THE condemned may request a painkiller. Their end is not televised, and comes with a swift sword stroke from a skilled executioner rather than from hacking with a kitchen knife by an untutored brute. Otherwise there is not much difference between a death sentence in the jihadists’ “Islamic State” and in Saudi Arabia, a country seen as a crucial Western ally in the fight against IS. Nor, indeed, is there much difference between the two entities in other applications of a particularly merciless brand of sharia, or Islamic law, including public whippings and the right for victims of crime to claim eye-for-an-eye revenge.
Both follow Hanbali jurisprudence, the strictest of four schools of traditional Sunni Islamic law: when Egyptians chide someone for nitpicking, the expression is “Don’t be Hanbali”. Dissidents in Raqqa, the Syrian town that is IS’s proto-capital, say all 12 of the judges who now run its court system, adjudicating everything from property disputes to capital crimes, are Saudis. The group has also created a Saudi-style religious police, charged with rooting out vice and shooing the faithful to prayers. And as in IS-ruled zones, where churches and non-Sunni mosques have been blown up or converted to other uses, Saudi Arabia forbids non-Muslim religious practice. For instance, on September 5th Saudi police raided a house in Khafji, near the Kuwaiti border, and charged 27 Asian Christians with holding a church ceremony.
In recent months IS has carried out hundreds, possibly thousands, of executions, mostly by gunfire rather than beheading and typically without a trial of any kind. Saudi Arabia is far less trigger- or sword-happy. Still, in the space of just 18 days during the month of August, the kingdom beheaded some 22 people, according to human-rights advocates. The spate of killings was surprising not only because it was so sudden—the kingdom carried out a total of 79 executions last year—but also because many of those killed were convicted of relatively minor offences, such as smuggling hashish or, strangely, “sorcery”. In one case the defendant was determined to be mentally unsound, but lost his head anyway.
It was surprising, too, because the Saudi kingdom has in recent years gently relaxed some social strictures, and made efforts to rein in excesses by religious police. Some Saudi critics fear that the sudden upsurge represents a response by the religious establishment to the challenge from IS. Perhaps it is an attempt to prove to the most conservative Saudis that the kingdom remains a truer “Islamic” state than any other. Others see it as part of a broader policy to assert government control amid signs of growing discontent among the bored Saudi young, including a drift into unbelief.
IT SEEMS safe to assume that Johnny Cash, born in Arkansas in 1932, gave little thought to European foreign policy. Yet one of the Man in Black’s better-known numbers sums up the European Union’s troubles with its neighbours. “Love is a burning thing,” he sang in “Ring of Fire”, a hit in 1963, “and it makes a fiery ring. Bound by wild desire, I fell into a ring of fire.”
Wild desire is a mild overstatement, but there was certainly an abundance of goodwill behind the EU’s decision to launch its European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) in 2004. Aiming to construct a “ring of friends” to its east (former communist countries) and south (across the Mediterranean), the EU took enthusiastically to the task of transforming its 16 ENP partners. Like Cash with his guitar, the EU had powerful instruments, including trade, aid and political reform. Fresh from an enlargement that took in eight central and east European countries, the club believed itself influential enough to bring about change in its neighbours without the carrot of eventual membership.
Yet ten years on, the EU is facing a ring of fire on its eastern and southern flanks. Over 3,000 people have been killed in Ukraine’s fighting this year. There, and in Georgia and Moldova, two of the other five eastern ENP countries, Russian troops are present against the will of the legitimate governments. Azerbaijan is imprisoning activists and tensions are rising with Armenia over Nagorno-Karabakh, an enclave the pair fought a war over in the early 1990s. Belarus’s long-serving president, Alexander Lukashenko, still merits his label as Europe’s last dictator. Meanwhile, to the south, Libya is in turmoil, the hopes from Egypt’s 2011 uprising have been quashed by a military counter-revolution, and Israelis and Palestinians have again shown that any number of EU action plans cannot stop them killing each other.
