A cynic's case for the bankers' oath

I am not, by nature, a particularly trusting soul. I believe, for example, in the wisdom of the old Hollywood adage that a verbal agreement isn't worth the paper it's written on.

I also put stock in the following theories: talk is cheap, a sucker is born every minute, and nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public.

So it is with some embarrassment that I hereby endorse the calls emanating from the UK this week for bankers to swear an oath of good behaviour as a way of making the financial world a better place. There is, after all, something comical about the proposal, by the British think-tank ResPublica, to have the bottom-line guardians of the financial world stand up in public and recite the politically correct platitudes of touchy-feely European do-gooders.

The proposed oath goes on for an ungainly 222 words - roughly three times the verbiage of the Lord's Prayer - and verges on a code of chivalry. "I will confront profligacy and impropriety wherever I encounter it," it reads, "for the conduct of bankers can have dramatic consequence for society."

The resulting oath-taking ceremony would take on a surreal quality; the bankers would surely be able to mouth the words. As a reporter, I have seen - through clouds of cigar smoke and other murk - some of the most important people on Wall Street say whatever a given situation required.

But the resulting display of insincerity would be staggering. The parallel that comes to my mind's eye is the scene towards the end of the musical, Guys and Dolls, in which a gang of gamblers attends a Salvation Army prayer meeting to settle a bet. "I was always a bad guy," says a sinner by the name of Benny Southstreet. "I was even a bad gambler. I would like to be a good guy and a good gambler. I thank you."

The action will only get funnier if the pledge is recited in a New York accent. It's easy for the English to say things like: "I will apply myself to ensuring that the work I perform is in line with values that engender the responsible creation of value." But repeat that line in the style of the old Tony Curtis imitators - of "yondah lies da castle of my faddah" fame - and it's hard to get past the "values dat engenduh" part with a straight face.

Still, I think the bankers' oath idea could work provided it is properly executed. The key would be making a really big deal of the ritual - requiring bankers to recite their pledges from memory at ceremonies streamed to all available devices and followed by swell parties, such as the ones thrown to celebrate weddings and bar mitzvahs .

If sufficient importance is attached to these events, bankers will have the incentive to concentrate on their performance, raising the possibility that the words of the oath could sink into at least some of their skulls.

Even the more doubtful among us know such things happen. The world of organised religion offers a wealth of examples attesting to the power of repetition. Words can take hold of people who use them often enough, whether by praying, chanting, reciting or what have you.

I have even witnessed something like this take place in some of the newsrooms in which I have worked. After spending a sufficient number of years typing up the words of rich people, it is possible for a financial reporter of even modest means to wind up with the world view of a Stephen Schwarzman sucking the flesh out of a $40 stone crab claw.

It is possible that some master of the universe preparing for their special oath-taking day might take the words of the pledge to heart, in much the same way as the prayer meeting in Guys and Dolls changes the life of Benny Southstreet's pal, Nicely Nicely Johnson.

Nicely rises to his feet to report that "something very funny" has been happening to him as he listens to the testimony of his criminal associates. He recounts a dream in which he is taking a boat trip to heaven and is seized by the desire to stand up and give the dice that are still in his pocket one more roll.

Before he gives in to temptation, his fellow passengers, knowing right from wrong, provide him with the advice that saves his soul - and could be of interest to some of our friends in the banking game as they consider their odds. "For the people all said, Sit down, sit down, you're rockin' the boat," sings Nicely to the assembled mob. "And the devil will drag you under, By the sharp lapel of your chequered coat. Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, Sit down, you're rockin' the boat!"

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