When Clement Met Margaret – the unholy alliance of the 1950s and the 1980s

It’s the worst of both worlds. A glance at 20^th century economic history indicates that the noxious right-wing consensus currently ruling the roost in this country is intent on the nightmarish combination of post-WW2 military Keynesianism (state spending on arms manufacturers) with 1920s/1980s austerity which shuffles the tax burden onto ordinary people and lets the rich get away with murder.

In order to appease Trump, Sir Kier Starmer has promised to spend an extra £32 billion a year on defence (taking spending on weapons to at least 3.5% of GDP) ostensibly on the absurd notion of protecting the country from Vladimir Putin menacing British streets. And absent any willingness to tax the billionaires, this can only come from renewed austerity and increased taxation on most people.

The image of post-war decades in this country (and Europe) is bathed in the sepia-tinted light of the birth of welfare states and health services. Out of the rubble of World War Two, Britain created the National Health Service and instituted a mass council house building programme, two things that clearly cost a lot of money. This can be designated social Keynesianism (state spending that benefits people).

However, this memory is selective. At the same time, after falling immediately after the Second World War, military spending hit 11.2% of GDP around the time of the Korean War in the early ’50s. It subsequently dropped but still remained comparatively high, holding steady at over 5% of the GDP in the 1970s.  This can be designated military Keynesianism (state spending on weapons). Hitler and later Ronald Reagan were quite taken with the concept.

Bear in mind that 5% of GDP is what Trump and Nato want military spending to be.

In truth, the post-war years saw the creation of both a welfare and a warfare state. “After the Second World War, Britons built not only a new Jerusalem but a new Sparta,” writes historian David Edgerton in The Rise and Fall of the British Nation. “Though no longer one of the greatest powers, in the 1950s the United Kingdom was militarized to an unprecedented peacetime degree.”

Into the 1960s and ’70s, he notes, the “warfare state” consumed more than the health or education budget.

Now we are told, in the midst of what is undeniably a much richer country, that we must choose warfare over welfare. Not we have a genuine welfare state nowadays anyway. After years of ever greater conditionality rules being attached to it, it is more properly classed a punishment state.

But what is interesting about the post-war years is not only that a balancing act between welfare and warfare was achieved but that it was done without imposing unbearable levels of taxation on ordinary people. The lower middle class enjoyed an effective tax rate far lower than today (before the increase in military spending hits), whilst large and essential ‘consumer’ items, such as houses, were much more affordable.

How was this possible, let alone actualised? The answer lies in three decades of robust economic growth (the best in the history of capitalism) which permitted rising public spending – part of which was diverted to military purposes – and the paying off of war debts. But this package, benign in certain respects, was enabled by much heavier taxation of the wealthy, encapsulated in the Beatles’ song ‘Taxman’, an embittered two and half minute whinge about paying 92.6% supertax. In fairness to its author, George Harrison objected to paying tax so governments could find new ways to bomb people and in that he was, at least partially, justified.

Socially speaking, however, the post-war years were a conscious repudiation of the policies of the 1920s and ’30s. As shown by Clara Mattei in The Capital Order in many countries, Britain and Italy for example, this involved swingeing cuts to public spending (that had risen in the aftermath of World War One), coupled with reducing direct taxation on the rich and increasing indirect taxation of consumption, especially duties on working class pleasures such as tobacco, beer and spirits. In Britain corporation tax, only created in 1920, was abolished four years later and would only return after 1945.

By then this economic cocktail was thoroughly discredited. It had contributed to and exacerbated the economic depression of the 1930s, laying the foundations for the worst conflict in human history, the Second World War.

But the dawn of the 1980s was long enough for amnesia to have set in. Thatcher in Britain and Reagan in America set about rehabilitating the economic prescriptions of the 1920s. Public spending was held down, mass privatisation inaugurated, and taxation precepts turned upside down. Direct, progressive, taxes on the rich were slashed while consumption taxes – regressive because everyone pays the same – were hiked. For example, corporation tax was 51% in 1981 and it is now at less than half that level (and recently has been even lower). VAT has gone in the opposite direction. It stood at 8% in 1979 and has since nearly trebled.

There is admittedly one significant difference. Whereas the austerity mongers of the 1920s were unconcerned about the effects of their policies on mass consumption, since the 1980s our political overlords have been far less complacent. A four-decades long house price boom, the huge expansion of personal debt, frequently low interest rates, and the introduction of tax credits have attempted to compensate for the fact that wages have not risen as they did in the post-war decades and in recent years have flatlined.

Some have called this privatised Keynesianism – a third kind of economic policy named after someone who died in 1946.

But the point is that, in conspicuous contrast to their predecessors of the 1920s, Thatcherism and Reaganism had the necessary stickiness. They stayed around. So much so that the current ‘Labour’ government in Britain is, in essential respects, Thatcherite. It is committed to deregulation, not increasing tax on the wealthy and keeping utilities like water and electricity in private hands. Any similarity to the Clement Attlee government of 1945-51 is purely rhetorical.

Except, though, in one respect. It is intent on repeating the trick of post-war military Keynesianism which, in addition to the creation of the NHS and nationalisation, the Attlee government eventually succumbed to, especially with Britain’s involvement in the Korean war in 1950. In response to this, defence spending doubled.

The post-war decision to increase weapons spending was not painless. It involved introducing charges for some NHS services which sparked a bitter controversy and much soul-searching about the meaning of democratic socialism.  But the conversion happened without sacrificing the core of the post-war settlement. The Conservatives – in power from 1951 – continued the huge council house building programme and the welfare state was expanded in the 1960s and ’70s.  Government policies tended towards increasing equality.

However, that was then. Thanks to the incredible shelf-life of Thatcherism, we don’t live in the same country anymore. As a result, something has to give – if you want to spend an extra £32 billion on the military, the money will have to be re-allocated from elsewhere and augmented from increasing taxation even more on moderate earners.

This process is already in the works.  In addition to slashing support for new claimants for disability benefit, the government is merging the Work Capability Assessment (for Universal Credit) into the assessment for Personal Independence Payments.  It is estimated that over 600,000 chronically ill and disabled people will lose their means of support as a result.

Plans to raise the state pension age to 70 are cut from the same cloth.

As socialist economist Michael Burke has said, “the funding for the war drive can only be generated by much harsher austerity, harsher even than in 2010.”

More and more, the decades following World War Two appear a unique aberration in the history of capitalism, precipitated by a uniquely destructive conflagration that was the deadliest in history.

Rather the norm is austerity, low taxation of the rich and corporations, unending hostility towards trade unions, and military aggressiveness.

Politically we are reverting to type too. The Second World War alliance against Nazism of a ‘communist’ country and western capitalist states only came about as a last resort after the latter had exhausted all other possibilities. Previously, and for years, British and French elites had wanted to enlist the Nazis as a “bulwark against Communism”, giving them a “free hand” to attack the Soviet Union. Even after the outbreak of the Second World War (during the seven-month “phoney war”), Britain and France still plotted an attack on the Soviets.

The preference for the far right has clear echoes today. Despite growing public disquiet at the genocide, the British government is still supporting the Fascist Israeli government and the West finds de facto support to Fascist thugs in Ukraine aligns with its geopolitical ambitions.

Is there an alternative to this witches’ brew? I want to explore those possibilities in a later post.

Manchester United and the malaise of our time?

 

What do Manchester United and English water companies have in common? Not a great deal you might say beyond being not very successful at what they do. Once a football titan, Man U is now a has-been. Twice a recent winner of the Champions League and regular semi-finalist, the club now struggles to get out of the competition’s group stage. The winner of 13 Premier League titles since 1992, it now cannot compete with its rivals across the city of Manchester, not to mention numerous other clubs.

English water companies, meanwhile, are notorious for not doing their basic job of ensuring clean water in rivers and seas. Despite it being a legal requirement, they have not invested in infrastructure, preferring to pay out enormous dividends to their investors. And the real level of the pollution may be much higher than the firms admit.

But delve a bit deeper and there is something else that unites these two apparently disparate ‘businesses’*. They are both creatures of private equity (PE). Private equity is where a firm is taken off the stock market by a takeover. The new owners borrow the money to acquire the target company in what is called a ‘leveraged buyout’, in the process loading it down with massive debt. Once acquired, along with interest payments on the debt, large dividends are prioritised, either solely for the owners or for their investors/clients.

A family club

Manchester United, for example, had been a public limited firm (i.e. anyone could buy shares in it) from 1991 until 2005 when it was taken private by the Glazer family in a £790m leveraged buyout. Virtually debt-free since 1931, the club’s net debt now stands at £500m and has been much higher. Man U pays over £18m in annual interest on that debt and, unusually for a football club, £32m in yearly dividend payments to the Glazers.

Private Equity ownership is now more common for football clubs (think of Chelsea) but Manchester United provides an opportunity to observe the effect of PE ownership over time – and the picture is not a good one. This is not a financial crisis, which football clubs are especially susceptible to, but the mature consequence of a particular type of financial regime. No wonder fans are desperate for the Glazers to sell up.

Now consider the ten English water companies, all but three of whom have been taken off the stock market by their private equity owners. The commonalities with Manchester United are striking. When Thatcher privatised the ‘industry’ in 1989, it had its existing £5bn debt written off. Since then the debt pile has mushroomed to £60bn. The debt of the largest water company, Thames Water, rose from £3.4bn to £10.8 billion after it was acquired by Australian investment bank, Macquarie, in 2007 and now the firm is in danger of bankruptcy. Since privatisation, over £70bn in dividends has been paid out while bills have increased by 40%, while increases of a similar scale are forecast to deal with the sewage spills that have been allowed to happen.

In either case, what you might think of as the primary function – winning trophies or ensuring clean water – has taken a back seat in favour of maximising returns to the owners.

‘Public’ versus Private capitalism

Maximising returns, you might say, is simply what capitalism does and you’re not wrong as Walter from The Big Lebowski would doubtless attest. However, as English academic Carolyn Sissoko argues, the ‘old fashioned’ way of maximising returns through ‘public’ corporations at least sometimes had a collateral benefit in the shape of capital investment leading to products that people wanted to buy. What happens under private equity capitalism is an entirely valueless process in which the only beneficiaries are extremely rich people becoming even richer. Actually it’s worse than that. Private Equity destroys value for everyone else – consumers, workers, supporters, target companies – apart from the owners who make out like bandits.  As Sissoko puts it:

Whereas the corporate form is a win-win for the economy when it is used to facilitate the raising of funds for large projects that could not otherwise by completed such as railroads or trans-oceanic cables, the corporate form is transformed into a win-lose for the economy when it is used to impose huge debt burdens on otherwise successful corporations.

And this particular form of capitalism is on the march. According to Sissoko, private equity now controls more than 10% of the US stock market, up from 0% 40 years ago. And she says it is “positioned to continue displacing the public corporate form at a rapid pace”.

Where America leads, Britain dutifully follows and PE on these shores is, in the description of advertising sultan Martin Sorrell, “rampant”. Supermarkets such as Morrisons and Asda are PE-owned as was Debenhams before its demise. And in addition to water companies, many care homes have been taken over by private equity firms.

It is important to stress here that the critics of PE are not merely saying the practice is perverting organisations that have – or should have – a social purpose at their heart. It is doing that obviously but by loading down for-profit companies with huge debt – procured in order to take them over – PE is, in a supreme effort of self-destruction, warping capitalism itself. The frighteningly large level of global corporate debt, which has increased by double the rate of personal and financial debt since 2007 (which have also risen exponentially) can be attributed, at least in part, to the modus operandi of private equity. And while this debt mountain may have been manageable in the context of rock-bottom interest rates, as rates have risen, the debt-ridden concoctions of PE are – as shown by the travails of Thames Water – becoming more and more exposed.

No paradox

This is not a new problem though one that hasn’t been around for a while. In the 19^th century, Karl Marx bemoaned the existence of ‘usury capital’ – money lent purely to maximise the interest paid to the lender. This was in contrast to ‘industrial capital’ which had a social purpose in that it purchased shares in – and thus financed – enterprises which made new products or changed the way they were produced. The former, he said, “does not alter the mode of production, but attaches itself as a parasite and makes it miserable. It sucks its blood, kills its nerve, and compels reproduction to proceed under even more disheartening conditions.”

For usury capital in the Victorian age, read Private Equity today.

Brett Christophers, the Sweden-based academic and author of the exposé of PE, Our Lives in their Portfolios, has previously noted the interesting fact that Adam Smith – the darling of the Right and father of market economics and Marx – the pre-eminent left-wing critic of capitalism – shared “the belief that it was entirely possible for an activity to be revenue- and profit-generative without actually contributing to the creation of value. There was no paradox.”

And we are now in an era where value, once again, is not being created. As contemporary economist Michael Hudson has documented, PE is just one of several ways that ‘activist shareholders’, hedge funds and banks have, since the 1980s, increased looked upon public listed companies as cash cows to be looted regardless of the long-term consequences. Illegal until the Thatcher and Reagan eras, share buy-backs are now commonplace for corporations. In the US, Apple, IBM, Exxon Mobil, and Proctor & Gamble are some of the most famous exponents. In the UK, recent practitioners include BP, Shell, Diageo (Guinness, Smirnoff etc.), HSBC, and Unilever.

Share buy-backs are often undertaken under pressure from large shareholders and the company will, not infrequently, swallow a “poison pill” (in Hudson’s words), placing itself in severe debt to purchase its own stock. The effect of a share buy-back is to reduce the overall number of a company’s shares, thereby increasing capital gains and dividend pay outs to its existing shareholders. But its side-effect is to shrink the amount of capital the company has to invest in research and development and growing its own business.

But some companies, says Hudson, have stubbornly resisted the trend and concentrated on building up their business. He cites the example of Google, which, at least in its early days, aimed to use “corporate profits to expand the business rather than giving quick hit-and-run returns to the wealthiest One Percent.”**

Capitalism will eat itself

But this highlights a fatal flaw in the arguments of those who criticise private equity – and kindred financial innovations – for subverting capitalism. Google may have defied the financial bloodsuckers and concentrated on R&D but the effect of this, although good for Google’s health as a business (it’s worth over $1 trillion now apparently), cannot be classed as beneficial for society as a whole. Its innovations have consisted in myriad ways to beguile the attention-spans of billions of people so that they can be exposed to more advertising. If this is a “win-win”, in Sissoko’s description, I think we need to re-define what we mean by winning.

Google is also an intimate part of the whole Big Tech social media revolution which, because it is founded on getting people to compare themselves to others, is having a corroding effect on mental health. From 2018 to 2023, Norway, for example, fell from 3^rd place in the world happiness league table to seventh because of a decline among its young people. And – an assiduously cultivated – addiction to social media also certainly lies behind that.

Likewise, if oil companies want to buy back their own shares rather than putting all available resources into drilling for oil and gas deposits, thereby intensifying global warming, why should we try to talk them out of it?

Why, this time around, should we be the ones – in erstwhile Keynesian fashion – to ‘save capitalism from itself’?

It is a good question.

To be continued

* H/T to a friend who pointed out the link

** Quote from Hudson’s Killing the Host which is well worth reading

The free market reveals its true colours

 

Corporate profits, not workers’ wages, are the largest factor behind the inflation afflicting Europe, it was revealed last month.

This was the conclusion of the International Monetary Fund, a body not noted for its pro-worker outlook. Rather it’s been a bastion of the austerity mania besetting the world over the last few decades.

The IMF conceded that domestic profits were responsible for 45% of the inflation that occurred in Europe over the last year. Rising import prices, by contrast, contributed 40% and labour costs 25%.

This rather contradicts the assertion of conservative commentators that we are in the grip of a ‘wage-price’ spiral. This idea was always fantastical in the context of the longest wage stagnation in Britain since Napoleonic times.  Costs – labour costs – that are going down, or barely rising, in real terms, can’t be responsible for soaring prices (inflation).

Gouge Away

In contrast, the evidence for a ‘profits-price spiral’ is strong. One recent book on the cost of living crisis in Britain found that the biggest companies increased their “mark ups” – prices above the cost of production – from 58% in 2002 to 82% in 2020. The Bank of England has recently found that goods price inflation (prices) is still rising while the cost of inputs is falling. Now we have the IMF – hardly a neutral body – admitting that “firms have passed on more than the nominal cost shock” [of the rise in commodity prices caused by the pandemic, the war in Ukraine etc.] to consumers.

But what is really interesting is that if mainstream economics is remotely trustworthy as a description of reality this profits-price spiral shouldn’t be happening at all.

The core belief of mainstream economics is that we inhabit an innately competitive, self-regulating market economy whose defining characteristic is price competition. As neoclassical economist Milton Friedman asserted, competition exists when there are a large number of firms and none of them can control price levels even though they might want to. “An individual firm is powerless to intervene in ways that change the basic competitive forces it or another firm faces,” he said. “The fate of each business is thus largely determined by market forces beyond its control.”

Fellow ‘free market’ economist, and favourite of Margaret Thatcher, Friedrich Hayek echoed, “the price system will fulfil its function only if competition prevails, that is, if the individual producer has to adapt himself to price changes and cannot control them”.

Essentially, under the system, if one firm raises prices way beyond the cost of production, it will immediately face competition from another firm offering lower prices. Either it relents, or it goes bust.

But this is true only if it is the case that we live in this fabled market system, where impersonal competition is the rule everyone must abide by. But what if we don’t? What if, in fact, we live – whether we like it or not – in a corporate capitalist system where large, dominant firms are able to determine prices and levels of investment?

Marxist truth bomb

This is the conclusion of a variant of Marxist economics, known as monopoly capitalism. A group of large firms, it says, – not just one as the name suggests – rise to dominance and, as a result, are able to collude in raising prices, controlling levels of investment and the introduction of new technologies, and making it difficult for smaller firms to gain a foothold in the market.  This process is enabled by the fact that markets in general are becoming more concentrated – i.e. mergers mean that larger and larger firms dominate markets as opposed to the competitive idyll of a welter of small firms.

A think-tank report last summer in Britain found that, at the close of 2021, the profits of the largest non-financial companies were up 34% compared to pre-pandemic levels, with over 90% of the increase accounted for by just 25 companies. “Some firms could have considerable market power with very few competitors,” the report argued, “and this could be making the cost of living crisis worse by raising prices beyond what would be economically justified.”

What gives credence to the idea that the ‘market economy’ is not as innately competitive as claimed is that a profits price spiral was happening before the current spate of run-away inflation. As I noted in my 2019 book The Disobedient Society:

In 2016 The Economist magazine analysed 900 sectors of the US economy and found that 2/3rds became more concentrated between 1997 and 2012. As a result, corporate America was raking in ‘exceptional profits’ of about $300 billion a year, equivalent to a third of taxed operating profits. And contrary to ‘one of the fundamental principle of economics’—that prices equal marginal costs—these profits were not being passed on to the consumer, with some more concentrated sectors of the economy, according to The Economist’s analysis, seeing prices rises of double the rate of inflation.

Of course, back in 2016, consumer inflation wasn’t an issue, it was negligible. Rather, the fear was deflation and what that would do to the economy. Which does beg the question of what the original cause of the inflation we are now experiencing was? Possibly price gouging, therefore, didn’t spark the jump in inflation, but is helping to prolong it.

Reneging on the Deal

But what this does unquestionably do is undermine the whole justification of the ‘market’ economy.  Essentially, we in the West were presented with a deal. Put up with submission to the will of an employer in the form of wage labour, in addition to skyrocketing inequality, and you will be rewarded with cheap food and other consumer goods. In mainstream economics, labour is the burden for which consumption enabled by wages is the compensation. But this compensation is looking remarkably threadbare, and for many, non-existent. In the process, the whole concept of the market economy – competitive markets allocating scarce resources and ensuring the consumer gets the best possible outcome – is revealed to be something that exists in the pages of a textbook rather than in the real world.

The logical consequence is that if we can’t rely on the putative ‘market’ economy to do what it is supposed to do, then – at the very least – it needs to be properly regulated in the public interest by some body that is genuinely independent of corporate interests. Policies such as an excess profits tax and price caps become ways to correct what the market – because it isn’t a real market – is failing to do.

Meanwhile, we continue to reap the benefit of the ‘free market’. Even though it isn’t free and it doesn’t operate like a market.

The Trouble with Wealth

Living in a World with too much capital

Inequality is usually pictured as the obscene contrast between grinding poverty and unmerited opulence, between mile-long queues at food banks and corporate CEOs buying gold wrapped steaks with their £5 million annual salaries. Hunger in the midst of unbelievable plenty.

Or, in economic terms, through the irrationality of a system that blocks the flow of money to the mass of people, thus creating a demand problem as the poor – or not wealthy – are far more likely to spend their income than the rich.

There is nothing wrong with viewing inequality in these ways but in my opinion they leave something important out. What they overlook is that great wealth is a problem in itself, not just in relation to poverty. This is because wealth is invariably transmuted into capital – money invested in order to make money which is then reinvested again in a never-ending process. And capital which is not directed to a palpable collective need, inevitably distorts society and makes solving urgent problems such as climate change all but impossible.

A Tale of Two Factors

Economists often refer to capital and labour as “factors” in production, i.e. inputs that enable goods or services to be produced and turn a profit. As shown by heterodox economist Harry Shutt, western economies hit a benign equilibrium during the post-war boom (1950-73) in that there was strong demand for both factors – capital and labour. The result was extremely low unemployment (around 3% in Britain) and buoyant growth in fixed investment (capital investment in physical assets such as factories, buildings, equipment, vehicles etc.) that actually exceeded GDP growth.

However, after stagnation set in the mid-70s, the rate of fixed investment fell below GDP and unemployment began to rise. The decline in fixed investment has continued over the ensuing decades, dropping from 20% of GDP in France, Germany, Britain, Japan and the US in 1980 to 14% in 2015. Unemployment spiked in the 1980s and ‘90s. Its subsequent official decline has much to do with compelling individuals to take any available work – Germany introduced ‘mini-jobs’, for example, and on-demand labour and self-employment have mushroomed everywhere. In Britain, if you work for one hour a week, you’re counted as employed. And in order to “make work pay” it is subsidised by the state in the form of tax credits.

In essence, intensified by technological advancement, the demand for both factors of production – capital and labour – waned significantly. However, the way they were treated could not have been more different. Labour, if organised, was denigrated as a pariah and a self-interested impediment to the production of goods and wealth. Unions were ensnared by legal restrictions and the unemployed compelled to retrain and make themselves attractive to employers.

Capital, by contrast, – despite facing, in Shutt’s words, “a demand-supply imbalance comparable to that of labour” – was fêted as the essential ingredient of wealth creation. Entrepreneurs were lauded, profitability seen as a desideratum that benefited all, and the rate of return demanded on capital was intensified. In addition, the “wall of money” at the top of society was augmented by an influx of pension funds into financial markets which naturally demanded a healthy return in order to pay their beneficiaries.

The result has been an immense surplus of capital which cannot be sated by purely physical innovation but is nonetheless perpetually in search of profitable opportunities. This state of affairs distorts society in multiple ways. One way has been a turn to debt-based speculation entirely unrelated to material assets. This path caused the 2008 financial crisis. But there are many other examples.

Gimme Shelter

The environment is one. Oil companies have responded to looming climate catastrophe by transforming their rhetoric but little else. They proclaim a commitment to a ‘green transition’ but still try to “optimise” their oil and gas portfolios and prioritise new exploration. Investment in renewable energy is so low it doesn’t warrant a distinct category in their accounts. Many institutional investors, such as pension funds, charities, and universities, under pressure from climate activists, are committed to divesting from such companies and investing in renewables. However, hedge funds – pooled investment funds patronised by extremely rich individuals that aim to beat average market returns – have stepped into the breach. They are buying large stakes in oil companies, pushing up their share price. “People don’t understand how much money you can make in things that people hate,” commented one manager.

Thus the surplus of capital is ensuring that any progress made on climate change is, under this economic system, instantly reversed.

The financialisation of housing is another way capital is perverting a basic social need. In countless cities around the world, rents have shot up after investors – invariably an unholy combination of hedge funds, private equity funds, and Real Estate Investment Funds (REITS) – have bought up whole blocks of rental properties, viewing them as lucrative income streams. Alternatively, housing is demolished to make way for luxury apartments. Berlin presents an extreme case. €42 billion was spent on large-scale real estate investment between 2007 and 2020.  According to one analyst, after the 2008 financial crisis, investors were looking for a place to put their money and set their sights on Berlin. In a city where 85% of the residents are renters, rents have increased by 70% in nine years. Despite the existence of a strong cooperative sector and state-owned housing companies, over four in 10 rental properties in the German capital are owned by either financial market investors or big, private landlords.

Unsurprisingly, given the city’s culture, there is resistance. In September, a referendum in favour of expropriating Berlin’s largest corporate landlords, who collectively own 11% of apartments in the city, was passed. Whether the result will be carried through, however, remains doubtful.

One way of looking at the frenzy for privatisation which has taken hold throughout the world since the 1980s is not just in terms of corporate capture or ideological monomania, but as an outlet for an ever-growing mass of surplus capital. Privatisation is a longing that can never be quenched. In the first stage of privatisation state-owned industries were hived off to the market in one-off sales. But that was just the appetizer. Now private capital is guaranteed an income stream by running, on a contract basis, public services funded by taxation. In Britain, railways and buses, even spy planes, are operated in this fashion, while the state-funded National Health Service is gradually being hollowed out by private provision. In 2010, the NHS spent £4.1 billion on private sector contracts. Nine years later, this figure had more than doubled.

‘Exiled’ former Labour party leader Jeremy Corbyn posed a genuine threat to these vested interests – through for example a pledge to “renationalise” the NHS. He jeopardised an extremely fruitful, and necessary, income stream and thus had to be destroyed.

Globally, a kindred process has occurred. Where public services have not been gutted, the state serves as a convenient shield behind which public funds are directed into private hands. Under the guise of attaining universal health coverage, the Kenyan government has subsidised access to private care, given private providers higher reimbursement rates and formed public-private partnerships with international companies at great expense. All this has been done at the behest of international agencies such as the World Bank and billionaire charities like the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

“More and more people have been priced out of health care because of their socioeconomic situation and inability to access private care either because of the expenses involved or because the type of help they are looking for is not available, because it's not profitable”, says an author of a report on the subject.

There are numerous other instances of the pernicious effects of surplus capital scouring the globe to meet its unquenchable appetites. A partial list must include the warping of democracy and the media, the money laundering role of football, and the targeting of children by consumer giants. The problem of inequality – and thus contemporary capitalism – is apparent not just in too little money at the bottom of society, but too much at the top.

Check Your Privilege

But curiously one could argue this is contrary to the original purpose of capitalism. Defenders of the system are fond of pointing out its modernizing character in contrast to atavistic socialism. However, the myriad anti-social effects of surplus capital serve to illustrate how we in the 21^st century are living according to the dictates of a 19^th century system. Modern capitalism and its attendant institutions were born at the height of the Victorian age. Stock markets and joint-stock companies (later known as corporations) were created to facilitate outside investment – capital – in economic enterprises and limited liability laws introduced to protect investors by ensuring that if their chosen enterprise failed, they would lose nothing more than the original sum they ventured. Shutt calls “the privilege of limited liability”– which still exists – “the bedrock of capitalism”.

In the description of Canadian law professor Joel Bakan, “the modern corporation was invented in the mid-nineteenth century to help create pools in investment capital needed to finance new and growing industrial ventures, like railways, steamship lines, and factories.” Corporate law, he says, was “designed to incentivize and thereby produce the fuel, capital, that the system needs to operate.” Without it, “the whole system, not just the corporation but capitalism itself, would grind to a halt.”

Arguably, at the time, incentivizing the “fuel” did produce immense dynamism and social benefit in the form of railways, steamship lines etc. Even Karl Marx was impressed, paying tribute to the “colossal productive forces” unleashed by the bourgeoisie. But now this “fuel” is primarily engaged in a compulsive and blind search for profit, no matter whether this adds to social welfare, or more likely, degrades it. To stretch Bakan’s metaphor, the van is now full but the pump is still spewing out more petrol which is spilling all over the station forecourt and running down the street.

The capital imperative is now not merely anachronistic and anti-social but positively deadly. We now know that order to stand some chance of staying within the limit of no more than 1.5 degrees of global warming by 2050 – and thus potentially dodging catastrophic climate tipping points – the vast majority of fossil fuel reserves must remain in the ground. However, such a philosophy of abstention is utterly alien to the nature of capital which is myopically impelled to exploit short-term profit. And in a world of boundless surplus capital – with each fragment on an eternal search for profitable opportunities – such an endeavour is doomed from the start.

In 2014, geographer David Harvey estimated that capital had to find profitable opportunities worth $2 trillion in order to satisfy the requisite ‘return on investment’. By 2030, he gauges, that need will have increased to around $3 trillion. “Thereafter the numbers become astronomical,” he writes. “Imagined physically, the enormous expansions in physical infrastructures, in urbanisation, in workforces, in consumption and in production capacities that have occurred since the 1970s until now will have to be dwarfed into insignificance over the coming generation if the compound rate of capital accumulation is to be maintained.”

And we also have to imagine what non-physical – i.e. speculative – investment will do to the world in the coming years.

Bending the Knee

But, perversely, rather than face up to this literally unsustainable situation, the world’s governments have chosen to artificially turbo-charge capital creation. Through the central bank policy of Quantitative Easing, the quantity of money in the financial system has been massively expanded – by an estimated $13.9 million a minute since 2020. As a result, developed economies have largely weathered the Covid outbreak but at the cost of hugely increased inequality. The combined wealth of US billionaires has risen by 70% since the start of the pandemic, a period of a little more than 18 months. In Britain, the number of billionaires has jumped by a quarter while globally billionaire fortunes have increased by 27% in the context of an expected rise in extreme poverty for the first time this century. For reference a billion is a thousand million.

But those are merely the personal effects. QE has also instituted fake stock market booms, facilitated the lucrative practice of companies taking over their rivals (to no-one’s benefit bar senior executives and bankers), produced skyrocketing property prices in the UK, and swelled the resolutely short-termist venture capital industry. In short, rather than – heaven forbid – standing up to the immensely powerful vested interests around capital enrichment, governments have chosen to bend the knee and grant their every wish. Contrast this with the way defenceless benefit claimants are treated and you have an insight into the mentality of most politicians.

There is a current in left-wing thought that is indifferent to wealth inequality, viewing it as far less pernicious than income inequality despite the fact that it is more extreme. Before the pandemic, wealth inequality was rising in 49 countries. Its enormous increase in the brief time since Covid struck has prompted calls for a tax on wealth. But if wealth inequality has spiralled in such a short period, what will happen in the years to come when many of its causes will likely remain untouched? A wealth tax will be a mere drop in the ocean.

Great wealth is profoundly undemocratic, concentrating economic decision-making in fewer and fewer hands. But it also ensures that capital enrichment, a process which profoundly hurts and perverts society, is set in stone and will intensify year by year. The time is coming when we will find what it does intolerable.