While the Government delays, cities are taking radical steps to cut carbon

Cities are where the biggest experiments can take place; look to them to see the future of the UK.

Our cities are the R&D facility for the country. From 4G rollout to community energy, they let us experiment with what’s possible. This is useful, because we’ve just agreed to change everything. The recent Energy Bill accepts how inevitable a low carbon future is for the UK. It also guarantees the money to deliver it on time – all we have to do now is actually do it.

Of course, some don’t seem to realise this. Some ministers hang desperately onto a gas over renewables strategy, like a hipster to a mini disc player, convinced its time will come again. No evidence will dissuade them back into reality. This wouldn’t be a problem, but the indecision and delay they introduce makes it harder to ensure that the UK will get the maximum benefit from a low carbon future – to own the patents, build the factories and get exporting to the others following behind. Luckily, we don’t need to wait for national government to get its story straight, because our cities are set to leap ahead.

A city has traditionally been something that demands a lot from a country and gives back money and jobs. London has around the same working population as Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland put together, and so it soaks up more electricity than any of those nations. Without freight coming in from the rest of the world, it would run out of food in four days. Sure, cities pay for this stuff, but it’s the rest of the country that has put up with its infrastructure: the power stations, water reservoirs, and industrial waste facilities all put into the countryside to serve the cities. However, this is changing.

The density of the population and the buildings make for a unique testing ground for the new kind of infrastructure we’re developing - the low carbon, resource efficient approaches to heating and power generation, transport and waste management. They all work best if done where the demand is greatest, and that means at the city scale.

This is what Green Alliance’s new report argues – cities are morphing themselves and what they do ahead of the rest of the country and they are well placed to get the economic reward for doing so. The recent city deals process, initiated by the Cabinet Office transfers new powers, control over funding and approaches to financing to the cities. The first eight cities have thought about what this means to reverse employment trends and attract inward investment which is why most have used their deals to grow their low carbon economy.

Newcastle is going for £0.5bn of investment in offshore energy, bringing eight thousand jobs. Liverpool plans to accelerate £100m in wind and offshore energy, bringing three thousand jobs to the area. Manchester is using its ambitious emissions reduction targets to attract an additional £1.4bn into the UK’s economy and Birmingham has secured a £3m injection to its housing retrofit programme.

Many of these projects, which are central to how our country will work in the future, are already real in the cities. London will have 1,300 different electric vehicle charging points by next year and, in the capital, a Prius seems a more common sight that an Escort. Islington is rolling out council-owned Combined Heat and Power to 700 homes, a power station set up not miles away, but amongst the people that will benefit, protecting them from soaring bills. Meanwhile, Birmingham council is doing the same, trying to reduce the energy it imports every year at a cost of £1.5bn and replace it with energy they make themselves. In the centre of the city, on Broad Street, Birmingham’s CHP serves the ICC, the town hall, the new library and local hotels and theatres. Nottingham too, aims to double its district heating network in five years.

This is where the future is happening. It proves that green infrastructure is the model that keeps costs down for the public and profits up for businesses. All we need now is for Westminster government to realise this. As it plans a big push on renewing our national infrastructure, it should learn from and work with our cities, who are demonstrating that a modern, sustainable approach, employing ideas that reduce energy, reuse waste and simplify our public transport, will bring the biggest rewards.

Photograph: Getty Images

Alastair Harper is Head of Politics for Green Alliance UK

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Why Game of Thrones is the perfect show for the modern age

There is something horribly relatable about George R R Martin’s world of Westeros, whose characters have now become part of public myth.

By now, it feels as if George R R Martin – the author of Game of Thrones, narrative sadist and ruiner of all things beautiful and good – has been appointed scriptwriter for the news. I am not the first to observe this. Martin is famous for killing off everyone’s favourite characters and sending his stories careering into pits of bleak uncertainty just when you thought everything might turn out all right. Since Prince became the latest beloved star to die this year, it has become abundantly clear that life is imitating Game of Thrones, and there’s nothing to do but watch the next bit through your fingers and try to avoid spoilers.

The staggeringly popular HBO show based on Martin’s books is in its sixth season, and it is wild, glorious trash. I mean that as a compliment. I love this horrible, problematic show more than I can possibly justify, so I’ve stopped trying. It is hardly a social-justice warrior’s dream, given that it seems to be racing against itself to sexually degrade as many female characters as possible in the space of a 45-minute episode.

The argument for the endless misogynist violence is that it has to be shown, not to titillate viewers, absolutely not, but because that sort of thing just happened back in the murky medieval past. This would be a decent excuse if sexual violence were indeed a thing of the past; or, come to that, if Game of Thrones was actually set in the past, instead of in a fictional fantasy world where there are shape-shifters, zombies and dragons.

There is one aspect, however, in which Game of Thrones has a claim to being the most realistic show on television. Despite the wizards, the wights and the way every character manages to maintain perfect hair even when they’re being pointlessly tortured to death, there is something horribly relatable about Martin’s world of Westeros, whose characters have now become part of public myth. What sets it apart is not the monsters, the nudity or the festering gallons of gratuitous gore, but the overwhelming sense that the plot got run off the rails three books ago and is being steered towards a terrible precipice by a bunch of bickering, power-mad maniacs. This, coincidentally, happens to be the plot of the entire 21st century so far.

Viewers might tune in for what the actor Ian McShane called the “tits and dragons”, but they stay for the unremitting horror. Martin gleefully tramples over all the tropes of conventional sword-and-sorcery fiction. There are no noble quests or heroes’ journeys. Instead, horrible things happen to good people for no reason. Heroism goes extremely unrewarded. The few times injustice does get punished, it happens by accident. Fair maidens are not saved, protagonists are slaughtered at random, and war is always a stupid idea, even though the ­surviving cast members are still trying to solve all their problems by waging it.

Most fans of the show have idly wondered which warring noble house they’d want to be born into. Are you brave and upstanding like the Starks, an entitled aristocrat like the Lannisters, or a mad pirate bastard like the Greyjoys? Personally, I like to think that I’d be at home in Dorne, where knife-fighting and aggressive bisexuality are forms of greeting, but the truth is that I’d have been dead for at least two seasons by now and so would you. And not excitingly dead, either. Not beheaded-by-the-king dead, or burned-as-a-blood-sacrifice-to-the-god-of-fire-by-your-own-father dead. Statistically speaking, we’d be peasants. We probably wouldn’t even get names. We’d just be eating mud and waiting for the war to be over. You know it’s true.

The moral lessons so far are murky but sensible. Dragons are awesome. Men are invariably dreadful. Following religious zealots into battle is a poor life decision. Honour is a made-up concept that will probably get you killed. Most importantly, there are very few truly evil people in the world: instead, there are just stupid people, and scared people, and petty, vindictive people, and sometimes those people get put in charge of armies and nations, and that’s when the rest of us are really buggered. That’s what Game of Thrones is about.

I’m not even confident of a happy ending. I’ve made peace with knowing that my favourite characters are unlikely to make it out of the series alive, and even if they do, it won’t matter, because a giant army of ice zombies is coming to eat the world.

And that’s what makes it brilliant. There are plenty of horrible, sexy things on television, and in these anxious times every novelist worth his advance seems to be turning his hand to grim dystopian fiction. The problem with most dystopias, though, is that they’re too predictable. They serve up worlds where, however awful things get, someone is at least in charge. They are comforting for that reason, in the same way as conspiracy theories are comforting. It is less distressing to believe, for instance, that a secret race of lizard people is managing the destiny of the human race than to believe that nobody is managing it at all.

Stories help us rehearse trauma. They help us prepare for it. You sit down to watch terrible things happening to made-up people and you imagine how you’d cope if that were you, or someone you loved, and even if the answer is “not at all” you find yourself feeling a bit better. Right now, the really frightening prospect is that the world is actually being run by vicious idiots with only half a plan between them who are too busy fighting each other to pay attention to the weather, which is about to kill us all.

That, along with the epic theme music, is why I still love Game of Thrones. It feels like aversion therapy for the brutal randomness of modern politics, with a side order of CGI monsters and a lot of shagging. There you go. I hope that’s given you all the excuse you need to tune in for season six. I did my best. If you need me, I’ll be behind the sofa. 

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism