The neoliberal call for more 'choice', seems hard to resist.
"Some of them are foreign-born and struggle with the language, and all of them are in distress! But I hardly have the time to explain the essentials to them. There's all the paperwork, and we're constantly understaffed.'
Such grievances have become sadly familiar – not only in medicine, but also in education and care-work. Even in more commercial environments, you're liable to hear similar objections: the engineer who wants to deliver quality but is told to focus on efficiency only; the gardener who wants to give the plants time to grow, but is told to focus on speed. The imperatives of productivity, profitability and the market rule.
Complaints come from the other side of the table as well. As patients and students, we want to be treated with care and responsibility, rather than as mere numbers. Wasn't there a time when professionals still knew how to serve us – a cosy, well-ordered world of responsible doctors, wise teachers and caring nurses? In this world, bakers still cared about the quality of their bread, and builders were proud of their constructions. One could trust these professionals; they knew what they were doing and were reliable guardians of their knowledge. Because people poured their souls into it, work was still meaningful – or was it?
In the grip of nostalgia, it's easy to overlook the dark sides of this old vocational model. On top of the fact that professional jobs were structured around hierarchies of gender and race, laypeople were expected to obey expert judgment without even asking questions. Deference to authority was the norm, and there were few ways of holding professionals to account. In Germany, for example, doctors were colloquially called 'demigods in white' because of their status vis-à-vis patients and other staff members. This is not exactly how we might think that citizens of democratic societies should relate to one other now.
Against this backdrop, the call for more autonomy, for more 'choice', seems hard to resist. This is precisely what happened with the rise of neoliberalism after the 1970s, when the advocates of 'New Public Management' promoted the idea that hard-nosed market thinking should be used to structure healthcare, education and other areas that typically belonged to the slow and complicated world of public red tape. In this way, neoliberalism undermined not only public institutions but the very idea of professionalism.
This attack was the culmination of two powerful agendas. The first was an economic argument about the alleged inefficiency of public services or the other non-market structures in which professional knowledge was hosted. Long queues, no choice, no competition, no exit options – that's the chorus that critics of public healthcare systems repeat to this day. The second was an argument about autonomy, about equal status, about liberation – 'Think for yourself!' instead of relying on experts. The advent of the internet seemed to offer perfect conditions for finding information and comparing offers: in short, for acting like a fully informed customer. These two imperatives – the economic and the individualistic – meshed extremely well under neoliberalism. The shift from addressing the needs of citizens to serving the demands of customers or consumers was complete.
We are all customers now; we are all supposed to be kings. But what if 'being a customer' is the wrong model for healthcare, education, and even highly specialised crafts and trades?
What the market-based model overlooks is hyperspecialisation, as the philosopher Elijah Millgram argues in The Great Endarkenment (2015). We depend on other people's knowledge and expertise, because we can learn and study only so many things in our lifetimes. Whenever specialist knowledge is at stake, we are the opposite of a well-informed customer. Often we don't want to have to do our own research, which would be patchy at best; sometimes, we are simply unable to do it, even if we tried. It's much more efficient (yes, efficient!) if we can trust those already in the know.
But it can be hard to trust professionals forced to work in neoliberal regimes. As the political scientist Wendy Brown argued in Undoing the Demos (2015), market logic turns everything, including one's own life, into a question of portfolio management: a series of projects in which you try to maximise the return on investment. By contrast, responsible professionalism imagines work-life as a series of relationships with individuals who are entrusted to you, along with the ethical standards and commitments you uphold as a member of a professional community. But marketisation threatens this collegiality, by introducing competitiveness among workers and undermining the trust that's needed to do a good job.
Is there a way out of this conundrum? Could professionalism be revived? If so, can we avoid its old problems of hierarchy while preserving space for equality and autonomy?
There are some promising proposals and real-life examples of such a revival. In his account of 'civic professionalism', Work and Integrity (2nd ed, 2004), the American education scholar William Sullivan argued that professionals need to be aware of the moral dimensions of their role. They need to be 'experts and citizens alike', and 'learn to think and act cooperatively with us', the non-experts. Similarly, the political theorist Albert Dzur argued in Democratic Professionalism (2008) for a revival of a more self-aware version of 'old' professionalism – one committed to democratic values, and an ongoing dialogue with laypeople. Dzur describes, for example, how experts in the field of bioethics have opened up their discussions to non-experts, reacting to public criticisms, and finding formats for bringing doctors, ethics consultants and laypeople into conversation.
Similar practices could be introduced in many other professions – as well as areas not traditionally understood as specialist vocations, but in which decisionmakers need to draw on highly specialised knowledge. Ideally, this could lead to trust in professionals being not blind, but justified: a trust based on a grasp of the institutional frameworks that hold them accountable, and on an awareness of mechanisms for double-checking and getting additional opinions within the profession.
