LAST WEEK, the Web site SatireWire.com ran a mock news story: "Enron
Admits It's Really Argentina." It was pretty funny, though quite unfair --
unfair, that is, to Argentina.
Yet, the satire was more on point than its authors realized. Not long ago
Argentina, like Enron, was a darling of the financial community. And like
Enron, Argentina was held up as a role model, to a large extent by the same
people -- Argentina's monetary system, in particular, was lauded in the pages
of Forbes and the Wall Street Journal, and feted at libertarian think tanks.
Why did the same people tend to admire Enron and Argentina? Because in
their different ways, both the company and the country tried to turn back the
clock to 1913. Both were experiments testing the libertarian credo: that the
great expansion in government's role between the two world wars was
unwarranted. Both were supposed to demonstrate that government activism is
unnecessary, and that radical laissez-faire works.
The Enron experiment was, in essence, about doing away with regulation --
regulation of prices, regulation of financial trading. Most of these
regulations had their origin in fear that consumers, workers and investors
would be exploited by those whom Theodore Roosevelt called "malefactors of
great wealth."
Enron used its political clout to create what one of its own executives
called a "regulatory black hole" in which it could operate freely.
What Enron's admirers believed was that experience would demonstrate fears
about unregulated markets to be unjustified. Unfortunately, what disappeared
into that black hole was not bureaucratic clutter but billions of hard-earned
dollars, including those of Enron's own employees. Or maybe it wasn't a black
hole, but rather a wormhole, and those billions of dollars emerged in some
other universe -- say, overseas bank accounts. For it turns out that
malefactors of great wealth do exist, and some of them were running Enron.
If Enron was an experiment in doing away with regulatory activism,
Argentina was an experiment in doing away with monetary activism. Argentina
returned to a colonial-era monetary system, a "currency board," which took
government out of the loop. No more lurching from crisis to crisis, no more
disruptive government interventions: Argentina would provide sound money, and
leave the rest up to the free market.
Though Argentina attracted the usual opportunists, I'm pretty sure that
both the creators of its monetary system and many of its admirers sincerely
believed that they were working in everyone's interest. Alas, these particular
good intentions paved the road to hell.
In the last few weeks, the bitter irony of Argentina's situation has become
almost too much to bear. The country's monetary system was introduced in the
name of laissez-faire. Now, in its desperate efforts to save that system from
imminent collapse, the Argentine government has imposed drastic restrictions
on economic freedom.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those people who think that markets
are evil, that the profit motive is always wrong. On the contrary, I believe
that markets are very good things indeed. But the great economic lesson of the
20th century was that to work, a market system needs a little help from the
government: regulations to prevent abuses, active monetary policy to fight
recessions. The twin debacles in Houston and Buenos Aires demonstrate that
this great lesson has not lost its relevance.
©2001 San Francisco Chronicle
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