Michael Lewis has an incredible article up at Vanity Fair detailing the story behind the collapse of Iceland. I like it because it gives some cultural context to what happened– I know the economic reasons Iceland collapsed, but that really doesn’t make it clear why it happened. One of the best parts is this metaphor:
Yet another hedge-fund manager explained Icelandic banking to me this way: You have a dog, and I have a cat. We agree that they are each worth a billion dollars. You sell me the dog for a billion, and I sell you the cat for a billion. Now we are no longer pet owners, but Icelandic banks, with a billion dollars in new assets. “They created fake capital by trading assets amongst themselves at inflated values,” says a London hedge-fund manager. “This was how the banks and investment companies grew and grew. But they were lightweights in the international markets.”
That pretty much describes the world asset markets over the past few years. People feel wealthier because the notional value of their assets goes up. They don’t seem to even consider what the liquidation value of those assets would be. Consider retirement, for instance. If a large cohort like the Baby Boomers were to retire, the simultaneous sale of assets would push the prices of those assets down. The traditional approach to saving for retirement therefore falls apart during transitions between cohorts of vastly different sizes. If another bank bought the billion-dollar cat in the metaphor for two billion dollars, would it be conservative for the bank that bought the dog to value it at merely one billion dollars (and thereby meeting the GAAP definition of conservatism)? Of course not! In this instance, book value dramatically overstates the value of the asset. In a lot of ways it doesn’t seem right to group financial assets with tangible assets. Accounting statements should come with some sort of sensitivity analysis or probability distribution. Of course, this is likely to be done poorly, but as long as companies had to state their assumptions, investors could back out realistic values.
In November 2003, Shearer learned that Kaupthing, of whose existence he was totally unaware, had just taken a 9.5 percent stake in his bank. Normally, when a bank tries to buy another bank, it seeks to learn something about it. Shearer offered to meet with Kaupthing’s chairman, Sigurdur Einarsson; Einarsson had no interest. (Einarsson declined to be interviewed by Vanity Fair.) When Kaupthing raised its stake to 19.5 percent, Shearer finally flew to Reykjavík to see who on earth these Icelanders were. “They were very different,” he told the House of Commons committee. “They ran their business in a very strange way. Everyone there was incredibly young. They were all from the same community in Reykjavík. And they had no idea what they were doing.”
Ha!
In early 2006, for instance, an analyst named Lars Christensen and three of his colleagues at Denmark’s biggest bank, Danske Bank, wrote a report that said Iceland’s financial system was growing at a mad pace, and was on a collision course with disaster. “We actually wrote the report because we were worried our clients were getting too interested in Iceland,” he tells me. “Iceland was the most extreme of everything.” Christensen then flew to Iceland and gave a speech to reinforce his point, only to be greeted with anger. “The Icelandic banks took it personally,” he says. “We were being threatened with lawsuits. I was told, ‘You’re Danish, and you are angry with Iceland because Iceland is doing so well.’ Basically it all had to do with what happened in 1944,” when Iceland declared its independence from Denmark. “The reaction wasn’t ‘These guys might be right.’ It was ‘No! It’s a conspiracy. They have bad motives.’” The Danish were just jealous!
Ian and I were actually talking about this today. You should be wary of people who claim that any disagreement with them is disingenuous. Paul Krugman, for example, has a bad habit of claiming that anyone who disagrees with him must secretly agree with him (after all, he’s always right! j/k), and therefore be claiming he’s wrong as part of a sinister agenda. This obviously isn’t the case.
Then Lewis makes a statement that I disagree with wholeheartedly
One of the hidden causes of the current global financial crisis is that the people who saw it coming had more to gain from it by taking short positions than they did by trying to publicize the problem.
First, shorts have no motive to keep their thoughts to themselves. If I think the market will plunge soon, I’ll short as much as I possibly can, then stand on the roof tops shouting out why I think the market will plunge. The worst worst worst thing a short can do is keep quiet. If the short keeps quiet, the price keeps climbing and makes their position less tenable.
Second, shorts weren’t the ones who caused the problem. The barely sentient people who thought that housing prices would always go up, who thought that normality is a fair assumption for the stock market, who believed in the myriad of idiocy that permeated our financial markets are to blame. Why on earth would you blame the few people who saw it coming and were confident enough to do something?
Third, this assumes that rational argument would have done something. I spent hour telling friends not to buy a house while the boom was still on, spent hours trying to convince people that it wasn’t a good time to buy stocks, but people don’t listen. Not only do you not know whether the other person is correct about a future event happening, the constant feed of evidence proves them wrong. For example, if you told someone that housing was a bubble in 2004, the next 2-3 years would have been evidence suggesting they were wrong.
So what do you do? You find a way to profit off of your knowledge.
Icelanders—or at any rate Icelandic men—had their own explanations for why, when they leapt into global finance, they broke world records: the natural superiority of Icelanders. Because they were small and isolated it had taken 1,100 years for them—and the world—to understand and exploit their natural gifts, but now that the world was flat and money flowed freely, unfair disadvantages had vanished. Iceland’s president, Olafur Ragnar Grimsson, gave speeches abroad in which he explained why Icelanders were banking prodigies. “Our heritage and training, our culture and home market, have provided a valuable advantage,”
The inevitable self-justifications. Lewis utterly savages this view. If this were the case, why would it take 1100 years for people to realize it were true?
“We’d like you to explain our financial crisis,” she says. “I’ve only been here three days!” I say. It doesn’t matter, she says, as no one in Iceland understands what’s happened. They’d enjoy hearing someone try to explain it, even if that person didn’t have any idea what he was talking about
That’s actually really sad. As bad as it would be to have the economy crumble around you, it would be just awful to not know why.
There’s a charming lack of financial experience in Icelandic financial-policymaking circles. The minister for business affairs is a philosopher. The finance minister is a veterinarian. The Central Bank governor is a poet. Haarde, though, is a trained economist—just not a very good one. The economics department at the University of Iceland has him pegged as a B-minus student.
Wow. Just ‘wow’.
Haarde has his story, and he’s sticking to it: foreigners entrusted their capital to Iceland, and Iceland put it to good use, but then, last September 15, Lehman Brothers failed and foreigners panicked and demanded their capital back. Iceland was ruined not by its own recklessness but by a global tsunami. The problem with this story is that it fails to explain why the tsunami struck Iceland, as opposed to, say, Tonga.
Another self-justification.. this one preventing them from learning from their mistakes. Not a good sign for the future.
The other, more serious problem was the Icelandic male: he took more safety risks than aluminum workers in other nations did. “In manufacturing,” says the spokesman, “you want people who follow the rules and fall in line. You don’t want them to be heroes. You don’t want them to try to fix something it’s not their job to fix, because they might blow up the place.” The Icelandic male had a propensity to try to fix something it wasn’t his job to fix.
Insane that a culture would leave a people basically unemployable. It’s one thing to fix things on a fishing vessel that you completely understand, but a whole other thing to start tinkering with a finely tuned production facility. Michael Lewis actually managed to get the following exchange, which pretty much sums up Iceland’s problem:
“You spent seven years learning every little nuance of the fishing trade before you were granted the gift of learning from this great captain?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“And even then you had to sit at the feet of this great master for many months before you felt as if you knew what you were doing?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you think you could become a banker and speculate in financial markets, without a day of training?”
“That’s a very good question,” he says. He thinks for a minute. “For the first time this evening I lack a word.” As I often think I know exactly what I am doing even when I don’t, I find myself oddly sympathetic.
I just can’t believe that a bunch of ex-fishermen were given enough capital to cause this kind of problem. Utterly insane!
The whole thing’s worth a read.