The word “progressive” is used in all kinds of ways. I’m not interested in the term as a label of people. I won’t even self-identify as “a progressive” (or almost any other thing), even though I often find myself making common cause with people who do. I’ll leave arguments about who is a progressive to others.

One frequent use of the term “progressive” is to refer to the distributional effects of an arrangement or policy. The income tax is “progressive” because it takes more (in absolute terms and in percentage terms) from high earners, thus reducing after-tax income inequality. A carbon tax, it is often claimed, would be regressive, because the poor spend a high fraction of their incomes on heating and transportation than the well-off, who therefore pay less (in percentage terms), accentuating after-tax income inequality.

It is easy to forget, in these kinds of conversations, that “progressivity” is not scalar. Policies cannot be ordered by their progressivity, because most nontrivial policies make different groups of people better off and worse off in ways that don’t monotonically map across the income distribution.

Let’s look at a few charts to make this clear. In all of our hypersimplified drawings, the x-axis will define three groups, which we’ll call “poor”, “middle”, and “rich”. For our purposes, it matters not at all whether we are talking about income, wealth, health, or ponies. There is some good thing and two alternative arrangements. We can think of one arrangement as the status quo and another one as a proposed new policy. Or we can think of both arrangements as hypotheticals we are considering and comparing.

Let’s first look at an example under which one alternative is plainly more progressive than the other:


Arrangement B is plainly more progressive than Arrangement A. The distribution of, um, ponies is more equal across the distribution. Both the rich and the poor are brought towards the middle.

However, suppose we are evaluating the following two policies for their relative “progressivity”:


Very few people would, I think, describe Arrangement B as “more progressive” than Arrangement A, because Arrangement B clearly screws the poor. The term “progressive” is garlanded with moral connotations about helping the poor, so this would not qualify. However, Arrangement B does include a transfer from the rich to the middle, and it reduces the inequality between the rich and the middle substantially. If your definition of progressive is “redistributes from richer to poorer”, you cannot definitively order one arrangement as more or less progressive than the other.

One might describe a proposal to go from Arrangement A to Arrangement B as “insider-outsider egalitarian”. It is not an irrelevant case. Although historical experience suggests they are mistaken, people who oppose unions frequently argue that they have precisely this effect. A better-off, unionized portion of the workforce, in this story, sees wages increases, at the expense of wealthy owners and managers (who have to pay unionized workers more), but also at the expense of the not-unionized (or not-employed) portion of the workforce, who see wages stagnate and prices rise.

While “insider-outsider egalitarian” is not an irrelevant case, it is not an ethically confusing one either. Holding constant the identity and the ordering of the humans, very few people explicitly argue that screwing the poor for the sake of egalitarianism among insiders is a good thing. Arguing that this will be the effect of a policy is a way of opposing it. (When identities are not held constant, the moral intuitions become less clear. Suppose under Arrangement B the poor are new immigrants whose poverty masks a great improvement relative to circumstances in their home country?)

Let’s consider a third case:


This is the case I want to call quasiprogressive. Again, if our definition of “progressivity” is redistributing from richer to poorer, we can’t rank Arrangement A against Arrangement B. Going from Arrangement A to Arrangement B, ponies flow in both directions, to the poor, sure, but also to the rich from the middle. Nevertheless, people are tempted to call a shift to Arrangement B “progressive”, because it is good for the poor. Our ethical intuitions about this change may be positive. Or we may describe it negatively, call it a “hollowing of the middle class”. Is it a vase or a love affair? Suppose that a trade agreement will put middle-class workers in developed countries in competition with low wage workers elsewhere, leading to both a decline of middle-class wages and a proliferation of cheap consumer goods. The poor will benefit from cheap stuff, the rich will benefit from cheap stuff and cheap help, but the middle class will get screwed. Should we call this agreement “progressive” or “regressive”? Taking into account only domestic welfare, would it be a good thing or a bad thing?

If our only choices are Arrangement A and Arrangement B, we might be tempted to dispel once and for all with this fiction that Barack Obama doesn’t know what he’s doing. Short circuit. It doesn’t compute. Do we screw the poor or gut the middle class?

Fortunately, those are our choices only if the space of available policies is constrained artificially. In reality, our decision space usually looks more like this:


The black bars in this chart represent the status quo. We are decided to enact a reform. Shall we jump to Arrangement A or Arrangement B? Absent political considerations, most of us would go for A. But suppose, not implausibly, that an ideological and institutional apparatus exists whose function is to defend the material interest of the wealthy? Then perhaps only Arrangement B will seem “politically possible”. Since Arrangement B does help the poor, it may seem unethical not to take it. If (as is usually the case) the harms to the middle are indirect — no one will “take” anything from anyone, market forces will do the dirty work — wealthier people of good will be tempted to support the reform. They stand to lose nothing, and maybe to gain something. The poor will be made better off! Harms to the middle will seem hypothetical, and in any case will amount to just desserts adjudicated by an impersonal market. Didn’t Rawls tell us that the welfare of the poorest should be our touchstone? Less wealthy people of goodwill may not be so sanguine about the reform. They may be torn. When a union member opposes a trade agreement that she understands will lower prices on many goods, but that also might put her out of a job, is she fighting the good fight for the middle class, or is she just a special interest screwing others to preserve her place at the trough? So long as Arrangement A is off the table, it will be very hard to mount an effective opposition to accepting Arrangement B, which after all benefits the poor so greatly.

Policy changes all the time, and the circumstances that favor reforms that look like Arrangement B over those that look like Arrangement A are permanent. Since wealth and influence correlate, each accommodation tilts the political economy towards the next capitulation. A weaker middle is less and less capable of opposing quasiprogressive alternatives that look both desirable and virtuous to the rich. In a world where the wealthy are genuinely interested in helping the poorest off but also vigilant caretakers of their own interests, quasiprogressive solutions are a political-economic sweet spot. The only way to prevent this dynamic without actively screwing the poor is to fight for solutions that work for the poor without sacrificing the middle. Those solutions will always be politically challenging. Even where a policy change is “positive sum”, as trade agreements are argued to be, policymakers almost unconsciously gravitate towards arrangements that segregate benefits towards the powerful rich and the sympathetic poor but shift burdens towards the less salient, less powerful middle.

This sounds very abstract, so let me name some examples where I think the American polity has chosen quasiprogressive solutions. We’ve talked about trade. The choice of quantitative easing rather than fiscal policy to stimulate the economy at the zero-lower-bound is another example. QE-assisted asset-price rises undoubtedly helped people at the margins get or keep their jobs while they also helped wealthy assetholders. Fiscal stimulus would have helped the marginally employed at least as well and might have put pressure on middle class wages too. But bonds might not have performed so well. The bank bailouts of 2008-2009 are frequently justified on quasiprogressive terms. Surely, had there been a catastrophic financial collapse, the poor would have suffered most of all! Of course they would have. They always do, that is the essence of poverty. But we might have averted a financial collapse with transfers to underwater homeowners, for example, or to be more fair, with helicopter money for everyone. Instead, we let middle-class homeowners collapse into negative equity and, too frequently, foreclosure, even as we provided generous support and regulatory forbearance to ensure that financial institutions and their creditors would be made whole. Most of the fiscal stimulus came not from Obama’s headline $800B program, but via automatic stabilizers that kick-in for the poor and unemployed. We rescue the rich. We congratulate ourselves for paying so much to help the stigmatized, traumatized poor. We tell the middle to suck it. That’s the quasiprogressive way, and it’s at the heart of American political economy.

Let’s do one more chart.


Which one, Arrangement A or Arrangement B is more progressive? If our definition of “progressivity” is redistributing from richer to poorer, we absolutely can rank a shift between these two arrangements. Going from Arrangement A to Arrangement B is clearly progressive. Ponies are shifted from both the rich and the middle to the poor.

So should our moral intuitions applaud this change? I don’t think so. I call this one “token progressivity”. While helpful to the poor, a transition from Arrangement A to Arrangement B extracts a small concession from the wealthy but burdens the middle disproportionately.

A lot of conversations bog down into arguments over whether the effects of some event were quasiprogressive or token-progressive. It just doesn’t matter very much. Uniformity of the direction of altered outcomes is too simplistic a criterion to rest moral intuitions on. A society is more than a summation of hypothetical utilities. The shape of the distribution of ponies matters as well. If we want to live in a middle class society, we have to fight for policies that protect the middle class. If we content ourselves with a progressivism of the politically achievable, we may find ourselves torn between doing nothing at all or celebrating accomplishments that may genuinely help the poor, but at the expense of an erstwhile middle class on a path of downward convergence. The work of good policy lies more in expanding the menu of choices than in optimizing over what is straightforwardly achievable.

At this particular moment, I want to emphasize “expanding the menu” needn’t mean preferring single-payer healthcare to reforming ObamaCare, or preferring universal free tuition over means-tested financial aid. But it is an implication of this analysis that the centrist acceptance of net budgetary impact as a criterion for valuing programs — where “net” means net of user fees like insurance premiums or tuition contributions — deserves special scrutiny. The first question should always be “value for the money”. Regardless of how a program will be financed, are the goods to be purchased worth the opportunity cost of the resources that will be expended? If we decide that a program is worthwhile, we then face a political trade-off. The smaller its net budgetary impact, the easier our program will be to pass. However, every shift in financing from general revenue towards means-tested user fees moves us precisely along a path from progressive, to token-progressive, to quasiprogressive, as defined in the discussion above. There are sometimes colorable reasons for user fees, besides political expedience. User fees can address fairness concerns about programs whose benefits aren’t universally available and yield few positive spillovers. Importantly, program value may not be independent of fee-structure. For example, copays may discourage frivolous doctor visits, and so enhance “bang-for-the-buck” of expenditures overall. These are sometimes valid concerns, but they often serve as fig leaves for imposing fees just to reduce net budget impact. That is, they serve as politically motivated excuses to reduce the progressivity of programs in order to increase their burden on the middle class relative to counterfactuals under which the programs would be financed from general revenue.

Update History:

  • 11-Feb-2016, 3:20 a.m. PST: “Holding constant the identity and orderingsthe ordering of the humans”; “new immigrants whose relative poverty masks a great improvement relative to circumstances”; “They stand to lose nothing, and maybe to gain something.”