Why has the ENP fallen so far short of its goals? The EU cannot control the internal political dynamics of other countries, of course. In many cases, particularly in the south, its technocratic approach has simply been overwhelmed by domestic forces. But elsewhere it has been guilty of naivety. Take Ukraine. Last year the EU and Ukraine concluded an “association agreement”, an ENP instrument par excellence that included a free-trade deal and various political elements. But under pressure from Russia, which was alarmed by the prospect of Ukrainian integration into Western institutions, Viktor Yanukovych, then Ukraine’s president, declined to sign at the last minute, causing protests that led to his downfall. This was followed by Russia’s annexation of Crimea and its invasion of the south-east.
The thousands of Ukrainians who occupied the Maidan in Kiev were not demonstrating for tariff reform and patent protection. They were asserting a European identity and rejecting the backward-looking, post-Soviet vision of Mr Yanukovych and the corruption that flourished on his watch. They understood that Europe had not banished geopolitics. So did Vladimir Putin, Russia’s president, although his conclusion that Ukrainian sovereignty must be sacrificed to secure Moscow’s interests was altogether darker. The irony was that the Russians took the ENP far more seriously than the Europeans ever did.
Europe, too, has woken up to the return of geopolitics. Last week the association-agreement circle was completed when the EU and Ukraine, after lobbying by Russia as well as some EU members, decided to delay many of its provisions for a year to help underpin a ceasefire in the south-east that is barely holding. This week, in a powerful piece of symbolism, the European and Ukrainian parliaments ratified the agreement simultaneously via video link. Yet the different understandings of Ukraine’s European vocation seemed apparent when Petro Poroshenko, Ukraine’s pro-European president, declared that, after all the violence in his country, “nobody will dare close the door of the EU in front of Ukraine”. Some MEPs looked awkwardly at their feet.
Technocratic policies are not toothless. The EU accession process, during which candidates must adopt rules on everything from food safety to public procurement, is mind-numbing but also powerful. Yet it requires the lure of membership to work. Nobody believes the EU’s eastern neighbours are anywhere near joining; the southerners never will. But signals count, and today the EU seems more concerned to downplay its neighbours’ aspirations. One of the first pledges of the incoming president of the European Commission, Jean-Claude Juncker, was that there would be no expansion of the club in the next five years.
Yet the EU must find some way to quell the flames licking at its borders. Poland and the Baltic trio worry that a weak-kneed European response in Ukraine has encouraged Russia to make more mischief. To its south, the EU has not found a solution to the human tragedies of would-be migrants dying in the Mediterranean; recently, over 500 drowned after their boat was rammed by human traffickers. Relations with Turkey, which have soured as Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s government has turned eastward, are especially tricky, as its membership talks are stuck and it shelters as many as 1m Syrian refugees, many of whom want to get to the EU.
Federica’s challenge
The EU’s eastern policy was dented by a previous bout of muscle-flexing by Russia: the 2008 war with Georgia. This year, after a slow start, EU members have finally begun to act, although a senior official warns that internal differences will make it hard to move beyond the latest sanctions. The incoming EU foreign-policy chief, Italy’s Federica Mogherini, is to produce an assessment of global challenges. This is a chance to rethink Europe’s security strategy, if Ms Mogherini has the ambition and is given enough space by the big countries. It is a fine line between being tough and staying united, but the EU, as Cash once sang, must walk it.
Schumpeter
Entrepreneurs anonymous
Instead of romanticising entrepreneurs people should understand how hard their lives can be
SEVEN years ago Joe Jones (not his real name) left his job with a big NASDAQ-listed company to strike out on his own. He was sick of corporate life and he wanted to test his inner mettle. But being an entrepreneur proved far harder than he had imagined: a succession of potholes, speed bumps and dead-ends rather than a high road to prosperity. He found he had “lost his levers of control”: all the things his former employer had provided for him, from administrative support to a social network. He had to learn how to do all sorts of things he had not thought about before. The responsibility of meeting his payroll was “overwhelming”. The worry about every detail of his life—could he afford to keep his car, or pay the mortgage on his house?—was all-consuming. He took to drinking. Mr Jones eventually joined Alcoholics Anonymous and turned his business into a success. But many other would-be entrepreneurs have not been so lucky.
It is fashionable to romanticise entrepreneurs. Business professors celebrate the geniuses who break the rules and change the world. Politicians praise them as wealth creators. Glossy magazines drool over Richard Branson’s villa on Lake Como. But the reality can be as romantic as chewing glass: first-time founders have the job security of zero-hour contract workers, the money worries of chronic gamblers and the social life of hermits.
Phil Libin, the boss of Evernote, a document-storage service, says that “It is amazingly difficult work—you have no life balance, no family time, and you will never work harder in your life.” Aaron Levie, a founder of Box, a cloud-storage firm, says he spent two and a half years sleeping on a mattress in his office, living off spaghetti hoops and instant noodles. Vivek Wadhwa, an entrepreneur turned academic, had a heart attack when he had just turned 45, after taking one company public and reviving another.
Over half of American startups are gone within five years. Most of the survivors barely stumble along. Shikhar Ghosh of Harvard Business School (HBS) found that three-quarters of startups backed by venture capital—the creme de la creme—failed to return the capital invested in them, let alone generate a positive return. In 2000 Barton Hamilton of Washington University in St Louis compared the income distributions of American employees and entrepreneurs, and concluded that the latter earned 35% less over a ten-year period than those in paid jobs.
Even success can turn into a different sort of failure. The best way to avoid the loneliness of the long-distance entrepreneur is to found your company with a friend. But this frequently leads to quarrels about power, titles or money, as anyone familiar with the story of Facebook will know. The best way to cope with growth is to take on more investors and introduce more professional managers. But this usually leads to a loss of control: few founders are still CEOs when their companies go public.
Such a roller-coaster would impose an emotional strain on even the most balanced people. But it seems the average entrepreneur is far from balanced. John Gartner, who teaches psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University medical school, suggests that a disproportionate number of entrepreneurs may suffer from hypomania, a psychological state characterised by energy and self-confidence but also restlessness and risk-taking. Numerous studies confirm, at the least, that they are prone to over-optimism. Guy Kawasaki, a venture capitalist, says that when an entrepreneur promises to make $50m in four years he adds one year to the delivery time and divides the revenue by ten. Venture capitalists often use personality tests to distinguish between the merely over-optimistic and the completely delusional.
What can be done to deal with the dark side of entrepreneurialism? Mr Wadhwa urges company founders to have regular medical checkups, make time to exercise and learn to relax. “You may not believe in anything called a work-life balance, but your body certainly does.” Mr Jones suggests that people who start their own companies need to think hard about constructing social networks: the idea that they can succeed in splendid isolation is a dangerous illusion. They need friends to lean on, and mentors to guide them. The Entrepreneurs’ Organisation (EO), which has more than 10,000 members in 46 countries, organises meetings in which they can talk about their emotional as well as their business problems. The Kauffman Foundation, an American non-profit which studies and promotes entrepreneurship, provides online courses on “surviving the entrepreneurial life”.
Learning by being thumped
Company founders need to have a more realistic assessment of what it is like to fail. Management literature is full of guff about how entrepreneurs should embrace failure as a “learning experience”. But being punched in the face is also a learning experience. Dean Shepherd of the Kelley School of Business at Indiana University argues that the entrepreneurs who fail frequently go through a process that is similar to grieving after a death or divorce. Some bury themselves in the details of putting their lives back together. Others fixate on their loss. He argues that they must learn how to repair their lives and cope with their loss if they are to restore their fortunes and learn from their mistakes. Glib talk about “failing fast” hardly encourages this.
The paradox of the current, romantic view of entrepreneurs is that it leads us to undervalue their achievements. It is easy to envy people if you focus on a handful of success stories. It is easy to say, as Barack Obama did, that “If you’ve got a business—you didn’t build that. Somebody else made that happen”, while ignoring all the edifices that have fallen down and crushed those who devoted their lives to building them. Would-be entrepreneurs need to have a more measured view of the risks involved before they start a business. But society also needs to have more respect for people who put their lives on the line to build something from nothing.
Buttonwood
Can’t pay, won’t pay
Hiring hedge funds was never going to make pension deficits disappear
HAVE the whizz kids of finance lost their va-va-voom? For decades, hedge funds have been portrayed as the smart money, with the power to frighten chief executives and destabilise governments; rich individuals and powerful institutions competed to give them money. But the announcement on September 15th, by CalPERS, California’s main public pension fund, that it was unwinding its $4 billion hedge-fund portfolio, is a significant blow to the sector’s appeal.
