Something is being sold at an annual meeting in London on 23 October, and nobody listed it for sale: the willingness of ordinary savers to leave money alone long enough for real companies to become real companies. Nils Pratley argues in the Guardian that it is time to tell Boaz Weinstein’s Saba Capital to get lost — again — and he is right, for reasons he does not quite state. He treats it as a matter of manners and short-termism. It is worse than that. The vote in two weeks’ time is whether patient capital survives in this country as an institution, or whether it is converted, one trust at a time, into somebody else’s trading position, with the fee collected long before the cost is felt.
Let the raider’s case be said plainly first, because part of it is true, and pretending otherwise is how boards lose. Saba has bought a near-30% stake in Baillie Gifford US Growth Trust — the FTSE 250 vehicle the market knows as USA — and wants three of its nominees on the board. The discount between share price and the value of the underlying assets is real, however modest at three per cent. UK trust boards have slept on wide discounts for years, and a saver trapped inside a persistent discount pays a quiet tax that nobody itemises on a statement. Pratley concedes the point himself: Weinstein’s fund “disturbed the complacency that used to infect corners of the UK investment trust world,” and it is harder now for a board to do nothing. And the underlying want — a way out at fair value — is not absurd on its face. The trust holds companies that are still private. An exit route is a reasonable thing for a saver to ask for.
All of that is granted. None of it is the case Saba is actually making.
The board’s record deserves to be stated at full strength, since it has been argued against a caricature of itself. Since launch in 2018 the trust has returned 16.7% a year, beating the S&P 500 over the period and finishing inside the top ten per cent of all UK investment companies. Yes, the compounding was helped by the 2022 re-rating in AI valuations. That is what a portfolio of long-duration growth is for, and the savers who held through the flat years are the ones entitled to the payoff — not a fund that arrived afterwards and called the harvest a bubble. Then the asymmetry that ought to end the argument on its own: the board says it already offered Saba an exit at or near net asset value, and Saba declined. A fund that declines the exit it is demanding is not an exit activist. It is a buyer. And what it is buying is not the AI stakes — it already owns nearly thirty per cent of them. It is the chair. Three nominees: one a Saba employee, two serial picks for Weinstein’s various campaigns, none of whom could possibly be regarded as independent. As Investec puts it, shareholders are being asked “to give its nominees potential board control on the strength of a conditional, non-binding liquidity proposal, with no roadmap for the future manager, strategy or governance: vote first, then find out later what you’ve voted for.”
I spent years on a trading desk in Chicago watching that machinery run, and it requires no lies at all. It requires only that you arrive early, buy the position, and wait for other people’s patience to run out before yours does. The complaint about the discount is not the trade. The complaint is the advertisement for the trade.
Now the deeper thing, the one that all the discount talk is designed to keep off the table. The portfolio — Anthropic, Databricks, OpenAI, SpaceX, Stripe — is not a list of tickers. It is a set of claims on companies still in the years when they need owners who do not have to sell. That scarcity is getting worse, not better. Venture capital is tightening for second-wave AI startups, which means the private companies need holders with a longer clock, not fewer of them. And the base-rate scepticism now building — doubt built on what every prior platform cycle eventually did to its revenue projections — will reach the private marks too, when it does. When it does, the vehicle that must pay on demand becomes a forced seller at precisely the wrong moment, and the vehicle that cannot be forced becomes the owner of the recovery. We have built fragile structures to hold unfragile things. The rare and valuable object in this transaction is not the discount. It is the vessel.
Pratley calls what would be lost “a little bit of biodiversity in the UK investment landscape.” It is worse than that. Biodiversity recovers. A closed-end trust converted into a Saba-managed vehicle does not come back.
I owe the raider this much honesty: a trust holding private marks that no outsider can test, at a persistent discount, is a structure that can fail, and its stewards have a duty to say so before an activist does. But the answer to a fragile vessel is not to smash it in the third year of a build.
Which brings us to what a liquidity event actually is, and why the market’s vocabulary is the wrong instrument for judging it. A liquidity event is a solvent’s word for a death. The saver is not being offered freedom; he is being offered the termination of his ownership, and the substitution of a cash balance for a stake in enterprises he can no longer name. That is the servant’s condition arriving in a brokerage statement: you own nothing but a claim on a price, and someone else owns the mandate, the chair, and the fees. Leo XIII saw it in 1891 — “to gather one’s profit out of the need of another is condemned by all laws, human and divine” — and he was not writing about hedge funds, because he did not have to be.
Here is the counter-model, and it is not a procedural menu. I manage a farm co-op in a county that has watched nearly every rooted institution it built get sold to people who will never set foot in it. Our members own equity that no hedge fund can buy at any price, because it is not for sale: one member, one vote, and the shares leave the co-op only under the circumstances the co-op itself writes. That is not sentiment. It is the institutional form that makes patience structural instead of discretionary — the capital that stays is the capital that belongs to somebody who has to live with the outcome. Look at where patient capital actually endures. Mondragon held its firms through Spain’s lost decade because the workers were the owners. Land O’Lakes and Organic Valley are held by the farmers who use them. The rural electric co-ops were financed on fifty-year money because the borrowers were the members. The pattern is not a policy. It is ownership: distributed, answerable, rooted in the people who bear the consequences.
The honest difficulty — and it is the reason this vote matters more than this trust does — is that a listed vehicle has no members. It has shareholders, who can be assembled by a determined fund in ninety days, and a board whose independence is whatever its last election made it. You cannot import the co-op whole into a FTSE 250 constituent. But you can take the pieces the raider’s model lacks and lacks by design: mandates written to the horizon of the assets rather than the news cycle; tender offers on the savers’ clock rather than the activist’s; redemption terms that protect the patient holder from being someone else’s exit liquidity; and a chairman who understands that property answers to those who live from it, which is a sentence from the encyclical tradition that a fund like Saba will never have to read.
And refuse the other cure. The instinct in Whitehall will be to write a rule — a disclosure regime, a board-attestation requirement, some new form for patient vehicles to defend themselves to a bureau. Concentrated private power is not repaired by concentrating public power over it; the two are one disease in two coats, and the surest way to end the patient fund in this country is to make every one of them answer quarterly to a regulator. Leave the trust its horizon, the same way you would leave a town its life.
The mechanics, briefly, because they are not abstract: the annual meeting is 23 October, and for anyone holding through Hargreaves Lansdown, AJ Bell or Interactive Investor, the effective voting deadline can be as early as this week. Not voting is a vote for Saba, as Panmure Liberum says. That much the brokers have right.
But vote for the board knowing what the board is and what it is not. It is not eloquent; its public defence has been thinner than its record deserves, and it has spent years treating its own discount as a public-relations problem rather than a governance one. It is simply the steward of a vessel that took eight years to fill, held through a flat stretch by savers who were promised nothing except time. A country that lets its savers’ patience be harvested on schedule will discover a decade from now that it has no one left willing to hold anything at all — and the thing about this kind of loss is that it is never mourned until it is finished. Hold the vessel. The earth was given for all, and so was the time it takes to build something worth leaving.