The headlines from the epidemic epicentre are, for once, not entirely grim. UK-funded research has identified a cohort of Ebola survivors whose antibodies offer a rare glimmer of hope. But as a financial editor who has watched billions evaporate in emerging market crises, I cannot help but apply a discount rate to this optimism.
Let us start with the science, or rather the economics of survival. The research, backed by UK taxpayers and the Wellcome Trust, has tracked survivors in the Democratic Republic of Congo and Guinea. Their blood contains potent antibodies that may neutralise the virus. This is a tangible asset, a biological ‘blue chip’ if you will, in a portfolio of otherwise volatile public health interventions.
But here is the rub. The capital flight from the region has been staggering. Foreign investors have pulled out, aid budgets are being slashed, and the local health infrastructure remains in default. The market for this new hope is dysfunctional. We have the asset, but not the distribution channels. The researchers call for ‘compassionate use’ of experimental therapies. I call for a more efficient allocation of resources.
The government’s spending on this research is a classic quasi-fiscal operation. It carries high risk and uncertain returns. While I applaud the intent, I worry about the fiscal drag. Every pound spent on Ebola is a pound not spent on cutting the deficit. And with gilt yields threatening to rise, the cost of this ‘humanitarian investment’ may soon outweigh its benefits.
Yet the data is compelling. Survivors’ antibodies have a half-life of optimism. In laboratory assays, they neutralise multiple strains. This is not a penny stock. It is a potential blockbuster. But the path to market is littered with regulatory hurdles and patent disputes. The World Health Organisation is talking about global deployment. Talk is cheap. I want to see a term sheet.
The market for vaccines is inherently inefficient. The private sector has little incentive to manufacture for the poor. This is a classic public goods problem. The government’s role here is akin to quantitative easing for health. But without a clear exit strategy, we risk creating dependency.
And what of the survivors themselves? They are the collateral. Their blood is the raw material. They should be compensated, given equity in the future profits. Instead, they are offered ‘hope’. Hope does not pay the bills.
Inflation is the invisible tax. The printing of money to fund these research grants will eventually erode purchasing power. The Bank of England’s balance sheet is already bloated. Every new grant is a drag on the currency.
I do not wish to sound like a heartless accountant. Lives are at stake. But the path to solving this epidemic is not through emotional spending. It is through market mechanisms: venture capital, patent pools, and advanced market commitments. Let the survivors be the shareholders, not the charity cases.
The news from the epicentre is, indeed, a rare glimmer of hope. But in a world of fiscal straitjackets and capital flight, that hope must be monetised. Otherwise, it is just another unrealised asset on a broken balance sheet.