The CalPERS press release specifically says that the decision is not based on the performance of the programme. But Ted Eliopoulos, the chief investment officer, said that “when judged against their complexity, cost and the lack of ability to scale at CalPERS’ size”, the allocation to hedge funds was no longer warranted.
It is hard to believe that, if the performance of the programme had been stellar, the pension fund would have axed it. But the reference to scale is also striking. Very small pension funds tend not to have the money or the expertise to invest in hedge funds. Now CalPERS (the sixth-biggest pension fund in the world, according to TowersWatson, an actuarial consultant) is saying that it is too big to be involved. Who does that leave?
Investing in hedge funds requires one to believe in three things. The first, which is plausible, is that there are anomalies in the market which a shrewd fund manager can exploit. One example is momentum, the tendency for assets that have recently risen in price to continue doing so. The second requirement is to identify such outperforming managers in advance. This is much more difficult. It takes time to spot good managers, but the average life of a hedge fund is less than five years, indicating that many managers have to give up for lack of clients or because of poor performance. In addition, half of all current funds are less than five years old.
Even if one can successfully identify smart managers, one must then believe that the excess returns will be sufficient to outweigh their high fees. Not all managers charge the “two-and-twenty” of legend (a 2% annual fee plus 20% of the return over a given benchmark) but enough do to make this a very high hurdle to overcome. And investors who use a consultant (or a fund of funds) to help with the selection process have to pay an extra layer of fees.
The evidence for stellar hedge-fund performance is not convincing. Of the last ten calendar years, only one (2005) has seen the average hedge fund outperform a portfolio of 60% equities (the S&P 500 index) and 40% government bonds. Far from being masters of the universe, the managers have been mastered by the market.
One could argue that hedge funds offer a different type of return—less volatile and thus offering a better trade-off between risk and reward. But the example of 2008, when the average hedge fund made a loss of 23%, makes that a harder case to argue.
Anyway, it seems unlikely that pension funds have been putting money into hedge funds for such a reason. It is more likely that a hedge-fund allocation is part of a “Hail Mary” bet, with pension schemes looking for something, anything, that will pep up returns, and help to reduce yawning deficits. CalPERS highlights the issue with its claim that it has adopted “a new asset-allocation mix that reduces risk to the portfolio, while still being able to achieve its return goal of 7.5%.”
The risk-free rate (the yield on the ten-year Treasury bond) at the moment is around 2.6%. One has to take on a substantial amount of risk to hope for a return five percentage points higher than that. CalPERS points to its 8.4% annual return over the past 20 years, but that is irrelevant: when yields fall to historic lows, as they have over those two decades, investors make a capital gain that boosts returns. One cannot expect such returns to continue without a similar plunge in yields in future, which is almost impossible. And a world in which Treasury bonds yielded even less would probably be characterised by slow growth and deflation—not an environment in which CalPERS’s equity portfolio would thrive.
Even if hedge-fund managers did outperform a market index on a reliable basis, it would not solve the problem of pension funding. The 300 largest pension funds in the world have assets of $15 trillion; total hedge-fund assets are around $2.9 trillion, or a fifth of that. So if pension schemes were the only clients of hedge funds, and if they earned an excess return of two percentage points a year after fees, that would still boost overall pension returns by just 0.4 percentage points a year. No wonder CalPERS thought it wasn’t worth the bother any more.
Free exchange
Leaving dead presidents in peace
Abolishing notes and coins would bring huge economic benefits
SINCE cash was invented in the seventh century BC, it has generally been the most convenient way to pay for everyday purchases. But as electronic payments get easier—most recently with the launch of a “contactless payment” system by Apple—economists are beginning to ask whether notes and coins have had their day. Kenneth Rogoff, of Harvard University, reckons they have. Scrapping physical currency, he argues, would help governments to collect more tax, fight crime and develop better monetary policy.*
On the surface, Mr Rogoff’s plan seems like a minor change. Notes and coins make up only a tiny part of the money in circulation: just 3% in Britain, for instance. (In America, the proportion is 10%, partly because foreigners hold lots of dollar notes.) The rest is simply records of balances in accounts, either at a bank (in the case of businesses and individuals) or at the central bank (in the case of banks). It tends to be moved around by electronic transfer, never taking physical form.
Cold, hard electronic transfers
Rich countries are becoming ever less dependent on cash, as debit and credit cards, “virtual wallets” and other substitutes grow in popularity. According to the World Bank, they had 83 cash dispensers for every 100,000 adults in 2008; by 2012 they had only 68. A paper from the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco shows that, in America, the share of transactions using cash has fallen in recent years. Until the mid-1990s the total value of all bills of $50 or less grew in line with the economy. From 1993 to 2013, however, the American economy grew in real (inflation-adjusted) terms by 65%, but notes of $50 or lower grew by just 19% (see chart).
Yet cash remains important. There is $4,000 of the stuff for every American. And it causes all sorts of problems. Forgery is one: in 2013 the Bank of England removed 680,000 counterfeit notes, with a face value of £11.5m ($19m), from circulation. Genuine cash helps criminals of other sorts, since notes and coins keep transactions anonymous: you cannot tell who has bought a kilo of cocaine by looking at the cash they used to pay for it. In the OECD, a club of rich countries for the most part, the “underground economy” of activity hidden from the government, whether drug-dealing or undeclared income from babysitting, makes up about one-fifth of GDP. What is more, that share has barely shrunk in a decade. Mr Rogoff estimates that in most countries, the desire to hide something from the authorities accounts for more than half of cash transactions by value.
Higher-denomination notes are particularly useful for criminals. There are €295 billion ($382 billion) of €500 notes in circulation. Yet most Europeans have never seen one: criminals hog them, as they are so useful for moving ill-gotten gains around. (€1m-worth of €500 bills weighs just 2.2kg.)
Abolishing cash would eliminate counterfeiting at a stroke, and make it much easier to trace illicit payments. The reduction in crime that would follow would be a huge boon, both socially and economically. The reduction in tax evasion alone would bring big fiscal benefits. Research from Tufts University estimates that Uncle Sam could collect an extra $100 billion a year if America went cashless.
Monetary-policy experts also see benefits in cashless economies. Many rich economies are stuck at the “zero lower bound”, with interest rates close to zero. These economies would gain from further monetary stimulus in the form of negative rates, which would prod those hoarding money to spend and invest. An article published by the Cleveland Fed in 2012 found that the “ideal” interest rate for the American economy at the depth of the crisis would have been -6%.
However, the continued existence of cash makes moving rates below zero much less effective. Central bankers assume that people would simply withdraw their money from the bank and hold it as high-denomination notes. In fact, they already seem to be doing so in countries where interest rates are very low. From 2009 to 2013 the total value of $100 bills in circulation grew by 30% in real terms. The San Francisco Fed reckons that rock-bottom interest rates were partly responsible.
Going digital does pose problems. For one thing, even in the rich world, there are still plenty of honest but “unbanked” people who rely completely on cash. Some economists think central banks might suffer too. They inject money into the economy, in both physical and virtual form, by buying government debt. They do not pay interest on the money they have created, but they earn interest on the bonds they have bought. The profits they earn in this way, known as seigniorage, are sent to government coffers. Bhaskar Chakravorti, of Tufts University, reckons that in America seigniorage typically brings in $20 billion a year. The Bank of England earns about £500 million a year in this way.
Mr Rogoff thinks that scrapping physical money would reduce seigniorage revenues. Tax-evaders and other criminals, fearful of being noticed, would cut back on spending; demand for money would fall. Mr Chakravorti, though, reckons that the lost revenue would be dwarfed by higher tax receipts. It might also be offset by the lower per-unit cost of producing currency.
There is also the question of whether voters would tolerate the loss of privacy that the abolition of cash entails. Some might be so outraged that they stop using local currency and convert their bank balances into alternative stores of value, such as foreign exchange or Bitcoin, a digital currency.
One compromise might be to phase out big notes, such as €500 bills. That would allow small transactions to be kept completely private, while making life much trickier for all but the pettiest of criminals.