Small is beautiful

J R Nyquist argues that internationalism is used as a cover for expansion by aggressive states, and the nation-state is our stoutest defence.

I think this links in with our domestic EU in-or-out debate, on which the allegedly Conservative British MP David Cameron has recently been making flirty noises. I say "flirty" because although the headline talks boldly of tearing up the un-referendum-ed Constitution, the leader of the Opposition says "We think the treaty is wrong because it passes too much power from Westminster to Brussels." How much is enough?

Perhaps some will say mine is a typical reaction from a little Englander, but originally that term meant an opponent of imperialism. Well, I'm used to ignorant brickbats. It was Philip Toynbee who - his son told me - called me a Colonel Blimp while I was still at school, I think because I had dared to ask him about the significance of colour in Lorca's poetry. What I gathered from this experience was: never ask a posh leftie for an explanation, he'll only look down his egalitarian nose at you. (I haven't met his daughter Polly, though.) Intriguingly, though the term "little Englander" is said to date from the 1899-1901 Second Boer War, there is an 1833 German dictionary-cum-phrasebook (published in Grunsberg) called "Der kleine Englander ober Sammlung". I do hope the title wasn't intended to have a pejorative tinge, but you can never be sure with the Germans - they do have a wry sense of humour.

The relevance of all this, aside from the asides? I think the themes of diversity, dispersion and disconnection will grow in importance over the coming years, in politics and economics. As with some mutually dependent Amazonian flowers and insects, efficiency and specialisation will have to be balanced against flexibility and long-term survival.

Little boxes

In India, where many people cannot read, you sign for the State pension by thumbprint. This seemed like a secure system, until a man was caught with a tobacco-tin full of thumbs.

It would have made no difference had it been a tin of cloned credit cards. You don't need to know what's in the box, or how it works; you need to know what it does, and who it's for.

Once you start thinking along these lines, things get so much clearer. For example, you don't have to be a "quant" like Richard Bookstaber, to know that derivatives are about risk. More precisely, they're for increasing risk.

Supposedly, a derivative reduces risk; but if you look at its use, it's a box that tells lenders and gamblers how far they can go. Seeing the fortunes that can be made in high finance, there is the strongest temptation to push the boundary.

My old primary school had a lovely little garden behind it, where we played at morning break. One game was "What's the time, Mister Wolf?". You went up to the "wolf" and asked him the time; he'd say nine o' clock; to the next child he'd say ten o'clock and so on, until he'd suddenly shout "Dinner time!" and chase you. Obviously, the game was not about telling the time.

So it is with financial risk models that service the need to maximise profits: always another trembling step forward. There's only one way to find out when you've gone too far.

But what if you could ask the time, and know that someone else would end up being chased? I think that explains the subprime packages currently causing so much trouble.

The bit I don't understand is why banks started buying garbage like this from each other. Maybe it's a case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing, since these organisations are so big. Or maybe it's that everyone has their own personal box.

Then there's credit default swaps, and other attempts to herd together for collective security. They don't work if the reduction in fear leads to an increase in risk-taking. United we fall: no point in tying your dinghy to the Titanic's anchor-chain.

In fact, I think this opens up a much wider field of discussion, about efficiency versus survivability. In business, economics and politics we might eventually find ourselves talking about dispersion, diversity and disconnection.

Unreal

Richard Daughty (the Mogambo Guru) refers to articles by Nouriel Roubini and Sharon Kayser, giving us debt -threat vistas of $1 trillion and $1,000 trillion respectively. Then he returns to Terry Pratchett's Discworld dwarves' favourite song ("Gold, gold, gold, gold...").

Two problems: one is, I can't visualise anything with many zeroes, so it's not real for me. More importantly, if there's a major meteor-strike financial bust (i.e. deflation), I'd have thought cash in hand is what everyone will want.

Unless a crazed government opts for hyperinflation. In which case, I'd rather have pallets of canned baked beans, boxes of ammunition and many brave, loyal friends. You can't eat gold.

But as with all truly terrible imaginings, the mind bounces off this like a tennis ball from a granite boulder, and we turn back to normal life with determined optimism.