Show Hide image

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

DAVID YOUNG FOR NEW STATESMAN
Show Hide image

An English tragedy: how Boris, Dave and Brexit were formed by Eton college

It's said that the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton. Was Britain's relationship with Europe wrecked there?

The brief window in which it was cool to be an Etonian has closed. That period was marked not just by Etonian success and visibility – in politics, on the stage, in the media, even on the balcony of Buckingham Palace – but also by a new-found unabashedness in expressing pride at having attended King Henry VI’s Thames-side ­college, founded for 70 poor scholars in 1440. David Cameron summed it up when he said he was “not embarrassed” that he had gone to “a fantastic school . . . because I had a great education and I know what a great education means”.

All this was quite strange and ­perturbing to me, as an alumnus of an older era, the 1970s, when being an Etonian seemed decidedly uncool. When asked which school we had attended, my contemporaries and I muttered that we had been to a comprehensive near Slough. It was perturbing because I always had my doubts about Etonian confidence, or arrogance.

The closing of this window can be dated precisely to the early hours of the morning of 24 June. At that moment, it became clear that David Cameron had taken an insouciant, arrogant and disastrous gamble, in the interests of maintaining Conservative Party unity, by calling an unnecessary referendum on Britain’s membership of the European Union that he believed he was sure to
win. The window closed even more tightly a week later, when Boris Johnson, having helped to lead the Leave campaign, suddenly declared that he was no longer standing for the Tory leadership – the glittering prize for which he had apparently abandoned his principles and betrayed his friends.

If the Battle of Waterloo had been won on the playing fields of Eton, it now appeared that Britain’s relationship with Europe, and even its continued integrity as a nation, had been wrecked there. It was no surprise that there should be a turning against Eton, with gleeful opinion pieces from the left-leaning commentariat mocking everything from Tom Hiddleston’s backside to the commitment to public service of one of our ablest MPs, Jesse Norman.

I find this reaction as shallow as the ­excessive pride that preceded it. Maybe that is not surprising, as I both love and feel dissatisfied, even disappointed, by the school where I spent five years of my boyhood and then two and a half years teaching English literature as a young adult. The feeling of let-down is more than personal. Eton has something to answer for, at a national level. A few years ago, I wrote these words: “I’ve often wondered whether this famous Eton confidence could be skin-deep: certainly people such as Boris Johnson and David Cameron do not lack chutzpah, but the confidence to believe you deserve the high position does not necessarily mean you possess the other talents – humility, for instance, and the ability to listen to others – needed to honour it.” Now the 11 Eton pupils who managed to secure an interview with Vladimir Putin have trumped even Cameron and Johnson
in the chutzpah department, but not necessarily added lustre to their alma mater.

I had a chance to reassess the ambivalence I feel about Eton, and to reflect on the role that this ancient and eccentric place has played in our national crisis, when I attended a reunion at my old school just three days after the dark night of 23 June.

This was not a reunion of old boys but a celebration of the 50th anniversary of the Eton English department, an institution for which I feel affection and profound gratitude. As a boy, I was inspired not only to read voraciously and widely – the novels of Thomas Hardy, Henry James, Dickens, William Faulkner; the poetry of Coleridge, Wordsworth, Emily Dickinson, T S Eliot, Charles Causley, Louis MacNeice, Henry Vaughan; Shakespeare at his most intense – but also to analyse, think and feel simultaneously. Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country and Dickens’s Hard Times opened my eyes to conditions as far from my comfortable Home Counties upbringing as you could imagine, to the realities of racial segregation and working-class ­deprivation; opened my heart, too, I hope.
I was being challenged to reflect on my privilege, even be discomfited by it – not just blindly perpetuate it.

For those reasons, I was honoured to be invited back to teach, initially for just a year, in the department that had given me so much mind-and-soul nourishment. I was not the most confident or organised of teachers, but pupils I bumped into years later said they had enjoyed and gained something from classes in which discipline was not always the tightest. A debate I set up to discuss the miners’ strike turned into a riot. Above all, I enjoyed directing motivated and talented boys in productions of Journey’s End and Death of a Salesman which moved audiences.

***

Inspiration, warmth and a streak of anarchy are, perhaps, not the qualities you associate with Eton. But they were present in the English department, which started as a sort of anti-establishment challenge to the hegemony of classics. Angus Graham-Campbell, my laconic head of department, summed up the department’s signature virtues as scholarship, exuberance and irreverence.

The English department was not exactly typical of Eton as a whole. It was, I suppose, the haven for sensitive and artistic souls, for subversives and mavericks. Eton had other, for me less attractive, sides. I particularly disliked Pop, the self-elected club of prefects who strutted their stuff and lorded it over underlings in brightly embroidered waistcoats – the club to which Boris Johnson (but not David Cameron) belonged. This was more Game of Thrones than “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock”.

Eton, above all, was intensely male, intensely hierarchical and intensely competitive. Like Boris, I was a King’s Scholar; successors of the original 70 poor scholars, we lived apart from other Etonians in ancient quarters close to the 15th-century chapel, wore gowns and competed more for academic honours than for social kudos. Like Boris, I won the Newcastle Scholarship in classics and divinity, a strange 19th-century leftover that involved composing verses in Greek iambics, reading the Gospel of Matthew and the Acts of the Apostles in Greek and answering a paper on the doctrine of the Atonement – all in the term before A-levels.

I was proud of my academic achievements. But having had a chance to reflect on the Etonian male culture of competition from the outside, and then seeing it from a different angle when I went back to teach there, I began to doubt how healthy it was. I realised that coming top of the form and winning prizes had mattered far too much to me. It had even affected my choice of A-levels; I was good at classics and felt fairly confident of being the biggest fish in that smallish pond, rather than swimming in the broader waters of history and modern languages. Surely what mattered was finding yourself, your passion and your vocation?

I was artistically minded and Eton provided wonderful opportunities in drama (the groundwork was being laid for the flowering of acting talent we have seen recently) and music; but “creative writing” and painting, encouraged up to the age of 14, were suddenly put away as childish things when you reached adolescence (this, mind you, is not unique to Eton). From the age of 15, I never even considered choosing to go to music, art or drama school rather than taking the well-worn path to an Oxbridge scholarship. Achieving that seemed to be the pinnacle of Etonian success, and the only thing my worldly housemaster ever cared about.

Certainly no one talked much about happiness or emotional health. Eton’s pastoral care seemed close to non-existent. I kept my unhappiness to myself, with unhelpful consequences. For four of my contemporaries in college, who committed suicide in their late teens or twenties, the consequen­ces were more dire.

This may be sounding too much like a personal lament, or a reprise of Cyril Connolly’s theory of permanent adolescence in Enemies of Promise. I found my way eventually to what I wanted to be and do (it involved a lot of psychotherapy and a wonderfully liberating year in Barcelona). But I think my criticisms of Eton have a bearing on our national tragedy.

The atmosphere at the Eton English department celebration a few weeks ago did not lack the appropriate exuberance and irreverence, and the setting in the provost’s garden, surrounded with sculptures by Rodin, Jacob Epstein and Henry Moore, was exquisitely beautiful. Yet I could not help sensing the unquiet ghosts of Dave and Boris stalking the corridors behind us. I imagined them locked in an immature male rivalry that has ended up inflicting incalculable damage on a nation. Now Dave has decided to quit the political stage, leaving rather little in the way of legacy behind him.

Perhaps Boris, the King’s Scholar, could not forgive Dave for winning the ultimate prize. However, in taking revenge, he found himself hoist with his own petard, before somehow managing to emerge with a lesser prize, which some see as a ­poisoned chalice.

It all made me think of that supremely pointless sport, the Eton wall game. I played once or twice before giving up, repelled by the sheer unpleasantness of being ground into either brick or mud, and the tedium of a game in which the last goal had been scored in 1909. As a Colleger, though, I supported our team of brainboxes, drawn from the 70 scholars to play against the brawn of the Oppidans (the rest of the school, 1,200 of them). No doubting that it was antler-to-antler stuff, or like the contests of male musk oxen that knock each other senseless.

Eton remains archaic in its attitude towards women. It is still a boys-only boarding school (though a small number of girls, mainly the daughters of teachers, have been pupils there), and the staff are overwhelmingly male. Being largely cut off from women and girls for much of your boyhood and adolescence does not seem to me an ideal recipe for emotional health, or for regarding women as equals.

The school that has educated 19 prime ministers may provide a brilliant academic education and countless other opportunities, but it can leave its pupils emotionally floundering behind a façade of polish and charm. The effects of that emotional impoverishment can be far-reaching indeed. I am encouraged that the new headmaster, Simon Henderson, has signalled a change of tone at Eton, with more stress on “emotional intelligence” and “mental health”. That change is long overdue.

Harry Eyres is the author of “Horace and Me: Life Lessons from an Ancient Poet”, published by Bloomsbury

This article first appeared in the 15 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The fall of the golden generation