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The coming storm

Tensions in the global economy are near breaking point. The looming turmoil in stock markets, interest rates and currencies will affect us all.

1. Making sense of the mayhem

When does a stock-market slide become a crash? And when does a financial crash spark an economic crisis? At the end of last year, few investors were giving much thought to such nice distinctions. Less than two months into 2016, with the leading global equity indices having dropped between 10 and 25 per cent at their worst, these questions are on everyone’s lips.

The turmoil in the equity markets should not really come as a surprise: the warning signs have been there for some time. Haggard veterans returning from other financial fronts – oil and metals exchanges; the emerging markets, including China; corporate bond funds – have been reporting heavy losses and instances of extreme volatility for more than 18 months. Safe-haven flows flooding into the soundest government bonds left more than $5trn of them yielding less than 0 per cent by late 2015; in effect, investors were paying governments for the privilege of lending to them. Even in the most liquid global asset class of all, the 24/7 market for foreign exchange, erratic behaviour has been on the rise. The Swiss franc, the world’s fifth most traded currency, jumped by nearly 30 per cent on one morning just over a year ago.

The potential of these dislocations to derail the UK’s economic recovery has not been lost on our policymakers. The Bank of England’s Monetary Policy Committee has comprehensively surrendered the idea of finally raising interest rates: its one member who had been voting in favour joined the more pessimistic majority earlier this month. The Chancellor, meanwhile, has been at pains in recent speeches to warn of the “cocktail of risks” facing the British economy. There seems little doubt, in other words, that the sudden acceleration of uncertainty on global financial markets is serious. But why is it happening – and what does it mean?

If the crisis of 2008 taught us anything, it is that, after three and a half decades of financial globalisation, we live in an uncannily interconnected world. A slide in the price of new-build homes in the suburbs of Las Vegas can lead to a death spiral in the shares of a German provincial bank. A squeeze in the market for an esoteric derivative product understood by only the two or three investment-bank rocket scientists in New York who designed it can force a collapse in a currency used by more than a billion people halfway round the world. The price of every financial asset is connected in some way to every other – and like the apocryphal butterfly flapping its wings and causing a hurricane a thousand miles away, a tiny bit of indigestion in the most innocuous of markets can precipitate violent convulsions elsewhere.

It is easy to assume that this complex web of interdependency makes the markets impossible to read – and in general, one should indeed be wary of plausible-sounding ­tipsters pointing to this or that particular share price as a sure sign that Armageddon or Nirvana is round the corner.

Yet although all financial prices are in this important sense equal, some are most definitely more equal than others. These days, there are three prices, above all the many thousands of others, which govern the global economy.

The first – probably the most fundamental of all, though by no means the most familiar – is the yield on the benchmark US treasury bond, the interest rate that the American government has to pay to borrow from savers for a term of ten years. This is the purest expression of the price of money: it captures the cost of acquiring purchasing power that you don’t already have in the world’s largest and wealthiest economy. It is also the best gauge of markets’ deepest fears – for when recession looms, investors want only the safest financial claims; and when disaster threatens, only claims on the US government will do. The whole world bids for US treasury bonds, making their prices fly and their yields plummet.

The second core price is better known. It is the level of the S&P 500 Index, the American equivalent of the FTSE 100: the price that summarises the value of the US stock market. The value of equity shares rises and falls with the waxing and waning of economic growth and corporate profitability – so this price measures the market’s appetite for risk, by taking the temperature of its enthusiasm for the largest, most productive and most inventive companies in the world.

The final member of this global financial triumvirate is the trade-weighted exchange rate of the US dollar, or its average exchange rate against the other major currencies of the world. The dollar is the world’s reserve currency – the one money that everyone, everywhere, is happy to use. It is the default denomination of every international debt contract; outstanding dollar loans to Chinese companies alone add up to nearly $1trn. When the dollar strengthens on the foreign exchanges, servicing dollar debt becomes more expensive. So this price calibrates the global cost of doing business.

