Wilkommen, Bienvenue

The Weekly Standard, December 30, 2013

Riga, Latvia, November 2013 © Andrew Stuttaford

They take austerity seriously in Latvia. After each meeting with a government official he or she would turn off the lights as we walked out of the room. More than five years after the global financial crisis finally burst Latvia’s fragile economic bubble, scrimping is second nature. Given the direction this small, resilient Baltic country took after Lehman fell, that’s no surprise. The usual prescription for cleaning up the mess that overheating leaves behind, particularly in an export-oriented economy (exports amount to some 60 percent of Latvian GDP), centers around a sharp devaluation of the currency to restore international competitiveness. There were quite a few (including within the IMF) who suggested that Latvia should break the peg fixing its currency—the lats—to the euro, leaving the lats to sink to a level that more accurately reflected uncomfortable new market realities.

Riga, Latvia, November 2013 © Andrew Stuttaford

That’s not what Latvia did. The relatively low value added within Latvia to its exports, and the difficulty that it would have faced in satisfying domestic demand with domestic production, meant that a conventional devaluation would have struggled to work its naughty magic, even if the export markets had been there (by no means assured after the slump in the international economy). Tipping the scales further, local business and the nascent middle class—most of whose boom-bloated -borrowing had been in euros—would have faced catastrophe had they had to repay those debts in suddenly depreciated lati. That would have threatened both social disaster and a dangerous breach with the Nordic banks responsible for a large portion of that lending—banks that would now have a vital role to play in maintaining financial liquidity in the country (the only sizable Latvian bank had foundered).

Base of Freedom Monument, Riga, Latvia, November 2013 © Andrew Stuttaford

So Latvia stuck with the peg and opted for “internal devaluation,” shorthand for an attempt to mimic the competitive benefits of a traditional devaluation, but by squeezing costs (primarily labor costs) and excess demand out of the local economy rather than by depreciating the currency. This won Latvia financial backing from a group comprising the World Bank, the IMF, the EU, and the Nordic countries, support that had to sugar some very bitter medicine. Government expenditures were slashed (large numbers of public sector employees were fired and many of those who hung on saw their salaries cut by 20 percent or, indeed, much more) and, to a lesser extent, taxes increased. Between 2008 and 2012 total fiscal consolidation amounted to some 17 percent of GDP.

Most of the pain was front-loaded, both as a matter of practical politics (better to strike before austerity fatigue set in) and a matter of practical economics: Latvian interest rates had soared to damaging heights and confidence had to be rebuilt.

Central Market, Riga, Latvia, November 2013 © Andrew Stuttaford

Seen in that context, the 2009 declaration by Valdis Dombrovskis, the dourly impressive center-right prime minister, that Latvia would continue to seek membership in the eurozone (and, more specifically, get there by 2014) made sense. Whatever the mounting problems in the EU’s gimcrack currency union, it appeared to offer a comparatively safe haven from the Baltic storm. For investors and lenders, the obvious seriousness of this commitment, together with the external support that the government had won, significantly reduced the exchange-rate risk associated with doing business in Latvia. It was no coincidence that with the “devaluation ghost” (as the central bank delightfully puts it) held at bay, lats-denominated interest rates started to tumble.

On top of that, targeting eurozone membership provided a benchmark against which the performance of the Latvian economy could be measured. The country would only be eligible to switch over to the euro if it met the currency union’s “Maastricht criteria.” Its budgetary position would have to be on a sound footing, its inflation subdued, and so on.

Perhaps most important, the march towards the single currency signaled to Latvians that their reconnection with Europe would not be derailed by the economic crisis. Austerity was a means to an end, not just an end in itself. Many Latvians had (and have) their doubts about the wisdom of adopting the single currency (over half are still—to a greater or lesser extent—opposed), but the broader aim of anchoring their state more firmly in the West helped them to stay the course through the brutally tough times that followed the financial collapse.

Central Market, Riga, Latvia, November 2013 © Andrew Stuttaford

There are plenty of dismal statistics to choose from, but unemployment stood at over 20 percent in early 2010 (compared with an average of 6.5 percent in 2007), and GDP shriveled by 18 percent in 2009, after a 4.2 percent decline the previous year. Despite this, Dombrovskis was able to prevail in the October 2010 general election and then weather (albeit precariously) a snap election called in slightly murky circumstances the following September. The fragmented and incomplete development of political parties in Latvia means that general elections are not the best gauge of public opinion, but Dombrovskis’s survival (he went on to become Latvia’s longest-serving democratically elected prime minister) says something. He resigned only in late November, after the deadly collapse of the roof of a Riga supermarket, a tragedy for which he took “moral and political responsibility.”

But by then the economy was well on the mend, bolstered by a revival in global demand partly stimulated, of course, by less austere policies elsewhere. Quite why Latvia was able to resume its pre-boom trajectory as quickly as it did remains the subject of lively academic debate, but a low level of public debt was one crucial advantage: Latvia could persist with its tough approach without falling into the debt-deflationary trap that is crippling recovery in Greece and other grisly corners of the eurozone’s ER.

Latvia’s GDP growth began to turn positive during 2010, coming in at a total nicely above 5 percent for both 2011 and 2012, and is on schedule to be comfortably over 4 percent in 2013, the fastest growth in the EU. The current account deficit is again at a manageable level, the unemployment rate has shrunk to a number marginally below 12 percent, inflation is running at less than 1 percent (as opposed to nearly 18 percent in May 2008), and the budget deficit has returned to respectability after coming close to 10 percent of GDP in 2009. In 2012 it was only a little above 1 percent, while government debt stood at around a modest 40 percent of GDP, easily below the Maastricht requirement of 60 percent.

It is no surprise that Latvia’s formal application to join the euro in March was approved by the relevant EU authorities within a few months. Ordinary Latvians were not given an equivalent say. Calls for a referendum were rejected, not least on the grounds that the matter had long been decided. Any country joining the EU after the Maastricht Treaty came into force in 1993 (Latvia became a member in 2004 after—it is fair to note—a referendum) is obliged to sign up for the euro as soon as it meets the Maastricht tests, a proviso that the Swedes (joined 1995)—who wisely retain their krona—have ignored. Some seats at the EU’s table are more equal than others.

Central Market, Riga, Latvia, November 2013 © Andrew Stuttaford

In any event, Latvia will swap the lats for the euro on January 1 at the rate, to be precise about it, of 0.702804 lati per euro, although it will still be possible to pay for goods and services in lati for another two weeks thereafter. The conversion process within the public and private sector is well under way, as is an extensive program of public education (meetings, leaflets, advertising). Most visibly to the visitor, all prices now have to be given in both lati and euros, and from what I could see in Riga, that was happening everywhere. Even in the converted zeppelin hangars (history here is complicated) of the capital’s picturesque (and somewhat law-unto-itself) central market, everything was properly priced: I had been issued a nifty lenticular currency conversion card and could check that that was so. Watchdogs are in place to stop the changeover being used to hike prices (a common, if exaggerated, fear that has accompanied the introduction of the euro in other countries). To reinforce this, dual pricing will be mandatory until the end of June.

After the changeover, lati will be convertible into euros (at the fixed rate) at rural post offices for three months, at commercial banks for six months, and at the central bank in perpetuity. This matters. Ask officials why there is still so much opposition to the switch, and—perhaps a little condescendingly—they cite folk-memories of the damage caused by previous currency conversions, especially the abrupt introduction of a “new ruble” in 1961 during the Soviet era.

But there is more to it than that. Geopolitical realities (yes, we are talking about Russia), the size—and open nature—of the Latvian economy, and inadequate domestic capital formation all make a decent, if downbeat, case for Latvia to enter the eurozone, despite that currency union’s profound problems. Its flaws (to use a gentle word) have not escaped the attention of the man in the Latvian street. He also does not appreciate the fact that if there is another eurozone bailout (Greece, yet again?), frugal, hardscrabble, post-Soviet Latvia, one of the poorest countries in the EU, will have to chip in.

For a country to abandon its own money is to throw away an essential attribute of sovereignty. In a lovely but manipulative gesture, Latvian 1 and 2 euro coins will bear the image of Milda, the “Latvian maiden” who adorned prewar Latvia’s gorgeous—and emotionally resonant—5 lati piece. This time she is decorating a symbol not of hard-won independence but of a sadly withered autonomy.

And the eurozone’s long agony may bring with it another twist of the knife. The convenient fiction that made it politically possible to establish the euro in the first place was that this was a shared currency that could work with a minimum of pooled sovereignty, a stretch at the best of times, an impossibility in the case of a monetary union that is very far from being an optimal currency area; Germany is not Greece, Finland is not Portugal. If the euro is to survive in its current form, the eurozone will require much deeper fiscal and budgetary integration. Quite what will be left of Latvia’s low tax, fiscally responsible regime or, in any real sense, its self-determination, by the time this process is finished is anyone’s guess.

And what is to remain of Latvia itself? It emerged from nearly half a century of cruel Soviet occupation with its identity savagely battered—not least by the presence of a large Russian settler population (even today ethnic Latvians account for only some 62 percent of the country’s two million inhabitants)—but its heart intact. Membership in the EU has represented a kinder, subtler challenge. The opportunities it has brought to live in lusher lands to the west has led to a steady stream of emigration, a stream that became a torrent during the slump before dwindling again today. All told, the population has shrunk by over 10 percent since 2000. Exporting surplus labor helped Latvia manage the crisis, but at what longer-term cost?

Riga Castle, Latvia, November 2013 © Andrew Stuttaford

I spent the evening of November 11 down by Riga Castle. It was Lacplesis Day, the anniversary of the victory in 1919 by freshly cobbled-together Latvian forces (helped by Royal Navy guns) over a Russo-German army (as I said, history is complicated here) in the battle that effectively secured the new state’s independence after centuries of foreign rule. An ever-swelling crowd, talking quietly, proud to be there, had gathered, lighting row upon row of candles that flickered against the old castle walls, a tribute to the men who had fought so courageously for their country’s right to be. Bonfires did their best against the cold, clear northern night; once-banned flags—carmine and white like the ribbons everyone seemed to be wearing—waved in the chill breeze. A group of children sang folk songs of simple, crystalline beauty.

Behind us a series of tiny vessels had been launched into the River Daugava. Each bore a candle and some a miniature flag, too. They formed a brave, bright, glowing flotilla that sailed off into the dark, its destination unknown.

Cyprus Sinking

National Review, April 3, 2013 (April 22, 2013 issue)

It says something about the lunatic calculus of Europe’s monetary union that the Republic of Cyprus, a slice of a Mediterranean rock known mainly, if not always fairly, for sunshine, no-questions-asked banking for murky Russian money, and a history of ethnic conflict, has shared a currency with Germany for the past five years. And it says perhaps even more that in 2010 and mid-2011 its two largest banks passed EU-wide “stress tests” that, revealingly and not so revealingly, hugely downplayed the risks that banks were running with their holdings of government bonds. And, yes, those two Cypriot banks had a lot of government bonds — Greek-government bonds — and a great deal of other business in the hard-pressed Hellenic Republic besides. Wait, there’s more: Together those two banks in 2011 had assets equivalent to over four times Cyprus’s GDP. Overall the country’s banking sector had assets that amounted to more than eight times GDP. What cannot go on, won’t. By the second half of 2011, Cyprus was in the grip of a growing financial crunch.

After securing an emergency loan of € 2.5 billion from Russia, Cyprus’s former AKEL government (“Communists,” but not really) turned belatedly, in June 2012, for help to the bailout-hardened troika of the European Commission, European Central Bank, and IMF. Negotiations dragged. It took the election of the new center-right president, Nicos Anastasiades, in February finally to break the logjam. Anastasiades had a clear mandate to agree to structural and budgetary reforms of the type that the troika was looking for, but he balked at demands that depositors with Cyprus’s banks share in the pain. The longer-term consequences for Cyprus’s banking sector, a mainstay of his nation’s economy, would, he knew, be disastrous.

That was not something that worried Angela Merkel. She was said to have said that Cyprus “must realize its current business model is dead.” Helping out the banks in an offshore tax haven was never a proposition likely to appeal greatly either to the chancellor herself — no friend of international finance at the best of times — or to German voters. They are due to go to the polls in September. After years of bailouts that they never liked and that were designed to rescue a currency that they never wanted, there was an obvious danger that coming too generously to the aid of an oligarchs’ playground would be a handout too far. And so Germany played a major role in insisting that any bailout be accompanied by a “bail-in” that would shift a good part of the cost of a rescue onto depositors with Cyprus’s banks.

The Cypriots caved. The euro-zone nations and the IMF would together provide € 10 billion in new loans, but depositors in Cyprus’s banks would have to chip in too, a grim first in the grim history of the euro-zone bailouts. Deposits of over € 100,000 would be subject to a one-off tax of 9.9 percent. Then came an additional, dangerous twist. Depositors with less than € 100,000 would also be taxed — in their case, at 6.75 percent, a levy that made nonsense of the understanding that, within the EU, such smaller deposits are meant to be insured. That breach of faith could easily be seen as an unsettling precedent, especially elsewhere in the euro zone’s troubled periphery.

The Cypriot leadership probably chose to penalize the smaller fry in this manner because they worried that taking too much from the high rollers risked damaging what was left of Cyprus’s offshore-banking business, but it created such an uproar — on the island and beyond — that its overwhelming rejection by the Cypriot parliament a few days later came as a surprise to no one.

It was back to the drawing board. What emerged on the second go-round a few days later was structured somewhat more sensibly. Bank deposits of less than €100,000 are protected, but Cyprus’s second-biggest bank, Laiki, will be restructured out of existence, quite possibly wiping out all uninsured deposits on the way. Its larger rival, the Bank of Cyprus, has been rescued, but this will come as cold comfort to its major depositors, who are likely to end up taking a shellacking so brutal that there will be little to choose between their fate and that of their counterparts at Laiki.

The good news was that this kept the troika committed to the €10 billion loan. That would, said Anastasiades, be enough to stave off bankruptcy. More modest than most euro-zone politicians, he did not claim that his particular chapter of the currency union’s interminable crisis was over, merely that it had been “contained,” an idea echoed by the fact that draconian “temporary” controls on the movement of money out of the country have been put in place. Even so, the president was being too optimistic. The banking sector is shrinking rapidly. Many other businesses have been badly damaged by the calamities of recent weeks and are now facing the prospect of operating in a near-siege economy — conditions that are, in addition, unlikely to attract the foreign investment that Cyprus will now desperately need. Making matters worse still, money will leak out, despite the controls. GDP will contract sharply, perhaps by as much as 20 percent over the next couple of years. Unemployment will soar.

With the economy in free fall and government debt-to-GDP set to rise to some 140 percent after the bailout, it will take a miracle for Cyprus to avoid a return to the begging bowl — a miracle so far-fetched that even Cyprus’s most senior cleric, Archbishop Chrysostomos II, cannot believe in it. The influential archbishop, admittedly long a strong nationalist, is urging abandonment of the euro, which would trigger the nation’s outright default. That won’t happen for now. Anastasiades has pledged to stick with the single currency. A majority of his fellow citizens are probably behind him in that, at least for the moment, for reasons that are easy to guess. A reversion to the Cypriot pound would mean a devaluation that would wipe out much of what’s left of the republic’s shredded savings, threaten massive inflation, and further disrupt an economy that has already lost its bearings. But the argument is not all one way: There’s a decent case to be made that an eventual exit from the single currency would, for all the pain, be the best possible way of repricing Cyprus back into the global economy. This is a debate that is far from closed.

In any event, the most intense phase of the Cypriot storm appears to have subsided for now, but it has left the euro zone even more battered than before. The two most dangerous threats to the survival of the currency union in its current form are a massive bank run and voter revolt. The disaster in Nicosia has made both more likely.

Let’s start with the banks. Depositors throughout the currency union have now been given a sharp lesson. Deposits above € 100,000 are riskier than they had previously assumed, a message reinforced by a series of comments from various euro-zone leaders who in the wake of the Cyprus deal, despite some hemming and hawing, made it clear that a new template is being put in place. Large depositors, bondholders, and other sources of wholesale money to a euro-zone bank are being warned that they should expect to take a hit if that bank runs into trouble. Properly tweaked, that’s a good principle — moral hazard and all that — but, with confidence in the euro zone and its often undercapitalized banks still shaky, now was not the moment to assert it. That was especially so in a week that had seen the introduction of strict controls on the free movement of capital — supposedly temporary (time will tell; precedents are not encouraging) — within a currency union that had allegedly consigned such restrictions to history.

This will mean that banks seen as vulnerable (or banks located in countries seen as vulnerable) will find it even more difficult — and more expensive — to attract funds. (Well, would you deposit more than € 100,000 with an Italian bank?) This is a perception that feeds upon itself, and, in the right wrong circumstances, can easily set the stage for panic. Even those with (supposedly insured) deposits below € 100,000 will have been left uneasy by those few days in which it appeared that the euro zone’s leadership was prepared to go along with a deal in which smaller depositors took a hit. Since then, there have been repeated reassurances that such deposits are safe. Protesting too much? Just maybe, and there’s no getting away from one uncomfortable truth: Those insured deposits are guaranteed at the national level, not by the euro zone as a whole. A guarantee is only as good as the guarantor. Insured depositors in Greece have, therefore, to hope that, in the event of a crisis, the Hellenic Republic is good for the money, or at least for a third bailout.

One possible, partial response to that part of the problem would be to institute a deposit-insurance scheme jointly guaranteed by all euro-zone members, but that would risk inflaming the source of the second great threat now stirring within the euro zone: democratic politics. One reason that deposit insurance has not expanded beyond national borders is the suspicion, most notably in Germany, that signing up for a broader European scheme would be signing yet another blank check, something that would be not only bad housekeeping but a quick way to antagonize the voters. The bailouts have long been unpopular among the electorate in the euro zone’s (reasonably) solvent north, but the eurofundamentalism of most of its political class has meant that, despite some heroic efforts in Finland, this sentiment has done little to derail the trainloads of cash and commitments heading toward the currency union’s embattled periphery.

That’s not to claim that relatively frugal sorts such as Chancellor Merkel have enjoyed making the handouts. They have not. The tough line that they are taking on Cyprus and, by extension, on banks throughout the euro zone is clearly intended to show that there are limits to their generosity with their taxpayers’ money and to the risks that they are prepared to take with their voters’ patience. In a recent poll, some 26 percent of German voters said they “could imagine” voting for a party that was opposed to the single currency. In late February, a new, achingly moderate center-right party, Alternative für Deutschland, was formed to appeal to just such voters. AfD won’t win, but if it takes even a few percentage points in September’s vote, it could make the election rather closer than Mrs. Merkel would like. She won’t want to give AfD any more ammunition than she has to over the next few months, which is just another reason to think that the next bailout drama (keep an eye on Slovenia) may be even uglier than the last: Bank depositors in the euro zone’s other struggling regions will, doubtless, be watching carefully — and anxiously.

But while politicians in the euro zone’s north have to contend, for the most part, only with the threat of voter revolt, those in the periphery have to contemplate dealing with far tougher opposition. If parliamentary approval for the final memorandum of understanding that seals the deal is required, there may be some sweaty interludes in Cyprus (the parliament’s speaker has already signaled his opposition), but the best guess must be that Cypriots are likely to be too traumatized to do anything but go along with the terms of their rescue for now. But the spectacle of their pauperization will not play well with their kin in Greece, already radicalized by years of slump and increasingly hostile to the idea of sticking with the painful austerity that many of them regard (not always completely incorrectly) as self-defeating. That austerity is the price of continued support from the north, not least because, without it, voters in Finland and elsewhere would likely finally say that they had had enough. Rock, meet hard place. For now the somewhat unwieldy Greek coalition government is sticking to the troika’s script, but its leaders can read the opinion polls — and their message of growing anger — as well as anyone else. Meanwhile, in Italy the success of Beppe Grillo’s insurgent (and anti-austerity) Five Star Movement (M5S) in the February elections has led to political paralysis. At this writing, there is still no government in Rome, and the prospect of new elections cannot be ruled out. M5S continues to ride high in the polls. The humiliation of Cyprus will be unlikely to have hurt its case. Meanwhile, Silvio Berlusconi’s PDL, itself deeply skeptical of the troika’s agenda, is also polling well. In the aftermath of the Cypriot deal, Italian bond yields rose, and Italian bank shares fell.

To repeat myself, if you had a deposit in an Italian bank, what would you do?

Tick tock.

Czy Warto Wrócić Do Dyskusji O Wprowadzeniu W Polsce Euro?

Forbes Polska, February 1, 2013

Polska powinna trzymać się z dala od strefy euro. Europejski Bank Centralny nie znalazł bowiem recepty na politykę monetarną, która respektowałaby interesy wszystkich jej członków. Polska, pozostając poza unią walutową, pozwala swojemu bankowi centralnemu prowadzić politykę monetarną i kursową, która odpowiada na jej specyficzne potrzeby. Nawet jeśli nie zawsze okazuje się skuteczna, to przynajmniej w ogóle istnieje.

Euro było i jest polityczną próbą zignorowania ekonomicznej, kulturowej i demokratycznej rzeczywistości, aktem pychy, który może wydawać się znajomy tym, którzy żyli w komunistycznym ustroju. Jeśli unia monetarna siedemnastu (lub więcej) państw ma mieć jakiekolwiek szanse na prawdziwy sukces, to musi się wiązać z zacieśnianiem budżetowym o wiele głębszym, niż członkowie Eurolandu byliby obecnie gotowi poprzeć. Przy bezlitosnej logice wspólnej waluty nie pozostaje im obecnie nic innego, jak trwać w niej w jej obecnym kształcie. Zresztą prawdopodobnie zanim Polska spełni warunki przystąpienia do strefy euro, będzie ona już istnieć w nowym kształcie. Wierzyć, że ieodpowiadające przed nikim elity technokratyczne, lojalne tylko wobec siebie i swoich własnych wizji, zapewnią Polsce dobrobyt, byłoby szaleństwem.

This piece was written as part of a debate on whether Poland should join the euro. And no, I don’t speak (let alone write) Polish.  Please see below the original English text that I submitted to Forbes Polska. I am told that the two versions are very much alike….

One size does not fit all. In a currency union encompassing very different economies, the ECB has long found it impossible to manage a monetary policy that is “right” for everyone. It could never accommodate Poland, developing at a pace that reflects both the rhythms of the European economy and profound structural change. With Poland outside the currency union, the Polish Central Bank can run a monetary and exchange rate policy designed for Poland’s distinctive needs. It may not always succeed, but the ECB would not even try.

If signing up for the single currency would be bad for Poland’s economy, it would be worse for its democracy.  The euro was—and is—a political attempt to override economic, cultural and democratic reality, an act of hubris that may sound a little familiar to those who once lived under communism. If a monetary union of 17 members (or more) is to have any prospect of genuine success it will have to involve far closer budgetary integration than the Eurozone’s voters are now willing to endorse, but the relentless logic of a shared currency may leave them (as they see it) no choice other than to go along. ‘Forced’ unions are generally unhappy, unstable and unproductive, but the chances are that, by the time that Poland is eligible to join, this tighter Eurozone will be in place.

It would preserve the rituals of democracy, but they would be without meaning. As Václav Klaus has observed, there can be no European democracy without a European demos. Instead the old nation-states will become provinces in a realm managed by an unaccountable technocratic elite that owes loyalty only to itself and its dreams. To believe that this would ensure the continent’s (or Poland’s) prosperity or, for that matter, security is madness.

Poland should stay out.

Fight For The Finnish

The Weekly Standard, December 24, 2012

He won more votes than any other candidate in Finland’s 2011 parliamentary election, and the maverick party he leads is a profound embarrassment to the current eurozone regime, but there’s something refreshingly down-to-earth about Timo Soini, the leader of the euroskeptic Perussuomalaiset (PS), or, perhaps more easily for you and me, the Finns party. (The former translation of their name​—​the True Finns​—​was felt, a party official told me, to have an “ominous echo” in some corners of Europe of a sort that the PS did not wish to convey.)

Soini, 50, an eloquent, likable, and often amusing former “concrete boy” from Espoo, a city on the edge of Helsinki, was sitting across from me a few weeks ago in a restaurant in Midtown Manhattan. He’s a big man, with big opinions, haphazardly shaven, with rough-hewn features, thick glasses, a shirt with a touch of the lumberjack about it, and an air of genial dismay at my choice of Diet Coke to go with lunch. He has a beer (just one, I note, in case any of the more puritanical members of his party are reading). In his soft-spoken, pleasantly old-fashioned and very Finnish way, he’s outraged by what is now unfolding in Europe.

“A deal is a deal,” he says. The technocrats who once promised that under a shared European currency no country would ever have to bail out another now see things differently. As for the mendicants of the eurozone periphery, let’s just say that Soini is a man with a sharp sense of right, wrong, and history.

Unlike many European countries, Finland, Soini recalls, honored its debts throughout the Depression. And then it paid off the penalties imposed upon it by a vengeful Soviet Union after the Second World War. Later still, it worked its way out from underneath the wreckage of a savage banking crisis in the early 1990s. Left unsaid is the contrast with the Greeks, the Spanish .  .  .

Then it’s not left unsaid. They can be blunt, Finns. The mayhem that the single currency has brought in its wake has upset the European political order in ways that must shock even the utopian gamblers who originally calculated that a “beneficial crisis” was just what was needed to herd the EU’s recalcitrant nation-states into ever closer union. Governments have tumbled across the continent. The far left and neo-Nazis are on the march in Greece. The Catalans are eyeing an exit from Spain. Italy’s democracy has taken a timeout in favor of a technocracy that may soon be replaced by who knows what. Britain could, one way or another, be stumbling towards some sort of end to its unhappy European marriage. And there are plenty more melodramas to choose from.

Where there is Europe, there are euroskeptics. They are a motley crew, ranging from Britain’s neo-Thatcherite UKIP, to the Dutch Koran-bashers of Geert Wilders’s Freedom party, to the postmodern leftists of Beppe Grillo’s 5-Star Movement in Italy, to some groups to the east about whom​—​Soini rolls his eyes​—​the less said the better, and the list doesn’t end there.

Soini’s party, in time-honored populist style, draws on elements of left and right. In a nod to my Englishness, Soini describes his supporters as “working-class Tories.” Yes and no, I’d say. The PS, he explains, is for the workers (“but without socialism”) and for small businesses (“they create the jobs”). Like its counterparts elsewhere in Europe, it draws on the support of older folk and, in return, supports their right to a decent pension. The PS may not, strictly speaking, be socialist, but its 2011 program checked most of the boxes of the traditional Nordic welfare state, including high taxation as a moral good. The Tea Party it is not.

Soini himself is a Roman Catholic convert, exotic for Lutheran Finland. His opposition to abortion is, he admits, a minority view within his own party, but the PS is socially conservative, sometimes abrasively so. Like many euroskeptic parties, it is immigration-skeptic too, occasionally harshly so. When I ask him about this insult or that slur, he replies that a party should not be blamed for everything that one of its members might have said or done. That’s a stock response. What was not was his honest admission that not all his elected representatives are ready for prime time. Some, he sighs, are “stupid” or, he adds more kindly, “semi-stupid.” In a party that has risen so far so fast, that’s not surprising, but, that said, there is undoubtedly a harder edge to Soini’s lot than you’ll find with UKIP’s merry pranksters.

That the success of the PS and its kin elsewhere is due to the overreach of a project​—​an ever more deeply integrated Europe run by a small transnational elite​—​designed to head off such unruly expressions of populism is an irony to appreciate, if not always to savor. That it has happened in Finland only adds to its piquancy. Since joining the EU in 1995, Finland had always been a model pupil, diligent and thoroughly communautaire. Unlike Denmark, and despite initial considerable skepticism on the part of its population (in 1996 fewer than 30 percent of voters supported the idea of a single currency), Finland never negotiated an opt-out from its obligation to sign up for the euro, nor, like Sweden, did it simply grab one. The Swedes and the Danes then rejected the single currency in referenda, an opportunity never offered to the Finns. Eager to please the membership committee of a club they were desperately keen to join, Finland’s politicians were never going to risk allowing their electorate to second-guess the goal of monetary union.

For there was something else at work in Helsinki: the thought of a large and still troubling neighbor. Every step Finland took deeper into its new “European” identity, even the adoption of the EU’s funny money, was a step away from Muscovy. And it is not only the Finns who feel that way. Anxiety over the bully next door does much to explain the increasingly egregious Europhile posturing​—​plus royaliste que le roi​—​by some members of Poland’s political class, and, more poignantly, the reason given by the Estonian prime minister for signing his frugal, well-run country up for the madhouse math of the European Stability Mechanism: “Our objective,” he said, “is to never again be left alone.”

These are sentiments that Soini evidently understands. He shows me a photograph of his daughter standing on the apparently unguarded Finnish side of a stretch of the Russo-Finnish border that runs through the forests to the east. He reminds me​—​with a smile​—​that the U.K. did not exactly rush to Finland’s assistance when the Soviets invaded in 1939. I suspect he is not convinced that, if it ever really came down to it, Brussels’s umbrella would amount to much either. Finland must look after itself.

The still widespread idea that Finland needs Brussels to anchor it in the West is not one that the Finns party shares. It is opposed not only to Finland’s participation in the bailouts, but also to the euro itself (if a tad cagey about what to do about it). Most iconoclastically, the PS would prefer to see today’s EU replaced by a free trade area somewhat akin to the “common market” that gullible Britons believed they were joining in 1973. Within that looser association, Soini mentions there could be room for closer regional cooperation where it made sense, with the other Nordic nations, of course, and the Balts, say, and the Poles and maybe the Brits, too. And the Germans? “No, they would want to bring France with them.”

For now this is just talk. A large majority of Finns want to remain in the EU, and most still prefer to hang on to the euro. The bailouts of the eurozone’s weak sisters are a different matter. They are opposed by well over half of all voters.

It was voter anger over the bailouts that propelled the PS into the big leagues, but the party will struggle to take the championship. In the 2011 general election, it came in third with 19.1 percent of the vote, nearly five times the tally of four years before, but it was a triumph it failed to repeat in the presidential elections in early 2012: Soini (with 9.4 percent) was eliminated in the first round. In October’s municipal elections, the party won 12.3 percent of the vote, a result that may understate its real level of support but was nevertheless a disappointment when measured against the glory days of 2011.

The Finns party may have done its work too well. The two established parties most vulnerable to Soini’s appeal to rural and working-class voters have taken a markedly euroskeptic turn, not least the Social Democrats, from whose ranks the country’s finance minister is drawn. As a result, Finland has become an increasingly awkward member of the eurozone’s glum rescue party. The country insisted that its contribution to the second Greek bailout finalized in early 2012 be backed by collateral. And so (partially) it was, somewhat secretively and somewhat complicatedly, but good enough to allow the Finnish government to offer some reassurance to its restless electorate, a feat it essentially repeated for July’s Spanish bank bailout. Soini clearly remains skeptical about how valuable some of this collateral might eventually prove to be, joking that it really consisted of “stuffed penguins.” But whatever the role that Antarctic wildfowl may play in the efforts to protect the country’s finances, there is no doubt that, where it can, Finland is acting as a brake of sorts on the pace of largesse.

Yet still the ratchet turns. The aggressive actions of the European Central Bank have relieved some of the pressure on the eurozone for now, and Greece has just weathered its latest storm, but the crisis​—​not over by far​—​will continue to fuel demands for the cash and closer integration that the euro’s survival may require. That’ll be bad news for Finland’s finances and a disaster for its democracy, but when it comes down to the wire, the track record of its government​—​which includes just about everybody other than the PS​—​would suggest that it will be unlikely to say no.

The reasons for that might be respectable​—​unwillingness to risk the cost and the chaos that a euro collapse might involve​—​and they might be based on a genuinely idealistic, if misguided, belief in the virtues of deeper European integration, or perhaps even on humility: Is it really for little Finland to put an end to such a grand dream? Then again, less attractive reasoning could come into play. The groupthink of Brussels has a curiously powerful allure, as does the siren whistle of its generous gravy train, and the pleasures, as Soini, puts it, of the (ministerial) Audi.

Soini, who spent time in the belly of the beast as a member of the European parliament and didn’t like what he saw (he tells me a few tales of expense accounts), is not optimistic that Finland will bring this long farce to a close. On the other hand, this is the same Soini who, channeling Churchill, delighted the crowd at UKIP’s 2012 conference with his declaration that “we will never surrender.” Somehow I don’t think that he will.

Estonian Economics

National Review, September 27, 2012 (October 15, 2012 issue) 

Raekoja Plats, Tallinn, August 2012 © Andrew Stuttaford

Tallinn, Estonia – Sitting shirt-sleeved and without, sadly, his trademark bow tie, in his official residence here in the Estonian capital, this Baltic nation’s Swedish-born, New Jersey–raised president, Toomas Hendrik Ilves, looks pained. He’s chewing antacid pills (I’d guess), but it’s the name that I just mentioned that is the problem, not indigestion: “Krugman.”

He sighs.

“I know this has been done to death,” I admit.

Ilves does not disagree.

Estonia has a tragic history of being a battleground for other people’s wars. Thankfully, the latest conflict into which the country has found itself unwillingly drawn — the debate over how the West can emerge from its post-Lehman malaise — has involved nothing more than a “snide” (to borrow Ilves’s adjective) bit of blogging by Paul Krugman for theNew York Times. And even that, the president concedes, ultimately turned out to be “good publicity” for a tale of economic recovery.

In 2008, Estonia’s boom, fueled to overheating by (primarily Scandinavian) banks attracted by the country’s post-Soviet revival, turned, like so many others, into bust. GDP fell by 3.7 percent in 2008 and by 14.3 percent in 2009, taking tax revenues with it: The budget went into a deficit of 2.7 percent in 2008, shocking in a country that aims to run a structural surplus. Unemployment soared to 16.9 percent in 2010, from 4.7 percent in 2007. Housing prices crashed 40 to 50 percent from their peak.

In response, the country’s governing coalition of conservatives and classical liberals cut spending and raised taxes (Estonia’s flat-rate income tax was, however, left untouched at 21 percent) in a squeeze equivalent to over 9 percent of GDP. But it was what happened next that must have really bothered Krugman: After pain came gain. GDP jumped 7.6 percent in 2011, and should grow by 2 to 3 percent this year and next. Unemployment has dropped to 10.2 percent and seems set to fall farther.

That did not fit comfortably with the sometimes-cartoonish Keynesianism that the professor has been pushing since the era of hope, change, and stimulus. So he took to his blog, cropped a graph, and took aim at “the poster child for austerity defenders” — not a role that the Estonians had sought for themselves. There had, wrote Krugman, been a “depression-level slump” (true enough) “followed by a significant but still incomplete recovery. . . . This is what passes for economic triumph?”

Well, no, but that is not what the Estonians, a modest bunch, are claiming. No one I talked to described times as easy, but progress is progress. What’s more, if you push the graph back a touch earlier than 2007, which Krugman used as his starting date, the broader picture is revealed to be rather prettier than the Nobel laureate let on. Yes, it was true that GDP had yet to return to 2007 levels, but it still stood slightly higher than in 2006, no plague year. President of one of Europe’s tech-savviest countries, an irritated Ilves turned to Twitter to rough up the “smug, overbearing & patronizing” Krugman.

Let’s take a step back: Estonia is not Greece. Government is transparent and thrifty. Taxes are paid. Private borrowing ballooned during the bubble years, but that of the public sector did not. At the end of 2008, the state’s debt stood at a sober 4.5 percent of GDP, a figure that might have tempted some governments to try to splurge their way out of recession. In rejecting that route, Estonia did the right thing. It depends on its external trade: Exports amounted to 79 percent of GDP in 2010 (compared, for example, with Greece’s 22 percent). With the European economy in savage, sudden free fall, efforts to pump up domestic demand would have achieved little.

Instead the government concentrated on maintaining the fiscal discipline that is one of the country’s most valuable assets and waited for better times, helped in the meantime by the fact that its banking system (dominated by the subsidiaries of large, well-capitalized Swedish banks) kept liquidity flowing. The wait was not too prolonged. Benefiting from policies often very different from those pursued by the tightwads of Tallinn, many of Estonia’s trading partners pulled out of their post-Lehman dive rather more rapidly than might otherwise have been expected, dragging the Estonian economy up in their wake as exports picked up again. The budget is (broadly) back in balance, and the ratio of central-government debt to GDP stood at 6 percent at the end of 2011, a time, ahem, when the U.S. number was over 100 percent. Estonia’s finances remained intact.

And so, largely, did the population. Demography is a sensitive topic in the three Baltic states, small nations with (in the case of Latvia and Estonia) ethnic balances severely distorted by the influx of Russians who arrived in the Soviet years. The slump has triggered a large wave of emigration. Estonia has been spared the worst of this, not least because of the presence of Finland (Finnish and Estonian are closely related languages) just across the Baltic Sea. Why emigrate if you can commute? There’s probably something else at play, too. All three countries have come a long way since their escape from Moscow in 1991, but Estonia has gone the farthest: Perhaps its citizens were more willing to believe that hanging on would be worth their while.

Estonia’s is an impressive story, but it is a distinctive one, with specifics — including a history of budgetary prudence, the presence of those Swedish banks, a heavy export orientation, assistance from the EU’s structural funds, and a windfall from the sale of emissions quotas — that mean that advocates of an Estonian solution to the euro-zone crisis should proceed with care. Crushing the economic activity on which tax revenues depend is increasing the burden of government debt in many of the PIIGS. In that sense, Krugman was right. Estonia is not a poster child for “austerity defenders.”

But it is a poster child for Estonia: Its frugal, free-market, low-tax, and transparent democracy is indeed something to emulate. An Estonian-style tightening could never have ended Greece’s slump, but if the Hellenic Republic had earlier taken a path that was more Baltic than Balkan, it would not be in the mess that it now is. Coulda, shoulda, drachma.

The sting in this tale is that the euro’s distress may mean that Estonia will not be allowed to follow its own example much longer. This will not be the first time that the trickster currency has caused trouble in Tallinn. It was the prospect of Estonia’s adoption of the euro that triggered that last, fatal surge in Scandinavian lending. On the other hand, it has also represented an additional incentive (and some political cover) for the maintenance of that budgetary discipline without which — ironically, in the light of the shambles elsewhere — the country would not have been eligible for membership in the currency union.

Switching to the euro was seen by most of the Estonian elite as final confirmation that the country had left its Soviet past behind. Even though the Estonian kroon had been pegged to the Deutsche mark, and then to the euro, since its rebirth, many ordinary Estonians were not so convinced that it should be swapped for the single currency, but the terms of the country’s accession into the EU in 2004 rendered their discontent moot. Calls for a referendum were ignored, and Estonia moved over to Brussels’s funny money on January 1, 2011.

If the alternative approach, retention and then devaluation of its own currency (frequently a useful tool in an economic crunch), was considered, it was not considered for long. Exports are vital to Estonia, but it adds comparatively little value to them. Devaluation would therefore have had little impact on their cost to international customers. What it would have done, however, is risk importing yet more inflation into Estonia’s small, open economy. Above all, devaluation would have, as Ilves explains, “wiped out” the middle class. Typically, the mortgages — often on properties that had since collapsed in value — that Estonians had taken out from those generous Scandinavians were denominated in euros. To repay them in depreciated krooni would have been a Sisyphean nightmare. Another alternative, redenominating those loans in local currency, was never a serious option: The liquidity that the Swedes provided throughout the crisis would have dried up overnight.

That was then. The problem now is that Estonia arrived in the euro zone at a very bad time. The safe haven has turned out to be anything but. And it could prove an expensive place to stay. Estonia dutifully helped underwrite the European Financial Stability Facility, the currency union’s temporary bailout fund, and just a few weeks ago ratified its commitment to the fund’s permanent successor, the European Stability Mechanism. If things go badly, that could leave this small country on an unnervingly large hook.

This has not played very well with the electorate. To date, the country’s voters, many of whom remember the infinitely harder Soviet period, have supported the hair shirt. The government was reelected with an increased majority last year. But bailing out feckless, richer folk in Europe’s south (for example, Estonian average earnings are only about one-third higher than the Greek minimum wage) has been a tougher sell. Most Estonians opposed participation in the EFSF and ESM. By contrast, the political class remains willing to trudge through euro-Calvary, although there are some signs that this resolve may begin to crumble if the bailouts grow bigger (and thus potentially more costly to Estonia) and more widespread. And it would be the insult, not just the cost. Should still-poor Estonia really be asked to stump up for Spain? Or Italy?

Ilves points out that, “to put it crassly,” Estonia has profited nicely from its membership in the EU (not least from the financial support that Brussels channels to the union’s less prosperous members), and it has — so far. But there’s an obvious danger that Santa could turn Fagin.

And the euro’s woes menace more than Estonia’s coffers. It now seems clear that attempts to fix the single currency will revolve around trying to integrate the euro zone into a deeper political and budgetary union. Such a union, were it to be formed, would be launched with promises of financial discipline, transparency, and democratic accountability, none of which, given such a construction’s artificial, ill-fitting, and unnatural character (not to speak of the EU’s own lamentable track record in these respects), are even remotely credible. And what then would happen to Estonia, trapped within a Frankenstein union that could be held together only by methods — budgetary and otherwise — that would be the antithesis of everything that independent Estonia has come to stand for?

Neither Ilves nor any other of the political figures to whom I have spoken in Tallinn appear to believe that this is what lies ahead, but, even amid the confidence that is the product of past success and satisfaction at Estonia’s hard-won arrival in “Europe,” it is impossible to miss some hints of uncertainty over what comes next.

That uncertainty needs to be replaced by alarm.

Europe’s Political Contagion

The Weekly Standard, June 11, 2012

That the eurozone has been reduced to a financial and economic shambles was predictable. How little that has changed the continent’s politics was not. To be sure, there have been massive protests in Greece and elsewhere, but the widespread disorder feared by many (including me) in the wake of the 2008/09 financial collapse—arguably the iceberg to the euro’s Titanic—hasn’t materialized, yet. If there is a revolt in the making, it is burning with a slow fuse.

Yes, government after government has fallen, but to what effect? Spain has witnessed the rise of the Indignados, a Mass Occupyish movement, but when the Socialists lost last year’s election, they were replaced by a conservative administration even more determined to trudge to Merkozy than its predecessor. Why so many Europeans have accepted so much misery so quietly so far is a mystery. Welfare narcosis? The calming effect of what’s left of boom-time wealth? It is no coincidence that the most dramatic political upheaval in Europe has been in Greece, the country where the social security net has frayed the most and living standards have collapsed the furthest. The continent’s increasingly post-democratic political structures have also operated as a brake on radical change. The defeat of one party by another has generally made little difference. The eurozone’s dominant political class, center-left, center-right, Tweedledum, Tweedledee, has signed up for muddy approximations of the social market economy and a concrete version of the “ever closer” European integration for which austerity has been the agreed-upon price.

Shortly before the December meeting that launched the fiscal pact designed to enforce better budgetary discipline within most of the EU (the Czechs and Brits kept their distance), a German journalist reminded me that a large majority in his country’s parliament favored plunging even deeper into the European swamp (not his word). When I replied that many German voters did not, his response was a shrug of the shoulders. Yet this mismatch—visible across the eurozone—between the opinions of those who sit in Europe’s parliaments and those that they purport to represent could prove dangerous in times as fraught as these. Elite consensus is forcing voters searching for alternatives to today’s destructive euro-federalism into some very strange places. They may not resort to riot, but their choices at the ballot box could amount to much the same, or, indeed, to something even worse.

Greece’s May elections saw the arrival in parliament of the neo-Nazi Golden Dawn and the dramatic rise of Syriza, a far-left anti-austerity coalition led by Alexis Tsipras, a wannabe Aegean Hugo Chávez. Come the next elections (June 17), Golden Dawn may run into a spot of dusk, but Syriza is likely to end up either in the catbird seat, or close to it. That may mean a hot summer, even by Athenian standards.

Fiercer political discontent is not confined to Greece. In Ireland, another eurozone casualty, voters approved the fiscal pact in a referendum on May 31, but Syriza’s surge has been echoed in gains by the leftist, nationalist Sinn Fein (traditionally the political wing of the IRA) on the back of a platform with distinctly Tsipras touches: opposition to austerity and rejection of a discredited political elite. Such sentiments are not confined to the currency union’s mendicant fringe. In the Netherlands, Geert Wilders’s populist-right PVV maintains that too much austerity is being asked too soon of the tolerably prudent Dutch (and can we have our guilder back?), while the ascendant leftists of the Socialist party just don’t like the idea of austerity, dank u wel.

In April, the first round of their presidential elections saw over 11 percent of the French opt for a leftist hardliner calling for a “citizens’ insurrection” against a sadly imaginary “ultra [classical] liberal” Europe. The far-right National Front grabbed third place and nearly a fifth of the votes. Its promise to junk austerity, and with it the euro, did it no harm.

Italy being Italy, there have been troubling terrorist stirrings, but its mutineer-in-chief is a comedian. Beppe Grillo’s Five Star movement emerged from hugely popular “V-Day” protests in September 2007 opposed to Italy’s rancid status quo (the V stood for vaffanculo, a phrase untranslatable in a respectable magazine but useful enough as an expression of inchoate rage). These demonstrations predated the eurozone’s meltdown (if not the euro’s steadily corrosive effect on the Italian economy), but have since been reinforced by it. After impressive local election victories in May, Grillo’s movement stands at almost 20 percent in the polls on a program that includes greenery, anticorruption, disdain for austerity, and hostility to the euro.

François Hollande’s ultimately successful campaign for the French presidency played skillfully into some of these themes. He harnessed the social resentment that has been sharpened across large swaths of Europe by economic slowdown, prolonged financial crisis, and the drive, however meandering, for austerity, and he rode it all the way into the Élysée Palace. The eurozone’s straitjacket could, he promised, be loosened to accommodate “growth.” Doubtless Mrs. Merkel will offer some cosmetic alterations, but that will then be that, and there will be little that Hollande can do about it. Instead he will have to face the bleak reality foretold by the flawed, darkly brilliant British politician Enoch Powell in a debate on European monetary union more than three decades ago:

Surrender the right to control the exchange rate .  .  . and one has, directly or indirectly, surrendered the controls of all the economic levers of government.

As the eurozone economy twists in the wind, that’s something that President Hollande will find tricky to explain to his voters. Even if Angela Merkel, the person closest to those levers (with solvency comes power), wanted to help him out (and in some respects she might)—the chancellor appears torn between German frugality and loyalty to European “solidarity”—her ability to do so may be constrained by the way that the euro’s woes are continuing to rile up a domestic electorate already deeply skeptical of the eurozone’s bailouts, particularly when headed in Athens’s direction. It’s not easy to work out exactly what the upstart Internet freebooters of Germany’s Pirate party (in another sign of Europe’s increasingly febrile politics, they have now swept into four state legislatures) stand for. But it seems not to include bailouts.

As for the once again fashionable miracle cure, “eurobonds” issued by the eurozone as a whole, that’s finding few fans in the country that would effectively be underwriting this paper. According to a ZDF poll in late May, 79 percent of Germans rejected the idea, and even its proponents in Merkel’s principal opposition, the left of center, more-euro-than-thou Social Democrats, were showing some signs of backing away.

Merkel finds herself stuck. Her support has, until recently, held up well at the national level, but that’s been bolstered by the hard line she has been taking on the eurozone. Austerity may be enraging many beyond Germany’s borders, and it may be the wrong medicine for what ails the single currency in which Merkel evidently still believes. Too bad it’s the only approach that her voters (who are, after all, paying the bill) seem prepared to accept. If she backs down now.  .  .

So many rocks. So many hard places.

Here We Go Again

The Weekly Standard, April 30, 2012

Penas Blancas , Spain, 1972 © Andrew Stuttaford

A phony peace is unlikely to end much better than a phony war. When the European Central Bank (ECB) poured a total of $1.3 trillion in cheap three-year funding into the continent’s financial institutions, that’s what it got.

Sure, it beat the alternative. Lehman part deux was staved off yet again. All those billions (and the suggestion of future ECB support that they represented) were enough to restore confidence that Europe’s sickly banking system would not crumble too far or too fast—for now. Between the announcement of the first of the bank’s long-term refinancing operations (LTRO) in December and the arrangement of the second at the end of February, many of Europe’s stock markets soared, and yields on much of its sovereign debt fell. But that was then and this is now. Dodging a bullet is not the same as victory. That trillion-and-a-bit bought time as well as confidence, but it bought less breathing space than was first hoped, and what little it did buy was squandered. The markets noticed. The crisis is back. And Spain is taking its turn on the rack. But if it hadn’t been Spain, the fear would simply have settled somewhere else. On Portugal, perhaps, or on Italy, or maybe even France, take your pick.

Given the scale of the problem, the rescue party has been grudging. There was the ill-tempered finalization of the second ($170 billion) Greek rescue in March. There was also the gritted-teeth agreement in the same month to use the eurozone’s new $650 billion permanent bailout fund (the European Stability Mechanism) to complement, rather than replace, the existing “temporary” European Financial Stability Facility. But band-aids costing hundreds of billions are still band-aids, and the eurozone’s key political problem remains unresolved.

Those running the richer, mainly northern member-states continue to be unwilling to risk the wrath of domestic electorates already riled up by bailout after bailout and resistant to further moves towards the closer fiscal union that is the best hope of preserving the single currency in its current form. Many northern voters have grasped that this process would culminate in the creation of a grotesquely expensive bailout regime (“transfer union” is the polite term). Given the vast economic divergence that is found within the eurozone, this would endure through the ages. Over a century and a half after Italian unification, Naples is still not Milan. How long would it take to transform Athens into Berlin?

So for now the “fiscal pact,” the Merkel-driven attempt to enforce a shared budgetary discipline that was drawn up in Brussels in December before being finally agreed to in early March (it has yet to be fully ratified), is all that is going in the way of structural change, and to the extent that it’s going anywhere, it’s going in the wrong direction. The imposition of austerity on the eurozone’s stragglers may be good politics (in Germany, the Netherlands, and Finland anyway), but it is primitive, apothecary economics. Draining the blood out of enfeebled, tottering economies and then—fingers crossed—hoping that they bounce back into rude health is a dead end, not a discipline.

Consider the sorry spectacle of hopelessly dysfunctional, hopelessly uncompetitive, hopelessly indebted Greece. Its GDP will have fallen by almost a fifth between 2009 and the end of this year. The country is trapped in a spiral in which austerity (however overdue) is dragging its laggard economy ever lower, shrinking the tax base and thereby increasing the fiscal woe that better budgeting is meant to resolve. Greece holds a general election on May 6. With the political establishment under pressure, and radicals polling strongly, a dramatic rejection of the apothecary regime cannot be ruled out. And the markets know this all too well. They also recognize that Portugal, now doing its best to adapt to the single currency for which it was never going to be suited, but struggling badly, is headed towards a second bailout.

Then there’s the other Iberian nation, Spain, the twelfth largest economy in the world and, therefore, potentially much more of a problem than, say, puny Greece, a country that took an infinitely more self-indulgent route to hell. Prior to the crash, Spain’s government finances were decently managed. Debt stands at around 70 percent of GDP, even now a ratio that is far from the worst in the eurozone, but it has been rising rapidly (the budget deficit was 8.5 percent of GDP in 2011). Overspending by this highly decentralized country’s regional authorities is emerging as a major problem, but the most dangerous poison may be brewing in the banks.

Like just about everywhere else, Spain saw a massive construction and real estate boom in the 2000s. This was fueled by low interest rates that reflected conditions in the eurozone’s Franco-German core rather than Spanish reality, as well as the belief, cheer-led by Brussels, that the economies of the currency union’s members were converging when, particularly as compared with Germany, they were doing anything but.

The bust that followed that boom took down a large chunk of the Spanish economy (unemployment stands at 23 percent, over 50 percent among the under-25s, a disaster exacerbated both by Spain’s sclerotic labor market and the malign impact of apothecary economics). There will be more misery to come. The IMF is forecasting that Spanish GDP will shrink by 1.8 percent in 2012. If Ireland is any precedent, and if the apothecaries have their way (the proposed deficit reduction amounts to a daunting 5.5 percent of GDP over this year and next), Spanish real estate prices could fall by another third. Should that happen, the country’s battered banks are (according to Open Europe, a mildly Euroskeptic think tank) likely to take a hit too large for cash-strapped Spain to cover by itself.

And the knife has further to twist. When the first LTRO was announced, French president Nicolas Sarkozy had a bright idea. Each state could sell its bonds to its newly flush banks. At first glance, such a trade would not only be patriotic, but profitable. The yield on debt issued by the eurozone’s struggling sovereign borrowers would comfortably exceed the bargain rate that the banks were paying to borrow from the ECB. And that’s the “carry trade” that Spain’s banks made. Indeed, in the view of Open Europe, Spanish banks have been the principal (“essentially the only”) buyers of Spanish government debt since December. But these banks are fragile and frighteningly reliant on ECB support (their borrowing from the central bank almost doubled between February and March). What would happen if their vulnerability to Spain’s mounting economic distress, not to speak of their specific exposure to Spain’s real estate nightmare, meant that those banks could no longer keep buying? How would Spain’s bills then be paid? After all, membership in a currency union means that Spain (unlike, say, the U.K.) can no longer print its own way out of a liquidity crunch. As the University of Leuven’s Paul De Grauwe pointed out last year, a “liquidity crisis, if strong enough, [could] force the Spanish government into default.” Indeed it could. Spain has already (and wisely) issued about half the debt it will need for 2012, but the rest?

Wait, there’s more. Spain’s borrowing costs are rising (yields on its 10-year bonds have been testing, and sometimes breaking, the toxic 6 percent barrier), to a level that may not be sustainable. That’s bad enough, but those higher yields also mean that the value of Spanish bonds bought by Spanish banks playing that Sarkozy carry trade will have been falling, with unpleasant implications for their beleaguered balance sheets at exactly the wrong time. If you are looking for a fine example of a vicious circle, this will do nicely.

Optimists will counter that the European Central Bank can again help out. And they are right. As an institution subject to relatively low levels of direct democratic control, it is better placed to ignore the concerns of northern voters than many eurozone institutions. Meanwhile the IMF’s managing director is in full telethon mode. Maybe the IMF/G20 meetings (underway in Washington, D.C., as I write) will see agreements to fund a firewall large enough to reassure. Maybe, maybe, maybe .  .  .

Outside Spain, Portugal, and the carcass that was Greece, the theoretically praiseworthy reforms launched by the eurozone’s proconsul in Italy, the technocrat prime minister Mario Monti, are beginning to run into serious opposition. The country’s planned move to a balanced budget in 2013 has also been postponed by two years (for now). New spending cuts will add to the economy’s pain. Italy has revised its forecasts for 2012’s decline in GDP from 0.4 percent to 1.2 percent, but that’s a sunny projection when contrasted with the fall of 1.9 percent forecast by the IMF.

Then there’s France, facing a presidential election in which the increasingly clear favorite (as I write), Socialist François Hollande, is clearly no great fan of the fiscal pact. And finally there’s the awful, undeniable fact that lies at the core of this tragedy: One size does not fit all. Laurel cannot wear the same suit as Hardy. Portugal is not Finland. Greece is not Germany. A shared currency designed to bring nations together is tearing them apart. Confining them in a monetary union that, as constituted today, cannot realistically cope with the profound differences that define their economies is an insult to common sense, an affront to democracy, and a rejection of elementary decency. Those countries it does not loot, it will sentence to stagnation and worse.

No matter: Whether due to the (not unreasonable) fear of what a breakup could mean, or to fanaticism, careerism, or simple, dumb inertia, the eurozone’s political class is sticking with its funny money. As it does so, other Europeans are quietly passing their own judgment. Stories of capital flight from Greece are not new, but a recent analysis of eurozone central bank data by Bloomberg News appears to show that euros are flowing out of Italy and Spain and into Germany, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg at an accelerating and unprecedented pace.

Just a few weeks ago, Mario Monti declared that the eurozone crisis was “almost over.”

Not yet, I reckon.

A Bridge, but Leading Where?

The Weekly Standard, February 4, 2012

Purity has no place in a crisis. The 2008 TARP bailout was a clumsy, ugly, and rather shameful creation, but by signaling that Uncle Sam was in the room (with his printing press not far behind), it headed off the final descent into a panic that would have brought the banks, and, with them, the economy, and, with that, who knows what else, tumbling down. Three years later, another four-lettered program has been launched, this time in Europe, but once again designed to calm fears that were threatening to metastasize into catastrophe.

It was no coincidence that the European Central Bank (ECB) launched its first LTRO (long-term refinancing operation) on December 8, the first day of a two-day Brussels summit in which the EU’s leaders planned to show that they were really, really in control of a currency union on the edge of chaos. The central bank’s billions were intended to sugar the bitter pills that the Brussels summiteers were bound to prescribe—and did. The eventual, uh, “Treaty on Stability, Coordination and Governance in the Economic and Monetary Union” that was hacked out of those talks (and a second summit last week) combines the big-heartedness of Scrooge with the vision of Magoo and the credibility of Madoff. Its significance lies more in what it won’t do than what it will. Few were impressed.

The LTRO, by contrast, got off to a tremendous start. In the months prior to the new program’s debut the central bank had been criticized (not always fairly) for not doing enough to support the eurozone’s stumblebum banks. Its rescues were too ad hoc, too brief, and too grudging. Not any more: Just in time for Christmas, the ECB repackaged itself as Santa, offering out longer-term (three year) funding at highly attractive rates and, as an added bonus, not being too fussy about how it was collateralized.

The combination of one generous lender and many anxious takers produced a spectacular result. From across the eurozone, 523 banks borrowed a total of 489 billion euros ($641 billion), a far larger haul than financial markets had anticipated. This was a measure both of the easy terms being offered and the difficult straits in which so many European banks had found themselves. Lehman’s unquiet ghost was on the move. Trust in the banks was eroding, as was trust between them. Interbank lending was slowing, crimping the banks’ ability and willingness to lend money out into the “real” economy.

By December, credit to the eurozone’s businesses and consumer clients was falling at a rate that conjured up memories of the nightmare of 2008. With the currency union’s extended ordeal driving Europe into recession, the last thing anybody needed was credit crunch part deux to make matters even worse. Yet that is what the continent was getting. And the deeper the recession, the harder it would be for the PIIGS (Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece, Spain) to escape their budgetary hell, and, crucially, for their lenders’ faith in them to return. And so the vicious circle turns.

Initially, the market was unsure how to respond to the LTRO. Was the program’s size a reason for celebration or concern? But then sentiment changed for the better. Italy completed a number of successful bond auctions. Yields on French and Spanish government debt fell—while those of Germany’s safe haven bunds rose. The Rodney Dangerfield euro even made up some lost ground against the dollar. And this was despite the flow of dreary news that just would not go away. The impasse over the “voluntary” restructuring of Greek debt continued, Portugal slid closer, again, into bailout territory, there was a further round of ratings agencies downgrades (this time from Fitch), and hideous fresh reminders of the plight of the eurozone’s periphery continued to slouch into view. In late January statistics were released showing that Spain’s unemployment rate had hit 22.8 percent in the last quarter of 2011. For the under-25s the rate is nearly 50 percent.

But for now the glass was half full. The old TARP trick had worked again. The European Central Bank had not only supplied the banks with nearly 500 billion euros ($650 billion) in badly needed liquidity, but it had also signaled that it was there on the ramparts alongside them. The cash was important, the boost to confidence no less so, and the message will be rammed home with an LTRO 2.0 scheduled to take place later this month. Another gusher? Maybe. The standard guess is that this second round will amount to 350 billion euros or so, but some have speculated that the total could swell to as much as 1 trillion euros.

According to the logic of a seminal paper published last year by Belgian economist Paul De Grauwe, the very structure of the eurozone (monetary union without fiscal union) was an invitation to financial panic. Fears that money would drain out of the zone’s weaker countries would be self-fulfilling. One consequence is that the possibility of bank runs cascading through the system has been among the most dangerous of the many threats swirling around the eurozone. By supplying that extra liquidity, by promising a second helping, and by implicitly suggesting that in a pinch there could be even more, the ECB is trying to deliver the message that there will always be cash in the banks’ tills. No need to panic, or even think about panicking, after all.

Theoretically (and for now in practice) that should make it easier—and cheaper—for those eurozone countries not yet in intensive care to borrow on the international markets. There’s something else that may be helping too. One of the devices used to reassure skeptical Germans that the new European Central Bank would be more Bundesbank than Weimar was a broad ban on direct purchases by the ECB of government bonds from the eurozone’s members. There’s no equivalent rule, however, that stops commercial banks from using the LTRO loot they have just received from the ECB to purchase the bonds that the central bank cannot. Indeed the banks appear to have been incentivized to do just that. Using cheap ECB funds to buy high-yielding eurozone government bonds looks, at first glance (if not necessarily the second), like a nicely profitable carry trade.

Pause for a moment, though, to think through this money-laundering: Banks that have been weakened by their exposure to dodgy European sovereign debt were being encouraged to use loans (secured by similar debt, and worse) from an already highly leveraged central bank (underwritten by increasingly restive taxpayers) that was itself heavily exposed to identical crumbling borrowers, to buy even more of the same poison. Ponzi himself would have blanched. Nicolas Sarkozy, however, thought it was a great idea. “Each state,” he said, “can turn to its banks” to buy its bonds. Because thanks to the LTRO, the banks “will have liquidity at their disposal.”

It remains uncertain how many banks followed the French president’s advice. Quite a few, in all probability: Nevertheless a good portion of the LTRO proceeds have been placed right back on deposit with the ECB. The banks are still building fortifications in preparation for the day of reckoning they obviously fear may be on the way. That they are has something to be said for it (healthy cash reserves represent a handy preemptive strike against panic), but it is also a sign of a system that no longer believes in itself. The wider slowdown in lending that comes with it carries, as Europe has seen, its own terrible cost.

The next few months will show how effective the LTROs are at calming these fears. Somewhat, I’d guess, but sorting out the eurozone’s predicament will take more than the European Central Bank’s billions. The fundamental flaw of the euro was, and is, that this one-size currency does not fit all. All the liquidity in the world will not change that. Europe’s monetary union was assembled on the basis of political fiat rather than economic reality, and the economics and politics have both turned sour. And not just sour: They have combined into a murderous cocktail. Understandably enough, the looted taxpayers of the north want to see budgetary discipline imposed on the dysfunctional south. German chancellor Angela Merkel has been leading the posse pushing for just that. But too much austerity too soon is draining the ability of the PIIGS to generate the growth that is the only way out of their burning sty. More dangerously still, it is reaching the limits of the politically possible. Shuttered businesses, soaring unemployment, and the prospect of years of stagnation to come are not the stuff of social stability. If insults like the recent draft German proposals that would have ground into dust the last shards of Greece’s economic sovereignty (and much of what remains of its self-respect) are then added to the mix, an explosion is unlikely to be far behind.

The next moves will not be straightforward, but, if they want the eurozone to survive in its current form, those who control its destiny will have to reshape it into a cut that will eventually (if they are very lucky) have a chance of fitting all. They will have to make a drastic change of course. They will have to acknowledge that austerity alone is failing and move instead to fiscal union (and a permanent transfer payment regime) buttressed with, to quote IMF managing director Christine Lagarde, a “clear, simple firewall.” This, I’d guess, would have to be a jointly underwritten financing mechanism of a size (2 trillion euros?) that recognizes how prolonged and tricky this process will be.

Whether the voters will go along with all this is an entirely different and very pointed question, but if the eurozone continues to be run as it is now, the LTROs will turn out to be brilliant, necessary bridge financings that lead, ultimately, to nowhere.

Grade School

National Review, February 6, 2012

Niagara Falls, October 1989  © Andrew Stuttaford

When watching a disaster movie it’s occasionally worth pausing to take stock of where the main drama, obscured by subplots, rubble, and confusion, really stands.

Standard & Poor’s announcement, on, suitably, Friday the 13th, that it had downgraded nine euro-zone countries in various disapproving ways was a chance for just such a moment. S&P’s stripping France and Austria of their highly prized triple-A ratings grabbed the headlines. The downgrades of less-than‒Black Card nations such as Cyprus, Italy, and Spain (each down two notches, to BB+, BBB+, and A, respectively) added the clickety-click of tumbling dominoes to the story. But most striking of all was the rating agency’s release of answers to questions it anticipated it would be asked about the downgrades, answers that portrayed the euro-zone crisis in ways that Angela Merkel, in particular, will not have wanted to hear.

This mess is not, explained S&P, just about the debt. While their governments’ “lack of fiscal prudence” had undeniably played a part in some countries’ arrival in the PIIGS sty, not least in the case of a certain Hellenic Republic, this was not always the case. “Spain and Ireland . . . ran an average fiscal deficit of 0.4% of GDP and a surplus of 1.6% of GDP, respectively, [between] 1999 [and] 2007,” a period in which, the agency added, a touch cattily, Germany had run a deficit averaging 2.3 percent.

So what had gone wrong? S&P makes coy references to “boom-time developments” and “the rapid expansion of European banks’ balance sheets,” but appears unwilling to spell out too bluntly how the mirage -- promoted in Brussels, Frankfurt, and elsewhere -- of economic convergence (and whispered hints of mutual support) within the euro zone did so much to set in motion the spree of mispriced lending (Irish real estate is just one of many hideous examples) that has now unraveled to such destructive effect.

That’s a shame, because publicizing the truth about those years might have helped counteract the notion, heavily pushed by the EU’s elite, that the euro zone’s troubles are the result of market failure, when in fact they are the product of just the opposite. The devastation of recent years is in no small part the consequence of economic reality’s finally returning to a space from which it had been barred by the introduction of a “one size fits all” currency that was, of course, nothing of the sort. Perhaps S&P was concerned that dwelling too much on the misdeeds of the past might further infuriate a euro-zone leadership that has fallen menacingly out of love with the rating agencies that were once its accomplices (less than two years ago S&P was, remarkably, still treating Greek debt as “investment grade”) but are now, belatedly, stumbling along the road to long-overdue repentance.

Instead, the agency looks forward. As mirages tend to do, convergence is receding: “The key underlying issue for the eurozone as a whole is one of a growing [emphasis added] divergence in competitiveness between the core and the so-called ‘periphery.’” Indeed it is, and, with monetary union meaning that the zone’s weaker members are unable to devalue themselves back into contention, any reversal of this process will be extraordinarily difficult, if not close to impossible. And, as things now stand, they may no longer even be given the opportunity to try.

Up until now the PIIGS (as S&P does not call them) have been able to manage their “underperformance . . . (manifest in sizeable external deficits) because of funding by the banking systems of the more competitive northern Eurozone economies.” That party is now over.

So what to do? S&P argues that “a greater pooling of fiscal resources and obligations as well as enhanced mutual budgetary oversight” could buoy confidence and cut the cost of borrowing for the euro zone’s weaker brethren. What these arrangements would look like is not spelled out. What they would not look like is the misshapen agreement that slunk out of Brussels in early December, a pact that S&P clearly views as too little, too vague, and too stingy.

Thus, the rating agency is understandably skeptical about whether plans to advance the start date of the €500 billion European Stability Mechanism (the permanent bailout fund designed to replace the existing €440 billion European Financial Stability Facility) by twelve months, to July 2012, will make much of a difference. Tactfully enough, S&P does not speculate whether its own downgrading of some of the countries that stand behind the ESM will make that almost certainly inadequate entity’s job even more trying. In case you wondered, it will. And in case there was any doubt about that, on January 16, S&P downgraded the EFSF.

Although it never comes out and directly says so, S&P seems to want today’s currency union to evolve into something far closer to the Brussels dream (and democratic nightmare), a fiscal union that would be the logical complement to a monetary union encompassing 17 different countries. Left unstated, but surely implicit, is that this process would be preceded by the firing of the long-awaited, effectively German-underwritten “bazooka,” the resort (however artfully described) to the monetary printing press on a scale thought (fingers crossed) to be sufficient to extinguish the euro’s growing fever. The fever is one thing, but curing the underlying disease -- the competitiveness chasm -- would be the work of generations (how long do you think it would take to build a Portugal that could keep pace with the Netherlands?), and would be an immense challenge to the social and political order in countries struggling to adapt to the theoretically admirable disciplines of a currency for which they are in fact very poorly suited.

Meanwhile, even if they can get past historic memories of what Weimar’s printing presses eventually led to, the prospect of paying for what will be, by any reasonable reckoning, a prolonged, expensive longshot is something that horrifies the taxpayers in Germany (and elsewhere in the euro zone’s north) who would be stumping up the cash. That’s why Angela Merkel, a trial-and-error politician at the best of times, will give every alternative approach a go before marching her country down a route that would enrage the electorate that is supposed to be reelecting her in 2013.

But no other alternative is likely to provide much relief for long. S&P warns that “a reform process based on a pillar of fiscal austerity alone” may well prove self-defeating. However overdue they are, and however necessary they may be to sell the bailout parade to northern voters, austerity programs on the scale now being implemented in the PIIGS suck money, confidence, and demand out of their already battered economies. They shrink the tax base to such an extent that higher rates cannot compensate for falling revenues. Policies designed to cut deficits may actually end up increasing them. The PIIGS will have been chasing their own tails.

The markets understand this well. That’s why those PIIGS that can still tap the international markets have been finding it so expensive to do so. And that’s why there is such limited trust in a European banking system (already enfeebled by the 2008–09 financial debacle) that is, directly or indirectly, dangerously exposed to the woes of the euro zone’s laggards. And when there is limited trust in the banks, credit begins to freeze up. And when credit freezes, economies slow. And when economies slow, tax revenues decline. And when they do, bad deficits get worse. And, and, and . . .

If there’s one scrap of comfort to be found in S&P’s ruminations, it is in its observation that the European Central Bank has staved off “a collapse in market confidence” by a series of measures designed to prop up the EU’s banking system. Basically, the ECB has supplied Europe’s banks with large amounts of low-priced, comparatively lightly collateralized funding that, in December, grew to include €500 billion in three-year money -- and there will be more such bonanzas to come this year. That this may have left the ECB’s balance sheet looking like the books of an unusually generous pawnbroker is a problem, but it is a problem for another day.

All that money has bought some confidence, but not, unfortunately, a lot. Contrary probably to the hopes of the ECB, the banks have not been lured into using these cheap funds to “invest” in high-yielding government bonds issued by the likes of Italy. Instead the cash just piles up -- much of it, ironically, back at the ECB -- as nervous bankers wait for the crisis in which Angela Merkel is forced to choose between deploying the bazooka that saves the euro zone but destroys her career and (much, much less likely) abandoning the euro zone and taking a leap into the unknown.

That crisis will arrive. It could be triggered by Greece, which is teetering, as I write, on the edge of disorderly default, or maybe a spreading bank run will do the trick. There are plenty of possibilities to choose from. And that’s before the black swans come into view.

Clickety-click.

Euro Melee

National Review, December 1, 2011 (December 19, 2011 issue) 

Brussels, July 1985 © Andrew Stuttaford

The euro may not have brought Europe together, except in shared misery, but it has divided it in previously unimaginable ways. Votes can now be won in Finland by bashing faraway Greece, a place hitherto thought of in Helsinki (if at all) as a helpful supplier of beaches. Europe being Europe, the troubles of the single currency have also given a boost to more traditional antagonisms and, Europe being Europe, revived plans for a nasty new tax.

That tax, the financial-transaction tax, is now being pushed by Germany (with France scampering behind). Britain, already in the doghouse for allegedly not doing enough to help out the single currency it had rejected, is talking veto, while Germany, being Germany, is threatening to proceed regardless. Fleet Street being Fleet Street, there are warnings of a “Fourth Reich.” Many Greeks are saying (and shouting) the same thing, much to the fury of those German taxpayers bailing out a nation they see as idle, dishonest, ungrateful, and — old prejudices bubble up — a little too swarthy to be trusted.

It’s time to calm down. The financial-transaction tax is a thoroughly bad idea, with a dose of old-fashioned national nastiness thrown in (Britain would pick up a huge percentage of the tab), but Merkel’s demands for better budgetary discipline within the eurozone are, in theory, rather more easy to justify. If Germany is, one way or another, to underwrite the common currency, insisting that its money is not frittered away is good housekeeping, not empire-building. Not an empire in any traditional sense.

But Merkel is pfennig-wise but mark foolish (or she would be if such splendidly sound money still existed). She is set on defending Germany’s interests, but only within the parameters of the EU’s transnationalist, post-democratic agenda, to which, it seems, she subscribes. The appealing idea that Germany should, for its own good, quit the eurozone, either alone or in the company, say, of the frugal Dutch, remains off limits, and there is absolutely no prospect that Germany’s voters will be given any direct say on that topic. They never wanted the euro, but they got it. Now they are stuck with it.

And that’s how the EU, born out of a distrust of nation-states and their voters, was always meant to work. The difficulty for Brussels is that this system is now being tested as never before: The eurozone has become the site of a dangerous, chaotic, and half-hidden power struggle between its political and bureaucratic leaderships (which are themselves deeply divided on how far to take deeper integration, but that’s mainly a tale for another day), nervous financial markets, and increasingly riled-up voters.

This wasn’t on the program. To the extent that Brussels had any strategy at the time of the single currency’s launch beyond finger-crossing and prayer, it was that the eurozone’s inherently flawed nature (very different economies joined in monetary, but not fiscal, union) would eventually lead to an over-by-Christmas “beneficial crisis.” Financial markets would force through the closer fiscal union that politics could not deliver. Once that had been achieved, the zone’s individual nation-states would count for very little, and their voters for even less.

That’s not how it has worked out. The mechanics of currency union (more on that later) have combined with irresponsible sovereign borrowing and the economic horrors of recent years to foment a financial storm that may be too devastating to be harnessed in quite so “beneficial” a way. The crisis could yet work out (in that cynical Eurocratic sense), but the terrible damage it has already caused has driven home the real costs — political, economic, and financial — of the monetary union to electorates that have long been denied an effective say in its future. Now that they know what they now know, it will be more difficult to keep them on the sidelines.

But over in the PIIGS they are still huddled there for now. In the last few weeks, Prime Ministers Berlusconi and Papandreou have been forced out with shocking ease, replaced by technocrats bearing the Brussels stamp. Italy was issued a former EU commissioner, and Greece a former vice president of the European Central Bank. Neither man had previously been elected to anything. Who cares? The message to Italian and Greek voters was clear — beggars cannot expect to be, so to speak, choosers — and so far surprisingly few of the beggars have objected. So long as it is seen to be better to be in the zone than out, hairshirts and all, this argument will fly. Underlining this, Spain, Portugal, and Ireland have all held elections, and, in each case, the electorate supported austerity. But if virtue’s reward is too long delayed, that consensus could easily shift, and if that change in sentiment is not addressed by those in charge, there could well be serious disorder.

A kinder, gentler eurozone, fueled by the printing presses of a looser, laxer European Central Bank and, once fiscal union has been safely set up, significantly higher transfers from the frugal “north” to the PIIGS, might be one way of smoothing the path to some sort of recovery. But the rise of the populist True Finns, the collapse of the Slovak government, and the continuing success of Holland’s Euroskeptical Geert Wilders all suggest that growing numbers of northern voters are in not such a generous mood. The only fiscal union they would be likely to support would be more Scrooge than Santa. These voters are signing checks, not receiving them. Their concerns ought to count for far more than those of the pauperized periphery. And they just might.

Even in Germany, there is some evidence that portions of the overwhelmingly Eurofederalist political class are becoming unnerved not only by popular discontent (as a proxy for that, nearly 80 percent of German voters are opposed to the issuance of Eurobonds guaranteed by all the eurozone’s members) but also by clear signals of unease from the country’s powerful constitutional court over the liabilities Germany may be taking on. Merkel’s grudging responses to the bailout requests of the last two years may have been an attempt to maintain financial discipline, but they are also a recognition that her domestic voters once again count for something. And maintaining that tough stance is playing well at home. According to a new ZDF poll, the percentage of German voters who approve of Merkel’s handling of the crisis has risen sharply (from 45 to 63 percent) over the last month.

To the extent that Merkel is a fan too of a Scrooge-style fiscal union, this may actually strengthen her hand as the eurozone’s bad cop. That’s something that alarms another key participant in this drama: the financial markets. Market players are fond of a quick fix. They are not very interested in the plight of the eurozone voter. Most are pushing for closer integration (preferably Santa-style) as the only way to make the single currency work. Merkel has not appreciated this pressure, or the turbulence that has come with it, and she is not alone. The currency union echoes with the rage of a European political/bureaucratic class that prefers to blame the crisis on wicked “Anglo-Saxon” speculators rather than on overspending and the shortcomings of a gimcrack currency union that should never have seen the light of day.

And it’s in the operation of the latter that the immediate danger lies. As Paul de Grauwe of Belgium’s University of Leuven has noted, if markets panic about one of the eurozone’s members, euros will pour out of that country (let’s call it Greece), and unless that flow is somehow reversed, that country (unable to print its own money) will simply run out of cash, and it will go bust. As I said, let’s call it Greece.

That gives markets the whip hand, and that does not play well on a continent that has never really shaken off its command-and-control traditions. So long as financial markets bought into the euro dream, their exuberance was welcome and, indeed, encouraged in Brussels, Frankfurt, and elsewhere. There were few complaints about ratings agencies, banks, or speculators back then. Now the bubble has burst. The markets have woken up, and, as we all know, the results have not been pretty to see — and they are visible to all.

This has not pleased the eurozone’s leaders one bit. They have responded with an onslaught of measures — from bans on certain kinds of short sales, to the financial-transaction tax, and, even, an aborted plan to censor the ratings agencies — all designed to throw sand in the gears of the free market, cut financiers (whose pay, even higher than that of the Brussels elite, has long been a source of irritation) down to size, and, in particular, give those semi-detached Brits, arrogant Yanks, the greedy City, and even greedier Wall Street a very good kicking.

To be continued . . .