The odds of becoming a cult figure improve with the speed of departure. Among musicians, Jimi, Jim, Janis, Kurt and Amy played their last notes at 27. By dying at 33 and later becoming the subject of an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, Eva Perón joined an even more exclusive club.
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Casa Rosada, Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
There are good days and bad days, but even on the good days the abyss is never too far away. The eurozone’s dangerously original mix of innovation, incoherence, and unaccountability makes it difficult to identify a single event that could finally push it over the edge. But, with confidence already shot, there is one obvious contender, a series of old-fashioned bank runs given a brutal new twist by the logic of currency union as cash pours out of the stricken banks and the country (or countries) that hosts them. Unless the European Central Bank could show that it has what it really takes, fear would feed on itself, credit markets would seize up, and that, quite possibly, would be that.
The extra liquidity offered by the Fed and other central banks on November 30 was a sensible precautionary move, but its extent and its timing were clear signs of anxiety that, while the eurozone’s leadership moves from grand plan to grand plan, the building blocks of disaster are falling into place. U.S. institutions are wary about extending short-term funding to many European banks. European banks are wary about lending to each other.
Of all the sickly banks surviving on the Rube Goldberg life support systems now being deployed in the eurozone’s grisly ER, Greece’s are probably (and the implications of that “probably” are appalling) the most vulnerable to the panic that could set everything off. Their country is the closest to default. If Greece goes under, its banks will, without fresh capital, go under too. So what are their depositors doing?
They are not yet running. But they are walking away at an ever quicker pace (deposits have fallen by over 20 percent since January 2010) that can only have accelerated since the moment in early November when Angela Merkel and Nicolas Sarkozy first conceded that a country’s eurozone membership might not be irrevocable after all.
To understand just how bad things could get, the best place to look is Argentina in early 2001. In 1991, just 10 years before, Latin America’s most gorgeously faded republic had decided to turn over its latest new leaf. It linked its peso to the dollar at a 1:1 exchange rate. This peg was backed by reserves held by a currency board. Despite its distinctly permissive, distinctly Argentine, characteristics, it was designed to use external market pressure to force the country into the tough financial discipline that it had found impossible to impose upon itself. Those Greeks who regarded the EU’s single currency as something more than a free lunch supported signing up for the euro for pretty much the same reason.
At first, the Argentine experiment worked well. The economy grew briskly, and foreign lenders were pleased to feed its growth in a manner well beyond the capability of Argentina’s relatively small banking sector. After all, they told themselves, the country had changed its ways, and, thanks to the peg, exchange risk had been hugely reduced. What could go wrong? If you think that sounds a lot like the talk that accompanied the prolonged surge in international lending to Hungary, Latvia, Greece, Ireland, and all the other future catastrophes crowded into the euro’s waiting room (and, subsequently in some cases, the eurozone itself) just a few years later, you’d be quite right.
What could go wrong, did: Deep-seated structural flaws within the local economy, a series of external shocks (starting with the Mexican crisis of 1994), weaker commodity prices, and stresses flowing from the fact that the dollar and the peso were an ill-matched pair all combined to push the country into difficulties made cataclysmic by ultimately unsustainable levels of foreign debt. Private lenders shied away. Private capital fled. Taxpayers hid. Ratings agencies screamed. The cost of borrowing soared. The resemblance to Greece in 2011 is unmistakable. Interestingly, the Argentine storm was gathering strength at the same time as Greece was being accepted, not without controversy, into the eurozone, raising the question what in Hades the EU’s leadership was playing at. The implicit warning for Greece contained in the Argentine disaster was as clear as Cassandra, and just as ignored.
In any event, as the 20th century lurched into the 21st, Buenos Aires previewed Athens. There were differences, of course, not least the fact that Argentina had hung on to its own national currency, but that meant less than it might have done. By the end of the 1990s, 90 percent of Argentina’s public debt was denominated in a foreign currency, marginally better than Greece’s 100 percent (for these purposes the euro is a “foreign” currency everywhere), but not by enough to give any comfort. And it wasn’t just the debt: Wide swaths of the economy had been dollarized.
And so had the banks: According to the IMF, close to 60 percent of the Argentine banking system’s assets and liabilities were denominated in dollars throughout the second half of the 1990s, leaving the banks horribly exposed in the event that the peg broke. Indeed, the potentially enormous cost of breaking the peg was a good part of why it was maintained, a logic similar to that now keeping the embattled PIIGS (Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece, and Spain) on the euro’s leash. This should come as no surprise: The stability that such mechanisms can bring largely rests on the absence of any obvious exits. Countries that sign up for them need to be sure that they have what it takes to stay the course. Slinking in on fudged numbers and, ludicrously, expected to maintain some sort of pace with Germany’s Porsche economy, the Greek jalopy stood even less of a chance than had far-better-intentioned Argentina.
Argentine headlines in 2000-01 must have read much like those in Greece today. The country accepted billions in international assistance (from the IMF) in exchange for the imposition of austerity measures that pummeled an already faltering economy. There was a voluntary debt swap (on terms as absurdly expensive as those proposed for Greece earlier this year) that bought time, but no confidence.
Massively widening spreads between peso and dollar debt signaled the market’s fear that the peg was doomed. But, to quote the IMF’s invaluable Lessons from the Crisis in Argentina (approved by one Timothy Geithner), it was “the resumption [in July 2001] of large scale withdrawals from Argentine banks [that was] perhaps the clearest sign of the system’s impending collapse.” Indeed it was.
The banks—and, of course, the country itself—were quite literally running out of the dollars that made up a monetary base already depleted by previous capital flight, and a growing current account deficit. The rules of a currency board (even in its looser Argentine variant) meant that it was not possible simply to print money to fill the gap. This is a problem familiar to those of today’s PIIGS who have to watch the money drain out of their economies, yet are blocked from direct access to the printing press by the European Central Bank. Argentina’s more sinuous treasuries (provincial and then national) tried to meet this challenge by issuing a series of evocatively named quasi-monies (IOUs, basically), but these patacones, porteños, quebrachos, and lecops were harbingers of doom, not a solution.
And when the dominoes of finance finally fall, they fall quickly. To return to the IMF’s grim textbook: “The crisis broke with a run [on] private sector deposits, which fell by more than $3.6 billion (6 percent of the deposit base) during November 28-30.” At that point the game was up. The authorities’ response (notably the introduction of the corralito) should alarm depositors throughout the PIIGS as they mull how their governments might stop precious euros escaping to safe havens abroad in the wake of bank runs at home.
The corralito limited cash withdrawals from individual bank accounts to the equivalent of $250 a week (the dollar value would soon fall sharply). And the response to it should worry those now running the PIIGS. Argentinians took to the streets and reduced the country’s political order to chaos. Depending on how you define the term, Argentina had five presidents in less than a month, but none could change the inevitable. The country defaulted on its debt, the peg was scrapped, the peso tanked, and the corralito was replaced by the corralón, the centerpiece of an even tougher regime. Depositors were allowed to withdraw a little more money than before, but only in heavily depreciated pesos. Term deposits were frozen, and transfers of money out of the country heavily restricted. Not so long after, dollar deposits were switched into pesos, and the ruin of Argentine savers, many of whom lost their jobs as the economy crashed, was complete.
History does not always repeat itself. Maybe those remaining Greek depositors are confident that, however battered their nation’s finances, its guarantee of bank deposits up to some $135,000 will hold up through the toughest times. Maybe they have faith that Greece will stick with the euro. And maybe they trust that, should the walk from Greek banks turn into a run, the European Central Bank will do what it takes to put things right. But if they do have any doubts, they can, for now, easily move their euros to a part of the eurozone—Germany, say—where there is no currency risk and bank deposits are blessed with a guarantor that is, you know, solvent. Thinking like that is how a run on the banks can begin. Paranoid? Well, if you were a depositor with a Greek bank, what would you do?
And, if you were a depositor in an Italian bank, watching all this and aware that money is ebbing away from Italy too, what would you do?
I know what the Argentine advice would be. Run.
And if the Greeks run, and the Italians run, who will be next?
Montserrat, Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
If you want to understand why Argentina’s Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner triumphed quite so conclusively (with 54 percent of the vote against 17 percent for her nearest challenger) in October’s presidential election, the University of Buenos Aires’s Museum of Foreign Debt is a splendid place to start. That such an institution exists says nothing good about Argentine financial history. What it contains suggests yet more turbulence ahead.
San Telmo, Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
The museum is a showplace for an unconvincing national alibi. Argentina is innocent and maligned, its tale not one of squandered wealth, but of victimhood, as it is repeatedly plundered by Anglo-Saxon (of course!) financiers, helped in later years by their stooges at the IMF. Under Juan Peron, however, things had been different. During the Peronato, the foreign debt was repaid. Indeed it was, but (as is not explained in the museum) that owed more to the capital surpluses built up during World War II than to Peronism’s autarkic economic model, which was in deep trouble by the time its creator was deposed in 1955. No matter, Peron’s curious mix of fascism, corporatism, and Evita has never quite lost its grip on a nation forever searching for a magical solution to its largely self-inflicted woes. And now, a decade of growth under a new generation of Peronists has convinced many Argentinians that the conjurer-caudillo was on to something.
It’s hard to blame them. Just ten years ago, the botched free-market experimentation of the 1990s had pushed Argentina into the abyss. It began well enough, but pegging the peso to the U.S. dollar (a key part of the process, and the wrong currency to choose) without sufficient structural reform left Argentina increasingly uncompetitive. Lower export prices and successive emerging-markets crises in the latter part of the decade made matters worse. The country’s budget swung wildly off-kilter. Spending was too high, tax revenues too low. Foreign lenders filled much of the gap. Today’s Greeks know how the story ends. They should also note this: Billions in additional borrowing and belated attempts at austerity were not enough to put things right. The economy plunged. Capital fled. In December 2001, the government introduced the corralito (later toughened into the corralon), a measure that (more or less) froze all bank accounts. Argentina went into default shortly thereafter.
This remains (fingers crossed) the largest sovereign-debt default ($95 billion) in history. The dollar peg was dropped a few weeks later; the peso crumpled. Dollar deposits in Argentine banks were swapped into hugely depreciated pesos, a precedent that ought to alarm savers in the eurozone’s PIIGS. If the drachma and its feeble kin are to return, there will be corralitos first. Depositors have been abandoning their banks in Greece, Ireland, and elsewhere. Who can blame them?
Image of Nestor Kirchner outside Casa Rosada, Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
San Telmo, Buenoa Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
Argentina’s financial breakdown had been accompanied by trouble in the streets and chaos in the corridors of power. Depending on how the term “president” is defined, the country had as many as five of them within two weeks. The last was Eduardo Duhalde, appointed interim president by the legislative assembly. After elections 16 months later, he was succeeded by Nestor Kirchner, a Left-Peronist governor from refreshingly distant Patagonia. The fever had broken. Argentina took a mulligan. Private savers had been crushed, and much of the middle class was pushed into poverty, but many businesses were saved by the effective “devaluation” of their debt. Peso collapse bailed out exporters and local manufacturers battered by the once-overvalued currency, as did a reviving economy fueled by the accelerating global commodity boom (Argentina is a major food exporter) and increased government spending. That spending was financed by the fruits of recovery, the windfall from taxes on those ever-more-valuable food exports and, in a sense, the lower debt burden that was default’s naughty reward. In 2005, Argentina repaid its IMF loans ahead of schedule. Kirchner no longer intended to listen to the organization’s nasty “neo-liberal” advice.
Growth continued to soar. Kirchner would have won comfortable reelection in 2007, but stood aside for his wife, Cristina, an abrasive would-be Evita, but without her cult appeal. Only a few months after taking office, she lost a brutal fight with farmers over plans to hike export taxes, a defeat that contributed to her allies’ taking a hit in nationwide legislative elections in 2009. In a tango variant of the Putin-Medvedev waltz, Nestor Kirchner was due to succeed his wife as their party’s candidate in the presidential elections in 2011, but ended up doing something even more useful for the cause: He died last year, aged only 60.
Eternauta Kirchner, Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
Tragedy is often a vote winner, and particularly so in a place like enthusiastically morbid, histrionic Argentina. Cristina’s approval ratings jumped 25 points. As a character in a novel by Argentine author Tomas Eloy Martinez once said, “Every time a corpse enters the picture in this country, history goes mad.” A black-clad Cristina threw her widow’s weeds into the political battle with aplomb, gusto, and tears. Nestor (“he is watching, he is here, isn’t he?”) haunted her speeches and her rallies, transformed into the lost leader who sacrificed all. It worked. Wander around Buenos Aires, a city more skeptical about the Kirchners than most, and you will see numerous stenciled graffiti of Nestor as El Eternauta, an iconic Argentine cartoon figure who traveled through time and space, and to the left. Cristina, already Evita, also became Juan to Nestor’s Evita, keeper of the martyr-spouse’s flame.
Nestor Kirchner, Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
The economy lent a large hand. By year’s end, GDP will have grown by over 90 percent since its 2002 nadir. The spoils of success have been spread around. Thanks to better times, unemployment has been more than halved from 2002’s 20 percent. The number of those in poverty has fallen sharply. Income inequality has shrunk. Social spending has leapt. The descendants of Evita’s descamisados (the shirtless) knew whom to thank. Throw in a divided and uninspiring opposition, and the rest was victory.
The worry is what comes next. Growth is forecast to ease to a still impressive 4–5 percent in 2012 (after a little over 8 percent this year), but envious PIIGS should be aware that there’s plenty of snake oil in the Kirchner cure, and danger too. Revving up the demand side can work (and has worked), as can devaluation, but, like steroids, such policies are best not overdone. And they have been overdone. Officially running at a fantasy-math 10 percent, inflation is now thought to stand at around 25 percent, a level that has been eroding the devaluation advantage (the trade balance has deteriorated in recent years). Price controls, whether direct (such as those on utilities) or indirect (export taxes), have merely forced this inflation to express itself through shortages and underinvestment, a variant of the distortions now emerging as a result of the country’s growing protectionist tilt.
Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
Recoleta, Buenos Aires, August 2011 © Andrew Stuttaford
With public spending still roaring ahead, a cash crunch is drawing closer, exacerbated by the way that the 2001 default and its heavily litigated aftermath have (and perhaps this is just as well) constrained access to international capital markets. The government has taken to raiding the central bank’s foreign-currency reserves to pay those overseas debts it does acknowledge. In a different smash-and-grab, private pension funds worth $24 billion were nationalized in 2008 (in the pensioners’ best interest, of course), a move that also boosted the state’s ability to meddle in some of the country’s largest companies, a temptation that it will probably find difficult to resist: The Kirchner years have already seen the outright nationalization of a number of enterprises.
The markets have read the runes: Foreign direct investment in Argentina has slowed sharply and the locals have followed suit. Capital flight is accelerating and is now estimated at $3 billion per month, something that has provoked a draconian response, even if reserves (for now) remain reasonably healthy. Just after the election, Kirchner launched a new series of initiatives designed to bring dollars back home. These included ordering the country’s energy and mining businesses to repatriate their export revenues, and compelling insurance companies to cash in their foreign investments by year’s end.
These diktats were another display of an authoritarianism that has become more visible as the economic miracle comes under pressure. Economists have been fined for publishing inflation data that differ from the official spin. The inconveniently independent president of the central bank was forced out with the assistance of questionably legal maneuvers. The tactics deployed in the long struggle against the giant Clarín media group have become ever rougher, and show little respect for the idea of a free press. Under the circumstances, Kirchner’s fondness for Hugo Chávez is no surprise, nor is her recourse to conjuring up a handy foreign devil: that “crude colonial power in decline,” Malvinas-stealing Britain.
This is unlikely to end well.