History offers little comfort for the “great deleveraging” process we are experiencing right now. (source: WSJ)

The Great D(eleveraging)

The specter of deleveraging still haunts the financial markets. Rightly so, for the removal of credit from the global economy is a process that feeds on itself. That means that the credit crunch could easily turn into something much nastier.

Before the deleveraging came the leveraging. Take the U.S. The ratio of all sorts of debt to gross domestic product rose to 342% at the end of September 2007 from 160% in 1975. Through 2000, debt increased by 2.4 percentage points a year faster than GDP. But after the turn of the millennium, the rate accelerated almost to 3.7 percentage points a year.

While it was happening, only a few sourpusses complained. Increasing debt was seen as a natural trend. As economies get richer, they have more need for debt-financed investments and inventories. But lending grew much faster after 2000 than even the most gifted apologist could explain away. It was a bubble, which has now been popped.

In a credit bubble, one thing leads to another. You can bid more for a house because banks are willing to lend more. So house prices rise, giving the banks more confidence about lending yet more. So you build an addition or buy a new car.

Multiply that by a few hundred million borrowers and presto, asset prices go up and economic growth is high. Banks rejoiced. They set up off-balance-sheet vehicles that piled on debt. Leveraged-buyout groups borrowed to take companies private; hedge funds borrowed to invest in assets. And so on.

In deleveraging, too, one thing leads to another. Start with a bank that has lost a few billion dollars on subprime mortgages. The bosses are likely to decide that troubled times call for higher capital ratios. That means calling in lines of credit. Some borrowers are forced to sell assets, pulling down prices. The banks then look at the value of their collateral and think: “Oh my god, it’s not worth what we thought.” They then cut their credit again — giving another turn of the deleveraging screw.

The housing market was just the start. A series of debt mountains — credit cards, car loans, LBO loans — risk being leveled. The credit contraction strikes down financial arrangements that once looked solid — from structured investment vehicles to auction-rate securities.

If the original debt helped fuel consumption, deleveraging will feed into lower economic activity. If the original debt fueled asset purchases, the consequence will be lower asset prices. There could be a dual effect because lower asset prices can make people feel poorer and less willing to spend money. This is especially the case with people’s homes.

How far can this go? Historical parallels aren’t terribly comforting. In Japan, a boom in the 1980s was followed by a painful deleveraging. Despite massive government borrowing and five years of a near-zero interest rate on overnight borrowing, the prices of shares and real estate declined by 40% to 70%. The U.K. did better in its deleveraging after 1990 — house prices dropped by 40%, after taking inflation into account, but share prices rose.

Politicians and central bankers are alarmed by the rapid shift to deleveraging. There are limits to what they can do. Sharp interest-rate cuts may not be enough to make banks abandon their newfound caution in lending, especially if loan losses are rising. Higher government deficits may not help either. In a deleveraging world, the government may borrow so much it crowds out private borrowers seeking funds.

The deleveraging snowball will eventually reach the bottom of the mountain. Banks will start to see opportunities, and borrowers will become more courageous. But it could be a long and painful wait.

Think about the Americans with sketchy credit backgrounds who depended on adjustable-rate mortgages to finance home purchases. Many thought they would refinance into fixed-rate mortgages if their adjustable rates reset much higher. Instead, their rates shot up and their banks wouldn't refinance. For many it suddenly becomes impossible to finance the most essential of long-term investments — a home. Nearly 16% of risky, subprime mortgages with adjustable rates were at least 90 days delinquent as of Sept. 30, compared with 6% for subprime mortgages with fixed rates.

Wall Street is getting trapped by short-term borrowing in different ways. Two prime examples from last year were investments known as asset-backed commercial paper and structured investment vehicles. In both cases, banks and their clients went to the short-term commercial-paper markets to raise money. They used the money to acquire long-term investments, such as mortgage debt, or to make long-term loans. When commercial-paper markets seized up, the short-term borrowing rates soured and the strategy imploded.

An old-fashioned bank run works the same way. Depositors put their money in a bank, understanding they can pull it out at a moment's notice. Banks use the money to make long-term loans to businesses or homeowners. When depositors get skittish and demand their money back, the bank has a problem: the funds are tied up for decades with customers. That is what happened to a British mortgage lender called Northern Rock last year. Now, the bank has been nationalized.

Something with similar contours is happening in the auction-rate-securities market. Municipalities, museums, student lenders and others issue these securities, which have interest rates that reset every week to 35 days. They use the money to finance projects or make student loans with long repayment periods. Investors have fled the market, and the municipalities that issue the notes have had to digest soaring interest costs.

There is nothing new about any of this. It was an ingredient in the financial crises that plagued emerging markets in the 1990s. Countries that depended on short-term debt got squeezed when investors became skittish about the miracle stories of emerging-market growth. The savings-and-loan crisis of the 1980s had its roots in a mismatch between the maturities of thrifts' long-term assets and their short-term liabilities.

The U.S. government does the same thing. Much of its debt rolls over within a few months or years, even though its obligations to retirees look out as far as the eye can see.

Borrowing short term works most of the time. In the past 26 years, yields on three-month Treasury bills have been higher than yields on 10-year Treasury notes in only 22 months out of 313, or about 7% of the time.

The trouble is even the most sophisticated bankers have very short-term memories. Because when the strategy doesn't work, the consequences can be dire.