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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How “cli-fi” novels humanise the science of climate change

The paradox is that the harder climate-fiction novels try, the less effective they are.

When the Paris UN Climate Change Conference begins at the end of November, the world’s leaders will review the climate framework agreed in Rio in 1992. For well over 20 years, the world has not just been thinking and talking about climate change, it has also been writing and reading about it, in blogs, newspapers, magazines – and in novels.

Climate change fiction is now a recognisable literary phenomenon replete with its own nickname: “cli-fi”. The term was coined in 2007 by Taiwan-based blogger Dan Bloom. Since then, its use has spread: it was even tweeted by Margaret Atwood in 2013:

It is not a genre in the accepted scholarly sense, since it lacks the plot formulas or stylistic conventions that tend to define genres (such as science fiction or the western). However, it does name a remarkable recent literary and publishing trend.

A 21st-century phenomenon?

Putting a number to this phenomenon depends, partly, on how one defines cli-fi. How much of a novel has to be devoted to climate change before it is considered cli-fi? Should we restrict the term to novels about man-made global warming? (If we don’t, we should remember that narratives about global climatic change are as old as The Epic of Gilgamesh and the Biblical story of the flood.) If we define cli-fi as fictional treatments of climate change caused by human activity in terms of setting, theme or plot – and accept there will be grey areas in the extent of this treatment – a conservative estimate would put the all-time number of cli-fi novels at 150 and growing. This is the figure put forward by Adam Trexler, who has worked with me to survey the development of cli-fi.

This definition also gives us a start date for cli-fi’s history. While planetary climatic change occurs in much 20th-century science fiction, it is only after growing scientific awareness of specifically man-made, carbon-induced climate change in the 1960s and 1970s that novels on this subject emerged. The first is Arthur Herzog’s Heat in 1976, followed by George Turner’s The Sun and the Summer (published in the US as Drowning Towers) in 1987.

At the turn of this century, Maggie Gee and TC Boyle were among the first mainstream authors to publish climate change novels. In this century, we can count Atwood, Michael Crichton, Barbara Kingsolver, Ian McEwan, Kim Stanley Robinson, Ilija Trojanow and Jeanette Winterson as major authors who have written about climate change. The past five years have given us notable examples of cli-fi by emerging authors, such as Steven Amsterdam, Edan Lepucki, Jane Rawson, Nathaniel Rich and Antti Tuomainen.

Creative challenges

Cli-fi is all the more noteworthy considering the creative challenge posed by climate change. First, there is the problem of scale – spatial and temporal. Climate change affects the entire planet and all its species – and concerns the end of this planet as we know it. Novels, by contrast, conventionally concern the actions of individual protagonists and/or, sometimes, small communities.

Added to this is the networked nature of climate change: in physical terms, the climate is a large, complex system whose effects are difficult to model. In socio-cultural terms, solutions require intergovernmental agreement – just what COP21 intends – and various top-down and bottom-up transformations. Finally, there exists the difficulty of translating scientific information, with all its predictive uncertainty, into something both accurate and interesting to the average reader.

Still, cli-fi writers have adopted a range of strategies to engage their readers. Many cli-fi novels could be classified as dystopian, post-apocalyptic or, indeed, both – depicting nightmarish societies triggered by sometimes catastrophic climate events. A future world is one effective way of narrating the planetary condition of climate change.

Some novelists are also careful to underpin their scenarios with rigorous climatic predictions and, in this way, translate science fact into a fictional setting. Kingsolver, who trained as an ecologist, is the best example of this – and Atwood and Robinson are also known for their attempts at making their speculations scientifically plausible. Also, cli-fi novels, particularly those set in the present day or very near future rather than in a dystopian future, tend to show the political or psychological dimensions of living with climate change. Readers can identify with protagonists. To some extent, the global community is represented in fictional everymen or everywomen. Or, often, it is through such characters that science is humanised and its role in combating climate change better understood.

Can cli-fi lead to change?

Could cli-fi affect how we think and act on climate change? The paradox is that the harder cli-fi tries, the less effective it is. Many writers want to inspire change, not insist on it: the line between literature and propaganda is one that most novelists respect. Literature invites us to inhabit other worlds and live other lives. Cli-fi at its best lets us travel to climate-changed worlds, to strive there alongside others and then to return armed with that experience.

In Paris, the UN will seek a global agreement on climate action for the first time in more than 20 years. There is plenty of climate change fiction out there to help provide the mental and psychological space to consider that action.

The Conversation

Adeline Johns-Putra, Reader in English Literature, University of Surrey

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.