Pur Autre Vie

I'm not wrong, I'm just an asshole

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Externalities, Regulation, and Silver Mining

A thought on regulation.  The rule of thumb that a lot of people use is that regulations are appropriate when they address externalities, but not otherwise.  So even libertarians can sometimes get comfortable with rules limiting emissions and that sort of thing.  But people are much less comfortable with using regulation to structure the marketplace in the absence of obvious externalities.  This is too bad, because regulation can be highly valuable even when there aren't obvious externalities such as pollution.  I'll give a few examples of what I mean.

To start, let's look at an example that I used (unsuccessfully) in a law school application essay.  Let's say you are running an early colony in North America.  To keep things simple, assume that people can engage in two activities:  they can farm, or they can search for silver.  (Early colonists in Massachusetts thought they would find silver there.  Let's assume you don't have an opinion on whether or not there is silver—you are, at least, open to the possibility.)  And let's assume that farming involves a certain amount of randomness (so for instance, you don't know exactly how much corn a field will produce, but you have a sense of the range of probable outcomes).  Your colony is small, but big enough that using money (in this case silver) helps the market clear.  Accordingly, colonists have brought along a few dozen pounds of silver.  And finally, assume that there won't be any external trade for a long time.  Ships might show up, but only to drop off more colonists.

Now, from a social perspective, time spent searching for silver has approximately no value.  This is because adding to the colony's stock of silver doesn't accomplish anything.  It's important to have some quantity of silver (because money clears the market better than barter does), but the colony already has plenty of silver for trading purposes.  Adding to the stock of silver simply results in a higher price level, which has mostly secondary effects that are not necessarily positive.  (For any given price level, there is a certain amount of silver that people have to carry in order to transact in the market.  If the supply of silver grows too large, leading to high prices, then it becomes burdensome to carry around the required amount of silver.  On the other hand, if silver becomes too valuable, it may become difficult to sub-divide it into small enough increments to trade.  However, because silver is so soft, and because it can easily be melted back together, it can be divided into very small pieces if necessary.)

Meanwhile, the less farming that gets done, the higher the probability that the colony will starve.  Now it's true that we would generally expect there to be some farming no matter what, since food itself is a valuable commodity, and it is increasingly valuable as it becomes scarce.  In the extreme case, if only one colonist farms, then he can demand an arbitrarily large amount of silver in exchange for his food.  (Assuming the other colonists don't simply take the food under the guise of "necessity" or "emergency" or something.  Let's say the political system doesn't allow for that outcome.)

So there will be farming.  But will there be a socially optimal amount of farming?  I think you can pretty easily come up with numbers that would give you the answer "no."  This is because, as I mentioned, searching for silver has approximately no social value.  In fact, if you think about it, searching for silver is mostly about redistributing existing wealth, not creating wealth.  Let's say the colony starts with 50 pounds of silver, distributed among the colonists (some hold more, some hold less, but everyone needs a certain amount of silver to do business).  Only one colonist searches for silver, and he finds 50 pounds of it.  Now prices will (roughly) double, and so most colonists will have lost half the value of the silver they happen to be holding.  But the colonist who found the silver will now have wealth equal to approximately half of the colony's economy.  No value has been created, it has simply been re-allocated from the farmers to the prospector.

And so we can see that it would be possible to make the colony better off by forbidding colonists to search for silver.  Alternatively, the colony could levy a tax on prospecting, or a tax on purchasing food.  Exactly which regulation is best depends on the circumstances (for instance, how easily can colonists observe each others' behavior?).  But in any case, it's easy to see that there is a possibility for welfare-improving regulation even though there is no obvious externality.  (If you have a liberal definition of "externality" then you can probably find one here, although by the same token a liberal definition of externality will justify a high level of regulation in the modern economy.)

The larger lesson here is that the government must structure the marketplace to serve social needs.  Eliminating wasteful activity is a socially valuable thing even if there are no obvious externalities to be combatted.  This is the logic behind things like bankruptcy law, securities regulation, taxi regulation, and even things like safety regulation.  Just to spell it out a little:  bankruptcy law is intended to prevent a wasteful "race to the courthouse" as creditors try to seize the debtor's assets.  The problem is that the first creditor to get a lien and foreclose on the debtor's property might get 100% of what he is owed.  But that just leaves fewer assets for the other creditors, and if the first creditor seizes something important (like a car or tractor), he might eliminate the debtor's ability to earn income and repay other creditors.  The last creditor to show up might get nothing.  An early creditor is a bit like a silver prospector, in that he draws wealth from a common pool.  And what really matters is not the absolute time at which a creditor levies on the debtor's property, but the time relative to other creditors.  So there is an arms race, and it might be rational to spend quite a bit of money (for instance, in legal fees) to be the first, even though it's hard to see a social benefit resulting from all that haste.  Bankruptcy law addresses this problem by freezing most creditor remedies and bringing recent payments back into the general pool to be distributed equally among creditors.

