Don't turn off the future

The green economy in Britain is thriving - so why are politicians so reluctant to talk about it?

There is a sector where our economy is not dying, but flying. Somewhere that the UK continues to dominate the global stage, creating the deals, skills, services and products in an area the whole world is desperate to embrace. It will take until 2014 (at best) for our GDP to return to the pre-financial crisis level of 2007. In the same period, this sector will have grown by 40 per cent.

Unfortunately, this sector is the green economy. That means that, as far as some are concerned, it doesn’t count. Because green stuff isn’t meant to be about growth, only bills. In an oddly moralising way, many people seem to feel that something that does good can’t also bring economic benefits.

But it does. According to government data, last year we exported £121 million more green goods and services to Germany than we imported from them. £183 million more to India. £330 million more to China.

The Department for Business, Innovation and Skills tots up almost twice as many low carbon and environmental jobs - just under a million - than we have in motor trades. But, when a new car factory opens or closes it dominates the Today programme. If we’re talking about green and business in the same sentence, Nigel Lawson is released from his belfry to invade our morning bowl of cereal.

Part of the reason for this might be that the green economy doesn’t challenge existing sectors - it only strengthens them. While BIS takes a thorough and catalogued approach to their definition, the green sector is largely about changing current jobs, not replacing them.

So our green jobs can belong to people in the motor trade – such as those building hybrids in our factories. Our financial sector provides the financial and legal advice for a third of all the low carbon energy deals in the world. Green workers can be architects who design zero carbon buildings, or the manufacturers who have gone from making the iron bridges of the industrial revolution to the gears and turbine blades of the energy revolution.

When our nation decided to set out a regulatory framework supporting a low carbon agenda, we did so on the basis that those nations which moved first would receive the greatest benefit. Now we see that we have moved, and we have benefited. That’s why it’s frustrating to see that policy certainty threatened, just as the return is coming through.

This could be our way out of recession. According to the Treasury, in this financial year alone 88 per cent of our top 20 infrastructure projects are low carbon, and are worth £23 billion, compared to just £3.1 billion for high carbon projects. Some 63 per cent of this represents entirely private sector money. If you include what Treasury defines as public/private then the figure leaps to 94 per cent. By contrast, our high carbon spend for this year was 61 per cent dependant on the public purse.

The green economy is, as our recent analysis of this data called it, a UK success story. But there are worrying signals that the government may not want this success. It seems alarmingly focused on what we needed yesterday – a few more roads, a bundle of gas, perhaps squeeze in an extra airport. To this end, they are willing to sabotage something much more appealing to investors – the technologies of the future. The things that can attract far more investment because they haven’t already been developed. A letter was leaked earlier in the summer that made clear the Chancellor wants to ensure the energy of tomorrow is rejected for an expensive and outdated energy of the past. We can’t, as a nation, afford such a compromised infrastructure strategy - the equivalent of Disraeli ripping out train tracks because they threaten canals. We need to follow what we need, not what we needed, or we risk condemning this country to a policy that might run as follows – “Who needs the future when we have had the past?”

Alastair Harper is a senior policy adviser at Green Alliance, the environmental think-tank. He tweets: @HarperGA

Photo: Getty Images

Alastair Harper is Head of Politics for Green Alliance UK

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue