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Tackling the real crisis

In a week dominated by the growing global financial crisis, a couple of potential tipping points in

Such has been the media furore over the return to Cabinet of Peter Mandelson that it seems almost sacrilegious to suggest that, once the dust settles, the return of new Labour’s prodigal son may be overshadowed by a mere reorganisation of Whitehall departments.

Yet while stories about how Peter patched it up with Gordon and what Tony thought about it dominated last weekend’s newspapers, it is the absence of energy policy from Mr Mandelson’s returned ministerial red box that has the potential to really make waves.

The fact is that successive Secretaries of State at the Department for Business, Enterprise and Regulatory Reform (and before that the Department of Trade and Industry) have failed to deliver their part of the Government’s promises to tackle global warming. They have often buckled in the face of the energy industry and business leaders, including elements within the Confederation of British Industry. With the fear-mongering line that 'the lights might go out, they push their own vested interests and ignore the needs of millions of poor people across the globe who will be the first victims of climate change, not to mention the citizens of this country.

The current situation in Haiti, where a combination of hurricanes and high food process have left hundreds of thousands of people hungry show the effects of climate change are already being felt by the poorest.

Ed Miliband, the first-ever Cabinet minister for energy and climate change, now has the chance to demonstrate how the Prime Minister’s promise at Labour's conference of “fairness at home, fairness in the world” can be turned from rhetoric into reality.

There can be no doubting the pressing need for change. In a week dominated by the growing global financial crisis, a couple of potential tipping points in the climate change debate have passed almost unnoticed.

On Tuesday, the committee charged by the UK government to examine climate change backed scientists’ call for an 80 per cent reduction in UK emissions by 2050. This was followed by a vote of the European Parliament’s Environment Committee to limit the emissions of new power plants, among other measures.

As Sir Nicholas Stern demonstrated so powerfully two years ago, the potential economic damage of climate change dwarfs even that of the current financial crisis. Yet UK government departments and corporations remain schizophrenic in their reaction to climate change. Oxfam’s report, The forecast for tomorrow reveals a country deeply divided between those who recognise the need for action and those who would rather pretend we can carry on with business as usual.

While the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, Greater London Authority and the Scottish Government, are all pursuing ambitious policies on climate change, BERR's approach to energy policy before the reshuffle is highlighted as one of the six organisations whose policies undermine the UK commitment to tackle the issue.

Faced with a potential reduction of electricity generation capacity of about 20 gigawatts by 2020, the department has appeared ready to ignore more than 30GW of renewable and gas-powered generating capacity under consideration or in development and plump for coal, without clear assurances of the potential for the as yet, largely untested technology for carbon capture and storage. A more recent change of heart by BERR on renewables should instead show the way forward.

The first litmus test of whether the Government’s reshuffle marks a sea-change in their approach to climate change or merely a rearrangement of chairs on the deck of a sinking ship will be the decision on plans by E.ON, proud sponsors of the FA Cup, to build the first new coal-fired power plant since a 23-year-old, bubble-permed Kevin Keegan scored a brace to help Liverpool to defeat Newcastle in the 1974 final.

Kingsnorth would have a dramatic and devastating effect on Britain’s carbon footprint; its annual CO2 emissions will be 7 million tonnes – more than the combined output of 30 developing countries. It would smash the EU’s proposed emissions limits. Kingsnorth and other coal-fired stations cannot be allowed to go ahead if the UK is to even come close to making the cuts in greenhouse gas emissions by 2050 demanded by the Government’s own experts this week.

Meanwhile, European governments, including the UK, will decide in the next few weeks whether or not to water down ambitious plans for tackling climate change and promoting renewable energy, voted through by the European Parliament this week.

These decisions will have a far-reaching impact beyond the levels of greenhouse gases emitted. Striking a deal at the international climate change negotiations this year in Poland and next year in Copenhagen, will require strong, demonstrable leadership from European governments that claim they are committed to playing their part in reducing emissions, if countries like China and the USA are to come on board. Britain and Europe cannot expect to take the lead at December’s critical negotiations in Poznan unless we can show that we are prepared to take tough choices and practice what we preach.

There is however hope for change. Despite the laggards like E.ON, Oxfam's report shows that we are also home to some of the world’s best, most inspiring progress in tackling climate change. National institutions such as Marks and Spencer, British Telecom and even the National Grid have led the way in taking concrete action to reduce emissions.

Gordon Brown showed the most political courage in his reshuffle, not in the way many have suggested by springing the surprise of returning Mr Mandelson to Cabinet, but in bringing energy and climate together under one roof.

Now he, and Ed Miliband must show even greater courage to swim against the tide of interests who would water down our commitment to reducing emissions at home and in Europe, and by doing so fuel the growth of a much greater and more damaging threat than the current financial crisis.

Phil Bloomer, Oxfam Campaigns and Policy Director

PAUL POPPER/POPPERFOTO
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No peace after progress

How the death of the industrial way of life gave us choice – and stoked resentment and fear.

Now that the making of useful and necessary things in Britain is only a shadow of what it once was, we can see more clearly the effects of the Manufacturing Age. The cost was high to the producers of prodigious wealth; a ten-year difference in life expectancy remains between people living in the richest areas and those in Glasgow. The (fleeting, it now seems) visitation of industrialism has made life more comfortable and its dismantling has liberated millions from choiceless occupations. The legacy is one of spectacular improvement, unequally shared.

Perhaps the most dramatic experience of the 20th century was the suddenness with which profligate plenty replaced a skinflint subsistence. Was it the speed of this that distracted us from wondering why, instead of the secure sustenance that generations of needy people had asked of an unyielding economic system, we were offered a promiscuous spillage of goods, promoted with quasi-religious zeal by the converts of a capitalism that had previously delivered to most of its captive workers a life of penury? Such a rapid reversal might have alerted us to changes beneath the surface that elided losses incurred.

The greatest of these was certainly not the extinction of the industrial way of life itself, release from which has been an unqualified blessing. But the transition from relentlessly work-driven lives (in the 1950s, two-thirds of Britain’s workers were still manual labourers) was marked by perfunctory obituaries for the disintegration of industrial communities, with no acknowledgement that, for a century and a half, they had represented the inescapable destiny of the people they sheltered.

Even less recognition was given to the fortitude with which they had borne a long, coercive labour. A way of life, buried without ceremony in the unmarked grave of progress, could not be mourned; and this has generated some social pathologies of our time: resentment over an arbitrary obliteration of industry, disengagement from a party of labour by those it called, like feudal lords, its “own people”, loss of memory of the economic migrants we also were, passing from the goad of industry into the pastures of consumption, and thence into the liberating servitude of technology.

Grief makes no judgement on the intrinsic value of what is lost. Absence of the known and familiar is the object of melancholy in its own right, even if replaced by something immeasurably better. Objectively, there was little to mourn in the vanished industrial way of life: insufficiency and humiliation, malice of overseer and manager, officiousness of poor-law administrator and means-test man. Male industrial workers exhausted in body and spirit, instead of protecting those for whom the power of their hands was the only shelter against destitution, visited similar punishment on their wives and children. There is nothing to be lamented in an end to the penitential life of women, scrubbing not only the red tiles of the kitchen floor, but even an arc of pavement outside the front door; their interception of men on payday before wages were wasted on beer and oblivion; the clenching against joyless invasion of their bodies in the boozy aftermath. But it was the only life they knew, and they adhered to it with grim stoicism and even pride.

There is much to be said for their resistance. The fragile lattice formed by women’s arms was often the only safety net against destitution. Trade unions and friendly and burial societies that shielded folk from economic violence foreshadowed the welfare state and the National Health Service.

The life of labouring people in Britain was strikingly homogeneous, despite diversity of occupation, dialect and local sensibility. There was the same collective experience: terraced house with parlour reserved for celebration or mourning; the three-piece suite, plaster figure on a stand behind the window, chenille curtain against the draught, engraving of The Stag at Bay on the wall; the deal table and Windsor chairs in the living room, the mantelpiece a domestic shrine with clock, candlesticks and pictures of soldiers smiling before they died; the music of cinders falling through the bars in the grate; cheerless bedrooms where husband and wife slept in high connubial state, more bier than bed, where sexual enjoyment was ritually sacrificed as flowers of frost formed on the inside of the window.

And everywhere photographs: wraithlike children with ringlets or in sailor suits, fated never to grow up; weddings in the back garden, a bouquet of lilies and a grandmother in boots and astrakhan hat; the smudged features of a kinsman no one can now identify. Identical memories, too: the shotgun wedding in the dingy finery of a Co-op hall; the funeral tableau around the grave, amid ominous inscriptions of “Sleeping where no shadows fall”; queues outside the ocean-going Savoy or Tivoli to watch Gone With the Wind; the pub where “Vilia” or “The Last Rose of Summer” was hammered out on a discordant piano.

The opening up of such sombre lives might have been expected to call forth cries of gratitude. Instead, a synthetic joy has emanated largely from the same sources that, until recently, offered people grudging survival only, the change of tune outsourced to producers of manufactured delight, purveyors of contrived euphoria to the people – a different order of industrial artefact from the shoes, utensils and textiles of another era.

***

A more authentic popular res­ponse exists beneath the official psalmody, a persistent murmur of discontent and powerlessness. Anger and aggression swirl around like dust and waste paper in the streets of our affluent, unequal society. As long-term recipients of the contempt of our betters, we know how to despise the vulnerable – people incapable of work, the poor, the timid and the fearful, those addicted to drugs and alcohol. Sullen resentment tarnishes the wealth of the world, a conviction that somebody else is getting the advantages that ought to be “ours” by right and by merit.

Rancour appears among those “left behind” in neighbourhoods besieged by unknown tongues and foreign accents: people who never voted for unchosen change, as all political options are locked up in a consensus of elites. “Give us back our country!”
they cry; even though that country is not in the custody of those from whom they would reclaim it. There was no space for the working class to grieve over its own dissolution. If, as E P Thompson said, that class was present at its own making, it was certainly not complicit in its own undoing.

Grief denied in individuals leads to damaging psychological disorders. There is no reason to believe that this differs for those bereaved of a known way of living. The working class has been colonised, as was the peasantry in the early industrial era. When the values, beliefs and myths of indigenous peoples are laid waste, these lose meaning, and people go to grieve in city slums and die from alcohol, drugs and other forms of self-inflicted violence. Though the dominant culture’s erasure of the manufacturing way of life in Britain was less intense than the colonial ruin of ancient societies, this subculture was equally unceremoniously broken. It is a question of degree. The ravages of drugs and alcohol and self-harm in silent former pit villages and derelict factory towns show convergence with other ruined cultures elsewhere in the world.

Depression is a symptom of repressed grief: here is the connection between unfinished mourning and popular resentment at having been cheated out of our fair share, our due, our place in the world. If we are unable to discern our own possible fate in suffering people now, this is perhaps a result of estrangement from unresolved wrongs in our own past. Nothing was ever explained. Globalisation occurred under a kind of social laissez-faire: no political education made the world more comprehensible to the disaffected and disregarded, people of small account to those who take decisions on their behalf and in their name.

Anyone who protested against our passage into this changed world was criminalised, called “wrecker” and “extremist”. The miners’ strike of 1984 was the symbol of this: their doomed fight to preserve a dignity achieved in pain and violence was presented by the merchants of deliverance not only as retrograde, but also as an act of outlawry. Resistance to compulsory change was derided as a response of nostalgics protecting the indefensible, when the whole world was on the brink of a new life. Early in her tenure of Downing Street, Margaret Thatcher, that sybil and prophet who knew about these things, warned that Britain would become “a less cosy, more abrasive” place: a vision confirmed by the Battle of Orgreave – redolent of civil war – and the anguish of Hillsborough.

It is too late to grieve now. Scar tissue has healed over the untreated wound. Though no one expects the ruling classes to understand the distress of perpetual “modernisation”, the leaders of labour might have been able to recognise capitalism’s realm of freedom and a gaudy consumerism that concealed hardening competitiveness and the growth of a crueller, more bitter society.

The ills of this best of all worlds, its excessive wealth and extreme inequality, are on show in hushed thoroughfares of London, shuttered sites of “inward investment”, where the only sound is the faint melody of assets appreciating; while elsewhere, people wait for charitable tins of denutrified substances to feed their family, or sit under a grubby duvet, a Styrofoam cup beseeching the pence of passers-by.

Unresolved feelings about industrialism, enforced with great harshness and abolished with equal contempt for those who served it, are certainly related to the stylish savagery of contemporary life. The alibi that present-day evils are an expression of “human nature” is a poor apology for what is clearly the nature – restless and opportunistic – of a social and economic system that has, so far at least, outwitted its opponents at every turn.

Jeremy Seabrook’s book “The Song of the Shirt” (C Hurst & Co) won the Bread and Roses Award for Radical Publishing 2016

This article first appeared in the 23 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Divided Britain