Climate Change – Does Anyone Care?

The problem about a crisis like climate change is that if you talk about it long enough, after a while it doesn’t actually seem so bad. If you run endless conferences on it, listen to Al Gore enough, watch politicians make big ‘save the planet’ speeches, and allow it to slip into your general vocabulary, it’s no longer the scary one to wake you up in the wee small hours.

It’s a bit like living next door to the neighbour who you know to be a Mafia boss. Through time, and unless his activities affect your life, he slips into the background. Dimly aware that dodgy guys in dark glasses, leather jackets and fast limos drive up next door at all hours, rather strange muffled thumping noises are occasionally heard in the night, and that deals are being done that will end up hurting other people, you just get on with your life. I mean your neighbour drops a nice Christmas present by and even loaned you his mower when your machine broke down. Seems a pleasant enough chap, even if you can’t see anything when you look into his eyes.

Climate change is like living next door to the Mafia. It has been with us as a serious political and scientific issue since 1988. The Toronto Conference of that same year set the first target for reducing greenhouse gas emissions to be agreed at an international conference. Since then the Inter-Governmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) has carried out exhaustive scientific reviews. The Kyoto Protocol has come and, by 2012, it will lapse. The reality that the catastrophic failure at the Copenhagen Climate Summit in December last year has derailed the political process is now becoming all too clear. George Monbiot’s biting analysis in the Guardian recently summed up the extent of that failure. www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/

USA politics is set to drop further back in even acknowledging the science of man-made climate change, aided by the so-called grassroots Tea Party phenomena ripping through the Republican Party washingtonpost.com/tea_party. By not even admitting the existence of the (Climate Change) Mafia next door, many Americans have slipped into infantile-like denial and a naïve belief that it is all a conspiracy by scientists/left-wingers/the UN/the Europeans (circle your particular hate group). Australia has slipped back from its carbon tax and resources tax commitment last after the Labour Party’s self-inflicted own-goal forced a General Election and a razor thin majority. China meanwhile asserted herself as the new No 1 Kid on the block in the final small hours at Copenhagen and called the shots when it really mattered. Having bought up a lot of Western nations debt in the past few years, everyone listens when China talks these days.

It’s the economic crisis that has now taken centre stage in the media and political process. Banks, recession, budget cuts and jobs. Climate change warrants an obligatory place in a politician’s speech but is no longer the centre-piece. Scientists publishing evidence of dire deterioration in the trends of warming or extreme weather events is not front page news. When you allow the most serious issue affecting human beings on this Planet to slip to page 5 or a short paragraph on page 2, you know we are in big trouble.

For a Hollywood script-writer, the scenario as we lurch towards 2012 is a gold-mine. The film: ‘The Day After Tomorrow’ was criticised by some as alarmist and scientifically unrealistic when it came out a few years ago. Watching it again recently I was struck by how prescient some of it felt. Political inertia, climate denial by the US, and scientists being ignored by politicians who found their conclusions far too inconvenient.

So where do we go from here? And does anyone actually care about resolving the pollution, energy, deforestation and agricultural crises that is the cause of climatic change?

Politically, it seems that any international Climate agreement worth the paper it is written on is about as likely as the new head of Barclays Bank donating all his salary and bonus’s to charity. China will ensure that is the case, even if the Europeans still have the stomach for tough cuts in emissions. Which leaves Europe in a dilemma, as the EU industrial lobbies will argue strongly that for the EU to go it alone will add extra costs and make them uncompetitive against the developing world and the US. Our nascent clean energy lobbies are as yet probably too small to swing the debate decisively.

Even though the European wind industry supported an estimated 192,000 jobs in early 2010 and estimated this was likely to grow to 450,000 by 2020, this is still small compared to oil, gas and the conventional power sector.  It could however be massive within a few years. A recent report by Greenpeace indicated that 6.5 million jobs in the global renewable energy sector alone (3 times the current level) could exist by 2020. Many more in the energy efficiency and alternative transport sectors would also be created in the ‘Energy Revolution’ scenario they explore. www.greenpeace.org/

Potentially however, any momentum on a major transition to a clean energy and lower-carbon food system could get significantly delayed by political inertia. Take a sector that I know well – biomass (wood) heating. After the ‘Feed-in Tariffs’ (FIT) for small-scale renewable electricity technologies was introduced to the UK this April, the renewable heat sector was promised a Renewable Heat Incentive (RHI) to kick off next April. Since the Coalition came into power there has been no clear statement on support for this and all the signals are that it will be ditched for another watered down measure. The Green Alliance have recently shown that with sensible modifications to the initial RHI proposal the actual costs of the measure would be very modest www.green-alliance. .   The net effect of the grpwing hiatus has been to put huge uncertainty into a sector that was gearing up for significant growth. Biomass also offers a set of mature heating technologies that offer pretty cost-effective heating (usually cheaper than oil and cheaper than gas in larger installations). It also provides employment for the hard-pressed forestry sector. At present biomass heating is facing a major hiatus as potential clients delay making orders until the political direction is clear. Flat-lining order books and 3-day weeks are no way to prepare for growth and a major technological transition.

For the public who are facing big uncertainty over employment and massive cuts in services, they are likely to be more susceptible to arguments that push for moderating emissions cuts and longer timelines.

The net result of all this? Uncertainty. Delays. Inaction. Faltering growth. Cynicism.

If you live next door to the Mafia, denial is not a long-term option. Do you wait for shots in the night? A dead body in the woods nearby? Local services including your pub taken over by them? A corrupted local council and MP? Or do you act now when you can? Climate change needs action now, not when the fourth extreme tornado rips through London or Birmingham or repeated floods turn your community into an insurance red-line area.

Thank God at least that many local communities are going full out to reduce their carbon footprints and are not swayed by international political chaos. People are taking action because it is the right thing to do and this is what can give us some hope. Banning the ubiquitous plastic bag often leads to many other actions on transport, energy, farmers markets and local food awareness. Small funds available for local renewable businesses help seed projects and change at a grassroots level. Transition Town initiatives are spreading rapidly throughout the UK as people are increasingly planning for resilience, using local resources and reducing reliance on imports.

On its own, not enough to solve the big climate crisis. But it’s a start and people do care.

Stewart Boyle – 22^nd September 2010 (I’ll be writing more on local initiatives in future)

The finality of the ring tone.  My bloody financial advisor has just hung up on me and bailed out.  No longer sure his bills will be paid I guess, ‘file for bankruptcy’ his last piece of advice. “You shit! After all I did for you!” Thanks Nigel.  Appreciate the loyalty.

And then it hit me.  All that ducking and diving, the late night re-structuring deals, the business angel investors who never, quite, signed their cheques.  It’s over. No more last minute escapes or saviours to pull me out of the debtors fire raging beneath my feet. I’m busted and truly burnt. Well and truly done to a crisp. Hmm. All that exciting deal-making in the discrete dining rooms of private members clubs.  For each new financing round taking yet more matching equity out of my beautiful old house till I now own nothing except the keys to the door and the privilege of returning them before the building society forecloses. The comeback kid whose poker hand was finally called last night to reveal nothing, but a pair of 9’s and a lot of bravado and bullshit.

It’s done. Over.  And what a real shame.  I’d have made a great philanthropist, running a most enlightened charitable Foundation. Incubating the business ideas of poor Asian kids through to white-hot technology successes.  And I would have been amazing on TV. Secret Millionnaire, Dragon’s Den, special appearances on Red Nose Day shows and compassionate trips to Africa. Tough love, but kind hearted. A wacky but self-deprecating sense of humour. My soft Scots brogue installing trust and solidity – all helping my hugely successful core businesses of course.

And here I am, sitting in a bleak, anonymous 5-star hotel bedroom, hoping my last working credit card can pay the bill. Bed unslept in and I need to out on the street in less than an hour. Mini-bar right out of booze, down to my last two B&H’s. A tiny bit of weed, but I’m not anxious to wallow in my failures just yet.

Shit – it’s Mum’s birthday tomorrow. No present and I’ve forgotten the card, again. She’s getting a bit fed up of my ‘Last Minute.com’ teleflorist bouquets, and terse messages written in the shop assistant’s squiggly hand. Maybe give her a call later. Fix up to see her.  I’ll have plenty of time soon enough all right.

‘Beep, beep’. A couple of texts in from the Mother Ship. Jeez. Another one from the Bank. “Please call us urgently about your accounts Mr Buchanan. It’s important you speak to us on this number today”.   Fat chance! My best friend’s when it was all going well. Couldn’t be nicer, showering me with loans and overdraft extensions. Now I’m like a turd floating down the Thames. The smell of bad debts turning me into a credit risk pariah.

I sit down in the leather half-sofa looking out over the balcony, sipping the last of my sparkling water and smoking a fag. An Autumn storm is sweeping through the city, rocking the windows gently.  I sniff the faint whiff of malt whisky on the glass rim. The last time I slept in this room the real deals were being done, the women gorgeous and the sex fantastic. A line of ‘charlie’, a few bottles of posh red, a malt or two. Mix in the money smell that promised good times, and my libido was sky high.

Huh. It’s all gone floppy now and no one is calling me. My ex-partner is not in town, abroad probably, seeking sure-fire winners. “No point in hanging around ‘tits up Britain’” as my ex-business mate Brian described it. Cheers Brian!

Oh God. My head and back really ache. Not enough sleep and no more options.  The emptiness hurts. All that hype and expectation lying like a dead weight on my skull. I could do with a full body Thai lady cracking my spine, getting all these knots out. Maybe later.

I begin to accept my fate and let the waves of shame sweep over me. Shit – I’ve really fucked up now. If only I’d taken the buy-out deal last year when it was on the table. Too arrogant to accept a price half my bloody valuation.  If only, if only….. Totally pointless. Hindsight. 2020. At the time Brian, my financial advisors, all of them said – hold out, you can get a better price. Pretend you have another deal out there. And my buyer looked me in the eye, smiled and just walked away. Shit. Should have known the game was up right then, but I couldn’t face the fact that I’d messed up. Blown it. Made a mistake. My bullshit spotted. Out-pokered by a cool young Indian whizz-kid who was faster, smarter and brainier than me.

I’ll be the laughing stock in one or two clubs and drinking dens tonight, I’m sure.  And to be frank, I don’t care. I’m just fucking relieved it’s finally over. The game is done and there’s no extra time or penalty shoot outs. World Cup flop – playing business for the England team, that’s me.

It’s all gone quiet out there in ‘big deal’ land, and that feels strangely OK. I can live with this. Never thought I’d think like that – admit failure. Never saw myself as the tosser holding the baby when the music stopped. I used to think those geezers were losers, stupid twats, little boys not up to playing the grown up game.

And here I am, last man standing, going to catch it good and proper with my name on those loan guarantee forms. I mean, I do have a bit of a secret stash, I’m not a complete fool. Mum’s got the deeds of my flat in Mallorca. I’ll be OK. I just won’t be the guy I thought I was meant to be. No handing out cigars. I’ll be officially bankrupt in a week, credit rating shot. One or two people will hate my guts for a while, maybe much longer. Friends and family, all happy to make a mint in the good times, but not so keen when one deal goes sour. What did they think that disclaimer was all about?

I’m gonna have a lot of papers to sign. And I will need to talk to Mum real soon – she’ll only worry. And Brenda will be on my tail fast enough when the child support doesn’t go through next month. Serve her right for turning my son against me. Aw – that’s just bitter and twisted me talking. I miss  them both and I wasn’t around enough when it mattered. Always going to have plenty of time, once I’d made my millions and I could lie on the beach, made for life. Now I’ve got the time but no cash.

Bankrupt, broke and busted. Hey – that’s really me. I just joined a new Members Club. No entry fees and no elaborate application form. Losers only need apply. Dress code casual.  Quite a big Club I hear.  And it’s a bloody relief.

Well – I can maybe go and hang out with my mate John in his woods. There’s poor mobile reception out there so no need to communicate with anybody if I don’t want to. A bit of physical work with him too. Log splitting, fences, thinning the birch trees, brew up on the fire, a nice Golden Virginia rollie. I love all that stuff really. I just never found the time. And he’s been such a loyal mate to me, even when I was a complete twat. He cut me in with a small share of the woods in exchange for the loan, so I’ve got somewhere to live at least if it all gets a bit hairy. Hope John can handle me rolling into the shit though.

Twenty minutes before check-out time. The rain shower has cleared and the sun’s coming through. I’d better get going. A quick shower and my last clean shirt. Don’t worry about the shave. I’m officially a dodgy geezer now. I might as well look the part.

Time to let go of all this. So much crap and lies and nothing real. Time to find out who my real friends are. I hope there are one or two. I hope I wasn’t a complete shit, all of the time. Time now to find who I am and what I’m gonna do next. That bit feels a bit scary but good.

A final check-list before I leave. Credit card, phone, keys of the leased Beemer going back tomorrow, my bankruptcy application form and cheque. Lots of mints. Flush my weed down the toilet.  Jacket on.  Oh – my lovely Paul Smith grey woollen suit, I’ll miss that bit. Hand through my hair. Quick look in the mirror. Not bad. Eyes a bit gaunt and dark. But it’s time to meet my future, get back on my horse and ride out to meet my destiny.

(A short story entry for an Audio Competition) – Stewart Boyle. August 2010