Watching Don’t Look Up made me see my whole life of campaigning flash before me

I’ve broken down on TV too, trying to explain the horror of the climate crisis to those who wield power and do nothing writes George Monbiot in The Guardian

Cate Blanchett, Tyler Perry, Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence in Don't Look Up. Photograph: Niko Tavernise/AP


No wonder journalists have slated it. They’ve produced a hundred excuses not to watch the climate breakdown satire Don’t Look Up: it’s “blunt”, it’s “shrill”, it’s “smug”. But they will not name the real problem: it’s about them. The movie is, in my view, a powerful demolition of the grotesque failures of public life. And the sector whose failures are most brutally exposed is the media.

While the film is fast and funny, for me, as for many environmental activists and climate scientists, it seemed all too real. I felt as if I were watching my adult life flash past me. As the scientists in the film, trying to draw attention to the approach of a planet-killing comet, bashed their heads against the Great Wall of Denial erected by the media and sought to reach politicians with 10-second attention spans, all the anger and frustration and desperation I’ve felt over the years boiled over.

Above all, when the scientist who had discovered the comet was pushed to the bottom of the schedule by fatuous celebrity gossip on a morning TV show and erupted in fury, I was reminded of my own mortifying loss of control on Good Morning Britain in November. It was soon after the Cop26 climate conference in Glasgow, where we had seen the least serious of all governments (the UK was hosting the talks) failing to rise to the most serious of all issues. I tried, for the thousandth time, to explain what we are facing, and suddenly couldn’t hold it in any longer. I burst into tears on live TV.

I still feel deeply embarrassed about it. The response on social media, like the response to the scientist in the film, was vituperative and vicious. I was faking. I was hysterical. I was mentally ill. But, knowing where we are and what we face, seeing the indifference of those who wield power, seeing how our existential crisis has been marginalised in favour of trivia and frivolity, I now realise that there would be something wrong with me if I hadn’t lost it.
‘I tried, for the thousandth time, to explain what we are facing, and suddenly couldn’t hold it in any longer.’ Photograph: George Monbiot crying screengrab/Good Morning Britain


In fighting any great harm, in any age, we find ourselves confronting the same forces: distraction, denial and delusion. Those seeking to sound the alarm about the gathering collapse of our life-support systems soon hit the barrier that stands between us and the people we are trying to reach, a barrier called the media. With a few notable exceptions, the sector that should facilitate communication thwarts it.

It’s not just its individual stupidities that have become inexcusable, such as the platforms repeatedly given to climate deniers. It is the structural stupidity to which the media are committed. It’s the anti-intellectualism, the hostility to new ideas and aversion to complexity. It’s the absence of moral seriousness. It’s the vacuous gossip about celebrities and consumables that takes precedence over the survival of life on Earth. It’s the obsession with generating noise, regardless of signal. It’s the reflexive alignment with the status quo, whatever it may be. It’s the endless promotion of the views of the most selfish and antisocial people, and the exclusion of those who are trying to defend us from catastrophe, on the grounds that they are “worthy”, “extreme” or “mad” (I hear from friends in the BBC that these terms are still used there to describe environmental activists).

Even when these merchants of distraction do address the issue, they tend to shut out the experts and interview actors, singers and other celebs instead. The media’s obsession with actors vindicates Guy Debord’s predictions in his book The Society of the Spectacle, published in 1967. Substance is replaced by semblance, as even the most serious issues must now be articulated by people whose work involves adopting someone else’s persona and speaking someone else’s words. Then the same media, having turned them into spokespeople, attack these actors as hypocrites for leading a profligate lifestyle.

Similarly, it’s not just the individual failures by governments at Glasgow and elsewhere that have become inexcusable, but the entire framework of negotiations. As crucial Earth systems might be approaching their tipping point, governments still propose to address the issue with tiny increments of action, across decades. It’s as if, in 2008, when Lehman Brothers collapsed and the global financial system began to sway, governments had announced that they would bail out the banks at the rate of a few million pounds a day between then and 2050. The system would have collapsed 40 years before their programme was complete. Our central, civilisational question, I believe, is this: why do nations scramble to rescue the banks but not the planet?

So, as we race towards Earth system collapse, trying to raise the alarm feels like being trapped behind a thick plate of glass. People can see our mouths opening and closing, but they struggle to hear what we are saying. As we frantically bang the glass, we look ever crazier. And feel it. The situation is genuinely maddening. I’ve been working on these issues since I was 22, and full of confidence and hope. I’m about to turn 59, and the confidence is turning to cold fear, the hope to horror. As manufactured indifference ensures that we remain unheard, it becomes ever harder to know how to hold it together. I cry most days now.

George Osborne's 'Austerity begins at home' example

George Osborne raises standard in first-class train row

Treasury account of chancellor's aide finding ticket inspector to pay for upgrade on Virgin train contradicts reporter's version

• Robert Booth, Lizzy Davies and Rajeev Syal
• The Guardian, Friday 19 October 2012 20.36 BST

George Osborne is accused of 'great train snobbery' after journalist says aide told ticket inspector the chancellor 'could not possibly' sit in standard class but could not pay any extra.

George Osborne's face was fixed in a thin grin as he was jostled across platform two at Euston last night, but inside he must have known that a political bomblet had just gone off. Shortly after 5.17pm, as the chancellor alighted from the busy Virgin Pendolino train from Wilmslow, Cheshire, in his Tatton constituency, the reality of what had already been labelled Plebgate 2 became clear.

As Osborne's train rattled through the countryside an hour and a half earlier, a tale of apparent fare dodging by the chancellor – estimated to have a personal wealth of £4m – had emerged through Twitter.

Rachel Townsend, a correspondent for ITV's Granada Reports programme, had been travelling on the same train and tweeted: "Very interesting train journey to Euston. Chancellor George Osborne just got on at Wilmslow with a standard ticket and he has sat in first. His aide tells ticket collector he cannot possibly move and sit with the likes of us in standard class and requests he is allowed to remain in First Class. Ticket collector refuses."

Was it true? Had Osborne, moments before the Tory chief whip, Andrew Mitchell, was forced to resign for reportedly calling a policeman a pleb, really refused to sit in standard, triggering a story that was quickly labelled The Great Train Snobbery?

Virgin, which in August had to swallow the government's decision to remove its franchise for the west coast mainline, which Osborne had just used, confirmed that he had travelled in first class on a standard class ticket, initially at least.

"The chancellor, who was travelling in first class accommodation, held a standard class ticket," a spokesman for Virgin said. "As soon as the train left Wilmslow, an aide went to find the train manager to explain the situation and arrange to pay for an upgrade. It was agreed that the chancellor would remain in first class and an amount of £189.50 was paid by the aide to cover the upgrade for Mr Osborne and his PA. The situation was dealt with amicably between the train manager and George Osborne's aide. At no time was there a disagreement or a refusal to pay for the upgrade. Nor was there any discussion between the train manager and Mr Osborne."

It chimed with the Treasury's account. "The chancellor got a different train than planned due to diary change following a series of meetings in his constituency," a spokesman said. "As he had no seat reservation on the new train, which was crowded, he decided to upgrade – and obviously intended and was happy to pay. An aide sought out the train manager and paid the ticket upgrade."

But that clashed with what Townsend said. She told ITV: "Then his aide approached the ticket collector right next to me. He said he is travelling with George and he has a standard ticket but can he remain in first class? The guard said no. The aide said Osborne couldn't possibly sit in standard class. The guard replied saying if he wants to stay it's £160. The aide said he couldn't pay and he couldn't really sit in standard. The guard refused to budge. The guard went on gathering tickets and later told me Osborne had agreed to cough up the £160."

Fellow passengers were unimpressed with the reports. "Fair's fair. He should be saving the taxpayer money but definitely he shouldn't be sitting in first," said Justin Bateman, 34, a civil servant from Manchester. Keith Young, 60, a doctor from London, agreed. "Standard was busy and the chancellor would not have been able to sit alongside his aides, but he would have been able to occupy a single seat alongside the other passengers." He added: "It's one rule for them and one rule for us. He had no right to make a stand against paying an upgrade."

But even as the facts were still settling, Labour seized on the tale.

"Another day, another demonstration of how out of touch this government is," said Michael Dugher, the shadow Cabinet Office minister. "Just like Andrew Mitchell, George Osborne obviously thinks that it is one rule for him and another for the plebs he is so keen to sit apart from. So much for 'we are all in it together'."

As with Mitchell's rant at the Downing Street police, the spirit of Boris Johnson loomed. In Mitchell's case it was quickly pointed out that the mayor of London had once called for people who swear at police to be jailed. Now memories turned to the Tory darling's scathing attack last year on what he called the "parasitic scourge" of fare dodgers in London.

At a teeming rush-hour Euston, as Osborne's train was due to arrive in London, a feverish posse including Labour activists, the president and vice-president of the National Union of Students and assorted press were waiting to pounce. Officers from the Metropolitan police's specialist response unit pored over train timetables to try to work out which service the chancellor was on to make sure he was spirited away in safety.

"Are you embarrassed Mr Osborne?" shouted an anti-government activist who had rushed to the station after hearing the rumour about the chancellor.

As he was ushered across the platform by aides and security, the chancellor had very little to say. "I'm sure it will be, um …" was all he could tell the Guardian as he was shepherded through a security gate and past the bins towards a waiting government car.