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By George P. Brockway, originally published September 3, 1990

1990-9-3 Who Killed the Savings and Loans Title

THE WAY WE’RE going, we’re not getting close to the truth about what happened to the savings and loans. It’s much easier to be bemused by the amount of money lost in the disaster, to be shocked by the skulduggery involved, to be flabbergasted by the bad judgment of rich men, to be titillated by political charge and countercharge.

The $500 billion fiasco has been a long time in preparation. The first official action leading up to it was taken as early as March 1951, when the Federal Reserve Board got the Treasury to agree to a slight advance in interest rates. In his Memoirs, President Harry S. Truman criticizes the Reserve for failing to live up to its part of the agreement; but as William Greider points out in Secrets of the Temple, the issue became moot with President Dwight D. Eisenhower‘s election. Wall Street won out over Washington. The Reserve has, ever since, been undisturbed in following its gleam.

When the media go beyond personalities, they explain that the S&Ls failed because they borrowed short and lent long. That is, they accepted deposits that could be withdrawn at will (30 days’ notice was often reserved but seldom enforced), and they lent against mortgages running 30 years into the future.

The curious fact, however, is that the S&Ls were deliberately set up to act in this way from their beginnings in the Great Depression. They were designed to perform two functions: First, they would offer a safe depository for the small savings of the middle class; second, they would aggregate those savings and lend them to finance middle class home ownership. Because the functions were restricted, it was understood that expenses would likewise be restricted. S&Ls, it was reasoned, could therefore offer a little bit more than the going rate on the deposits and charge a little bit less than the going rate on the mortgages. And so it was.

The new S&Ls were successful for more than 30 years. They were substantially responsible for the United States’ achieving the highest rate of home ownership in the world (a rate considerably higher than the present one). They were also substantially responsible for a rebirth of personal savings following the Depression. My wife and I were able to buy a home and start saving at a far younger age than either our parents or our children.

For all those years that they were contributing to the wealth and happiness of the American people, the S&Ls were borrowing short and lending long. Obviously, something else caused the downfall.

Plenty of people are ready to tell you the problem was inflation. Inflation is always bad for lenders. If the price level is rising at a rate of 5 per cent a year, anyone lending $100 today will receive back only $95 in purchasing power a year from now. At the same time, naturally, inflation is good for borrowers, who borrow $100 today and pay back $95 in purchasing power next year.

But look at the performance of the S&Ls over the long run-specifically, over the life of a mortgage. In that run of 20 or 30 years a go-getting middleclass American will both a borrower and a lender be. He/she will borrow at the beginning and save toward the end. They will gain from inflation (if any) when they are young and lose to inflation as they approach middle age. From their point of view, there is much to be said for this balance. From the point of view of the lending bank, inflation is not without its compensations. Inflation of real estate prices has the advantage of improving the quality of the bank’s portfolio. Foreclosures will be fewer, and losses in each foreclosure will be lower. Taken by itself, inflation no more explains the S&L debacle than does the borrowing-short-lending-long story.

Now we reach the root of the matter: What devastated the S&Ls was a tremendous rise in the interest rate.

The first noticeable sign of things to come was a period of tight money in 1955-57, but no one expected the trouble we’ve seen. The Federal Funds rate in those years jumped from 1.78 percent to 3.11 per cent, and continued to rise. By 1965 the average S&L was earning only 0.5 per cent on its capital. Crises followed in 1966, ’69, ’74, and ’78. High T-bill rates and the new money-market mutual funds drained the S&Ls of deposits.

When on October 6, 1979, the new chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, Paul A. Volcker, announced that thereafter the Reserve would concentrate on the money supply and let the interest rate go as it pleased (it pleased to go up), the S&Ls’ fate was sealed. In March 1980, the grandiloquently styled Depository Institutions Deregulatory and Money Control Act confirmed the seal. Practically unrestricted competition, coupled with $100,000 deposit insurance, guaranteed that the Savings and Loans, trying to escape the consequences of high interest, would engage in a binge of blue-sky financing and outright thievery. The only surprise is that the binge lasted for a full decade before the general collapse.

But what could the Federal Reserve do? Doesn’t inflation cause the interest rate to rise? When all is said and done, isn’t the culprit the usual suspect-inflation? It’s too bad – $500 billion too bad – that the S&Ls got caught in the crossfire of the Federal Reserve’s war with inflation, but the war must go on, mustn’t it?

Given the size of the S&L disaster, I suggest that the Reserve ought to have a pretty convincing explanation of the necessity for its actions. Chairman Volcker used to tell us that the interest rate was none of his doing but was the doing of the impersonal market. To the best of my knowledge, his successor, Alan Greenspan, has not said him nay. Well, if the Federal Reserve does not control the interest rate, I don’t know what it does do – unless, as W.S. Gilbert sang of the House of Lords, it does nothing in particular and does it very well.

Of course, the Reserve claims to control the money supply. Its Federal Open Market Committee buys or sells government bonds (it could trade in other assets as well, but prefers not to). If it wants to contract the money supply, it sells government bonds until enough banks buy enough of them to reduce their cash reserves and hence their loan-issuing power. If it wants to expand the money supply (a stratagem that rarely crosses its mind) it buys government bonds and builds up the banks’ reserves.

There’s more to buying and selling than stamping your foot and saying that’s what you want to do. Your price must be right. If you want to sell, your price must be enticingly low. A low price for a bond (or any asset) yields a high rate of return. Not only are banks eager to buy high-interest Treasury bonds, they are also quick to adjust upward the rates they charge their customers, whose credit, after all, is less solid than that of the U.S. Government. In the same way, when the Open Market Committee buys bonds at a high price, it drives the interest rate down.

Because the money supply is not a precise figure (the Reserve publishes four different major and two minor ways of measuring it), the effects of this activity on the money supply are not precise. But it certainly does have determinate effects on the interest rate, and that certainly has definite effects on the cost of living.

ALL OF WHICH brings us back to 1951. In the preceding decade the Federal Reserve Board and the Treasury worked together to maintain the price of government bonds, and the prime rate for most of those years  – despite their including World War II and the first year of the Korean War remained steady (believe it or not) at 1.50 per cent. In 1951 the Reserve, worried about inflation, managed to break free of the agreement with the Treasury and thereafter devoted itself to controlling inflation by managing the money supply.

As it happens, 1951 is the midpoint between the founding of the Reserve in 1913 and 1989, the most recent full year for the Consumer Price Index. Several fat volumes would be required for an exhaustive economic history of each period, and a thorough analysis of the impact of those histories on the CPI would be beyond reasonable achievement. Yet some events are clearly more significant than others. For obvious reasons, wars are held to be especially inflationary, while depressions are deflationary. World Wars I and II and the start of the Korean War occurred in the first period, while the Korean War truce talks and the Vietnam War occurred in the second period. The recession of 1920 and the Great Depression occurred in the first period, while there have been five (or six, if you count what’s going on now) recessions in the second period. So we may say with some justice that the control of inflation should have been no harder in the more recent period particularly since the Federal Reserve Board had now proclaimed this to be its primary objective – than in the earlier one.

How, then, do the two periods compare? From 1913 to 1951, the Consumer Price Index (1982-84 = 100) rose from 9.9 to 26, an increase of 163 per cent. In the later period, from 1951 through 1989, the index rose from 26 to 124, an increase of 377 per cent. In other words, during the 38 years that the Federal Reserve

Board has been deliberately and ostentatiously fighting inflation, the inflation rate has gone up more than twice as fast as it did in the previous 38 years. On the record, the burden of proof is on the Federal Reserve Board to show that its policies, which have resulted in the destruction of the S&Ls, have been effective by any standard whatever.

As I have argued previously (“Bankers Have the Classic COLA,” NL, January 9, 1989), a high interest rate causes rather than cures inflation. This will always be true because the outstanding nonfinancial debt in the nation is greater than the GNP. At the present time, the former stands at about $9.75 trillion, and the latter is about $5.4 trillion. Thus each percentage point in the interest rate is paid for by an increase of $97 .5 billion in the general price level, while a one point increase in inflation costs only $54 billion. With interest rates currently running about six points above normal, this year’s net cost of the Federal Reserve Board’s inflationary policies will be $261 billion – or considerably more than the budget deficit everyone moans about.

In comparison, the cost of the S&L mess is small potatoes. Nevertheless, it must be added to the other costs the Federal Reserve Board is responsible for. Several Presidents and Congresses have undoubtedly acted stupidly in regard to the S&Ls, but the S&Ls would still be operating and prospering to the benefit of us all if it were not for the stubbornly misguided behavior of the Federal Reserve Board.

 The New Leader

By George P. Brockway, originally published June 12, 1989

1989-6-12 The Reserve's Silly New Equation Title

IN HIS EXCELLENT and comprehensive book about the Federal Reserve Board, Secrets of the Temple, William Greider properly fastens on the first word of his title, the Board being at least the third most secretive arm of the United States government. The rationale for the secrecy is that billions of dollars can be made by uncovering what, if anything, the Reserve is going to do next . Greider suspects, as I do, that the secrecy is useful mainly for instilling awe in us poor mortals.

1989-6-12 The Reserve's Silly New Equation Greenspan

Whatever the case, in contrast with its usual practice, the Reserve has recently gone to considerable trouble to call attention to a new equation that is supposed to predict inflation levels two years or so in advance. We are told that Chairman Alan Greenspan set a team of three economists to work on the problem when he took over in the spring of 1987, and that there is now light at the end of the tunnel. Remembering a New Yorker cartoon of a couple of years ago, I expect the apparent light will turn out to be New Jersey.

As constant readers know, I am, like Adam Smith, skeptical of all alleged mathematical solution to basic economic problems. Happily, the present formula is very elementary mathematics; something that kids probably do today in kindergarten, and that you used to toss off in fifth or sixth grade. So don’t panic.

First, a bit of background. Culminating a century of deep thinking by deep economists, Irving Fisher of Yale promulgated , 80-odd years ago, an equation sometimes said to be the essence of monetarism. Milton Friedman, in The New Palgrave (a four -volume economics encyclopedia I wish I could afford), assures us that monetarism is something else, and he’s entitled to his opinion; but it is Fisher’s formula the Reserve starts with.

 

Friedman also tells us, “There is no unique way to express either the nominal or the real quantity of money.” Nevertheless, some number is chosen and fed into an equation that says the quantity of money, multiplied by the velocity of its circulation, is equal to the general price level, multiplied by the goods produced. The equation, written all in capitals, looks formidable (MV = PQ) but expresses a simple, even a simplistic idea.

 

The money supply (M) is not the only term beset with difficulties. It turns out that the velocity (V) cannot be determined except by means of this equation. Fanciers of the theory contend that over the past many years V has been reasonably constant; MV is practically a single term.

 

The right-hand side of the equation presents different difficulties. Q stands for the total of the goods and services produced – that is, the “real” (stated in things), as opposed to the “nominal” (stated in money), gross national product. I have from time to time averred that the GNP, whether real or nominal, is less than it is cracked up to be, yet for the moment let’s accept it at its face value. We are immediately struck by the fact that its face value is expressed in money. Moreover, it cannot be expressed otherwise, for money is the sole relevant unit of measurement that applies to apples and oranges and tons of steel and all the rest. The paradoxical truth is that the “real” GNP can only be quantified “nominally.”

 

What, then, is the price level (P)? It is the sort of index I often grumble about, derived by combining the prices of a great variety of goods and services, each one weighted to allow its supposedly proper importance in the economy. But the prices of goods and services are already and necessarily included in the GNP. Many have therefore dropped P from the equation, effectively reducing it to M=Q. Translating it back into English, we learn that the total money spent for goods and services equals the total prices charged for those goods and services. Not much to learn from two centuries of study.

 

This is the reed the Federal Reserve leans on. It starts again with MV = PQ. Dividing both sides of the equation by Q. it gets P= MV/Q. Mainly because M2 yields a relatively constant value for V, which the Reserve wants, M2 is selected as the quantity of money. (M2 consists-you don’t have to pay attention here-of  currency, traveler’s checks, checking deposits, savings and ordinary time deposits, money market funds, and overnight Eurodollar deposits, but excludes time deposits of $100,000 or more.)

 

Next, the Reserve pretties up the equation with some asterisks or stars, like this: P* = M2 x V*/Q*. P* (or “P-star,” as insiders say) stands for the price level a couple of years down the road. V*is the determined constant, now with a suspiciously precise value of 1.6527. Q* is the future “real” GNP, assuming a steady growth of 2.5 per cent a year.

 

That last assumption is of course the secret of the game. The inflation-fighting Reserve wants the fraction to the right of the equal sign to be as small as possible, since it is equal to P*, or the future price level. As you remember from the fifth grade, you can reduce the value of a fraction either by reducing the numerator (1/3 is less than 2/3) or by increasing the denominator (1/3 is also less than 1/2). So taking the Reserve’s equation at face value, we could hold the price level (P*) down either by decreasing the money supply (M2) or by increasing production (Q*).

 

Faced with such an alternative, anyone who had not altogether taken leave of his (or her) senses would opt for increasing production, because after all that makes possible our standard of living. The Reserve, I’m sorry to say, opts for decreasing the money supply. It would unfair to imply that the Reserve doesn’t have a reason for its unnatural decision; the trouble is, the “reason” is erroneous. The Reserve, in fact, is not unlike one of my favorite characters in all literature, “The King of Korea I [who] was gay and harmonious: / he had one idea I and that was erroneous.”

 

The Reserve’s one idea is to control the money supply. For reasons that have taken me the better part of a book (to be published by Cornelia and Michael Bessie for Harper&Row about a year from now -advt.) to elucidate, the Reserve can very readily reduce the money supply -but it can’t be sure of increasing it. By “money supply” I don’t mean the gabble-gabble of items that make up M2; I mean the money actually at work in the economy. And in the capitalist economy everyone agrees we have, that is credit, the flip side of which is debit, or borrowing.

 

The textbooks say, I know, that bankers create money by lending it, yet actually they produce nothing except some useful services. Although bankers are often hyperactive in thinking up new financial “products” (index trading, etc.), they are passive partners in the work of the world. The active partners in the creation of money, and the uses it can be put to, are the borrowers. If no entrepreneur plans to produce a better mousetrap, if no consumers long for anything beyond their means, if no speculator schemes for a big killing, the banker sits idle. He can refuse to support plans, longings and schemes, but the first and essential step in creating money is taken by borrowers.

 

THE FEDERAL RESERVE –  the banker par excellence – can make it hard for ordinary banks to lend money, and hence hard for productive people to borrow money. Even if it makes borrowing easy, however, it can’t make people borrow. In other words, it can surely reduce the money supply, but can’t be sure of increasing it.

 

On the other hand, the Reserve can affect the interest rate, and that makes a difference the new equation does not take into account. By raising or lowering the Federal funds rate (the interest banks pay on temporary loans from each other, or from the Reserve itself) or the discount rate (the interest Federal Reserve banks charge commercial banks for short-term loans), the Reserve directly raises or lowers the interest banks have to pay, and consequently the interest they have to set. Naturally, too, by making it difficult for people and businesses to borrow money, the Reserve can indirectly raise the interest they have to pay.

 

Given that interest is a cost of doing business and a cost of living, raising the rate (whether directly or indirectly) ups those costs, thus certainly inhibiting or reducing output (Q*). But we remember that reducing Q* increases the value of the Reserve’s equation by increasing P* (the price level). So we find the Federal

 

Reserve deliberately reducing our standard of living and at the same time raising the price level. True to its one idea, the Reserve next solemnly goes about further reducing M2 (which might be the money supply if ours were a mercantilist system instead of a capitalist system).  In the process, it manages both to restrict the national output and to keep the inflation fires burning.

 

That is indeed the record the Federal Reserve Board has compiled since 1951, when it succeeded in abrogating its wartime agreement with the Treasury that kept the prime rate down to 1.5 per cent from 1939 to 1947. The abrogation was necessary, the Reserve argued, so it could be free to control the money supply (then said to be M1), as it dearly wanted to do.

 

Let’s go to the computer tape. Since the fateful year of 1951, the price level has increased 436.9 per cent. (That’s what the Bureau of Labor Statistics says; if food, shelter, clothing, and transportation have anything to do with the cost of living, I’ll say it has gone up a lot more than that.) More to the point, look at the figures that are left out of the Reserve’s equation: (l)interest paid as a percentage of GNP: up from 4.59 per cent in 1951 to 19.19 per cent in 1987; (2)pretax profits: down from 11.82 per cent of GNP to 6.92 per cent; (3) after tax profits (despite the best efforts of Ronald Reagan): down from 5.19 per cent of GNP to 3.94 per cent; (4)unemployment: up from 3.2 per cent to 6.1 percent; (5)Federal budget: from a surplus of 6.1 per cent of GNP to a deficit of 3.35 per cent; (6)foreign trade balance on current account, from positive $884 million to negative $153,964 million.

 

That is one sorry record. Monetarists say it is the consequence of failing to restrain M2 even further; but they know in their hearts that if the Reserve had in fact restrained it any further, the interest rate would have gone God knows how high, and we would have spent the subsequent years in a rapidly deepening depression that would have made 1932 seem idyllic.

 

How long must we allow ourselves to be deluded by silly equations?

 

The New Leader

 

By George P. Brockway, originally published March 6, 1989

1989-3-6 How We Can Control The Interest Rate Title

IN THREE recent contributions to this space[1] I have argued that the conventional theories of inflation are wrong-that it is not caused by full or almost-full employment, and that it is not cured by raising the interest rate. I have gone further: I have maintained that raising the interest rate (which I call the Bankers’ COLA) is precisely what produces inflation in the first place. A legitimate question now is: What do I propose we do?

Let it be admitted – nay, insisted – at the outset that there aren’t any easy answers. No matter how ingenious the laws we enact, we can be certain that ingenious ways of avoiding them will be discovered. Legal avoidance happens with even the most uncomplicated statutes. There is a book out on how to defend against a drunk-driving charge by a trial lawyer who has had thousands of such cases and never lost a one. The unremitting search for loopholes in the income tax laws is sporadically countered by searches for ways to close them. It will be the same with whatever we propose. Perfection is impossible, because perfection cannot act.

To control the interest rate – to eliminate the Bankers’ COLA – one must be able to control the money supply. The Federal Reserve Board tries to do that now (for reasons different from those I’ve advanced) by fiddling with the reserve requirements it imposes on the banks and with the interest it charges them for temporary loans. Using these levers, the Fed can control the supply pretty well; but the interest rate – the cost of money – depends also on demand, and there is one demand for money that the Fed has so far refused to do much more than talk about. Seven and a half years ago (“Why Speculation Will Undo Reaganomics,” NL, September 7, 1981), I wrote in these pages: “Unless one is ready to run the printing presses flat out, the only way to get money into productive hands is to see to it that little or none of it falls into speculative hands.”

Although there is probably no way of keeping speculators from getting their hands on money if they want to, it would be quite easy to keep them from wanting to. All one has to do (as Felix Rohatyn and others have suggested in order to inhibit leveraged buyouts) is tax capital gains at 100 per cent on property held less than a year or two, then at 95 per cent on property held less than two or three years, and so on until the rate got down to the level of ordinary income.  (This, it will be noticed, is exactly contrary to the proposal of our new President, but he has never been quite clear in his mind what was and what was not Voodoo Economics.)

The foregoing, however, earth shaking as it is, would not be enough. For the archetypical speculators of our day are not beefy gents in flashy suits on the order of Betcha-million Gates or even aristocratic gentlemen with narrow ties on the order of J.P. Morgan or even indescribables like Ivan Boesky. No, the big-time wheeler-dealers are “institutions,” and institutions are churches and colleges and foundations and pension funds and insurance companies and mutual funds. We might almost say with Pogo that we’ve met the enemy and they is us, for most of us are beneficial owners of pieces of one or more of the nameless, faceless institutions the market gossips gossip about.

These institutions, our surrogates, write the computer programs that run the market, and they do it for capital gains. Unless that candy is taken away from them, it will do little good to take it away from the old-time speculators who still exist. Consequently, we’ll have to take a deep breath and tax the capital gains even of charitable institutions. (I said it wasn’t going to be easy.) The demand of nonproducing speculators for money would thus be greatly reduced, if not altogether stopped, and the Reserve Board, by increasing the money supply, could lower the interest rate for everyone else and take a step toward eliminating the Bankers’ COLA.

But it would be only a step. The bankers would resist, and their line of argument would be practically identical with the one they used in freeing themselves from most of the New Deal regulation. They were, in fact, remarkably successful in getting Democrats to make their arguments for them, as William Greider documents at excellent length in Secrets of the Temple. For example, Wisconsin’s recently retired Senator William Proxmire “delivered a short lecture on inflation and interest rates. At 15 per cent inflation, an investor lending $1 million at 10 per cent ‘loses’ $50,000 a year. ‘You cannot count on the lender being a complete idiot,’ Proxmire said. Sooner or later, he will stop lending at the low interest rate and invest the money himself in commodities or real estate.”

Our capital gains tax would cancel the commodities option and could be made to cancel the real estate option, but suppose the Senator’s million-dollar lender is smart and doesn’t lend at all, thus saving that $50,000 “loss.” He would be like the unfaithful servant in the parable, for at the end of a year he would have only his million dollars, while his neighbor, who wasn’t so smart and lent his million at 10 per cent interest, would have $1,100,000. What happened to the $50,000 loss Senator Proxmire talked about? If there was anything more to it than fancy rhetoric, the 15 per cent inflation affected both investors. The one who refused to lend wound up with $850,000 worth of purchasing power, while his neighbor wound up with $950,000. A negative “real” interest rate, in apparent defiance of the laws of mathematics, proves to be greater than zero. Perhaps we can count on the lender not being a complete idiot.

Of course, the millionaires have other choices. They could take their money and invest it directly in productive enterprise, or they could live it up. The former option is what we had hoped they would do, anyhow; that’s why all the editorial writers in the land have been urging them to save. As for the latter option, they might find consuming a million a little difficult, but it would be fun to try, and the economic result would at least be some priming of the pump. Someone has to consume what the economy produces.

The fact remains, though, that both millionaires have taken a loss in purchasing power, and that deliberate, cold-blooded national policy has forced the loss upon them. That’s not nice, and it’s nothing we can be proud of. So what can we do? Well, all that the Fed and other true believers in traditional economics have proposed (and put into practice) is raising the interest rate, usually by restricting the money supply. That’s how former Reserve Board Chairman Paul A. Volcker got the prime interest rate up to 21.5 per cent in December 1980, while the Consumer Price Index was up only 13.5 per cent, leaving Senator Proxmire’s investor with “real” interest of 8 per cent, which should have made him happy. The funny thing was, it didn’t make others eager to become like him. The real interest rate was greater than the prime itself had ever been (with one exception) before 1978; nevertheless, the national savings rate fell, and in spite of the subsequent Reaganomic tax cuts for the wealthy, the savings rate continued to fall. Moderately reflective true believers should have had their beliefs shaken just a bit.

Moderately compassionate believers should have been severely shaken by what else happened. The number of people unemployed went from 6.1 million in 1979 to 10.7 million in 1983. In the same years, 9.2 million more people were impoverished, and the median family income (in constant dollars) fell $2,305. That was not so nice either, and it was brought about by deliberate, coldblooded national policy.

Nor was that the whole story. The Federal deficit soared, our foreign trade was savaged, and Latin America was saddled with loans at un-payable interest rates. And all this was done to keep the real interest rate from falling below zero.

IFTHAT WERE merely a trade-off – suffering a lot of grief and getting back a little stability – it would be bad enough, for what was exchanged was the livelihood and prospects of millions of fellow citizens for the” reality” of usurious interest rates. The economy was deliberately depressed to “save” it from the possibility – the mere possibility – of being depressed later. But the savings rate continued to fall, corporate investment continued to fall, and industry after industry was allowed to fall before the Germans and Japanese, the Koreans and the Taiwanese.

At this point Wall Street-wise types will explain that Volcker was concerned about more than Senator Proxmire’s millionaire; he was concerned about the Japanese. He needed their money to pay for the deficit, which was all of $40.2 billion in 1979 (or about a third of the Gramm-Rudman target President Bush is going to be unable to meet). If Volcker had not given the Japanese what they wanted, they wouldn’t have bought our bonds, and Proxmire’ s millionaire would have sent his money abroad. The argument, in short, is that any attempt to reduce the interest rate will cause a flight from the dollar, and that the flight cannot be stopped because the financial world is international, its denizens are multinational, and they communicate electronically, instantaneously and secretly.

That is almost true. Yet multinational corporations are taxed. Granted, some of them may not be above diddling their books a bit, and very likely the diddling is difficult to detect; but taxes are collected, and where taxes are collected money can be controlled. The fact that financial operatives set up shop in the Cayman Islands to escape inconvenient regulation indicates that a flight from the dollar has to be an actual flight; a pretended flight won’t do.

We could perhaps stop the flight if we wanted to, but it would be much easier to let the money go. It is merely marks on paper; the factories and even the computers remain. The time to do the stopping is when the money wants to come back. Under present law, the Treasury Department is responsible for control of foreign exchange. It could require those who want to bring money into the country to go to the Treasury to buy dollars and to satisfy any taxes and regulations they had been fleeing from. The flight would no longer be so attractive, or serve any purpose.

Would that be the end of the problem? Of course not. Still, the proper direction of policy is, I think, clear. To control inflation, the interest rate has got to be brought down – way down. To do this, money has to be withdrawn from speculation and made available to productive enterprise. Faced with inconvenient regulation, finance will flee the dollar. The flight can be controlled by controlling foreign exchange. Such control will certainly affect foreign trade; but only doctrinaire true believers in laissez faire will blanch at that, and doctrinaire laissez faire is what got us into the mess we’re in.

The New Leader

 

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