I fell into economics the way a drunk man
falls into an open manhole on a dark street. Growing up I had zero interest at
all in business or making money, instead taking A Levels in English literature, classics, French and, er, computer science. It was only when I began to
falter in the latter that a careers adviser suggested to my father that I had
no chance in hell of getting a job with my chosen subjects (this was the late
1980s) and I should study something a bit more ‘solid’.
I agreed because I had been in quite a bit
of trouble with my parents at that time and decided I should try and do
something conciliatory to please them. And so, at 16, I found myself trying to
catch up in A Level economics.
Two years later disaster struck. My shift
in subjects had caused me to drop back a year and, when the time came for all
my friends to go off to university, I found myself staring at another year in a
provincial town on the outskirts of Birmingham. By this point the urge to flee
had become so powerful that I would consider practically anything to get me on
the next National Express bus out of there. Someone suggested that a few of the
universities had a number of ‘bottom of the barrel’ courses that they couldn’t
fill because nobody wanted to study them. The next day I got on the phone and
rang around almost every university in England, practically begging for a place
to study ... anything.
And that’s how I ended up reading economics
at Middlesex University. While my friends ended up in more salubrious
universities, I found myself contemplating the squalid tower blocks and rising
damp of north London.
Economics, thankfully, did not start out as
I expected. Both my father and the careers advisor had made the error of
equating economics with business studies. It was nothing like it. The first year
could more aptly be described as philosophy, and I found myself reading
everything from Rousseau and Locke to Marx, Smith and even Schumacher. This
wasn’t so bad, I chuckled to myself. I began to wear glasses, grew my hair long
and hung around the student union drinking ridiculously cheap subsidised beer.
My fellow students were not so happy. They
had thought economics was all about how to get rich. They didn’t want to know
about poncey dead French intellectuals. This was 1989 and a short Tube journey
away Margaret Thatcher sat in Downing Street and Harry Enfield’s ‘Loadsamoney’ was on the
TV. What’s more, the Berlin Wall had just fallen and, although I didn’t realise
it at the time, the very meaning of economics was about to change.
According to the text books economics
(which derives from household management
in ancient Greek) was all about making choices for how best to distribute
scarce goods and services in the most efficient manner. By this very definition
there was an implicit assumption that there may be more than one way of achieving
this distribution. But the lifting of
the Iron Curtain put an end to all that. The Soviet Union had, by buckling and
collapsing, revealed that there was only one prize-fighter in the ring worth
backing: GDP growth driven capitalism.
My second year at university proceeded
uneventfully, although the more interesting topics of the first year were now
in the rear view mirror and I now had to study macro and micro economics, and
other unsavoury subjects, including statistics.
And then something very unexpected
happened. We were to spend our third year in the ‘real world’, at the end of
which we had to write a thesis on some topical economics related matter or
other. One day I went to my pigeon hole to check my mail only to discover an
expensive looking manila envelope with my name printed on it in a classy
looking font. I opened it, wondering what it could be, and discovered it was an
invitation to spend my year working in the heart of the British government at
Her Majesty’s Treasury on Whitehall.
When I’d recovered from the shock I had a
haircut, went for an interview and, before I knew it, was working as an intern
in the Economic Analysis division of the Treasury. It was an unusual experience,
to say the least – the kind of thing for which people reserve the work Kafkaesque. There were about ten of us
interns (back then we didn’t use the American word ‘intern’ we were simply ‘students’)
and our job was simply to gather up huge piles of printed paper, punch the
numbers into very basic green-screen computers (remember them?) and print out
charts showing projected economic growth, and other things. At the end of each
day we saved the data onto huge hard drives and then locked these in very sturdy
safes.
The
department in which I worked was where economic forecasts were formulated.
Imagine a constant gnawing silence, punctuated only by the bonging of Big Ben
right outside our window, with bald-headed clerks poring over charts and
uttering occasional passive-aggressive curses. Occasionally a minister, or even
the chancellor, would pop by and there would be a flurry of activity and much
thumping of the piles of paper. My charts were produced and pored over and
occasionally bits were added to them with black felt tip pens and the
stressed-looking economists would get back to work again. That was what working
at the Treasury was like.
To punctuate the boredom a few of us began
to explore the cellars beneath the huge building, finding room upon room of
dusty detritus from the days of empire. These were also Churchill’s war
offices, and as such, piled up with maps and old furniture and rubber stamps.
It was an eerie place but we managed to get a pool table put in one of the
rooms and played sneaky games by candle light at every opportunity. The
building was a huge labyrinth and nobody ever asked you what you were doing as
long as you had a pen behind your ear and were holding a piece of paper.
At the time the Chancellor of the Exchequer
was Norman
Lamont. Our only contact with him was at lunch, and he would sometimes
share tables with us. John Major had only just left the building, taking up the
reins of government following Thatcher’s ousting. At one point we were even invited round to
Number 11 for a glass of wine – and I stood there wondering how the hell this
had happened.
I didn’t learn anything useful about
economics during my time there, although I did write a thesis about the
inevitability of economic and monetary union was in Europe (a title suggested
by my tutor). At least I got to see what an economist looked like (usually
tired looking, bald, and prematurely aged with a wrinkled brow) and decided I
didn’t want to be one. I also discovered that, as George Orwell had said of politicians, economists used language in the way that squids use ink – to obscure
and confuse. Anyone who has sat through a Treasury surgery can testify to that.
At the end of my year I left to spend the
autumn travelling on trains around the US, flying out the day before Black Wednesday – in
which my erstwhile boss squandered billions of pounds to keep the pound from being
annihilated on the currency markets as it crashed out of the exchange rate
mechanism. (As an aside, I had just turned 21 and, like most of my friends, had
never been on a plane before – which is quite amazing to think of today when
people jump on planes as if they were buses.)
I finished up with an average degree and an
aversion to economics as it was being taught. This was at the beginning of the
Great Boom and in the years that followed everyone seemed to be losing their
minds. Credit became widely available, house prices soared (which people
treated as equity to borrow ever spirally amounts) and the BBC began to copy
its rival CNN and dedicate masses of air time to analysing the minute movements
of economic indicators. People, it seemed, no longer wanted to study history or
philosophy at university –instead they all wanted to study marketing.
Marketing, marketing, marketing. That’s all we heard! The dark art of making
somebody want something they didn’t realise they wanted.
We were told, repeatedly, that we had never
had it so good. Boom and bust had gone, history was at an end and all would be
well if we just let the economists continue to steer the country, the
scientists get on with their inevitable work of finding cures for the remaining
killer diseases and the marketers get on with dreaming up new products on which
to spend our plastic money which the boys in the City somehow created for us.
Economics had morphed into ‘growth’ and
growth was the only way to keep the economy going.
But
it was all an illusion, of course. All we had really been doing was sawing away
at the branch we were sitting on. The huge range of food that we suddenly had
in our shops was being grown in far flung invisible places, the cheap consumer
electronics seemed to magically appear and the money we all thought we had
turned out to be a mass hallucination. Ghost money, created out of thin air, possessed
in turn the bodies of dotcom companies and real estate, only to be exorcised
periodically. And all the while the
hidden engine of all this economic activity – oil – began to display tentative
signs that it was nearing the summit of its production.
Natural gas was ballyhooed as a saviour for
both the climate and the energy balance out of all proportion to reality and perhaps
it was my economics degree that saw me getting a job actually trading the stuff
on a computer screen, which I would describe as a bit like playing a slow
moving computer strategy game against a bunch of ruthless opponents.
Could it be now, with economic growth in
the west being anaemic at best and the streets filled with protestors, that we might
see the crown of economics slipping? With growth figures grossly inflated by
government spending and the euphemistically called quantitive easing, the
system that promised so much appears to be breaking down. This could be a Wizard
of Oz moment – we have already seen the grand wizard of the economic boom, Alan
Greenspan, exposed for what he really is: an old man with old fashioned ideas
of cornucopian invincibility.
But old habits die hard. Newspapers, obsessed
with figures spoon fed to them industry cheerleaders, are having a particularly
hard time adjusting to the cognitive dissonance of our age. For every article
warning about the overshooting of fish stocks, topsoil, the climate, population
ad infinitum, there are at least
three promoting a ‘return to growth’. It’s
a bit like gravely warning an alcoholic friend that he is about to die of liver
cirrhosis before handing him a bottle of whisky and saying here’s something to make your recovery a
little easier. Note that every time
there is the slightest upwards blip of a random economic indicator the television
screens are filled with tame economists talking about how it is the start of a
long delayed recovery (from the slump which they failed to foresee). All they have to do is look very serious as
they are saying it and when they are inevitably proved wrong they will explain
in equally serious tones that a leftfield event had occurred which nobody could
have reasonably predicted, safe in the knowledge that they will never be called
to book for their misjudgement.
How economists have gained this aura of
invincibility is simple: they told us what we wanted to hear for thirty years.
In a rising tide they told us the boats were going to rise. They had their
computer models to back them up, and they had oil so cheap it wasn’t seriously
considered as a part of the equation worth bothering about much. All of it was
couched in the kind of confusingly geekish economic shibboleths that the
average Joe couldn’t care less about – just so long as his shares were going up
and he could continue to live the frivolous lifestyle he had come to expect as
a birthright.
But for all the advantages of being a
messenger bearing good news in good times it can be a dangerous business when
the news isn’t so good. The times of guaranteed economic expansion are drawing
to an end, and it will be interesting to see how many economists’ heads end up
on poles in the ensuing chaos. I, for one, am glad I didn’t continue down that
path, even if it meant tossing away all the privileges that came with it. As
such, I don’t dwell too heavily on economic news –and to do so has become an
addiction for many.
This is just one of the many ways we are
going to have to re-imagine our connections with the real world, and something
I'll focus on next week.
A very interesting and well written blog. I am loving reading it. Thanks for writing it.
ReplyDeleteThanks Martin! There's plenty more to come ...
ReplyDeleteGreat blog, Jason! I'm putting this one in my blog roll, and making a shameless plug for mine: http://gracefuldecline.blogspot.com.
ReplyDeleteExcellent blog. Just stir in a little Olduvai theory and it is all down hill to 2050 and only 2 billion people left - see you there (maybe). Seriously the need for a new 'ism' (after capital..., social..., fasc.., commun..., feudal..., have all failed) is pretty urgent. Paul Mason (of BBC fame) suggests the way forward is more likely to emerge (say) from the market traders of Manila than from any Western think tank. What say you? Stabilism? Sustainism?
ReplyDeleteHello Sir Henry - thanks! I'm with John Michael Greer on this one in that we'll enter a stage of scarcity capitalism (think rationing, queues) before moving onto cannibalising what's left in a form of salvage economy. Then, in the far future, we'll stabilise in a kind of 'ecotechnic' future of reduced numbers, reduced technology and interesting social organisations.
ReplyDeleteThose that make the descent, that is ...
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