a technocrat feels the heat

He is a lovely man with a successful life behind him. He will be retiring in the next few weeks. After a long professional career, he will step down from his position as Executive Director of a leading French company. A graduate of a top school, he tirelessly climbed the corporate ladder until he was admitted into the closed circle of business leaders who have shaped our world these thirty years.

He is a humanist and his spiritual side is very tangible. He has never forgotten that along with his social position comes a duty to give back. His professional standing allows him to make a very good living, but he is far too upright for conspicuous consumption. He spends his free time outdoors and loves to hike in the South of France.

As a badge of success, he did however treat himself to a wine estate, which he also uses as a secondary residence. Together with his wife, they managed to create a very good wine over the years. Mindful of the environment, they worked hard to effect change and steer their wine-making away from pesticides.

This man on the cusp of a well-deserved retirement is the image of success in 20th century France. Of a life built on the ideals of technocracy, the Cartesian method and the French Republic. In a patriarchal society.

This man on the cusp of a well-deserved retirement is the image of success in 20th century France.

I found myself sat next to him one day, at a lunch gathering in a remote countryside inn. In our party of fifteen, I was, as so often when out with people my age, the only one to follow a vegan diet. This usually sparks the curiosity of enquiring minds, and some seize the opportunity to broach the topic of the green transition with someone their age. To get a clearer picture of the motivations and outlook of a person who has chosen to go vegan – without risking an intergenerational row.

So often, parents find themselves standing in the dock before the young adults their children have become. It is not easy to be vulnerable with your children and show them how little you know, once they are knowledgeable independent adults themselves. While family conversations can be enriching, they are seldom unfettered by the weight and complexities of family relationships and the roles we play in the units we form with our nearest and dearest.

So often, parents find themselves standing in the dock before the young adults their children have become.

It is therefore not unusual for me, in such circumstances, to field questions on protein or the supposed lack thereof in the vegan diet. To explain the difference between vegetarian and vegan, and to listen to a range of comments on the low appeal of tofu and beans. I feel that most people somehow put my culinary preferences down to my roots in Denmark, the country of my birth. My cultural difference must make it easier for me to give up eating the flesh of living creatures, surely? Growing up, I did not sample the carnivorous riches of French gastronomy, after all.

It is therefore not unusual for me, in such circumstances, to field questions on protein or the supposed lack thereof in the vegan diet.

Rather stiffly the man informs me, hoping to draw a line under this part of our conversation, that, while he has the utmost respect for my personal choices, he cannot endorse changes that could wreak havoc on France’s cultural heritage. I can clearly see that, as far as he is concerned, the time has come to bring this exchange to a close and move on to another topic. That he is used to steering conversations onto the subjects of his choice. That he has enough charisma and social status to ensure he gets the last word.

Intrigued by his conclusion, I nevertheless try to dig deeper and set the ball rolling again. What does he mean by “wreak havoc on France’s cultural heritage”? Visibly flustered by the turn of our conversation, he mentions the young people who vandalise butcher shop windows and splatter paint onto museum masterpieces. I know that we have reached a point when social convention dictates that I should hold my tongue. Or at the very least adopt a more neutral stance and allow our conversation to turn to the more socially acceptable topics discussed around the table.

What does he mean by “wreak havoc on France’s cultural heritage”?

I know that I should accept my place as a woman whose professional successes have hinged on her ability to accommodate patriarchal codes. And carry on pretending that a system of governance based on technocratic principles is the answer. That technological advances and a few minor tweaks will be enough to make the earth habitable for our children and the generations after them. But after all these years, I can no longer keep to the place that society carved for me. I can no longer stay silent and pretend that life can go on as before.

I can no longer stay silent and pretend that life can go on as before.

And so, I observe that I understand those young activists and their despair. That single remark is enough to shatter any hope of restoring the mood and avoiding an argument. The man, this lovely person, starts to raise his voice and his growing unease becomes increasingly clear as the conversation progresses.

