A Regime Decision, Not a Rate Decision


Kevin Warsh’s first press conference as Fed chairman was far better than I expected.

The statement is shorter, forward guidance is gone, and the Committee has promised to deliver price stability. That is most of the prescription I have made for at least fifteen years. But the question that actually matters – what the Fed should be trying to deliver, and the wreck of a regime Powell has left him – is still open.

Kevin Warsh held his first press conference as chairman of the Federal Reserve yesterday, and it was immediately clear that he has put himself firmly in the driver’s seat.

The statement was unlike anything Jerome Powell ever signed off on. It was substantially shorter. It dropped the elaborate “forward guidance” that had been the house style of the Fed for the better part of two decades. And in its place came a single, blunt sentence: “The Committee will deliver price stability.”

I have to admit I did not expect to be impressed. I have been a sceptic of Warsh for months, and I have said so in writing. So before I explain why he changed my mind, let me explain why I doubted him.

Why I Was Sceptical

Warsh did not look, until yesterday, like a man who would face down the White House and put the Fed’s credibility first.

He spent last year campaigning for the job, and he campaigned by telling the White House what it wanted to hear. He was outspoken in favour of lower rates, exactly as Trump has been demanding, and he justified it with the claim that an AI-driven productivity boom would expand supply and pull inflation down on its own.

That argument never persuaded me, and not because I doubt what AI might do to productivity. My objection is more basic. A productivity boom is a positive supply shock, and a central bank should not be reacting to supply shocks at all, positive or negative. If AI does raise productivity, the right response is to hold nominal spending on its path and let the gain come through as lower inflation and faster real growth. Cutting rates because supply is improving is using a supply-side story to justify a demand-side easing – exactly the confusion a rule-based Fed exists to remove.

There was also the question of qualifications. Warsh was a Fed governor from 2006 to 2011, the youngest ever appointed, but his record on inflation forecasting in those years was weak, and prominent NGDP advocates, Scott Sumner among them, were openly sceptical that he was the right man. As was I at the time.

And there was the politics. His IMF speech last April read, frankly, like a job application written for Trump’s ear – a list of grievances about institutional drift, wrapped in language about independence that pointed towards less of it rather than more.

There is, too, the family dimension, which under normal circumstances I would ignore entirely. Warsh is married to Jane Lauder, daughter of Ronald Lauder, a long-standing personal friend of Donald Trump.

These are not normal circumstances. The President has spent a year demanding lower rates and used a renovation investigation as a pressure tactic against Powell. When his preferred candidate to replace the chair turns out to be connected to his inner circle by marriage, that belongs on the analytical record.

There is one side of Warsh’s thinking I have always had sympathy for. He has been a consistent critic of the Fed’s mission creep into financial-stability and macroprudential territory. Those are my positions too.

But in May, on the day Powell chaired his final meeting, my complaint was precise: Warsh was full of diagnosis and empty of framework. He knew what he wanted to remove. He had said nothing about what would replace it.

So that was where I stood. Sceptical, unconvinced by the AI story, worried he would be Trump’s man, and waiting to see whether he had a regime in mind or only a grievance.

He did better than that. And that is why I am writing this.

Letting the Market Do the Work

The first thing you notice about Warsh’s statement is the length. It is substantially shorter than anything Powell put out. That is not cosmetic. The old statement told you what the Committee thought, how it read the data, and where it expected to move. The new one gives the target range, reaffirms ample reserves, notes inflation is still above 2%, and states – flatly – that the Committee will deliver price stability.

Warsh described it himself with understatement: a bit shorter, a bit simpler, dispensing with some older language. Gone, in particular, is forward guidance. And he declined to submit his own dot to the projections, on the grounds that a published rate path locks the central bank into a promise it cannot keep.

Clearly, this is the right instinct. So let me give it a name.

Years ago I defined the Chuck Norris effect like this: you do not have to print more money to ease policy if you are a credible central bank with a credible target.

The point generalises. A credible central bank does not have to do very much, because the market does the work for it. If everyone believes the Fed will deliver, expectations adjust on their own, and the threat to act is usually enough.

Warsh has not announced a rule. But by stripping the statement to a commitment and refusing to spell out a path, he is telling markets to read his reaction function rather than his quarterly mood. He is asking the market to do the lifting.

In its purest form, a fully credible Fed would hardly need to hold a press conference at all. It would be enough to say, once and for all: we will always, at any time, do exactly what is needed to deliver price stability.

The market does the rest. It is the market that implements the policy, and it is the market that makes the real forecasts, through its expectations.

The comparison that comes most naturally to me is not American. It is Danish. Denmark, where I live, runs a fixed-exchange-rate policy against the euro. The Danish central bank – Danmarks Nationalbank – publishes no elaborate forecasts and no guidance. It does not need to.

Everyone knows it will do whatever it takes to hold the krone fixed against the euro. That credibility is the policy, and the market enforces it. Warsh is now saying something structurally identical: we will deliver price stability, you do not need our forecasts, you need only believe us.

Contrast the opposite approach. For years the ECB under Mario Draghi, and Jean-Claude Trichet before him, insisted it would “never pre-commit” to any future action. I always thought that was precisely the problem. A central bank that refuses to say what it is trying to achieve forces the market to guess, and guessing is not a credible target.

Mission Creep and the End of Fine-Tuning

This is also the most refreshing thing about Warsh’s debut, and it goes beyond the statement. The Fed has spent the better part of fifteen years trying to do too much.

Since 2008 it has drifted into questions that have nothing to do with its mandate – financial-stability ambitions, distributional concerns, even climate-related risk. The mandate is price stability and maximum employment. It is not the management of every problem that happens to be fashionable.

So the narrowing Warsh implies is welcome.

There is an old principle, associated with Jan Tinbergen, that each policy target needs its own instrument; a central bank chasing five objectives with one rate will fail at most of them. Goodhart’s Law adds the rest: when a measure becomes a target, it stops being a good measure – which is exactly the trap macroprudential policy walks into.

Warsh, to his credit, seems to grasp both. The Fed has one instrument and should pursue one nominal objective. Everything else is someone else’s job.

This is, fundamentally, an argument about rules versus discretion. The Great Recession and its aftermath were an exercise in central-bank discretion – improvisation dressed up as sophistication. I have always thought we should go the other way, towards a Fed that behaves automatically, like the computer Milton Friedman wanted to run monetary policy. All central banks need to do this.

A Fed that fine-tunes is a Fed that surprises. A Fed that follows a rule is a Fed the market can anticipate. And a Fed the market can anticipate barely has to act at all.

Nominal Stability, Not Price Stability

But a great deal is still missing, and Warsh knows it. Which instruments should the Fed actually use – the money base, or the policy rate? Which measure of inflation is the right one? Should there even be an inflation target at all? My own answer, and my favourite, is a target for nominal GDP. So this is where my renewed optimism meets the hard question. Clarity is worth little if the target is wrong.

Warsh committed the Committee to price stability, which the Fed reads as 2% inflation. Notice what the statement leaves out. The mandate is dual – stable prices and maximum employment – and the new statement mentions only the first. It is a price-stability statement, not a dual-mandate one.

And here I would go further than Warsh did. He committed to price stability. I would commit to nominal stability instead, and the two are not the same thing.

Nominal stability – a stable path for total nominal spending – delivers price stability over time. Price stability pursued directly does not necessarily deliver nominal stability at any given moment. You can hold prices down in the short run by letting nominal spending collapse, or by tightening into a supply shock. That is not stability. It is the opposite, dressed up as discipline.

So it is not really prices a central bank should stabilise. It is nominal spending. Get the nominal path right, and prices look after themselves over the medium term.

My answer to the target question has not changed for more than fifteen years.

The Fed should target the level of nominal GDP – a 4% path, consistent with 2% inflation and around 2% trend real growth. It has two advantages over an inflation target, and both bite right now.

First, it handles supply shocks: a level target lets inflation rise temporarily after an energy shock while holding nominal spending on its path, instead of tightening into it the way the ECB infamously did in 2011.

Second, it makes up for past misses. An inflation target lets bygones be bygones; a level target claws the overshoot back. That is the difference between an anchor that holds and one that drifts.

Now look at what Warsh is staring at. Consumer price inflation hit 4.2% in May, the highest in three years. Producer prices ran above 6%. The Iran war drove oil from around $67 in late February to an intraday peak near $119 in March. The Committee’s median projection now has the policy rate ending the year at 3.8%, a quarter point above today, where three months ago it expected a cut.

So the dot plot has flipped from a cut to a hike, and it is hard to read Warsh’s debut as anything other than a hike now being more likely than a cut.

Here is the part most commentators will miss. The current inflation has two sources, not one. Part of it is the energy supply shock – and a central bank should look through that, not tighten into it.

But part of it is excess nominal demand the Fed never wound back – nominal spending that has run above trend since 2021 and is still drifting higher, as I will show in a moment. A pure inflation-targeter cannot tell the two apart and risks getting both wrong. A nominal GDP target separates them automatically – look through the oil, lean against the excess nominal demand. It is the one framework that gets this moment right.

This, by the way, is why the whole “hawk versus dove” framing is, frankly, useless. To be hawkish or dovish is already to assume policy should be set by someone’s discretionary feel.

What should concern us is not the temperature of the chairman. It is the regime.

The Five Task Forces

In May my complaint was that Warsh offered no framework. Yesterday he began building one, or at least the machinery to build one.

He announced five task forces, each on a core area of policy: communications, the balance sheet, data and data sources, productivity and jobs in an era of transformation including AI, and inflation frameworks examined from first principles.

Each one, Warsh said, would draw on the best minds inside and outside the economics profession, backed by Fed staff, and report to the policymakers.

Two things stood out by their absence. There was no hint – none – of the easiest dovish escape available to him: quietly raising the inflation target, or hiding behind its “flexible average” wording, to make five years of overshoot vanish on paper.

He could have conjured the problem away. He chose not to. And he barely mentioned AI, even though it has a task force of its own. The man who last year leaned on an AI productivity boom to justify the rate cuts Trump wanted did not reach for that argument once.

Which leaves the question I keep coming back to: who. If the inflation-frameworks task force is serious about first principles, the names I would want in the room are obvious – Scott Sumner, David Beckworth, Peter Ireland, and Josh Hendrickson on nominal GDP and policy rules; George Selgin on the balance sheet, where the ample-reserves regime is his territory; and, for any of it, my friend Bob Hetzel, the finest monetary historian the Fed has produced ever. Appoint people like that and “from first principles” might mean something. Appoint the usual committee and it will not.

What I Have Proposed

So let me be concrete about what I would actually have the Fed do, because I am not asking the task force to invent anything. I wrote it down almost exactly ten years ago, in January 2016, and I would not change a word.

First, a 4% nominal GDP level target, defined on the expected level of NGDP eighteen to twenty-four months out. That one target delivers both price stability and maximum employment. No other is needed.

Second, the Fed should stop producing its own forecasts and instead read the market’s: a prediction market for NGDP twelve and twenty-four months ahead, the surveys of professional forecasters, and market-based models of NGDP expectations. Let the market tell the Fed where nominal spending is heading, not the other way round.

Third, give up interest-rate targeting – the dot plot included – and use the monetary base as the instrument. Announce a permanent base-growth rate set to hit the 4% path, justified by one number only: expected NGDP against the target. Leave interest rates entirely to the market.

The consequences follow directly.

The policy is rule-based, not discretionary. It is transparent, with the market doing most of the implementation – the Chuck Norris effect made operational.

There is no zero-lower-bound problem, because control of the base can ease even when interest rates sit at zero. The endless and, frankly, silly talk of bubbles, moral hazard, and macroprudential fine-tuning stops, because the Fed gives up pretending it can do a better job than the market in ‘forecasting’. The Fed stops reacting to supply shocks, positive and negative. And the FOMC could, at last, be handed to the computer Milton Friedman wanted to run it.

I called it, at the time, a forward-looking McCallum rule. The label matters less than the shape of the thing: one target, read from the market, hit with one instrument, justified by one number.

Look at Warsh’s five task forces and you will see the same agenda, broken into committees – inflation frameworks is my first change, communications and data my second, the balance sheet my third. The only real question is whether they follow the framework to where it leads, or spend a year rediscovering why the Fed has always preferred its own discretion.

What He Inherited

All of which raises the obvious question. Why does any of this matter so much? Why is the regime question existential rather than academic?

The answer is the Fed that Warsh has inherited. Because it is not a healthy institution. It is a weakened one, and the weakness is to a large extent self-inflicted.

Trump has spent the past year arguing that Powell ran policy too tight. The data says the opposite.

By my reckoning, Powell ran the easiest monetary policy in modern Fed history, and the cleanest way to see it is not through inflation or the funds rate but through the level of nominal spending – nominal GDP.

From 2010 through 2019, US nominal GDP grew at almost exactly 4% a year. That was the de facto regime under Ben Bernanke and Janet Yellen, broadly consistent with their stated 2% inflation goal given trend productivity and labour-force growth.

I have argued for years that this implicit anchor, and not the dual mandate the Fed talks about, was what actually held the system steady. The Covid shock knocked nominal spending below the path in 2020, and the Fed’s emergency response that spring was, in my view, exactly right.

Then came 2021.

On 29 April 2021, I published a post on this blog titled “Heading for double-digit US inflation.”

I argued that the explosion in US broad money, combined with the largest fiscal expansion since the Second World War, would produce a fast, large, one-off jump in the price level – and that what happened next would depend entirely on whether the Fed moved to anchor expectations or let its credibility erode.

The forecast was right. Headline CPI inflation peaked at 9.1% in June 2022, the highest in four decades. The point is not that I got it right. The point is that the call was available to anyone willing to read the data.

The broad-money numbers were public. The fiscal arithmetic was public. The lags between money and inflation that Milton Friedman identified decades ago are textbook material.

And the Fed, under Powell, chose to do nothing.

Worse than nothing. In 2020 the FOMC had adopted Flexible Average Inflation Targeting, which committed it to running inflation above 2% for a while after running it below. Defensible in theory. A catastrophe in practice.

Through 2021 and into 2022 the Fed held the funds rate at zero and kept buying $120 billion of assets a month while nominal GDP grew 11% in 2021 and close to 10% in 2022 – more than two and a half times the established 4% rate. That is not flexible average inflation targeting. It is the monetary equivalent of price-fixing, and all the while the Fed insisted the inflation was transitory, a word it kept using long after the indicators had made it indefensible. This was not a close call.

Powell then spent 2022 and 2023 cleaning up the mess, and he deserves credit for it. From near-zero in March 2022 the Fed reached 5.25-5.50% by July 2023. Inflation came down, the labour market did not collapse, and that successful disinflation is the one thing from the Powell era I will give him unambiguous credit for.

But the disinflation did not restore the regime. The price-level jump is permanent – undoing it would take a Volcker-scale recession, and with federal debt above 100% of GDP and interest payments above $1 trillion a year, that is no longer arithmetically possible without risking a sovereign default.

The growth rate, though, is a separate matter. Having allowed the one-off jump, the Fed could at least have re-anchored nominal spending at 4% from there. It did not. On my numbers, NGDP growth has averaged about 5.4% a year since the start of 2023, and from the start of 2025 it has run above 6%. The rate is drifting up, not settling.

So the Fed of 2025 and 2026 is not running a tight policy that has restored discipline. It is running a policy that still accommodates above trend. The “tightening” belongs in scare quotes: it is tight relative to the Fed’s own 2021 error, not relative to any credible framework. This is the excess nominal demand I pointed to earlier. The Fed is still too easy.

Why the Attack Lands

So why, if Powell ran the easiest money in modern history, does Trump’s accusation that he was too tight gain any traction at all?

It lands because the Fed proved, in real time, that it cannot be trusted to act on the inflation indicators when its own framework tells it not to.

That is the credibility deficit Warsh inherits, and it is worth more to Trump than any number. A Fed that had read the money data correctly in 2021 and headed off the inflation would now be defending its independence from overwhelming strength. Trump’s attacks would land in empty air. Instead the Fed defends independence from partial credibility, having handed the public a 9% inflation to absorb. The easy money of 2021 and the political crisis of 2025-26 are not two stories. They are one.

The historical rhyme is the early 1970s. Nixon leaned on Arthur Burns – the tapes record instructions, not requests, to expand the money supply before the 1972 election – and Burns complied, explaining at each meeting why the next move could wait. Each decision sounded reasonable on its own. The cumulative result was a decade of inflation and, eventually, a Volcker disinflation that drove unemployment towards 11%.

The parallel to Powell is only partial. He raised rates hard, the disinflation was real, and he resisted Trump’s public pressure throughout. On the political dimension he was not Burns – or rather at least not quite as bad a Burns.

But on the analytical dimension – the willingness to ignore the monetary indicators because the prevailing framework said they did not matter – the parallel is uncomfortably close. Burns ignored the aggregates because his framework dismissed them. Powell ignored them in 2021 because FAIT said the inflation was wanted. The justification differs. The shape of the failure is identical.

And underneath all of it sits the deeper threat: fiscal dominance.

Federal debt held by the public is above 100% of GDP in the US.

Net interest has gone from around $350 billion in 2020 to over $1 trillion in 2025. Every 100 basis points on the policy rate eventually adds about 1% of GDP to the interest bill. The federal government now has a powerful, mechanical reason to want low rates regardless of what the macroeconomy needs – and Trump has been unusually explicit that he wants rates down for the budget.

That is fiscal dominance: the fiscal authority’s needs crowding out the central bank’s independence. It is the condition behind nearly every serious inflation in history, from the German hyperinflation of 1923 to the post-Soviet Russian inflation, chronic Argentine inflation, and the Turkish episode under Erdoğan.

Not Trump’s Fed Chairman

So set Warsh’s debut against all of that, and the most important thing he did yesterday is the thing I least expected. He defied the White House.

Trump appointed him after attacking Powell for not cutting, and Warsh had spent the previous year signalling sympathy for exactly those cuts.

The natural bet was that he would ease, or at least signal easing – the cuts the President wanted. Instead he held rates on a unanimous vote, let the dots tilt towards a hike, and gave a press conference the markets took as anything but the relief Trump was hoping for.

The S&P 500 fell. Bond yields jumped. Asked whether he had spoken to the President since taking the job, he said only: “I don’t have anything for you.” He has a mandate, and he intends to deliver on it. Whatever Trump says.

Set that against everything stacked the other way – the campaign for lower rates, the IMF speech, the Lauder connection, and the fiscal-dominance pressure that gives any modern president a mechanical hunger for cheap money. On his first day, with all of that pushing one way, Warsh pushed back. This is the Arthur Burns fear answered, at least for one meeting.

And there is a deeper point underneath it. The more rule-based and automatic policy becomes, the less it matters who the chairman is, and the less influence any president has over him. A discretionary Fed can be lobbied, pressured, and bullied. A rule-based Fed cannot.

Taking discretion out of monetary policy is not only better economics. It is the strongest protection of central bank independence there is – which, with fiscal dominance bearing down on the Fed, is no small thing.

Warsh also made a point of noting that inflation has now run above the 2% goal for more than five years. He inherits that overshoot, the same five years and the same failure. If he means what he says, it has to end. A central bank that overshoots for five years and shrugs has no credibility, and without credibility none of this machinery works.

The Hard Part Has Started

So I come away more optimistic than I expected, and far more than I was a month ago. The communication is sharper. The mission creep is being reversed. He defied Trump on day one. And the instinct – say what you will deliver, then let the market do the work – is exactly right.