There’s nothing smart in surrendering bargaining power for policy details

While we are taking lessons from the ugly compromises FDR accepted in order to get Social Security passed, we might also consider other events. FDR, you probably don’t recall because it has oddly been erased from conversational history, pursued almost as an idée fixe a cap on incomes of $25,000 (call it $360K in today’s money). The idea was as divisive then as it would be today, and despite dogged efforts, the proposal did not succeed. But, as Sam Pizzigati reminds us

[T]he setbacks the Roosevelt administration had suffered on the $25,000 salary cap executive order, on pay-as-you-go tax forgiveness, and the Revenue Act veto were obscuring a much more fundamental reality…

Roosevelt’s relentless drive to make sure the war created “not a single war millionaire” had made an incredible difference. His refusal to take “no” for an answer on his $25,000 income cap proposal had kept the entire war finance debate revolving around the rich and how much they ought to be paying in taxes. Conservatives didn’t want that debate. They wanted a national sales tax that would shunt the war’s heavy burden onto average Americans, but FDR’s aggressive advocacy for equity never allowed a sales tax to gain traction. Roosevelt would not get all he wanted on the tax equity front. But he did get plenty, enough to deliver against plutocracy a staggering knockdown.

The odds of enacting decent single-payer health care in the United States, given the broad range of powerful and not always unsympathetic stakeholders in the current system, are modest. But a modest chance is very different from no chance at all. The deep aversion among current stakeholders that makes single payer politically hard also makes any chance it might happen a potent motivator for those same stakeholders to accept or even propose meaningful alternatives. Taking single payer off the table, promising to build from the status quo, leaves the comfortable with nothing to fear from the many people for whom American health care remains a nightmare. It strikes me as more a license for inaction than a sensible plan of action.

(Dean Baker has made a similar point.)

Home is where the cartel is

Housing is a bitch.

A case can be made that divisive hot-button issues like inequality and immigration ultimately derive from housing dysfunction. Kevin Erdmann eloquently tells the tale. Matt Rognlie has famously argued that the increase in capital’s share of income, often blamed for inequality, is due largely to housing, once depreciation is taken into account. All of this reinforces the thesis of people like Ryan Avent, Edward Glaeser, and Matt Yglesias who have argued for years that housing supply constraints are to blame for high rents in powerhouse cities, and may constitute an important drag on productivity growth and a cause of macroeconomic stagnation. (See also Paul Krugman, quite recently.) Several of these writers argue that cities should eliminate restrictive zoning and other regulatory barriers to development, then let the free-market create housing supply. In a competitive marketplace, high prices are supposed to be their own cure. Zoning restrictions, urban permitting, and the de facto capacity of existing residents to veto new development are barriers to entry that prevent the magic of competition from taking hold and solving the problem.

My view is that the “market urbanist” diagnosis of the problem is more persuasive than its prescription for addressing it. As a positive matter, they just won’t win the political fights they propose. On normative grounds, I’m not sure that they should. The market urbanists present themselves as capitalist deregulators but I think they can be described with equal accuracy as radical redistributionists. The customary property rights surrounding homeownership in many cities and suburbs include much more than the use of a square of earth and whatever is built on it. Existing homeowners bought into particular neighborhoods in large part because of their “character”, which includes nice-sounding things like walkability or “charm”, as well as not-so-nice-sounding things like access to exclusionary education. Newer residents have bought and paid for those amenities, while older residents may feel they have earned them by helping to create them. Economists describe houses as a form of capital that provides a stream of services, rather than a cash flow, to owner-occupants. We should also describe the arrangement of neighborhoods as a form of capital that provides services people value. Property owners have disproportionate use of, and, informally, enjoy substantial control rights over this “neighborhood capital”, and these benefits have been capitalized into residential real-estate prices. (Location, location, location!) “Zoning reform” is an anodyne way to describe an expropriation of those customary rights. It amounts to diminishing residents’ ability to preserve or control the evolution of their neighborhoods, in order to challenge the exclusivity on which the value of existing neighborhood amenities may be based.

Market urbanists sometimes respond that eliminating restrictions should, in economic terms, be good for existing property owners. Suppose I own a plot of land, and today I’m only allowed to have a two story house on it. If tomorrow I suddenly have the right to build ten stories, but I can still keep the little house if that’s what I prefer, the new option can only improve my property’s value, right? Surely de-zoning would be a windfall for property owners, as land prices would include part of the capitalized stream of rents from the ten urban lofts that could now, potentially, be built there.

This is unpersuasive “partial-equilibrium” reasoning, which explains why homeowners are usually unpersuaded. Any given property owner rationally wants restrictions lifted on the use their own property, but lifting restrictions on neighbors’ use of their properties creates risks and costs. The ultimate effect of a general upzoning is hard to predict and may not be positive for incumbents, especially when potential impairment existing amenities — “neighborhood capital” — is factored in. Far from being a sure gain to existing residents, upzoning is a form of risky investment, the proceeds of which will be shared with developers and new residents, the costs of which will be concentrated on people whose financial statements and human lives are deeply exposed, with little diversification, to the quality of their neighborhoods. Even if, in aggregate, land values increase, densification of an existing neighborhood creates risks for individual property owners they many not wish to bear. If an apartment block is built next door, my old neighbor may have gotten rich from selling, but my plot may not be suitable for putting up yet another tower, and my home may be worth less for its busy, unquaint new neighbor. People experience individual not aggregate outcomes, and individual outcomes are usually riskier than aggregate outcomes. Absent some insurance mechanism, it is rationally hard to persuade individuals to consent to policy changes that, in aggregate terms, would meet a return-to-risk hurdle but at an individual level might not. When market urbanists point to how much more productive and awesome the city as a whole might become, they are missing this point.

Finally, whatever economic gains might accrue to existing property owners from rezoning has to be traded off against a huge cost, the loss of existing monopoly rents. If you buy a home in San Francisco today, the last thing you want to happen is for the housing affordability problem to be solved next year. If apartment prices become reasonable, you’d find yourself with a huge financial loss and an underwater mortgage. Residential property is expensive in power cities because it includes the capitalized value of the large incomes streams one can earn from accepting tenants. (Now more than $5K/month for the median 2BR apartment in San Francisco I hate this city.) Making housing affordable means that value goes away. High rents are like poverty at the Brookings Institution, a problem we claim we desperately want to solve but don’t really want to solve because the things we would have to do to solve it would be costly and disruptive to the people whose interests get termed “we” in a sentence like this one. So we make other stuff up, hey, how about a little affordable housing requirement with a poor door you’ll have a 1/1600 chance of getting into? The home cartel is stable by virtue of regulatory coordination, which cannot be undone by adversarial political action because cartel members practically define the enfranchised municipal community.

Home is where the cartel is. I use the word “home” not “housing” advisedly. Homeowners understand their actions not as monopolizing the housing market but as protecting their homes and neighborhoods from the market. The libertarian “deregulatory” rhetoric by which market urbanists sometimes make their case is counterproductive. Telling people to think of their homes as a commodity upon which market forces should be brought to bear in order to ensure production of housing services at competitive prices is obtuse. People purchase property, rather than renting, largely to gain security and control, to escape the vicissitudes of the market. The worst place to emphasize “deregulation” is in dense urban environments, where almost every sort of action has spillovers. Construction in dense cities will always be heavily regulated, and should be. There can be good regulation and bad regulation, but talking about “deregulation” in an urban context is just self-branding. Dense cities in developed countries expand their housing stock as a policy choice, not because anonymous producers respond to price signals. Price signals — high market prices — give cities the option to expand their housing stock without financial subsidy by reregulating to attract developers. But nobody is dumb. You actually have to persuade an urban polity to choose to permit development, in a particular place, over the objections or with the consent of diverse stakeholders.

The deregulatory narrative not only fails to help, it very directly hurts. If you frame your solution as being about “freeing markets”, you are likely to oppose rent control on naive and misleading Econ 101 grounds. Price controls, you have been taught, create scarcity, by eliminating the incentive to produce up to the market-clearing quantity. But to claim “the rent is too damn high” implies directly that housing prices are already above the level that would inspire further production, if there weren’t other regulatory barriers. In the prosperous cities where we perceive housing crisis, market-rate housing is already priced at levels that would attract further development, if only the polity could be persuaded to allow it. New construction is market-rate housing: It is almost never subject to rent controls. The existence of rent controls on older buildings does suggest a danger that housing built today might someday be placed under rent controls too, sure. But that risk is already priced into market-rate development. If market-rate apartments sell for substantially more than their physical cost of replacement, then the market deems the risk of future value-impairing rent regulation to be sufficiently small, or sufficiently distant, or the present demand for housing to be sufficiently acute, as to cover that risk. The Econ 101 case against rent controls only holds if the threat of controls prevents the market value of newly produced rentable properties from substantially exceeding the cost of development after regulatory hurdles have been overcome. [1] This is not what we observe in real life. Impaired prices are simply not the binding constraint on new development. Market urbanists unnecessarily make enemies of a critical constituency, tenants in rent-stabilized apartments who have extraordinarily much to lose. Renters should be cities’ natural advocates for new supply. But when proposals to build come bundled with an ideology that would price people out of their current homes, renters’ enthusiasm is unsurprisingly muted. [2]

Market-centered narratives about homeownership are the source of housing supply problems at least as much as they might suggest solutions. As Daniel Hertz has observed (ht Ryan Cooper), there is a fundamental contradiction at the heart of housing capitalism. We encourage people to take on highly leveraged, undiversified exposure in homes with promises that they are good “investments”, meaning they will increase or at least retain their values over time. We also claim that housing is a consumption good that should be efficiently provided, a good for which competitive markets should expand supply to drive prices down to a technologically declining marginal cost of production. Housing cannot be both of those things at once. Much of the work we have to do if we wish to increase housing supply is to deemphasize the housing-as-investment narrative in favor of housing-as-consumption-good. Price ceilings would prevent windfall investment gains (and so investment-motivated purchases). Price ceilings would also new prevent buyers from becoming levered against much-higher-than-replacement-cost home values, and therefore lobbyists for housing scarcity. Surprisingly from an Econ 101 perspective, the best way to encourage housing supply might be to cap home prices, at a level sufficiently above physical construction cost to keep development profitable when consumption demand is strong, but no higher than that, to discourage the use of homes as speculative financial investments and to prevent scarcity rents from getting capitalized into prices.

