Why Labour is right to oppose Britain’s new carbon tax

By 2015, the coalition's carbon price floor will be inextricably linked with rising energy prices.

Just after 7pm on 5 July last year a significant but largely unnoticed piece of political positioning took place that will increasingly take centre stage at Westminster.  As MPs debated the Finance Bill, line by line, Labour’s Shadow Economic Secretary, Kerry McCarthy, announced that the party would oppose the coalition’s plans to impose a carbon price floor on electricity generators and industry from April 2013. 

The then Economic Secretary, Justine Greening, sought common ground in the debate but Labour stood firm and refused to withdraw its amendment. The House divided and the legislation passed with a majority of 59. Some nervous Tory MPs decided to raise their valid concerns over the impact of a new high carbon tax and three voted against the coalition's clause with many abstentions, but this was well before coalition policy U-turns had become an established fact of Westminster proceedings.

So why was this significant, and why could this play well for Labour in the run up to the next election? Ironically, one has to look at Australia where the incumbent Labor government has just introduced its own carbon price floor (known commonly as the carbon tax) and is now trailing the Liberal/Conservative opposition by up to 20 per cent.

So what is the problem? The price of carbon, traditionally set in the market through the European Union Emissions Trading Scheme (EU ETS), is arguably far too low at around £5/6 per tonne, and therefore, it is argued, too uncertain for the long-term low carbon investment decisions that need to be made. In response, the coalition has decided to impose a unilateral UK carbon price floor to set a guaranteed minimum price for carbon. It has turned its back on the EU scheme, which has kept carbon prices in the UK level with those across Europe.

In effect, the new policy will introduce a UK floor on the price of carbon emissions facing power generators and industry in the UK. If the ETS price is ever above the floor, the tax would be zero; if the EUA price is below the floor, the new tax would make up the difference.

The 2011 Budget confirmed the introduction of this tax from 1 April 2013. The floor will start at £16 per tonne of carbon dioxide (tCO2) and follow a linear path to target £30/tCO2 in 2020 (both in 2009 prices), rising to £70/tCO2 in 2030. According to Treasury, the new tax would raise £3.22bn in tax revenues by 2015-16, which is (unsurprisingly enough) roughly about the amount HM Treasury offered in giveaways at the 2011 Budget. But Britain’s policy to now go it alone with its own carbon price floor from next April risks, undermining any effective and consolidated move to deliver a similar minimum price for carbon in other countries, especially across our main economic competitors in the EU.

So Britain will abandon the EU Emissions Trading Scheme where its absence will allow the price of carbon on the continent to fall to new lows. Today, the price of carbon in recession-hit Europe is only around £5/6 per tonne. It is highly likely that from April next year, when British generators and industry are paying £16 per tonne for carbon, our European competitors could be paying a third of the price. 

Also, given that over 70 per cent of UK electricity is generated from coal and gas plants, this is likely to help electricity bills to spike from 2013 further boosting fuel poverty.  By leaving the EU ETS the government has abrogated its right to lead the fight for a pan EU carbon price floor which would have allowed the UK to operate on a level playing field with the rest of Europe.

The ongoing political debate has confirmed what investors have known ever since the policy was introduced - that the "floor" is nothing more than another fuel duty escalator that can't possibly be banked on, that it won't actually reduce net emissions in the EU; that the best way of introducing a carbon price floor is at a European level and this has been largely been ignored; and that it is a policy that will do nothing for investor confidence, except for providing a windfall to existing low carbon generation, particularly existing nuclear power stations.

So Labour goes to the general election opposing the coalition’s new carbon tax, which by 2015 will inevitably have its fingerprints all over rising energy prices and will have caused some sections of energy intensive industry to scale back plans and cut jobs. Whilst Ed Miliband might not sound or look like Australia’s Tony Abbott, his opposition to Britain’s new carbon tax could prove just as effective as Abbott’s, but with Britain’s voters.

Tony Lodge is a Research Fellow at the Centre for Policy Studies.  His new pamphlet, The Atomic Clock – How the Coalition is Gambling with Britain’s Energy Policy, is published by the CPS.

 

Electricity pylons crossing the Essex countryside. Photograph: Getty Images
A woman in an Indian surrogacy hostel. Photo: Getty
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The Handmaid's Tale has already come true - just not for white western women

Why, if the fate of the fictional Offred is so horrifying, is the fate of real-life women in surrogacy hostels causing so little outrage?

When anti-choice Republican Justin Humphrey referred to pregnant women as “hosts”, I found myself wondering, not for the first time, whether everything had got “a bit Handmaid’s Tale.”

I’m not alone in having had this thought. Since Donald Trump won the US election, sales of Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel have spiked and we’ve seen a plethora of articles telling us how “eerily relevant [it] is to our current political landscape.” In an interview during Cuba’s international book fair, Atwood herself said she believes the recent “bubbling up” of regressive attitudes towards women is linked to The Handmaid’s Tale’s current success: “It’s back to 17th-century puritan values of New England at that time in which women were pretty low on the hierarchy … you can think you are being a liberal democracy but then — bang — you’re Hitler’s Germany.”

Scary stuff. Still, at least most present-day readers can reassure themselves that they’ve not arrived in the Republic of Gilead just yet.

For those who have not yet read it, The Handmaid’s Tale tells the story of Offred, who lives under a theocratic dictatorship in what used to be the United States of America. White, middle-class and college-educated, Offred once enjoyed a significant degree of privilege, but now belongs to a class of women whose sole purpose is to gestate offspring for high-status couples. Much of the shock value of the story comes from the contrast between Offred’s former life – in which she had a name of her own - and her present-day existence. If this can happen to someone like Offred, it is suggested, surely it can happen to any of us.

Or so that is what a white, middle-class reader – a reader like me – might tell herself. Recently I’ve started to wonder whether that’s strictly true. It can be reassuring to stick to one narrative, one type of baddie – the religious puritan, the pussy-grabbing president, the woman-hating Right. But what if it’s more complicated than that? There’s something about the current wallowing in Atwood’s vision that strikes me as, if not self-indulgent, then at the very least naive.

In 1985, the same year The Handmaid’s Tale was published, Gina Correa published The Mother Machine. This was not a work of dystopian fiction, but a feminist analysis of the impact of reproductive technologies on women’s liberties. Even so, there are times when it sounds positively Handmaid’s Tale-esque:

“Once embryo transfer technology is developed, the surrogate industry could look for breeders – not only in poverty-stricken parts of the United States, but in the Third World as well. There, perhaps, one tenth of the current fee could be paid to women”

Perhaps, at the time her book was written, Correa’s imaginings sounded every bit as dark and outlandish as Atwood’s. And yet she has been proved right. Today there are parts of the world in which renting the womb of a poor woman is indeed ten times cheaper than in the US. The choice of wealthy white couples to implant embryos in the bodies of brown women is seen, not as colonialist exploitation, but as a neutral consumer choice. I can’t help wondering why, if the fate of the fictional Offred is so horrifying to western feminists today, the fate of real-life women in surrogacy hostels is causing so little outrage.

I suppose the main argument of these feminists would be that real-life women choose to be surrogates, whereas Offred does not. But is the distinction so clear? If Offred refuses to work as a handmaid, she may be sent to the Colonies, where life expectancy is short. Yet even this is a choice of sorts. As she herself notes, “nothing is going on here that I haven't signed up for. There wasn't a lot of choice but there was some, and this is what I chose.” In the real world, grinding poverty drives women of colour to gestate the babies of the wealthy. As one Indian surrogate tells interviewer Seemi Pasha, “Why would I be a surrogate for someone else if I don't need the money? Why would I make myself go through this pain?"

None of the feminists who expressed shock at Justin Humphrey referring to pregnant women as “hosts” have, as far as I am aware, expressed the same horror at surrogacy agencies using the exact same term. As Dorothy Roberts wrote in Killing The Black Body, the notion of reproductive liberty remains “primarily concerned with the interests of white, middle-class women” and  “focused on the right to abortion.” The right not just to decide if and when to have children, but to have children of one’s own – something women of colour have frequently been denied – can be of little interest of those who have never really feared losing it (hence the cloth-eared response of many white women to Beyoncè’s Grammy performance).

As Roberts notes, “reproductive liberty must encompass more than the protection of an individual woman’s choice to end her pregnancy”:

“It must encompass the full range of procreative activities, including the ability to bear a child, and it must acknowledge that we make reproductive decisions within a social context, including inequalities of wealth and power. Reproductive freedom is a matter of social justice, not individual choice.”

It’s easy to mock the pretensions to pro-life piety of a pussy-grabbing president. But what about the white liberal left’s insistence that criticising the global trade in sexual and gestational services is “telling a women what she can and cannot do with her body” and as such is illiberal and wrong? “Individual choice” can be every bit as much of a false, woman-hating god as the one worshipped by the likes of Humphrey and Trump.

One of the most distressing scenes in The Handmaid’s Tale takes place when Janine/Ofwarren has just given birth and has her child taken from her:

“We stand between Janine and the bed, so she won’t have to see this. Someone gives her a drink of grape juice. I hope there’s wine in it, she’s still having the pains, for the afterbirth, she’s crying helplessly, burnt-out miserable tears.”

Right now there are women suffering in just this way. Only they’re probably not white, nor middle-class, nor sitting in a twee white bedroom in Middle America. Oh, and they’re not fictional, either.

The dystopian predictions of 1985 have already come true. It’s just that women like me didn’t notice until we started to be called “hosts”, too.

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.