So anyway, long story short, it doesn't make much sense to take an "externalities only" approach to law and regulation, unless you define "externality" so broadly that you can regulate just about anything.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Chaos Is Yours and Chaos Is Mine

A little vignette about path-dependency.  In junior high school, my class was taken to a children's science museum, which was doing a display on chaos.  One of the exhibits consisted of a video camera pointed at its own output on a monitor.  There were a few variables you could control:  the tilt of the camera, a light that could shine on the monitor, and a few other things I can't remember.  My friend had set up a pretty cool pattern that looked like a fractal of white and black rectangles spiraling away into infinity.

Without asking, I flipped the light on, which of course changed the pattern on the screen.  My friend was upset, having worked quite hard to make a cool pattern.  I felt bad and said, "Look, it's nothing, I'll put it back," and I flipped the light off again.  But of course the pattern didn't return, and so I felt pretty terrible about having casually ruined my friend's work.

But in a way, the lesson would not have been nearly as valuable if it hadn't come along with an emotional sting.  I'll never forget that day, whereas I've forgotten countless school lessons that were probably no less important.

Path-Dependent Economic Growth, Demand Side

I have been thinking a bit about economic growth.  This is a very rough outline of my thoughts so far.  I hope to refine my thoughts, but who knows, I'm quite possibly on a wrong path.

The basic idea is that demand can play an underappreciated role in economic development.  I am not talking about a Keynesian shortfall in aggregate demand.  That's important, but it's not my current preoccupation.  What I am more concerned with is the way in which the value of economic activity is context-dependent.  To put it very briefly, it appears that there are two distinct ways to grow an economy:  you can improve physical production (for instance, by designing a soda can that uses 20% less aluminum without any sacrifice in quality) or you can improve the dollar value of existing production (for instance, by running an ad campaign to convince people that your soda is delicious).  In the latter case, there are no immediate changes that are visible "from 30,000 feet."  It's just that where people were willing to spend $x per can of soda, now they are willing  to spend $y > $x, and so the economic activity of producing soda is now more "productive" than it was previously.  (I am not using the concept of productivity in its technical sense.)

Now it may sound as though I am skeptical about this second source of economic growth.  But I'm not.  It might be relatively unimportant in the very early stages of economic development, when demand is overwhelmingly for basic goods like food and shelter.  But I don't see how a modern economy could grow without expanding its "sphere of demand" to encompass more and more products with highly contingent value.

I'll give a few examples to show what I mean.  First, there are the classic examples of technologies that are worth nothing outside of a specific context.  The first fax machine was entirely useless until the second fax machine came online, and then its value grew as more and more machines came into use.  This isn't a new observation, of course.  Everyone knows that the value of a fax machine is contingent on a specific background of technology and network effects.

But take something like craft beer.  As far as I know, the technology for beer production hasn't dramatically improved in the last fifty years.  (We know this on an intuitive level because the Belgians have been making excellent beer for all of that time.)  Now it's true that hard-to-detect changes in things like transportation costs can have a big effect, but I think it's safe to say that it would have been perfectly feasible to brew and sell something like Smuttynose's Old Brown Dog Ale 50 years ago.

But what actually happened was that beer production was hugely consolidated after Prohibition, and good domestic beer only gradually started emerging in the last quarter of the 20th century.  And when it emerged, it emerged slowly.  It sort of "ratcheted up," as beer drinkers were exposed to more and more variety and started to demand higher and higher quality.  In other words, even when it was abundantly obvious that you could profitably make and sell high-quality beer in this country, it took decades for the market to mature into today's embarrassment of riches.  It seems highly unlikely that the "bottleneck" was on the production end.  Consumers had to be "educated" to appreciate craft beer, and they had to be "conditioned" to paying a lot more per ounce of beer.  And to some extent culture had to evolve to confer status on people who understand and appreciate good beer.  (Very fancy restaurants now have beer menus—I don't think that was always the case.)

The same thing goes for all kinds of products.  Frozen orange juice was a very important development at one point, but its value was contingent on relatively cheap and widespread refrigeration.  But then as refrigeration got even cheaper and the nation got richer, frozen orange juice lost a lot of market share to "fresh" orange juice.  Its value was contingent on a context that prevailed for a few decades and then faded away.  (Although I think frozen orange juice still enjoys considerable market share.)  Frozen orange juice is a good example because its trajectory reflects both classic technological factors and "demand-side" factors like national income and taste preferences.

A more demand-oriented example is canola oil.  Canada is capable of producing a lot of rape plants, but for one reason or another consumers were not enthusiastic about buying rape or rapeseed oil.  A simple rebranding to "canola" ("Canada" + "oil") allowed the market to flourish.  (Note that unprocessed rapeseed oil is poisonous and is used only for industrial applications, so please don't imagine that the product currently labeled "rapeseed oil" can be substituted for canola.  Canola, though, is one of the healthiest cooking oils.)  The same thing happened with Chinese gooseberries, which were rebranded as "kiwi fruit."  Or the Patagonian toothfish as "Chilean seabass."

It's discomfiting to realize that an economy's basic health can be so dependent on marketing and consumer perceptions.  It's also a potential avenue for recessions to have strangely long-lasting effects.  A given supply/demand equilibrium might be a fragile thing, and a sudden shift in perceptions might be hard or impossible to reverse.  (Just by way of example, what if consumers had shifted massively back into the frozen orange juice market to save money?  Then orange juice production would be disturbed for a while, and the big question would be where consumers would end up when the dust settled.  In the meantime a lot of "productive" economic activity would suddenly be unprofitable, which is to say unproductive in an economic sense.)  I think this sheds at least a little light on the old conundrum about an economy producing at an "unsustainable" level.  Krugman typically points out that the previous level of production was obviously achievable, since the economy reached it without inflation.  But was the previous pattern of demand sustainable?  Maybe not.  During the bubble there was a lot of "demand" for housing that obviously couldn't last.

As I said, these are just my rough thoughts.  I'll have a lot more to say as I work through these issues.

Wednesday, October 08, 2014

Expensive Cheap Processing Power

Imagine that you run a factory.  In the status quo, workers perform the tasks that are assigned to them by managers, who must perform a series of calculations to organize the work.  The calculations are burdensome, and you doubt that the factory's organization is "optimal" (except in the sense that it is the best you can do given the limited managerial skill and processing power at your disposal).

Now an entrepreneur offers to sell you a computer to replace the managers.  The computer does the same thing that managers do:  it gives instructions to workers in order to organize production at the factory.  But unlike the managers, the computer does not have to be paid a salary, and it may also give better instructions overall.  As a result, there is a potential for improving the profitability of the factory (either producing the same output at a reduced cost, or producing more output at the same cost).

So this machine at least has the potential to be a worthwhile purchase.  But of course you aren't just going to cut a check on the spot:  you want to make sure the machine is actually worth the purchase price.  So you ask:  how do I know that the instructions generated by the machine will be the "right" instructions?  After all, it would be easy enough to build a machine that gives clear, unambiguous instructions but doesn't improve the factory's performance.  It could just tell every worker at every moment, "Take it easy, you're on break."  Then you would have saved a lot on managerial salaries, but the factory's output would plummet.  You would also get a bad result if the machine gave instructions at random - and in that case, the results might be dangerous for the workers.

The seller of the machine assures you that its instructions are much better than random.  But he admits that the machine sometimes instructs workers to do things that are counterproductive.  So actually, the suggested strategy is to retain enough managers to override the machine when it gives a bad instruction.  You ask the vendor for an assurance that you will still come out ahead with this approach.  But the vendor is honest, and he tells you that he doesn't know.  It just depends on how often the machine gives a bad instruction, how many managers it takes to catch these mistakes, how bad the mistakes are, etc.  It's a complicated question that can't be resolved by pointing to the machine's incredible efficiency.  Terrible instructions, however cheaply they are generated, are no bargain.

And this is where we find ourselves with the economic calculation problem.  We know that capitalism transmits "instructions" somewhat cheaply (although capitalism does seem to have a voracious appetite for smart, educated people to run the financial system).  But this, by itself, is not a reason to prefer capitalism to socialism.  You also have to assess the quality of the instructions (in this case, price signals), and the cost of monitoring them and overriding them when they go wrong.  Recall that in almost every year of the Irish famine, the price system induced Ireland to be a net exporter of food.  The "instruction" from the machine was:  remove food from a starving nation and deliver it to a well-fed one.  And no one overrode the instruction.  The Irish were left to starve.  A socialist is free to argue, I think, that capitalism's cheap processing power comes at too high a price.

This is another way to view the Coasian point about the size of the firm.  At low levels of complexity, we may prefer to keep the human managers and dispense with the machine, because its huge processing power doesn't make up for its glaring shortcomings (in terms of bad instructions or other pathologies).  So we don't run families, churches, or corporations on a market basis.  Arguably the machine's benefits start to outweigh its costs at large enough scale, but this is not a question that can be answered in the abstract.  It depends on how good our non-market institutions are, how much it costs to maintain them, and what value we place on, for example, Irish lives.

So the economic calculation problem is not the end of the discussion, it is the beginning.  Unfortunately, that's the opposite of the way it is usually presented in economics classes, in my experience.

And even if you are convinced that capitalism is a virtual necessity in a modern economy, it doesn't follow that its dictates are irreproachable and beyond human review.  There is still a debate to be had about how and when to override the allocation chosen by the price system.  And a lot is at stake.  That's why it's obnoxious that, again, economics instruction essentially truncates the discussion by recognizing only very limited kinds of market failures.  All the time economists will say things like, "There's no externality here and therefore no justification for government action."  As if economists have somehow discovered a trick that allows them to bypass human values in formulating policy.  As if Irish lives don't matter.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

You're Still Young, You Should Quit

Early Saturday morning the authorities admitted me to a hospital essentially to sleep off my black-out drunkenness.  The city took my clothes but let me keep my cell phone, took a blood sample and a urine sample, gave me a bowl of cereal, a muffin, some apple sauce, a vitamin B pill, and a folate pill.  When I had sobered up and the tests were done, my clothes were returned in a clear plastic bag and I was sent on my way without payment.  (I couldn’t have paid in any event, my wallet having been a victim of the previous night.)  I was treated humanely and wasn’t lectured, except for a brief word of advice from a nurse:   I am still young, I should quit.

I think she's right.  The word is right there on my discharge form: “alcoholism.”  A small part of me resisted that conclusion, but I found that I wasn’t in a position to argue with the diagnosis.  And a bigger part of me felt a sense of relief.  Surrounded by pleasant, efficient working-class people, not expected to be anything but a fuckup, I felt at home.  Walking to my apartment (remember, no wallet) with matted hair, holding a plastic bag with my shirt in it, as the stores got more and more expensive, I felt my anxiety returning, although I could at least be confident that no one would be attracted to me.   [So, just like any other day, then. - ed.]  I feel that I’ve risen above my station in life; in those circumstances, I briefly didn't feel like an impostor.

But I don't hold the view that someone is worthless merely because he can't handle ingesting a particular chemical.  First, all people are imbued with prevenient grace, which is not contingent on anything.  By its nature grace does not have to be earned and can't be lost.

Second, as Jesus said:

You will know them by their fruits.  Do men gather grapes from thorn bushes or figs from thistles?  Even so, every good tree bears good fruit; but a bad tree bears bad fruit.  A good tree cannot bear fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit.  Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.  Therefore by their fruits you will know them.
In other words, you can't judge a person's worth by his intrinsic characteristics.  People are to be judged by their outputs, not their inputs.  There is no such thing as a nice guy who treats other people like shit; there is no such thing as a worthless person who does something productive with his life.  Your status is within your control.  Alcoholism doesn't mean anything by itself.  No one is worthless because of his genetics or anything else about him.

My wallet was returned by a retired MTA worker who found it on a subway platform.

[Update:  I sometimes write some fictional things on this blog—part of me thinks Sarang was basically just cashing in with Sarang's Big Book of Sick Burns, for instance—but this blog post is true.]

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Breaking the Ice

After reading V.S. Naipaul's A Bend in the River, I decided to re-read Teju Cole's Open City.  (Open City includes some Naipaul-esque elements, and I was reminded of this account of an evening shared by the two authors.)

I'll have more to say about Open City.  But one thing I didn't notice so much the first time I read it is the omnipresence of injustice and suffering.  Civilization seems like a fragile and contingent accomplishment, everywhere threatened and in most places an impossible dream.

And then, even at its best, life is mediocre.  How muted are the pleasures and how acute the pain!  Life is like an iceberg, with most people condemned to desperate misery, while a few are elevated a modest distance above break-even (and usually at the expense of the others).

And so then I gained a tremendous amount of sympathy for the hedonists and the anti-natalists.  By what deranged math could you ever conclude that human life is a net positive for the world?  And if you happen to be lucky enough to be in a position to gratify your own desires, then why not make that the center of your life?  What else is there?

I think the answer is that self-gratification is not actually a good way to maximize long-term utility.  Another answer is that it's simply unjust to direct society's resources toward your own pleasure when there are better uses to which those resources can be put.

But then, a part of me says, fuck it.  For those brief moments when the iceberg rolls over and you are above water, enjoy it as much as you can.  You'll be plunged back beneath the waves soon enough.

Debt and Consequences

There is an article today in the New York Times about borrowers whose cars are disabled remotely when they miss a payment.  It strikes me that the UCC will probably need to be amended to deal with this issue, although arguably the UCC already doesn't permit this.  (The UCC permits a creditor, upon the debtor's default, to "render equipment unusable" under Section 9-609(a)(2).  But a car would ordinarily not be "equipment," because that term excludes "consumer goods."  So a household car, as opposed to a business vehicle, shouldn't constitute "equipment."  Comment 4.a to Section 9-102 notes that a physician's car or farmer's truck might be on the borderline between "equipment" and "consumer goods," and Section 9-609(a)(2) would arguably allow the creditor to disable the car in those circumstances.  As far as I can tell, the UCC doesn't expressly forbid a creditor to disable consumer goods, but the fact that Section 9-609(a)(2) only covers "equipment" suggests that this is not a remedy that was contemplated for other types of collateral.)

I'll also note that if a debtor has declared bankruptcy, then disabling the debtor's car would be a violation of the automatic stay, and creditors would be well-advised to re-enable the car's ignition system immediately upon learning of a bankruptcy filing.  If I were a bankruptcy judge, I would sanction the shit out of a creditor who knowingly violated the automatic stay by disabling the debtor's car, even for a relatively brief period of time.  Arguably, disabling a car without confirming that no petition has been filed is reckless behavior, and because disabling a car is so dangerous, I would also consider sanctions on that basis.  (To be clear, the ignition-disabling systems aren't intended to disable a car's motor while it is operating.  But it can be extremely dangerous if an individual relies on a functional vehicle and then the vehicle becomes suddenly unusable.)

Okay, so, I'm no fan of this particular creditor remedy, in its current form.  (I can imagine allowing it in certain circumstances, for instance, after judicial process.)  On the other hand, there is a sick tendency in our society to adopt what you might charitably call third- or fourth-best policies to address severe deficiencies in our public policy.  All the time you see people using consumer debt to paper over deeper problems in our society.  And I have some (limited) sympathy with the lenders in these cases, because often they are just doing business, offering a product for which there is a lot of genuine demand.  (I have much less sympathy for lenders who induce people to incur debt that is not appropriate for their circumstances.  But I think rarely would car lenders fall into that category, in the sense that few Americans can get by without cars.  A car loan can enable employment, which in turn can lift someone out of poverty.)  All too often creditors are portrayed as villains when they try to conduct their business in a reasonable way (as noted above, I don't think disabling a car's ignition when a payment is a few days late is reasonable).  For instance, it can be tempting to side with the homeowner when a bank forecloses on a house, but ultimately it doesn't make sense to argue that because someone is sympathetic (disabled, a veteran, laid off, etc.), he can stop paying his mortgage with no consequences.  The same goes for paying rent.  (Certain elements of the left wing are behaving absolutely shamefully when it comes to mortgage default.  It is rarely in the homeowner's interest to file frivolous lawsuits, violate the law, etc.  Before indulging their irresponsible conspiracy theories, leftists should consult responsible experts, who would generally give sensible advice:  talk to your lender, be completely honest and open about your financial situation, try to find an outcome that actually makes sense for everyone.)

The problem here is a gap between what people think they deserve to consume and what they can actually consume in a capitalist society like ours.  Sometimes that gap is driven by unrealistic ideas of what constitutes reasonable consumption (so there are plenty of people who go deep into debt to finance what are essentially luxuries).  But often enough, the gap is driven by the failure of our society to provide jobs that pay enough to meet basic human needs.  And then instead of using tax dollars to cover the gap, we lash out at creditors when they (having financed the gap for some time) try to enforce their lawful remedies.

So in short:  (A) we need good debtor/creditor law to prevent abuses, but (B) we also need to maintain the basic rule of law, the expectation that debts will be repaid, and the ability of creditors to enforce their lawful remedies, and (C) we need to enact a much more thorough social safety net so that people aren't forced to rely on the tender mercies of the credit markets for their basic needs. [Updated to add:  I forgot to mention (D) it is important to recognize the importance of a humane bankruptcy code to basic dignity, and the U.S. Bankruptcy Code should be amended to make it easier to use.]

Thursday, September 04, 2014

Too Good To Be True

This whole blog post is about things that blow my mind.  Let's start with an investment pitch:

Joe Meals [a consultant for the Firefighters' Retirement System of Louisiana] said that others had already jumped at the chance to invest with Alphonse Fletcher Jr., a flashy Wall Street financier whom Mr. Meals described as a long-established hedge fund manager, according to video recordings. The fund was offering essentially a 12 percent guaranteed return, according to Mr. Meals, secured by a third-party investor, and the opportunity was so hot the board would have to make a decision that day.

“I can tell you, it won’t be on the table this time next month,” Mr. Meals told the group, according to the video recordings. “It won’t take 30 days for somebody else to want it.”

The firefighters’ system eventually said yes, and along with two other pension funds — the Municipal Employees’ Retirement System and the New Orleans Firefighters’ Pension and Relief Fund — invested a combined $100 million in one of Mr. Fletcher’s funds, FIA Leveraged. As they understood it, the fund would invest in liquid securities that could be sold in a matter of weeks.

The details sounded, as one board member put it, “too good to be true.”
You won't be shocked to learn that the investment was, in fact, too good to be true.  I sympathize with these public employees, but I've got to say, when you receive a pitch like that . . .  a certain degree of skepticism is called for.

Fletcher's downfall started when he engaged in that most traditional of New York pastimes - fighting with his co-op board.  Fletcher owned three units in the Dakota (the legendary New York building where John Lennon once lived and outside of which he was gunned down).  Fletcher tried to buy a fourth unit, but was turned down by the co-op board.  Racism!  (Fletcher is black.  He is also perhaps bisexual, having lived with a man for several years and subsequently having married Ellen Pao.  But so far as I know, he accused the Dakota board of racism, not homophobia.)

Unfortunately for Fletcher, co-op boards are widely regarded as being all-powerful for a good reason:  they are all-powerful.  Also, this particular co-op board was advised by a finance committee filled with highly sophisticated bankers and lawyers.  The co-op board said (in a court filing):  We're not racist, we just don't think Fletcher can afford another unit.  Our finance committee tells us that his investment management company is losing money and his fund is overstating its assets.  We're frankly not quite sure how he is paying for the units he already owns.

At this point a couple of pension funds decided their confidence in Fletcher was less than absolute and withdrew their investments.  They expected to receive cash, but instead received promissory notes (basically, IOUs) payable within two years (this, by the way, strikes me as a probable violation of the contract, although I would have to see the contract to know for sure).  They filed a lawsuit.  Today, various Fletcher funds are in insolvency proceedings in the U.S. and the Cayman Islands.

So how did Fletcher invest the money?  According to a report filed by the trustee in the bankruptcy case of one of Fletcher's funds (you can download a copy from a link accompanying this WSJ article), some of it seems to have gone to finance a film his brother made.  (Geoffrey Fletcher won an Oscar for the screenplay to "Precious."  However, Alphonse Fletcher put his investors' money into another film, "Violet & Daisy," which was far less successful in financial terms.)  But a lot of the money went into PIPEs, that is, private investment in public entities (some people say "equities" instead of "entities" - I don't know the product well enough to say, so I am following the usage of the trustee's report).  In essence, an investor places a negotiated investment with a public company, sometimes including options to buy shares at a specified price.  (As the trustee notes, there is nothing inherently suspect about PIPEs - Warren Buffett invested in Goldman Sachs and General Electric using PIPEs.  Actually, I think it would be fair to say that the U.S. Treasury used PIPEs to invest in AIG, Fannie Mae, and Freddie Mac.  It's just an investment in which the shares are sold directly to an investor under negotiated terms, rather than sold on the markets.)

And now we come to the part that I find truly fascinating.  This part is also potentially a little hard to follow, so I'll try to be as clear as I can.  If you stick with me, I think you will be amazed.

In connection with PIPEs, Fletcher would take warrants (warrants are essentially options - a warrant is just an option written by the same company that issues the shares that are the subject of the option - I'll use the terms interchangeably) in the companies in which he invested.  This means that the fund would have the right (but not the obligation) to buy shares at a specified price during a specified period of time.  If the company's shares were worth more than the "exercise price," then obviously Fletcher would exercise the options and buy the shares (and probably immediately sell them for a profit).  So for instance, let's say the exercise price is $100, the fund has a right to buy 10 shares, and the stock is actually trading at $200.  The fund will buy 10 shares for $1,000 and sell them for $2,000, netting a $1,000 profit.

But actually, it can be a hassle coming up with the cash to buy the shares at the exercise price, and the company doesn't necessarily want to dilute its shares by so much (and at such a disadvantageous price).  So the parties add a "cashless exercise" provision to the contract.  The idea is to replicate the investor's profit from the trade, but without any money changing hands.  So in our example, the company would simply deliver 5 shares of stock to the investor, which could sell the stock for a $1,000 profit.  It's the same profit as before, but without any money changing hands.  Everyone is happy.

So the formula looks like this (I am paraphrasing from the trustee's report):

X = N(S - K)/S


X = the number of shares of stock to be issued pursuant to the cashless exercise provision

N = the number of shares of stock which would be purchased in a traditional (not cashless) exercise

S = price per share of the stock

K = the exercise price for the stock

Plugging in our earlier example:

5 shares = 10 shares($200 - $100)/$200

Makes complete sense.  But Fletcher didn't use that formula.  Here is the formula that Fletcher inserted into the "cashless exercise" provision of his PIPE agreements:

X = N(S - K)/K

A subtle change!  One that slipped by a lot of lawyers, apparently.  But think about how it would work.  Let's use our example from earlier.  Recall, we've negotiated the right to buy 10 shares at a price of $100/share.  The actual price is $200, and so we are going to exercise the option.  If we use a "traditional" (not cashless) exercise, we will have to tender $1,000 to the company, for which we will receive 10 shares.  What about the cashless option?

X = N(S - K)/K
X = 10 shares($200 - $100)/$100
X = 10 shares × $100/$100
X = 10 shares

So under the cashless option, in which I tender $0 to the company, I get . . .  10 shares!  The same amount I would get if I tendered $1,000 under the traditional option exercise.  So the cashless exercise is considerably more profitable for me (I can sell those 10 shares for $2,0000 whereas I would have earned only a $1,000 profit under traditional exercise).

And let's say the stock is worth $300, instead of $200:

X = N(S - K)/K
X = 10 shares($300 - $100)/$100
X = 10 shares × $200/$100
X = 20 shares

Now I can get 20 shares by tendering $0 to the company (cashless exercise), or I can get 10 shares by tendering $1,000 to the company (traditional exercise).  The cashless exercise is even more dominant than in the previous example.  And this is a generalizable result - in the trustee's report, there is a graph showing that the return on cashless exercise of the options increases much faster than the return on traditional exercise, as the share price of the company increases.  (This is presumably what was meant in one of Fletcher's prospectuses, which stated his intention to profit by entering into deals "immediately, quantifiably worth more to the buyer than the seller."  That is, he planned to dupe the companies he invested in.)

Needless to say, no one actually thinks about cashless exercise this way.  Cashless exercise is intended to be economically equivalent to traditional exercise.  And indeed, when two companies separately noticed the crazy provision (after signing the agreement), they each insisted on removing it.  (In one case, the amendment followed a litigation about other matters.)  But until someone notices it, you could theoretically value the option as if its non-standard terms were fully enforceable, which would result in a massively inflated value.  And this is exactly what Fletcher is alleged to have done.  Those inflated values meant that his funds appeared highly profitable, even though actually realizing those profits would require the companies to honor the terms of the "cashless option" provisions without litigation (an unlikely outcome - recall that both of the companies that discovered the nonstandard formula insisted on changing it).

Now I think there's an interesting discussion to be had about whether this provision should be enforceable in court.  I would never want to see a slimy term like that enforced against an ordinary person.  But these were publicly traded companies, sophisticated and presumably well-represented by counsel.  So I wouldn't be totally outraged if Fletcher had sued and won.  But on the other hand, the "cashless exercise" provision is so absurd that it clearly wasn't the intent of the parties, and on that basis I would expect it to be unenforceable.  If you really wanted to create a financial instrument with those characteristics, you could do it - but you wouldn't hide it under the guise of "cashless exercise," with no other indication that the parties intended to agree to these crazy economic terms.

But that's not really the point.  No matter what, any attempt to exercise a "cashless exercise" would be almost certain to result in litigation, and there is substantial doubt that a court would enforce the "cashless exercise" terms.  And so attributing full value to the options, on the basis of the inflated "cashless exercise" value, is highly aggressive.  And bear in mind, the value attributed to the options determines the "return" attributed to the fund, which in turn determines Mr. Fletcher's compensation for managing the fund.  By inflating the value of the funds, Fletcher extracted money from his investors even though the actual returns he earned for those investors were highly doubtful.

I'll wrap things up with yet another thing that blows my mind.  Henry Louis Gates is the Alphonse Fletcher University Professor at Harvard University.  I seriously wonder how he feels when he is introduced by that title.

Another Way to Substitute Capital and Labor

Had a random thought, may flesh it out more, but here are the bare bones.  (Inspired by this post on "pent-up wage deflation.")

Let's say you are an employer, and you want to retain flexibility in terms of lowering wages if business goes poorly.  Of course you can just write a contract that allows you to lower salaries at will, or on a yearly basis or whatever.  But it turns out that employers are reluctant to lower wages (in nominal terms) even if they have the legal right to do so.  (This inspired my crazy idea of a few years ago - that the government should be able to lower all wages simultaneously so as to coordinate a massive wage deflation equally distributed across society.  Then wages would have nowhere to go but up.  Please bear in mind the idea is meant to be used by a country that does not control its own currency.)

However, I think employers are much more willing to reduce or eliminate bonuses than base salaries.  So if you want to maintain flexibility, you simply pay a substantial bonus (in good times) and then cut it down (in bad times).

But then it occurred to me that base salary is, in a sense, more "valuable" to the employee than a bonus, precisely because it is reliable.  Two workers with identical compensation might have very different capacity to, say, get a mortgage, or make long-term plans, because one of them receives substantially more of his compensation in the form of a bonus.  A guaranteed salary can be a hugely valuable thing because it enables long-term financial arrangements.  Someone exposed to fluctuating wages has to compensate by "over-saving" or otherwise maintaining extra liquidity.  This is a real cost, and it may go some way to explaining why government workers are paid less than private-sector workers.

Another way of thinking about this is that when you pay bonuses, you effectively expose your workers to the risks of an equity holder in the business.  And you reap the same rewards that you reap when you raise equity capital (as opposed to debt):  you have flexibility to adjust your costs to meet business conditions.  Lowering bonuses during hard times is much like lowering dividends.  Whereas lowering salaries is like lowering your debt payments, in that it is more painful (in the case of salaries, painful because of the effect on morale; in the case of debt payments, painful because it requires renegotiating your debt or entering bankruptcy).

So to the extent your compensation policy is a substitute for a capital structure, you can imagine a company choosing whichever is cheaper.  A company with generous, steady compensation policies may require more equity financing.  A company that imposes risks on its employees may be able to impose less risk on its investors (that is, get more of its financing from debt as opposed to equity).  And across the world, you can imagine some societies in which workers are expected to bear more risks, and other societies in which investors are expected to bear more risks.  And so again you would want to account for this in cross-country comparisons of wages - just as you have to think about risk-adjusted rates of return on investments, you want to think about risk-adjusted compensation for labor.

And one final thought.  As workers are increasingly exposed to equity-like risks, it might affect their optimal asset allocation when it comes to their investments.  If you have limited capacity to bear equity risks, and those costs are increasingly imposed on you through your wages, then you may need to shift your investments toward other (safer) asset classes.  (I realize I am repeating my earlier point - no, no, I am emphasizing and elaborating on my earlier point!)  This probably bears on how much retirement income people should get from Social Security, since for a lot of workers that is probably the main determinant of retirement income besides the stock market (and in fact, for a lot of workers it is probably the main source of retirement income, period).

Tuesday, September 02, 2014

Dave's The Name of the Butterfly

Dave's latest effort, The Name of the Butterfly, has not made nearly as big a splash as his previous novel, All the World Is Beer, an experimental coming-of-age story told from the perspective of a yeast cell.  In some ways Butterfly is a much more conventional book, but I don't think that accounts for its muted reception.  I think the book's richness takes time to unfold, and because it lacks some of the fireworks that critics have come to expect from Dave, it simply hasn't attracted the sustained attention that it demands (and deserves).

The book is set in a vaguely 19th-century, Holland-like country, but it makes no pretense to historical precision.  The main characters are Pieter, an actuary in a bustling commercial city, and his wife Saskia.  The couple met as young revolutionaries, members of the underground Socialist Party, and after the revolution they settled down to domesticity.

Pieter is discontented.  You might say that he was unnerved by the revolution.  He has become convinced that the decisions made by the Party leaders were rash and irresponsible, and that only an unlikely series of events, combined with the King's unwillingness to shed his subjects' blood, prevented a catastrophe.  Pieter's mind keeps returning to the square where he and Saskia had assembled with the other revolutionaries, where the King's soldiers could easily have mowed them down . . .  and where, overruling his advisors, the King ordered his troops to stand down and announced his abdication.  Pieter is horrified that the revolution came so close to bloodshed, and ashamed that this was only averted by the mercy of a man Pieter had previously slandered.

Part of Pieter's dissatisfaction with the revolution has to do with its incomplete attainment of its aims.  The King is gone and the Republic has been established, but the Socialists have been marginalized and the capitalists are firmly in charge.  Abroad, the government has adopted a far more colonial and imperialistic stance than the King ever did.  At home, religious fervor is on the rise, and Jews and homosexuals (who enjoyed the tacit protection of the King) have been driven out of public life.  On the whole, Pieter is not sure that the dissolute, tolerant, somewhat haphazard reign of the King was so much worse than the hyper-capitalist, religion-drenched war-mongering of the Republic.

Saskia, on the other hand, only regrets that her brush with great events was so brief.  She has reconnected with another revolutionary, Willem, who has prospered under the new regime.  From Pieter's view, Willem is one of the upper-class opportunists who never believed in the revolution but coopted it and perverted its turbulent course to his own benefit.  Willem in fact is a major stockholder in the insurance company that employs Pieter, and he divides his time between the capitol (where he cultivates his revolutionary connections) and his country estate, where he styles himself a naturalist.

As we come to see, Pieter's view of Willem is perhaps unfair.  Willem was never a socialist, and he took considerable personal risk, first in financing the early stages of the revolution, and then in publicly calling for a republic at a time when the King still had a firm grip on power.  Moreover, while Willem's lobbying efforts are venal, he takes no real interest in them and spends most of his time cataloguing butterflies.

And Willem, though taken with Saskia, does not use any of the means at his disposal to pursue her.  In fact, to his and Pieter's mutual chagrin, Saskia uses Willem's connections to insinuate herself into the amoral, psychosexually charged world of the capitol.  Here Dave writes with a light hand:  it is up to the reader to decide if Saskia is genuinely interested in lawmaking and party politics, or if she is merely addicted to the thrill of the fast-moving political world.  Either way, the novel takes on a frenetic and intoxicating energy when it focuses on her escapades in the capital.

The book is Dave's second-longest, at 798 pages, but it doesn't feel like a long book.  Perhaps this is because it never stops moving:  following Pieter to Willem's estate, then both the men to the capital, then Willem and Saskia back to the estate, then Saskia to Pieter, and so on.  But perhaps, too, there is something in the book that makes it feel very un-book-like.  Dave's writing has become far more placid and natural than it was during his coked-up "New York" phase, and Butterfly feels almost dream-like.  When you are finished, you will feel not so much that you've read a story, as that you've recovered a memory - that Dave has lifted up the veil a little, to show you the world as it truly is.