How Paypal robs the Bank of England

Digital currencies might start creating a sticky situation for central banks.

Have you ever wondered how the rise of digital currencies will impact on the monetary base, and the effects that will have on seigniorage revenue to governments worldwide? No? Well, this pair of articles by the Financial Times' Izabella Kaminska, "Why central banks should take charge of their digital currencies" and "Turning mobile money into M0" is interesting nonetheless.

Kaminska examines the typical problem central banks have with digital currencies, which is that they tend to mess around with the way banks expect the money supply of the nation to work. The immediate downside of that is that it impacts on seigniorage, the revenue accrued to a government by its right to mint coinage.

In other words, when you use PayPal rather than posting a £50 note, you need never hold that currency, and the government never receives the revenue for having printed it.

She writes:

Consequently, what you end up with is something very different to cash of the realm. In many ways, it’s worse than zero-yielding money due to the natural decay associated with transactional, creation and redemption costs. The other point is that Safaricom [the vendor of a hugely popular Kenyan mobile currency] is actually behaving much like a quasi-autonomous state within a state that’s issuing its own private money system, the value of which is constantly pegged to the official currency of the land.

How can nations fight back? (Assuming, of course, they ought to fight back — but that revenue is likely to be mighty tempting.) One possibility is by working with digital currency vendors to create payment mechanisms which don't require holding a parallel currency to work. And make no mistake, even though PayPal denominates its accounts in pounds and dollars, it's a parallel currency in all but name.

Jean-François Groff, one of the pioneers of the Web at CERN, is working on that option. Mobino, his company, is a mobile payment system which works on real-time debiting, not on keeping a float of a second currency on tap:

Mobino’s system aims to cut out as many intermediaries from the debit process as possible by getting you, the customer, to strike up a single direct debit agreement with itself. The company then charges the customer for transactions conducted with partner vendors, whilst the customer deals only with Mobino rather than a multitude of online or retail vendors.

And if that scheme was done by Mobino — or a similar system — working with a central bank, then the costs of running it could be funded from the seigniorage revenue it returns to the government. Rather than the cost of "printing" money being the actual ink and paper, it would become the price of maintaining servers and bandwidth.

In an ideal state-controlled money world, you could imagine the system mutating into one where the central bank itself ended up billing you directly for the use of their digital cash. So, rather than withdrawing physical cash to conduct your payments, you’d be transacting state-issued digital cash, now credited or debited from your account as quickly as a bank credits or debits cash to you at the ATM wall.

But, while Kaminska mentions it in passing, it would be interesting to see the analysis applied to Bitcoin. Lord knows the currency has its flaws, but it's the only one of the successful(ish) mobile payment systems which actually embraces the fact that it is a parallel currency — and a freely floating one, at that. The Bitcoin ecosystem has a specific method for distributing the seigniorage it generates, but also gradually reduces that rate; by 2140, the system will likely be in de-facto deflation.

By moving the transaction entirely into a parallel currency, the system is also more efficient than even Mobino could ever hope to be — provided you don't plan on converting Bitcoins into real-world money. If you do, things get trickier; the exchanges have had a number of high-profile failures, and are probably the weakest point in a network which manages to combine cryptographic perfection with an incredible amount of possibilities for human error.

It may be the case that central banks have to start examining what their role would be in a world of digital currencies; but if they do, it may be better for them to skip the sticking-plaster world of PayPal and Mobino and move straight to something designed for an all-digital world from the start.

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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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

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 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war