its image as “the grey lady” and come out in sharper colours. Commenting on the James Comey memo in an editorial, the Times raised the possibility that Trump was trying to “obstruct justice”, and called on Washington lawmakers to “uphold the constitution”. Trump’s denunciations of the Times as “failing” have acted as commercial “rocket fuel” for the paper, according to its CEO, Mark Thompson: it gained an “astonishing” 308,000 net digital news subscriptions in the first quarter of 2017.

US-based broadcast organisations such as CNN and ABC, once considered slick or bland, have reacted to Trump’s bullying in forthright style. Political satire is thriving, led by Saturday Night Live, with its devastating impersonations of the president by Alec Baldwin and of his press secretary Sean Spicer by the brilliant Melissa McCarthy.

British press reaction to Brexit – an epic constitutional, political and economic mess-up that probably includes a mind-bogglingly destructive self-ejection from a single market and customs union that took decades to construct, a move pushed through by a far-right faction of the Tory party – has been much more muted. The situation is complicated by the cheerleading for Brexit by most of the British tabloids and the Daily Telegraph. There are stirrings of resistance, but even after an election in which Theresa May spectacularly failed to secure a mandate for her hard Brexit, there is a sense, though the criticism of her has been intense, of the media pussy-footing around a government in disarray – not properly interrogating those who still seem to promise that, in relation to Europe, we can have our cake and eat it.

This is especially the case with the BBC, a state broadcaster that proudly proclaims its independence from the government of the day, protected by the famous “arm’s-length” principle. In the case of Brexit, the BBC invoked its concept of “balance” to give equal airtime and weight to Leavers and Remainers. Fair enough, you might say, but according to the economist Simon Wren-Lewis, it ignored a “near-unanimous view among economists that Brexit would hurt the UK economy in the longer term”.

A similar view of “balance” in the past led the BBC to equate views of ­non-scientific climate contrarians, often linked to the fossil-fuel lobby, with those of leading climate scientists. Many BBC Remainer insiders still feel incensed by what they regard as BBC betrayal over Brexit. Although the referendum of 23 June 2016 said nothing about leaving the single market or the customs union, the Today presenter Justin Webb, in a recent interview with Stuart Rose, put it like this: “Staying in the single market, staying in the customs union – [Leave voters would say] you might as well not be leaving. That fundamental position is a matter of democracy.” For the BBC, it seems, to question Brexit is somehow to be unpatriotic.

You might think that an independent, pro-democratic press would question the attempted use of the arcane and archaic “royal prerogative” to enable the ­bypassing of parliament when it came to triggering Article 50, signalling the UK’s departure from the EU. But when the campaigner Gina Miller’s challenge to the government was upheld by the high court, the three ruling judges were attacked on the front page of the Daily Mail as “enemies of the people”. Thomas Jefferson wrote that he would rather have “newspapers without a government” than “a government without newspapers”. It’s a fair guess he wasn’t thinking of newspapers that would brand the judiciary as “enemies of the people”.

It does seem significant that the United States has a written constitution, encapsulating the separation and balance of powers, and explicitly designed by the Founding Fathers to protect the young republic against tyranny. When James Madison drafted the First Amendment he was clear that freedom of the press should be guaranteed to a much higher degree in the republic than it had been in the colonising power, where for centuries, after all, British monarchs and prime ministers have had no qualms about censoring an unruly media.

By contrast, the United Kingdom remains a hybrid of monarchy and democracy, with no explicit protection of press freedom other than the one provided by the common law. The national impulse to bend the knee before the sovereign, to obey and not question authority, remains strangely powerful in Britain, the land of Henry VIII as well as of George Orwell. That the United Kingdom has slipped 11 places in the World Press Freedom Index in the past four years, down to 40th, has rightly occasioned outrage. Yet, even more awkwardly, the United States is three places lower still, at 43rd. Freedom of the press may not be doing quite as well as we imagine in either country.

Harry Eyres is the author of Horace and Me: Life Lessons from an Ancient Poet (2013)

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder