After the fact assessments of the 2009 responses

A long long time ago I wondered whether anyone besides Paul Krugman regretted past economic positions for insufficient radical ambition, and I was thinking about both macroeconomic orthodoxy (globalization good, inflation bad, fiscal deficits risky because inflation bad) as well as policy. Paul Krugman remains a good egg on this front; so, too, does Dani Rodrik. Brad deLong and Christina Romer both regretted the limited scope of what they did; Larry Summers, despite feints at expansive thinking, remains … less than repentant.

I felt great relief when the American Recovery Plan was passed, not least for what the bill contains, as for the potential it promises for future policy. JW Mason goes into far more detail about the broad strokes and particulars of what makes it revelatory, so I won’t belabor those details. But something else that delighted me is this piece in the New York Times by Astead Herndon, with the provocative title “Democrats, Pushing Stimulus, Admit to Regrets on Obama’s 2009 Response“. After lots of evidence of the Fed moving in ever more radical directions, unhampered as it is by Congress, and after Democrats’ movements in Congress toward a relatively expansive early response to the crisis that was subsequently quashed by Republican opposition (that may, ironically, have improved Trump’s chances in the presidential election last November), it’s good to see Congress resisting the quibbles of people like Larry Summers, Olivier Blanchard and the whims of would-be bond market vigilantes. I hope they stick to it, since there is still so much to be done.

David Graeber

I didn’t love David Graeber’s Debt. I actually got so annoyed with it that I stopped reading halfway through. But I could appreciate that the author cared, even if I thought he glossed over certain things, interpreted other phenomena differently than I did, and made such straw men out of economists that I felt compelled to write defenses of people that work at UC Berkeley.* Yet, even with those reservations, his writing could make me laugh, and I appreciated the gusto of writing a book hundreds of pages long presenting a grand history of debt, how it traps people, and why that is Not A Good Thing, Actually. And there was no arguing with the design of the book; the cover is spectacular.

There was a certain irony to my coming back to it when I did. Long ago, as a struggling grad student getting serious about my dissertation, I heard people in my department gushing about this book by an anarchist about debt; shortly after, this prophet-like figure ended up at Occupy Wall Street when I wanted desperately to be in Zucotti Park, but for nerves and a sense that I should really buckle down on that dissertation. I splurged on an ebook of Debt (less $ than the paperback), which promptly showed up as a corrupted file in the off-brand eReader someone had given me. I think I cursed, took it as a sign to get writing, and moved along. It may be that if I had read it then, my experience would have been different.

Years later, when I picked it “back” up (a new paperback copy) and started it, I also read the exchange in Jacobin, started by this piece, the response here, and the further rejoinder there. By the end of it, no one was really talking about Graeber’s book, which likely pointed to something deeper. Provoking thought and debate about big problems, and the structural components that shape them, is a worthy end. Thinking big things and writing about them is messy. I can appreciate, as the original critique did, the chutzpah of writing those grand narratives which launch a thousand thoughts, activists, or research agendas.

I thought a lot while reading Graeber. It reminded me, in a skewed way, of my two attempts as a college graduate to read Atlas Shrugged. When I read Ayn Rand’s book, I kept confronting my understanding of … everything. The role of the environment, who exploits whom and what that even means, what markets are really good for, and when they are so not up to the task that even George Mason University economics professors may agree. But reading and debating the author internally was wholly different with Debt: I liked the fundamental points Graeber was making, I loved his sense of humanity, and I’m hard pressed to think of a better anti-Atlas Shrugged than Debt, which celebrates giving, communal systems, and preservation. Reading Rand was a demoralizing grind; Graeber was more like an invigorating gauntlet.

Graeber has, since last summer, hovered close to the top of my consciousness often. It’s not hard, when one writes about debt and money, to have reasons to think about him. I read his screed against economics last fall with interest, tried to figure out why it annoyed me, and had to acknowledge that my discipline drives me crazy a lot of the time, too. Just this morning, before learning about his death, I thought about him while reading a review of a book that I wanted to compare to Debt, sometime, when time allows, et cetera. I would have needed to reread Debt to bring that to fruition, and I wondered if I really wanted to. I winced when he suggested that if anyone should be a global hegemonic force that it should be New Zealand, and when he argued with people who likewise wanted better for the world but questioned his particulars. But it was impossible not to smile when he wrote wistfully about not being able to find a book by Thorstein Veblen on a shelf at New York City’s biggest book store while he visited for a week, or when he responded to someone’s question about whether people in olden times ever made ad hoc amusements like water slides, just to have fun.

I think that what I failed to appreciate when I opened Debt for the second/first time last summer was the emotion with which he wrote. I had been filing down my emotional edge in paper submissions, and more successfully (I think) projecting a logical façade in my teaching, which both seemed like the proper things to do, and I may have been jealous that someone else could so bracingly do it to popular acclaim. Graeber never seemed to shy away from the moral impetus propelling his life, work, and writing. Way back when I wanted to read Debt the first time, I was angry about power and money in the world most of the time, and it bled into my writing. I still am, when I think about the state of the world economy, the power imbalances that hurt so many, and the structural violence of most debt structures on the global and domestic stage, but I have gotten better at compartmentalizing those thoughts and feelings. Or at least, before the Covid-19 pandemic. Graeber’s moralistic muckraking galvanizes; I aspire to that.

I read Graeber’s work with interest. I rarely expected to agree with it, at least on the specifics, but I knew it would make me think. His compassion shone through it all, even if I usually left a piece broadly agreeing about the problem, trying to figure out just what I objected to, why, and whether it mattered. I’m terribly sad about the news that he died; the world is much the poorer for it.

*No one should feel compelled to defend economists from UC Berkeley.

Thoughts about Making Capitalism Kinder:

On June 25, 2020, the New York Times published an op-ed by Darren Walker, president of the Ford Foundation, titled “Are You Willing to Give Up Your Privilege? Philanthropy Alone Won’t Save the American Dream.” Walker criticizes his peers leading billion dollar companies for creating mostly low-paying jobs, not paying taxes, and opposing welfare programs, despite their professed desire to increase economic opportunity, and argued that business leaders should commit to making capitalism a kinder system that would once again help people move up the income ladder, as it helped Walker himself. The piece echoes sentiments put forth by Mark Benioff, CEO of Salesforce back in October in his own New York Times op-ed, businesses should follow Salesforce’s lead with firm-level pay initiatives and increased philanthropy to make capitalism great again. These are laudable sentiments for corporate leaders and the heads of foundations that work with them to broadcast in the New York Times Op-Ed section. Unfortunately, there is no reason we should trust individual firms or CEOs to lead the way on reversing the inequity endemic to American capitalism.

Recent reporting on the economic consequences of the pandemic have emphasized stark failures of capitalism. Miles long lines of cars wait for food pantry aid, while farmers slaughter hogs and bury tons of root vegetables. Employers demanded workers in essential industries like meat processing risk exposure to the coronavirus, while they could not adequately distance, or reliably get medical care in the event of exposure. Before the pandemic, those workers were subject to UTIS from lack of access to breaks. Prisons, a source of labor for many companies globally, remain a major source of infection and site of outbreaks across the country. The mechanism of aid provision in the US – expanded provision of unemployment benefits – has left unemployed workers at the mercy of overtaxed and underfunded systems, while banks and landlords have been trusted to use their own discretion in determining whose obligations to defer or waive in the moment. Walker is right to call out his peers for their complicity at worst, and silence at best, but imagining that CEOs will undertake these changes without pressure from activists or the government borders requires superhuman optimism.

Firms affiliated with CEOs Walker praised in his piece illustrate this point. Benioff argued that firms should stop evading taxation, but in 2018, Salesforce had a market capitalization of $160 billion, and paid no federal tax in 2019. Ursula Burns, board member of Uber, has spoken about her personal fears of police racism, but Uber has helped destroy the taxi industry, hollowed out public transit usage in cities, and doggedly lobbies to classify its workers as contractors to avoid paying them overtime and health insurance. Paul Polman, former CEO of Unilever, may have lobbied for corporate support of the Paris Climate Accords, but Unilever was one of the largest global plastics polluters in 2019, and paid an undisclosed amount in 2016 to 591 former workers at a factory in India for getting caught knowingly exposing them to mercury in 2001. Though Unilever acknowledges that it only uses prison labor in a rehabilitative context, wages for incarcerated workers are below minimum wages, let alone market standards. Business leaders using their celebrity for political ends may have good intentions, but company-level policy cannot counteract how their businesses entrench inequity.

Walker and Benioff both lauded the Business Roundtable, an organization created in 1972 to improve the public image of business and lobby against governmental regulation, for an August statement arguing that corporations should maximize ‘stakeholder interests’ of employees, communities, and citizenry, rather than focusing solely on shareholders. Unfortunately, the Roundtable has done much to systemically undermine the social safety net for American workers through its opposition to taxes, corporate regulations, and expenditure on public works. The statement had no specific recommendations for its members. Meanwhile, more than three quarters of the Roundtable’s members’ (and their family members’) 2019 political contributions went to Republicans. Until members acknowledge that elevating stakeholder interests will likely reduce their profits, and back it up with commitments to pay workers more, bring wealth holdings out of international tax shelters, or to promote higher corporate tax rates, the public should assume that corporate leaders are using this as a PR exercise rather than signaling a willingness to change.

Walker is right to ask his peers to stop relying on philanthropy, but much of the outreach by the CEOs he praises amounts to charity. Benioff cited Salesforce’s philanthropic contributions of almost $300 million by 2019, while Ray Dalio, Bridgewater Associates founder, joined Bill Gates and Warren Buffett’s Giving Pledge in 2011, promising to give more than half of his then almost $90 billion over his lifetime.  Charitable tax deductions are regressive. Gifts to build new university boat houses and to purchase more meals for the homeless are rewarded equally by the US tax code, and tax write-offs for charity generate billions of losses in tax revenue yearly. Most organizations give only the annual 5% required to maintain their tax-exempt status, even as their endowments have grown considerably during sustained stock market rallies. Philanthropic organizations are unaccountable to voters or customers and nontransparent; private interests can withhold funds if criticized; and organizations from the Carnegies’ to the Sacklers’ have used their philanthropy to shield themselves and their corporations from public scrutiny. Titles like 2019’s “Silicon Valley Billionaires Keep Getting Richer No Matter How Much Money They Give Away,” should give readers pause. Private largesse will not improve the American income distribution, no matter the givers’ intentions. Concrete demands for peers like Benioff and Dalio would signal more willingness to attack systemic inequity.

The urge to make capitalism work better for the world at large is noble, and has a long history, from Industrial Democracy pre-WW1, to John Maynard Keynes, to Elizabeth Warren’s argument that “Capitalism without rules is theft.” A quick comparison between Benioff and Walker’s proposals with Warren’s campaign, however, reveals a gulf in specificity and scope. Warren’s campaign proposals included protecting rights to join unions, elimination of student debt up to $50,000, and a wealth tax that outraged billionaire Leon Cooperman enough to profanely accuse her of wanting to destroy the American Dream. Jamie Dimon and Lloyd Blankfein argued much the same. Corporate leaders waxing nostalgic for the shared growth of the post-war period should support measures that hearken back to the economic conditions of the post-war period including greater union membership, rising wages, and higher tax bills. Instead, high profile CEOs like Blankfein, a registered Democrat, argued that he would have an easier time voting for Trump than then-candidate Bernie Sanders on the basis of his economic platform, which was advised by the same people working on Warren’s. High-profile CEO endorsement of politicians like Jamaal Bowman, Mondaire Jones, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and other Justice Democrats associated candidates would go much farther in signaling commitment to change, and making way for the sorts of policy reversals that Walker recommends. Using personal wealth to claim authority while calling for change, without promises for how elite leadership will change the system, is a hollow exercise. Racial inequality and environmental injustice owes much to the power corporate institutions wield in politics, and Walker is right to criticize corporate America for exacerbating these problems. But the actions of those he argues understand the problem – company-level policies and the philanthropy –fall short of the goals he states elsewhere in the piece. Billionaires serious about change should create specific and multi-level initiatives; lobby publicly and privately for those changes; and convince fellow billionaires to join. They should begin by paying their workers more, and by paying their taxes. In the meantime, activists and progressive Democrats should continue leading the charge for radical economic and political change.

Some things I’ve written in April and May, 2020:

In the hopes of getting back to posting at least once a month, here’s a small rundown of some pieces I’ve written in the past few weeks:

Economic Reporting on Hardships of Pandemic Should Focus on Market Failures” — for Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting, April 25, 2020

This op-ed touched on what made me feel optimistic about reporting on the economic crises associated with Covid-19 this time around compared with reporting on the aftermath of the Global Financial Crisis and a lot of mainstream reporting on the Eurozone Crisis. It also examined some gaps in reporting, which I thought should focus more on the market failures — and problems with capitalism — that I thought reporters were eliding from their analyses.

Learning All the Wrong Lessons From the 2008 Financial Crisis” — also for Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting, May 12, 2020

This op-ed was a little bit of a bait and switch — despite the title, I’m still impressed with NYT reporting on the debt build-up associated with the current crisis, mostly by not freaking out about it prematurely, but I talked about some language I found troubling in a relatively recent piece about the trillions of debt being accrued in present responses to the crisis. And they’re way better than the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times on this front. It also gives a bit of a primer on what the problems associated with large debt can be, and why (I think) we shouldn’t worry too much about it right now.

The End of Capitalism: Ooh La La” — for Progress in Political Economy, associated with the University of Sydney’s Political Economy department, May 27, 2020

This appreciation and deep dive into Run the Jewels and Rage Against the Machine, re: protest music, was a lot of fun to write, and kick started by a twitter link to the just released video for Run the Jewels’ new single, “Ooh La La”. I couldn’t stop watching it. Before the current crisis, I wouldn’t say that I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating alternatives to capitalism; I think that amply applied reform can do a lot of good, which will likely trigger more action by workers, in a feedback dynamic. But the crisis and the tensions that it has laid bare — as discussed in the previous pieces — has me going back to Marx and Keynes and others. What I loved was how RTJ imagined the end of capitalism as something fun; joy pervades the video. But it’s a leap to write about music, especially music to which you feel connected, so I’d say it was also one of the more challenging things I’ve ever put together and submitted for public viewing. Shortly after posting it, someone on Twitter noted that I had no idea what a money gun is. Now I do. Later that evening, my husband looked it up, and I also got the designer of Killer Mike’s primary colored windbreaker wrong. Oops.

Stay safe out there, gang.

Coronavirus, Market Forces, and Contingent Teaching

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Life was moving along: I was preparing drafts for resubmission, grading in flurries of activity, and incorrectly filling in travel funding applications, and before I knew it, we were all rehashing the 2008 financial crisis, which had once upon a time yanked me Vaudeville style down the path I would ultimately move academically, into uncertainty, finance, and ‘crisis stuff.’ But all in a slow motion horror movie fashion, somehow. What has become apparent, again, are the myriad structural problems and inequities of the global economic system, owing somewhat to bad luck (the spread of this particular virus), and in larger part to the flaws of a largely neoliberal economic system that privileges capitalist markets in directing economic activity with immediate and longer term political and social implications. And, on further consideration, the development of the virus and its spread owes much, too, to patterns of regional development, incursion into surrounding environments, and markets writ large.

In the early weeks, I did my best to pull together some thoughts about directions for policy, but then daycare was cancelled, and time felt even more divorced from my pre-March-2020 conception of it. Nevertheless, I’m continuing to plug away in a more disjointed way than I’d like, thinking about financial aspects of the crisis, the fiscal requirements of any response to the crisis, and the more structural aspects of the crisis, especially the need to reorganize the way that many essential industries and services in our US version of the capitalist market (yet still mixed) system to better serve humanity.

One of the things that was apparent to me, as an assistant professor who is still on the tenure track, was the large role that universities and schools in general have had to play in responding to everything. Of course I know that that’s obvious. Anyone with kids at home is living it; any teacher who has needed to fundamentally retool their curricula to suit our socially distanced moment is there, too. Lost in the shuffle of national reporting on this crisis seems to be the crucial role played by universities’ shift away from full time tenured and tenure track faculty toward non-tenured faculty, of the full time (lecturers) and the contingent (adjunct and visiting assistant professors) varieties.

So, in an 18 page brief that I put together and have been slooowly reworking into more polished standalone pieces that properly argue things rather than pointing out problems, I included the university system (and schools in general) as a region of society and the economy that governments should (1) give far more money, (2) actively take on the funding role, and (3) empower to improve in ways that “market forces” don’t encourage.* Chief among these are the arguments that (1) teaching is an essential service at whatever level, (2) teachers and professors should be paid more, and (3) teachers at all levels need more security in their professions. Successfully pivoting from one mode of teaching to another is arduous and takes finesse; if we believe that markets reward skills with higher pay, the evidence on this is a mixed bag with the most generous interpretation. If we instead believe that these are essential services and worthy of investment, we might simply decide, using the power of government, to dictate norms and provide ample and conditional funding on the promise that universities and schools do better by their faculty, starting with higher pay and extending more generous benefits and terms of employment that grant flexibility rather than requiring ever more flexibility from teachers themselves to those crucial workers.

But another structural aspect for redress is academia’s market driven drift toward contingent teaching. Lecturers and adjuncts who bear the brunt of teaching in order to give star faculty more time for research are vulnerable, period, to the whims of students, their tenured peers, and the vagaries of the economy. The postings on Twitter from contingent faculty not having their contracts renewed in this moment of intense need, but also when education is apparently (and obviously) important to so many, students and their parents, is a moment of nauseating cognitive dissonance. Maybe that’s just capitalism, baby, but we shouldn’t tolerate it.

Luckily, there’s an excellent piece weighing in on the structures and costs of this trend, and cogent arguments for changing it. In their article “Refusing to be cheap or flexible: labour strategy in academia,” for Overland, Australia’s “only radical literary magazine,” Doctors Michael Beggs, Senior Lecturer of Political Economy at the University of Sydney, and Rebecca Pearse, Lecturer of Sociology at Australian National University, have written about the perniciousness of this trend in Australia, where I’m sure things are still much better than in the US. (Lecturers outside of the US have standing parallel to tenure-track and tenured professors in the US.) The piece itself is equal parts diagnosis of the appeal of contingent teaching under capitalism and a cri de coeur to reject it.

Despite this work being based on Australian experiences, there are immediate parallels to the US experience. If we consider universities’ willingness to delay tenure clocks for pre-tenure faculty, we might remember that pre-tenure faculty are paid less than tenured faculty; this ‘makes economic sense’, where ‘economic’ is a crude proxy for the bottom line. At the same time, universities appear ambivalent to extending graduate students’ funding, despite the immense disruption to their work, as this adds to the universities’ outlays, in a time of genuine economic duress. Finally, when considering whom to cut from payrolls, contingent faculty with few, if any, job protections are most vulnerable, even as the effect on school enrollment may be ambiguous in the midst of a massive economic depression.

Plenty of forces are working behind the scenes here. Declining public funding of research increases pressure to apply for a diminishing pool grants to fund research in cost-intensive fields like the hard sciences, or to access expensive data for business, financial, and economic research. Star faculty, athletics coaches, and administrators have been wooed with ‘competitive’ pay, and (presumably) lost due to those pesky market forces before. Yet students are the bread and butter of most universities, and (ahem) the point of why we all went into this, right?

The market economy is going to get much worse before it has any hope of getting better. Endowment funded grants are likely to shrink further in supply as a consequence of market gyrations on a weekly basis, and tanking asset prices across the board. Students and their parents’ ability to pay tuition is ever more precarious, even as some pundits will start lecturing about skills and exertise and the value of education. Large universities seem to be considering pay cuts for administrators and tenured faculty; this would be a good gesture in a moment of sharing the burden. But if this is a moment for potentially radically reorienting our (national, global) economy and centering what we believe is important, and what our students and faculty deserve, why shouldn’t the federal government back stop the university system? There’s an inherent injustice in the notion that US universities should insulate themselves from fiscal crises by relying more on their own marketing, or that universities in states that continue to fund public colleges are perpetually at risk of budget balancing at the state level. Both strategies are vulnerable to shocks beyond their control; reliance on market forces to bolster tuition dollars and university prestige is a recipe for disaster, as we are currently seeing, and will only see more of soon.

*If you care, other industries/services that I think are too important to be left to ‘market forces’ are the provision of health care, journalism, the arts, care of children, elders, and families writ large, grocery service, and climate change related industries/services. Like I said, it’s a wide ranging document.

On that lunch with Lloyd Blankfein piece

There’s an interview in the FT making the rounds on Twitter — Edward Luce went to lunch with Lloyd Blankfein, the once upon a time head of Goldman Sachs, who oversaw those bonuses for executives after GS received bailout funds from the govt. He isn’t there anymore, but he’s a worthy synecdoche for Wall Street bluster and impunity. And the highlights are something else:

  1. He implies that it’s more obvious that Donald Trump cares about the economy than Bernie Sanders does.
  2. He argues that Wall Street’s lapses that begat the Global Financial Crisis were examples of stupidity, not criminal intent, as though that forgiveness is ever extended to non wealthy ‘victims of circumstance’.
  3. He makes a joke that he’s not worried about climate change since he lives on the 16th floor of his midtown apartment building. (Is Columbus Circle really Uptown?)

It’s tempting for me to paint Blankfein as a villainous caricature, but this interview actually arrested my day for a bit on Friday. He claims that he doesn’t consider himself rich (just ‘well-to-do’), owing to his working-class childhood. What he presumably means is that he doesn’t consider himself an ‘elite’; I was not expecting him to argue implicitly that he relates more easily to elevator operators and taxi drivers than fellow high-finance types. If he’s being honest about this, it could explain why it’s so easy for Sanders and Warren to get under his skin by using him as a stand-in for billionaires and corporate elites writ large. But it doesn’t explain a lack of sympathy (let alone empathy) for the positions that Sanders and Warren represent in their primary runs for the Democratic nomination.

He also argues that the only reason social services such as public education in the 1950s were so great was because of explicit sexism, locking smart women in primary school teaching and nursing jobs. Antonin Scalia made this argument, too, some years ago. Never mind that Finland seems to do alright by its student by, ahem, paying teachers more. This blank spot in Blankfein’s thinking expands to include the argument that ‘dopey regulations’ are what really holds corporate progress and economic growth back in ways that inhibit keep all boats from rising. Maybe? He’s light on the details about this, and plenty else in the interview, and the nineties experience with financial deregulation was hardly an unqualified economic success on any number of levels.

I think what keeps me thinking about this is that in some ways it may humanize Blankfein, while in other respects, it illustrates an ideologically driven man, though I suspect he’d disagree. He approached this interview as an adversary, bringing his rhetorical A-game. Luce cites Blankfein’s degree in history as the subject calls up periods of instability in a cycle going back to the Dark Ages in the shadow of the Roman Empire, rather than, say, the emergence of the Gilded Age from the social chaos, innovation, and corporate development of the late 19th century, and how it was a precursor to the various reform and progressive movements of the 20th century. He compares rentiers to antelopes being eaten by lions, though he keeps mum on who, exactly, the lions are. Are they the 99% of Occupy Wall Street? The 47% mooching class Romney disdained? Bernie Bros and Warren Stans? Anyone paying attention to the stream of scandals in which Goldman Sachs has played a major or minor role that wants some semblance of punishment for a very well-off corporation that seems to continue to prevail? And by the end of the piece, there’s a weird digression about Samurai. Where did that come from?

It’s hard to imagine that Blankfein, who has a (perhaps) twisted sense of humor, some critical insight into the events of the past though I disagree with the interpretation, and what I interpreted as a genuine sense of class identity, could fail to see the irony in how he comported himself in the interview or appreciate the apoplexies rising to the surface of his presumably composed interviewer. It may just be a magnificent trolling exercise. (He does make a big deal about being retired.) Bloomberg’s annoyance with Democrats in the recent debate for not appreciating his donations in the past echo throughout this piece; so, too, do references to how Blankfein might serve in a Bloomberg administration. My best interpretation of this interview is as a warning: there are perils inherent to allowing Wall Street to play the tune for the Democratic Party. Centrists take heed.

On Eichengreen’s “Democratizing the ECB”

I was procrastinating by closing some of the open tabs in my browser when I got to Barry Eichengreen’s January 14th piece for Project Syndicate, “Democratizing the ECB” — it’s short, and relevant to some of what I’m working on, so I finally read it.

His key argument (it is a very short piece! I shouldn’t have waited close to a month!) is that the ECB should increase transparency by releasing governing council members’ votes, as central banks like the Fed, the Sveriges Rijksbank, and others, do. The key argument against releasing this data, he argues, is that it could force nationally appointed council members to vote more narrowly on national (contra supranational) interest; he also argues that this worry is overblown, since:

“Such cynicism underestimates Europe’s central bankers. They may have made mistakes, but they have not shown a readiness to bend to popular opinion in order to retain their jobs. As important as their vote, moreover, is their ability to convince their colleagues of the validity and integrity of their arguments. Blindly obedient central bankers who lack this integrity will be unable to persuade their colleagues. They will find themselves isolated and consistently in the minority.” (Eichengreen, 2020)

Is it true that they will find themselves isolated and in the minority? Monetary hawks on the council have tended to come from European countries that suffered least during the Eurozone crisis, and it’s telling that when they no longer prevail in ECB decision-making, they seem to lash out in different ways.

Sabine Lautenschläger, the former German representative on the ECB’s governing council resigned last fall in protest of overly loose monetary policy decisions under Mario Draghi; her action followed her strong vocal opposition, alongside council members from Austra, the Netherlands, and France two weeks prior. Nor was she the first German council member, and monetary official, to resign from either the ECB or the Bundesbank in protest of European decisions (Jürgen Stark and Axel Weber did so in 2011). German newspapers dubbed Draghi ‘Count Draghila’, complete with pictures of the former head sporting fangs and a vampire cape, with splashy headlines about how he wanted to suck German savers’ accounts dry. And Hans-Werner Sinn now gets to complain that the ECB is no-longer independent. (Though he’s been doing so since July, and who didn’t see that coming.)

Time will tell how being in the minority affects core EMU members’ attitudes about policy, and their willingness to tolerate and abide the new ECB head Christine Laguarde’s changes. And it’s far from obvious how loosening monetary policy across the EMU — let along fiscal policy! — is even against German interests vis-à-vis growth. I’m curious about how accurate Eichengreen’s predictions are.

Course Materials Update

New semester is upon us! I’m teaching a seminar on Globalization for the first time ever. I’m excited: this is the sort of topic I would have really enjoyed learning about as an undergrad, but somehow never found my way into the right courses.

If you check out the course materials section of this website, you’ll find my syllabus for the class. The first unit will be a brief review of fairly mainstream international economics — trade, finance, migration, who wins/loses etc from globalization, and should we ever argue against globalization. It will be an in-depth reading of chapter 18 in CORE’s The Economy, and I’m happy to have the time to give a dense chapter its due. The second half of the course is where I go nuts: students will be reading and discussing Immanuel Wallerstein’s World-Systems Analysis: An Introduction and Giovanni Arrighi’s The Long Twentieth Century: Money, Power, and the Origins of Our Times. What I am hoping for is an anti-Guns, Germs, Steel experience for my students. We’ll see how it goes!

Last semester, my chief experiment was to let go of my death grip on a textbook for my Political Economy of Global Finance; when I taught the course as a new hire at URI and as a new prep, I was really hesitant to lean into non-textbook teaching. We covered far less technical material about exchange rates, and while I would have liked to review some of that material with them, I think on balance it was a better class. I also introduced shadow banking, tax havens, and money laundering for the first time to this syllabus, as well as a discussion of crypto-currency. I think it’s a fruitful arena to explore going forward, though I didn’t have enough time at the very end to really think about the international potential or implications of block-chain financial technology, or the problems with Bitcoin itself, rather than crypto-currencies generally. 

On Keynes and Socialism and the Primaries

An essay of mine comparing James Crotty’s newest book, Keynes Against Capitalism with Bhaskar Sunkara’s The Socialist Manifesto and applying their lessons to the Democratic Primaries, especially the grappling between the farthest left contenders (Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders), or, perhaps more accurately, their supporters, has just been published by Challenge. It has a very spicy title that I would never have chosen on my own: “Can America Truly Turn Socialist?”* However, that is kind of what the piece is getting at. Why these books together? Why Socialism, or anti-capitalism? It’s a meandering story, but it will get to the point.

As a grad student in a heterodox/radical program, I gravitated toward Keynesian ideas, particularly as espoused by my professor Jim Crotty. Some of this had to do with Jim the man: when we met, before I learned his name but after I learned that he had recently retired, I asked if he were a professor from a very different ‘camp’ (who, in my defense, was also recently retired). Rather than taking offense, Jim laughed (my cluelessness about the three ideological factions of the department must have been obvious), and then decided that he liked me after learning that I had played rugby as an undergrad. This earned him my undying affection, before I figured out that I agreed with him on a lot of other stuff too.

The three camps then, with only a little generalization: analytical Marxists (lots of models, high technical rigor, sometimes hard to distinguish from … neoclassical?); the other Marxists (post-modern and orthodox; lots of arguing about Capital and the Grundrisse and who was truly Marxist); and the Crotty types (some hodge-podge of Keynesian and Post-Keynesian leaning, a lot of critical macro along an empirical-institutional spectrum, and a substantial portion of whom just wanted to go work for a government or central bank somewhere). If you were there to study, say, development or economic history, you might observe arguments in the elevator warily; if you had really wanted to go to the University of Chicago, you might have transferred already. But if you asked Jim point-blank how he saw himself, he would tell you that he was a Marxist. No one else that I was aware of gave him credit for this.