I don’t advocate trying to impose price ceilings on existing market-rate housing. That would be an expropriation at least as unfair and politically challenging as eliminating zoning restrictions. Plus, maximizing the quantity of housing supplied cannot be our sole, overriding objective. There is much to be said for encouraging “neighborhood capital” production, incentivized in part by the prospect of rising home values, as a means of increasing quality of life and sheer aesthetic joy, despite the “NIMBY-ism” it rationally provokes. There are trade-offs. However, when we build new neighborhoods, we might want to be open to new regulatory ideas. As long as builders and buyers know the rules of the game up front, anything is fair. Experimentation should be encouraged. “Deregulation” cannot be our touchstone. The word is meaningless (it sneaks in some definition of neutrality which is wholly arbitrary), and discourages creative thinking or even looking around to see what works.

I don’t know what will work. But, looking around a bit, I’d suggest we take a look at two particularly promising examples. The housing policies of Singapore and Germany couldn’t be more different. But both countries have been remarkably successful.

Singapore never solved the problem we are banging our head against, how to take existing prosperous neighborhoods and make them more dense. It never tried. Instead, Singapore expanded its housing supply, at remarkable speed and scale, by building out extremely dense but nevertheless green, livable, and attractive “new towns“. Rather than restricting our attention to putting more housing in existing desirable neighborhoods, why not follow Singapore and build new neighborhoods, and when we run out of space for those, new ring cities? Singapore has done a ton of experimenting, in regulation, architecture and urban design, in putting greenspaces around (and on) increasingly creative high-rise developments. Obviously, Singapore is very different, socially and politically, than the United States and other Western countries. Some things won’t (and shouldn’t) translate. But we still have a lot to learn from their experience. Are we really incapable of building new, compact, microcities without their becoming Cabrini-Green or the banlieues of Paris?

Germany’s virtues are less sexy than Singapore’s sci-fi eco-towers. But they are great virtues nonetheless. Somehow, Germany has managed to avoid the price booms that in so many countries (including the Scandinavians) have segregated society between those who were homeowners at just the right times and those who were not. Germany’s path is ideologically mixed. On the one hand, German property owners have a right to build within broad planning parameters. On the other hand, what we in the United States call rent controls are universal in Germany. (German leases are implicitly “rent stabilized”. Berlin has recently begun an experiment with old fashioned administered prices.) Lending for home buying is regulated and conservative in Germany, preventing joint credit/housing booms. (You’ll recall that German banks had to dive headlong into American junk housing securities and Southern European bonds to get themselves into trouble, since their own economy wouldn’t produce enough product.) Homeownership and renting are roughly balanced, and home prices have had no tendency to increase dramatically. Homes in Germany are what a naive economist might predict they should be, a very durable consumption good that provides a stream of housing services, not a ticket to financial gain at all. Germany’s cities are very affordable relative to their counterparts elsewhere in Europe and in the United States. Germany’s housing success seems boring, in the way that your chest might seem boring to a guy who has just been stabbed and is spurting blood from a ventricle. Boring, but wonderful.

Boring Germany, sci-fi Singapore, or something else entirely. Urban housing is a really hard problem. We’ll need lots of inspiration. That economics textbook might help a little, but don’t try to use it as a cookbook.

FD: I’m very grateful to live in a rent-stabilized apartment in San Francisco.

[1] One might be tempted to argue that regulatory hurdles are themselves a “cost”, so very high prices are necessary to incentivize developers to do the necessary lobbying and lawyering. If that were a good model, the housing problem in places like San Francisco and New York would already have been solved. There is no fixed cost of permission that high property values can overcome. The political process doesn’t set a price in lobbying and paperwork and bribery and then let the supply of permits and variances expand elastically once that price is met. A better approximation is that the political process fixes a quantity and uses price to ration permission, so that any additional willingness of developers to bear regulatory costs feeds into a bidding war that feeds lawyers and architects and bureaucrats (and generates free amenities to buy off the neighbors!) but does not greatly expand the number of permits granted, or, therefore, the quantity of dwellings supplied.

[2] There is one channel through which existing rent control really might discourage new supply in high market-price neighborhoods, and it has nothing to do with supply and demand diagrams. In order to increase the housing stock of an existing, well-utilized neighborhood, one often has to knock down buildings that exist in order to put up something denser and/or taller. The prospect of this sort of “redevelopment” is always going to anger humans, who sometimes grow attached to their homes. For people in rent controlled housing in very hot markets, the threat of redevelopment is existential. Rent control in America is mostly “second generation rent control” or “rent stabilization”. You rent at market rates, or even some premium to market rates, but thereafter rent increases are tied to some administrative measure of inflation. If the building that you’ve lived in for years gets torn down to build something new, the clock starts over and you have to rent at current market rates, even if you find a new rent stabilized apartment. Many (probably most) current residents of rent-stabilized apartments would not be able to afford to live in their neighborhoods at market rates, or even in their cities. “Affordable housing” programs (of which I have a low opinion) may offer sanctuary to some of the displaced, but they offer at best an uncertain prospect. Because the stakes are so high, residents of rent-stabilized apartments become a political constituency implacably opposed to redevelopment. The long-tenure rent-stabilized are a precise mirror image of property owners who prefer constrained supply to support prices. Both have rents (in the economist’s sense of the word) to protect, benefits that markets would compete away under a different set of regulations. Both perceive securing those rents not as cashing in, but as protecting their homes and their families. Both will work (in coalition with one another) to prevent redevelopment, densification, upzoning, etc. “Reduces the future flexibility of neighborhoods” may be a colorable reason to have opposed rent stabilization back in the day. You may be cruel enough to simply wish to end it abruptly now, on the theory if those people are kicked out anyway they’ll have nothing left to oppose. You may wish that, but if you are smart you will shut up about it.

Advice for Twitter

In my accustomed role of moralist scold, I probably shouldn’t want to help Twitter. I should want it to be replaced with an open-source, distributed, decentralized ÐAPP or something. And at some level I do want that. But for now, Twitter is the only social whatnot I actively use, and when I don’t hate the service I sometimes really like it.

I keep reading articles about how Twitter is dying or failing or crashing or whatever. I have ideas! I don’t know whether anything I propose might justify Twitter’s current or recent-past stock price. I could care less. But here are some things I would do to make Twitter a better business, in multiple senses of the word better.

  • Ditch the whole ads and analytics model Twitter currently aspires to. It’s an evil business model, no matter how well it works for companies that once promised not to do evil. Putting aside the moralism, Facebook and Google pretty much have a lock on that gold mine. Apple, not a don’t-be-evil company by any measure, has seen the writing on the wall and chosen to differentiate itself by not spying on people. Twitter should do the same. Just stop it, and make a big show of stopping it. Twitter, to its credit, has a decent record overall of standing up for people’s rights to use its platform for controversial political speech. It should keep doing that, stop doing this, stop spying, and make respect of user privacy an integral component of its brand.

  • Charge the people who get the most from Twitter. Don’t give “producers” micropayments, take their money. People who interact on Twitter, especially those who gain a large-ish following, get a lot more out of Twitter than people for whom it is just one more passive information source. This is tricky: if people have to pay to tweet from the start, they would never get enmeshed in the service deeply enough for it to become worth paying for. What Twitter needs is a payments model that lets casual users Tweet for free indefinitely but cajoles power users into paying to support the business.

  • That business model exists. It falls right out of the experience of power users. Over the years, I have wasted tens of hours trying to shave a few characters off some vain idiocy I imagined to be clever and witty in order to conform to the 140 character limit.

    It would be a terrible idea for Twitter to let users pay to escape the character limit arbitrarily. Twitter’s raison d’etre is the micro in microblogging. No one should be embedding essays into people’s timelines. However, it would not kill Twitter if I could pay a little to slip in an extra few characters rather than waste five or ten minutes reworking, abbreviating, or mangling the perfect quip that happens to clock in at 143.

    My suggestion is exponential pricing. One extra character, a tweet length 141, costs 1¢. Two extra characters costs 2¢. Three extra characters costs 4¢. n extra characters costs 2n-1 cents. By 28 extra characters, the cost spirals to more than $1M dollars. I think it’s fair to say that this pricing model would enable people to go a few characters over without worrying about it while keeping intact the “around 140 character” user experience. I think I’d end up paying $20-ish a month under this model, but I’d be grateful for the time saved and the preserved quality of expression relative to my current use of the service. And of course, users would continue to have the option to treat 140 as a hard limit and pay nothing. The tradeoff between perfectionism and money would be entirely at each users’ discretion.

  • Twitter’s default algorithm should remain real-time, reverse chronological feeds whose contents are fully determined by users’ choice of followers. But critics are right to point out that the standard feed may not provide the best curation for everyone. Since Twitter would be out of the corrupt and corrupting business of selling eyeballs for ads, it could leave the choice of alternative curations entirely at each user’s discretion. Twitter could offer a menu of algorithms that it thinks will be useful to different categories of users, even impose a default (in a tab distinct from the standard feed) that users would be able to replace or augment. Twitter could define an API through which outsiders could publish their own algorithms for curating timelines that would then become available to users in a kind of (free) “app store”.

  • It should be possible to Tweet stuff to people. Real stuff, goods and services. Twitter should try to earn users’ trust and collect meatspace identities and addresses while promising to hold them in strict confidence. Without necessarily knowing the true identity of the recipient, Twitter users should be able to send gifts to Twitter handles. Twitter would partner with various merchants to define the range of available goods, and work with them to fulfill.

    Since Twitter itself would know the transacting parties, it would be able to deter abuse. Individual users could define whether they accept gifts and from whom. Only from people I follow? A special Twitter list? Anyone and everyone? Users decide. Users could also decide whether to let gifts surprise them at their doorstep, or could require on-line approval before an order is processed. Obviously, this would be a very easy service for Twitter to monetize. They would just take a percentage of the cost of the gift as a service fee. Gifts might be represented by a special kind of glyph in tweets (that one can click to inspect), and might be included in both public tweets and direct messages. Attempts to publish Tweets with gifts to users not configured to accept them should be blocked, and Tweets with gifts that recipients will screen before accepting might be withheld from publication until the gift has been approved. There should be modest limits to the dollar value of tweetable gifts individually, and to the total value transferred from one person to another over a period. The intent would not be for Twitter to become a payments system or a means of sending large bribes. Over the years, I’ve wanted to send people books, a delivery of chicken soup, a stuffed animal or a card. Obviously digital goods would be easy, gift certificates or music or an ebook.

    As with exponential pricing of characters, no one should be forced from their existing practices by this new option. Users who don’t wish to send or receive gifts could continue to use the service as they currently do, without providing any identifying information to Twitter. They would remain as pseudonomous as they currently are (perhaps even moreso, if Twitter flamboyently forewent the kind of spying on users that is now the standard practice of ad-supported sites).

