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https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/04/20/the-price-of-the-coronavirus-pandemic
The investor who calls himself the Australian headed out for a walk on his farm in the Alps of New South Wales, three hundred miles south of Sydney. This was a morning in late March. He’d been holed up there for a month with his wife and three kids, plus two portable oxygen units and a store of hydroxychloroquine. “But my intention is not to get it,” he said, of covid-19. “I don’t plan to see anyone until October.” He was talking on a cell phone. You could hear the caw of crows in the background, and the luffing of the wind. “I only see four other people in the valley. If I need to kill them, I will.” One assumed, from the way he laughed, that this was a joke.
The Australian, who spoke on the condition that his name not be used, is a voluble redhead just shy of fifty. “Billions dude looks like me,” he wrote, in a WhatsApp message accompanied by a pair of photos. He did indeed resemble Damian Lewis, the actor who plays a hedge-fund magnate in the Showtime series “Billions.” “He stole my look.” Reared in Sydney, the Australian moved to New York in 1994, when he turned twenty-two, to trade commodities at Goldman Sachs. At JPMorgan, he and a couple of his countrymen—known as the Aussie mafia—earned the firm hundreds of millions in profits during the early months of the financial crisis, in 2008. In 2015, he moved to Singapore. Proximity to China, a bearish disposition, and an interest in the history of virulent diseases led him to pay special attention to the effects that recent outbreaks had had on financial markets. sars, H1N1, Ebola. Last October, he listened to an audiobook by the Hardcore History podcaster, Dan Carlin, called “The End Is Always Near.” “So I had pandemics and plagues in my head,” the Australian said. “In December, I started seeing the first articles about this wet-market thing going on in China, and then in early January there was a lot on Twitter about the shit in Wuhan.” He was in Switzerland on a ski holiday with his family, and he bought all the surgical masks and gloves he could find. On the flight back to Australia, he and his wife wore some, to the bewilderment of other passengers.
He quickly put some money to work. He bought a big stake in Alpha Pro Tech, one of the few North American manufacturers of N95 surgical masks, with the expectation that when the virus made it across the Pacific the company would get government contracts to produce more. The stock was trading at about three dollars and fifty cents a share, and so, for cents on the dollar, he bought options to purchase the shares at a future date for ten dollars: he was betting that it would go up much more than that. By the end of February, the stock was trading at twenty-five dollars a share. He shorted oil and, as a proxy for oil, the Canadian dollar. (That is, he bet against both.) Finally, he shorted U.S. equities.
“You don’t know anyone who has made as much money out of this as I have,” he said over the phone. No argument here. He wouldn’t specify an amount, but reckoned that he was up almost two thousand per cent on the year.
Emboldened by vindication, the Australian, walking through the countryside, laid out his prognosis for the United States and the world. America needed to “rip off the Band-Aid,” he said. The federal government should close the borders, shut off all international commerce, declare martial law, deploy the military to build field hospitals and isolation wards, and arrest or even fire on anyone who didn’t abide by a stay-in-place protocol. (“In 1918, in San Francisco, a cop shot someone in broad daylight for being outside without a face mask, and the cop was celebrated for it!”) Or perhaps the government should reward each citizen who strictly observed the quarantine with fifty thousand dollars. “The virus would burn out after four weeks,” he said. The U.S. had all the food and water and fuel it would need to survive months, if not years, of total isolation from the world. “If you don’t trade with China, they’re screwed,” he said. “You’d win this war. Let the rest of the world burn.” The problem, he said, was that, perhaps more now than ever, Americans lack what he called “social cohesion,” and thus the collective will, to commit to such a path. “Plus, you have guns. Lots of guns. And all the base materials for your drugs, like ninety-seven per cent, come from China.” He predicted that any less stringent measures—the slow removal of the Band-Aid that we are experiencing now—would result in social unrest bordering on civil war, and the decimation of our medical ranks. “So suddenly everyone who’s seen ‘House’ would be a doctor,” he said. Politically, the Australian considered himself well right of center, yet he thought it ridiculous that the United States doesn’t have nationalized health care. He predicted the cancellation of the Presidential election, or Donald Trump’s resignation, or the creation of an emergency leadership council, to which, throughout the conversation, he nominated Generals Mattis and Petraeus, Bill Gates, and Gary Cohn, for whom the Australian had worked at Goldman Sachs. “You could have either four weeks of pain and a future boom or years of this rolling bullshit and a depression. But people are just selfish. They’re not thinking. They’re morons.”
Read on ....
The investor who calls himself the Australian headed out for a walk on his farm in the Alps of New South Wales, three hundred miles south of Sydney. This was a morning in late March. He’d been holed up there for a month with his wife and three kids, plus two portable oxygen units and a store of hydroxychloroquine. “But my intention is not to get it,” he said, of covid-19. “I don’t plan to see anyone until October.” He was talking on a cell phone. You could hear the caw of crows in the background, and the luffing of the wind. “I only see four other people in the valley. If I need to kill them, I will.” One assumed, from the way he laughed, that this was a joke.
The Australian, who spoke on the condition that his name not be used, is a voluble redhead just shy of fifty. “Billions dude looks like me,” he wrote, in a WhatsApp message accompanied by a pair of photos. He did indeed resemble Damian Lewis, the actor who plays a hedge-fund magnate in the Showtime series “Billions.” “He stole my look.” Reared in Sydney, the Australian moved to New York in 1994, when he turned twenty-two, to trade commodities at Goldman Sachs. At JPMorgan, he and a couple of his countrymen—known as the Aussie mafia—earned the firm hundreds of millions in profits during the early months of the financial crisis, in 2008. In 2015, he moved to Singapore. Proximity to China, a bearish disposition, and an interest in the history of virulent diseases led him to pay special attention to the effects that recent outbreaks had had on financial markets. sars, H1N1, Ebola. Last October, he listened to an audiobook by the Hardcore History podcaster, Dan Carlin, called “The End Is Always Near.” “So I had pandemics and plagues in my head,” the Australian said. “In December, I started seeing the first articles about this wet-market thing going on in China, and then in early January there was a lot on Twitter about the shit in Wuhan.” He was in Switzerland on a ski holiday with his family, and he bought all the surgical masks and gloves he could find. On the flight back to Australia, he and his wife wore some, to the bewilderment of other passengers.
He quickly put some money to work. He bought a big stake in Alpha Pro Tech, one of the few North American manufacturers of N95 surgical masks, with the expectation that when the virus made it across the Pacific the company would get government contracts to produce more. The stock was trading at about three dollars and fifty cents a share, and so, for cents on the dollar, he bought options to purchase the shares at a future date for ten dollars: he was betting that it would go up much more than that. By the end of February, the stock was trading at twenty-five dollars a share. He shorted oil and, as a proxy for oil, the Canadian dollar. (That is, he bet against both.) Finally, he shorted U.S. equities.
“You don’t know anyone who has made as much money out of this as I have,” he said over the phone. No argument here. He wouldn’t specify an amount, but reckoned that he was up almost two thousand per cent on the year.
Emboldened by vindication, the Australian, walking through the countryside, laid out his prognosis for the United States and the world. America needed to “rip off the Band-Aid,” he said. The federal government should close the borders, shut off all international commerce, declare martial law, deploy the military to build field hospitals and isolation wards, and arrest or even fire on anyone who didn’t abide by a stay-in-place protocol. (“In 1918, in San Francisco, a cop shot someone in broad daylight for being outside without a face mask, and the cop was celebrated for it!”) Or perhaps the government should reward each citizen who strictly observed the quarantine with fifty thousand dollars. “The virus would burn out after four weeks,” he said. The U.S. had all the food and water and fuel it would need to survive months, if not years, of total isolation from the world. “If you don’t trade with China, they’re screwed,” he said. “You’d win this war. Let the rest of the world burn.” The problem, he said, was that, perhaps more now than ever, Americans lack what he called “social cohesion,” and thus the collective will, to commit to such a path. “Plus, you have guns. Lots of guns. And all the base materials for your drugs, like ninety-seven per cent, come from China.” He predicted that any less stringent measures—the slow removal of the Band-Aid that we are experiencing now—would result in social unrest bordering on civil war, and the decimation of our medical ranks. “So suddenly everyone who’s seen ‘House’ would be a doctor,” he said. Politically, the Australian considered himself well right of center, yet he thought it ridiculous that the United States doesn’t have nationalized health care. He predicted the cancellation of the Presidential election, or Donald Trump’s resignation, or the creation of an emergency leadership council, to which, throughout the conversation, he nominated Generals Mattis and Petraeus, Bill Gates, and Gary Cohn, for whom the Australian had worked at Goldman Sachs. “You could have either four weeks of pain and a future boom or years of this rolling bullshit and a depression. But people are just selfish. They’re not thinking. They’re morons.”
Read on ....