These three prices exercise powerful gravitational pulls on every aspect of the world economy, like three moons inexorably drawing the global financial tides this way and that. As with real celestial bodies, when they are in alignment, the sea is smooth and investors enjoy plain sailing; but when their orbits diverge, we are in for equinoctial gales and rough crossings.

We need look no further than the current financial disruption for a case in point.

 

2. The markets’ trilemma

All three prices today stand close to historic extremes. At 1.75 per cent, the yield on the US treasury note is within touching distance of its all-time low in the modern era – 1.38 per cent, notched up in July 2012 at the height of the worldwide gloom over the euro crisis (see chart on page 27). The level of the US stock market, by contrast, is high; equity prices are “rich” after seven years of relentless rallies, even after the wobble of the past two months.

The dollar, meanwhile, is positively rampant. It has strengthened by 24 per cent against the US’s main trading partners in the past 18 months alone, and is more expensive than it was at the peak of the dotcom bubble in the late Nineties, when all everyone wanted was to own a bit of cor­porate America.

Separately, these prices may all make sense. When we try to fit all three together, however, the tensions underlying the current market turbulence become clear. Each of the three most likely short-term scenarios for the global economy is consistent with two of them. None is compatible with them all.

The first scenario to consider is the one the world’s policymakers are currently betting on: that the economic recovery in the United States, though a bit limp, remains on track. There may be icy winds blowing from China and the other emerging markets, and a lack of momentum in Europe and Japan. Yet fundamentally the US economy remains in good health, and the collapse since mid-2014 in commodity prices – from oil to copper and iron ore – is, on balance, a net positive for American growth.

The second scenario is the one that is all over the press: the US, and perhaps the whole world economy, is already in recession. China piled up a mountain of debt seeking to offset the negative effects of the last crisis, but that borrowing financed the construction of ghost cities and commodity speculation. Now the reckoning has arrived, the Chinese boom has gone into reverse, and the resulting fall in commodity prices is wreaking economic and political havoc from Riyadh to Rio de Janeiro – and even in the US itself.

The third scenario is superficially the least dramatic, and hence figures least in the news. It is that things have got neither suddenly better, nor suddenly worse. Fundamentally, the US and the world remain stuck in the same, mildly disappointing rut they have been in since 2009. Call it the “new normal”, call it “secular stagnation”, it is neither a proper recovery nor a new global recession: it is simply the familiar pattern of low growth, low inflation and low interest rates that we have been living with for the past seven years.

Which of these scenarios is the one we actually face? For the purpose of understanding the current market meltdown, it doesn’t really matter. The reason for investors’ manifest uncertainty is that none of these three scenarios is consistent with all three of the governing prices in the global system.

If the US recovery is intact, then a strong dollar and a fully valued stock market look reasonable – but US treasury yields should be significantly higher, reflecting the higher inflation and more hawkish monetary policy that robust growth inevitably implies.

If, on the other hand, the US is close to or in recession, then both low treasury yields and dollar strength could be justified as the product of a flight to the safest asset in the global system and its main reserve currency – but the stock market is hopelessly overpriced because profits are doomed to dry up.

If both these dynamic views turn out to be red herrings, and the US is to be stuck in the recent grind of low growth and low inflation for the foreseeable future, then it is easy to envision treasury yields staying low and equity markets staying high under the continuing influence of ultra-loose monetary policy. Yet by the same token, it is difficult to see why the dollar should keep up its stunning run: it has been the stark divergence in monetary policy – hawkish in the US, dovish everywhere else – that has propelled its dizzying ascent.

The problem is that one of these three scenarios (or something broadly similar) will eventually come to pass. When it does, at least one of the three master prices that govern the global economy will have to adjust, and probably rapidly. The markets are in the grip of a trilemma that will almost certainly prove highly disruptive – and investors are cottoning on.

 

3. Monetary policy rules, but for how much longer?

So much for the current market action and its proximate cause. What about the longer term?

The first and second scenarios – recovery and recession – at least have the virtue of being familiar. A global recovery would certainly be preferable to a global recession. But either scenario would at least restore confidence that the type of business cycle we have known for the past sixty years still exists. That would be important because it would mean that the conventional models of the economy remain valid, and policies derived from them the best bet there is.

The third scenario – a return to the lacklustre but at least relatively stable path of the past seven years – would be more worrying, for many investors. The reason is simple. It would reinforce the sense that neither investors nor policymakers really understand what is going on.

The key feature of the relative economic calm that the world experienced from 2009 to mid-2014 was the unprecedentedly loose monetary policy implemented by the world’s major central banks. Central bank interest rates in the US, the eurozone, Japan and the UK have been pinned close to zero. Policymakers have made delicately turned verbal commitments to keep rates low for a very long time – the policy experiment called “forward guidance”. Trillions of dollars, euros and yen, and hundreds of billions of pounds, have been freshly printed under the rubric of “quantitative easing” (QE) in order to make money still more freely available when the conven­tional strategy of cutting interest rates has been exhausted.

The striking thing about these policies is that they are only tangentially supported by the theoretical frameworks that these central banks use to understand the economy. As Ben Bernanke, the then chairman of the US Federal Reserve, put it in his final public appearance in office in 2014, “[T]he problem with QE is it works in practice but it doesn’t work in theory.”

People who don’t spend their time staring at Bloomberg screens might be forgiven for asking why this matters. If, as Bernanke says, QE works, then who cares whether we know why it does or not?

The reason is that all policy – and monetary policy more than any other kind – depends critically on people’s expectations of what its outcome will be and their confidence that the policymakers understand the mechanism. In the field of public policy, the risks of unintended consequences are always large. They are multiplied many times over if the people in charge cannot explain why their actions are producing a particular result.

The looming risk is that monetary policy – the one tool that governments have been willing to use aggressively over the past seven years – starts to lose its grip. If its potency depends on investors believing that central banks know what they are doing, but those central banks lose their credibility, monetary policy may cease to work.

The point is far from academic. At the end of January, the Bank of Japan surprised the world by announcing that its monetary easing had not, as many had assumed, reached its limits. Concerned that the turmoil on the markets would spark a strengthening of the yen, it took its policy interest rate into negative territory for the first time ever in order to discourage safe-haven flows to its currency.

Until now, the near-automatic effect of such a loosening has indeed been to drive investors into riskier yen-denominated ­assets and out of the yen altogether, leading to its sharp depreciation against other major currencies over the past three and a half  years.

Now, it seems, the magic is wearing off. Bond yields dropped as expected, all right; but the yen did not comply. It has strengthened more than 4 per cent against the US dollar since the new loosening policy was introduced. The credibility of the Bank of Japan is fading. The market does not believe it can do what it wants to do – or even, perhaps, that it knows how its experimental interventions really work.

Investors’ bigger fear is that such doubts infect the Federal Reserve. The consequences
of such a crisis of confidence in the powers of the most central of central banks would be of an order of magnitude far more serious.

Ever since the collapse of the Bretton Woods system of pegged exchange rates in 1971, the sole guarantee that currencies will maintain their purchasing power, both domestically and abroad, has been confidence in central banks’ discretionary policies. A loss of faith in the consensus model of monetary policy would pitch us into the anchorless world that the architects of the Bretton Woods system always feared.

The past few weeks have been nerve-shredding for those who work on the financial markets. They should prepare for more of the same – and those who have nothing to do with the trading of stocks, bonds and currencies should ready themselves, too.

If it is belief in the power of loose monetary policy that has kept bond yields low and equity prices high, we should prepare for spikes in interest rates and stock-market crashes – with painful ramifications for companies and households that need to finance their activity. If it is confidence in the power of central banks to manipulate the value of their currencies that has bolstered the dollar and depressed the euro and the yen, then we should expect dramatic re-evaluations of these exchange rates, with inevitably disruptive consequences for global trade.