  • Twitter should go back to making itself open to outside developers and third-party clients. I am delighted to read that it plans to do so. Obviously, Twitter has a credibility problem, having crushed outside developers when it decided it wanted to gather eyeballs to ads and control what they see. The service behaved abysmally. Twitter should do everything it can to commit to never doing anything like that again. Having a business model that makes money independently of how people encounter or publish tweets would render their devotion to a new glasnost less suspect. If there are things they will need to restrict (like, say, a free tweet-longer service embedded in clients), they should think about that carefully and publish those restrictions in advance.

Translating “net financial assets”

Steve Roth at Asymptosis offers a remarkable, detailed discussion of Modern Monetary Theory’s notion of “private sector surplus” with an emphasis on aggregate accounting. Roth’s core point is well taken: “Private sector surplus” (equivalently the increase in “private sector net financial assets”) should not be conflated with the economic saving of households. As Roth points out, household sector saving is the difference between household sector income and household sector (noninvestment) expenditure. “Private sector surplus” is likely to increase household sector income, and so in that sense it forms a component of household sector saving, but it is quantitatively small relative to total household income — especially, as Roth emphasizes, if you use comprehensive measures of income that include capital gains and losses. [1]

Roth is right about all this. But I think he is talking past MMT economists a bit. Roth invites us to think about comprehensive saving by households. But that’s very far from what MMT’s baseline sectoral balances decomposition claims to capture. Instead “net financial assets” capture only the financial position of the aggregated (domestic) private sector, including both households and businesses. MMT enthusiasts sometimes mix these things up, and when that happens it should be called out. But this confusion has been called out a lot over the years, and I think for the most part MMT economists have become pretty precise in expressing themselves. There is a great deal of value in the MMT decomposition, not as a measure of household saving, but of something else entirely. Let’s try to understand it.

I’m going to steal from my own, old post, a derivation of the MMT-standard decomposition (usually attributed originally to Wynne Godley). We start with a tautology:

Every financial asset is also some entity’s liability. The sum of all financial positions is by definition zero. So we can write:


Suppose that, quite arbitrarily, we divide the world into a “foreign” and a “domestic” sector. Then we have:


Suppose that, again arbitrarily, we decompose the domestic economy into a public and private sector:


Substituting into our previous expression, we get


We can also write this in terms of changes or flows. Since the sum above must always be zero, it must be true that any changes in one sector are balanced by changes in another:


Two of the flows in the equation above have conventional names, so we can rewrite:




The highlighted Equation 8 is where the action is. NET_PRIVATE_DOMESTIC_FINANCIAL_POSITION is often described as net financial assets of the domestic private sector. MMTers (domestic) “private sector surplus” is precisely ΔNET_PRIVATE_DOMESTIC_FINANCIAL_POSITION.

The crucial thing to understand is what the net means in net financial assets. It is precisely financial savings net of domestic real investment by the private sector. It is the farthest possible thing from a comprehensive measure of household savings. It is private sector savings excluding the vast preponderance of household savings, which is backed by private sector assets (whether owned by households directly or owned by businesses who then issue financial claims to households). “Ordinary” private sector savings either doesn’t show up as financial assets at all (a home without a mortgage is just a real asset owned by a family, like a television or a baseball card), or else they “net out” when we aggregate, because one private sector entity’s asset is precisely extinguished by another private sector entity’s liability. If a household is “long” a share of stock, a firm is “short” that same position, and owes the household whatever that claim represents. The aggregate financial position of the private sector combines the financial positions of businesses and households, so the financial claims of households against firms are matched by mirror image liabilities of firms to households. They annihilate one another like matter and antimatter.

So why do we care about this odd sliver of savings? Why do MMT economists make it so central to their analysis? Private sector net financial assets are “special” precisely because they are not backed by domestic real assets, but instead by promises that are credibly independent of domestic real asset values, especially promises of states. Saving that takes the form of real stuff, whether that stuff is directly held or hidden behind financial claims, is inherently risky. House prices fall. If you own a factory, or shares in a firm that owns a factory, the factory can burn down. Even if you hold a diversified stock portfolio, you will find it subject to wild swings in value. If you own private sector debt, you expose yourself to credit risk. If you own a diversified portfolio of domestic stocks and bonds, your own circumstances and that of your investment portfolio will be correlated in an unpleasant way. The times when you lose your job and need to draw on savings are likely to be the same times when stocks have crashed and people are defaulting on their debts. People desperately covet assets that are divorced from the risks of the domestic real economy. And that is precisely what “net financial assets” are.

Net financial assets are special, because they serve insurance functions that assets produced by the domestic private sector simply cannot provide. When households are risk-averse, they covet these assets especially. For firms, these assets offer protection against insolvency risk that real assets, whose values both fluctuate idiosyncratically and covary with the real economy, cannot provide. MMT economists often suggest that if the public sector fails to accommodate the private sector’s appetite for net financial assets, recession and financial instability will result. That makes sense. It’s conventional, if a bit vapid, to describe recessions as times when “animal spirits” are low, when people are risk averse. But what matters is not the courage in people’s hearts (or lack thereof). What matters is how people behave. If people’s behavior is counterproductively risk averse, you can encourage greater risk-taking by offering insurance. That’s precisely what injections of “net financial assets” into an economy provide. If firms are teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, you can flood the economy with safe assets they can use to shore up their balance sheets to reduce their risk of default. That’s precisely how the United States saved its banks in 2008 (for better or for worse). The headline bailouts and TARPs and accounting forbearance were all expedients to keep those firms alive until a flood of assets immune to correlated private sector collapse could find their way onto bank balance sheets (with the help of opaque subsidies). Those special assets are “net financial assets”.

“Net financial assets” are a heterogeneous category. They include both claims against the domestic state and claims on foreign public and private sectors. A claim on a foreign firm in foreign currency does not provide the same insurance as claim against the domestic government in domestic currency. Nevertheless, claims on the foreign sector do provide insurance against domestic shocks that do not impair the foreign counterparty. And note that contrary to naive financial theory, which predicts developed economies will net-accumulate claims on emerging economies to invest in their growth, in practice emerging economies tend to net-accumulate claims on developed economies. The insurance function of safer foreign assets outweighs the investment function of accepting foreign capital (or at least it has since the Asian Financial Crisis). For firms and households in an emerging economy, foreign claims and claims on government are both useful insurance. In developed as well as emerging economies, negative positions with respect to foreign creditors increase the domestic private sector’s exposure to risk as surely as indebtedness to the state would, assuming debt contracts are uniformly enforced.

All this terminology — private sector surplus, net financial assets, etc. — is associated with heterodox, lefty MMT, but it maps very nicely to discussion of “safe asset shortages” in the mainstream financial press or Gary Gorton’s schtick on the importance of “informationally insensitive” assets. The main difference has to do with whether we can or ought to rely upon the domestic private sector to produce these kinds of assets. The MMT analysis, by construction, excludes private sector “triple-A” assets, where people like Gorton emphasize a role of private sector in producing assets that might provide this sort of insurance. The MMTers have it right. The domestic private sector simply cannot produce assets that provide insurance against systematic risks of the domestic economy without the help of the state. (Gorton tacitly recognizes this when he suggests the state should supervise and guarantee assets produced by shadow banks like it insures bank deposits. No thank you.)

The insurance function of “net financial assets” is not unambiguously a good thing. Net financial assets are special precisely because they provide insurance against systematic risk. When net financial assets are claims on foreign debtors, they are not so problematic, they just represent a form of diversification that can insure against domestically (but not globally) systematic shocks. Claims against the domestic state, however, offer safety to their holders in a manner that can be quite dangerous to the rest of us. “Insurance” against a truly systematic shock is necessarily a zero-sum game. If we are all collectively poorer, the only way the state can make some claimants whole is by shifting their share of the aggregate loss to people who don’t hold the government’s promises. We’ve experienced this very painfully over the past decade, as both the European and American policymakers refused to accept any risk of inflation (thereby prioritizing the value of past promises). Policymakers chose to make absolutely sure that holders of state assets would be made whole in real-terms, and imposed severe costs on debtors and the marginally employed to do so. (I think policymakers overshot the inherent zero-sum-ness of providing insurance during a systematic shock and have played a sharply negative-sum game.) It would be better, I think, if states downgraded the insurance they provide by weakening the promise they make to asset holders from price stability to an NGDP path target. And I worry much more than I think most MMT economists do about the unjust distribution of risk-bearing that might accompany a large stock of net financial assets very unequally distributed. (Unusually, I’m with Greg Mankiw on this one.) I think the economy includes people who are already overinsured by their stock of net financial assets, and those people tend disproportionately to accumulate new issues. So we should think more about how we can accommodate private sector entities’ need for some degree of insurance by redistributing existing net financial assets rather than creating new ones.

This sentence is a pithy conclusion.

[1] Should you? Or should you use a NIPA-style accounting that “looks through” capital gains? That’s a complicated question. Looking through capital gains entirely is clearly unsuitable, because household capital gains include revaluations of shares due to e.g. retained earnings, which represent increases in the quantity of real assets that households’ shares lay claim upon. This kind of capital gain is economic saving. But what about price appreciation of the existing housing stock? On the one hand, this is certainly perceived by individual households as real wealth and a form of savings. On the other hand, housing price increases also represent a kind of liability on the part of households and households-to-be who are not yet homeowners. If our object is to study distributional questions, differences between households, capital gains of this sort should obviously take center stage. They are real wealth to the households who enjoy them, and often represent costs in some form to households who don’t. But if we are aggregating, it’s not as clear that mere repricings of existing assets should be included in household saving. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible in practice to disentangle gains due to real growth in the assets backing claims from repricings of existing assets. Consider our prototypical example of “mere repricing”, price appreciation of an existing home. If a home remains entirely unchanged in an unchanged neighborhood in an unchanged city, then that is mere repricing. But perfect stasis is impossible outside of a thought experiment. If an “existing home” is renovated, and its price appreciates, how much of the price appreciation is “mere repricing” and how much of it reflects the change in real assets? If the neighborhood surrounding a largely unchanged home improves dramatically, then the house is a more efficiently deployed real asset, and a change in price may reflect new real value, which does constitute a form of economic saving — a claim on real growth — rather than mere repricing. Similarly, while stock appreciation can reflect an increase in the quantity or real-economic usefulness of the assets backing shares, it can also result from a mere revaluation of largely unchanged firms. When the Fed eases, stock prices rise, but the real assets that back them are not meaningfully improved. I think on the whole Roth’s choice to include capital gains in his analysis of aggregate household saving is right, much better than the alternative choice of ignoring it. But neither choice can be “correct”.