But in many areas, the pressures of markets or quasi-markets prevail. This leaves our front-line professionals in a difficult spot, as Bernardo Zacka describes in When the State Meets the Street (2017): they are overworked, exhausted, pulled in different directions, and unsure about the whole point of their job. Highly motivated individuals, such as the young doctor I mentioned at the outset, are likely to leave the fields in which they could contribute most. Perhaps this is a price worth paying if it brings huge benefits elsewhere. But that doesn't seem to be happening, and it makes all of us non-experts vulnerable, too. We cannot be informed customers because we know too little – but we can't rely on being simply citizens any longer, either.
Up to a point, professionalisation is built on the persistence of ignorance: specialised knowledge is a form of power, and a form that's rather difficult to control. Yet it's clear that markets and quasi-markets are flawed strategies for dealing with this problem. By continuing to accept them as the only possible models, we forgo the opportunity to imagine and explore alternatives. We must be able to rely on other people's expertise. And for that, as the political philosopher Onora O'Neill argued in her 2002 Reith Lectures, we must be able to trust them.
The young doctor I interviewed had long considered leaving her job – so when the opportunity to get a research-based position came up, she jumped ship. 'The system was forcing me to act against my own best judgment, again and again,' she said. 'It was the opposite of what I thought being a doctor was all about.' Now is the time to help reimagine a system in which she can recover that sense of purpose, to everyone's benefit.
The British economic anthropologist Jason Hickel proposes "degrowth" in the face of recession.
What would happen if we waved goodbye to capitalism and instead focused on nurturing trust? The British economic anthropologist Jason Hickel tells Paulina Wilk that a better world is possible – but we only have 20 years to build it.
Paulina Wilk: In the middle of a pandemic caused by a new virus, you have published a book in which you call for a revolution and set humanity a new challenge that will require not only courage but also imagination. Is it really a good moment for that?
Jason Hickel: On the face of it, I was worried that I chose the worst possible time. Many economies are falling into recession and people think what we need right now is growth and consumption, while I propose the opposite: degrowth. However, what I see is that the crisis has made people eager for alternatives. We need change, we need a different proposition for the world. It is now clear that the way we have been running our economies is exactly what has gotten us into this crisis in the first place. Growth-driven incursions into the natural world triggered the development and the expansion of the virus. Also, in the West the obsession with protecting growth makes it very difficult for politicians to respond in a way that would protect people's health. People have now realized that we need economies organized around human wellbeing and ecological stability, not around the accumulation of capital. Any attempt to come out of the pandemic through even more excessive growth would be deeply counterproductive because we are facing an even greater problem: the climate crisis. Therefore we ought to respond to two crises at the same time, which requires rethinking the way we've organized the economy. The more I talk about it to people from all over the world, the more I feel the eagerness for a change.
Do you find this eagerness among ordinary people, or among politicians and the business elite?
I find it mainly in the interactions during my public lectures, as well as when talking to scientists. Even people from the Deep South of the US – who are overwhelmingly Republican voters – are of the opinion that supporting ecological stability is more important than growth. Surveys show that for Europeans, protecting the ecosystem is necessary even at the expense of economic growth. I think a lot of this emerges from what has happened over the past 10 years, after the global financial crisis. It has become clear that growth only really benefits a small fraction of our societies. We are watching billionaires get richer, and yet wages are stagnating. In the US and the UK, we are witnessing a decline in happiness levels. Growth is not delivering the good lives we were promised it would. And so people are asking: "What's in it for us?"
You tackled economic inequalities in your previous books. But isn't the pandemic the great equalizer? Everyone can get sick, even a Hollywood star. Or is it the other way round: maybe it deepens the divide between the privileged elites and the rest of us?
It has very clearly exacerbated the inequalities. US billionaires in the past few months alone have increased their wealth by $600 billion. Meanwhile, since March the debt of the poor has been rising by $5 billion a day. The crisis is pushing hundreds of millions of people into poverty. What becomes obvious is that we need a different kind of recovery – a recovery without growth. The problem is not that GDP is too low. The problem is that people don't have access to the livelihood they need. We need to answer this directly rather than stimulating the economy in the false hope that the trickle-down effect will magically solve everything, which it virtually never does.
You want us to wave goodbye to the concept of growth on which capitalism is based; to reject the blind faith that growth brings prosperity and wellbeing. Instead, we should focus on actual human needs, not on abstract indexes. It is a lot to ask. Do you consider it a radical idea, or is it in fact a lot easier than one might think?
The concept of degrowth is not radical. It has widespread support from scientists. Just last year, 11,000 scientists signed an open letter in the journal BioScience calling for world governments to abandon GDP growth as a political and economic objective. Now, the reason for that is quite simple. The more we grow the global economy, the more energy it requires and the more difficult it is for us to supply renewable alternatives able to meet the demand. We know we have to reach zero emissions before the mid-century. It is a very short timeline. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change is clear that the only way we can accomplish such a rapid transition is to scale down energy demands and unnecessary industrial production.
Right now, we live in a global economy in which the dominant belief is that all industries must grow rapidly all the time. In an era of ecological breakdown, this is irrational and unfeasible. We need an open democratic conversation about what industries we still want to grow (like, for example, renewable energy, public health, public transportation) and which industries are big enough already and we should scale down (maybe SUV production, private jets production, advertising). It would help us solve the climate crisis because this approach takes into account many things: deforestation, soil depletion, fish stock depletion, mass extinction of species. All these things are driven by excessive exploitation of resources. By scaling down industrial production we would take pressure off the living world and bring the economy into balance with it.
What about the losses?
The crucial thing is that all this could be done while improving people's lives. We've been sold the lie that human wellbeing increases with GDP. Actually, the correlation is very low and in time breaks down completely. In high-income nations, additional GDP has nothing to do with wellbeing. Take, for example, the US. The GDP per capita there is $60,000. Now compare that with Portugal, where the GDP per capita is 60% less. And yet Portugal has higher life expectancy and higher happiness levels than the US. How does it accomplish that? By investing in things that matter for human wellbeing – by reducing inequalities, guaranteeing good wages, and investing in robust, universal public services such as education, healthcare and housing. This is the secret to a flourishing society. It can be accomplished in high-income nations without additional growth.
When you say it, it all sounds surprisingly simple.
Because it's much easier than we think. And it's a more rational and effective approach to human progress. My proposal is not radical; it is in fact very sensible. The radical idea would be to stick to the status quo and not face any pressing problems.
You want us to change the way we think, especially the way we think about capitalism. But wasn't capitalism, in its inception, a good and noble idea? It has many apologists who point out that it went wrong only in its late, neoliberal phase.
Let's take a look at the history of capitalism. The growth of rich countries in Western Europe and North America was possible because of colonization and the slave trade. Europe's industrialization relied on the appropriation of land, resources and labour from the Global South. Therefore, for hundreds of years capitalism had negative consequences for the indigenous populations in many parts of the world. The crisis was there from the very beginning – just not a crisis for Western Europe. We must put capitalism into perspective. When we say 'capitalism' we mean trade, private enterprise, markets, and so on. But those things existed long before capitalism came into being in the 16th century.
What makes capitalism distinctive is that it was the first economic system in history organized around constant growth. That might have been be fine for a while, but you quickly reach a point where you are causing ecological and social problems. For a long time, the West has been exporting those problems to the Global South, but it's no longer an option – now we're all facing the climate crisis. So when I call for a transition to a post-growth economy, I mean essentially a post-capitalist economy. We shouldn't confuse this with a command economy, like in the communist states of the 20th century. We simply need a new order that isn't organized around constant expansion and is in balance with the living world.
You've brought up the spectre of communism, so let me ask you a question from the perspective of someone who grew up in a socialist economy. For the first 10 years of my life, I did not know growth – only scarcity. I remember borrowing, fixing, exchanging things. I remember not having the things I wanted. Then a shock doctrine was employed to effect the transition to a new capitalist economy; people in Poland paid a steep price for the so-called 'transformation' and for the free market. Some, for example, lost all their savings. Can you assure me that degrowth will occur without this kind of turbulence?
If we do nothing, we'll end up in a crisis anyway, simply because of climate change. Around the world right now, we see many tragedies. People are losing their homes and resources, communities are being destroyed. Nigeria has just lost 25% of its crops due to flooding. We need to change our path. I'm calling for a transition that is focused on ensuring stability and human wellbeing. The crisis that happened in Poland was very destructive for many people, though some benefited tremendously. But I'm arguing for something that is exactly the opposite. The new transition will have to be organized around protecting and benefiting the lives of the majority of people.
The experience of socialism also brought us the ability to exchange and to share resources. Can these skills and social practices serve as tools for building a new future? Can the change come from societies that are able to imagine new and different ways of organizing economies?
Poland is an interesting example. I've talked to a lot of Polish people on this issue and I found that they are very divided. Some of them are in ideological lockdown and defend free-market capitalism because they still fear the past. So the answer to your question is: yes and no. There are people who can draw on knowledge about different economies in the past and imagine different economies in the future. This is a powerful intellectual resource. But at the same time, the kind of economy that Poland had throughout much of the 20th century is not what I'm calling for. It wouldn't solve any current problems. After all, the Soviet model was also organized around growth – it competed with the US and wanted to expand as much as possible. Which led to catastrophe, because the Soviet economy was exploiting human and natural resources just like the American economy was, only in a different way. All in all, the 20th century doesn't provide us with a solution. We need to evolve an entirely new system fit for the realities of the 21st century.
That said, there are many promising ideas emerging in the Global South. We see it in Indigenous philosophies, in movements like La Via Campesina – namely the movements of peasants working towards food sovereignty. We see it in the Indian concept of ecological flourish. But there are also some interesting developments in the Global North. Just last year, New Zealand decided to abandon GDP as an objective in their next budget, which inspired the leaders of Scotland and Iceland. I think we are witnessing the birth of a global alliance of countries – although at the moment only small ones – that are keen on developing new economic models.
When thinking about degrowth, you take inspiration from the past. You write about the animalists who don't distinguish between the human world and the natural world, you write about Indigenous people who utilize natural resources with care. And you call for going back to an economy that is rooted in actual needs instead of artificially-manufactured desires. Was there a period in history that you consider especially inspiring and hopeful?
I guess one of the problems we are facing is that degrowth has never been attempted. This is a totally new challenge. But let's take a look at the history of Europe. Feudalism was, of course, a very bad and destructive system. It broke down because of the peasant revolutions against the feudal class in the mid-15th century. The peasants demanded access to the commons, forests and lands for their own use. And they succeeded – between 1450 and 1500 there was a flourishing of revolutionary society, deeply democratic and deeply egalitarian. Wages went up, various indicators of human wellbeing improved, nutrition improved. At the same time, the natural landscape of Europe was regenerating. Why? Because democratic egalitarian societies are intrinsically more ecological. You can focus on human needs rather than on generating a surplus that will then be extracted from you by the elites. Of course, it was all later dismantled by the enclosure movement, which kicked peasants off the lands in order to drive wages down and make labour cheaper for the nascent capitalist class, for the plantations and factories. But there remains this inspiring period in Europe's history that we can look back on and be hopeful about the kind of society we can create.
Looking for positive inspiration in past experiences is certainly helpful, but in order to forge a new and different future, we need imagination. Meanwhile, at least since the beginning of the 21st century, we are witnessing a deficit of imagination. The present is so intense and overwhelming that there's not much space left for thinking about alternate scenarios. How should we nurture the power of imagination?
It's a fascinating question. When you tell people that capitalism is, let's say, problematic, and we need a new system, they immediately shut down. "No, it has to be capitalism." This idea was entrenched in the 1980s by people like Margaret Thatcher, who literally thought there was no alternative. But it strikes me as very odd because we live in a culture that is totally enamoured of innovation and creativity – those are among our highest values. You'd never look at a smartphone and say: "This is the best smartphone that's ever been produced, it shall never be surpassed, and we shouldn't even try to do that." And yet, for some reason, when it comes to our economic operating system, we routinely say it is the best possible one. We need to take a much more innovative and creative approach to the economy. I believe we're perfectly capable of doing that.
Perhaps what hinders our imagination is the 'kidnapping' of language. In your book Less is More you suggest abandoning or changing some words and concepts. For example, you say that instead of the Anthropocene we should be using the word 'Capitalocene'. But what interests me the most is the concept of abundance. It brings to mind nature, the pulsating diversity of life, the Amazon rainforest. How do you define abundance, and what part does it have to play in the future of civilization? Can we create abundance?
Capitalism is a system predicated on scarcity. It's difficult to grasp because we look at capitalism as something that produces an incredible amount of goods. Look at all the stuff in the shops, look at the adverts. But in reality, capitalism has always been creating the illusion of scarcity in order to compel people to work and to consume. Advertising itself is a process of creating artificial scarcity. It makes us believe that whatever we have is not enough and we should want more so that capitalism can keep growing. We can solve the problem of scarcity by switching to an economy organized around abundance. When people have access to everything they need to lead flourishing lives, they no longer need high levels of personal income. Therefore we can reverse the pattern of artificial scarcity by introducing organized abundance.
What would it look like?
Like a fair distribution of existing income. There is no actual scarcity of income in the global economy. However, we experience artificial scarcity at the bottom, because much of the income is captured by the people at the top. A fair distribution of existing incomes and opportunities would enable people to lead good lives. The same goes for public goods, like healthcare, education and housing. The more access people have to robust universal public goods, the happier they are, the more healthy, the better their wellbeing, relationships, gender equality, etc. That is the secret to a flourishing community. If we can guarantee this public abundance, there will be a lot less pressure to continue with the scarcity-driven private consumption that today is the primary feature of the capitalist economy.