Over the longer term, the most consequential result of all will probably be an urgent search for a new framework for monetary policy, and above all for a new anchor. History – and, in the US, actively discussed political proposals – would suggest that the abandonment of discretionary policymaking in favour of formulaic rules, or even a return to a gold standard, are the candidates most likely to be chosen at short notice.

The sad fact is that these measures would represent last resorts from failure. Flexibility in monetary policy, credibly deployed, is probably the single most effective tool of government ever invented. It would be a confused and benighted age that chose to abandon it in favour of more primitive techniques of control.

Macroeconomist, bond trader and author of Money

This article first appeared in the 18 February 2016 issue of the New Statesman, A storm is coming

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Why the elites always rule

Since an Italian sociologist coined the word “elite” in 1902, it has become a term of abuse. But history is the story of one elite replacing another – as the votes for Trump and Brexit have shown.

Donald Trump’s successful presidential campaign was based on the rejection of the “establishment”. Theresa May condemned the rootless “international elites” in her leader’s speech at last October’s Conservative party conference. On the European continent, increasingly popular right-wing parties such as Marine Le Pen’s Front National and the German Alternative für Deutschland, as well as Poland’s ruling Law and Justice party, delight in denouncing the “Eurocratic” elites. But where does the term “elite” come from, and what does it mean?

It was Vilfredo Pareto who, in 1902, gave the term the meaning that it has today. We mostly think of Pareto as the economist who came up with ideas such as “Pareto efficiency” and the “Pareto principle”. The latter – sometimes known as the “power law”, or the “80/20 rule” – stipulates that 80 per cent of the land always ends up belonging to 20 per cent of the population. Pareto deduced this by studying land distribution in Italy at the turn of the 20th century. He also found that 20 per cent of the pea pods in his garden produced 80 per cent of the peas. Pareto, however, was not only an economist. In later life, he turned his hand to sociology, and it was in this field that he developed his theory of the “circulation of elites”.

The term élite, used in its current socio­logical sense, first appeared in his 1902 book Les systèmes socialistes (“socialist systems”). Its aim was to analyse Marxism as a new form of “secular” religion. And it was the French word élite that he used: naturally, one might say, for a book written in French. Pareto, who was bilingual, wrote in French and Italian. He was born in Paris in 1848 to a French mother and an Italian father; his father was a Genoese marquis who had accompanied the political activist Giuseppe Mazzini into exile. In honour of the revolution that was taking place in Germany at the time, Pareto was at first named Fritz Wilfried. This was latinised into Vilfredo Federico on the family’s return to Italy in 1858.

When Pareto wrote his masterpiece – the 3,000-page Trattato di sociologia ­generale (“treatise on general sociology”) – in 1916, he retained the French word élite even though the work was in Italian. Previously, he had used “aristocracy”, but that didn’t seem to fit the democratic regime that had come into existence after Italian unification. Nor did he want to use his rival Gaetano Mosca’s term “ruling class”; the two had bitter arguments about who first came up with the idea of a ruling minority.

Pareto wanted to capture the idea that a minority will always rule without recourse to outdated notions of heredity or Marxist concepts of class. So he settled on élite, an old French word that has its origins in the Latin eligere, meaning “to select” (the best).

In the Trattato, he offered his definition of an elite. His idea was to rank everyone on a scale of one to ten and that those with the highest marks in their field would be considered the elite. Pareto was willing to judge lawyers, politicians, swindlers, courtesans or chess players. This ranking was to be morally neutral: beyond “good and evil”, to use the language of the time. So one could identify the best thief, whether that was considered a worthy profession or not.

Napoleon was his prime example: whether he was a good or a bad man was irrelevant, as were the policies he might have pursued. Napoleon had undeniable political qualities that, according to Pareto, marked him out as one of the elite. Napoleon is important
because Pareto made a distinction within the elite – everyone with the highest indices within their branch of activity was a member of an elite – separating out the governing from the non-governing elite. The former was what interested him most.