Update History:

  • 24-Jul-2015, 1:15 p.m. PDT: “Note that the The insurance function of “net financial assets”…”

1099 as antitrust

I have no idea what legal, regulatory, or policy process might achieve this outcome. But maybe it would be a good thing if it happened.

Suppose the criteria for 1099 status really emphasized having multiple customers. For example, if you make money by offering people rides, the fact that you get to set your own schedule doesn’t cut it, if substantially all of your business comes from Uber. To qualify as an independent contractor, if you do substantial business with a regular, repeat customer, you must have multiple customers in that line of business for whom you do substantial work. Otherwise, there is a strong presumption that you should be considered an employee of your customer.

Right now, the greatest danger to to the rest of us from “sharing economy” platforms like Uber is that these platforms benefit from network effects that render them “winner-take-all”. Today’s apparent innovators are really contesting a tournament to become tomorrow’s monopolists. The outcome we should be hoping to achieve is neither to strangle these products in their cribs (they are often great products that create real efficiencies), nor to permit wannabe monopolists to win their prize. We should want competitive marketplaces in the products these platforms provide.

Much of the network effect that might render Uber-like platforms anticompetitive derives from density of suppliers. Customers flock to the platform that has the densest, richest set of offerings. When suppliers pick just one, they prefer to work for the platform that has the most customers. So once one platform pulls ahead, a cycle may kick in, virtual or vicious depending on your perspective, leading to a single dominant platform. But if suppliers “multihome”, if pretty much all of them sell through pretty much all of the networks, this “market cramp” can be interrupted and multiple platforms might survive. I’ve recommended before, in a vague way, that policy should be geared to encouraging multihoming. But that was going to be hard work, because platforms’ incentives are to make it hard as possible for suppliers to be promiscuous.

But if 1099 status required that suppliers multihome — and in a substantive, not mere token way — platforms’ incentives would reverse. They would face a choice of bearing much higher per-supplier costs (as “suppliers” become employees), or of insisting that suppliers also do business elsewhere. All of a sudden Uber would need Lyft and Lyft would need Uber (and maybe my former favorite, Sidecar, would de-pivot back into this market). Reclassification of suppliers as employees would serve as an antitrust doomsday device for sharing economy platforms. That might be a pretty good outcome.

There is of course a huge, serious problem with this idea. The people who hope to benefit from employee rather than contractor status are not customers, but workers. This suggestion basically sells out benefits and protections for workers in order to secure competition on behalf of customers. Silicon Valley titans may not realize it, but everything they hope to do depends upon finding less intrusive ways than traditional employment regulation and collective bargaining to give workers the negotiating power they need to secure a decent living. An economy that defines “efficiency” as throwing the majority of workers into a competitive race to the bottom so that a relative few at the top can enjoy cheap services is neither desirable nor stable. We can prevent that the old fashioned way, by having labor form cartels (via unionization or regulation), or we can try something new. Silicon Valley types hate the old way. Any sort of cartel is a thing they want to disrupt, except when they are operating it. Great. But then it’s time to go beyond libertarian bromides and the rhetoric of plutocratic self-regard and actively support better ways to ensure that humans in the technoutopia to come have the leverage they need to negotiate good lives for themselves. I have suggestions.

Encouraging competition via the threat of reclassifying contractors as employees is, at best, a kludge. It would be better if we had laws explicitly designed to push back against winner-take-all dynamics and ensure a competitive marketplace. But even traditional antitrust doctrines are now rarely and weakly enforced. Addressing more directly the threats to competition posed by technological network effects would require creative, controversial, new legal doctrines. Until we work those out, and work up the courage to pass laws to give them force, maybe a kludge wouldn’t be a bad thing.

How to fix the Euro

I broadly agree with the Angloamerican consensus about the, um, challenges associated with the Euro from an economic perspective. (David Beckworth has a very nice explainer.) We do understand that the Euro was adopted for political more than economic reasons. Unfortunately, with the benefit of hindsight, the hoped-for political benefits of the common currency seem to have materialized less than the long-warned economic problems, and the economic problems have now poisoned the politics. But we are where we are. I think it unlikely that the Euro will be dismantled except in the context of a crisis that would put the whole European project at risk, even more than recent crises already have. So the challenge, I think, is to come up with institutions that would help mitigate the economic flaws of the common currency, and that might be acceptable in a political union whose electorates, for the moment, feel no great solidarity with one another. Ideally, Europe might pursue a US-style union, where transfers made upon universal criteria to households and business blunt regional wealth and income asymmetries, without provoking the indignation that direct intergovernmental transfers provoke (and would provoke in the US as well). But, after the trauma of recent events, I doubt that a Pan-European safety net will be politically achievable anytime soon.

If “ever closer union” is on pause for now, perhaps Ashoka Mody has it right when he advises, “To stay close, Europe’s nations may need to loosen the ties that bind them so tightly.” Mody’s specific suggestion is that Germany and other Northern European countries depart the Euro, replacing one very suboptimal currency area with two more reasonable blocs. He makes a good economic case, but the political symbolism of a Dollar/Peso Europe would be pretty terrible. I think there is a better way.

In the heat of the recent Greek crisis, many commentators (Coppola, Koning, Mason) noted that “membership” in a currency zone is not a discrete, all-or-nothing thing, but rather a continuum. Many people advised Greece to loosen its bonds to the currency zone just a bit by issuing its own scrip, not denominated in a new Drachma, but in the Euro itself. This is not a new or radical idea. Even in the United States’ famously functional currency union, the State of California has periodically resorted to issuing dollar-denominated “registered warrants” in order to sustain necessary spending through cash crunches. For related proposals, see Bossone & Cattaneo (1, 2), James Hamilton, Rob Parenteau, and of course Yanis Varoufakis.

Issuing Euro-denominated scrip would not mean leaving the currency zone, any more than California’s registered warrants took California out of the dollar zone. However, in the context of the current crisis, if Greece had issued such notes, it would have been interpreted as a first step away from full-fledged membership in the common currency. Looking forward, what would be better would be to normalize the practice, throughout the currency zone, of having governments make domestic expenditures (and only domestic expenditures) in scrip. Greece would issue scrip, and so would Germany. The characteristics of the scrip (but not the value) would be standardized across the Eurozone. In particular, each country’s scrip would be a zero-coupon security, to be redeemed in Euros at face value over an uncertain term. (I think fixed-payout, time-varying claims represent an underused design for securities; I’ve suggested them elsewhere.) Each week, each government would issue a new batch of scrip, to cover that week’s domestic payments. The rules for redemption would be simple: first-issued, first-redeemed, at a pace determined at the discretion of the Treasury without precommitment. Governments whose tax receipts easily cover their expenditures could choose to redeem the scrip nearly instantaneously (after some minimal period, perhaps one week). Governments that wish to run a deficit would redeem scrip more slowly.

The scrip would not become a de facto domestic currency. It would be too fragmented; each week’s vintage would have a different market value. Scrip would not be redeemable at face value to pay taxes.

What this all amounts to is a means by which states can finance themselves with forced borrowing from their own citizens who receive government payments. That sounds a bit mean, but it solves two important problems that currently plague the Eurozone:

  • International fragility — As the Greek crisis highlights, sovereigns ought not rely upon foreign borrowings in a currency the state cannot issue. The future is always uncertain, and when things go wrong debt securities must default or be renegotiated. That is awful even in small-scale private contexts. In an intersovereign context, it can lead to immiseration on a large scale through depression or war. Successful states mobilize the risk-bearing capacity of their own populations in order to finance government activity. Domestic politics can adjucate conflicts between local creditors and the public’s interest in government services in ways that outside institutions cannot. The interests of domestic creditors overlap much more with other domestic constituencies than the interests of foreign creditors do. International creditors have very little reason to support the work of a foreign government (other than taxation and debt service), while domestic creditors balance their interest in getting paid against other interests related to government performance.

  • No constituency for taxation — The Euro was conceived as currency of “prudence”, with its Stability and Growth Pact intended as a straitjacket on government borrowing. So it is ironic that the architecture of the Eurosystem destroyed the incentives of domestic constituencies to support efficient tax collection. By design, the Eurosystem preserved the practical ability of Eurosovereigns to borrow from the banking system inexpensively and at will (a privilege which remains intact, supported by the ECB, for all countries except Greece). Beneficiaries of government expenditures had little reason to support taxation, since the funds they wanted spent could be borrowed. More importantly, the Eurosystem absolved domestic constituencies of the usual consequence of undertaxation, that their incomes and saving would lose value from inflation. Ordinarily, creditors in any country are powerful constituencies for balanced budgets and “sound money”, which sometimes means cutting expenditures but also means raising taxes when expenditures cannot be cut. [1] While Eurozone states that borrowed (whether as sovereigns or through banking systems) did experience higher inflation than creditor countries, the difference was modest. Citizens knew that the value of their money was externally anchored, a Euro would always be a Euro. This imported stability hindered the emergence of any domestic constituency in favor of developing (and exercising) the state’s capacity to collect taxes.

    If government domestic expenditures, including transfer payments like pensions, are made in the scrip proposed, the market value of those securities would be directly related to the perceived willingness and ability of the state to tax in order to retire the IOUs at a reasonable pace. The villains’ in lazy creditor morality tales — beneficiaries of the welfare state, govenment employees, vendors of goods and services to the state — would become powerful constituencies for building and maintaining an efficient tax system. This would restore the natural tension in domestic politics, a balance that Eurozone institutions uninintentionally destroyed, between domestic constituencies with an interest in taxation, and other domestic interests who would be net payers of tax and so lobby to streamline expenditures.

This proposal would not fragment the Eurozone. The Euro would remain the universal unit of account and medium of settlement. [2] The proposal would loosen the strictures on government expenditure compared to existing arrangements, but importantly, the risk associated with that extra fiscal freedom would be borne entirely by domestic constituencies, not by external creditors. It would restore to Eurozone states some of the tools they lost for managing domestic shocks, without requiring unpopular transfers or destructive borrowing from other states. It would strengthen Eurozone states, as polities.

The lesson of the Asian Financial Crisis and the extraordinary reversal of financial flows that many Asian countries were able to engineer is that the strength of a state is largely a matter of its capacity to mobilize domestic risk-bearing, rather than rely upon external finance. Eurozone institutions unintentionally short-circuited that capacity. It’s time to restore it.

