冰島又要捕魚為生？
Getty Images
在冰島等待出口的鮮魚
戴
維森(Kristjan Davidsson)在16歲時即出海在漁船上做了水手。在水產學院就讀時，他就夢想能成為一名船長。20年中，他一直賣魚和出售水產加工設備。他的父親30年來的謀生方式也幾乎同這個偏遠小漁村的所有人一樣：到海裡捕魚。
戴維森
在全球金融危機的沖擊下，冰島政府周二接管了戴維森工作的銀行Glitnir Bank hf。周三，他到辦公室參加了一個員工緊急會議。政府指定的Glitnir接收大員對他們發表了講話。戴維森說，我聽到的主要意思是：出去再找份工作吧。
多少世紀以來，漁業一直是冰島的主要經濟支柱。但就在六年前，冰島人發現可以從金融業獲取巨額財富。他們帶著以往在海上時的所有熱忱和無畏投身到這個新行業中，憑借狂熱的投機欲望從海外大量借貸。這些銀行的規模也迅速讓擁有30萬人口的冰島國內經濟相形見絀。
幾 年內，冰島的三大銀行──Kaupthing Bank hf、Landsbanki Islands hf和Glitnir──就債台高築，同如今其它陷入困境的銀行一樣。這些銀行的資產達到了1,000億歐元，幾乎是該國去年國內生產總值的10倍，它們 的海外儲戶也遠遠超過了冰島的人口。
戴維森說，冰島人都愛冒險。當銀行私有化時，所有的能量一下釋放出來。我們喜歡速戰速決。
如今，冰島龐大的銀行業轟然倒塌。短短幾天內，整個銀行體系實際上都已被政府接管。該國最大的銀行Kaupthing Bank周四被接管，股市交易將停牌到下周一。冰島克朗在境外已經失去了貨幣功能。
通貨膨脹率飆升，外債大幅增加，這個嚴重依賴進口的國家的貿易也受到沉重打擊。英國和荷蘭正在起訴凍結他們本國公民存款的做法，而冰島政府正在尋求從海外獲取更多貸款，以讓國家免遭破產的厄運。
冰 島的崩潰是全球信貸危機帶來的最為嚴重的後果，這也形象揭示了此次危機是如何摧毀一個一度欣欣向榮的經濟體的。其他國家紛紛出台了巨額救市舉措：愛爾蘭為 其銀行存款提供擔保的計劃可能會讓受保証數額達到年度經濟產值的兩倍。全球第五大經濟體英國的方案幾乎相當於其GDP。
但投資者擔心，冰島弱小的國庫無法承擔銀行的負債，冰島可能拖欠主權債券。這會給其它債務負擔沉重的小國以及本國的投資者帶來連帶效應，從而讓冰島在這場席卷全球的金融風暴中具有了超乎其規模的重要意義。
盡管他所在的銀行已經倒閉，但47歲的戴維森還是穿著一套細條紋西服。他還在等待有關他未來命運的判決。不過他相信一件事情：他的未來將在海產品行業。
而直到幾天前，冰島人還認為他們能夠靠銀行為生。
戴維森是在2001年開始尋找新職業的。當時銀行正在被私有化，將成為後來的Glitnir的這家銀行希望找到漁業專家，幫助將業務擴大到國外，在全球各地做交易。
戴維森應聘進入該行，主要負責提供並購建議，安排全球各地漁業公司的融資。他的足跡遠遠超出了冰島，有一次曾幫助一家秘魯公司找到了融資，並安排這家公司在奧斯陸上市。
與此同時，高檔餐館開始大量出現在新的金融中心、首都雷克雅未克的城區。主要購物大街兩旁盡是高檔專賣店，出售前衛的時裝和精美的炊具。冰島克朗走勢堅挺。這打擊了該國的出口（海產品是冰島最大的出口類別），貿易逆差大幅上升，這是一個令人擔憂的跡象。
然而冰島人對此卻不太在意。他們驚喜地發現自己已然躋身全球最富有人士的行列。許多人成了百萬富翁，還有的成了億萬富翁。人們享受著高標準生活，進口的外國奢侈品賣得很便宜。他們用日圓、瑞朗的低息貸款購買了高檔汽車，使得冰島各類外幣債務的規模節節攀升。
銀行業也令戴維森得到了實惠。他和家人在雷克雅維克過得舒舒服服，還能到國外渡假。他說，我是個有錢人，退休金也有保障。
前幾天，戴維森回到家鄉，參加一年一度的圈羊活動。當地村民春天時把羊趕到草原散養，入秋再圈回各家。戴維森給一位現在務農的同學搭了把手，駕著自己配備了真皮座椅的豐田運動型多用途車(SUV)幫他把羊趕攏到一起。
對 這些冰島銀行來說，發展壯大是件很容易的事。它們可以從全球各地以很便宜的價格借貸，然後搖身一變，自己當起了放貸人，在幾乎沒有監管的情況下把錢投到自 己看好的行業或企業中，無論它們是在英國、丹麥、還是美國。這些銀行的資產隨著時間的流逝而不停地膨脹，而它們當中大部分都是借貸來的。
金錢在鬧轟轟地滾動著：冰島的銀行借錢、放貸，然後再借更多錢。當然，他們是必須要還債的，但那時還錢不成問題，因為反正還有地方能借到更多的錢償還舊債。
信貸危機在去年冬天時爆發了。到了今年夏天，已經沒有銀行願意借錢給別的銀行，特別是給冰島的所有銀行，因為它們的債務規模實在太龐大了。
雖然投資者相信美國和歐洲大國能在需要時籌來現金拯救它們的銀行，但在冰島這個僅有20億歐元外匯儲備的彈丸之地，擁有1,000億歐元資產的銀行有麻煩時該如何是好？
印制更多的鈔票──美國這麼幹可以，對冰島就沒多大意義了，因為冰島的負債多是外幣。發行更多的冰島克朗只會壓低匯率。正是出於這種擔心，投資者開始拋售克朗，其匯價今年已經累計暴跌了四成多。
對於除了魚之外幾乎一切都要靠進口的冰島來說，克朗重挫造成汽車、食品、家具等商品價格飛漲。最近的通脹率已經達到了14%。人們紛紛收緊開支。冰島家庭負債在過去五年間翻了一番，因為許多人都買了新房和高配置SUV，雷克雅未克的街頭滿是這種車。
AFP/Getty Images
冰島最大銀行Kaupthing的總部大樓
雷克雅未克港口負責人吉斯利﹒吉斯拉森(Gisli Gislason)擁有一間可以俯瞰碼頭的辦公室，貨船向這裡運來建材和汽車，捕撈船則出海去捕魚。吉斯拉森看到金融風暴已經醞釀了幾個月，當時進口開始下滑，出口則開始回暖。
吉斯拉森說，就在一夜之間，改變的重點就從銀行業轉向了實體產品：魚和鋁材。
那些當初沒有一頭紮進金融業的漁民日子要好過一些。霍德爾﹒萊弗森(Halldor Leifson)從事漁業已有15年之久，從漁民做起的他後來變成了漁場主管。大約一年半以前他認為自己應該去找個輕鬆一點的工作。
身著白色工作服、頭戴藍色發網的萊弗森在雷克雅未克港口的一家漁類加工廠接受採訪時表示，我手下的人都轉到銀行業了，他們總是問我，你還要做漁業啊？
萊 弗森曾仔細考慮過做銀行咨詢師的工作，但想到要離開這個全家人一直賴以為生的行業他還是放棄了。他說，真是感謝上帝。在他身後是碼得高高的方形大盆，捕來 的魚要在裡面用粗鹽腌制三周。萊弗森說，真正的經濟需要有產品來賣的，銀行業交易的也就是些紙幣，只有這些紙什麼也做不了。
那些從事紙幣營生的“貴族們”多年來一直輕視又臟又枯燥的漁業，現在他們可能要改改看法了。萊弗森說，在小漁村裡長大的人身體裡還流著親近大海的血液。我覺得只是回來重操舊業的問題。
冰島首相上周向國民發表講話，說他們可能必須回頭向土地和大海要資源。漁民們相信政府會提高鱈魚捕撈配額來推動經濟。本周冰島將其三大銀行收歸國有。首相說，冰島銀行業神話已經破滅。
Charles Forelle
Iceland Looks Back To The Sea
Kristjan Davidsson went to sea as a deckhand at 16. At fisheries college he aspired to be a boat captain. For two decades, he sold fish and fish-processing equipment. For 30 years his father earned his living the way practically everyone in this remote village ever has: pulling fish from the ocean.
But in 2001 Mr. Davidsson got bored. He joined one of Iceland's newly privatized banks. He got rich. Now, he says, it looks like it's back to fish. That may be true for this nation's fortunes as a whole.
On Tuesday, Iceland's government seized Glitnir Bank hf, Mr. Davidsson's employer, caught up in the unfolding global financial crisis. On Wednesday, he came to the office for an emergency staff meeting. Glitnir's government-appointed receiver addressed the troops. 'The basic message I heard was, 'Go find another job,'' says Mr. Davidsson.
Fishing sustained the rugged and remote island of Iceland for centuries. But just a half-dozen years ago, Icelanders discovered that vast fortunes could be made in high finance. They took to the new business with all the zeal and fearlessness of their seagoing past, lending abroad with speculative fervor. The banks quickly swelled to a size that dwarfed the economy of some 300,000 Icelanders back home.
Within a few years, Iceland's three big banks -- Kaupthing Bank hf, Landsbanki Islands hf and Glitnir became highly leveraged, like other now-troubled banks. The banks' assets reached 100 billion euros, about 10 times the country's gross domestic product last year, and their foreign depositors have come to far outnumber the island's population.
Icelanders are risk-takers, Mr. Davidsson says. 'All this energy was released when the banks were privatized. We like to do things fast.'
Today, Iceland's swollen banks are ruined. In the space of a few days, practically the entire banking system has been seized by the government. The largest bank of all, Kaupthing Bank, was seized Thursday, and trading was suspended on the stock exchange until Monday. The krona has ceased functioning as a currency outside Iceland.
Inflation and debt payments are soaring, and trade has been crippled in a country heavily dependent on imports. The U.K. and Netherlands are suing over frozen deposits held by their citizens, while the government is trying to arrange more foreign loans to help stave off national bankruptcy.
The collapse is the most dramatic washout from the global credit crunch, a pyrotechnic demonstration of how the crisis can demolish a once-booming economy. Other countries have mounted giant bailouts: Ireland's plan to guarantee its banks' deposits potentially puts it on the line for a sum twice its annual economic output. The U.K.'s package is roughly equivalent to its GDP, the world's fifth-largest.
But investors fear that Iceland's tiny treasury can't back its banks' obligations and that the country might default on its sovereign debt. That could have a cascading effect on other small, debt-ridden countries -- and on the country's investors -- giving the island outsized importance amid the financial pain circling the globe.
Mr. Davidsson, 47 years old, who wears a wide grin and a pinstriped suit despite the collapse of his bank, still awaits word on his future. But he's convinced of one thing: 'It's going to be the seafood industry for me.'
Up until a few days ago, Icelanders thought they could live on banks.
It was 2001 when Mr. Davidsson looked for a new vocation. Banks were being privatized, and the bank that would become Glitnir was eager for fishing experts to help it expand beyond Iceland and do deals around the world.
Mr. Davidsson signed on, advising on mergers and lining up financing for fishing companies world-wide. He strayed far from Iceland, once finding financing for a Peruvian company and engineering its listing in Oslo.
Meanwhile swank restaurants crammed downtown Reykjavik, the capital and new financial center. The main shopping street filled up with pricey boutiques selling avant-garde fashions and design cookware. The krona was strong. That damped exports -- fish is the island's biggest -- and the trade deficit ballooned, a worrying sign.
Icelanders, however, didn't much mind. To their surprise, they became some of the wealthiest individuals on the planet. Many became millionaires, a few billionaires. The standard of living was high and foreign luxuries could be imported cheaply. They bought expensive cars with loans in yen and Swiss francs with attractively low interest rates, racking up high debts exposed to the vagaries of currency exchange.
Banking has been good to Mr. Davidsson, too. He has built a comfortable life in Reykjavik with his family. They vacation abroad. 'I am well off,' he says, 'I have my pension.'
Earlier this month, Mr. Davidsson went home for the annual sheep herding, when villagers bring back sheep loosed into hilly pastures the spring before. He lent a hand to a farmer schoolmate, rounding up animals in his leather-interior Toyota SUV.
For the banks, growing was easy. They could borrow at low cost from all over the globe, then turn around and with little oversight lend that money to businesses and entrepreneurs wherever they wanted -- in the U.K., Denmark and the U.S. Over time, the banks' assets -- largely these loans they made -- grew and grew.
The money rode a carousel: Iceland banks borrowed, made loans, borrowed some more. They had to pay their own lenders, of course, but that wasn't a problem -- there was always someplace to borrow more money with which to make the payments.
Then, last winter, the credit crunch struck. By this summer, no one wanted to lend to anyone, really, least of all Icelandic banks. That was because they had gotten so large.
While investors figure the U.S. and large European countries could come up with cash to bail out their banks if need be, what could tiny Iceland, with 2 billion euros in foreign-exchange reserves, do if its banks with 100 billion euros in assets got in trouble?
Just printing more money -- something the U.S. can do -- wouldn't help the Iceland banks much, since their debts were largely in foreign currencies. The creation of more Icelandic krona would just push down the exchange rate. Fearing this, investors began shunning the krona. It tumbled more than 40% against the euro this year.
Just about everything but fish is imported here, so the plummeting krona has caused prices of cars and food and furniture to rise rapidly. Inflation hit 14% recently. Families are squeezed. In the past five years, household debt doubled as people bought new homes and the tricked-out sport-utility vehicles that chug through Reykjavik's streets.
Most loans are inflation-linked, meaning payments rise with inflation, or in foreign currency, which means payments rise with the sinking krona. Today, both are calamities.
Gisli Gislason, the director of the Reykjavik port, has an office that looks over the harbor where cargo ships haul in building materials and cars, and trawlers send out fish. He saw the storm brewing a couple of months ago, when imports started to fall off. Exporters began to recover.
'Overnight, the change of emphasis is going from banking over to solid products, and that is fish and aluminum,' he said.
Those fisherman who didn't plunge into banking are breathing easier. Halldor Leifson had worked in the industry for a decade and a half, in jobs from seaman to plant supervisor. A year and a half ago he thought he'd bail for cushier employment.
'Every one of my fellows worked in the banks,' said Mr. Leifson, dressed in a white smock coat and a blue hair net, standing on the floor of a fish plant in Reykjavik's harbor. 'The guys had been saying, 'You're still working in fish?''
Mr. Leifson mulled a job as a consultant to banks, but in the end he got cold feet about leaving an industry that had long been his family's livelihood. 'Thanks to God,' he says. Behind him rise rectangular tubs stacked 10 high. Fish spend three weeks inside, curing in pebbly salt. A real economy needs products to sell, Mr. Leifson says. Banking is 'paper money. You can't do anything with paper money.'
After years of scorning fishing as dirty and boring, the paper-money princes may have second thoughts. 'Those especially who have been raised in small villages close to the sea, they still have it in their blood,' says Mr. Leifson. 'I think it is just a question of moving back.'
In an address last week, Iceland's prime minister told his countrymen that they would have to fall back on the resources of land and sea. Fishermen say they believe the government will raise cod quotas to goose the business. This week, Iceland nationalized the three banks. The prime minister said the 'fairy tale' of banking was over.
Charles Forelle
But in 2001 Mr. Davidsson got bored. He joined one of Iceland's newly privatized banks. He got rich. Now, he says, it looks like it's back to fish. That may be true for this nation's fortunes as a whole.
On Tuesday, Iceland's government seized Glitnir Bank hf, Mr. Davidsson's employer, caught up in the unfolding global financial crisis. On Wednesday, he came to the office for an emergency staff meeting. Glitnir's government-appointed receiver addressed the troops. 'The basic message I heard was, 'Go find another job,'' says Mr. Davidsson.
Fishing sustained the rugged and remote island of Iceland for centuries. But just a half-dozen years ago, Icelanders discovered that vast fortunes could be made in high finance. They took to the new business with all the zeal and fearlessness of their seagoing past, lending abroad with speculative fervor. The banks quickly swelled to a size that dwarfed the economy of some 300,000 Icelanders back home.
Within a few years, Iceland's three big banks -- Kaupthing Bank hf, Landsbanki Islands hf and Glitnir became highly leveraged, like other now-troubled banks. The banks' assets reached 100 billion euros, about 10 times the country's gross domestic product last year, and their foreign depositors have come to far outnumber the island's population.
Icelanders are risk-takers, Mr. Davidsson says. 'All this energy was released when the banks were privatized. We like to do things fast.'
Today, Iceland's swollen banks are ruined. In the space of a few days, practically the entire banking system has been seized by the government. The largest bank of all, Kaupthing Bank, was seized Thursday, and trading was suspended on the stock exchange until Monday. The krona has ceased functioning as a currency outside Iceland.
Inflation and debt payments are soaring, and trade has been crippled in a country heavily dependent on imports. The U.K. and Netherlands are suing over frozen deposits held by their citizens, while the government is trying to arrange more foreign loans to help stave off national bankruptcy.
The collapse is the most dramatic washout from the global credit crunch, a pyrotechnic demonstration of how the crisis can demolish a once-booming economy. Other countries have mounted giant bailouts: Ireland's plan to guarantee its banks' deposits potentially puts it on the line for a sum twice its annual economic output. The U.K.'s package is roughly equivalent to its GDP, the world's fifth-largest.
But investors fear that Iceland's tiny treasury can't back its banks' obligations and that the country might default on its sovereign debt. That could have a cascading effect on other small, debt-ridden countries -- and on the country's investors -- giving the island outsized importance amid the financial pain circling the globe.
Mr. Davidsson, 47 years old, who wears a wide grin and a pinstriped suit despite the collapse of his bank, still awaits word on his future. But he's convinced of one thing: 'It's going to be the seafood industry for me.'
Up until a few days ago, Icelanders thought they could live on banks.
It was 2001 when Mr. Davidsson looked for a new vocation. Banks were being privatized, and the bank that would become Glitnir was eager for fishing experts to help it expand beyond Iceland and do deals around the world.
Mr. Davidsson signed on, advising on mergers and lining up financing for fishing companies world-wide. He strayed far from Iceland, once finding financing for a Peruvian company and engineering its listing in Oslo.
Meanwhile swank restaurants crammed downtown Reykjavik, the capital and new financial center. The main shopping street filled up with pricey boutiques selling avant-garde fashions and design cookware. The krona was strong. That damped exports -- fish is the island's biggest -- and the trade deficit ballooned, a worrying sign.
Icelanders, however, didn't much mind. To their surprise, they became some of the wealthiest individuals on the planet. Many became millionaires, a few billionaires. The standard of living was high and foreign luxuries could be imported cheaply. They bought expensive cars with loans in yen and Swiss francs with attractively low interest rates, racking up high debts exposed to the vagaries of currency exchange.
Banking has been good to Mr. Davidsson, too. He has built a comfortable life in Reykjavik with his family. They vacation abroad. 'I am well off,' he says, 'I have my pension.'
Earlier this month, Mr. Davidsson went home for the annual sheep herding, when villagers bring back sheep loosed into hilly pastures the spring before. He lent a hand to a farmer schoolmate, rounding up animals in his leather-interior Toyota SUV.
For the banks, growing was easy. They could borrow at low cost from all over the globe, then turn around and with little oversight lend that money to businesses and entrepreneurs wherever they wanted -- in the U.K., Denmark and the U.S. Over time, the banks' assets -- largely these loans they made -- grew and grew.
The money rode a carousel: Iceland banks borrowed, made loans, borrowed some more. They had to pay their own lenders, of course, but that wasn't a problem -- there was always someplace to borrow more money with which to make the payments.
Then, last winter, the credit crunch struck. By this summer, no one wanted to lend to anyone, really, least of all Icelandic banks. That was because they had gotten so large.
While investors figure the U.S. and large European countries could come up with cash to bail out their banks if need be, what could tiny Iceland, with 2 billion euros in foreign-exchange reserves, do if its banks with 100 billion euros in assets got in trouble?
Just printing more money -- something the U.S. can do -- wouldn't help the Iceland banks much, since their debts were largely in foreign currencies. The creation of more Icelandic krona would just push down the exchange rate. Fearing this, investors began shunning the krona. It tumbled more than 40% against the euro this year.
Just about everything but fish is imported here, so the plummeting krona has caused prices of cars and food and furniture to rise rapidly. Inflation hit 14% recently. Families are squeezed. In the past five years, household debt doubled as people bought new homes and the tricked-out sport-utility vehicles that chug through Reykjavik's streets.
Most loans are inflation-linked, meaning payments rise with inflation, or in foreign currency, which means payments rise with the sinking krona. Today, both are calamities.
Gisli Gislason, the director of the Reykjavik port, has an office that looks over the harbor where cargo ships haul in building materials and cars, and trawlers send out fish. He saw the storm brewing a couple of months ago, when imports started to fall off. Exporters began to recover.
'Overnight, the change of emphasis is going from banking over to solid products, and that is fish and aluminum,' he said.
Those fisherman who didn't plunge into banking are breathing easier. Halldor Leifson had worked in the industry for a decade and a half, in jobs from seaman to plant supervisor. A year and a half ago he thought he'd bail for cushier employment.
'Every one of my fellows worked in the banks,' said Mr. Leifson, dressed in a white smock coat and a blue hair net, standing on the floor of a fish plant in Reykjavik's harbor. 'The guys had been saying, 'You're still working in fish?''
Mr. Leifson mulled a job as a consultant to banks, but in the end he got cold feet about leaving an industry that had long been his family's livelihood. 'Thanks to God,' he says. Behind him rise rectangular tubs stacked 10 high. Fish spend three weeks inside, curing in pebbly salt. A real economy needs products to sell, Mr. Leifson says. Banking is 'paper money. You can't do anything with paper money.'
After years of scorning fishing as dirty and boring, the paper-money princes may have second thoughts. 'Those especially who have been raised in small villages close to the sea, they still have it in their blood,' says Mr. Leifson. 'I think it is just a question of moving back.'
In an address last week, Iceland's prime minister told his countrymen that they would have to fall back on the resources of land and sea. Fishermen say they believe the government will raise cod quotas to goose the business. This week, Iceland nationalized the three banks. The prime minister said the 'fairy tale' of banking was over.
Charles Forelle
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