I look at his face. Behind his anger, I can see the fear in his eyes, the slight flushing of his skin, and the barely perceptible quiver of the lines around his mouth. The turn in our conversation has clearly inflamed him. His irritation gets the better of him and he launches into a rather unfortunate comparison between the actions of Just Stop Oil and the Taliban’s destruction of the cultural treasures of Afghanistan. I tell him that unlike the actions of Just Stop Oil, the ravages of the Taliban are motivated by ignorance. That young climate activists are graduates of top schools, just like him, and that what drives them to act is knowledge. That they are facing up to “an inconvenient truth”. That because museum works are shielded behind glass screens, there is no harm done when activists splatter tomato sauce or paint onto them. That young people act out of despair in the hope of making their voices heard in a world where many would rather bury their heads in the sand.

That young people act out of despair in the hope of making their voices heard in a world where many would rather bury their heads in the sand.

I realise that this conversation has now become awkward and I am aware of the uncomfortable silence of the diners sitting within earshot of us. Yet, I do not mean to make anyone uneasy. I just want to be heard and voice my own despair. And I choose to express myself with words, because I know that I am not the type to splatter paint onto artworks.

And I choose to express myself with words, because I know that I am not the type to splatter paint onto artworks.

In an attempt to bolster his position, my interlocutor predicts the inevitable fallout from the climate activists’ actions. One day, a masterpiece will be damaged by an eco-terrorist. And just like that, our discussion shifts away from the destruction of entire parts of our shared human heritage by businesses like TotalEnergies, in order to consider the hypothetical risk that a Van Gogh painting may one day come to harm. When, I believe, the odds are one in a billion that such climate actions will damage France’s cultural heritage.

This exchange will go no further. The man abruptly gets up and leaves to chat with diners sitting at the other end of the table. When he returns to his seat, his face looks composed and cheerful again. The rest of the meal unfolds smoothly and in good cheer.

I found our conversation enlightening for a number of reasons. For the first time, perhaps, I saw the secret fear of the men of my generation. They feel that they played by the book and are on the right side of history. That they had to make sacrifices in order to achieve their positions of responsibility and power. And that they repaid the French Republic in full for everything it gave them. In many cases, they also feel the burden of an intergenerational heritage transmitted from father to son.

They feel that they played by the book and are on the right side of history.

And just as they reach the apex of success, here we come and tell them that they are the problem. That they unfairly abused their gender privilege to rise to power and help to shape an economic system directly responsible for the climate crisis and the explosion of social inequalities. That they must make a radical change and hold themselves accountable at a time when they are counting the years to retirement. At a time when they would like to hold honorary positions for a chance to impart the professional expertise they have acquired over their lifetime. And rest on their laurels at last.

Might the women of my generation be in a better position to help us transition towards a more sustainable, inclusive and egalitarian society? All too often, we have had to adapt to a professional world whose codes were not ours. To accept rules that were not made for us in exchange for rather paltry rewards, considering what we had to do to succeed. At this crucial juncture in our civilisation, when every day we hear scientists raise the alarm with increasing concern at the consequences of our collective inaction, more and more of us are rethinking our position, choosing a different path and finding that we can play a new role in this transitional period. This paradigm shift may put us on the right side of history, at last.

Might the women of my generation be in a better position to help us transition towards a more sustainable, inclusive and egalitarian society?

But we need the men onboard. Indeed, we need this particular man, whose achievements are those of the powerful men of our age – we all of us urgently need to come together and stop pretending all is going to plan. We need him, his mind, his expertise, and the depth of his many years of professional experience. I wish I could show him that we all share his anxiety, but that if we come together, we can dispel those fears. That we can all travel side by side if we dare to leave behind the certainties of the past and accept our vulnerability. That France’s cultural heritage will be better protected by action than by the inaction of those who choose to ignore the scale of the problems facing us.

But we need the men onboard.

We cannot just hand down our century’s most pressing crisis to our children. We do not have the right to evade responsibility for our part in the climate crisis. We are all in this together as humans. We must hasten the pace of change, or risk putting ourselves and our children on the road to ruin. Young people cannot meet this challenge alone, but if they have to, there is every chance that their resentment will be bitter. We must move beyond intergenerational conflict and place our generation on the right side of history while we still can.

We are all in this together as humans.

We can do this if we come together. If we forge other, more energy efficient, inclusive and egalitarian lifestyles, and allow all living things to thrive on this earth. We all can work to make France’s cultural heritage greener and put an end to animal suffering. Like the Impressionists before us, we can open ourselves up to change and together we can shine a light on new ways of seeing the world. And create a world as beautiful, compelling and stirring as a Van Gogh painting.