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''The delegates should assemble in sackcloth and ashes, with humble and contrite hearts''

In the New Statesman of 24 December 1932, John Maynard Keynes, advised world leaders on the

In the first six months of 1933 the world will be wondering between two alternatives; and until doubt is resolved it would be vain to expect genuine decisions from an International Conference. The alternatives are these. Will it be apparent by the middle of 1933 that this slump is the same in kind as past slumps though so violent in degree, and is gradually working itself off by the operation of natural forces and the economic system’s own resiliency? Or shall we find ourselves after a modest upwards reaction and dubious hopes of recovery, plunged back again into the slough? So long as there is any prospect of our realising the first alternative – and its realisation is not impossible – we may be certain that the International Conference will confine itself to pious words. Only in the other event, with hopes dashed and the oppression of renewed and universal despair terrifying the delegates, will there be any chance of action commensurate with the problem.

It is easy to predict the agenda of the Conference. A number of resolutions will be passed declaring that many things ought to be changed, but without a serious intention of changing them. Exchange restrictions will be denounced, but those countries where they exist will regret that they are in no position to abate them. It will be said that debts should be written down when they are beyond the capacity of the borrower, but no individual creditor will offer to write them down. The Conference will declare that there should be a general return to the gold standard as soon as possible, but those countries which have gained their liberty in this respect will not surrender it except on conditions which they do not expect to see satisfied. The Conference may agree, even with French acquiescence, that prices should be raised. But will it offer any plan for raising them?

So long as the Conference deals with symptoms and not with causes the shadow of futility will lie across its path. Its first task therefore should be to distinguish one from the other.

The trouble began with something that is best described as "a state of financial tension". In the United States the causes of tension were internal; elsewhere they were in their origins mainly international. These initiating causes are well known - on the one hand a frenzy of speculation in the United States, on the other hand a cess ation of the international lending which had been off-setting the disequilibrium of the balances of payment between countries which war debts and tarriffs would have already produced otherwise. A state of financial tension means that individuals and communities suddenly find much increased difficulty in putting their hands on money to meet their obligations, with the result that they take various measures to reduce their purchasing.

There is one, and only one, genuine remedy; namely to increase demand - in other words to increase expenditure. As the slump progresses it becomes more difficult to do this. At first a relief in the financial tension would have been enough by itself. But when the decline of prices and profits has gone beyond a certain point, the incentive to produce, and not merely the financial ability, has disappeared. At this point, the State itself must, in my judgement, start the ball rolling by deliberately organising expenditure.

The essential task is to divide measures for the direct relief of financial tension between nations.

Our plan must be spectacular, so as to change the grey complexion of men's minds. It must apply to all countries and to all simultaneously. Each at the same time must feel able to remove barriers to trade and to purchase freely. If we all begin purchasing again, we shall all have the means to do so. The appropriate stimulus to the activity of trade will vary from nation to nation; in some a relief from taxation, in some a programme of public works, in some an expansion of credit, in some a relaxation of exchange and import restrictions, in some a repayment of pressing debts, in some the mere removal of anxieties and fear, in some the mere stimulus to the lords of business to be courageous and active again. What is the charm to awaken the Sleeping Beauty, to scale the mountain of glass without slipping back? If every Treasury were to discover in its vaults a large cache of gold proportional in size to the scale of its economic life, would not that work the charm? Why should that cache not be devised? We have long printed gold nationally. Why should we not print it internationally? No reason in the world, unless our hands are palsied and our wits dull.

The plan would be as follows. An international body – the Bank of International Settlements or a new institution created for the purpose – would be instructed by the assembled nations to print gold certificates to the amount of (say) $5,000,000,000. The countries participating would undertake to provide a lawful ratio of equivalence, though not necessarily an unchangeable one, between gold and their national moneys. The gold certificates would then be distributed to the participants in proportions determined by a formula, based on their economic weight in the world . . . I see no disadvantages in [this plan] and no dangers. It requires nothing but a little more elastic than usual.

The delegates to the World Conference should assemble in sackcloth and ashes, with humble and contrite hearts. It is, I suppose, well nigh the fiftieth of post-war Conferences. Fear and greed, duplicity and incompetence, but above all conventional thought and feeling, have brought their collective performance far below the level of the participants regarded as human individuals. But here is a last opportunity. Finis Coronat opus.

The above is an edited extract

John Maynard Keynes (1883-1946) was a highly influential British economist.

This article first appeared in the 10 November 2008 issue of the New Statesman, Change has come

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State