As a banker and economist, I am riveted by the expeditious demise of Silicon Valley Bank and other institutions. Were these crashes due to bank mismanagement, as many pundits as well as regulators have posited? Were they due to not managing risk, not hedging, and unfettered exposure to sectors of concern? Or maybe something else is afoot, a movement that may have begun a decade ago.
Recall the Great Recession (2008–10), buoyed by a housing and mortgage crisis created by imprudent lending practices, and then the music stopped. In its inimitable wisdom, the government came in legislatively and regulatorily, via Dodd-Frank, crafting what they thought was a belt-and-suspenders approach to avoiding another debacle.
Certain banks were redefined as systematically important financial institutions (SIFI), to be protected at all costs, while establishing a guided risk regimen. Whether due to the additional compliance costs of Dodd-Frank or demographic changes in the market or the need for better economies of scale, we witnessed a consolidation of smaller banks, reducing the gross number from 7,700 to 4,200 over the subsequent ten years.
The US banking system—with its diversity of institutions, from money centers to community banks, harboring in urban and rural settings—is unique on the world stage. We have vastly more banks than any other country, both by design and opportunity. This has contributed to entrepreneurship through local lending, supporting farming communities, and a general competitive economy.
The increasingly reductive nature of this industry doesn’t appear to be just another macroshakeout. Silicon Valley Bank (SVB) was a well-run institution, yet within days, it went from hero to zero. CEO Greg Becker and his team were accused of mismanagement, including being accused of precipitously monetizing stock options.
Hopefully, a little perspective will be insightful.
SVB, like most US banks, has seen over the last twenty years a consistent reduction in relative lending activity, as measured by loan-to-deposit ratios. Decades ago, the typical bank targeted a ratio of 80 to 90 percent; the spread between interest collected on loans and interest paid on deposits was the core bank revenue model. To manage lending and overall balance sheet levels, the regulators would toggle the “reserve requirement“—namely, the amount of on-hand cash that would be needed to address deposit withdrawals.
To stimulate the economy with new lending, the regulators gradually reduced the reserve requirement to zilch, nada, zero, meaning that the banks no longer had to maintain a level of ready cash for withdrawals. Now consider that with the proliferation of nonbank lenders, the current loan-to-deposit ratio sits at roughly 62 percent nationwide. With no cash requirement, the banks (including SVB) have built extensive securities portfolios, largely gilts (treasury- and government-guaranteed mortgage securities). Reallocating the asset side of their balance sheets into purportedly risk-free assets should have been considered a very conservative portfolio move. In fact, looking at the SVB balance sheet at the time of its takeover, its loan-to-deposit ratio was a mere 43 percent. Most would say, “Good on you.”
Page back to Dodd-Frank and its imposition of stress tests, capitalization levels, and risk assessments. It failed significantly in addressing the changing balance sheet composition of banks, from ledgers dominated by “credit risk assets” (i.e., loans) to the significant inclusion of assets subject to “interest rate risk.” With the recent quantitative tightening (i.e., rising rates), so-called risk-free assets were fixed rate, longer duration investments, which moved inversely with interest rates. As such, the “conservative gilt” portfolios ended up as a financial hara-kiri. By recognizing the current value of the “gilts” given rate moves, such portfolios incurred billions of dollars of losses. And based on the size of such portfolios vis-à-vis overall asset levels, coupled with leveraged banks’ equity, to which the losses are allocated, banks would find themselves either capital-impaired or rendered insolvent.
Simply, Dodd-Frank, in its feigned brilliance in correcting early deficiencies, missed the mark of monitoring “interest rate risk,” now the bane of the current banking environment.
Further, SVB is not alone in its broken-gilt affair. Reviewing call reports of the top two hundred banks in the US, nearly two-thirds find themselves in a comparable position with pro forma capital impairment. In fact, in April 2023, the Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City reported that as of quarter three of 2022, 722 banks in the US reflected unrealized losses of over 50 percent of their capital. An industry in distress? You betcha.
Banks are highly regulated, compelled to ongoing reporting and subject to strict regulation and legislative tomes like Dodd-Frank. There are a battery of regulatory bodies overseeing them, from the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency to the Federal Reserve Bank, the Department of the Treasury, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, the Federal Financial Institutions Examination Council, and others. Yet, disturbingly, in their collective wisdom, they did not see the confluence of balance sheet composition, high leverage, and no reserve requirement in the wake of the rapid Federal Reserve rate hikes. Couple this with the rising risk in loan portfolios, particularly commercial real estate and consumer portfolios, and it’s powder keg time.
These are not “aha” observations. Banks report, and the regulators have a fiduciary responsibility to monitor and manage the space. Portfolio quality and monetary policy should not be surprises. Events are dynamic. Yet, one wonders whether the industry status is the result of regulator ignorance bordering on insanity, or might this be something orchestrated with intent?
Recall the Bidenette nominee for the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency, banking’s primary regulator, Saule Omarova. She had some unique views on how the economy and the banking system should run and authored an intriguing paper entitled “The People’s Ledger: How to Democratize Money and Finance the Economy.” Simply, her proposition involved moving all customer deposits held at our four thousand plus banks to be redeposited onto the Fed’s balance sheet, where everyone would hold their account.
It would then become easier for the government to “drop in” helicopter money and facilitate payments. And with banks no longer holding deposits, such would tap into the Fed, borrowing funds so to make loans to their respective borrowers, all in the spirit of efficiency and targeting funds into the economy where needed.
Panacea?
Consider, also referenced in the paper, how the Fed would have the ability to drop money into accounts directly. Alternatively, it could remove money from accounts if the Fed and the govvies believe that there are inflationary pressures and there’s a need to restrict the money supply. On the lending side, due to the “mother, may I” nature of banks borrowing from the Fed to lend to their borrowers, policy makers could weigh in. Industries in favor, like the green industry, would have access to credit, whereas industries out of favor, like fossil fuels, may need to borrow outside the banking system. Ms. Omarova’s People’s Ledger bank could embark on redlining.
In effect, Ms. Omarova’s postulate seems Orwellian—the centralization of the banking spigot under the auspices of efficiency and fairness. Ultimately, she withdrew her nomination as it became clear she would not be confirmed.
But her paper resonates as she envisaged a centralization, consolidating an industry for policy purposes. There are certainly those who subscribe to central control; thus, might not a banking crisis (i.e., reducing bank numbers) allow the People’s Ledger to manifest?
So, do we find a crisis due to exogenous circumstances or thoughtful endogeny? A crisis of neglect or one carefully planned?
Finally, it is noted that the release of FedNow, the Federal Reserve’s payment platform, is scheduled for July 2023, which looks incredibly like the People’s Ledger.
Coincidence?
Article cross-posted from Mises.
Two Storms, One Harvest
Every food crisis in living memory has been a one-shock event. The 2008 price spike was a commodity bubble. The 2020 shortages were a logistics failure. The 2022 grain scare was a war on one exporter’s ports. Each time, the system bent, adjusted, and recovered, and each time the experts assured us afterward that global markets are simply too big and too diversified to fail.
What nobody in Washington seems eager to discuss is that 2026 is shaping up to be something the modern food system has never actually faced. Two independent shocks, one climatic and one geopolitical, are converging on the same harvest cycle at the same time. Not sequentially. Simultaneously.
Start with the weather. The Pacific Ocean is currently building toward what forecasters now openly call a record event. NOAA’s Climate Prediction Center puts the odds of at least a strong El Niño near 88 percent, with roughly two in three odds it reaches “very strong” status, the tier reserved for perhaps three or four events in the entire satellite era. Every major global model now projects a median peak in Super El Niño territory, and most of them project it exceeding the 2015-16 event, which until now held the modern record. Sea surface anomalies were already brushing the super threshold in mid-July, months before these events normally peak. The atmosphere has already shifted into El Niño mode, and the event is forecast to crest in late fall and early winter.
This is not about “climate change.” It’s about the standard cycles of weather, and the cycle we’re currently in is one that has likely devastated societies in the past. We’re better prepared as a society today, but not all Americans are equally prepared.
Serious households have started doing the quiet math on their own. Grocery bills tell part of the story, and the forecast maps tell the rest, which is why long-term food storage has moved from fringe hobby to mainstream line item in the family budget, with established suppliers like Heaven’s Harvest seeing demand from people who five years ago would have rolled their eyes at the idea. That instinct is not paranoia. It is pattern recognition, and the pattern is worth walking through carefully.
Editor’s Note: Heaven’s Harvest IS a sponsor, but the warnings of this article are real and would be written even if we didn’t have a survival food sponsor. With that said, those who take advantage of what they offer can use promo code “Patriot” for 15% off.
The Fertilizer Clock Is Already Running
While the Pacific warms, the second shock has been unfolding in the Strait of Hormuz. The conflict with Iran turned the world’s most important energy chokepoint into a contested waterway, and the consequences reach far beyond the gas pump. Roughly a third of global fertilizer trade moves through Hormuz, and the disruption sent urea prices up 86 percent year over year by March, with a 53 percent jump in a single month.
The World Bank projects energy prices rising about 24 percent in 2026 and fertilizer about 31 percent. By its own accounting, fertilizer prices ran 35 percent higher in the first five months of this year than the same period last year.
Here is the mechanism the nightly news will not explain. Fertilizer is not a grocery item. It is a time-delayed input. The nitrogen a farmer in Iowa or Punjab could not afford to apply this spring does not show up as a problem this spring. It shows up as a thinner harvest six to twelve months later.
The World Bank’s own food security brief concedes that the effects of reduced applications earlier this season “are likely to become visible only later in harvest outcomes.” Translate that from institutional language into plain English and it means this. The damage is already done, it is already in the ground, and we are simply waiting for it to arrive on the shelf.
Now check the calendar. Six to twelve months from the spring planting season lands us squarely in late 2026 and early 2027. Which is precisely when the strongest El Niño in the instrumental record is forecast to peak, bringing its signature droughts to Southeast Asia, Australia, southern Africa, northern Brazil, and South Asia, the very regions that grow the world’s rice, sugar, and oilseeds.
The World Bank warns openly that a strong El Niño “could disrupt multiple crop belts simultaneously” on top of the conflict-driven input costs. Their baseline projection assumes the Middle East disruptions ease by autumn. What in the last two years of Middle East history suggests that assumption is safe?
The System Has No Slack Left
The comfortable answer is that global markets always adjust. But adjustment requires slack, and the slack is gone. Global cereal production is expected to decline from last year’s records even before El Niño does its work. The UN World Food Programme, hardly a den of right-wing preppers, is calling this the most significant disruption to its supply chains since Covid and the invasion of Ukraine, and its supply chain director put the stakes bluntly.
Today’s supply chain challenges are tomorrow’s hunger crisis.
There is also a political dimension that markets cannot price. When food gets scarce, governments do not behave like economists. They behave like politicians. Export bans, hoarding mandates, and panic buying at the national level turned the modest rice shortfall of 2008 into a global crisis, and analysts are already warning that import-dependent nations are the first dominoes.
The 2015-16 Super El Niño, a far weaker event than what is now forecast, threw tens of millions into food stress across Africa and Asia. This one is projected to be stronger, and it arrives with fertilizer already rationed by price and shipping lanes already contested by missiles.
What Joseph Knew
Scripture does not treat preparation for lean years as faithlessness. It treats it as wisdom delivered in advance to those willing to act on it.
Behold, there come seven years of great plenty throughout all the land of Egypt: And there shall arise after them seven years of famine; and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt.
Joseph did not respond to that warning with a hashtag or a committee. He stored grain during the years of abundance, and when the famine came, Egypt stood while its neighbors begged. The lesson is not that famine is certain. It is that the time to prepare is precisely when preparation still looks optional.
Nobody who filled a pantry in a year of plenty has ever regretted it, and nobody standing in an empty aisle has ever been glad he waited for certainty.
None of this calls for panic, and panic is the enemy of sound judgment anyway. It calls for the same unglamorous prudence our grandparents considered ordinary. Keep some cash margin, know your local growers, and put real food in deep storage while it is cheap and available, because the entire arc of this story is that cheap and available is a closing window.
Families looking for a straightforward place to start can visit Heaven’s Harvest and use promo code Patriot for 15 percent off long-term storable food. The forecasts may yet soften, the strait may yet reopen, and we should pray they do. But hope is a fine thing to hold and a foolish thing to eat.