Some institutional details:

  • Universality — This proposal should be implemented universally within the Eurozone, as an institutional innovation for the common currency. Within states that have no immediate need for new borrowing, the market value of “state expenditure notes” would be par, and no one would have reason to complain. However, if adoption of the notes were made optional and became associated with perceived-as-weak states, states that could really benefit from financial flexibility and incentives to develop an effective tax system would be reluctant to adopt them for fear of stigma. A fig leaf — “Even the Germans do it!” — is the one concession to solidarity that this proposal requires. Otherwise, this proposal segregates risk, rather than blurring borders, which might be a relief to Northern European publics.

  • Liquid Markets — All states would be required to arrange low-transaction-cost, liquid markets in state expenditure notes. Recipients of government expenditures who need to make immediate payments may choose to convert them to cash Euros at a discount. Others may hold their notes and await redemption at face value. The discount to face at which the securities trade would provide ongoing information about the perceived fiscal strength of the state, and a very visceral incentive for recipients to see to that strength.

  • Banking considerations — Domestic, and only domestic banks, would maintain custody of the notes on behalf of customers. However, the notes would be held in segregated accounts, not on bank balance sheets. The Eurozone desperately needs to eliminate bank exposure to the sovereign debt of member states. These proposed notes would be an unusually speculative form of sovereign debt, and absolutely inappropriate as bank assets. Banks would merely provide the service of holding notes for customers and liquidating them into customer accounts on demand, as an important convenience and at regulated spreads.

  • Definition of “domestic expenditures” — A “domestic expenditure” by a member state would be defined as a payment to a domestic bank account. All domestic bank accounts would be paired with custodial accounts for expenditure notes. States could insist that transfer payments be made to domestic accounts, and might prefer to purchase goods and services from firms with domestic accounts as well. Foreign firms wishing to do business with cash-strapped governments and willing to accept the financing terms might open local bank accounts, but in general this restriction would ensure that most of the notes are spent to domestic constituencies. Speculation in the notes by nonresidents would be discouraged, in order to keep incentives (maximize the rate at which notes can be redeemed) and control (vote and participate in domestic politics) well-matched.

  • Interaction with traditional debt — The rate of redemption of expenditure notes would be entirely at the discretion of the issuing government, while coupon and principal payments on traditional debt must be made on a preagreed schedule. In that sense, one might imagine expenditure notes to be “junior” to Treasury bills and bonds. However, in the event of default, debt restructuring, or sovereign refinancing by ESM / EFSF / ECB / IMF / etc., expenditure notes would be treated as senior to other Treasury securities. (Expenditure notes would be treated analogously to uninsured deposits in bank capital structures, available for “bail-in” only after other unsecured creditors have been wiped out.) This is very important, as it would encourage buyers of traditional securities to price the credit risk of the sovereign’s full capital structure, including the debt embedded in outstanding expenditure notes. Formal seniority also reduces the risk that foreign creditors will be able to use the notes to shift the consequences of their own poor credit allocation decisions onto involuntary domestic creditors.

    Of course, short of an outright restructuring or refinancing, governments might choose to slow redemption of expenditure notes in order to retire traditional debt, which is fine. Strong domestic constituencies would limit the pace of such a reprofiling. If, eventually, finance via expenditure notes largely replaces traditional sovereign debt, that would be great. Domestic finance is much better for a polity than foreign finance, and variable maturity notes decay in value gracefully, while overextension of traditional debt causes disruptive oscillations between complacency and crisis.

Update: Perhaps the first proposal to address Eurozone problems via issuance of scrip came from Warren Mosler. When putting together cites for this post, I did not find that proposal where I had linked it previously, and simply omitted it. Fortunately, my commenters are not as lazy as I am, and point me to this 2012 version by Mosler and Philip Pilkington. I am very glad to acknowledge the prescience of Mosler’s work and the very strong influence of his “Modern Monetary Theory” on the thinking that underlies this post. My apologies for the original omission, and thanks to commenters JKH and Roberto for helping to remedy it.

[1] This may seem a little far-fetched in a US context, where creditors prioritize low taxes over any other thing, but that is unusual. The United States’ “reserve currency” status blunts the effect of debt and money issue on currency value, so creditors have less reason to prefer taxation to borrowing. In a small country with a floating currency, the potential hazard of overissuing government paper is more immediate to holders of local currency debt.

[2] Currencies are no longer “media of exchange” except for very small transactions. They are means of settlement. When I make a purchase with my credit card, I do not trade dollars for goods, but issue a bond (guaranteed by my bank) that may be eventually settled in government money if the recipient demands it. Currencies are media of settlement, not exchange.

Update History:

  • 24-Jul-2015, 5:20 p.m. EEDT: Bold update highlighting and acknowledging MMT and Mosler’s earlier work.
  • 24-Jul-2015, 10:30 p.m. EEDT: Added links to Bossone & Cattaneo proposals.

Price stickiness is not a mystery, and it is not psychology

I mean to write about something else today, so this will be short.

But I’d like to point out, as gently as possible, a mistake in the premise underlying this post by my friend Tyler Cowen. To be fair, it is not a mistake that is uniquely Cowen’s. Macroeconomists invoke price stickiness as an assumption in their models. They treat it as an axiom, a given, and therefore a mystery. Often they lazily fill in the darkness with catch-alls like “psychology” or “money illusion”, hypotheses about as useful as pomegranate seeds are as an explanation of seasons. Let’s not have the lazy conventions of macroeconomists stand in for actual thinking on a subject.

Downward price stickiness is a coordination problem, plain and simple. It has nothing whatsoever to do with illusions or cognitive biases or failing to spit after staring too intensely at a small child. Economic entities, both firms and humans, have liability structures rigid in nominal terms. A business has made forward-looking contracts — leases of facilities and equipment, price-stabilized arrangements to acquire raw materials, and yes, contracts with employers that cannot be altered without renegotiation. Businesses have also financed themselves in part with debt, and so taken on nominal obligations whose sustainability is based on forward-looking nominal prices of the goods and services they will sell. Individuals have signed rental agreements or taken mortgages. They have financed their education or their children’s, perhaps they have even taken on consumer debt. For both individuals and firms, these forward-looking nominal arrangements create a very large asymmetry between unexpected price adjustments upwards and downwards. For any economic unit, firm or individual, an unexpected price adjustment upwards in the commodities they sell to market is welcome news. The unit gets more money, its balance sheet expands in the happiest way of all, more assets matched by more equity. But for a leveraged economic unit — and we are nearly all leveraged economic units, if only because we are born short a future stream of housing and food — a downward nominal price shift may force deadweight adjustment costs, which may range from renegotiations of existing contracts to formal bankruptcy to discontinuous shifts in consumption of amenities like housing, education, and local community. (Since these amenities are marketed in sparse bundles, units are not able to continuously optimize consumption tradeoffs, and small changes in budget may lead to large changes of utility.)

Taking account of largely uncontroversial behavioral assumptions like habit formation and reference group anchoring reinforces this case, but is by no means necessary to it. Rational profit-maximizing firms exhibit downward price stickiness as do irrational left-wing humans, although how powerfully either exhibits it depends upon their solvency position and the flexibility of their capital structure, and upon a perceived probability distribution of revenue realizations under different prices. The naive microeconomic case why rational firms would not exhibit downward price stickiness — past arrangements are sunk costs, a rational firm will set prices to maximize future revenue in a forward-looking way — is flawed. It fails to take into account uncertainty surrounding the forward-looking revenue realizations. It ignores the fact that firms are usually quantity constrained in production over the short-term over which payments on their obligations come due. It ignores capital market imperfections, which yield correlations between access to external finance and downward price pressures that are unhelpful. For many firms, the costs and risks associated with an abrupt downward price adjustment are sufficiently large that the rational choice under a reduction of nominal demand is to gamble for the upside of their quantity-constrained revenue-realization distribution. So firms maintain prices higher than Marshallian scissors would advise, and try to sustain anticipated nominal revenues through marketing, product differentiation, and exercise of whatever market power they may have via relationships, network effects, etc. Of course, a strategy that is rational ex ante for firms with imperfectly flexible capital structures will only prove successful ex post for some fraction the firms that pursue it, which helps to explain why reductions of nominal demand tend to provoke consolidations in industries rather than mere rescalings of all the firms that contested the market in good times. When nominal demand collapses, prices fall less than naive economists would guess, some firms sustain quantities sold at the “too high” prices offered, others do not and start to experience large deadweight costs of insolvency. The winners can then buy the losers for a song and quickly dispell those costs.

Precisely the same dynamic accounts for adjustment to changes in labor demand on the extrinsic rather than on the intrinsic margin, for why we see unemployment rather than wage reductions in a recession. In the US (more, perhaps, than in other countries), workers’ lives tend to be leveraged against anticipated, uninsured, market incomes. Accepting a significant wage cut may imply selling a home into a bad market. (Here again, correlations between wage pressures and financial market developments are unhelpful.) It may imply pulling ones kids from schools, excision from civic and social communities, loss of difficult to replace health coverage, loss of ones automobile, and in extremis the humiliations and deadweight costs of personal bankruptcy. The operating and sometimes financial leverage of households sharply magnifies the loss associated with a wage cut, and the discontinuity of the bundles in which crucial amenities are offered magnifies that yet again. Even without invoking a Dunning-Krueger effect, these costs may be large enough that workers rationally prefer to gamble on staying employed at their anticipated wage rather than accept a very painful adjustment with certainty. Firms rationally accommodate this preference among workers, since grateful survivors make better employees on an ongoing basis than people bitterly distracted by their own insolvencies. By firing the workers on whom labor cost adjustment will fall, firms rationally externalize insolvency costs that they would be forced to partially bear if they retained those workers. Even among fired workers, it may be rational to hold out for wages high enough to restore solvency rather than quickly accept work at wages that render inevitable a disruptive adjustment. If they hold out and fail, they face a similar adjustment. But they might not fail. Holding out to search yields a valuable lottery ticket, for a while.

I said at the start that nominal price stickiness is a coordination problem, and it is. If nominal price reductions and nominal wage cuts were accompanied by simultaneous reductions in the nominal burden of each unit’s capital structures, the difficulty of downward price reduction would disappear. For a given household with no financial debt, if it were certain that existing housing, food, education, transportation, and health outflows would scale downward with a wage reduction, the household would rationally accept the wage reduction rather than risk unemployment. But even in a world where households don’t bear financial debts, even during a general depression, there is no assurance that prices will scale down with wage reductions. (On recent historical experience, there’s little evidence at all prices will scale down, that’s the equilibrium we’re in.) So it is rational for many households to resist wage reductions. The prevalence of nominal debt, which bears the stickiest price, renders resistance to downward price and wage adjustments more rational and more likely.

For both firms and individuals, resistance to downward price adjustment is often rational, even when at a macroeconomic level universal downward adjustment would be desirable (perhaps because the central bank and/or state have failed to accommodate the expected path of nominal incomes, perhaps because nominal exchange rates are rigidly misaligned). If we could wave a magic wand and have wages, prices, and especially debts all simultaneously scale downward, that might be awesome. But, unfortunately, we can’t.

If this sounds like some left-wing apologia of unreasonable wage demands (really? does it sound like that?), I’d note that the person who most famously made this argument was one Milton Friedman:

The argument for a flexible exchange rate is, strange to say, very nearly identical with the argument for daylight savings time. Isn’t it absurd to change the clock in summer when exactly the same result could be achieved by having each individual change his habits? All that is required is that everyone decide to come to his office an hour earlier, have lunch an hour earlier, etc. But obviously it is much simpler to change the clock that guides all than to have each individual separately change his pattern of reaction to the clock, even though all want to do so.

Note: I’ve written about this once before, see also an objection by the excellent RSJ.

Update: Nick Rowe generously discusses the ideas (and interacts with me in comments) in three new posts.

Update History:

  • 23-Jul-2015, 8:25 p.m. EEDT: Added bold update Re Nick Rowe’s posts.

I love Germany. And Greece. And especially Finland.

If you are sympathetic to Greece and therefore mad at Germany, you are a sucker. If you think the Greeks are lazier and more dishonest than is usual in the human species, you are also a sucker, and have let a political framing cajole you into bigotry. If you think Germans are unusually cruel, you have also let politics make a bigot of you. If you are taking sides in a conflict framed as nation versus nation, you have already taken the wrong side. You’ve made a basic error, like picking a day when a tricky prosecutor asks whether you committed the murder yesterday or last Thursday. (I presume your innocence.)

You can usually find evidence in support of lots of different narratives. Hypotheses of human affairs are not in general mutually exclusive. Many different stories can in some sense be true. Among those in-some-sense-true narratives, we should choose to emphasize those whose application will lead to better social outcomes over other potentially defensible narratives. That’s why I frequently argue that we should emphasize the role of creditors rather than debtors when lending arrangements go bad. I am not making a claim about God’s view of the subject. Perhaps Hell is a debtors’ prison, and there is truly no greater evil than failing to repay a loan. Perhaps Hell is full of creditors who failed to fit through the eye of a needle. These questions are, I think, beyond the sort of knowledge that should inform policy. What is clear is that unserviceable debt arrangements, when they accumulate, are enormously costly in human and economic terms, and so we need norms and institutions to regulate credit extension. My view, which I think almost anyone with a passing familiarity with the human species would have to concede, is that people under financial stress make decisions with a view to a shorter-term time horizon and with less capacity to be fastidious than people who have already financed their own immediate term. That is why I argue that we should emphasize norms that hold creditors accountable more than norms that hold debtors accountable. Creditors as a class are capable of regulating the initiation of debt arrangements at lower cost and with greater effectiveness that debtors are. If we want societies that yield good outcomes, then, we should impose a heavy regulatory burden on creditors, and we must choose moral narratives consistent with that.

Perhaps the very worst moral narratives in all of human history are those that allocate blame on the basis of tribal, ethnic, or national groups. There is just never, ever, any sufficient reason to go there in my view. It is perfectly reasonable to hold leaders and governments accountable, as well as the institutional embodiments of interest groups. This is not because leaders individually are worse people than members of the public who may agree with their decisions. I carry no water for fairy tales about the inherent virtue of ordinary folk. The reason we hold people and institutions that act consequentially within the political sphere accountable is because those entities are points of leverage on whom relatively humane forms of accountability — career impairment and financial loss, shame or loss of reputation, in extremis imprisonment — may powerfully regulate the behavior of the polity. To impose accountability at the level of “the people” is the logic of Dresden, barely fit even for warfare, to be avoided at all costs. (I hope in this context the World War II analogy will not further inflame national passions.) “Collective punishment” — regulating the behavior of a polity or nation by imposing consequences on all of its members — is inefficient in terms of human suffering provoked. It is also risks being much worse than counterproductive unless it lives down to the Machiavelli’s dictum that “If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.”

Civilized people do not blame nations, even when publics of those nations are holding mass rallies in the street supporting bad actions. Civilized people hold leaders and institutions to account for the conditions under which their constituents’ passions got that way, if the passions are misplaced. This is not to assert, as a positive claim, that political leaders and elite institutions “control” the will of their populations. Like most causal arrows, this one runs both ways. As with creditors and debtors, where we impose the accountability is a function of which choice leads to better outcomes. However hollow it may ring (and however hypocritical in the face of what people who use this rhetoric have sometimes done) claiming that “we have no argument with the people of Oceania, only its government” is a healthy impulse. [1] As civilized people, we ought to try to define political, economic, and social institutions that make good decisions on behalf of polities. Those institutions should both genuinely represent the diverse interests and views of their publics, and also constrain and shape those views so that the democratic will of the polity is consistent with high quality outcomes in both a functional and ethical sense. When things go awry, it is those institutions we must hold to account. To hold institutions to account effectively we must hold people to account, but we focus our scrutiny on people in roles of disproportionate authority rather than extending it to nations as a whole.

By all means blame Schäuble or Merkel or Varoufakis or Tsipiras. I have my views about who is more blameworthy, your views may differ. You may blame people like me, if you like, members of “the press” generally, and hold us accountable by reputation and career. My view is that banks and securities underwriters on both side of the Atlantic, as well as many individuals who worked in that sector, ought to have been held to much greater account for events of the financial crisis (but I also think it is too late for punitive accountability to make much of a difference now). You may disagree. These are all fine arguments to have.

But do not blame “France” or “Germany” or “Greece”, do not blame the “United States” or “Iran” or “North Korea”, tribes and nations cannot be held to account, only institutions and leaders can be.

I have not visited Germany, but I very much want to, and admire very much about its culture and economic arrangements. My own family’s difficult experiences 75 years ago do not temper my affection for Germany. It is, I think, a wonderful country. I have visited Finland, and despite the fact that I think its government’s role was less-than-constructive with respect to the Greece crisis, it remains one of my favorite places in the world. As a student of political and economic systems, I admire the Scandinavian countries above all others, regardless of their role in this crisis.

The European crisis is a crisis of bad framing. Characterizing Europe-wide credit problems in terms of national actors, then fixing that characterization into place via intersovereign lending, were deeply pernicious, deeply destructive, errors. I don’t doubt these errors arose more from increments than ill intentions. There were pressures and interests and paths of less resistance — no need for any vast conspiracy. [2] The international framing was convenient to domestic constituencies throughout Europe. In every country, elites find it convenient to deflect passions to an external bad actor rather than take responsibility for mistakes at home. Sometimes on the merits they have a case, sometimes not. Regardless, inflaming passions against another nation is always a terrible choice. Even when a dispute really is a zero-sum conflict of interest between two nations, great diplomacy is called for. That may be a lot to ask for, but it is what civilized countries do. I wish my own country lived up to it more often.

The credit crisis that has writhed and recrudesced into a Greece crisis never needed to become a conflict between nations. I believe Europe’s current crop of leaders must be held to account for having made it that, and I repeat my admonition. Shame. I hope (against the odds perhaps) that a less narrow and compromised set of leaders replaces the current generation, that Eurofinance is reformed much more deeply than it has been, and that as passions fade the European project can resume. I even hope that the Euro survives, although I think the economic case against it is powerful and correct. Fixing the Euro is possible. It just requires institutional innovation that at the moment seems unthinkable. But, in the recent cliché, the unthinkable has an odd habit of becoming inevitable in politics. There is still room to hope.

[1] Yes, the Orwell reference is intentional. We are in very grey territory here.

[2] The errors in the Eurosystem’s financial architecture were not a vast conspiracy either, as some readers have mistaken from my piece on Greece. Yes, sovereign lending looked like free money to Eurozone bankers because all Eurosovereigns were risk-free as regulatory matter. But that regulatory choice came from a misguided political decision to treat sovereigns equally and optimistically, in spite of very divergent economics. Bankers did not lobby for the error, they responded to it. That does not absolve them of their bad loans. Bankers’ job is to regulate credit allocation, and if regulators give them rope to hang themselves they still oughtn’t use it, and ought to be held to account for having done. Western banks are institutions in need of fairly wholesale reform, from which they have thus far been spared. But to indulge in hatred of “bankers” as a class is ugly and unfocused. In general, when we hold people to account as we must, we should do so in sadness because it is necessary, not in glee because we are righteous.

Update History:

  • 14-Jul-2015, 6:30 p.m. EEDT: “you a sympathetic” ⇒ “you are sympathetic”; “institutions that demand fairly” ⇒ “institutions in need of fairly”; “the Euro survives, even though I” ⇒ “the Euro survives, although I”
  • 15-Jul-2015, 0:00 a.m. EEDT: “for fairy tales about inherent virtue” ⇒ “for fairy tales about the inherent virtue”
  • 15-Jul-2015, 1:05 a.m. EEDT: “ought to be held account for having done” ⇒ “ought to be held to account for having done”

Banks and Greece’s bailouts

Greece’s 2010 assistance program was largely a bailout of European banks, initiated to prevent a wider banking crisis. I didn’t expect this claim, from the previous post, to be very contentious. But apparently it is, so I’ll overdocument below. Certainly a bank bailout was not the program’s sole purpose — fear of contagion to other indebted Eurosovereigns was also concentrating people’s minds. But the operation was not a huge help to Greece except in the sense replacing private creditors with more generously scheduled official creditors gave the country breathing space.

Commenters have brought up the 2012 program, which is more complicated. It included “private sector involvement”, Eurospeak for getting private creditors to take a haircut on their holdings of Greek debt. That’s a more ambiguous case, and we’ll discuss it below. My view was and remains that the “cramdown” was made possible precisely because the first program helped European banks to reduce their exposures to Greece, both directly by getting paid in full on near-maturity debt, and indirectly by creating time and a window of optimism during which positions could be offloaded without too much impairment. Below, I link some data and and work through an exercise that supports my view, but I certainly don’t claim it is definitive.