But the easy part is the part Warsh has done. Shortening a statement, dropping a forecast, and holding the line against Trump for one meeting is style and nerve. Choosing the right thing to be clear about is analysis, and it is unresolved.

Friedman taught that monetary policy works with long and variable lags and cannot fine-tune the economy. Scott Sumner updated it: long and variable leads, because the work runs through expectations. Both point to the same conclusion. What matters is the regime, not the meeting-to-meeting decisions. A Fed that spent five years being careful about each meeting lost the regime entirely – and that, not any single rate call, is what Powell leaves behind.

So it was never really a rate decision. It is a regime decision. Warsh has made a good start on the things that are mostly nerve. The thing that is analysis – whether the Committee anchors on nominal spending or on an inflation number that has already failed for five years – is still to come. And in practice, reading all of this together, it is hard not to see a rate hike now as more likely than a cut.

The chairman changed in May. The hard part started yesterday.





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On Friday, Bill Pulte (Director of the Federal Housing Finance Agency and chairman of both Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac) announced that America’s two government sponsored housing finance giants are exploring equity stakes in technology companies.

Speaking at the ResiDay conference in New York, Pulte described potential partnerships where tech firms would offer Fannie and Freddie equity positions, explicitly citing the Trump administration’s recent investment in Intel as a model.

I’m reminded of the American baseball legend Yogi Berra’s famous quip: “It’s like déjà vu all over again.”

What we’re witnessing here is the American government (through Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, state owned mortgage institutions) once again heading down a path that bears a disturbing resemblance to the past.

The 2008 playbook

Leading up to the 2008 financial crisis, Fannie and Freddie played a central, though unfortunate, role.

These two institutions were designed to make home loans cheaper and more accessible by purchasing loans from banks and reselling them as securities to investors.

However, to keep pace with private competitors, they began taking on increasingly risky mortgages.

When housing prices fell, the losses were enormous, and in 2008 the American government had to take control to prevent a total collapse in the housing and financial sectors.

And now we see Bill Pulte (Trump’s handpicked chief of the powerful regulatory body, the Federal Housing Finance Agency) openly discussing how these state backed mortgage institutions should invest money in American technology companies.

Pulte stated that he views Fannie and Freddie somewhat differently because they operate as actual businesses, albeit private ones. He indicated that the GSEs will likely take ownership stakes in various companies as those firms offer equity in exchange for business partnerships with Fannie and Freddie.

More tellingly, Pulte acknowledged the coercive nature of these arrangements, explaining that major technology and public companies are offering equity to Fannie and Freddie in exchange for business partnerships. He noted that the GSEs are considering taking these equity stakes because of the substantial power Fannie and Freddie wield over the entire housing finance ecosystem.

Crony capitalism comes to Silicon Valley

I must be frank: this is beginning to stink.

Over the past week, we’ve received a series of signals that the American government now intends to directly support American technology companies through precisely the kind of arrangements that characterise crony capitalism, where political connections and government favour, rather than market competition, determine winners and losers.

On Monday, the Wall Street Journal reported that OpenAI’s CFO, Sarah Friar, hinted that government guarantees could cut AI funding costs – later backtracking to say they weren’t seeking a bailout. But the message was clear: tech giants now assume taxpayer backing, just like banks did before 2008.

So if you’re asking yourself why American tech giants (particularly the so-called “Magnificent Seven”) are trading at the extraordinary valuations we see today, you likely have part of the explanation here: investors aren’t just pricing in technological progress or profit growth. They’re pricing in implicit government guarantees.

They’re pricing in the expectation that the Trump administration will support these companies, that losses will be socialised whilst gains remain private, that these firms have effectively become “too big to fail.”

This is moral hazard on a grand scale, but now applied to an entire sector rather than just individual institutions. The market isn’t valuing these companies based on discounted future cash flows. It’s valuing them based on the anticipated probability of state intervention to prevent failure.

And the connections between political donations and government favour are becoming impossible to ignore.

Elon Musk, who contributed hundreds of millions of dollars to Trump’s campaign (making him the largest individual political donor in the 2024 election cycle), now wields extraordinary influence over government policy.

Marc Andreessen and Ben Horowitz, whose venture capital firm has invested heavily in OpenAI, together donated over $5 million to Trump aligned political action committees.

Peter Thiel, the co-founder of Palantir, spent $15 million to elect JD Vance to the Senate in 2022. Vance is now vice president.

These aren’t coincidences. They’re investments with expected returns.

But to my mind, this is also a very clear signal that shouldn’t be ignored: all is not as it should be with the tech giants. Over the past few weeks, we’ve seen turbulence surrounding share prices in the sector, but perhaps more worryingly, also rising tensions in credit and money markets.

It’s simply about nervousness that some AI companies potentially face liquidity problems, and ultimately whether this might infect the banking sector.

The market is already showing cracks

And these aren’t just theoretical concerns. Over the past fortnight, we’ve seen concrete signs of stress in American credit and money markets.

The Federal Reserve has been forced to inject substantial liquidity into the system to prevent tensions in the repo market from escalating.

On 31 October, the Fed injected $50.35 billion into the system (the largest single day operation since 2021), followed by an additional $22 billion on 3 November.

The Secured Overnight Financing Rate has shown unusual volatility, with repo rates spiking to their highest levels relative to the Fed funds rate since 2020, precisely the kind of pressure that typically precedes broader credit events.

Major Wall Street banks, including JPMorgan and Deutsche Bank, have warned that money market stress could flare up again.

Dallas Fed President Lorie Logan has suggested the central bank might need to begin purchasing assets if the rise in rates proves more than temporary, echoing the kind of emergency measures deployed during previous crises.

More tellingly, major international banks are taking defensive positions. Deutsche Bank, which has extended billions in loans to data centre firms powering the AI boom, is now reportedly exploring hedging strategies including shorting baskets of AI related stocks and purchasing credit protection to offset potential losses if the current pricing regime collapses.

When one of Europe’s largest banks starts hedging against its own AI lending book, that tells you something important about where sophisticated risk managers think we are in the cycle.

JPMorgan’s Jamie Dimon warned in October about a probable market decline of 10 to 20% within the next 6 to 24 months, citing concerns about overheating in the technology sector that could trigger a correction similar to the dotcom crash of 2000.

Goldman Sachs’ David Solomon echoed these concerns this week, stating that a 10 to 20% drawdown in equity markets within two years appears likely due to AI related risks and trade tensions.

Even the Bank of England’s Andrew Bailey has warned of “growing risk of a sharp correction” if AI expectations falter, with “alarm bells ringing” over private credit and AI concentration in major indices.

Regional American banks have already begun reporting losses on loans to distressed investment funds, and credit default swap spreads on major banks have risen to elevated levels.

And I’m hardly the only one concerned. I’m completely convinced that credit and risk management departments in all the major global banks are worried about precisely this right now. The parallels to 2007 (when credit markets began showing stress months before the broader crisis became apparent) are uncomfortably clear.

The Intel precedent: when subsidies become equity

To understand what Pulte is proposing, we must first examine the model he explicitly referenced.

In August 2025, the Trump administration took a 9.9% equity stake in Intel Corporation worth $8.9 billion, converting previously awarded CHIPS Act grants and Defence Department funds into common stock ownership. The government purchased 433.3 million shares at $20.47 per share.

Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick justified this approach by arguing that the government should receive equity stakes in exchange for the funding that had already been committed under the previous administration.

But Intel was only the beginning.

The Trump administration has also taken equity stakes in MP Materials (rare earth mining, 15%), Lithium Americas (lithium production, 5-10%), and Trilogy Metals (copper zinc mining, 10%). Reports emerged in October that the administration was exploring similar arrangements with quantum computing firms including IonQ, Rigetti Computing, and D-Wave Quantum, though the Commerce Department subsequently denied “currently negotiating” such stakes (language that leaves ample room for future deals).

This represents an extraordinary shift in American economic policy and a troubling embrace of what can only be described as crony capitalism.

Unlike previous government equity stakes during financial crises (TARP in 2008 or airline support during COVID-19), the Trump administration has taken these positions without any financial emergency.

The ideological precedent is clear: converting government grants and subsidies into equity ownership across strategically important industries, creating an intertwined relationship between state power and private profit that undermines market discipline.

Now Pulte wants to extend this model to Fannie and Freddie. According to Pulte’s statements from May, Fannie Mae has approximately $4.3 trillion on its balance sheet, whilst Freddie Mac holds over $3 trillion.

The scale of what’s at stake

Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac don’t just participate in America’s housing market; they effectively are the housing market. They guarantee roughly half of all outstanding U.S. residential mortgages (the largest share of the approximately 70% of American home loans that receive some form of federal backing, including FHA, VA, and other programmes).

When institutions of this size and systemic importance start deviating from their core mission, the consequences ripple through the entire financial system.

My friend and Richmond Fed veteran economist Bob Hetzel wrote in his seminal 2009 analysis of the financial crisis about how financial safety nets inevitably create moral hazard by increasing incentives for risk-taking.

The critical mechanism he identified: financial institutions receive implicit subsidies from safety nets that grow larger as their portfolios become riskier, as they increase leverage, and as their capital buffers decline.

2008: when mission drift became catastrophic

The last time Fannie and Freddie strayed from their mandate, it ended catastrophically. In September 2008, both institutions collapsed under the weight of massive losses and required a government takeover that has lasted 17 years. At the time of conservatorship, they held or guaranteed about $5.2 trillion of home mortgage debt.

The scale of the losses was staggering. About 80% of Fannie and Freddie’s combined $213 billion in credit losses between 2008 and 2011 involved mortgages that were either Alt-A, interest only, or both. These were loans made to borrowers with relatively high credit scores but featuring riskier structural characteristics. The critical error wasn’t the specific loan types. It was the strategic decision to chase market share by expanding into riskier segments well outside their traditional remit.

Starting in 2006 and 2007, just as the housing market reached its peak, Fannie and Freddie increased their leverage and began investing heavily in subprime securities and Alt-A loans in an ill-fated effort to win back market share from private competitors. This is textbook mission drift: institutions designed for one purpose (providing liquidity to mortgage markets) taking on unrelated risks with predictably disastrous results.

Hetzel understood the fundamental problem.

Writing specifically about the GSEs, he noted that understanding the subprime crisis required grasping how Fannie and Freddie had increased demand for housing stock, pushed homeownership rates to unsustainable levels, and thereby contributed to sharp rises in housing prices given the relatively inelastic supply of housing due to land constraints.

Perhaps most damningly, Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner told the Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission in a private interview that moral hazard was pervasive throughout the system, with the GSEs representing the single largest source of this problem.

The new mission drift: from mortgages to tech equity

Now we’re watching a remarkably similar pattern emerge, only this time the target isn’t housing. It’s technology.

Pulte indicated at the conference that “one of many companies” seeking equity arrangements with Fannie and Freddie is a firm whose involvement would leave observers “blown away with how much money is involved,” though he declined to name it.

Fannie Mae has already signed a partnership agreement with Palantir for fraud detection efforts, though financial terms weren’t disclosed (precisely the kind of opacity that should alarm anyone concerned with accountability).

The Palantir connection is particularly revealing. Since Trump took office, Palantir has secured large federal government contracts. Peter Thiel, Palantir’s co-founder, spent $15 million electing JD Vance to the Senate.

Vance is now vice president. Joe Lonsdale, another Palantir co-founder, contributed $1 million to Elon Musk’s America PAC supporting Trump. This isn’t a market economy. This is a system where government contracts and partnerships flow to companies whose founders financed the campaigns of those now in power.

The proposed model is seductive in its simplicity: tech companies offer Fannie and Freddie equity stakes in exchange for access to the GSEs’ enormous housing finance ecosystem.

But consider Pulte’s own reasoning: the GSEs are considering taking equity stakes in companies specifically because of the substantial power Fannie and Freddie exercise over the entire ecosystem.

This isn’t market allocation. This is using control over critical infrastructure to extract equity positions from private companies. This is crony capitalism at its most transparent.

Moral hazard at scale: the implicit guarantee premium

The fundamental problem here isn’t just about Fannie and Freddie taking equity stakes in a few tech companies.

It’s about what those stakes signal to the broader market about the existence and scope of implicit government guarantees.

Hetzel identified the core mechanism with precision: financial safety nets (including deposit insurance, too-big-to-fail protections, Federal Home Loan Banks, and the Fed’s discount window) allow banks to access funding at costs that don’t rise with the riskiness of their portfolios.

The same logic applies when government backed entities like Fannie and Freddie take equity positions in private companies.

That government guarantee (now explicit after 17 years of conservatorship) means US taxpayers ultimately backstop losses whilst any gains accrue to whom exactly? The Treasury? Tech companies?

This creates a fiscal time bomb where downside risk is socialised whilst upside is privatised.

But the effects extend far beyond the specific companies receiving these investments.

When the market observes the government taking equity stakes in Intel, exploring partnerships with OpenAI, and now planning to inject Fannie and Freddie capital into technology firms, investors rationally update their beliefs about which companies enjoy implicit state backing.

The extraordinary valuations we observe across the Magnificent Seven and related AI companies aren’t just about technological optimism. They reflect the market pricing in an implicit guarantee that these firms are “too big to fail.”

This is moral hazard pricing on a sectoral scale. And it raises a troubling question: if these companies are indeed “too big to fail,” are they also becoming “too big to save”?

Too big to fail or too big to save?

Consider the arithmetic. The combined market capitalisation of the Magnificent Seven alone now exceeds $20 trillion. Add in the broader ecosystem of AI related companies, data centre operators, and semiconductor firms, and you’re looking at market value that’s at least partially predicated on the assumption of government support.

Now place that against America’s fiscal position. U.S. national debt stands at $38 trillion (more than 100% of GDP). Interest payments reached $841 billion in just the first ten months of fiscal year 2025, already exceeding Medicaid.

The Congressional Budget Office projects debt will reach 156% of GDP by 2055, with interest payments hitting $1.8 trillion annually by 2035.

Here’s the uncomfortable arithmetic: when the next crisis comes (and it will come), can the American government actually afford to bail out a technology sector whose market capitalisation approaches half the entire national debt? The fiscal buffer that existed in 2007, problematic as it was, has completely evaporated. We may be creating a class of companies that markets believe are too big to fail, but which the American government is quite possibly too indebted to save.

And this is before considering the international dimension.

When Fannie and Freddie (institutions with explicit government backing) take equity positions in tech companies, it sends a signal to foreign holders of U.S. Treasury securities that America is extending its contingent liabilities even further into speculative territory.

For a Chinese central bank holding a trillion dollars in Treasuries, or a Japanese or Scandinavian pension fund with massive exposure to American debt, this doesn’t look like prudent fiscal management.

It looks like the American government is systematically increasing the risk that it will face multiple, simultaneous calls on its financial resources that it cannot meet without inflating away its debts or defaulting.

The conservatorship paradox and regulatory capture

Pulte confirmed on Friday that Fannie and Freddie will remain in government conservatorship whilst potentially conducting an IPO of up to 5% of their shares this quarter or early next year.

He indicated that he anticipates the president will make a decision on the IPO timing either this quarter or in early 2026.

Think carefully about what this means: these institutions remain under explicit government control because they’re deemed too important and too risky to operate independently in housing markets, yet they’re simultaneously being encouraged to speculate in technology equity markets.

The conflicts of interest are staggering. Pulte runs the agency that regulates Fannie and Freddie whilst simultaneously chairing both companies.

If those companies become equity investors in major tech firms, he’ll effectively be regulating entities in which his institutions have direct financial stakes.

This is regulatory capture taken to its logical extreme: the regulator, the regulated entities, and the companies receiving investment all bound together in a web of mutual dependency that eliminates any possibility of arms length oversight or genuine market discipline.

If Fannie and Freddie aren’t trustworthy enough to exit conservatorship after 17 years of profitability in their core business, what possible justification exists for expanding their mandate into tech investment?

What should happen instead

The solution is straightforward but politically difficult: complete the mission Fannie and Freddie were designed for, then either privatise them fully or wind them down entirely.

If conservatorship is necessary because these institutions require close government supervision, keep them focused exclusively on their housing mandate with strict limits on portfolio composition and leverage.

If they’re healthy enough to take tech equity positions, they’re healthy enough to exit conservatorship and face genuine market discipline.

What should not be accepted is this worst of all worlds hybrid: government guaranteed institutions with neither proper oversight nor proper market discipline, now venturing into speculative investments far beyond their expertise or mandate, at a time when the U.S. government’s own fiscal position is already unsustainable, all whilst creating a sectoral moral hazard problem that may prove impossible to resolve when the inevitable repricing occurs.

Hetzel proposed a radical but coherent alternative: eliminating the Fed’s legal authority to make discount window loans, suggesting instead that the central bank should flood markets with liquidity during panics through open market operations whilst maintaining its policy rate through interest on reserves.

The core principle: creditors and debtors will restrain financial system risk-taking only if they face genuine losses when financial institutions fail.

Every expansion of the safety net (whether through TBTF, discount window lending, government equity stakes in strategic companies, or now equity investments linking government backed housing finance to private tech firms) undermines this crucial disciplining mechanism.

Every implicit guarantee extended, every equity stake taken, every suggestion that politically connected companies will receive state support, moves us further from a market economy and deeper into crony capitalism where success depends not on serving customers but on securing government favour.

Conclusion: echoes from 2008

Seventeen years after Fannie and Freddie’s collapse nearly took down the global financial system, the same structural errors are being repeated, but this time with different assets, weaker fiscal foundations, and potentially far graver consequences.

The 2008 crisis taught us that Fannie and Freddie represent “entirely moral hazard” when they deviate from their core mission, as Geithner observed. Fannie and Freddie needed a $191 billion taxpayer bailout because they deviated from their core mission, driven by the same toxic combination of implicit government guarantees, inadequate oversight, and mission drift that is re-emerging today.

Now, under political pressure to “do something” about housing affordability and tech competitiveness, they’re being pushed down the same path again, only this time explicitly following the Trump administration’s model of crony capitalist equity stakes, at a time when U.S. federal debt stands at 100% of GDP, interest payments exceed defence spending, and the fiscal buffer to absorb another systemic crisis no longer exists.

But this time there’s an additional, more troubling dimension. This isn’t just recreating the moral hazard of 2008. This is creating it at sectoral scale across technology companies whose combined market capitalisation may literally be too large for the American government to backstop.

The stress in credit markets, the Federal Reserve’s emergency liquidity injections totalling over $70 billion in early November, the defensive hedging by major banks like Deutsche, the warnings from JPMorgan, Goldman Sachs, and the Bank of England—these aren’t abstract concerns. They’re happening right now, and they’re happening for a reason.

The market is beginning to ask the question that should terrify policymakers: what happens when companies that everyone believes are too big to fail turn out to be too big to save?

The next crisis won’t announce itself with sirens and flashing lights. It will begin, as the last one did, with seemingly reasonable people making seemingly reasonable arguments about expanding mandates, capturing growth opportunities, and using “power over the whole ecosystem” for strategic purposes. It will involve the gradual extension of implicit guarantees until the market prices them in as explicit. And this time it will happen in a context where U.S. federal debt is at historically high levels, the fiscal capacity to absorb losses has evaporated, and the companies that need saving may be orders of magnitude too large for the government’s balance sheet.

The lesson from Washington in 2008 was clear. Apparently, it needs to be learned once more, and this time, the tuition fees may be higher than ever, both for the financial system and for U.S. sovereign creditworthiness itself.

The only question is whether this administration is creating companies that are too big to fail, or too big to save.

I fear the answer will reveal itself soon enough.


Lars Christensen
LC@paice.io
+45 52 50 25 06





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