This is not to suggest that the non-governing elite and the non-elite were of no interest to him, but they had a specific and limited role to play, which was the replenishment of the governing elite. For Pareto, this group was the key to understanding society as a whole – for whatever values this elite incarnated would be reflected in society. But he believed that there was an inevitable “physiological” law that stipulated the continuous decline of the elite, thereby making way for a new elite. As he put it in one of his most memorable phrases, “History is the graveyard of elites.”

***

Pareto’s thesis was that elites always rule. There is always the domination of the minority over the majority. And history is just the story of one elite replacing another. This is what he called the “circulation of elites”. When the current elite starts to decline, it is challenged and makes way for another. Pareto thought that this came about in two ways: either through assimilation, the new elite merging with elements of the old, or through revolution, the new elite wiping out the old. He used the metaphor of a river to make his point. Most of the time, the river flows continuously, smoothly incorporating its tributaries, but sometimes, after a storm, it floods and breaks its banks.

Drawing on his Italian predecessor Machiavelli, Pareto identified two types of elite rulers. The first, whom he called the “foxes”, are those who dominate mainly through combinazioni (“combination”): deceit, cunning, manipulation and co-optation. Their rule is characterised by decentralisation, plurality and scepticism, and they are uneasy with the use of force. “Lions”, on the other hand, are more conservative. They emphasise unity, homogeneity, established ways, the established faith, and rule through small, centralised and hierarchical bureaucracies, and they are far more at ease with the use of force than the devious foxes. History is the slow swing of the pendulum from one type of elite to the other, from foxes to lions and back again.

The relevance of Pareto’s theories to the world today is clear. After a period of foxes in power, the lions are back with renewed vigour. Donald Trump, as his behaviour during the US presidential campaign confirmed, is perfectly at ease with the use of intimidation and violence. He claimed that he wants to have a wall built between the United States and Mexico. His mooted economic policies are largely based on protectionism and tariffs. Regardless of his dubious personal ethics – a classic separation between the elite and the people – he stands for the traditional (white) American way of life and religion.

This is in stark contrast to the Obama administration and the Cameron government, both of which, compared to what has come since the votes for Trump and Brexit, were relatively open and liberal. Pareto’s schema goes beyond the left/right divide; the whole point of his Systèmes socialistes was to demonstrate that Marxism, as a secular religion, signalled a return to faith, and thus the return of the lions in politics.

In today’s context, the foxes are the forces of globalisation and liberalism – in the positive sense of developing an open, inter­connected and tolerant world; and in the negative sense of neoliberalism and the dehumanising extension of an economic calculus to all aspects of human life. The lions represent the reaction, centring themselves in the community, to which they may be more attentive, but bringing increased xenophobia, intolerance and conservatism. For Pareto, the lions and foxes are two different types of rule, both with strengths and weaknesses. Yet the elite is always composed of the two elements. The question is: which one dominates at any given time?

What we know of Theresa May’s government suggests that she runs a tight ship. She has a close – and closed – group of confidants, and she keeps a firm grip on the people under her. She is willing to dispense with parliament in her negotiation of Brexit, deeming it within the royal prerogative. Nobody yet knows her plan.

The European Union is a quintessentially foxlike project, based on negotiation, compromise and combination. Its rejection is a victory of the lions over the foxes. The lions are gaining prominence across the Western world, not just in Trumpland and Brexit Britain. Far-right movements have risen by rejecting the EU. It should come as no surprise that many of these movements (including Trump in the US) admire Vladimir Putin, at least for his strongman style.