Most of this post is going to be documenting stuff. But I want to correct a misperception I fear I may have left with the previous post.

I am not criticizing Europe’s handling of Greece because banks deserved to take a hit and were treated too lightly. It is not the absence of pain and blame that troubles me, but its asymmetry. What was required was a Europe-wide solution to a European problem. What occurred, in my opinion, was the quarantining of a scapegoat. I blame Europe’s leaders for not framing the crisis in a different way, for acting as though it was about alms to Southern miscreants rather than explaining its roots in EU-wide regulatory errors and poor credit allocation incentives, Europe-wide problems that threatened many states. Framed this way, solutions would have looked very different. They would have addressed Germany’s problems and France’s problems as well as those of Greece, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Ireland, and Cyprus. Framed this way, solutions would have been conducive to “ever closer union” one crisis at a time. Instead, leaders chose to inflame national stereotypes. They pretended that there were villains and angels, and that they (and their own constituents, of course) were the angels.

I understand that life happens in real time, people are human, and politicians face pressures and constraints. But if we can admit that of politicians in Brussels, perhaps we might extend the courtesy to politicians in Athens as well. They too inherited their imperfect institutions, and followed paths of less resistance that perhaps were not so virtuous.

2010 Program

The 2010 assistance program was widely understood at the time to be motivated by the need to prevent disruptive write downs at non-Greek banks. The Guardian reported in February 2010 that France and Switzerland had exposures to Greece of €55B each ($119B @ 1.4266 $/€), and Germany €30B ($43B @ 1.4266 $/€), based on BIS data. The Wall Street Journal reported similar values, as does CRS. [1]

In early 2010, it was not the case that the majority of Greek debt was held by Greek banks, as people seem fond of saying. From the same Guardian piece:

Analysts…dismissed as misplaced concerns that Greek banks might be holding all the €300bn of debt in issuance. “Greek banks own around €40bn of the total…implying most Greek debt is sitting on the balance sheets of non-domestic banks,” said Jagdeep Kalsi, an analyst at Credit Suisse.

From Swiss Daily Tagesanzeiger as translated by Ed Harrison:

According to the International Monetary Fund (IMF), about two thirds of the debt of Greece is held by foreign creditors — an above average value.

After the program was announced, European economists (but not politicians) frequently explained it as intended to shore up non-Greek banks. Here’s former IMF staffer Gary O’Callaghan, writing in 2011:

The new Portuguese programme is set to be launched in the context of a continuing lack of market credibility in the other two — the Greek and Irish…

[W]hy are [Eurozone finance ministers] supporting these financial assistance programmes? Because, if they are not implemented, the non-payment of debt — including bank debt — by the nations on the periphery would lead to severe banking crises and a return to recession in the core of the eurozone.

Former Bundesbank head Karl Otto Pöhl, just after the 2010 program for Greece was approved:

Pöhl: …a small, indeed a tiny, country like Greece, one with no industrial base, would never be in a position to pay back €300 billion worth of debt.

SPIEGEL: According to the rescue plan, it’s actually €350 billion …

Pöhl: … which that country has even less chance of paying back. Without a “haircut,” a partial debt waiver, it cannot and will not ever happen. So why not immediately? That would have been one alternative. The European Union should have declared half a year ago — or even earlier — that Greek debt needed restructuring.

SPIEGEL: But according to Chancellor Angela Merkel, that would have led to a domino effect, with repercussions for other European states facing debt crises of their own.

Pöhl: I do not believe that. I think it was about something altogether different… It was about protecting German banks, but especially the French banks, from debt write offs. On the day that the rescue package was agreed on, shares of French banks rose by up to 24 percent. Looking at that, you can see what this was really about — namely, rescuing the banks and the rich Greeks.

Pöhl, by the way, agreed with the now-(in)famous Yanis Varoufakis that from Greece’s perspective, a partial default would have been superior to the 2010 package. Here’s Pöhl again:

Pöhl: …They could have slashed the debts by one-third. The banks would then have had to write off a third of their securities.

SPIEGEL: There was fear that investors would not have touched Greek government bonds for years, nor would they have touched the bonds of any other southern European countries.

Pöhl: I believe the opposite would have happened. Investors would quickly have seen that Greece could get a handle on its debt problems. And for that reason, trust would quickly have been restored. But that moment has passed. Now we have this mess.

Strange bedfellows, perhaps.

If this is all nonsense (as a correspondent alleges) because of errors in the BIS exposures data widely known four years ago, I’m not the only one who’s missed the memo. I’m in pretty good company. Here’s banking scholar Anil Kashyap writing just a few days ago:

By the spring of 2010 the excessive debt problem became unbearable and there was open speculation that Greece would default. The country had done this on four occasions previously since 1800. Much of the government debt was owed to banks outside of Greece, with the largest amounts in France and Germany. So if Greece had stopped paying, the French and German banks would have suffered substantial losses.

Greece was lent new money in 2010, but as Karl Otto Pohl former head of the German central bank observed at the time much of that money was used to repay the obligations owned by the French and German banks. The new lending was advertised by the politicians across Europe as a rescue for Greece. But it was at least as much a deal to buy time for the banks and other owners of Greek debt to avoid a default.

2012 Private Sector Involvement (PSI)

In 2012, private sector creditors were indeed asked to take a hit. As I mentioned in the intro, my view is that “PSI” was undertaken in deference to the politics of creditor moral hazard only when, thanks to the 2010 intervention, non-Greek banks were able to reduce their exposure. I’m hardly alone in that view. Again, Anil Kashyap:

By continuing to allow banks everywhere to use Greek debt as collateral, the ECB also created conditions that supported the trading of Greek debt. By this time the French and German banks had shed their exposure to Greece so that they would no longer be directly harmed if there was a default. So the stealth rescue of the non-Greek banks was completed with little public attention and the narrative that all the problems were self-inflicted by the Greeks became more pronounced.

By June 2011, Greek banks did hold the majority of Greek debt, and other banks’ exposure was small enough that large write-downs would be manageable. (Here’s a spreadsheet, published by the Guardian, with data apparently from UBS.)

According to the best discussion of PSI I’ve found, by Jeromin Zettelmeyer, Christoph Trebesch, and Mitu Gulati, the debt exchange was large, affecting €199B of debt at face-value, with a present value of roughly €130B at the time of the exchange (using a discount rate of 15.3%, see Table 4, p. 23). The authors estimate the total debt relief to Greece from the operation to be €98B. Of that €98B, €15.8B are accounted for by subsidies embedded in two below-market loans from official lenders: €8.2B in underpriced borrowing to buy notes from the EFSF (to be distributed as a “sweetener” to encourage creditors to make the exchange), and €7.6B in the form of an underpriced loan to partially recapitalize Greece’s banks (which would be impaired following their own participation in the write-down). That left a subsidy of €98B – €15.8B = €82.2B which had to have been provided by surrendering €130B in debt, for an average write down of 63.2%.

If we assume that the Guardian/UBS exposures linked above are valued at comparable discount rates, we can compute the distribution of the incidence of this cost-to-debt-holders / subsidy-to-Greece. According to that data, Greek banks would have accounted for 45.3% of the €130B debt exchanged, non-Greek banks would have accounted for 25.3%, and unknown non-European-bank holders would account for an additional 29.4%. In absolute € terms, then, Greek banks representing €58.9B of exposure would have transfered €37.3B; non-Greek banks representing €32.9B of exposure would have transfered €20.8B; and unknown non-European-bank holders representing €38.2B of exposure would have transfered €24.2B.

I’d say that non-Greek European banks got off pretty easy in this exercise. If you believe the Credit Suisse analyst cited by The Guardian above, Greek banks held only 13% of Greece’s debt when the 2010 bailout began. Yet in the 2012 exchange, Greek banks were responsible for substantially more of the debt relief than non-Greek banks, even net of the recapitalization subsidy. (€29.7B vs €20.8B)

There’s lots you can quibble with here. Maybe the Guardian/UBS exposures are valued at a very different discount than our 15.3%. Maybe that data’s no good (it’s just the only data I could find). I’m treating all debt as incurring the same write-down. In fact, the size of the write-downs were maturity sensitive, with short maturities incurring larger haircuts than longer maturities, and there’s no reason to think the maturity profile of our three subgroups was identical. Maybe the assumptions beneath the pieces I’m borrowing from Zettelmeyer, Trebesch, and Gulati are wrong. Maybe I’m just screwing something up. (Let me know! Trashy spreadsheet!) But this is about the best I can do on the evidence we actually have. And, tentatively, it doesn’t look like Greece’s pre-2010 bank creditors had it very rough at all, especially when compared to 2010 BIS exposures.

Profile of Greece’s overall finance, 2010 – 2012

There’s a wonderful analysis at Greek Default Watch of Greece’s sources and uses of external finance from 2010 – 2012. It seems like a good way to conclude this piece:

The Greek government needed €247 billion in the period from 2010—2012. Of that, a mere 7.7% went to finance the government’s deficit—the rest went for other purposes. Around 15.4% went to pay interest on debt—this money went to both domestic and foreign investors. Another 12.3% went to repay Greek investors who held government bonds that were expiring in that period. A full 24.3%, the largest item, went to repay foreign holders of Greek government bonds—in sum, almost €60 billion. Around 18% went to recapitalize banks, 14% went to support the PSI (such as buying back debt) and 8.6% went for other operations.

In other words, more than 50% of the money that Greece needed in that period was to deal with the country’s excessive debt burden (interest on debt and repaying residents and non-residents). Given that the bank recapitalization and PSI were both, ultimately, linked to the country’s debt, almost 84%, or €206 billion, was ultimately devoted to Greece’s debt—which, at year-end 2009, was €299 billion. Importantly, however, a large sum (€60 billion) went to bailout foreign banks and other investors. So this operation was minimally about covering the current profligacy of the Greek state—it was mostly about covering its pass excesses.

I think that covers it.


[1] By Twitter, Dave Rabinowitz disputes these values, citing 2011 data and some earlier not-so-accessible investment bank research. It’s not disputed, I think, that exposures were much lower by 2011. That’s much of what buying time with a bailout would be intended to enable. (If Rabinowitz does have better information than the BIS on exposures at the time of the program, and what policymakers at the time would have understood those exposures to be, I hope that he’ll provide it. I’d be glad to offer links in an update.)