The response to austerity can't be on the terms which led us into it

The only effective response must be to repudiate the debt, writes Molly Scott Cato

It is disappointing that the response from the Left in Britain to the politics of austerity has been so limp. The brilliant coup from the interests of capital to paint the economic crisis as a crisis of government debt and public spending—and therefore the basis for an attack on the ideology of the left—has seen little in the way of aggressive intellectual response.

The simple explanation for this is that the left is divided. The line taken by the socialist and labour left has largely been one of denial. This is not a high level of debt, they argue. By historical standards, we have survived much higher levels of debt. Why, after the last war we faced debts on a far greater scale and yet that is when we established the health service.

I think this is a mistaken approach to the politics of austerity. For one thing, it will not wash. Citizens have a sense of there having been a vast amount of cash floating around during the Labour years. They also know that consumption, individual and national, was based on untrammelled credit. This is their sense of how life was, and they are not wrong.

Secondly, the parallel between our economy now and in the 1950s does not hold up to scrutiny. At that time we were an imperial nation and the workshop of the world, if a somewhat scruffy one making rather unfashionable products. We could use our empire as a vast ‘internal’ market, sucking in resources and finding compliant customers for our products. We could repay our debts through hard, productive labour—and we did. Now what do we have to offer the world as justification for the debts we have incurred? Our favourite offering of financial services is finding considerably less favour than five years ago.

But most importantly we should reject this line of argument because it is morally wrong. We should not have to live through the 1950s again, working hard to return interest to those who loaned us money. Back then it was US and Canadian capitalists who, through lend-lease, had ensured that the value created by British workers would flow back to them. We would not have won the war without US productive capacity, but we would not have lost the peace as spectacularly as we did had they not insisted that we continue to pay for it right up to 2006, just two years before the credit crisis.

Rather than arguing about how we should pay it back we should be repudiating the debt.

This is what has been happening in other European countries, where Citizens’ Audit have been established, inspired by the examples of the Latin American countries who refused to pay their debts during the last decade. Why should we pay back money loaned to us by financial institutions who have the power to create money by electronic fiat, they asked. And we should be asking the same question. By the time we had paid our wartime debts—the debts we incurred for defeating Hitler and protecting European democracy—we had paid our ‘allies’ the US and Canada, or rather US and Canadian capitalists and financiers, twice what we had borrowed. This iniquitous use of the power of money to extract value should be the real target of the left.

Earlier this week Portugal’s citizens’ audit campaign published a preliminary technical report: ‘Understand the debt to get out of the trap’; the Spanish campaign is called ‘Who owes whom?’ and is part of the work of the indignados. The Irish citizens audit, supported by UNITE as well as debt campaign groups, challenged circular nature of Irish debt-holding, with the government guaranteeing banks which, in turn, hold its debt. It found that Irish debt had been transformed from a safe and boring investment to a vehicle of speculative interest. Its authors used Kissinger’s term of “constructive ambiguity” to describe the deliberate use of recondite language to undermine the citizen’s power to understand the actions of their politicians.

The real purpose of a citizens’ audit is precisely to challenge this “constructive ambiguity”. Most people never question whether it is right that they should pay interest to a bank for the privilege of buying their home, although they will pay around twice the cost of the house by the term of the mortgage. Whether this is just depends on how the bank acquired the money and in these days when the corrupt dealings of banks are becoming revealed in more egregious detail every day, an audit into how our debt was acquired, who owns it, and who will receive the money that we are paying in return for our borrowings is urgently overdue.

Photograph: Getty Images

Molly Scott Cato is Green MEP for the southwest of England, elected in May 2014. She has published widely, particularly on issues related to green economics. Molly was formerly Professor of Strategy and Sustainability at the University of Roehampton.

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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