last summer, researchers at the International Monetary Fund settled a long andbitter debate over “neoliberalism”: they admitted it exists. Three senior economistsat the IMF, an organisation not known for its incaution, published a paperquestioning the benefits of neoliberalism. In so doing, they helped put to rest theidea that the word is nothing more than a political slur, or a term without anyanalytic power. The paper gently called out a “neoliberal agenda” for pushingderegulation on economies around the world, for forcing open national markets to trade andcapital, and for demanding that governments shrink themselves via austerity or privatisation.The authors cited statistical evidence for the spread of neoliberal policies since 1980, and theircorrelation with anaemic growth, boom-and-bust cycles and inequality.Neoliberalism is an old term, dating back to the 1930s, but it has been revived as a way ofdescribing our current politics – or more precisely, the range of thought allowed by our politics.In the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis, it was a way of assigning responsibility for thedebacle, not to a political party per se, but to an establishment that had conceded its authorityto the market. For the Democrats in the US and Labour in the UK, this concession was depictedas a grotesque betrayal of principle. Bill Clinton and Tony Blair, it was said, had abandoned theleft’s traditional commitments, especially to workers, in favour of a global financial elite andthe self-serving policies that enriched them; and in doing so, had enabled a sickening rise ininequality.Over the past few years, as debates have turned uglier, the word has become a rhetoricalweapon, a way for anyone left of centre to incriminate those even an inch to their right. (Nowonder centrists say it’s a meaningless insult: they’re the ones most meaningfully insulted byit.) But “neoliberalism” is more than a gratifyingly righteous jibe. It is also, in its way, a pair ofeyeglasses.
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