CHAPTER 4
Thursday, August 9, 2007
The crisis in the financial markets that I had anticipated arrived in force on August 9, 2007. It came from an area we hadn’t expected—housing—and the damage it caused was much deeper and much longer lasting than any of us could have imagined.
I was in my car on my way to the Federal Reserve when I got a call shortly after 7:00 a.m. from Clay Lowery, the acting undersecretary for international affairs, who told me that the European markets were in turmoil. Earlier that morning, continental time, BNP Paribas, France’s biggest bank, had halted redemptions on three investment funds that held mortgage-backed bonds, citing a “complete evaporation of liquidity” that had made it impossible to value “certain assets fairly regardless of their quality or credit rating.”
The action was disturbing, but it came with news that was even more alarming: Europe’s credit markets had tightened dramatically, as banks hesitated to lend to one another. In response, the European Central Bank (ECB) had announced that it would make as much money available as European banks needed at its official rate of 4 percent. Euro-zone overnight borrowing rates, which normally tracked the official rate, had reached 4.7 percent. Within a couple of hours of its announcement, the ECB would reveal that 49 banks had borrowed a stunning total of 94.8 billion euros, or $130 billion. That was more than the central bank had lent after the 9/11 attacks.
I sped on to my scheduled breakfast with Ben Bernanke. I was eager to see him—we’d skipped the previous week’s breakfast since I had only just returned from China. Before I’d come to Washington, I’d hardly known Ben, but I liked him immediately, and soon after I settled in at Treasury, he and I began to meet for breakfast every week. It was such an established routine, and I’m enough of a creature of habit, that when I arrived at the Fed I could count on seeing, already set out for me, a bowl of oatmeal along with glasses of orange juice, ice water, and Diet Coke.
In the year I’d been in government, Ben and I had developed a special bond. Though we shared some common interests, such as a love of baseball, our relationship was 95 percent business. What made it special was our complete candor—laying all the cards on the table, determining where we had differences, and talking very directly about them. I kept Ben abreast of what I saw happening, passing along to him any market color I picked up from my conversations with senior bankers in the U.S. and around the world, including difficulties we’d begun to see in July with funding based on the London Interbank Offered Rate (LIBOR).
By law, the Federal Reserve operates independently of the Treasury Department. Though we took care to observe this separation, Ben, Tim Geithner, and I developed a spirit of teamwork that allowed us to talk continually throughout the oncoming crisis without compromising the Fed’s independence.
Ben was always willing to cooperate and a pleasure to work with. He is, easily, one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever known, astonishingly articulate in his spoken word and in his writing. I read carefully his speeches—on a wide range of subjects, from income inequality to globalization. And he was kind enough to look over some of my speeches before I gave them. He explained complex issues clearly; a chat with him was like a graduate school seminar.
Ben shared my concern with the developments in Europe. We agreed to keep our staffs in close contact, while I would talk directly to bankers and relay to Ben what they thought of the problem. That morning the Fed loaned $24 billion to banks via the New York Fed; on Friday it followed with an additional $38 billion even as the ECB lent out another 61 billion euros, or $83.4 billion.
When I returned to my office, I found Treasury on full alert. Bob Steel, the undersecretary for domestic finance, briefed me on the markets and possible responses. Keith Hennessey phoned from the White House to find out what was going on. I immediately started making calls to see how Wall Street was responding: Dick Fuld at Lehman, Stan O’Neal at Merrill Lynch, Steve Schwarzman at Blackstone, and Lloyd Blankfein at Goldman Sachs. All these CEOs were on edge. I also called Tim Geithner and Chris Cox, chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission.
Throughout the crisis, in fact, I would keep in constant touch with Wall Street CEOs, while Bob Steel and other members of my team talked with traders, investors, and bankers around the world. To know what was really going on, we had to get behind the numbers we monitored on Bloomberg screens. We knew, of course, that we were dealing with self-interested parties, but getting this practical market knowledge was absolutely essential.
Beginning that morning, we went into high gear. Bob Hoyt, our general counsel, asked his team in the legal department to begin examining the statutes and historical precedents to see what authorities the Treasury—or other agencies—might have to deal with market emergencies. Earlier in the summer I’d asked Bob Steel to begin developing solutions for our mortgage problems, though at the time we didn’t realize how far-reaching those problems would become. Now I asked him to speed up his efforts. On Monday, after a long weekend of work, Bob and I would lay out the problem in detail to the president, agreeing to roll out a plan of action by Labor Day.
It was pretty clear from what I gleaned from my conversations that the market was in for a bad patch. That Friday, the Dow Jones Industrial Average, which had passed 14,000 for the first time in mid-July, fell nearly 400 points, its second-biggest one-day drop in five years. I could sense a big storm coming.
In retrospect, the crisis that struck in August 2007 had been building for years. Structural differences in the economies of the world had led to what analysts call “imbalances” that created massive and destabilizing cross-border capital flows. In short, we were living beyond our means—on borrowed money and borrowed time.
The dangers for the U.S. economy had been obscured by an unprecedented housing boom, fed in part by the low interest rates that helped us recover from the downturn that followed the bursting of the late-’90s technology bubble and the impact of the 9/11 attacks. The housing bubble was driven by a big increase in loans to less creditworthy, or subprime, borrowers that lifted homeownership rates to historic levels. By the time I took office in July 2006, fully 69 percent of U.S. households owned their own homes, up from 64 percent in 1994. Subprime loans had soared from 5 percent of total mortgage originations in 1994 to roughly 20 percent by July 2006.
Encouraging high rates of homeownership had long been a cornerstone of U.S. domestic policy—for Democrats and Republicans alike. Homeownership, it’s commonly believed, helps families build wealth, stabilizes neighborhoods, creates jobs, and promotes economic growth.
But it’s also essential to match the right person to the right house: people should have the means to pay for the homes they buy, and lenders should ensure that they do. As the boom turned into a bubble, this disciplined approach fell away. Far too many houses were bought with little or no money down, often for speculative purposes or on the hope that property values would keep rising. Far too many loans were made or entered into fraudulently. Predatory lenders and unscrupulous brokers pushed increasingly complex mortgages on unsuspecting buyers even as unqualified applicants lied to get homes they couldn’t afford. Regulators failed to see, or stop, the worst excesses. All bubbles involve speculation, excessive borrowing and risk taking, negligence, a lack of transparency, and outright fraud, but few bubbles ever burst as spectacularly as this one would.
By the fourth quarter of 2006, the housing market was turning down. Delinquencies on U.S. subprime mortgages jumped, leading to a wave of foreclosures and big losses at subprime lenders. On February 7, 2007, London-based HSBC Holdings, the world’s third-largest bank, announced that it was setting aside $10.6 billion to cover bad debts in U.S. subprime lending portfolios. The same day, New Century Financial Corporation, the second-biggest U.S. subprime lender, said it expected to show losses for fourth-quarter 2006. By April 2, 2007, it was bankrupt. Two weeks after that, Washington Mutual, the biggest savings and loan in the U.S., disclosed that 9.5 percent of its $217 billion loan portfolio consisted of subprime loans and that its 2007 first-quarter profits had dropped by 21 percent.
The housing market, especially in the subprime sector, was clearly in a sharp correction. But how widespread would the damage be? Bob Steel had organized a series of meetings across government agencies to get on top of the problem, scrutinizing housing starts, home sales, and foreclosure rates. Treasury and Fed economists concluded that the foreclosure problem would continue to get worse before peaking in 2008. Of perhaps 55 million mortgages totaling about $13 trillion, about 13 percent, or 7 million mortgages, accounting for perhaps $1.3 trillion, were subprime loans. In a worst-case scenario we thought perhaps a quarter, or roughly $300 billion, might go bad. Actual losses would be much less, after recoveries from sales of foreclosed homes. They would, unfortunately, cause great pain to those affected, but in a $14 trillion diverse and healthy economy, we thought we could probably weather the losses.
All of this led me in late April 2007 to say in a speech before the Committee of 100, a group promoting better Chinese-American relations, that subprime mortgage problems were “largely contained.” I repeated that line of thinking publicly for another couple of months.
Today, of course, I could kick myself. We were just plain wrong. We had plenty of company: In mid-July, in testimony before Congress, Ben Bernanke cited estimates of subprime losses reaching $50 billion to $100 billion. (By early 2008 losses from subprime lending had reached an estimated $250 billion and counting.)
Why were we so off? We missed the dreadful quality of the most recent mortgages, and we believed the problem was largely confined to subprime loans. Default rates on subprime adjustable-rate mortgage loans (ARMs) from 2005 to 2007 were far higher than ever; ARMs made up half of subprime loans, or about 6.5 percent of all mortgages, but they accounted for 50 percent of all foreclosures. Even worse, the problems were coming far more quickly. In some cases, borrowers were missing their very first payments.
Homeowner behavior had also changed. More borrowers chose to do the previously unthinkable: they simply stopped paying when they found themselves “underwater,” meaning the size of their loan exceeded the value of the home. This happened quickly in cases where there was little or no down payment and housing prices were falling sharply. These homebuyers had no skin in the game.
The housing decline would have been a problem in its own right. It might even have caused a recession—though I doubt one as deep or as long lasting as what we would experience later. But what we did not realize then, and later understood all too well, was how changes in the way mortgages were made and sold, combined with a reshaped financial system, had vastly amplified the potential damage to banks and nonbank financial companies. It placed these firms, the entire system, and ultimately all of us in grave danger.
These changes had taken place inside of a generation. Traditionally, U.S. savings and loan institutions and commercial banks had made mortgage loans and kept them on the books until they were paid off or matured. They closely monitored the credit risk of their portfolios, earning the spread between the income these loans produced and the cost of the generally short-term money used to fund them.
But this “originate to hold” approach began to change with the advent of securitization, a financing technique developed in 1970 by the U.S. Government National Mortgage Association that allowed lenders to combine individual mortgages into packages of loans and sell interests in the resulting securities. A new “originate to distribute” model allowed banks and specialized lenders to sell mortgage securities to a variety of different buyers, from other banks to institutional investors like pension funds.
Securitization took off in the 1980s, spreading to other assets, such as credit card receivables and auto loans. By the end of 2006, $6.6 trillion in residential and commercial mortgage-backed securities (MBS) were outstanding, up from $4.2 trillion at the end of 2002.
In theory, this was all to the good. Banks could make fees by packaging and selling their loans. If they still wanted mortgage exposure, they could hold on to their loans or buy the MBS of other originators and diversify their holdings geographically. Pension funds and other investors could buy securitized products tailored for the cash flow and risk characteristics they wanted. The distribution of the securities beyond U.S. banks to investors around the world acted as a buffer by spreading risks wider than the banking system.
But there was a dark side. The market became opaque as structured products grew increasingly complex and difficult to understand even for sophisticated investors. Collateralized debt obligations, or CDOs, were created to carve up mortgages and other debt instruments into increasingly exotic components, or tranches, with a wide variety of payment and risk characteristics. Before long, financial engineers were creating CDOs out of other CDOs—or CDOs-squared.
Lacking the ability of traditional lenders to examine the credit quality of the loans underlying these securities, investors relied on rating agencies—which employed statistical analyses rather than detailed studies of individual borrowers—to rate the structured products. Since investors typically wanted higher-rated securities, the structurers of CDOs sometimes turned to so-called monoline insurance companies, which would for a fee guarantee the creditworthiness of their products, many of which were loaded with subprime mortgages. Savvy investors seeking protection often bought credit default swaps on the CDOs and other mortgage-backed products they owned from deep-pocketed financial companies like American International Group (AIG).
As financial companies scrambled to feed the profit machine with mortgage-backed securities, lending standards deteriorated badly. The drive to make as many loans as possible, combined with the severing of the traditional prudential relationship between borrower and lender, would prove lethal. Questionable new loan products were peddled, from option adjustable-rate mortgages to no-income-no-job-no-assets (NINJA) loans. By the end of 2006, 20 percent of all new mortgages were subprime; by 2007, more than 50 percent of subprime loans were originated by mortgage brokers.
All of this was complicated by the rapidly growing levels of leverage in the financial system and by the efforts of many financial institutions to skirt regulatory capital constraints in their quest for profits. Excessive leverage was evident in nearly all quarters.
This leverage was hardly limited to mortgage-related securities. We were in the midst of a general credit bubble. Banks and investment banks were financing record-size leveraged buyouts on increasingly more lenient terms. “Covenant-lite” loans appeared, in which bankers eased restrictions in order to allow borrowers, like private-equity firms, increased flexibility on repayment.
Indeed, I recall a dinner at the New York Fed on June 26, 2007, that was attended by the heads of some of Wall Street’s biggest banks. All were concerned with excessive risk taking in the markets and appalled by the erosion of underwriting standards. The bankers complained about all the covenant-lite loans and bridge loans they felt compelled by competitive pressure to make.
I remember Jamie Dimon, the JPMorgan chairman and CEO, saying that such loans, made mostly to private-equity firms, did not make sense, and that his bank wouldn’t be making any more of them. Lloyd Blankfein said Goldman, too, would not enter into any such transactions. Steve Schwarzman, the CEO of Blackstone, a dominant private-equity firm, acknowledged he had been getting attractive terms and added that he wasn’t in the business of turning down attractive money.
Chuck Prince, the Citigroup CEO, asked whether, given the competitive pressures, there wasn’t a role for regulators to tamp down some of the riskier practices. Basically, he asked: “Isn’t there something you can do to order us not to take all of these risks?”
Not long after, I remember, Prince was quoted as saying, “As long as the music is playing, you’ve got to get up and dance.”
It was, in retrospect, the end of an era. The music soon stopped. Two of the CEOs at that dinner—Prince and Jimmy Cayne of Bear Stearns—would be gone shortly, their institutions reeling.
Leverage works just great when times are good, but when they turn bad it magnifies losses in a hurry. Among the first to suffer when housing prices fell were a pair of multibillion-dollar hedge funds set up by Bear Stearns that had made leveraged investments in mortgage-related securities that subsequently went bad. By late July both funds had effectively shut down.
Bad news came fast, from within and outside the United States. Spooked investors began to shun certain kinds of mortgage-related paper, causing liquidity to dry up and putting pressure on investment vehicles like the now-notorious structured investment vehicles, or SIVs. A number of banks administered SIVs to facilitate their origination of mortgages and other products while minimizing their capital requirements, since the SIV assets could be kept off the banks’ balance sheets.
These entities borrowed heavily in short-term markets to buy typically longer-dated, highly rated structured debt securities—CDOs and the like. To fund these purchases, these SIVs typically issued commercial paper, short-term notes sold to investors outside of the banking system. This paper was backed by the assets the SIVs held; although the SIVs were frequently set up as stand-alone entities and kept off banks’ balance sheets, some maintained contingent lines of credit with banks to reassure buyers of their so-called asset-backed commercial paper, or ABCP.
Financing illiquid assets like real estate with short-term borrowings has long been a recipe for disaster, as the savings and loan crisis of the 1980s and early 1990s demonstrated. But by 2007, several dozen SIVs owned some $400 billion in assets, bought with funds that could disappear virtually overnight. And disappear these funds did—as investors refused to roll loans over even when they appeared fully collateralized. The banks like Citi that stood behind the SIVs now faced a huge potential drain on their capital at just the moment they had to contend with a liquidity crunch.
SIVs weren’t the only issuers of asset-backed commercial paper. Other entities that invested in debt securities relied on that market—as did a number of specialized mortgage lenders, which lacked access to the retail deposits of their commercial bank rivals. They were all part of a shadow banking market that had grown quickly and out of the sight of regulators. By 2007, some $1.2 trillion in asset-backed commercial paper was outstanding.
These issuers had found willing buyers in pension funds, money market funds, and other institutional investors eager to pick up a little yield over, say, U.S. Treasuries on what they considered a perfectly safe investment. But after the Bear Stearns hedge funds blew up, and with mortgage securities being downgraded by the rating agencies, the assets backing up the ABCP no longer seemed so safe. Investors stopped buying, a disaster for investment funds that owned longer-term hard-to-sell securities.
IKB Deutsche Industriebank, a German lender that specialized in lending to midsize industrial firms, discovered this in late July 2007 when an SIV it ran was having difficulty rolling over its commercial paper. The German government stepped in and organized a bank-led 3.5 billion-euro ($4.8 billion) rescue. As we watched LIBOR-based funding tighten, we began to wonder if European banks were in as good a shape as they had been claiming.
Then on August 6, attention switched back to the U.S. when American Home Mortgage Investment Corporation, a midsize mortgage lender, filed for bankruptcy, unable to sell its commercial paper. The market was becoming increasingly unsettled. With mortgage-related paper plunging in value—the triple-A portion of the ABX index hit 45 percent of face value in late July—and, with no buyers for asset-backed commercial paper, the securitization business ground to a halt, even as banks began to shy away from lending to one another, driving LIBOR lending rates up.
Part of the problem was in the nature of these shadow banking markets: their lack of transparency made it impossible for investors to judge the value of what they were invested in, whether an SIV or a CDO or a CDO-squared. Perhaps only one-third of the $400 billion in SIV assets were mortgage-related, but investors had no way of knowing precisely what was owned by the SIV they were lending to or had purchased a piece of.
It was, as Bob Steel memorably described it, the financial version of mad cow disease: only a small portion of the available beef supply may be affected, but the infection is so deadly that consumers avoid all beef. Just so, investors shunned anything they thought might be infected with toxic mortgage paper. In practical terms this meant that very solid borrowers—from the Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh to the New Jersey Turnpike Authority—could see their normal funding sources evaporate.
Despite the actions of the ECB and the Fed, markets relentlessly tightened. By August 15, Countrywide Financial Corporation, the biggest U.S. mortgage originator, had run into trouble. It had funded its loans in an obscure market known as the repurchase, or repo, market, where it could essentially borrow on a secured basis. Suddenly its counterparties were shunning it. On the following day, it announced that it was drawing down on $11.5 billion in backup lines with banks, unnerving the market. A week later, Bank of America Corporation invested $2 billion in the company in return for convertible preferred shares potentially worth 16 percent of the company. (It would agree to buy Countrywide in January 2008.)
On August 17, the Fed responded to market difficulties by cutting its discount rate by half a percentage point, to 5.75 percent, citing downside risks to growth from tightening credit. The central bank announced a temporary change to allow banks to borrow for up to 30 days, versus its normal one-day term, until the Fed determined that market liquidity had improved.
Investors ran away from securities that made them nervous—driving the current yield of 30-day ABCP up to 6 percent (from 5.28 percent in mid-July)—and began to accumulate Treasury bonds and notes, long the safest securities on the planet. This classic flight-to-quality nearly resulted in a failed auction of four-week bills on August 21, when massive demand for government paper so muddied the price discovery process that, ironically, some dealers pulled back from bidding to avoid potential losses. As a result, there were barely enough bids to cover the auction, so yields shot up despite the strong real demand. Karthik Ramanathan, head of Treasury’s Office of Debt Management, had to reassure global investors that the problems stemmed from too much demand, not too little. In the end, the Treasury auctioned off $32 billion in four-week bills at a discount rate of 4.75 percent, nearly 2 percentage points higher than the prior day’s closing yield.
The next morning, Ben and I briefed Senate Banking Committee chair Chris Dodd on the markets. Dodd had interrupted his presidential campaign for what appeared to be a publicity event. I was new enough to Washington to be put off by this request, and I was also frustrated that GSE reform had been held up during the year.
Ben and I met with Dodd in his office at the Russell Senate Office Building, discussing the markets and the housing crisis. The affable Dodd was friendly but criticized me to reporters afterward, questioning whether I understood the importance of the subprime mortgage problem.
In fact, I was watching the mortgage market more closely than the senator realized. It was becoming increasingly clear that the housing problems had crossed into the financial system, producing the makings of a much more ominous crisis. The sooner the housing correction ran its course, the sooner the credit markets would also stabilize.
The president had encouraged me to put together a foreclosure initiative that we could launch before Congress returned after Labor Day. On August 31, I stood beside President Bush as he tasked me, along with Housing and Urban Development secretary Alphonso Jackson, to spearhead an effort to identify struggling home-owners and help them keep their primary residences. We began by announcing an expansion of a Federal Housing Administration program and a proposed tax change to make it easier to restructure mortgages.
The administration’s goal was to minimize as much as possible the pain of foreclosure for Americans, without rewarding speculators or those who walked away from their obligations when their mortgages were underwater. We knew we couldn’t stop all foreclosures—in an average year 600,000 homes were foreclosed on. But we sought to avoid what we called preventable foreclosures by helping those who wanted to stay put in their homes and who, with some loan modifications, had the basic financial ability to do so. In practice this meant working with homeowners who held subprime adjustable-rate mortgages and who could afford the low initial rate before the first reset kicked their monthly payments up to more than they could afford.
Complicating matters, we learned that many foreclosures occurred for the simple, if appalling, reason that borrowers frequently didn’t communicate with their lenders. Indeed, after mortgage loans were made and securitized, the only communication borrowers had was with the mortgage servicers, the institutions that collected and processed the payments. Fearful of foreclosure, only 2 to 5 percent of delinquent borrowers, on average, responded to servicers’ letters about their mortgages, and those who did had trouble reaching the right person to help them. The servicers were not prepared for the tidal wave of borrowers who needed to modify their loans.
In addition, the mechanics of securitization impeded speedy modifications: homeowners no longer dealt with a single lender. Their mortgages had been sliced and diced and sold to investors around the world, making the modification process much more difficult.
I asked special assistant Neel Kashkari to take on the foreclosure effort. He promptly set up a series of meetings that included lenders, subprime servicers, counseling agencies, and industry advocacy groups like the American Securitization Forum (ASF) and the Mortgage Bankers Association, with the goal of getting the parties to improve communication and coordinate their actions to avoid preventable foreclosures. I told my team that I didn’t want to hear of a single family being foreclosed on if they could be saved with a modification.
On October 10, HUD and Treasury unveiled the result of Neel’s efforts: the HOPE Now Alliance, created to reach out to struggling borrowers and encourage them to work with counselors and their mortgage servicers. This sounded simple, but it had never been tried before. Notably, the program would not require any government funding.
We felt a sense of urgency. As bad as things were, we knew they would get a lot worse. We calculated that about 1.8 million subprime ARMs would reset from 2008 to 2010.
To deal with this problem, Neel worked with the ASF and the big lenders on ways to speed up loan modifications. Surprisingly, the servicers contended that resets were not the critical issue. Rather, a good number of borrowers had other circumstances that drove them into foreclosure; many were overextended with other debts—auto loans or credit cards, for example. As Treasury’s chief economist Phill Swagel looked into the loans, he saw that often the original underwriting was not the sole cause of foreclosures. As he would put it, “Too many borrowers were in the wrong house, not the wrong mortgage.”
Still, resets remained a concern, and we pushed the industry for faster loan modifications. Given the volume of problem mortgages, lenders could no longer take a loan-by-loan approach; we needed a streamlined solution. FDIC chairman Sheila Bair, who deserves credit for identifying the foreclosure debacle early, had proposed freezing rates. Treasury worked with the HOPE Now Alliance and the ASF to come up with a workable plan, and on December 6, 2007, I announced that thanks to this effort, up to two-thirds of the subprime loans scheduled to reset in 2008 and 2009 would be eligible for fast-tracking into affordable refinanced or modified mortgages.
My announcement was part of a bigger presentation that day at the White House in which President Bush laid out a program that would freeze interest rates for five years for those people who had the basic means to stay in their homes. The president also explained our outreach program, but this did not go off without a hitch: When it came time to announce the counseling hotline, instead of saying, “1-888-995-HOPE,” he said, “1-800-995-HOPE,” which turned out to be the number of a Texas-based group that provided Christian homeschooling material.
Despite this inauspicious start, many people called the hotline and were able to get help and keep their homes. But after all of our concerns about resets, interest rates ended up not being an issue once the Fed began to cut rates. By the end of January 2008, the central bank had slashed the Fed funds rate to 3 percent from 5.25 percent in mid-August.
HOPE Now received criticism from all sides of the political spectrum. Conservatives didn’t like the idea of bailing out homeowners, even though HOPE Now gave out no public money. Many Democrats and housing advocates complained that we weren’t doing enough, but much of this (from lawmakers, anyway) was posturing—until late 2008, there was no congressional support to spend money to prevent foreclosures.
HOPE Now wasn’t perfect, but I think it was an overall success. Government action was essential because even a few foreclosures could blight an entire community, depressing the property values of homeowners who were current on their payments, destroying jobs, and setting off a downward spiral. The program helped a great many homeowners get loan modifications or refinance into fixed-rate mortgages—almost 700,000 in just the last three months of 2008 alone, more than half of them subprime borrowers. The Alliance grew to include servicers that handled 90 percent of subprime mortgages.
But the hard fact was that we could not help people with larger financial issues—those who had lost their jobs, for example. And as the credit crisis continued, I became concerned that a slowdown in consumer lending could lead to full-fledged recession. After investors stopped buying asset-backed commercial paper in the wake of August’s credit meltdown, it was harder for people to get all kinds of loans—credit cards or loans for cars and college. The banks, forced to put on their balance sheets loans previously financed by asset-backed commercial paper, suddenly became stingy with new credits.
Throughout the fall of 2007, the markets remained tight and unpredictable. In mid-September, British mortgage lender Northern Rock sought emergency support from the Bank of England, sparking a run on deposits. Coincidentally, I had scheduled a trip to France and the U.K. just a couple of days later, flying first to Paris on September 16 to meet with President Nicolas Sarkozy and his finance minister, Christine Lagarde. I noted how the French leader took a political approach to the financial markets. In his view, political leaders needed to take decisive action to revive public confidence—and he wanted to scapegoat the rating agencies.
I disagreed. “The rating agencies have made a lot of mistakes,” I told him. “But it’s hard to say that all of this should be blamed on them.”
Still, I had to give Sarkozy credit: he understood the growing public resentment and the need for government to take aggressive actions to satisfy it. And the rating agencies did need to be reformed.
Overall, I found the French president to be engaging, with a biting sense of humor. He joked with me about the many Goldman Sachs leaders who had worked for the government. Perhaps he should look for a job at Goldman in a few years, he said. I can only wonder what he might think today.
I had become more worried over the summer about the dangers posed by the hidden leverage of major U.S. banks. Though entities like SIVs ostensibly operated off balance sheets, the banks frequently remained connected to them through, among other things, backup lines of credit. Starved for funding, the SIVs would have to turn to their sponsoring banks for help or liquidate their holdings at bargain prices, devastating a wide range of market participants.
I asked Bob Steel, Tony Ryan, and Karthik Ramanathan to figure out a private-sector solution. They presented me with a plan for what we would dub the Master Liquidity Enhancement Conduit, or MLEC. (Because this was a mouthful, the press ended up calling it the Super SIV.)
The idea was simple. Private-sector banks would set up an investment fund to buy the high-rated but illiquid assets from the SIVs. With the explicit backing of the biggest banks, and Treasury’s encouragement, the MLEC would be able to finance itself by issuing commercial paper. With secure financing to hold securities longer-term, it would avert panic selling, help set more rational prices in the market, allow existing SIVs to wind down in orderly fashion, and restore liquidity to the short-term market. We just needed to get everyone on board.
Industry leaders had a mixed response to the plan. Finally, on October 15, 2007, a month after the first meeting, JPMorgan, Bank of America, and Citi announced that they and other banks would put in upward of $75 billion to fund MLEC, but the announcement met with skepticism in the press. Critics predicted that the industry would never go along with the plan, and in the end, they were right. Banks dealt with the problem assets themselves by taking them onto their balance sheets or selling them.
The bad news mounted. Bank after bank announced multi-billion-dollar write-downs, losses, or drastically shrunken profits as they reported wretched results for the third quarter and made dire forecasts for the fourth. In the U.S., Merrill Lynch was the first big bank to be rocked. On October 24, it announced the biggest quarterly loss in its history—$2.3 billion—and CEO Stan O’Neal resigned less than a week later. Then Citi blew up. In early November, it announced it faced a possible $11 billion in write-downs on top of $5.9 billion it had taken the previous month, and Chuck Prince was out. (By year-end, John Thain had replaced O’Neal, and Vikram Pandit had been chosen to succeed Prince.)
The next day, November 5, Fitch Ratings said it was reviewing the financial strength of triple-A-rated monoline insurers. This raised the prospect of a wave of downgrades on the more than $2 trillion worth of securities they insured, many of them mortgage backed. Banks would be obligated to take losses as they wrote down the value of the assets on which these insurance guarantees were no longer reliable. With traders betting that the Fed would further slash interest rates, the U.S. dollar slid, and the euro and pound hit new highs.
From the onset of the crisis, I had leaned on the banks to raise capital to fortify themselves in a difficult period, and many of them took my advice, issuing stock and seeking overseas investors. In October, Bear Stearns reached an agreement with Citic Securities, the state-owned Chinese investment company, in which each firm would invest $1 billion in the other. This would give Citic a 6 percent stake in Bear, with an option to buy 3.9 percent more. In December, Morgan Stanley sold a 9.9 percent stake to state-owned China Investment Corporation for $5 billion, and Merrill Lynch announced that it would sell a $4.4 billion stake, along with an option to buy another $600 million in stock, to Singapore’s state-run Temasek Holdings.
But not everyone was pulling in their horns. In October, Lehman and Bank of America committed a whopping $17.1 billion of debt and $4.6 billion of bridge equity to finance the acquisition of the Archstone-Smith Trust, a nationwide owner and manager of residential apartment buildings.
Even as this frothy deal closed, the economy as a whole was coming under increasing stress. Energy costs skyrocketed, with a barrel of oil approaching the $100 mark, and consumer confidence declined along with new-home sales and housing prices. The United States, long the engine of worldwide economic growth, was running out of steam. Volatility wracked the markets: between November 1 and November 7, the Dow dropped 362 points one day, rose 117 points five days later, then plunged 361 points the day after that, partly because of the weak dollar. By mid-November the dollar had dropped 14 percent over the preceding year against the euro, to the $1.46 level.
Many people around the world blamed the U.S. for the crisis—specifically, Anglo-American-style capitalism. Federal Reserve chairman Ben Bernanke and I flew separately to the G-20 gathering in Cape Town, South Africa, that month with one intention: to buttress confidence in the United States. The timing was fortuitous. The G-20 was an increasingly important group because it included both developed economies and such emerging-markets powerhouses as China, India, and Brazil. We were able to reach out directly and reassure the representatives of these countries, which accounted for just under 75 percent of global gross domestic product (GDP).
At the meeting Ben and I took pains to reassure our fellow finance ministers and central bankers of our commitment to a strong U.S. economy and currency. At the same time, we tried to make clear that the main problem was not the dollar but the financial system in general—under strain from the rapid global deleveraging and the threat it posed to our economy. We emphasized how focused we were on that problem.
Before I left Cape Town, I was fortunate to have a private breakfast in my hotel room with China’s central bank governor, Zhou Xiaochuan, a charming, straightforward old friend and committed reformer. Our group was staying at a beautiful resort, Hôtel Le Vendôme, outside of Cape Town, and my room overlooked the sea and a golf course, where I’d stolen a few moments to go birding the previous day. At one point, Zhou and I stepped out on the balcony to take in the splendor of a South African summer morning.
I had been pressing the Chinese to move ahead with the liberalization of their financial markets by opening them more to foreign competition, but now Zhou told me that with the U.S. markets in disarray, China was not prepared to give us the capital markets opening we wanted. Zhou did tell me he was confident there would be progress in other important areas.
Not long after the G-20 meeting, I went to Beijing for the Third China-U.S. Strategic Economic Dialogue, and my deputy chief of staff, Taiya Smith, and I met with my Chinese counterpart, Vice Premier Wu Yi, ahead of the formal sessions. After months of negotiations with the Chinese, Taiya had arranged this special meeting so I could make one last push for raising the equity caps that limited the percentage of ownership that foreigners could hold in Chinese financial institutions. The Chinese had been under pressure from the U.S. and other countries to no longer maintain an artificially weak currency that prevented market forces from helping China rebalance its economy, which was overly reliant on cheap exports. Popular opinion attributed China’s large trade imbalances and huge capital reserves to its currency policy, but this was only part of the story. The bigger factor, in my view, was the lack of savings by Americans, which translated into our massive levels of imports and overreliance on foreign capital flows. And because the Chinese managed their currency to move in sync with the dollar, other trading partners, particularly Canada and European countries, had begun to complain about swelling imbalances. I explained, as I often had, that a currency that reflected market reality was a key to China’s continued economic reform and progress. It would alleviate mounting inflationary pressure in China, spurring the development of its domestic market and reducing its dependence on exports.
Wu Yi looked at me directly and said she could do nothing to change the equity caps at that point. However, she quickly followed up by saying that my arguments on the currency were more persuasive.
She said no more on the subject, but I knew that I would not be going home to Washington empty-handed. We had made great progress on food and product safety and on an effort to combat illegal logging. But most important, over the next six months I watched the yuan, which was trading at 7.43 to the dollar in December, strengthen to about 6.81 by mid-July. China’s sudden flexibility not only benefited that country but would help forestall protectionist sentiment in the U.S. Congress.
On the financial side, however, the bad news piled up day by day. In mid-November, Bank of America and Legg Mason said they would spend hundreds of millions of dollars to prop up their faltering money market funds, which had gotten burned buying debt from SIVs. Although the public considered money market funds among the safest investments, some funds had loaded up on asset-backed commercial paper in hopes of raising returns.
Meantime, the credit markets relentlessly tightened as banks grew increasingly reluctant to lend to one another. One key measure of the confidence banks had in one another, the LIBOR-OIS spread—which measures the rate they charge each other for funds—had begun to widen dramatically. Traditionally this rate had stood at about 10 basis points, or 0.10 percent. The spread jumped to 40 basis points on August 9, and climbed to 95.4 basis points in mid-September, before easing to just under 43 basis points on October 31. But then the markets sharply tightened, anticipating big losses at major banks, which would force them to sell assets to increase their liquidity. By the end of November, the LIBOR-OIS spread had topped 100 basis points.
Faced with spiking interbank lending rates, the Fed on November 15 pumped $47.25 billion in temporary reserves into the banking system—its biggest such injection since 9/11. The Fed continued to take extraordinary steps in December to ease liquidity in the markets. On the 11th it cut both the discount rate and Fed funds rate by 25 basis points, to 4.75 percent and 4.25 percent, respectively. On the 12th it announced that it had established $24 billion in “swap lines” with the European Central Bank and the Swiss National Bank to increase the supply of dollars to overseas credit markets.
The following day the Fed unveiled the Term Auction Facility (TAF), which was designed to lend funds to depository institutions for terms of between 28 and 84 days against a wide range of collateral. Launched in conjunction with similar programs undertaken by central banks of other countries, TAF was created to give banks an alternative to the Fed discount window, whose use had long carried a stigma; banks feared that if they borrowed directly from the Fed, their creditors and clients would assume that they were in trouble.
The first TAF, on December 17, 2007, auctioned $20 billion in 28-day credit; the second, three days later, provided an additional $20 billion in 35-day credit. Banks hungrily lapped up the funds, and on December 21 the Fed said it would continue the auctions as long as necessary.
While helpful to the financial system, such measures could not halt the broader economy’s ongoing slide. When the White House first began to consider a tax stimulus, right after Thanksgiving, I hated the idea. For me, a stimulus program was the equivalent of dropping money out of the sky—a highly scattershot and short-term solution. But by mid-December 2007 it was clear that the economy had hit a brick wall.
I’m no economist, but I’m good at talking to people and figuring out what’s happening. After speaking with a variety of business executives, I knew that the problems from financial services had spilled over into the broader economy. In mid-December, after I’d returned from China, I traveled around the country to promote HOPE Now. I talked with local officials, large and small businesses, and citizens in places hard-hit by foreclosures, including Orlando, Florida; Kansas City, Missouri; and Stockton, California. I called Josh Bolten from the road and told him to tell the president that the economy had slowed down very noticeably. Clearly, we needed to do something, for economic—and political—reasons.
On January 2, 2008, I met with the president, and he asked me to consult with Congress, investors, and business leaders so we could make a decision when he returned from an eight-day overseas trip. I’d had enough conversations with the president to know that he was prepared to move quickly and in a bipartisan way as long as the program was designed to have an immediate impact, which almost certainly meant transfer payments to those with low incomes. This was a touchy point for Republicans, but the president was not an ideologue: he wanted to see quick results.
During the first half of January, I made a number of outreach calls to both Republicans and Democrats on the Hill, consistently arguing that each side needed to compromise to create a program that would be timely, temporary, and simple, yet big enough to make a difference. The legislation, I stressed, shouldn’t be used to further the longer-term policy goals of either party. The Republicans were reluctantly willing to go along with a stimulus plan if we didn’t add things like increased unemployment insurance, but Democratic leaders believed that we had to address needs that could only be handled through traditional programs like unemployment insurance and food stamps. Still, I thought we could hold the line; House Speaker Nancy Pelosi wanted a deal badly enough to control the most liberal members of her caucus.
On Friday, January 18, President Bush called for a spending package of 1 percent of GDP, or about $150 billion, designed to give the economy a “shot in the arm” with one-time tax rebates and tax breaks to encourage businesses to buy equipment. I gave interviews all day to reinforce the president’s decision. The weekend and following week, I knew, would be filled with negotiations with lawmakers.
On the following Tuesday I went to Nancy Pelosi’s conference room to meet with the Speaker, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer, and House Minority Leader John Boehner. Reid and McConnell agreed to let the House take the lead on the stimulus, and Pelosi—clearly hungry for a bipartisan achievement after a slow first year as Speaker—worked her tail off. She dropped demands for unemployment and food stamp benefits in exchange for tax rebates for virtually everyone, regardless of whether they paid income tax or not.
The combination of slumping financial markets and the growing macroeconomic concerns gave us a powerful impetus. Economic conditions had become so worrisome that the Fed, on January 22, slashed the Fed funds rate by 75 basis points, to 3.5 percent, in a rare move made between scheduled Federal Open Market Committee meetings. (On January 30, it would cut the funds rate by another 50 basis points at its regular meeting.)
On January 24—just two days after I first went to the Hill—Pelosi, Boehner, and I announced a tentative agreement for a $150 billion stimulus plan centering on $100 billion in tax rebates for an estimated 117 million American families. Depending on income level, the stimulus would give as much as $1,200 to certain households, with an additional $300 for each child.
Because the stimulus was a bipartisan effort, I had to swallow a few things I didn’t like, including an increase in Fannie and Freddie’s loan limit for high-cost areas, to $729,750 from $417,000. Nonetheless, the stimulus represented a huge political and legislative accomplishment, and President Bush signed it into law on February 13, after a remarkably quick two-week passage through the House and the Senate. And the Internal Revenue Service and Treasury’s Financial Management Service did something that initially seemed impossible: they got all the rebate checks out by July. Some were sent out as early as late April, despite the crunch of tax season.
I hoped the stimulus would solve many of the economic problems. We believed we were looking at a V-shaped recession and assumed that the economy would bottom out in the middle of 2008.
The market difficulties had a decidedly global cast. At the G-7’s fall meeting in Washington, I had begun questioning the strength of European banks; they used a more liberal accounting method than U.S. banks, one that in my opinion covered up weaknesses. In January 2008, a group of Treasury officials, including Acting Undersecretary for International Affairs Clay Lowery, traveled to Europe to get a better handle on what was happening in its financial sector. After visiting a number of countries, including the U.K., France, Switzerland, and Germany, they concluded that Treasury’s suspicions were correct: European banking was weaker than officials were letting on.
On February 17, just a few days after President Bush signed the stimulus bill, U.K. chancellor of the Exchequer Alistair Darling announced that the British government would nationalize Northern Rock. The credit crisis had pushed the big mortgage lender to the brink of failure.
In the U.S., the markets continued to slip, troubled by oil prices, a weakening dollar, and ongoing concerns about credit. Over the week of March 3–7, the Dow lost almost 373 points, ending at 11,894—far below the 14,000 of the preceding October. That Thursday I traveled to California for a round of appearances in the San Francisco Bay Area, including a speech on March 7 at the Stanford Institute for Economic Policy Research. My talk centered on the U.S. housing situation, and I outlined our continuing efforts with HOPE Now and fast-track modifications, pointing out that more than 1 million mortgages, 680,000 of them subprime, had been reworked. In the question-and-answer period that followed, I fielded a query about whether I would consider guaranteeing mortgage-backed bonds issued by Freddie and Fannie. I sidestepped this, saying that the institutions needed reform and a strong regulator.
My audience included former Treasury secretary Larry Summers, who told me before the speech that he’d been looking into the GSEs. “This is a huge problem,” he said. Working off public numbers, he had done some analysis that led him to believe they were likely to need a lot of capital. “They are a disaster waiting to happen,” he said.
While I shared Larry’s concerns about the GSEs, in my mind the monoline insurers presented a more immediate problem. They had become the latest segment of finance hurt by the spiraling credit crisis, and their troubles imperiled a vast range of debt.
Fitch Ratings had downgraded Ambac Financial Group, the second-largest bond insurer, to AA in January. The move raised concerns that rival rating agencies would follow suit, causing other insurers to lose their high ratings. That meant that the paper they insured faced downgrades, including the low-risk debt that local governments issued to pay for their operations. Forced to pay more to borrow, U.S. cities might have to reduce services and postpone needed projects.
The monoline troubles had spilled over into yet another market sector—that of auction-rate notes, which were longer-term, variable-rate securities whose interest rates were set at periodic auctions. The market was sizable—slightly more than $300 billion—and was used chiefly by municipalities and other public bodies to raise debt, as well as by closed-end mutual funds, which issued preferred equity.
The vast majority of the auction-rate notes had bond insurance or some other form of credit enhancement. But with the monolines shaky, investors shunned the auction-rate market, which completely froze in February, as hundreds of auctions failed for lack of buyers. The brokerage firms that sold the securities had typically stepped in to buy them when demand lagged. But faced with their own problems they were no longer doing so.
Although the monolines did not have a federal-level regulator, I had asked Tony Ryan and Bob Steel to look for ways to be helpful to Eric Dinallo, the superintendent of insurance for New York State, who regulated most of the big monolines and had begun work on a rescue plan. New York governor Eliot Spitzer also got involved, testifying on the insurers’ troubles before a House Financial Services subcommittee on February 14.
I knew the governor from his days as New York State attorney general, and he called me on February 19 and 20 to discuss potential solutions. I saw him at the Gridiron Club’s annual dinner, held at the Renaissance Washington DC Hotel on March 8.
This good-natured roast of the capital’s political elite drew more than 600 people, including Condi Rice and a number of other Cabinet members. President Bush supplemented his white tie and tails with a cowboy hat and sang a song about “the brown, brown grass of home” to mark his last Gridiron dinner as president.
Wendy and I were glad to have a chance to chat with Eliot, whom Wendy knew from her environmental work, when he came up to the dais to speak to us. He was friendly and relaxed, and he looked like a million bucks as he talked to me about the monolines and thanked me for Bob Steel’s help.
Looking back now, I realize that Spitzer must have known that he would be named within days as the customer of a call-girl service, and that his world would come crashing down. But that night he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.