Kemi Badenoch, part of the megalomaniac tendency of the Tory party, says that the wealth of Britain and other western countries is not a result of slavery and colonialism. I beg to differ. I am not an historian or economist but I think I have enough knowledge of British history to see that exploitation of the poor has very much contributed to the wealth of the richest here and abroad.
Exploitation at home certainly contributed to the growth in power of the UK. Agricultural workers, miners and factory workers lived on or about the poverty line trapped in working for landowners, coal and iron barons, and factory owners. But those businesses that grew through the agricultural and industrial revolutions depended on investment from the already rich. Those were the aristocracy who had jumped on the triangular trade system of the C17th and C18th. Trinkets and weapons exported to West Africa in exchange for slaves carried to the Caribbean and Americas to work the plantations (sugar, cotton, tobacco, and later, rubber, etc) with the much higher value products brought back to the UK for further work and wealth creation.
Why do so many of the National Trust’s stately homes date from the C18th and C19th if it is not the wealth created by the slave trade and exploitation of resources in the colonies? I think every successful business set up during the Industrial Revolution, every canal dug and railway built had investment from people who had made at least some of their cash from slavery and colonialism. It means all of us Britons are descended from people who gained more or less from exploitation of slaves and the colonies
So what? What is to be done about past exploitation of poor people here and abroad? I do not think government apologies are worth a thing. It’s like telling children not to mouth the word “sorry” unless they mean it. Past bad behaviour can only be redeemed by action to mitigate the results. Huge one off payments matching the sum extracted from colonies with inflation taken into account, would bankrupt the guilty nations and prevent any further acts of alleviation. What can be done is to make sure that trade is fair today, that coffee growers in South America are paid a decent price for their beans, etc. Also we should be offering help to relieve the effects of climate change, largely caused by the wealthy countries overuse of fossil fuels.
None of this will happen of course, because Britain and other first world nations have frittered away the wealth they gained over the previous three centuries and our now morally moribund. Britain, perhaps more than the others, has also disposed of its manufacturing base, sold off its corporations to foreign buyers and has little left to trade. 25 years ago a senior executive in a high tech company told me that the future of the British economy was in intelligence. Trading our knack for innovation for the goods we want. That’s all well and good if there is the infrastructure to encourage the innovators – a well-resourced and staffed education system (schools and universities), resources for the innovators to develop their ideas before they are ready to sell, a system of getting remuneration out of the sale of ideas. None of that happened. Of course, innovation does not just apply to science, technology and medicine, it also includes culture and the arts. For years our musicians, artists, actors, film makers, games designers etc received some encouragement. That too has been ditched, largely because of Brexit, but now also because of Tory party austerity which has resulted in arts grants being cut or stopped altogether. Really, the people in government haven’t a clue.
This week’s theme for writing group was the phrase “time to go”. Of course, my thoughts turned to time travel. The idea that came along turned out to be parody or pastiche and satire. The group loved it, tittering in all the right places. Here is Endurance.
Endurance
“Time, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the timeship, Endurance. Its continuing mission to boldly go when no-one has been before.”
“It’s nae good, Captain. I cannae do anymore; the engines won’t take it.”
None of the crew of the Timeship Endeavour understood why Chief Engineer “Lotty” Lott spoke in a Scottish accent. He’d never been near the country devastated by the great timestorm of 2356 which left it in the 1950s. Every city was covered in a film of coal fire soot and people rejoiced to the music of Kenneth McKellar and Moira Anderson while, male and female alike wore their kilts long.
Tim Shirk gripped the arms of his captain’s chair and rocked from side to side like the rest of the ship’s company as it was buffeted by the time typhoon. No one had thought to fit seatbelts. “Take us out of timewarp, Mr Tock,” he ordered.
First Officer Tock, a member of the race of Anachrons, only distinguishable from a white human male by the pink hair that grew from his nostrils, pressed the big red button marked Timewarp Emergency Cutoff.
