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An Insightful article on the Greek Sovereign Default Crisis.
Greece will default on its national debt. That default will be due, in large part, to its membership of the European Monetary Union. If it were not part of the euro system, Greece might not have gotten into its current predicament and, even if it had gotten into its current predicament, it could have avoided the need to default.
Greece’s default on its national debt need not mean an explicit refusal to make principal and interest payments when they come due. More likely would be an IMF-organised restructuring of the existing debt, swapping new bonds with lower principal and interest for existing bonds. Or, it could be a “soft default” in which Greece unilaterally services its existing debt with new debt rather than paying in cash. But, whatever form the default takes, the current owners of Greek debt will get less than the full amount that they are now owed.
The only way that Greece could avoid a default would be by cutting its future annual budget deficits to a level that foreign and domestic investors would be willing to finance on a voluntary basis. At a minimum, that would mean reducing the deficit to a level that stops the rise in the debt-to-GDP ratio.
To achieve that, the current deficit of 14 per cent of GDP would have to fall to 5 per cent of GDP or less. But to bring the debt-to-GDP ratio to the 60 per cent level prescribed by the Maastricht Treaty would require reducing the annual budget deficit to just 3 per cent of GDP — the goal that the eurozone’s finance ministers have said Greece must achieve by 2012.
Reducing the budget deficit by 10 per cent of GDP would mean an enormous cut in government spending, or a dramatic rise in tax revenue — or, more likely, both. Quite apart from the political difficulty of achieving this would be the very serious adverse effect on aggregate domestic demand and, therefore, on production and employment. Greece’s unemployment rate is already 10 per cent, and its GDP is already expected to fall at an annual rate of more than 4 per cent, pushing joblessness even higher.
Depressing economic activity further through higher taxes and reduced government spending would cause offsetting reductions in tax revenue and offsetting increases in transfer payments to the unemployed. So, every planned euro of deficit reduction delivers less than a euro of actual deficit reduction. That means that planned tax increases and cuts in basic government spending would have to be even larger than 10 per cent of GDP in order to achieve a 3 per cent-of-GDP budget deficit.
There simply is no way around the arithmetic implied by the scale of deficit reduction and the accompanying economic decline: Greece’s default on its debt is inevitable.
Greece might have been able to avoid that outcome if it were not in the eurozone. If Greece still had its own currency, the authorities could devalue it while tightening fiscal policy. A devalued currency would increase exports and cause Greek households and firms to substitute domestic products for imported goods. The increased demand for Greek goods and services would raise Greece’s GDP, increasing tax revenue and reducing transfer payments. In short, fiscal consolidation would be both easier and less painful if Greece had its own monetary policy.
Greece’s membership in the eurozone was also a principal cause of its current large budget deficit. Because Greece has not had its own currency for more than a decade now, there has been no market signal to warn Greece that its debt was growing unacceptably large.
If Greece had remained outside the eurozone and retained the drachma, the large increased supply of Greek bonds would cause the drachma to decline and the interest rate on the bonds to rise. But, because Greek euro bonds were regarded as a close substitute for other countries’ euro bonds, the interest rate on Greek bonds did not rise as Greece increased its borrowing — until the market began to fear a possible default.
The substantial surge in the interest rate on Greek bonds relative to German bonds in the past few weeks shows that the market now regards such a default as increasingly likely. The combination of credits from the other eurozone countries and lending by the IMF may provide enough liquidity to stave off default for a while. In exchange for this liquidity support, Greece will be forced to accept painful fiscal tightening and falling GDP.
In the end, Greece, the eurozone’s other members, and Greece’s creditors will have to accept that the country is insolvent and cannot service its existing debt. At that point, Greece will default.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Pendulum is swinging !!!
A special report on innovation in emerging markets
IN 1980 American car executives were so shaken to find that Japan had replaced the United States as the world’s leading carmaker that they began to visit Japan to find out what was going on. How could the Japanese beat the Americans on both price and reliability? And how did they manage to produce new models so quickly? The visitors discovered that the answer was not industrial policy or state subsidies, as they had expected, but business innovation. The Japanese had invented a new system of making things that was quickly dubbed “lean manufacturing”.
This special report will argue that something comparable is now happening in the emerging world. Developing countries are becoming hotbeds of business innovation in much the same way as Japan did from the 1950s onwards. They are coming up with new products and services that are dramatically cheaper than their Western equivalents: $3,000 cars, $300 computers and $30 mobile phones that provide nationwide service for just 2 cents a minute. They are reinventing systems of production and distribution, and they are experimenting with entirely new business models. All the elements of modern business, from supply-chain management to recruitment and retention, are being rejigged or reinvented in one emerging market or another.
Why are countries that were until recently associated with cheap hands now becoming leaders in innovation? The most obvious reason is that the local companies are dreaming bigger dreams. Driven by a mixture of ambition and fear—ambition to bestride the world stage and fear of even cheaper competitors in, say, Vietnam or Cambodia—they are relentlessly climbing up the value chain. Emerging-market champions have not only proved highly competitive in their own backyards, they are also going global themselves.
The United Nations World Investment Report calculates that there are now around 21,500 multinationals based in the emerging world. The best of these, such as India’s Bharat Forge in forging, China’s BYD in batteries and Brazil’s Embraer in jet aircraft, are as good as anybody in the world. The number of companies from Brazil, India, China or Russia on the Financial Times 500 list more than quadrupled in 2006-08, from 15 to 62. Brazilian top 20 multinationals more than doubled their foreign assets in a single year, 2006.
At the same time Western multinationals are investing ever bigger hopes in emerging markets. They regard them as sources of economic growth and high-quality brainpower, both of which they desperately need. Multinationals expect about 70% of the world’s growth over the next few years to come from emerging markets, with 40% coming from just two countries, China and India. They have also noted that China and to a lesser extent India have been pouring resources into education over the past couple of decades. China produces 75,000 people with higher degrees in engineering or computer science and India 60,000 every year.
The world’s biggest multinationals are becoming increasingly happy to do their research and development in emerging markets. Companies in the Fortune 500 list have 98 R&D facilities in China and 63 in India. Some have more than one. General Electric’s health-care arm has spent more than $50m in the past few years to build a vast R&D centre in India’s Bangalore, its biggest anywhere in the world. Cisco is splashing out more than $1 billion on a second global headquarters—Cisco East—in Bangalore, now nearing completion. Microsoft’s R&D centre in Beijing is its largest outside its American headquarters in Redmond. Knowledge-intensive companies such as IT specialists and consultancies have hugely stepped up the number of people they employ in developing countries. For example, a quarter of Accenture’s workforce is in India.
Both Western and emerging-country companies have also realised that they need to try harder if they are to prosper in these booming markets. It is not enough to concentrate on the Gucci and Mercedes crowd; they have to learn how to appeal to the billions of people who live outside Shanghai and Bangalore, from the rising middle classes in second-tier cities to the farmers in isolated villages. That means rethinking everything from products to distribution systems.
Anil Gupta, of the University of Maryland at College Park, points out that these markets are among the toughest in the world. Distribution systems can be hopeless. Income streams can be unpredictable. Pollution can be lung-searing. Governments can be infuriating, sometimes meddling and sometimes failing to provide basic services. Pirating can squeeze profit margins. And poverty is ubiquitous. The islands of success are surrounded by a sea of problems, which have defeated some doughty companies. Yahoo! and eBay retreated from China, and Google too has recently backed out from there and moved to Hong Kong. Black & Decker, America’s biggest toolmaker, is almost invisible in India and China, the world’s two biggest construction sites.
But the opportunities are equally extraordinary. The potential market is huge: populations are already much bigger than in the developed world and growing much faster (see chart 1), and in both China and India hundreds of millions of people will enter the middle class in the coming decades. The economies are set to grow faster too (see chart 2). Few companies suffer from the costly “legacy systems” that are common in the West. Brainpower is relatively cheap and abundant: in China over 5m people graduate every year and in India about 3m, respectively four times and three times the numbers a decade ago.
This combination of challenges and opportunities is producing a fizzing cocktail of creativity. Because so many consumers are poor, companies have to go for volume. But because piracy is so commonplace, they also have to keep upgrading their products. Again the similarities with Japan in the 1980s are striking. Toyota and Honda took to “just-in-time” inventories and quality management because land and raw materials were expensive. In the same way emerging-market companies are turning problems into advantages.
Until now it had been widely assumed that globalisation was driven by the West and imposed on the rest. Bosses in New York, London and Paris would control the process from their glass towers, and Western consumers would reap most of the benefits. This is changing fast. Muscular emerging-market champions such as India’s ArcelorMittal in steel and Mexico’s Cemex in cement are gobbling up Western companies. Brainy ones such as Infosys and Wipro are taking over office work. And consumers in developing countries are getting richer faster than their equivalents in the West. In some cases the traditional global supply chain is even being reversed: Embraer buys many of its component parts from the West and does the assembly work in Brazil.
Old assumptions about innovation are also being challenged. People in the West like to believe that their companies cook up new ideas in their laboratories at home and then export them to the developing world, which makes it easier to accept job losses in manufacturing. But this is proving less true by the day. Western companies are embracing “polycentric innovation” as they spread their R&D centres around the world. And non-Western companies are becoming powerhouses of innovation in everything from telecoms to computers.
Rethinking innovation
The very nature of innovation is having to be rethought. Most people in the West equate it with technological breakthroughs, embodied in revolutionary new products that are taken up by the elites and eventually trickle down to the masses. But many of the most important innovations consist of incremental improvements to products and processes aimed at the middle or the bottom of the income pyramid: look at Wal-Mart’s exemplary supply system or Dell’s application of just-in-time production to personal computers.
The emerging world will undoubtedly make a growing contribution to breakthrough innovations. It has already leapfrogged ahead of the West in areas such as mobile money (using mobile phones to make payments) and online games. Microsoft’s research laboratory in Beijing has produced clever programs that allow computers to recognise handwriting or turn photographs into cartoons. Huawei, a Chinese telecoms giant, has become the world’s fourth-largest patent applicant. But the most exciting innovations—and the ones this report will concentrate on—are of the Wal-Mart and Dell variety: smarter ways of designing products and organising processes to reach the billions of consumers who are just entering the global market.
No visitor to the emerging world can fail to be struck by its prevailing optimism, particularly if his starting point is the recession-racked West. The 2009 Pew Global Attitudes Project confirms this impression. Some 94% of Indians, 87% of Brazilians and 85% of Chinese say that they are satisfied with their lives. Large majorities of people in China and India say their country’s current economic situation is good (see chart 3), expect conditions to improve further and think their children will be better off than they are. This is a region that, to echo Churchill’s phrase, sees opportunities in every difficulty rather than difficulties in every opportunity.
This special report will conclude by asking what all this means for the rich world and for the balance of economic power. In the past, emerging economic leviathans have tended to embrace new management systems as they tried to consolidate their progress. America adopted Henry Ford’s production line and Alfred Sloan’s multidivisional firm and swept all before it until the 1960s. Japan invented lean production and almost destroyed the American car and electronics industries. Now the emerging markets are developing their own distinctive management ideas, and Western companies will increasingly find themselves learning from their rivals. People who used to think of the emerging world as a source of cheap labour must now recognise that it can be a source of disruptive innovation as well
IN 1980 American car executives were so shaken to find that Japan had replaced the United States as the world’s leading carmaker that they began to visit Japan to find out what was going on. How could the Japanese beat the Americans on both price and reliability? And how did they manage to produce new models so quickly? The visitors discovered that the answer was not industrial policy or state subsidies, as they had expected, but business innovation. The Japanese had invented a new system of making things that was quickly dubbed “lean manufacturing”.
This special report will argue that something comparable is now happening in the emerging world. Developing countries are becoming hotbeds of business innovation in much the same way as Japan did from the 1950s onwards. They are coming up with new products and services that are dramatically cheaper than their Western equivalents: $3,000 cars, $300 computers and $30 mobile phones that provide nationwide service for just 2 cents a minute. They are reinventing systems of production and distribution, and they are experimenting with entirely new business models. All the elements of modern business, from supply-chain management to recruitment and retention, are being rejigged or reinvented in one emerging market or another.
Why are countries that were until recently associated with cheap hands now becoming leaders in innovation? The most obvious reason is that the local companies are dreaming bigger dreams. Driven by a mixture of ambition and fear—ambition to bestride the world stage and fear of even cheaper competitors in, say, Vietnam or Cambodia—they are relentlessly climbing up the value chain. Emerging-market champions have not only proved highly competitive in their own backyards, they are also going global themselves.
The United Nations World Investment Report calculates that there are now around 21,500 multinationals based in the emerging world. The best of these, such as India’s Bharat Forge in forging, China’s BYD in batteries and Brazil’s Embraer in jet aircraft, are as good as anybody in the world. The number of companies from Brazil, India, China or Russia on the Financial Times 500 list more than quadrupled in 2006-08, from 15 to 62. Brazilian top 20 multinationals more than doubled their foreign assets in a single year, 2006.
At the same time Western multinationals are investing ever bigger hopes in emerging markets. They regard them as sources of economic growth and high-quality brainpower, both of which they desperately need. Multinationals expect about 70% of the world’s growth over the next few years to come from emerging markets, with 40% coming from just two countries, China and India. They have also noted that China and to a lesser extent India have been pouring resources into education over the past couple of decades. China produces 75,000 people with higher degrees in engineering or computer science and India 60,000 every year.
The world’s biggest multinationals are becoming increasingly happy to do their research and development in emerging markets. Companies in the Fortune 500 list have 98 R&D facilities in China and 63 in India. Some have more than one. General Electric’s health-care arm has spent more than $50m in the past few years to build a vast R&D centre in India’s Bangalore, its biggest anywhere in the world. Cisco is splashing out more than $1 billion on a second global headquarters—Cisco East—in Bangalore, now nearing completion. Microsoft’s R&D centre in Beijing is its largest outside its American headquarters in Redmond. Knowledge-intensive companies such as IT specialists and consultancies have hugely stepped up the number of people they employ in developing countries. For example, a quarter of Accenture’s workforce is in India.
Both Western and emerging-country companies have also realised that they need to try harder if they are to prosper in these booming markets. It is not enough to concentrate on the Gucci and Mercedes crowd; they have to learn how to appeal to the billions of people who live outside Shanghai and Bangalore, from the rising middle classes in second-tier cities to the farmers in isolated villages. That means rethinking everything from products to distribution systems.
Anil Gupta, of the University of Maryland at College Park, points out that these markets are among the toughest in the world. Distribution systems can be hopeless. Income streams can be unpredictable. Pollution can be lung-searing. Governments can be infuriating, sometimes meddling and sometimes failing to provide basic services. Pirating can squeeze profit margins. And poverty is ubiquitous. The islands of success are surrounded by a sea of problems, which have defeated some doughty companies. Yahoo! and eBay retreated from China, and Google too has recently backed out from there and moved to Hong Kong. Black & Decker, America’s biggest toolmaker, is almost invisible in India and China, the world’s two biggest construction sites.
But the opportunities are equally extraordinary. The potential market is huge: populations are already much bigger than in the developed world and growing much faster (see chart 1), and in both China and India hundreds of millions of people will enter the middle class in the coming decades. The economies are set to grow faster too (see chart 2). Few companies suffer from the costly “legacy systems” that are common in the West. Brainpower is relatively cheap and abundant: in China over 5m people graduate every year and in India about 3m, respectively four times and three times the numbers a decade ago.
This combination of challenges and opportunities is producing a fizzing cocktail of creativity. Because so many consumers are poor, companies have to go for volume. But because piracy is so commonplace, they also have to keep upgrading their products. Again the similarities with Japan in the 1980s are striking. Toyota and Honda took to “just-in-time” inventories and quality management because land and raw materials were expensive. In the same way emerging-market companies are turning problems into advantages.
Until now it had been widely assumed that globalisation was driven by the West and imposed on the rest. Bosses in New York, London and Paris would control the process from their glass towers, and Western consumers would reap most of the benefits. This is changing fast. Muscular emerging-market champions such as India’s ArcelorMittal in steel and Mexico’s Cemex in cement are gobbling up Western companies. Brainy ones such as Infosys and Wipro are taking over office work. And consumers in developing countries are getting richer faster than their equivalents in the West. In some cases the traditional global supply chain is even being reversed: Embraer buys many of its component parts from the West and does the assembly work in Brazil.
Old assumptions about innovation are also being challenged. People in the West like to believe that their companies cook up new ideas in their laboratories at home and then export them to the developing world, which makes it easier to accept job losses in manufacturing. But this is proving less true by the day. Western companies are embracing “polycentric innovation” as they spread their R&D centres around the world. And non-Western companies are becoming powerhouses of innovation in everything from telecoms to computers.
Rethinking innovation
The very nature of innovation is having to be rethought. Most people in the West equate it with technological breakthroughs, embodied in revolutionary new products that are taken up by the elites and eventually trickle down to the masses. But many of the most important innovations consist of incremental improvements to products and processes aimed at the middle or the bottom of the income pyramid: look at Wal-Mart’s exemplary supply system or Dell’s application of just-in-time production to personal computers.
The emerging world will undoubtedly make a growing contribution to breakthrough innovations. It has already leapfrogged ahead of the West in areas such as mobile money (using mobile phones to make payments) and online games. Microsoft’s research laboratory in Beijing has produced clever programs that allow computers to recognise handwriting or turn photographs into cartoons. Huawei, a Chinese telecoms giant, has become the world’s fourth-largest patent applicant. But the most exciting innovations—and the ones this report will concentrate on—are of the Wal-Mart and Dell variety: smarter ways of designing products and organising processes to reach the billions of consumers who are just entering the global market.
No visitor to the emerging world can fail to be struck by its prevailing optimism, particularly if his starting point is the recession-racked West. The 2009 Pew Global Attitudes Project confirms this impression. Some 94% of Indians, 87% of Brazilians and 85% of Chinese say that they are satisfied with their lives. Large majorities of people in China and India say their country’s current economic situation is good (see chart 3), expect conditions to improve further and think their children will be better off than they are. This is a region that, to echo Churchill’s phrase, sees opportunities in every difficulty rather than difficulties in every opportunity.
This special report will conclude by asking what all this means for the rich world and for the balance of economic power. In the past, emerging economic leviathans have tended to embrace new management systems as they tried to consolidate their progress. America adopted Henry Ford’s production line and Alfred Sloan’s multidivisional firm and swept all before it until the 1960s. Japan invented lean production and almost destroyed the American car and electronics industries. Now the emerging markets are developing their own distinctive management ideas, and Western companies will increasingly find themselves learning from their rivals. People who used to think of the emerging world as a source of cheap labour must now recognise that it can be a source of disruptive innovation as well
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
THE GREAT FINANCIAL CRISIS OF 2008-09 / WHAT WENT WRONG ?
A special report on financial risk in context of the financial crisis.
Source : The Economist.
THE revolutionary idea that defines the boundary between modern times and the past is the mastery of risk: the notion that the future is more than a whim of the gods and that men and women are not passive before nature.” So wrote Peter Bernstein in his seminal history of risk, “Against the Gods”, published in 1996. And so it seemed, to all but a few Cassandras, for much of the decade that followed. Finance enjoyed a golden period, with low interest rates, low volatility and high returns. Risk seemed to have been reduced to a permanently lower level.
This purported new paradigm hinged, in large part, on three closely linked developments: the huge growth of derivatives; the decomposition and distribution of credit risk through securitisation; and the formidable combination of mathematics and computing power in risk management that had its roots in academic work of the mid-20th century. It blossomed in the 1990s at firms such as Bankers Trust and JPMorgan, which developed “value-at-risk” (VAR), a way for banks to calculate how much they could expect to lose when things got really rough.
Suddenly it seemed possible for any financial risk to be measured to five decimal places, and for expected returns to be adjusted accordingly. Banks hired hordes of PhD-wielding “quants” to fine-tune ever more complex risk models. The belief took hold that, even as profits were being boosted by larger balance sheets and greater leverage (borrowing), risk was being capped by a technological shift.
There was something self-serving about this. The more that risk could be calibrated, the greater the opportunity to turn debt into securities that could be sold or held in trading books, with lower capital charges than regular loans. Regulators accepted this, arguing that the “great moderation” had subdued macroeconomic dangers and that securitisation had chopped up individual firms’ risks into manageable lumps. This faith in the new, technology-driven order was reflected in the Basel 2 bank-capital rules, which relied heavily on the banks’ internal models.
There were bumps along the way, such as the near-collapse of Long-Term Capital Management (LTCM), a hedge fund, and the dotcom bust, but each time markets recovered relatively quickly. Banks grew cocky. But that sense of security was destroyed by the meltdown of 2007-09, which as much as anything was a crisis of modern metrics-based risk management. The idea that markets can be left to police themselves turned out to be the world’s most expensive mistake, requiring $15 trillion in capital injections and other forms of support. “It has cost a lot to learn how little we really knew,” says a senior central banker. Another lesson was that managing risk is as much about judgment as about numbers. Trying ever harder to capture risk in mathematical formulae can be counterproductive if such a degree of accuracy is intrinsically unattainable.
For now, the hubris of spurious precision has given way to humility. It turns out that in financial markets “black swans”, or extreme events, occur much more often than the usual probability models suggest. Worse, finance is becoming more fragile: these days blow-ups are twice as frequent as they were before the first world war, according to Barry Eichengreen of the University of California at Berkeley and Michael Bordo of Rutgers University. Benoit Mandelbrot, the father of fractal theory and a pioneer in the study of market swings, argues that finance is prone to a “wild” randomness not usually seen in nature. In markets, “rare big changes can be more significant than the sum of many small changes,” he says. If financial markets followed the normal bell-shaped distribution curve, in which meltdowns are very rare, the stockmarket crash of 1987, the interest-rate turmoil of 1992 and the 2008 crash would each be expected only once in the lifetime of the universe.
This is changing the way many financial firms think about risk, says Greg Case, chief executive of Aon, an insurance broker. Before the crisis they were looking at things like pandemics, cyber-security and terrorism as possible causes of black swans. Now they are turning to risks from within the system, and how they can become amplified in combination.
It would, though, be simplistic to blame the crisis solely, or even mainly, on sloppy risk managers or wild-eyed quants. Cheap money led to the wholesale underpricing of risk; America ran negative real interest rates in 2002-05, even though consumer-price inflation was quiescent. Plenty of economists disagree with the recent assertion by Ben Bernanke, chairman of the Federal Reserve, that the crisis had more to do with lax regulation of mortgage products than loose monetary policy.
Equally damaging were policies to promote home ownership in America using Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, the country’s two mortgage giants. They led the duo to binge on securities backed by shoddily underwritten loans.
In the absence of strict limits, higher leverage followed naturally from low interest rates. The debt of America’s financial firms ballooned relative to the overall economy (see chart 1). At the peak of the madness, the median large bank had borrowings of 37 times its equity, meaning it could be wiped out by a loss of just 2-3% of its assets. Borrowed money allowed investors to fake “alpha”, or above-market returns, says Benn Steil of the Council on Foreign Relations.
The agony was compounded by the proliferation of short-term debt to support illiquid long-term assets, much of it issued beneath the regulatory radar in highly leveraged “shadow” banks, such as structured investment vehicles. When markets froze, sponsoring entities, usually banks, felt morally obliged to absorb their losses. “Reputation risk was shown to have a very real financial price,” says Doug Roeder of the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency, an American regulator.
Everywhere you looked, moreover, incentives were misaligned. Firms deemed “too big to fail” nestled under implicit guarantees. Sensitivity to risk was dulled by the “Greenspan put”, a belief that America’s Federal Reserve would ride to the rescue with lower rates and liquidity support if needed. Scrutiny of borrowers was delegated to rating agencies, who were paid by the debt-issuers. Some products were so complex, and the chains from borrower to end-investor so long, that thorough due diligence was impossible. A proper understanding of a typical collateralised debt obligation (CDO), a structured bundle of debt securities, would have required reading 30,000 pages of documentation.
Fees for securitisers were paid largely upfront, increasing the temptation to originate, flog and forget. The problems with bankers’ pay went much wider, meaning that it was much better to be an employee than a shareholder (or, eventually, a taxpayer picking up the bail-out tab). The role of top executives’ pay has been overblown. Top brass at Lehman Brothers and American International Group (AIG) suffered massive losses when share prices tumbled. A recent study found that banks where chief executives had more of their wealth tied up in the firm performed worse, not better, than those with apparently less strong incentives. One explanation is that they took risks they thought were in shareholders’ best interests, but were proved wrong. Motives lower down the chain were more suspect. It was too easy for traders to cash in on short-term gains and skirt responsibility for any time-bombs they had set ticking.
Asymmetries wreaked havoc in the vast over-the-counter derivatives market, too, where even large dealing firms lacked the information to determine the consequences of others failing. Losses on contracts linked to Lehman turned out to be modest, but nobody knew that when it collapsed in September 2008, causing panic. Likewise, it was hard to gauge the exposures to “tail” risks built up by sellers of swaps on CDOs such as AIG and bond insurers. These were essentially put options, with limited upside and a low but real probability of catastrophic losses.
Another factor in the build-up of excessive risk was what Andy Haldane, head of financial stability at the Bank of England, has described as “disaster myopia”. Like drivers who slow down after seeing a crash but soon speed up again, investors exercise greater caution after a disaster, but these days it takes less than a decade to make them reckless again. Not having seen a debt-market crash since 1998, investors piled into ever riskier securities in 2003-07 to maintain yield at a time of low interest rates. Risk-management models reinforced this myopia by relying too heavily on recent data samples with a narrow distribution of outcomes, especially in subprime mortgages.
A further hazard was summed up by the assertion in 2007 by Chuck Prince, then Citigroup’s boss, that “as long as the music is playing, you’ve got to get up and dance.” Performance is usually judged relative to rivals or to an industry benchmark, encouraging banks to mimic each other’s risk-taking, even if in the long run it benefits no one. In mortgages, bad lenders drove out good ones, keeping up with aggressive competitors for fear of losing market share. A few held back, but it was not easy: when JPMorgan sacrificed five percentage points of return on equity in the short run, it was lambasted by shareholders who wanted it to “catch up” with zippier-looking rivals.
An overarching worry is that the complexity of today’s global financial network makes occasional catastrophic failure inevitable. For example, the market for credit derivatives galloped far ahead of its supporting infrastructure. Only now are serious moves being made to push these contracts through central clearing-houses which ensure that trades are properly collateralised and guarantee their completion if one party defaults.
The push to allocate capital ever more efficiently over the past 20 years created what Till Guldimann, the father of VAR and vice-chairman of SunGard, a technology firm, calls “capitalism on steroids”. Banks got to depend on the modelling of prices in esoteric markets to gauge risks and became adept at gaming the rules. As a result, capital was not being spread around as efficiently as everyone believed.
Big banks had also grown increasingly interdependent through the boom in derivatives, computer-driven equities trading and so on. Another bond was cross-ownership: at the start of the crisis, financial firms held big dollops of each other’s common and hybrid equity. Such tight coupling of components increases the danger of “non-linear” outcomes, where a small change has a big impact. “Financial markets are not only vulnerable to black swans but have become the perfect breeding ground for them,” says Mr Guldimann. In such a network a firm’s troubles can have an exaggerated effect on the perceived riskiness of its trading partners. When Lehman’s credit-default spreads rose to distressed levels, AIG’s jumped by twice what would have been expected on its own, according to the International Monetary Fund.
Mr Haldane has suggested that these knife-edge dynamics were caused not only by complexity but also—paradoxically—by homogeneity. Banks, insurers, hedge funds and others bought smorgasbords of debt securities to try to reduce risk through diversification, but the ingredients were similar: leveraged loans, American mortgages and the like. From the individual firm’s perspective this looked sensible. But for the system as a whole it put everyone’s eggs in the same few baskets, as reflected in their returns (see chart 2).
Efforts are now under way to deal with these risks. The Financial Stability Board, an international group of regulators, is trying to co-ordinate global reforms in areas such as capital, liquidity and mechanisms for rescuing or dismantling troubled banks. Its biggest challenge will be to make the system more resilient to the failure of giants. There are deep divisions over how to set about this, with some favouring tougher capital requirements, others break-ups, still others—including America—a combination of remedies.
In January President Barack Obama shocked big banks by proposing a tax on their liabilities and a plan to cap their size, ban “proprietary” trading and limit their involvement in hedge funds and private equity. The proposals still need congressional approval. They were seen as energising the debate about how to tackle dangerously large firms, though the reaction in Europe was mixed.
Regulators are also inching towards a more “systemic” approach to risk. The old supervisory framework assumed that if the 100 largest banks were individually safe, then the system was too. But the crisis showed that even well-managed firms, acting prudently in a downturn, can undermine the strength of all.
The banks themselves will have to find a middle ground in risk management, somewhere between gut feeling and number fetishism. Much of the progress made in quantitative finance was real enough, but a firm that does not understand the flaws in its models is destined for trouble. This special report will argue that rules will have to be both tightened and better enforced to avoid future crises—but that all the reforms in the world will never guarantee total safety.
Source : The Economist.
THE revolutionary idea that defines the boundary between modern times and the past is the mastery of risk: the notion that the future is more than a whim of the gods and that men and women are not passive before nature.” So wrote Peter Bernstein in his seminal history of risk, “Against the Gods”, published in 1996. And so it seemed, to all but a few Cassandras, for much of the decade that followed. Finance enjoyed a golden period, with low interest rates, low volatility and high returns. Risk seemed to have been reduced to a permanently lower level.
This purported new paradigm hinged, in large part, on three closely linked developments: the huge growth of derivatives; the decomposition and distribution of credit risk through securitisation; and the formidable combination of mathematics and computing power in risk management that had its roots in academic work of the mid-20th century. It blossomed in the 1990s at firms such as Bankers Trust and JPMorgan, which developed “value-at-risk” (VAR), a way for banks to calculate how much they could expect to lose when things got really rough.
Suddenly it seemed possible for any financial risk to be measured to five decimal places, and for expected returns to be adjusted accordingly. Banks hired hordes of PhD-wielding “quants” to fine-tune ever more complex risk models. The belief took hold that, even as profits were being boosted by larger balance sheets and greater leverage (borrowing), risk was being capped by a technological shift.
There was something self-serving about this. The more that risk could be calibrated, the greater the opportunity to turn debt into securities that could be sold or held in trading books, with lower capital charges than regular loans. Regulators accepted this, arguing that the “great moderation” had subdued macroeconomic dangers and that securitisation had chopped up individual firms’ risks into manageable lumps. This faith in the new, technology-driven order was reflected in the Basel 2 bank-capital rules, which relied heavily on the banks’ internal models.
There were bumps along the way, such as the near-collapse of Long-Term Capital Management (LTCM), a hedge fund, and the dotcom bust, but each time markets recovered relatively quickly. Banks grew cocky. But that sense of security was destroyed by the meltdown of 2007-09, which as much as anything was a crisis of modern metrics-based risk management. The idea that markets can be left to police themselves turned out to be the world’s most expensive mistake, requiring $15 trillion in capital injections and other forms of support. “It has cost a lot to learn how little we really knew,” says a senior central banker. Another lesson was that managing risk is as much about judgment as about numbers. Trying ever harder to capture risk in mathematical formulae can be counterproductive if such a degree of accuracy is intrinsically unattainable.
For now, the hubris of spurious precision has given way to humility. It turns out that in financial markets “black swans”, or extreme events, occur much more often than the usual probability models suggest. Worse, finance is becoming more fragile: these days blow-ups are twice as frequent as they were before the first world war, according to Barry Eichengreen of the University of California at Berkeley and Michael Bordo of Rutgers University. Benoit Mandelbrot, the father of fractal theory and a pioneer in the study of market swings, argues that finance is prone to a “wild” randomness not usually seen in nature. In markets, “rare big changes can be more significant than the sum of many small changes,” he says. If financial markets followed the normal bell-shaped distribution curve, in which meltdowns are very rare, the stockmarket crash of 1987, the interest-rate turmoil of 1992 and the 2008 crash would each be expected only once in the lifetime of the universe.
This is changing the way many financial firms think about risk, says Greg Case, chief executive of Aon, an insurance broker. Before the crisis they were looking at things like pandemics, cyber-security and terrorism as possible causes of black swans. Now they are turning to risks from within the system, and how they can become amplified in combination.
It would, though, be simplistic to blame the crisis solely, or even mainly, on sloppy risk managers or wild-eyed quants. Cheap money led to the wholesale underpricing of risk; America ran negative real interest rates in 2002-05, even though consumer-price inflation was quiescent. Plenty of economists disagree with the recent assertion by Ben Bernanke, chairman of the Federal Reserve, that the crisis had more to do with lax regulation of mortgage products than loose monetary policy.
Equally damaging were policies to promote home ownership in America using Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, the country’s two mortgage giants. They led the duo to binge on securities backed by shoddily underwritten loans.
In the absence of strict limits, higher leverage followed naturally from low interest rates. The debt of America’s financial firms ballooned relative to the overall economy (see chart 1). At the peak of the madness, the median large bank had borrowings of 37 times its equity, meaning it could be wiped out by a loss of just 2-3% of its assets. Borrowed money allowed investors to fake “alpha”, or above-market returns, says Benn Steil of the Council on Foreign Relations.
The agony was compounded by the proliferation of short-term debt to support illiquid long-term assets, much of it issued beneath the regulatory radar in highly leveraged “shadow” banks, such as structured investment vehicles. When markets froze, sponsoring entities, usually banks, felt morally obliged to absorb their losses. “Reputation risk was shown to have a very real financial price,” says Doug Roeder of the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency, an American regulator.
Everywhere you looked, moreover, incentives were misaligned. Firms deemed “too big to fail” nestled under implicit guarantees. Sensitivity to risk was dulled by the “Greenspan put”, a belief that America’s Federal Reserve would ride to the rescue with lower rates and liquidity support if needed. Scrutiny of borrowers was delegated to rating agencies, who were paid by the debt-issuers. Some products were so complex, and the chains from borrower to end-investor so long, that thorough due diligence was impossible. A proper understanding of a typical collateralised debt obligation (CDO), a structured bundle of debt securities, would have required reading 30,000 pages of documentation.
Fees for securitisers were paid largely upfront, increasing the temptation to originate, flog and forget. The problems with bankers’ pay went much wider, meaning that it was much better to be an employee than a shareholder (or, eventually, a taxpayer picking up the bail-out tab). The role of top executives’ pay has been overblown. Top brass at Lehman Brothers and American International Group (AIG) suffered massive losses when share prices tumbled. A recent study found that banks where chief executives had more of their wealth tied up in the firm performed worse, not better, than those with apparently less strong incentives. One explanation is that they took risks they thought were in shareholders’ best interests, but were proved wrong. Motives lower down the chain were more suspect. It was too easy for traders to cash in on short-term gains and skirt responsibility for any time-bombs they had set ticking.
Asymmetries wreaked havoc in the vast over-the-counter derivatives market, too, where even large dealing firms lacked the information to determine the consequences of others failing. Losses on contracts linked to Lehman turned out to be modest, but nobody knew that when it collapsed in September 2008, causing panic. Likewise, it was hard to gauge the exposures to “tail” risks built up by sellers of swaps on CDOs such as AIG and bond insurers. These were essentially put options, with limited upside and a low but real probability of catastrophic losses.
Another factor in the build-up of excessive risk was what Andy Haldane, head of financial stability at the Bank of England, has described as “disaster myopia”. Like drivers who slow down after seeing a crash but soon speed up again, investors exercise greater caution after a disaster, but these days it takes less than a decade to make them reckless again. Not having seen a debt-market crash since 1998, investors piled into ever riskier securities in 2003-07 to maintain yield at a time of low interest rates. Risk-management models reinforced this myopia by relying too heavily on recent data samples with a narrow distribution of outcomes, especially in subprime mortgages.
A further hazard was summed up by the assertion in 2007 by Chuck Prince, then Citigroup’s boss, that “as long as the music is playing, you’ve got to get up and dance.” Performance is usually judged relative to rivals or to an industry benchmark, encouraging banks to mimic each other’s risk-taking, even if in the long run it benefits no one. In mortgages, bad lenders drove out good ones, keeping up with aggressive competitors for fear of losing market share. A few held back, but it was not easy: when JPMorgan sacrificed five percentage points of return on equity in the short run, it was lambasted by shareholders who wanted it to “catch up” with zippier-looking rivals.
An overarching worry is that the complexity of today’s global financial network makes occasional catastrophic failure inevitable. For example, the market for credit derivatives galloped far ahead of its supporting infrastructure. Only now are serious moves being made to push these contracts through central clearing-houses which ensure that trades are properly collateralised and guarantee their completion if one party defaults.
The push to allocate capital ever more efficiently over the past 20 years created what Till Guldimann, the father of VAR and vice-chairman of SunGard, a technology firm, calls “capitalism on steroids”. Banks got to depend on the modelling of prices in esoteric markets to gauge risks and became adept at gaming the rules. As a result, capital was not being spread around as efficiently as everyone believed.
Big banks had also grown increasingly interdependent through the boom in derivatives, computer-driven equities trading and so on. Another bond was cross-ownership: at the start of the crisis, financial firms held big dollops of each other’s common and hybrid equity. Such tight coupling of components increases the danger of “non-linear” outcomes, where a small change has a big impact. “Financial markets are not only vulnerable to black swans but have become the perfect breeding ground for them,” says Mr Guldimann. In such a network a firm’s troubles can have an exaggerated effect on the perceived riskiness of its trading partners. When Lehman’s credit-default spreads rose to distressed levels, AIG’s jumped by twice what would have been expected on its own, according to the International Monetary Fund.
Mr Haldane has suggested that these knife-edge dynamics were caused not only by complexity but also—paradoxically—by homogeneity. Banks, insurers, hedge funds and others bought smorgasbords of debt securities to try to reduce risk through diversification, but the ingredients were similar: leveraged loans, American mortgages and the like. From the individual firm’s perspective this looked sensible. But for the system as a whole it put everyone’s eggs in the same few baskets, as reflected in their returns (see chart 2).
Efforts are now under way to deal with these risks. The Financial Stability Board, an international group of regulators, is trying to co-ordinate global reforms in areas such as capital, liquidity and mechanisms for rescuing or dismantling troubled banks. Its biggest challenge will be to make the system more resilient to the failure of giants. There are deep divisions over how to set about this, with some favouring tougher capital requirements, others break-ups, still others—including America—a combination of remedies.
In January President Barack Obama shocked big banks by proposing a tax on their liabilities and a plan to cap their size, ban “proprietary” trading and limit their involvement in hedge funds and private equity. The proposals still need congressional approval. They were seen as energising the debate about how to tackle dangerously large firms, though the reaction in Europe was mixed.
Regulators are also inching towards a more “systemic” approach to risk. The old supervisory framework assumed that if the 100 largest banks were individually safe, then the system was too. But the crisis showed that even well-managed firms, acting prudently in a downturn, can undermine the strength of all.
The banks themselves will have to find a middle ground in risk management, somewhere between gut feeling and number fetishism. Much of the progress made in quantitative finance was real enough, but a firm that does not understand the flaws in its models is destined for trouble. This special report will argue that rules will have to be both tightened and better enforced to avoid future crises—but that all the reforms in the world will never guarantee total safety.
The need to re-write Economics text-books.
The crisis is changing how macroeconomics is taught....
An insightful article from THE ECONOMIST.
Mar 31st 2010
From The Economist print edition
IN MORE than 30 years of teaching introductory macroeconomics, says Alan Blinder of Princeton University, he has never seen interest as high as it was last year. At Harvard, says David Laibson, students in his undergraduate macroeconomics course are “chomping at the bit”. At elite American universities, where endowments have shrivelled and hiring is down, increased interest in economics is among the most benign of the recession’s effects.
Yet the crisis has also highlighted flaws in the existing macroeconomics curriculum. Greg Mankiw, a Harvard economist and the author of a bestselling textbook, points out that students can hardly be expected to make sense of the crisis if they know virtually nothing about things like the role of financial institutions. Yet if there is a “financial system” in most introductory texts, Mr Blinder observes, it usually focuses on the demand and supply functions for money. “The current curriculum fails to give students even imperfect answers” to their legitimate questions about recent economic events, he says.
Changes are coming. Mr Blinder is one of the authors of another popular undergraduate textbook, which he is now revising. In the process, he is having to think long and hard about how to balance the need for more detail about things like finance with the constraints under which introductory macroeconomic courses are taught. The new edition is likely to have a prominent place for the idea of leverage and how it contributed to the crisis. That is fairly simply explained. But some additional complexity will be unavoidable.
For instance, the convenient fiction of a model of the economy with a single interest rate was defensible as long as different rates moved in concert. This, Mr Blinder says, is no longer something that students can be told “with a straight face”. Some discussion of the role of securitisation and systemic risk is essential, even if it feels like a lot of detail for beginners to grasp. Mr Blinder, with a nod to Albert Einstein, says that economists need to remember that things should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler.
Revised textbooks will soon find their way into bookshops. Charles Jones of Stanford University has put out an update of his textbook with two new chapters designed to help students think through the crisis, and is now working on incorporating these ideas into the body of the book. A new edition of Mr Mankiw’s book should be out in about a year. And Mr Blinder’s publishers aim to have his revised text on sale by June.
Courses in many leading universities are already being amended. Mr Laibson says he has chosen to teach his course without leaning on any standard texts. Francesco Giavazzi of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology is now devoting about two-fifths of the semester’s classes to talking about how things are different during a crisis, and how the effects of policy differ when the economy hits boundaries like zero interest rates. Discussion of the “liquidity trap”, in which standard easing of monetary policy may cease to have any effect, had fallen out of vogue in undergraduate courses but seems to be back with a vengeance. Asset-price bubbles are also gaining more prominence.
An insightful article from THE ECONOMIST.
Mar 31st 2010
From The Economist print edition
IN MORE than 30 years of teaching introductory macroeconomics, says Alan Blinder of Princeton University, he has never seen interest as high as it was last year. At Harvard, says David Laibson, students in his undergraduate macroeconomics course are “chomping at the bit”. At elite American universities, where endowments have shrivelled and hiring is down, increased interest in economics is among the most benign of the recession’s effects.
Yet the crisis has also highlighted flaws in the existing macroeconomics curriculum. Greg Mankiw, a Harvard economist and the author of a bestselling textbook, points out that students can hardly be expected to make sense of the crisis if they know virtually nothing about things like the role of financial institutions. Yet if there is a “financial system” in most introductory texts, Mr Blinder observes, it usually focuses on the demand and supply functions for money. “The current curriculum fails to give students even imperfect answers” to their legitimate questions about recent economic events, he says.
Changes are coming. Mr Blinder is one of the authors of another popular undergraduate textbook, which he is now revising. In the process, he is having to think long and hard about how to balance the need for more detail about things like finance with the constraints under which introductory macroeconomic courses are taught. The new edition is likely to have a prominent place for the idea of leverage and how it contributed to the crisis. That is fairly simply explained. But some additional complexity will be unavoidable.
For instance, the convenient fiction of a model of the economy with a single interest rate was defensible as long as different rates moved in concert. This, Mr Blinder says, is no longer something that students can be told “with a straight face”. Some discussion of the role of securitisation and systemic risk is essential, even if it feels like a lot of detail for beginners to grasp. Mr Blinder, with a nod to Albert Einstein, says that economists need to remember that things should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler.
Revised textbooks will soon find their way into bookshops. Charles Jones of Stanford University has put out an update of his textbook with two new chapters designed to help students think through the crisis, and is now working on incorporating these ideas into the body of the book. A new edition of Mr Mankiw’s book should be out in about a year. And Mr Blinder’s publishers aim to have his revised text on sale by June.
Courses in many leading universities are already being amended. Mr Laibson says he has chosen to teach his course without leaning on any standard texts. Francesco Giavazzi of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology is now devoting about two-fifths of the semester’s classes to talking about how things are different during a crisis, and how the effects of policy differ when the economy hits boundaries like zero interest rates. Discussion of the “liquidity trap”, in which standard easing of monetary policy may cease to have any effect, had fallen out of vogue in undergraduate courses but seems to be back with a vengeance. Asset-price bubbles are also gaining more prominence.
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