Yet, its effects still echo in the way we live today — in the attitudes that pervade our economy, our culture and our politics. It is hardly a stretch to suggest that President Donald Trump’s election was a direct result of the financial crisis.
The crisis was a moment that cleaved the country. It broke a social contract between the plutocrats and everyone else. But it also broke a sense of trust, not just in financial institutions and the government that oversaw them, but in the very idea of experts and expertise. The past 10 years have seen an open revolt against the intelligentsia.
Deepest crisis = populism
Mistrust led to new political movements: the ‘Tea Party’ for those who didn’t trust the government and ‘Occupy Wall Street’ for those who didn’t trust big business. These moved Democrats and Republicans away from each other in fundamental ways, and populist attitudes on both ends of the spectrum found champions in the 2016 presidential race in Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump.
The depth of financial despair during the Great Recession and the invariably slow recovery have unleashed a sense of bitterness that dominates the political landscape, culminating in the Trump’s electoral victory. “We are almost at each other’s throats when times are good,” said Ray Dalio, founder of Bridgewater Associates, the largest hedge fund in the world with some $150 billion in assets and author of a new book, <A Template for Understanding Big Debt Crises>.
The deepest crises always lead to populism. And it should be no surprise that a crisis leads to conflict and, in some extreme cases, war. Populists on every side of the political spectrum “have in common that they’re confrontational,” he said.
When I wrote <Too Big to Fail> nearly a decade ago, I knew that the crisis would redefine Wall Street and the economy, but I didn’t appreciate how fundamentally it would redefine the political environment. Amir Sufi, a professor of economics and public policy at University of Chicago’s Booth School of Business and co-author of <House of Debt>, pointed to the financial crisis as the source of reduced civility a few months after Trump’s victory. He conducted an analysis of 60 countries with his <House of Debt> co-author, Atif Mian of Princeton University, and Francesco Trebbi of the University of British Columbia.
“Our conclusion: financial crises tend to radicalise electorates,” Sufi wrote. “After a banking, currency, or debt crisis, our data indicate, the share of centrists or moderates in a country went down, while the share of left- or right-wing radicals went up in most cases.”
In the US, the crisis exposed an economy that had been a charade — one that most Americans didn’t understand or appreciate. The use of debt had masked the real problems underneath the surface: a significant decrease in worker participation, automation that would take jobs and stagnant wage growth.
These issues long predated the crisis. But as Warren Buffett famously said, “You only find out who is swimming naked when the tide goes out.”
In truth, the economy today is in much better shape than you might expect, with unemployment at 3.9 per cent — lower than it was before the crisis. Yet, debates persist about the way the government chose to respond to the crisis. Should it have done more directly for homeowners? Should it have demanded more onerous terms for the hundreds of billions of dollars in loans to the banks and bankers, like restricting compensation and firing executives to demonstrate more accountability? Should some bankers have gone to jail?
A bigger crisis looming?
For some, it is tempting to think that the government should have taken a more populist approach itself. By offering more help directly to the public rather than what was perceived as bailing out the banks, there is a suspicion that divisions could have been lessened, yielding a more united US. But would it?
In Britain, the government did all those politically popular things: it restricted banker pay, fired executives, lent money to banks on onerous terms, and restricted spending.
It didn’t work. The British economy grew significantly slower. And the resulting resentment and bitterness was much worse, leading to a manifestation of populism even more drastic: the unimaginable vote to leave the European Union.
It doesn’t help that the economic medicine used by policymakers after a crisis exacerbates those feelings of anger. The most efficient fix — lowering interest rates — helps the wealthy because they end up with cheaper mortgages and enjoy the benefits that low rates have on corporate growth. Those lower on the economic ladder, on the other hand, get little in interest on their savings. The gap between the haves and the have-nots widens.
But that approach actually works, pulling everyone along with it, even if it is uneven and there are greater beneficiaries than others.
There is one question I get more than any other: “Will we have another crisis?” The answer, of course, is yes. But it’s not a Wall Street crisis similar to 2008 that concerns me. I’m worried about something far bigger.
When I wrote <Too Big to Fail>, that phrase was only used in the context of financial institutions. Today, it is used to refer to cities, municipalities, states and countries. If you look at the build up of debt, that’s the place to keep an eye on.
Unmanageable debt is the match that lights the fire of every crisis. You can have as many bad actors on stage as you want — greedy bankers, inept regulators, conflicted credit rating agencies — but unless there is significant leverage in the system, there’s little danger of a crisis.
The US national debt is more than $21 trillion, and it increased $1 trillion in just six months under Trump, who rode populist and anti-establishment sentiment to the White House but whose policy choices have largely favoured the wealthy. That’s not the only cause for concern, either.
If history tells us the political divisions we have seen since the financial crisis were predictable, then what does history have to say about what comes next?
— New York Times News Service