If you cared about the camps, and you recognized yourself in Crotty’s, you were soft to your peers. You were reformist! You didn’t want to destroy systems, you wanted to make them kinder. Just like Keynes, an aristocratic ideological dilettante, who wanted to protect capitalism from the rabble. Maybe this only bothered you if you were inclined to talk to the revolutionary Marxist types, but on more than one occasion, I remember trying, unsuccessfully, to make the case that taken to their full potential, Keynes’s ideas could be radical. Still, though, I hung on to key ideas from Crotty’s lyrically named Macro 2 class: fundamental uncertainty, finance and crisis, euthanasia of rentiers (how could this be soft I wondered), fraternal and fratricidal competition, and … something about aggregate demand? I was working for the Graduate Employee Union at the time, and didn’t always keep up with the readings, but I liked them. The approach of integrating Keynes, Marx, Minsky, Schumpeter, and eventually Arrighi contra Brenner made sense. The pieces would come to fit together in my head years later as they tend to — a combination of teaching diluted versions of these ideas to undergrads, wrestling with them in my own work, and simple observation of the post-crisis period. Because, also, I happened to take his class in the fall of 2008, right as the shit was hitting the fan in the US, Iceland, and beyond. I remember meeting with him one morning when he looked extra spent; he’d just finished a two hour long interview with someone about the crisis, which his then current research on financialization had kind of predicted.

Around the same time, two political figures gradually came to my attention — this Elizabeth Warren who hated the banks (I hated the banks) and this Bernie Sanders who was a socialist (my then boyfriend, now husband, and his family, Vermonters, had been voting for him for years). Over the Obama presidency, they fought good fights: battling for the existence of the Consumer Financial Protection Board, persistently resisting attempts to neuter what would become the Affordable Care Act, among other struggles. I was sad not to get a chance to vote for either — neither was up for election or reelection to the senate in the years I was registered to vote in Vermont and Massachusetts. Both, to me, represented major change within and outside of the status quo of Democratic party politics. And both were crucial to farther left aims, when the Democrats in the Obama administration seemed so eager to compromise or roll over. This, to be fair, is also an unkind generalization. I believe that the Democrats failed to push hard enough, but I also remember arguments about this with Jim, who would gently note that sometimes getting something passed is better than getting nothing.

So, the books. Jim’s book — Keynes Against Capitalism — was a long-term project he’d been tinkering with in my last years on campus. Then a group of dedicated UMass students — current and from decades past — together with his colleagues in the economics department managed to encourage him to dust the manuscript off, revise it, and eventually send it off for publication. It highlighted the themes I remember from his classes — the radical potential of corporatism, the ability to set aside Keynes the man (Crotty always noted that he could appreciate the scholar’s contributions though Keynes would likely have disdained Jim for his Irish heritage) from the work on display, the far-reaching aspect of Keynes’s proposals — and introduced new ones that were compelling. The increasing urgency of Keynes’s recommendations, pleas even, for active planning by governments and a relaxation of the grievances that had shaped the punitive Treaty of Versailles, followed by the curious apparent cooling down of Keynes’s ardor for big change. Why would he turn down opportunities to publish high-profile reports or commissions that would fly in the face of the more conservative stand the British Treasury had taken in the previous years? Crotty argued that Keynes’s tactics — like his proposals — were subversive: they cloaked his radical goals in the language of incrementalism, and went out of his way NOT to humiliate government actors that had stood in his way before. The ends justified the means and the lack of public laurels in their pursuit.

Bhaskar Sunkara’s seems, from the outside, to be doing three things. First, it is trying to dispel negative connotations readers may have with socialism, by imagining a United States gradually transforming into a market socialist economy, distinguishing between the concepts of democratic socialism and social democracy, and presenting a very cursory introduction to Marx and Engels’s ideas about socialism. Next, it presents a whirlwind history of socialism in the world — mostly in the west, and a relatively narrow selection of western countries at that — with one chapter about socialist movements in the third world. This history aims to define the trade-offs inherent to both top-down implementation (in Russia and China, and to a much smaller extent, Cuba) and democratically elected (roughly speaking) strategies, and its portrayal of successes and tragedies attest to the difficulty of achieving something worthwhile that dramatically challenges the capitalist status quo. This section at the end charts the fall of social democracy and center left socialism in the west, outside of Russia anyway, and segues to the last section with a brief discussion of the rise of a new socialist (though it is vague on the specifics of what this socialist vision is) energy wave with Bernie Sanders’s dark horse candidacy in the 2016 Democratic primaries, and Jeremy Corbyn’s traction with the UK Labour Party in the mid-2010s. (Like my essay, elements of this narrative feel dated just by the pace of political change since the time of writing and publication; I empathize with Sunkara on this front.) The last section of the book gives the reader the manifesto promised in the title: it talks about what the left must do to break from a centrist rut that seems to have enabled different forms of right-wing pro-business interests to take power in the US and elsewhere, and this includes embracing the title socialist, accepting the need for universalist struggles on the left, and transforming political systems that disproportionately favor two-party systems and entrench partisan interests to the detriment of the public at large.

The two key takeaways I got from the political aspect of The Socialist Manifesto were (1) the reality of tradeoffs and compromise in any strategy to establish socialism, and (2) the unreliability of individuals. Without a broad movement to back them, an individual advocate, however charismatic, may be a John the Baptist type figure, with the potential to be ignored, exiled, martyred, or, perhaps worst of all, co-opted by antagonistic forces. If we prefer democratic means of establishing socialism, and I’m pretty sure Sunkara does, then we will be confronted by decisions about how or whether to prioritize material concerns, or broad-based revolutionary movements, and we will be challenged by how to achieve those goals at any scale of community. Sunkara and Crotty never pretend that these sorts of transformations are easy.

At the time I wrote the piece, Elizabeth Warren was surging in the polls, shortly before a debate in which she was attacked from all sides, and began to gradually fall in the rankings. I worry, in the piece, about antagonism on the farthest left end of the spectrum, between partisans of both Sanders and Warren; both sides worry that the other will lose the war for left. Sanders supporters worry that Warren will sell out the left if she receives the nomination, while Warren supporters worry that despite his reputation for political pragmatism, Sanders’s defiance in using the word socialist will lose the election for the Democrats. There is ample precedent in US history for both camps to worry, and there’s certainly no guarantee that either candidate would win the national election, or even that either candidate will win the nomination. Yet, the periods of the most fruitful gains for the left have also occurred — at least in the US — in the midst of the most heated debates about what the left wanted, whom it represented, and how it would achieve those goals. The active discourse — sometimes, dare I say often, unkind! — has a storied history too, and we should applaud the shared energy and passion both have for the outcomes they want, even if it all embodies contradictions.

What’s going to happen in the primaries? About the future, we simply do not know! And I’m loath to predict. But if the passion on the left sustains through the primaries, and prevails in the national election, it will be a Good Thing. (Though it will never be an easy thing.) If the left prevails in neither the primaries nor the general election, will we have the wherewithal to continue agitating? I sure as hell hope so.

*Here’s a link to the article, if you’d like to read it: https://www.tandfonline.com/eprint/FKGCW6MKWYWCXUP2CKVH/full?target=10.1080/05775132.2019.1694274

And if that link doesn’t work, and you are unable to access it, please let me know.

Eight* Stylized Facts About Deadspin (*Actually Nine)

  1. Deadspin helped me bond with the senior, by then emeritus, professor my chair convinced to be on my dissertation committee. My professor, originally from the Bronx, was a life-long Giants fan (football, of course, but also baseball from way back when; he’d long since adopted the Yankees, despite complicated class stuff). I decided that I would learn how to enjoy football, and couldn’t support the Washington team (the natural fit having grown up in Maryland), so I picked the Giants to watch. Why not. Deadspin’s mockery of Eli Manning and blistering critiques of the NFL coexisted with appreciation for the nuances and genuine enjoyment of watching a game. It showed me that you could love a team and hate it at the same time, and the two and a half years that I watched NFL games (and uh listened to the Giants broadcast on the radio) gave me a not-awkward entry point to talk with random people wearing their teams’ hats and jerseys. That was sport content that I will always appreciate.
  2. Maybe more importantly, Late Night with Deadspin was where I first saw the video for Mother by Danzig.
  3. Emma Carmichael, on tennis commentators refusing to explain why they thought Serena Williams and and Sloane Stephens should get along. Also, that time she dressed up like a Juggalo before an ICP concert.
  4. Barry Petchesky on everything, but especially on the fact that pelicans will mess you up, and by all rights a fantastic sports mascot. How about this rumination on making the sausage of investigative reporting?
  5. Albert Burneko as the anti-Smitten Kitchen and anti-Bon Appetit. Adequate Man and the point that no one needs to be precious about cooking to do it well (and for gods sake stop with the ‘whisper of this’ and the ‘slick of that’ it’s not porn). His pep talk about doing a birthday party for kids was a life-saver, and his writing about politics essential reading.
  6. Your Team Sucks! The perfect illustration of why the Patriots sucked for me was watching well-heeled New Englanders in expensive and boring clothing pick a fight with a janitor at BWI airport the Monday morning after their team had beaten the Ravens at [checks notes] M&T Bank Stadium. The Ravens are also the worst, but wait until you’re on the plane to Logan before dishing, Massholes. Drew Magary doesn’t, like, lack for publishing outlets, but goddamn I will miss how he complemented the rest of the crew at Deadspin.
  7. Deadspin didn’t ‘Stick to Sports’ because that’s a blinkered and political choice in itself. To go back to the football point from bullet 1, Deadspin also captured the queasy balance between enjoying a game and feeling morally culpable for doing so. I don’t watch football anymore, and while there’s more than enough to indict the NFL (its sexist, racist, and classist politics, in theory and practice, are front-runners here), my lizard-brain, which also enjoys of military histories of WWII, misses it.
  8. Deadspin was a respite from much of my indoor kid milieu, professionally and in-law-ly, and the best entry point to conversation with so many people (my dad, Jim Crotty, other dummies who liked the Giants on the customs line at JFK). I miss it so much.
  9. HOW COULD I FORGET THEIR BERATION OF DAN SNYDER. No, really, the Washington team is the worst, because its name is racist, but also, in a photo finish second, because of Dan Snyder.

Exeunt, followed by a bear.