By ROGER
LOWENSTEIN
Published:
March 23, 2013
The New
York Times
FOR all
the criticism of bailouts since the financial crisis struck, virtually no one
has suggested that depositors in banks be made to suffer along with their
investors, employees and customers. Until this week, when the euro zone
proposed that, in return for a bailout of the failing banking system in Cyprus,
depositors pay a “tax” of 6.75 percent of their deposits — 9.9 percent for
deposits above 100,000 euros.
Because
bank deposits in Cyprus ,
and virtually everywhere, are insured, the plan shocked many people who figured
that this insurance was the one financial safety net that was still truly
“safe.”
The
Cypriot Parliament shot down the plan, though a smaller hit to depositors —
many of whom are wealthy foreigners — was still in the offing late last week.
Yet the tempest in the eastern Mediterranean
is a reminder that depositors, in fact, are also creditors of banks and are
potentially at risk.
In the United States ,
deposit insurance is viewed as sacrosanct. But even here, such plans haven’t
always worked, and at least until recent times they have been contentious.
If the
nation has a father of bank insurance, it is Joshua Forman, one of the
promoters of the Erie Canal . Early in the 19th
century, New York
State had a string of
bank failures, and Martin Van Buren, then governor, asked him to restructure
the banking industry. Forman’s insight was that banks were vulnerable to
chain-reaction panics. As he put it — in a line unearthed by the Harvard Business School
historian David Moss — “banks constitute a system, being peculiarly sensitive
to one another’s operations, and not a mere aggregate of free agents.”
In
1829, Forman proposed an insurance fund capitalized by mandatory contributions
from the state’s banks. Debate in the State Assembly was heated. Critics said
failures could overwhelm the fund; they also argued that its very existence
would reduce the “public scrutiny and watchfulness” that restrained bankers
from reckless lending. This remains the intellectual argument against insurance
today. But Forman’s plan was enacted, and subsequently five other states
adopted plans.
All did
not go smoothly. In the 1840s, during a national depression, 11 banks in New York State failed and the insurance fund — as
prophesied — was threatened with insolvency. The state sold bonds to bail it
out.
After
the Civil War and the establishment of nationally chartered banks, the state
insurance systems were allowed to die. But banking panics and money shortages
in the 1870s and ’80s revived the issue. Republicans thought the way to stop
panics was to establish a central bank. Democrats were inveterate central-bank
haters, but they needed a solution. William Jennings Bryan, the party’s
three-time presidential nominee, called for deposit insurance, especially to
protect small depositors.
Oklahomans thought otherwise. So great was the
demand for insurance that Oklahoma
banks with national charters liquidated and reorganized as state banks to
participate. In fact, people in neighboring Kansas
began to deposit in Oklahoma , forcing Kansas to enact a similar
plan. Ultimately, eight states adopted insurance.
Their
experience, alas, bore out the critics’ warnings. Depressed farm prices led to
waves of bank failures in the 1920s, and one by one state systems folded.
When
bank failures reached epidemic proportions in the Great Depression, the idea
was revived. Again, the industry opposed it — as did Franklin D. Roosevelt, who
said insurance “would lead to laxity in bank management and carelessness on the
part of both banker and depositor.” Insurance was to be financed by premiums
from banks. Still, because it was guaranteed by the government, Roosevelt feared that it could bankrupt the Treasury.
But
popular opinion prevailed. The Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation was
created in 1933, protecting deposits up to $2,500. Over time, the insured limit
rose to $100,000. (And it more than doubled, to $250,000, in the recent
crisis.)
The
system worked — for a while. In the 1970s, finance was deregulated, interest
rates turned volatile and savings and loan associations (protected by another
agency) took huge risks. Hundreds of S.& L.’s failed, and their insurer
became insolvent. Taxpayers had to fork over more than $100 billion.
To
critics, the S.& L. fiasco proved that insurance was a flawed concept. The
problem wasn’t insurance per se, but that premiums weren’t high enough — nor
were they adjusted according to the risk presented by individual banks. (By the
same principle, any rational auto insurer will charge a higher premium for an
18-year-old with a D.U.I.)
INCREDIBLY, Congress didn’t learn its lesson.
After recovery from the S.& L. crisis, Congress, lulled by an improving
climate, succumbed to bankers who called the F.D.I.C. overfinanced. Premiums
were cut to zero for banks judged to be well capitalized.
Again,
the good times didn’t last. In 2009, in the financial crisis, the F.D.I.C. fund
was underwater. Net assets — $53 billion before the crash — fell to a negative
$21 billion. The agency crawled back into the black by ordering banks to pay
premiums in advance and by leveling a special assessment. In 2010, the
Dodd-Frank law raised premiums, especially for bigger banks and for banks
classified as riskier. No taxpayer money was used.
The
F.D.I.C.’s deficit amounted to a failure of foresight, or courage, by Congress,
but the system succeeded in the larger sense of heading off panics. Just
imagine the crisis in confidence in 2008 had ordinary depositors feared for
their money. Insurance proved to be worth its weight in gold.
Roger Lowenstein is writing a book on the
origins of the Federal Reserve.
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