Asia hasn’t been spared this movement, either. After years of tentative openness in China, at least with the economy, Xi Jinping has declared himself the “core” leader, in the mould of the previous strongmen Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping. Japan’s prime minister, Shinzo Abe, has also hardened his stance, and he was the first world leader to meet with President-Elect Donald Trump. Narendra Modi in India and Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines are in the same mould, the latter coming to power on the back of promising to kill criminals and drug dealers. After the failed coup against him in July, Recep Tayyip Erdogan has also been cracking down on Turkey.

***


In Les systèmes socialistes, Pareto elaborated on how a new elite replaces the old. A, the old elite, would be challenged by B, the new, in alliance with C, the people. B would win the support of C by making promises that, once in power, it wouldn’t keep. If that sounds like the behaviour of most politicians, that is because it probably is. But what Pareto was pointing out was how, in its struggle for power, the new elite politicised groups that were not political before.

What we know of Trump supporters and Brexiteers is that many feel disenfranchised: the turnout in the EU referendum could not have been greater than in the 2015 general election otherwise, and significant numbers of those who voted for Trump had never voted before. There is no reason to think that they, too, won’t be betrayed by the new leaders they helped to bring to power.

In the last years of his life, Pareto offered a commentary on Italy in the 1920s. He denounced the state’s inability to enforce its decisions and the way that Italians spent their time flaunting their ability to break the law and get away with it. He coined the phrase “demagogic plutocracy” to characterise the period, in which the rich ruled behind a façade of democratic politics. He thought this particularly insidious for two reasons: those in power were more interested in siphoning off wealth for their personal ends than encouraging the production of new wealth, and consequently undermined national prosperity (remember Pareto’s training as an economist); and, as the demagogic elites govern through deceit and cunning, they are able to mask their rule for longer periods.

Much has been made of Trump’s “populism”, but the term “demagogic plutocrat” seems particularly apt for him, too: he is a wealthy man who will advance the interests of his small clique to the detriment of the well-being of the nation, all behind the smokescreen of democratic politics.

There are other ways in which Pareto can help us understand our predicament. After all, he coined the 80/20 rule, of which we hear an intensified echo in the idea of “the One Per Cent”. Trump is a fully paid-up member of the One Per Cent, a group that he claims to be defending the 99 Per Cent from (or, perhaps, he is an unpaid-up member, given that what unites the One Per Cent is its reluctance to pay taxes). When we perceive the natural inequality of the distribution of resources as expressed through Pareto’s “power law”, we are intellectually empowered to try to do something about it.

Those writings on 1920s Italy landed Pareto in trouble, as his theory of the circulation of elites predicted that a “demagogic plutocracy”, dominated by foxes, would necessarily make way for a “military plutocracy”, this time led by lions willing to restore the power of the state. In this, he was often considered a defender of Mussolini, and Il Duce certainly tried to make the best of that possibility by making Pareto a senator. Yet there is a difference between prediction and endorsement, and Pareto, who died in 1923, had already been living as a recluse in Céligny in Switzerland for some time – earning him the nickname “the hermit of Céligny” – with only his cats for company, far removed from day-to-day Italian politics. He remained a liberal to his death, content to stay above the fray.

Like all good liberals, Pareto admired Britain above all. As an economist, he had vehemently defended its system of free trade in the face of outraged opposition in Italy. He also advocated British pluralism and tolerance. Liberalism is important here: in proposing to set up new trade barriers and restrict freedom of movement, exacerbated by their more or less blatant xenophobia, Trump and Brexit challenge the values at the heart of the liberal world.

***


What was crucial for Pareto was that new elites would rise and challenge the old. It was through the “circulation of elites” that history moved. Yet the fear today is that history has come to a standstill, that elites have ­become fossilised. Electors are fed up with choosing between the same old candidates, who seem to be proposing the same old thing. No wonder people are willing to try something new.

This fear of the immobility of elites has been expressed before. In 1956, the American sociologist C Wright Mills published The Power Elite. The book has not been out of print since. It is thanks to him that the term was anglicised and took on the pejorative sense it has today. For Mills, Cold War America had come to be dominated by a unified political, commercial and military elite. With the 20th century came the growth of nationwide US corporations, replacing the older, more self-sufficient farmers of the 19th century.

This made it increasingly difficult to ­distinguish between the interests of large US companies and those of the nation as a whole. “What’s good for General Motors,” as the phrase went, “is good for America.” As a result, political and commercial interests were becoming ever more intertwined. One had only to add the Cold War to the mix to see how the military would join such a nexus.

Mills theorised what President Dwight D Eisenhower denounced in his January 1961 farewell speech as the “military-industrial complex” (Eisenhower had wanted to add the word “congressional”, but that was thought to be too risky and was struck out of the speech). For Mills, the circulation of elites – a new elite rising to challenge the old – had come to an end. If there was any circulation at all, it was the ease with which this new power elite moved from one part of the elite to the other: the “revolving door”.

The Cold War is over but there is a similar sense of immobility at present concerning the political elite. Must one be the child or wife of a past US president to run for that office? After Hillary Clinton, will Chelsea run, too? Must one have gone to Eton, or at least Oxford or Cambridge, to reach the cabinet? In France is it Sciences Po and Éna?

The vote for Brexit, Trump and the rise of the far right are, beyond doubt, reactions to this sentiment. And they bear out Pareto’s theses: the new elites have aligned themselves with the people to challenge the old elites. The lions are challenging the foxes. Needless to say, the lions, too, are prototypically elites. Trump is a plutocrat. Boris Johnson, the co-leader of the Leave campaign, is as “establishment” as they come (he is an Old Etonian and an Oxford graduate). Nigel Farage is a public-school-educated, multimillionaire ex-stockbroker. Marine Le Pen is the daughter of Jean-Marie Le Pen. Putin is ex-KGB.

Pareto placed his hopes for the continuing circulation of elites in technological, economic and social developments. He believed that these transformations would give rise to new elites that would challenge the old political ruling class.

We are now living through one of the biggest ever technological revolutions, brought about by the internet. Some have argued that social media tipped the vote in favour of Brexit. Arron Banks’s Leave.EU website relentlessly targeted disgruntled blue-collar workers through social media, using simple, sometimes grotesque anti-immigration messages (as a recent profile of Banks in the New Statesman made clear) that mimicked the strategies of the US hard right.

Trump’s most vocal supporters include the conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, who has found the internet a valuable tool for propagating his ideas. In Poland, Jarosław Kaczynski, the leader of the Law and Justice party, claims that the Russian plane crash in 2010 that killed his twin brother (then the country’s president) was a political assassination, and has accused the Polish prime minister of the time, Donald Tusk, now the president of the European Council, of being “at least morally” responsible. (The official explanation is that the poorly trained pilots crashed the plane in heavy fog.)

It need not be like this. Silicon Valley is a world unto itself, but when some of its members – a new technological elite – start to play a more active role in politics, that might become a catalyst for change. In the UK, it has been the legal, financial and technological sectors that so far have led the pushback against a “hard” Brexit. And we should not forget how the social movements that grew out of Occupy have already been changing the nature of politics in many southern European countries.

The pendulum is swinging back to the lions. In some respects, this might be welcome, because globalisation has left too many behind and they need to be helped. However, Pareto’s lesson was one of moderation. Both lions and foxes have their strengths and weaknesses, and political elites are a combination of the two, with one element dominating temporarily. Pareto, as he did in Italy in the 1920s, would have predicted a return of the lions. But as a liberal, he would have cautioned against xenophobia, protectionism and violence.

If the lions can serve as correctives to the excesses of globalisation, their return is salutary. Yet the circulation of elites is a process more often of amalgamation than replacement. The challenge to liberal politics is to articulate a balance between the values of an open, welcoming society and of one that takes care of its most vulnerable members. Now, as ever, the task is to find the balance between the lions and the foxes. l

Hugo Drochon is the author of “Nietzsche’s Great Politics” (Princeton University Press)

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge