Rogue traders could save Kyoto

Carbon traders do not easily secure sympathy. Yet their role is vital.

Shed a tear for the carbon traders. At a Point Carbon trading conference in Amsterdam earlier this month, the air of despondency was more than palpable, it was physical. At the session I chaired, delegates sat slumped in their seats. There were few questions. Everyone I spoke to felt the same way. Copenhagen was a disaster. No one knew where things were headed now. Some were considering new careers.

Carbon traders do not easily secure sympathy. Many are well-off; they show no particular interest in saving the planet. Yet their role is vital. Via the markets they operate, they have put a cost on our use of the atmosphere as a carbon-dioxide dumping ground, "as if", as Al Gore puts it, "it were an open sewer".

Economists, politicians and campaigners all agree that putting a price on carbon is necessary to make the shift to a low-carbon economy real. As a result, non-fossil alternatives such as wind and solar become cheaper by comparison, and the worst polluters such as coal become relatively more expensive. With no price on carbon, dumping CO2 in the atmosphere is free. The big polluters, whether Peabody Energy or Exxon Mobil, are able to make billions because the cost to the environment of their products is borne by the rest of us. Price carbon properly and the fossil fuel behemoths can begin to pay us back.

Kyoto, for all its failings, began to weave this price signal through global commerce, and not just in the industrialised countries that took on its targets. In China and India, the Clean Development Mechanism (CDM) has become huge business - worth $6.5bn in 2008. It has driven millions of dollars' worth of clean investments into developing countries which otherwise have no incentive not to burn fossil fuels.

But the CDM appears doomed unless a new period of the Kyoto Protocol is negotiated to replace the current one when it runs out in 2012. But a new lease of life for Kyoto gets less likely by the day. The US pulled out under George W Bush, and will never rejoin - "Kyoto" is politically toxic in Washington. Canada, thanks in part to its tar sands oil extraction operations, is miles over its target, and seems not to care.

Even the EU, once the bedrock of Kyoto support, has gone cold. The main cheerleading now comes from the developing world, particularly China and India. But this is politics, too - China supports Kyoto because it divides the world into rich and poor. China is considered poor, so is exempted from targets and can go on building coal-fired power stations at a breakneck pace.The carbon trade is also important as it might have helped protect the world's tropical forests from the loggers, plantation owners and cattle ranchers who threaten their survival. With no price on carbon, there is no price on forests either - and their value as dead timber or cleared land will remain far higher than their value as irreplaceable stores of biodiversity and living carbon.

But the real reason for the latest bout of depression is not China, nor forests - but the US. Unless President Obama can find some way to force climate legislation through the Senate, the $2trn potential US carbon market will never materialise. Emitting carbon will continue to be free to American companies, weakening any argument for tougher regulation in India and China. All in all, the prospects currently look great if you are Exxon Mobil or Peabody Energy. And that is bad news for the rest of us.

This piece also appears in this week's issue of the New Statesman

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Mark Lynas has is an environmental activist and a climate change specialist. His books on the subject include High Tide: News from a warming world and Six Degree: Our future on a hotter planet.

This article first appeared in the 15 March 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Falklands II

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Tony Blair might be a toxic figure - but his influence endures

Politicians at home and abroad are borrowing from the former prime minister's playbook. 

On 24 May at Methodist Central Hall, Westminster, a short distance from where he once governed, Tony Blair resurfaced for a public discussion. Having arrived on an overnight flight, he looked drawn and puffy-eyed but soon warmed to his theme: a robust defence of liberal globalisation. He admitted, however, to bafflement at recent events in the world. "I thought I was pretty good at politics. But I look at politics today and I’m not sure I understand it."

Blair lost power in the summer of 2007. In the ensuing nine years, he lost reputation. His business ventures and alliances with autocrats have made him a pariah among both the public and his party. A YouGov poll published last year found that 61 per cent of voters regarded Blair as an electoral liability, while just 14 per cent viewed him as an asset. In contrast, John Major, whom he defeated by a landslide in 1997, had a neutral net rating of zero. It is ever harder to recall that Blair won not one general election (he is the only living Labour leader to have done so) but three.

His standing is likely to diminish further when the Iraq inquiry report is published on 6 July. Advance leaks to the Sunday Times suggest that he will be censured for allegedly guaranteeing British military support to the US a year before the invasion. Few minds on either side will be changed by the 2.6 million-word document. Yet its publication will help enshrine Iraq as the defining feature of a legacy that also includes the minimum wage, tax credits, Sure Start, devolution and civil partnerships.

Former leaders can ordinarily rely on their parties to act as a last line of defence. In Blair’s case, however, much of the greatest opprobrium comes from his own side. Jeremy Corbyn inclines to the view that Iraq was not merely a blunder but a crime. In last year’s Labour leadership election, Liz Kendall, the most Blair-esque candidate, was rewarded with 4.5 per cent of the vote. The former prime minister’s imprimatur has become the political equivalent of the black spot.

Yet outside of the Labour leadership, Blairism endures in notable and often surprising forms. Sadiq Khan won the party’s London mayoral selection by running to the left of Tessa Jowell, one of Tony Blair’s closest allies. But his successful campaign against Zac Goldsmith drew lessons from Blair’s election triumphs. Khan relentlessly presented himself as “pro-business” and reached out beyond Labour’s core vote. After his victory, he was liberated to use the B-word, contrasting what “Tony Blair did [in opposition]” with Corbyn’s approach.

In their defence of the UK’s EU membership, David Cameron and George Osborne have deployed arguments once advanced by New Labour. The strategically minded Chancellor has forged an unlikely friendship with his former nemesis Peter Mandelson. In the domestic sphere, through equal marriage, the National Living Wage and the 0.7 per cent overseas aid target, the Conservatives have built on, rather than dismantled, significant Labour achievements."They just swallowed the entire manual," Mandelson declared at a recent King’s College seminar. "They didn’t just read the executive summary, they are following the whole thing to the letter."

Among SNP supporters, "Blairite" is the pejorative of choice. But the parallels between their party and New Labour are more suggestive than they would wish. Like Blair, Alex Salmond and Nicola Sturgeon have avoided income tax rises in order to retain the support of middle-class Scottish conservatives. In a speech last August on education, Sturgeon echoed the Blairite mantra that "what matters is what works".

Beyond British shores, political leaders are similarly inspired by Blair – and less reticent about acknowledging as much. Matteo Renzi, the 41-year-old centre-left Italian prime minister, is a long-standing admirer. "I adore one of his sayings,” he remarked in 2013. “I love all the traditions of my party, except one: that of losing elections."

In France, the reform-minded prime minister, Manuel Valls, and the minister of economy, Emmanuel Macron, are also self-described Blairites. Macron, who in April launched his own political movement, En Marche!, will shortly decide whether to challenge for the presidency next year. When he was compared to Blair by the TV presenter Andrew Marr, his response reflected the former prime minister’s diminished domestic reputation: “I don’t know if, in your mouth, that is a promise or a threat.”

The continuing attraction of Blair’s “third way” to European politicians reflects the failure of the project’s social-democratic critics to construct an alternative. Those who have sought to do so have struggled both in office (François Hollande) and out of it (Ed Miliband). The left is increasingly polarised between reformers and radicals (Corbyn, Syriza, Podemos), with those in between straining for relevance.

Despite his long absences from Britain, Blair’s friends say that he remains immersed in the intricacies of Labour politics. He has privately warned MPs that any attempt to keep Corbyn off the ballot in the event of a leadership challenge would be overruled by the National Executive Committee. At Methodist Central Hall, he said of Corbyn’s supporters: “It’s clear they can take over a political party. What’s not clear to me is whether they can take over a country.”

It was Blair’s insufficient devotion to the former task that enabled the revival of the left. As Alastair Campbell recently acknowledged: “We failed to develop talent, failed to cement organisational and cultural change in the party and failed to secure our legacy.” Rather than effecting a permanent realignment, as the right of the party hoped and the left feared, New Labour failed to outlive its creators.

It instead endures in a fragmented form as politicians at home and abroad co-opt its defining features: its pro-business pragmatism, its big-tent electoralism, its presentational nous. Some of Corbyn’s ­allies privately fear that Labour will one day re-embrace Blairism. But its new adherents would never dare to use that name.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad