An 1899 illustration for H G Wells’ “When the Sleeper Wakes”. Image: Hulton Archive / Stringer / Getty
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Can science fiction writers predict trends in technology’s future?

From Arthur C Clarke’s “Extra Terrestrial Relays” (now called satellites) to H G Wells’ “ironclads” (tanks), science fiction writers have form when it comes to pre-empting the future of technology.

The October 1945 edition of Wireless World magazine carried an article from a young Arthur C Clarke called “Extra Terrestrial Relays”. It was the concept of using satellites in geostationary orbit, 35,786km high, around the Earth, to beam radio signals from one continent to another. Remember Sputnik didn’t go into orbit until October 1957, and that only reached a height of 577km. So in 1945 the article was received as a grand idea, theoretically possible, but by the standards of post WWII rocketry, severely impractical.

Nonetheless, the first communication satellite to use this orbit (now named the Clarke Orbit) was Syncom 3, launched in August 1964 – 19 years after Clarke’s article. An article which was detailed enough to receive a patent had he sent it to the patent office instead of the magazine. Today, communication satellites are a multi-billion pound industry. Clarke drew together a number of sciences: orbital mechanics, radio design, rocketry, and extrapolated the combination perfectly. It’s one of the best examples of what people see as a science fiction writer’s job: predict the future.

If only it were that easy.

Humans gamble constantly, not just on games of chance, but on how the future will turn out in every aspect of society. We’re fascinated by it. Pollsters have created an entire industry fuelling the insatiable need for politicians to produce their next vote-winning policy. It’s no longer good enough for ministers to jump on a bandwagon as it’s passing, they demand to know what trends are developing below the media horizon before they burst into the 24 hour news cycle. Sample enough people and if you’re lucky you might catch a glimpse of some resentment or aspiration coalescing below the surface of public expression. Congratulations, you’re a pundit.

Future trends are even more important to the money markets. There, chance is squeezed out of the equation as much as is humanly possible. Statistics rule. It’s not just banks that have departments of analysts, there are whole companies who employ nothing but analysts pouring over every detail released by companies in their annual reports and profit warnings.  What all of them want is a method that will get them one, or preferably ten, steps ahead of the opposition.

State intelligence agencies, NHS managers, transport authorities, insurance companies. All of them live by scrutinising evidence from different sources and putting it together to try and gain that glimpse which clairvoyants have been claiming for centuries.

With one interesting omission. In 1939, Robert Heinlein, published his first short story, called “Life-Line”. It was about a man, Professor Piner, who builds a machine that will determine how long a person will live, by sending a signal along the temporal line of that person and detecting the echo from the far end –sort of like a psychic radar. It was infallible, and even knowing the outcome there was no avoiding it. Who wants to know that?

But the rest of the future with its quirks, inventions, wars, and triumphs, that we are obsessed with.

As science fiction writers, we design our future fictional worlds by extrapolation. It doesn’t matter what kind of book we’re writing, satire, military, space opera, dystopia, the fundamentals of the society have to be in some way believable. To do this we take what we see around us today, and run with it.  The advantage I have over Heinlein and others of his era is that the twentieth century saw a huge acceleration in technological and social development. For us that change has become the norm, we understand and accept our lives are in a constant flux –certainly towards shinier consumer gadgets, and hopefully aiming at a better society. Pre-1940, because valves were the heart of all electrical devices, people assumed valves would remain at the heart. They didn’t have the looking-ahead reflex we seem to have acquired. Today when a new model phone comes out all we can think of is: if that’s what this does, what is the one after going to give us?

So with Clarke’s old article in mind, should us science fiction writers be sending our first drafts to the patent office rather than our editors? Our record in this field is somewhat patchy when it comes to specifics. One of Heinlein’s less fanciful ideas was a water bed, described in his 1942 novel, Beyond This Horizon. The modern waterbed was granted a patent (not to Heinlein) in 1971. H G Wells wrote about the land ironclads (tanks) in 1903.  And let’s not forget Orwell’s 1984, which put forward the whole concept, and consequences of the surveillance state in despicable detail.  

Closer to home for me, November 2013 saw Motorola apply for a patent entitled Coupling An Electronic Skin Tattoo To A Mobile Communication Device. Interesting, considering I was writing about OCtattoos (Organic Circuitry Tattoos) in my 2004 novel Pandora’s Star –which as the concept has now been in the public domain for ten years may well void the Motorola application if anyone ever bothers to challenge it in court.

The simple fact that these examples and a few other notables are practically in single figures sadly gives science fiction the same kind of hit rate as a professional clairvoyant. However, in constantly predicting and even advocating a wealth of futures, we might just have contributed to the expectation that change is constant and volatile.  Preparing people to accept that their future is largely unknowable, and having them deal with that, isn’t a bad legacy after all.

“The Abyss Beyond Dreams” by Peter F Hamilton is out now

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Shami Chakrabarti’s fall from grace: how a liberal hero lost her reputation

Once, it was trendy to say you liked the former director of Liberty. No longer.

It might be hard to remember now, but there was a time when it was trendy to like Shami Chakrabarti. In the mid-2000s, amid the Iraq War backlash and the furore over identity cards, speaking well of the barrister and head of the human rights campaign group Liberty was a handy way of displaying liberal credentials. She was everywhere: Question Time, Desert Island Discs, Have I Got News For You. A young indie band from Worcester called the Dastards was so keen on her that it even wrote a song about her. It included the lyric: “I turn on my TV/The only one I want to see/Is Shami Chakrabarti.”

The daughter of Bengali immigrants, Chakrabarti was born and brought up in the outer-London borough of Harrow, where she attended a comprehensive school before studying law at the London School of Economics. Her background was a great strength of her campaigning, and during the most authoritarian years of New Labour government she burnished her reputation.

Fast-forward to 13 September 2016, when Chakrabarti made her House of Lords debut as a Labour peer. Baroness Chakrabarti of Kennington wore a sombre expression and a rope of pearls looped round her throat beneath her ermine robe. It was hard to recognise the civil liberties campaigner who was once called “an anarchist in a barrister’s wig” by Loaded magazine.

Yet Chakrabarti has also been cast in another role that is far less desirable than a seat in the Lords: that of a hypocrite. On 29 April this year, Jeremy Corbyn announced that Chakrabarti would chair an independent inquiry into anti-Semitism and other forms of racism in the Labour Party. The inquiry was prompted by the suspensions of Naz Shah, the MP for Bradford West, and Ken Livingstone, for making offensive remarks that were condemned as anti-Semitic. On 16 May Chakrabarti announced that she was joining Labour to gain members’ “trust and confidence”. She said that she would still run the inquiry “without fear or favour”.

The Chakrabarti inquiry delivered its findings on 30 June at a press conference in Westminster. The atmosphere was febrile – there were verbal clashes between the activists and journalists present, and the Jewish Labour MP Ruth Smeeth was reduced to tears. The report stated that Labour “is not overrun by anti-Semitism, Islamophobia or other forms of racism” but that there was an “occasionally toxic atmosphere”. It listed examples of “hateful language” and called on party members to “resist the use of Hitler, Nazi and Holocaust metaphors, distortions and comparisons”. Many Labour supporters were surprised that the report’s 20 recommendations did not include lifetime bans for members found to have shown anti-Semitic behaviour.

Then, on 4 August, it was revealed that Chakrabarti was the sole Labour appointment to the House of Lords in David Cameron’s resignation honours. Both Chakrabarti and Corbyn have denied that the peerage was discussed during the anti-Semitism inquiry. But critics suggested that her acceptance undermined the report and its independence.

In particular, it attracted criticism from members of the UK’s Jewish community. Marie van der Zyl, vice-president of the Board of Deputies of British Jews, said: “This ‘whitewash for peerages’ is a scandal that surely raises serious questions about the integrity of Ms Chakrabarti, her inquiry and the Labour leadership.” A home affairs select committee report into anti-Semitism in the UK has since found that there were grave failings in the report for Labour.

Two further incidents contributed to the decline in Chakrabarti’s reputation: her arrival on Corbyn’s front bench as shadow attorney general and the revelation that her son attends the selective Dulwich College, which costs almost £19,000 a year in fees for day pupils (£39,000 for full boarders). She said that she “absolutely” supports Labour’s opposition to grammar schools but defended her choice to pay for selective education.

Chakrabarti told ITV’s Peston on Sunday: “I live in a nice big house and eat nice food, and my neighbours are homeless and go to food banks. Does that make me a hypocrite, or does it make me someone who is trying to do best, not just for my own family, but for other people’s families, too?”

This was the end for many of those who had respected Chakrabarti – the whisper of hypocrisy became a roar. As the Times columnist Carol Midgley wrote: “You can’t with a straight face champion equality while choosing privilege for yourself.”

Hypocrisy is a charge that has dogged the left for decades (both Diane Abbott and Harriet Harman have fallen foul of the selective school problem). The trouble with having principles, it is said, is that you have to live up to them. Unlike the right, the left prizes purity in its politicians, as Jeremy Corbyn’s squeaky-clean political image shows. Shami Chakrabarti started the year with a campaigning reputation to rival that of the Labour leader, but her poor decisions have all but destroyed her. It’s difficult to recall a time when a liberal icon has fallen so far, so fast. 

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood