There's a new horizon in history: "panic time"

It's no longer enough to think of history moving in series of events. Thanks to the Great Uncertainty, we now have to look at the moments when time breaks down.

In the final post in this series about what we have called "The Great Uncertainty" we seek to introduce to the discussion some questions about time. This isn’t as easy as it sounds. Historians routinely think about the unfolding of time when recounting the events of the past. But social scientists are not schooled in the same way and often they don’t reflect enough about time and, above all, the different tempos at which processes unfold.

The historian who can most help us here is Fernand Braudel, a Frenchman who became the leading figure in the so-called Annales School which devoted itself to the exposition of long-term social history. In 1949 he published a major historical account of the "world" created by the Mediterranean Sea. In his book he set out a very sophisticated way of thinking about "social time", specifically linking the practices of historical subjects to different dynamics calibrated according to three different concepts of time – or time horizons.

The first of these horizons is that of histoire événementielle, or the short time-span of single events, or chains of events, with all of their distinctive individuality and capriciousness. The second is the conjoncture, or conjuncture. This seeks to capture the location of the short term in a wider temporal horizon and identify trends occurring over a period of maybe 10-15 years, perhaps somewhat longer. The third notion, within which the conjuncture should in turn be considered, is the longue durée. This consists of regularities and patterns of action that conceivably span centuries and, by virtue of their duration, are best comprehended as mentalités, or mental frameworks, that guide how human beings handle the natural and social circumstances in which they find themselves.

So why are we inviting you to think about these various Braudelian notions of time? Do they ring any bells as you recall the three processes of major structural change that we claim have created the present uncertain era? We think they should, because we suggest that it makes sense to regard each of the three constituent processes (of financial crisis, shifting economic power and environmental threat) as unfolding in turn in accordance with each of these three different time horizons (or temporalities). Let’s explain.

The financial crisis is a chain of events which has a beginning and, for all that this is hard to discern at the moment, will have an end. This crisis will certainly have done a lot of economic, social and political damage by the time it ends, but it will eventually be brought to a conclusion, even if, as we said in our first post, its short-term history lasts for an awkward period of years.

By comparison, in Braudel’s terms shifting economic power represents a conjuncture. It’s a process that doesn’t easily lend itself to start-dates and finishing-dates, although we can now see that we are well advanced in the remaking of a world of Western economic dominance that peaked in the couple of decades following the ending of the Second World War in 1945. As again we argued earlier, it is still far from clear how these shifts will play out in precise fashion or even when the shift will settle into a new and recognisable shape. But the trend is manifest.

As for environmental threat and the growing challenge to the well-being of the planet represented by accelerating climate change, this is classically the stuff of the longue durée, the unfolding of change over a period of centuries (even if, once certain tipping points are reached, we move from the longue durée into the conjoncturel). From when do we conventionally date the beginning of industrialisation? When did oil first become the basis of the global economy? Whatever the answers, it’s surely becoming ever more likely that we will come to judge that an entire industrial-cum-economic civilisation of long standing has cumulatively undermined itself by its very success and global spread. It will need to be re-thought (or, in Braudel’s conception, its dominant mentalité will need to be reframed) via some of the painful, demanding means that we tried to begin to think about in the previous post in the series.

From a contemporary perspective, we should also add in to this complexity a fourth, and new, conception of time, that of "emergency time", or just as aptly "panic time", when something really dramatic and unexpected takes place and no play book exists for leaders to pick up in order to shape a response. This is the kind of time that was sparked by the collapse of Lehman Brothers on 15 September 2008 when for a few days nobody knew if the global financial system would survive or whether, as former US President George W. Bush crudely but accurately put it, ‘this sucker could go down’. It’s easy to imagine that emergencies like this will occur again.

We’ve approached this discussion analytically, seeking to separate out different processes of change against different time-scales. But it’s obvious too that, in the practical world of governance and politics, all of these four types of uncertainty need to be addressed – and addressed in fact simultaneously. Indeed, in the worst-case scenario they may all be coming to a head at the same time, and on our watch. Unfortunately, in such circumstances we don’t have the luxury of "waiting and seeing" on the really hard issues that have surfaced in the realms of the conjuncture or the longue durée and, in the meantime, seeking just to manage our way through the easy stuff, that is, the emergencies and the histoire événementielle they add up to!

There is one final aspect to the question of time which is worth mentioning. In thinking about all of this, we should surely show a bit more sympathy to elected politicians, wherever they exist, who are seriously trying to handle these multiple uncertainties in democratic fashion. Several years ago, the eminent American political theorist, Sheldon Wolin, noted that political time was out of synch with the temporalities, rhythms and pace governing economies, societies and cultures. He meant that in democracies political time requires an element of leisure; in particular, it needs to allow for deliberation and the negotiation of compromises between competing interests and views.

So here’s the lesson: if we are collectively to chart some kind of workable way through The Great Uncertainty, we need to be sure to find the time to talk all of this through as concerned members of global society.

A money dealer covers his face with his hands at a Tokyo foreign exchange market on October 25, 2010. Photograph: Getty Images

Professors Colin Hay and Tony Payne are Directors of the Sheffield Political Economy Research Institute at the University of Sheffield.

Photo:Getty
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Britain's diversity crisis starts with its writers. Here's why

What happens on the casting couch draws the headline, but the problem starts on the page, says James Graham. 

I’m a playwright and screenwriter, which – pertinent to the issues we’ll be discussing in this enquiry – still feels weird to say. I get embarrassed, still, saying that, in a taxi or hairdressers. I don’t know why I still carry that insecurity about saying I’m a writer, but I do, because it sounds like I’m lying, even in my own head.

Obviously I’m completely biased, and probably overstating the influence and importance of my own profession, but I think so many of the problems surrounding lack of representation in the performing arts start with writers.

If we aren’t encouraging and generating writers from certain communities, classes or backgrounds to tell their stories, to write those roles, then there’s not going to be a demand for actors from those communities to play them. For casting agents or drama schools to prioritise getting diverse actors on stage. We need to create those plays and TV dramas –like the ones that I grew up with. I didn’t have any access to much theatre until I was fifteen, but I did have Boys From the Black Stuff, and I did have Cracker, and I did have Band of Gold. I think the loss of those regional producing bodies – Central, Granada – now all completely centralised into London, means that we just tell less of those stories. I remember a TV show called Boon – anyone? – which was set in Nottingham, and I would see on the TV streets I’d walked down, and think, Oh my God, that actor is walking down a street I’ve walked down. That sounds like it’s insignificant. If you’re from a town that is deprived, that feels ignored, it isn’t.

I was very lucky that at my school (which was, at the time, the largest comprehensive school in the country), from the headmaster down to the drama teachers, everyone just believed that working class kids should do plays. Be in plays, read plays, perform plays to the community. Both inside the curriculum of the school day, and outside it – drama teachers dedicating their time to staying behind. Our head of drama identified a group of us who clearly had a passion for it. We weren’t likely thesps. One lad’s entire family were made unemployed when the pit closed. Many lived on the big council estate. My parents and step-parents worked respectively in warehouses, the local council, or as the local window cleaner (incidentally, my first real job. Which I was terrible at).

Our drama teacher was encouraged and determined enough to launch the first ever Drama A-Level in our school. Based on that, about 10 or 12 of us got the confidence – or arrogance – to take our own show to the Edinburgh Festival. We were 16 or 17, and the first people in our community to ever go to visit the festival. We did a play up there, and after that, a psychological unlocking happened, where I thought: maybe I could do a degree in drama (it was the first time I had ever thought to do so) at university (the first in my family to go. Well, joint-first. My twin sister went on the same day, but I walked into my digs first).

I enrolled in drama at Hull University. A high proportion of my peers were middle class. A higher proportion from London or the South East. They talked often about institutions I had never heard of. They were talking about the National Theatre: I didn’t know we had a national theatre that my parents had been paying tax for that I had never been to. Many had performed with the (again, apparently) ‘National’ Youth Theatre, also in London. Paul Roseby, also on this panel, has made such leaps forward in getting the NYT producing in regional venues, and making auditions possible for people across the UK, but unfortunately, at the time, that wasn’t the case for me – and I was the ideal candidate to be in the National Youth Theatre.

I started writing because I had the confidence after I read texts by people like Jim Cartwright, Alan Bennett, John Godber, Alan Ayckbourn: Northern writers, working class writers that made me think it wasn’t just something that other people do.

After returning home, and working at local theatres, I moved down to London. I had to. The major new writing producers are there. All the TV companies are there. The agents are there. I was lucky to find support in a pub fringe theatre – though the economics meant there was no money to commission, so I wrote plays for free for about four years, that would get produced, and reviewed in the national press, while I worked various jobs in the day and slept for a time on a mate's floor. The first person to ever pay to commission me to write a play was Paul Roseby of the National Youth Theatre. I’m now very lucky to be earning a living doing something I love. In a way, compared to actors, or directors, it’s easier for writers who don’t come from a background that can sustain them, financially, in those early years. Your hours can be more flexible. Yes, it was annoying to miss rehearsals because I had a shift in a call centre, but it was still possible to do it. If you’re an actor or director, you’re fully committed. And if you’re doing that for nothing, there starts to be cut-off point for those from backgrounds who can’t.

I’m sure that local and regional theatres are the key to drawing in talent from less privileged backgrounds. But the range of national arts journalism that cover work outside London has been so significantly reduced. In our little echo chamber a few weeks ago, we theatre types talked about Lyn Gardner at the Guardian. Her coverage has been cut, which is very directly going to affect her ability to cover theatre shows outside of London – and so the self-fulfilling cycle of artists leaving their communities to work exclusively in London takes another, inevitable, turn.

I am culpable in this cycle. I have never done a play at the Nottingham Playhouse, my local producing house growing up – why? Because I’ve never submitted one, because I know that it will get less national press attention. So I just open it in London instead. That’s terrible of me. And I should just bite the bullet and say it doesn’t matter about the attention it gets, I should just go and do a story for my community. And if I, and others, started doing that more, maybe they will come.

I also want to blame myself for not contributing back to the state schools that I come from. I really really enjoy going to do writing workshops with kids in schools, but I would say 90 per cent of those that I get invited to are private schools, or boarding schools, or in the South of England. Either because they’re the ones that ask me, because they’re the ones who come and see my shows in London and see me afterwards backstage, or because they have the confidence to email my agent, or they have the budget to pay for my train ticket. Either way, I should do more. It would have helped the younger me so much to meet a real person, from my background, doing what I wanted to do.

I don’t know how to facilitate that. I take inspiration from Act for Change, creating a grassroots organisation. I know that there is a wealth of industry professionals like me who would, if there was a joined-up structure in place that got us out there into less privileged communities, we would on a regular basis go to schools who don’t get to meet industry professionals and don’t unlock that cultural and psychological block that working class kids have that says, that is not for me, that is something that other people do, I would dedicate so much of my time to it. That’s just one idea of hopefully better ones from other people that might come out of this enquiry.

James Graham is a playwright and screenwriter. This piece is adapted from evidence given by James Graham at an inquiry, Acting Up – Breaking the Class Ceiling in the Performing Arts, looking into the problem of a lack of diversity and a class divide in acting in the UK, led by MPs Gloria De Piero and Tracy Brabin.