But governments are struggling, we see how poor the quality of political leadership has become, and huge multinational corporations are getting stronger. The pandemic only exacerbates all those problems: Big Tech is the primary beneficiary of COVID-19. How do we solve this? How do we rebuild trust in the power of the state and make people believe in a good public sector?
Yes, public trust in government is at a crazy all-time low. And the reason is the exploding inequalities we've seen in the last few decades. Those processes are insane and extreme. For example, the richest 1% in the world captures nearly a quarter of total global GDP. And money isn't the only unequally divided resource. Rich people control political processes; political power is also being captured. We have our media systems overtaken by corporate elites. Hence the erosion of trust in social solidarity. Distrust takes the form of right-wing conspiracy theories, of neo-fascist movements, of riots in the streets. Our institutions are collapsing precisely because our political system has been made to serve growth at all costs. People realize that this is a disaster for them and they're desperate for alternatives. We need credible, democratic alternatives on the table, not some pseudo-solutions shot out by media monopolies. Until the imagination lockdown is broken, political polarization will increase.
Let's talk about how to make change happen. Which brick should we remove first in order to dismantle the whole structure and make space for something truly new?
I'm not a political strategist, but I can point to some promising examples – movements such as Extinction Rebellion and Sunrise Movement. They are calling for a transition to a post-growth economy that would be organized around the principles of justice, not just nationally but globally. I find that very exciting. The more pressure that we can exert on politicians, the better. Then there's another approach. My book Less is More is primarily organized around policy ideas that could be implemented by our governments. On the face of it, I'm talking about small reforms, but they are actually revolutionary, because they effectively reorganize the way capitalism works. I set out some blueprints for progressive governments – Costa Rica can carry it out, and so can Scotland, New Zealand or Nicaragua. But as far as global change is concerned, I believe mass social movements will have to carry us there.
Of course, this means going into battle with those who benefit from the status quo. It won't be easy. The global elite will not simply get together at Davos and adopt post-growth principles. Two things will have to come together: robust organized political movements and a powerful alternative vision. And let me emphasize: we don't have centuries to do this. We have two decades at the most to make this transition happen. The key thing right now is to have conversations, to find the courage to confront the old guard, and talk about how the new system could look. My purpose is to open up imaginations and start conversations.
You also point out a new scientific consensus. Experts from different fields want us to see the world as one interconnected system and to get rid of the whole concept of man as separate from nature. Is this now a part of the mainstream? Has the opening up of imaginations already started?
I do feel hopeful, I think that the conversation is changing. To give you an example: you must have heard of the European Green Deal. It sets out various objectives, such as zero emissions of greenhouse gasses by 2050. And it also represents precisely the wrong kind of response. You can summarize its approach this way: "Let's use the transition to renewable energy sources as an opportunity to accelerate growth." I explain in my book why that's not feasible. But there's already one alternative on the table, proposed by DiEM25 [Democracy in Europe Movement 2025], a democratic movement established by Yanis Varoufakis and Noam Chomsky. Their idea is refreshing. They call for global justice and a post-growth economy. It is clear that the younger generation, people of my age and younger, are eager for such alternatives. And, as I've mentioned before, we're also seeing some innovative national-level policies, for example in Iceland or Costa Rica, where governments are deciding to prioritize wellbeing. I think that's very promising.
And yet you take some hope away – as well as a sense of agency – when you write that individualism is a myth and that changing our individual attitudes barely matters. Are you telling me recycling or using energy-saving lightbulbs is not important? And if not, what should we do?
For too long, environmentalists have been focusing on the idea of individual behaviour change. It becomes very blame-oriented. "You should do that or this, you should give up this or that." And of course, people react badly, asking: "Why are you blaming me?" We need to recognize that individuals are victims of the growth-oriented system. We have been made consumers because we live in an economic system that requires perpetual growth and consumption. Individuals can try their best to consume less, but it won't solve our problems.
Therefore we need to change our mindset and organize collective support for a different kind of economy. Think of the civil rights movement in the US. If you were a white person in the US South during segregation, it wouldn't be enough to just sit in your home and say to yourself: "I'll do my best not to be a racist." That wouldn't change the system. You'd need to go outside, meet your neighbours, join a social movement, organize collectively to fundamentally change an unjust system. And that's the kind of political action we need today.
What will the role of technology be in all this? You've dismantled the promise of a digital economy, pointing out that it is surprisingly not virtual, meaning it still requires lots of material resources. Can we make better use of technology?
The technologies we have are actually quite remarkable and they keep getting better. Because of this constant improvement, we assumed that they would reduce our ecological impact. But they don't. Under capitalism, efficiency improvements aren't there to enable us to do the same amount with less – they only enable us to do more. A simple example is the chainsaw. It allows us to cut trees more quickly, and so we cut more and more of them. Technology is merely a tool. If we switch to a different economic system, it will serve new, different goals.
According to you, growth is our obsession. Even planetary boundaries – the Earth's capacity to endure our expansion and aggression, the number of catastrophes, including the current pandemic – are not stopping us. We can't count on any external forces; we'll have to consciously choose a better world.
That's right. In the 1970s, we thought that there were limits to growth, because once we depleted resources, the economy would crash. What we realize now is that there are no limits. The economy will find ways to grow. We have to make a conscious decision to limit growth ourselves before we reach ecological tipping points. Scientists have already told us what the climate crisis will be like – we cannot plead ignorance.
Does this decision have to be made by a well-informed majority? That would be more difficult, especially as there isn't much time. As an economic anthropologist, what conclusions do you draw from the history of revolutions and rebellions? Can a minority bring change?
No, you don't need to convince everybody – you just need a very vocal and active minority. The way social change works is: a new idea emerges, enough people are convinced by it, they talk about it, and suddenly it becomes thinkable. If it's robust and persuasive, a consensus is born. The idea enters into policy discussions without the need to convince everybody one by one. On the other hand, we know there's already a democratic majority that is in favour of the ideas of post-growth. It may not express it that way, but polls show us that people want a different kind of economy, one that is organized around ecology and wellbeing. So the question becomes: if we live in a democracy and a majority of people are calling for a change, why isn't it happening? The reason is that the voices of elites in our media and our political system matter much more than the voices of ordinary people. The solution is, in fact, democracy. If we can have a democratic conversation about post-capitalist alternatives, people will come through for this new kind of approach. But thus far, we've not had this conversation.
Many critics will point out that democracy and capitalism don't really work without one another. In Poland, we got them both at once.
There is a common idea that capitalism and democracy go together. I argue that in many ways they are opposites. Capitalism requires extraction and exploitation in order to perpetuate growth, and therefore it is at odds with democratic sensibilities. You can see this in all sorts of scientific experiments – when people have democratic control over economic processes and resource allocation, they make decisions built on principles of sustainability. They save resources for future generations rather than sabotaging ecology for the sake of immediate financial gain. Democratic choice means making post-growth decisions.
You were born in Eswatini, a small African country with an absolute monarchy. Don't you ever wonder whether an enlightened king would deal with all those necessary changes faster and better?
I get why people fantasize about some efficient dictatorship that would bring about changes. But I really think that democracy is a more promising avenue. The problem is that we don't have real democracies. We need proper democratic reform – to get big money out of politics, to break up media monopolies. That's a precondition for the conversation we must have. Once we have this democratic conversation, all the evidence suggests that we will choose the post-growth alternative. There is no reason to abandon hopes for democracy.
Allow me to end on a practical note. If we reject GDP as an index of wellbeing, what measure should we choose instead?
There are lots of different alternatives. If you want a single indicator, then there's one called Genuine Progress Indicator. It starts with GDP and then subtracts negative social and ecological outcomes, which gives you a much more holistic idea about the shape of the economy. Using this indicator is also useful if we want to change people's perception of the global economy. However, even better is to have a conversation about what we want our economy to deliver – be that better wages, universal healthcare, zero emissions – and make those the explicit priority. Let's achieve those goals directly rather than just pursue GDP growth in the vain hope that it will solve any problem.
Introduction and biography translated from the Polish by Jan Dziergowski
Plan S is starting to take hold, but the cost is merely shifting even more to the researchers.
- Launched in 2018, cOAlition S is trying to make all of the world's state-backed scientific papers open-access.
- Prestigious publishers like Springer Nature and Elsevier have now adopted a Plan S option for researchers.
- While more studies will be available to read for free, some of the expense is being passed back to authors, which could limit research in the future.
In 2018 cOAlition S launched an ambitious program: to make all of the world's state-backed scientific papers open-access. Their agenda, Plan S—the S stands for "shock"—is backed by over a dozen European research agencies and funders.
While the group has fallen short of achieving their stated agenda by 2021, they're certainly making strides. Just this week, 160 Elsevier journals, including renowned publications by Cell Press, are registered as "Plan S aligned Transformative Journals." This could be a good move by Elsevier, which has been severely criticized in the past for price gouging practices—although critics cite increased researcher fees as a cause for alarm.
Unlike the 10-year-old Sci-Hub, which houses over 85 million research papers and regularly changes URLs to avoid the legal ramifications of providing access to paywalled studies, cOAlition S is changing the journal system from within. Their 10 principles call for greater autonomy for researchers conducting scientific studies and having publication fees covered by universities, not researchers. The latter could prove pivotal, as publication budgets are often no match for journal fees.
In just three years, cOAlition S has gained the support of the World Health Organization, the European Commission, and research institutions and agencies in China, Sweden, France, Jordan, and the United States, including the Gates Foundation and Howard Hughes Medical Institute. While many journals initially opposed this agenda, a few have come around. Bureaucratic red tape and inflated prices have hamstrung science for decades. Plan S is not a perfect solution, but it's the closest we've seen.
Science's associate news editor Jeffrey Brainard breaks down how open access works for authors. Publishing studies is an essential part of a researcher's career, bringing with it the potential for career advancement, tenure, peer respect, and, occasionally, popular renown. But it comes at a cost.
Golden open access is one model used by journals such as The Lancet Golden Health, which charges researchers up to $5,000 to make their studies open access. Nature publications now clock in at up to $11,600 and Cell charges $9,900, though the median fee for journals is $2,600.
Pay-to-play doesn't only exist in music. The more respect a journal carries, the higher the fee.
When Springer Nature, publisher of the reputable Nature journals, announced it was adopting a Plan S option last month, the editorial team announced the $11,600 fee was mandatory for anyone requesting their articles be made open-access, regardless of their financial status. These journals are notoriously expensive: submitting an article for consideration costs roughly $2,700 with no guarantee of publication. One journal, Nature Physics, rejects 90 percent of submissions.
cOAlition S executive director Johan Rooryck expressed happiness that Springer Nature is now offering an open-access model but stated "that doesn't mean we have signed a blank check and are willing to pay any price for the articles appearing in those journals."
Springer Nature has also adopted a model more in alignment with Spotify: universities and research institutions pay a single fee to publish their authors. Some publishers offer a hybrid approach: some articles are free while others live behind a paywall. There are also embargo models, where authors can offer their papers to the public free of charge after a six-month or year-long waiting period.
The cost to publish remains prohibitive for some researchers, with certain journal prices for one article exceeding annual budgets. This has forced many researchers to confront an existential question: publish behind a paywall and wither in obscurity, or pay up and hope enough people read (and cite) your work.
While inflated journal prices have plagued the scientific community, Brainard notes that a purely open-access model could place even more of a burden on researchers.
"A complete shift to open access could lead publishers to boost publishing fees even further, to try to make up for lost subscription revenues[...] Although just over 30% of all papers published in 2019 were paid open access, subscriptions still accounted for more than 90% of publishers' revenues that year."
cOAlition S is advocating for increased transparency to push back on price gouging. Just as researchers must disclose funding and conflicts of interest, "Plan S requires publishers to disclose to funders the basis for their prices, including the cost of services such as proofreading, copy editing, and organizing peer review."
Although Brainard briefly mentions an increase in the number of non-researchers and institutions—laypeople—reading open-access journals, this topic is relevant to this conversation. America is suffering from a longstanding dearth of public science information, evidenced in the anti-vax fervor that's growing in volume (if not in numbers) since the introduction of the COVID-19 vaccines.
Access to scientific studies won't solve all of our woes. But lack of transparency is a major reason why so many citizens have grown suspicious of pharmaceutical companies and public health agencies. An ability to read studies without having to pay exorbitant prices (to the layperson) would be an important step in public health and science education.
Stay in touch with Derek on Twitter and Facebook. His most recent book is "Hero's Dose: The Case For Psychedelics in Ritual and Therapy."
The next era in American history can look entirely different. It's up to us to choose.
- The timeline of America post-WWII can be divided into two eras, according to author and law professor Ganesh Sitaraman: the liberal era which ran through the 1970s, and the current neoliberal era which began in the early 1980s. The latter promised a "more free society," but what we got instead was more inequality, less opportunity, and greater market consolidation.
- "We've lived through a neoliberal era for the last 40 years, and that era is coming to an end," Sitaraman says, adding that the ideas and policies that defined the period are being challenged on various levels.
- What comes next depends on if we take a proactive and democratic approach to shaping the economy, or if we simply react to and "deal with" market outcomes.
Societies aren't just engines of prosperity.
This critique rejects Homo economicus as the organising heuristic of human affairs. Human beings, it says, need more than material things to prosper. Calculating power is only a small part of what makes us who we are. Moral and spiritual relationships are first-order concerns. Material fixes such as a universal basic income will make no difference to societies in which the basic relationships are felt to be unjust.
Then there is the material critique of capitalism. The economists who lead discussions of inequality now are its leading exponents. Homo economicus is the right starting point for social thought. We are poor calculators and single-minded, failing to see our advantage in the rational distribution of prosperity across societies. Hence inequality, the wages of ungoverned growth. But we are calculators all the same, and what we need above all is material plenty, thus the focus on the redress of material inequality. From good material outcomes, the rest follows.
The first kind of argument for capitalism's reform seems recessive now. The material critique predominates. Ideas emerge in numbers and figures. Talk of non-material values in political economy is muted. The Christians and Marxists who once made the moral critique of capitalism their own are marginal. Utilitarianism grows ubiquitous and compulsory.
But then there is Amartya Sen.
Every major work on material inequality in the 21st century owes a debt to Sen. But his own writings treat material inequality as though the moral frameworks and social relationships that mediate economic exchanges matter. Famine is the nadir of material deprivation. But it seldom occurs – Sen argues – for lack of food. To understand why a people goes hungry, look not for catastrophic crop failure; look rather for malfunctions of the moral economy that moderates competing demands upon a scarce commodity. Material inequality of the most egregious kind is the problem here. But piecemeal modifications to the machinery of production and distribution will not solve it. The relationships between different members of the economy must be put right. Only then will there be enough to go around.
In Sen's work, the two critiques of capitalism cooperate. We move from moral concerns to material outcomes and back again with no sense of a threshold separating the two. Sen disentangles moral and material issues without favouring one or the other, keeping both in focus. The separation between the two critiques of capitalism is real, but transcending the divide is possible, and not only at some esoteric remove. Sen's is a singular mind, but his work has a widespread following, not least in provinces of modern life where the predominance of utilitarian thinking is most pronounced. In economics curricula and in the schools of public policy, in internationalist secretariats and in humanitarian NGOs, there too Sen has created a niche for thinking that crosses boundaries otherwise rigidly observed.
This was no feat of lonely genius or freakish charisma. It was an effort of ordinary human innovation, putting old ideas together in new combinations to tackle emerging problems. Formal training in economics, mathematics and moral philosophy supplied the tools Sen has used to construct his critical system. But the influence of Rabindranath Tagore sensitised Sen to the subtle interrelation between our moral lives and our material needs. And a profound historical sensibility has enabled him to see the sharp separation of the two domains as transient.
Tagore's school at Santiniketan in West Bengal was Sen's birthplace. Tagore's pedagogy emphasised articulate relations between a person's material and spiritual existences. Both were essential – biological necessity, self-creating freedom – but modern societies tended to confuse the proper relation between them. In Santiniketan, pupils played at unstructured exploration of the natural world between brief forays into the arts, learning to understand their sensory and spiritual selves as at once distinct and unified.
Sen left Santiniketan in the late 1940s as a young adult to study economics in Calcutta and Cambridge. The major contemporary controversy in economics was the theory of welfare, and debate was affected by Cold War contention between market- and state-based models of economic order. Sen's sympathies were social democratic but anti-authoritarian. Welfare economists of the 1930s and 1940s sought to split the difference, insisting that states could legitimate programmes of redistribution by appeal to rigid utilitarian principles: a pound in a poor man's pocket adds more to overall utility than the same pound in the rich man's pile. Here was the material critique of capitalism in its infancy, and here is Sen's response: maximising utility is not everyone's abiding concern – saying so and then making policy accordingly is a form of tyranny – and in any case using government to move money around in pursuit of some notional optimum is a flawed means to that end.
Economic rationality harbours a hidden politics whose implementation damaged the moral economies that groups of people built up to govern their own lives, frustrating the achievement of its stated aims. In commercial societies, individuals pursue economic ends within agreed social and moral frameworks. The social and moral frameworks are neither superfluous nor inhibiting. They are the coefficients of durable growth.
Moral economies are not neutral, given, unvarying or universal. They are contested and evolving. Each person is more than a cold calculator of rational utility. Societies aren't just engines of prosperity. The challenge is to make non-economic norms affecting market conduct legible, to bring the moral economies amid which market economies and administrative states function into focus. Thinking that bifurcates moral on the one hand and material on the other is inhibiting. But such thinking is not natural and inevitable, it is mutable and contingent – learned and apt to be unlearned.
Sen was not alone in seeing this. The American economist Kenneth Arrow was his most important interlocutor, connecting Sen in turn with the tradition of moral critique associated with R H Tawney and Karl Polanyi. Each was determined to re-integrate economics into frameworks of moral relationship and social choice. But Sen saw more clearly than any of them how this could be achieved. He realised that at earlier moments in modern political economy this separation of our moral lives from our material concerns had been inconceivable. Utilitarianism had blown in like a weather front around 1800, trailing extremes of moral fervour and calculating zeal in its wake. Sen sensed this climate of opinion changing, and set about cultivating ameliorative ideas and approaches eradicated by its onset once again.
There have been two critiques of capitalism, but there should be only one. Amartya Sen is the new century's first great critic of capitalism because he has made that clear.