The shaking and rattling of the timeship ceased. The big screen on the wall showed a perfect picture of the whole Earth hanging in a starry space.
Dr Temperance McJoy, staggered from the lift doors. “What’s going on, Tim?” she said to the Captain, “I’ve got a sickbay full of injured crew.”
Shirk refrained from telling “Pills”, as McJoy was known, that perhaps she should get back there and do her job. Instead, he replied, “Explain it for everyone, Mr Tock.”
Tock’s thick eyebrows rose as they did from time to time. “We dropped out of timewarp just before we were hit by the time typhoon. We are now orbiting Earth in the 2020s, a turbulent period in Earth’s time continuum.”
“The twentytwenties?” MacJoy screeched, “We can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” Shirk replied, “There’s life down there.”
“Life?” MacJoy sneered, “It may be life, but not as we know it, Tim.”
“What do you mean,” Shirk said looking appealingly at Mr Tock.
“Captain, I think the Doctor is suggesting that it would not be appropriate for us to appear to the humans that are living at this time.”
“Why not?” Shirk said.
Tock explained, “The planet is about to undergo runaway global warming that will devastate the biodiversity and end the lives of most of the population,”
“Don’t they know what’s happening?” the Captain asked.
“Of course they know,” Pills snorted, “half of them are living in an anxiety-caused refusal to accept what will happen to them and the other half think they can make something out of it.”
“What are they doing?” Shirk said.
The Doctor went on, “Some are fighting over tickets to Taylor Swift concerts, some are churning out ten second videos called tik-toks and the rest are just, fighting.”
“We’ll have to get out of this time,” Shirk said, “Lotty how are the engines?”
“In a bad way, Captain,” the engineer said, “It’ll take ten hours to get the timewarp drives up and running.”
“You’ve got five,” was Shirk’s reply, habitually halving any period that the Engineer suggested. “Mr Tock, Pills, join me down on the surface whereby we leave the ship without senior officers and put ourselves in danger. Oh, and bring one of those expendable security guys we have standing around doing nothing.”
The four members of the crew went down to the transport room, for some reason located a long way from the control deck. They were reconstituted on the planet’s surface just outside a branch of Greggs.
“What is this place?” Captain Shirk said peering through the window at the queue of humans.
Tock peered into his handheld plot device. “It appears to be a purveyor of baked goods, Captain.”
“Great, I could kill a sausage roll,” Shirk said.
“You may have to,” Pills said, “Heaven knows what deadly organisms are alive in this period.”
“I don’t think it would be wise to enter the establishment,” Tock said.
“Why not?” Shirk asked about to walk inside.
Tock replied, “At this time vendors required payment for goods. We don’t have any money.”
A burly man grasping a large lump of greasy pastry came out of the doorway and pushed passed the intrepid crew.
“Ger outatheway will yer,” he mumbled as he stumbled past, “Bloody clowns. Are you from some cult or sum’thin?”
“No, but are you sure you should be eating that,” commented Pills, “it’s not good for your health.”
“You bloody, woke, vegan, health freaks,” the man shouted before going on his way.
“Not a warm response to some well-intentioned advice,” Shirk said.
Tock replied, “I think that we will find that is typical of the era, Captain. Opinions on all issues have become polarised. Many protagonists argue from positions lacking any evidence base whatsoever. It is illogical.”
Shirk looked up and down the street lined with similar establishments to the branch of Greggs. Vehicles passed slowly belching noxious fumes and people walked on oblivious to the dangers. “I think we’ve seen enough,” he said.
“I agree, Tim,” Pills replied, “Stay here any longer and we could catch a deadly disease.”
Shirk spoke into his communicator. “Stream us on board, Lotty.”
Back on the control deck, the captain settled himself into his chair. “Has power to the engines been restored?”
“Aye cap’n. They’re as good as new,” Lotty replied, grinning with satisfaction.
“Right, Mr Tock. Time to go home. Timewarp factor 8. Engage.”
……….
ellifont 