Leader: Don’t bet the bank on Mark Carney

Until the government marries monetary activism with fiscal activism, Britain will not have a recovery worthy of the name.

We live in the age of the cult of the central banker. As governments of both left and right have retreated from economic interventionism, it is Ben Bernanke in the United States, Mario Draghi in Europe and Haruhiko Kuroda in Japan who have led the fightback against recession. Few of the new masters of the universe are more feted than the Canadian Mark Carney, who takes office as governor of the Bank of England on 1 July. Since being named as Mervyn King’s successor six months ago, he has been continually hailed as a saviour for the British economy. When it was pointed out to George Osborne that the Office for Budget Responsibility had forecast that the measures included in his most recent Budget would have “no impact on the level of GDP”, he replied that the estimate did not take into account the changes that Mr Carney would make. The Chancellor is a self-described “fiscal conservative” and “monetary activist”. He is banking on Threadneedle Street to deliver the recovery that he has not.

The appointment of Mr Carney (who is profiled by Alex Brummer on page 20) was a shrewd one. As our economics editor, David Blanchflower, a former member of the Bank’s Monetary Policy Committee (MPC), has written, he was “the best person available” for the job. Untainted by any of the recent banking scandals, he performed admirably as governor of the Bank of Canada, cutting interest rates aggressively in March 2008, a year before the Bank of England and the European Central Bank did. Mr Osborne was right to prefer him to the City’s candidate of choice, the deputy governor Paul Tucker, who ignored early warnings of the manipulation of LIBOR by Barclays and responded sluggishly to the financial crisis.

But if Mr Carney, in the words of one of his defeated rivals, has been “launched on the nation as a messiah”, there are good reasons to believe he will be a false one. The base rate is already at a record low of 0.5 per cent, where it has been for more than four years, and the Bank has already performed £375bn of quantitative easing (QE), the equivalent of nearly a quarter of annual GDP. With growth still anaemic and inflation at just 2.4 per cent, there is a strong case for further loosening but Mr Carney will need to overcome the resistance of the MPC, which has voted against additional QE for 11 consecutive months. Unlike in Canada, where the governor has sole responsibility for policy, he will require the support of a majority of the other eight committee members, six of whom have consistently opposed new stimulus.

Where Mr Carney is more likely to prevail is in following the example of the US Federal Reserve and offering “forward guidance” on interest rates. This would entail a commitment to keep rates low until a certain economic threshold has been met (the Federal Reserve has adopted an unemployment target of 6.5 per cent). Although the markets already expect the base rate to remain at 0.5 per cent until 2016, this would have the beneficial effect of dampening expectations of a rise should growth exceed current forecasts. The principal reason to remain sceptical of Mr Carney’s potential is the inherent limits of monetary policy. When consumers are unwilling to borrow and banks unwilling to lend, it is the state that must act as a spender of last resort and stimulate growth through measures such as temporary tax cuts, housebuilding programmes and infrastructure spending. It is Mr Osborne’s reluctance to accept this truth that does much to explain the parlous performance of the British economy, which has grown just 1.1 per cent since 2010 and remains 2.6 percentage points below its pre-recession peak. The Chancellor is fond of citing the example of Mr Carney’s native Canada, which eliminated its deficit in just three years in the mid-1990s, but it was the concurrent boom in the US, not an “expansionary contraction”, that enabled it to do so.

As even the new governor has said, “Some people may be expecting central banks to do too much” – and none more so than Mr Osborne. Until the government marries monetary activism with fiscal activism, Britain will not have a recovery worthy of the name.

Incoming governor of the Bank of England Mark Carney arrives at the G7 finance ministers and central bank governors meeting in Aylesbury on 10 May, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.
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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism