Categories
Books & printed materials

[2996] Reading The Flash Boys ten years after purchase

There was a time ages ago when I was enamored with the idea of finance. Just out of university, finance was the in thing. It was during this phase that I picked Michael Lewis’s Liar’s Poker. The author describes his bond trading experience in the late-1980s and early 1990s. He has written other books over the years: Moneyball and The Big Short among them. But it took me roughly 10 years after picking up Liar’s Poker to return to Lewis. Sometime in the mid-2010s, I bought The Flash Boys from Kinokuniya Kuala Lumpur.

But it would take me another 10 years to read and finish it. I have a bad habit of buying multiple books and later forgetting about them completely. On my shelves, I think between a fifth and a tenth of books there are unread. I am glad to say there is one more book out of the unread list.

The market has changed over the past 20-30 years and the contextual contrast between Liar’s Poker and The Flash Boys is huge. The former was set in a world where there were people on the trading floors taking bids and making offers for all kinds of financial instruments. By the 2010s, the floors were empty, the financial instruments had increased in complexity beyond the comprehension of most finance-people and computers had taken over buying and selling activities. Now, the most advanced markets are driven by algorithmic trading (before everything was labelled as AI), computing power and ultimately, super high-speed internet. That is the context of The Flash Boys: it is about high-frequency trading or HFT.

The greatest lesson I get from The Flash Boys is something that I already know: not all competition is good and for the financial markets, fragmentation (including multiple listings) largely creates room for inefficiencies.

The proliferation of stock exchanges has created unfair arbitrage opportunities for those with access to the most computing power and the fastest speed. That room for arbitrage exist in less than a tenth or even a hundredth of a microsecond, a window too small for a human to notice but a lifetime for computers. Here, having competing stock exchanges means having lags introduced into the whole financial system and that lag will be manipulated by high-frequency traders that thrive on delays too small for the human senses to detect. That manipulation comes in the form of frontrunning legitimate transactions which raises the cost a great majority in the market with HFT firms pocketing the additional charges.

This is just one example where competition is counterproductive to the market. For stock exchanges, we really do want to create a deep, one-location transparent market. Anything else creates information asymmetry.

Categories
Books & printed materials Conflict & disaster

[2995] Reading The Lady from Tel Aviv

Rashid Khalidi’s The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine was the first in a set of books I bought and read during the height of Israel’s latest aggression against Palestine. Khalidi’s work turned out to be the authoritative must-read book of the year and it reframed things I thought I knew about the Israel-Palestine conflict from before. A mixture of personal and national history, the book helps me understand the messy Israeli-Palestinian history easier, compared to the effort of going through Wikipedia’s voluminous and even messier entries.

Khalidi’s is excellent but non-fictions sometimes are unable to capture certain aspects of the real world. Over the years, I have discovered that the work of fiction can close the gap. So, I went on another spending spree purchasing a few Palestine-linked literature. One that I actually read (as opposed to being left on my shelf) was Rabai Al-Madhoun’s translated work The Lady from Tel Aviv. Originally written and published in Arabic in 2009, The Lady was translated by Elliott Colla into English and then republished a year later.

In summary, The Lady is a story about a Palestinian exile’s return to Gaza post-the Second Intifada. The book appears to a semi-autobiography of the author. The three layers of reality governing the story suggest as much: the author Al-Madhoun (a journalist himself) has his exiled journalist protagonist as an author working on a homecoming novel.

For quite a heavy subject, The Lady is a light reading. So light that I feel the novel could do with more details. The book skims the surface regarding the mistreatment Palestinians faced by Israeli occupying forces, the corruption of the Palestinian Authority and the general conflict between Fatah and Hamas. It is a picture of hopelessness that Gazans embrace as a way of life, that all the troubles they face are taken as given as stoics would.

Despite all the conflicts, corruptions and injustices, he does not explore any of them deep enough. He is content to have them mentioned and unexplored, taking it as a universal obvious truth unworthy of elaboration. And then there are loose ends left to the readers’ imagination. That I think is the most frustrating thing about The Lady.

But Al-Madhoun might be aware of this particular criticism even as he was writing the novel. In a scene where the lead character, the journalist, visits his blind childhood friend Muhammad (Abu Saber) for the first time in 40 years, who is now a poor beggar with nobody else to rely on:

I think I am going to leave. I shut my eyes, unable to keep looking at the shape Muhammad is in. This is an unrecognizably distorted copy of the boy whose friendship had lit up my childhood. Abu Hatem waits for me a short way off. I turn away so no one can see the tears in my eyes.

[…]

Abu Hatem turns the key in the ignition and Muhammad realizes I am about to go. He waves his cane around the air and screams so loudly it splits my heart. As we drive away, he calls out, “Who are you—you stranger who is not a stranger?”

[…]

“Why didn’t you tell Abu Saber who you were?” asks Abu Hatem. “You broke his heart—and mine too.”

“I couldn’t do it. It would have been worse had he known it was me. If he knew I saw him like that.

 

That makes me wonder whether the lack of details is just Al-Madhoun’s way to protecting the readers from the difficult reality in Gaza.

Categories
Books & printed materials Economics History & heritage

[2994] Reviewing How Asia Works

Even when free trade consensus was at its most influential period during the 1990s, industrial policy involving government intervention across Asia was commonplace. For Asian beneficiaries of free trade and globalization like Malaysia, South and Taiwan, they were and are at best mixed economies.

Now that that consensus is collapsing and trade barriers are rising, industrial policy is becoming more and more important as a response to contemporary challenges. The US under the former Biden administration did it. Europe is trying to follow suit. China has doubled down its initiatives. Almost everybody else of importance has moved in the same direction as they try to capture some segments of a shifting and fraying global supply chain caused by competition between China and the US. As far as the China-US competition is concerned, Malaysia has been promoting itself as safe haven for cross-border manufacturers and service providers since at least the first Pakatan Harapan government.

It was this context that convinced me to re-read Joe Studwell’s How Asia Works that hit the book market back in 2013. The book does not touch about contemporary industrial policy concerns like how Chris Miller’s The Chip War does but it provides a historical overview of post-war economic development of selected prominent economies in the Asia Pacific while outlining a general theory of which industrial policy worked and which did not.

The overall framework itself is not controversial: an economy progresses from agriculture-based towards manufacturing and later service-based. That feels like a truism when we look back from a mainstream 2020s lens. In fact, even the leading communists of the late 19th and early 20th century understood this.  So, the general idea has a very long history.

What the author proposes differently is the method which an economy carries out that shift.

For newly independent underdeveloped economies during the post-World War II era, Studwell highlights that economies needed land reforms to soak up loose labor market, boost agricultural productivity and build up national surplus. Land reforms mean redistributing land from the biggest landowners to the peasants, turning tenant-farmers into owner-farmers. This solved multiple post-war challenges: social unrest, extreme mass unemployment, production disincentives associated with rentierism, indebtedness and lack of capital surplus that is required for industrialization.

Economies that managed to commit land reforms the earliest and most comprehensively are the ones to experience robust industrialisation first. Here, Japan is the original success story going all the way back to the 19th century Meiji Restoration and again later following its defeat in the World War. Taiwan did the same after the Kuomintang government fled mainland China and implemented various reforms on the island. South Korea carried this out on the urging of the United States’s occupying authorities. China attempted land reforms and achieved successes until communist excesses led to collectivism in the 1950s. Collectivism undid earlier Chinese agricultural progress and delayed Chinese industrialisation until after the death of Mao Zedong. Thailand for the longest time was in denial about the state of its economy but belatedly (and informally) allowed new land to be opened up north. Meanwhile, Malaysia and Indonesia cheated their way out of land reforms: Malaysia by encouraging land openings through Felda (and not mentioned in the book, new villages as a response to the Communist Emergency) and Indonesia through its transmigrasi program that relocated population from Java to other Indonesian islands (the most important were Sumatra and Kalimantan). Finally, the Philippines did not bother with land reforms (as a colonial power, the US is to blame: US policy here is the direct opposite of its actions in South Korea. But it is also a story of landowning elites capturing the state), leaving the profile of the Philippine economy to that of an inefficient oligarchy.

By the 1990s, land reforms and agricultural successes had a high correlation with industrialization progress. Japan, South Korea and Taiwan were the most successful in terms of how industrialized the country had become. China came second while Malaysia and Thailand perhaps were close third and fourth before the Asian Financial Crisis knocked them off the track. Indonesia was some ways behind two these economies. And the Philippines was the Sick Man of Asia and remained so until maybe the 2010s.

Malaysia and Thailand are the odd ones here. They managed to build up surpluses to carry out industrialization despite relative failures at land reforms. The reason is that they were engaged in export-led manufacturing largely financed by foreign investment that somewhat mitigated agricultural failures (it is jarring to call these two economies as agricultural failures but failures here should be defined by the counterfactual: their agricultural output under full land reforms could have been much bigger than it was in reality, following examples from Japan, South Korea and Taiwan). The jumpstarted manufacturing sector solved some problems local agriculture did not and the most obvious of that problem was mass unemployment. In Malaysia’s case, careful natural resource management also created the surplus necessary for Malaysian industrialization.

The key concept here is exports. To be a successful economy, the country has to have export-discipline. Here, again, the most export-disciplined economies were Japan, South Korea and Taiwan (and China). In Japan and South Korea, the government forced tycoons and corporations to become involved in export-led manufacturing. Taiwan was different in that it used state-owned enterprises as its export vehicles. In places like Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand however, the tycoons were happy to become rentiers and investing their surplus in largely less productive sector such as real estate, banking and other financial services. There were manufacturers but they were happy to confine themselves in the protected domestic economy in absence of a less-than-gentle nudge from the government. Here, the three Southeast Asian economies ran a flawed industrial policy for the longest time: import-substitution in a protectionist environment before foreign manufacturers came in to allow export-led manufacturing to flourish. What the author argues is exports-led industrialization/export discipline in a protectionist environment (but these protected exporting manufacturers competing against themselves). Again, the worst of the lot was the Philippines with its oligarchs.

The next stage of development is the shift towards service-based economy. The pitfall is to liberalize the economy before the industrialization process is complete. All Southeast Asian economies failed this test and made their economy more vulnerable to financial crisis. The most successful, again, were the three (and later four including China in the 2000s) that liberalize when their manufacturing had matured.

But the ultimate message is that a government has to intervene and try. Studwell shows that even those who tried half-baked reforms and industrialization achieved much more progress faster than those who did not try. Malaysia is a prime example of committing to half-baked reforms and industrialization and then ended up much better than most in Southeast Asia. Malaysia could have been a South Korea if the country had done it properly but then again, Malaysia is also not a bad place to be compared to a majority of economies out there in the world.

To not try at all is to be left behind. So, Yoda is wrong as far as industrialization and economic history are concerned.

Categories
Pop culture Sci-fi

[2993] To enjoy Reversi, you mustn’t work too hard

Time travel as a moving picture subject has experienced a resurgence in popularity over the past decade or so. The final chapters of the Avengers movies (especially the associated Loki series) are likely the most well-known franchise exploring the idea while incorporating the many-worlds thesis. DC does the same thing through The Flash with a slightly different (but more interesting) interpretation. On Apple TV+, there is Dark Matter adaption although it is primarily less about time travel and more about the idea of many-worlds. On Netflix, there is the insanely complicated German sci-fi Dark that requires anybody to draw up a chart to keep the story straight.

So I would think it is only natural the same fascination with time travel would hit the Malaysian film scene. It comes in the form of Reversi. That is not to say the local industry had not explored the theme before. There is XX-Ray all the way from 1992. Whether there is anything since then (notwithstanding XX-Ray sequels), the layperson in me is unaware.

I watched Reversi in the cinema recently, on the account that I thoroughly enjoyed Imaginur and that both are starred by the same lead actor, Beto Kusyairy.

But to appreciate the two-hour+ long Reversi, one must suffer an hour of tedium coupled with rude audience afflicted with boredom… before the work reveals its brilliance somewhere in the middle of the story. Just in its second week of release, Reversi was already put up in small cinema halls with an even smaller watching crowd. The slow hour was enough to have some members of the audience to be rude by scrolling their brightly lit phone or conversing above whispering level as the movie dialogue pushed its way.

When the brilliance came, it came as a shock therapy, smashing the boredom and pulling the audience’s attention back to the silver screen. That brilliance is the fact that Reversi is not a simplistic time travel story in the style of Back to the Future or XX-Ray. It is one of many-worlds with central branch that all other possible branches gravitate toward. If a person goes back to change a decision in the past, he would create a new branch where events there would attempt to mimic the consequence realized within the main branch. Fate refuses to be changed by too much.

I had trouble accepting the premise. Explanation given by various characters in the movie are dissatisfying. Questions flew everywhere in my head and so engrossed was I that I began getting distracted by my attempt at rationalization.

Before I went too deep inside the rabbit hole, I remembered that all fictions require a little bit of the suspension of belief if they are to be enjoyed. So, I pulled up and understood that my search for perfection was becoming the enemy of good.

I stepped back in mind, sat straighter in my seat and savored the brilliance of the second hour.

Hafiz Noor Shams. Some rights reservedHafiz Noor Shams. Some rights reservedHafiz Noor Shams. Some rights reserved

It is impossible to discuss Reversi without talking about the influence exerted by other movies.

The futility of changing history runs parallel to the message of The Flash. The Flash is a terrible movie but its interpretation of many-worlds is interesting enough for me. In this way, Reversi implemented the idea in a much, much better way. If you strip the many-worlds aspect, Final Destination does come to mind too.

The inheritance of time travelling ability along family line sounds familiar, but I cannot for the life of me recall the exact movie. (I’ve been informed this is About Time.)

And I think the influence of Everything Everywhere All At Once could be seen in the background. The clearest reference is the scenes where Beto Kusyairy’s character time travelling; I see Michelle Yeoh’s Evelyn Quan Wang jumping across realities.

Categories
Books & printed materials Politics & government Society

[2992] Reading Ta-Nehisi Coates’s The Message

Those concerned with the world would likely take Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between the World and Me as an important work about racism in the United States. I could only believe the book’s importance would only rise further as the white identity politics entrenches itself in the western world. Coates there reveals the societal hypocrisy that exists in the United States with regards to racism vis-à-vis his experience as a black person. While the subject of Between the World and Me is grim, the language used by Coates across all its pages is beautiful.

Cover of Ta-Nehisi Coates's The Message.

When The Message came out in October this year, I was quick to pick it up. The controversy surrounding the book made me all the more curious about Coates’s latest work. That controversy involved him equating Israel’s treatment of Palestinians as apartheid. He had visited Israel and Palestine (and a few other places) and the book was published as Israel continue to commit horrendous killing not just in Palestine but also in Lebanon, while proceeding with its illegal land grabbing exercise in the West Bank.

Coates’s latest is beautifully written, no doubt, but equating Israel’s behavior to apartheid is hardly a new groundbreaking point. That message and other criticisms he lobs in Israel’s directions are only controversial because pro-Israel readers (and non-readers) consider any criticism of Israel as racism/antisemitism. To the wider world, there is no controversy but only a nod to Coates signifying the lack of moral authority Israel has in order to make such accusation.

Israel is not the only subject of the book. He speaks of his visit to Senegal to explore the history of slavery in the US and his own roots. It is here I think where the language is at its smoothest, hence my favorite section of the book.

In both parts of the book, the seeds are quite clearly the points on racism discussed earlier in Between the World and Me. Realizing this, I feel The Message is an extension of Between the World and Me. The former is expands the reality perceived by Coates in his earlier work with the wider world in mind.

But the act of expanding older points does not make The Message unimportant. Sometimes, profoundness of points made is not the point itself. Sometimes, the point is the realization of something had to be done. In justifying writing The Message, Coates writes:

…The figure is you, the writer, an idea in hand, notes scribbled on loose-leaf, maybe an early draft of an outline. But to write, to draw that map, to pull us into the wilderness, you cannot merely stand at the edge. You have to walk the land. You have to see the elevation for yourself, the color of the soil. You have to discover the ravine is really a valley and that the stream is in fact a river winding south from a glacier in the mountains. You can’t “logic” your way through it or retreat to your innate genius. A belief in genius is a large part of what plagues us, and I have found that people widely praised for power of their intellect are as likely to illuminate as they are to confound. “Genius” may or may not help a writer whose job is, above all else, to clarify.

And so he traveled and wrote.