…and why this has something to do with sustainability, like pretty much everything else.

The signs of isolationism have clearly been looming over our heads for quite some time now, with one demagogue goon getting elected after the other, competing for whoever will make the most empty promises to protect us from a globalised world gotten “out of control”.

And if a few months ago the undeterred europhile optimists could still flaunt the benefits of passport-free holidays on the Costa del Sol as a major symbol of European unity, the uncoordinated response of the European countries to the current COVID-19 crisis clearly has put the state of the “Union” under the spotlight, and it’s not a pretty sight.

But who am I to criticise, all of us are facing unprecedented circumstances and there certainly isn’t a routine protocol to follow; our dear leaders are just trying to save whatever there is to save, with varying degrees of success. But now comes the key part for our economies, societies, and therefore our sustainability policies for the years to come: the recovery. In this context, increasing pressure is put on the governments to use this opportunity to realign their agendas with their sustainability goals, to the image of the Green New Deal in the US or the European Green Deal promoted by the president of the European Comission, Ursula von der Leyen.

However, a change in tone within the “green” movement can also start to become noticeable. While the sustainability movement has always been a hot topic within younger generations with a more “global” perspective (energetically waving their “No planet B” slogans in the face of their “Not in my backyward” opponents), the increasing urge for concrete actions has underlined the importance of local solutions to this global problem of climate change and ecosystem destruction.

Eating local and in-season produce, supporting local shops, shortening supply chains, favouring local holidays instead of long-haul flights are all solutions which are gaining momentum in the public opinion. And the catastrophic consequences of a world pandemic on these globalised supply chains have only reinforced convictions that our current system is not resilient enough.

Certainly, this is a step in the right direction. But let’s make sure that these self-centred solutions don’t coincide too much with the isolationist agendas of you-know-who I mentioned as an introduction.

Yes, part of the problems to climate change must be solved on a local scale, but this does not mean we should lose interest in what our neighbours are doing, or even people on the other side of the world which we might never meet. Simply because part of the solution will still require intense international collaboration. Whether the uranium for a nuclear reactor, the lithium in a car battery or the rare metals in the smart phone controlling your smart home, these materials are rarely found where they are used. And so the uranium from Australia, the lithium from Bolivia or the rare metals from China need to be shipped to the places of manufacture. Then comes the question of who builds the transportation ships, who provides the raw materials these ships are made out of, who provides lunch for the dockyard workers building the ships… And before you know it, you’ve gone around the world (refer to this little cartoon to get a better picture with the life of a pencil). And so even if we achieve to be self-sustaining at 95%, the remaining 5% where we rely on someone else imply a need for collaboration by everyone.

One could answer that we should simply abandon these superfluous materialistic neocapitalistic solutions and live happily from “bare necessities”, but that would require to give up a lot of the elements we’ve learned to call “civilisation” over the centuries. Growing your own produce, knitting your own clothes, chopping your own wood, carving your own tools certainly must give a great feeling of independence and fulfillment, but one must also question why leaving some of this behind was considered progress a few centuries ago. Would we still be able to produce the machines, the pharmaceuticals, and the skilled labour supporting our healthcare system, which we currently learn to appreciate so much, if everyone went back to such a low-tech society? (note that low-tech here is used slightly differently to the more common definition by Philippe Bihouix, which focuses more on sober and responsible use of tech).

If we want to tackle the climate change now (would be a good idea, wouldn’t it?), then we have to use the best tools we have available now. And these are deeply interconnected on a global scale. If collaboration is inevitable, this requires to make a step towards others, to understand how their history, geography, demography, you name it, have shaped how they think and how they see the world. Because if you think that Google Translate will help you build closer relationships with other countries, you can keep trying. So what better way to understand a certain point of view than through learning a particular language?

Now let me first explain what I mean by learning a language: yes, the first few steps might involve painfully swiping through pet names on Duolinguo, ploughing through dry grammar rules and getting frustrated at rule exceptions which occur so often that they seem to be the norm. This exercise in itself can seem pretty pointless in terms of cultural understanding of the other. But going back to this toddler stage is first of all very humbling, and makes you question expressions, concepts and ideas you took for granted. How come “organic” products are called “bio” in French or German and “økologisk” in Danish? If anything, this shows us that the organic industry has something to do with nature, being a mix of organic, biological and ecological processes, but overall still remains a pretty unclear concept, despite the suffocatingly strict regulations applied to it by the EU. It doesn’t use any pesticides or fertilisers indeed, but remains heavily mechanised and favours large-scale monocultures, which haven’t proven to be the most friendly to biodiversity either. Has the concept just been lost in translation or is it just incoherent from the start?

But let’s get to the really interesting part of learning a language: as you progress, you start reading more texts written by natives and you pride yourself in reading snippets of articles here and there. It starts with being able to pronounce Bundesliga football results correctly (good luck with Mönchengladbach vs. Hoffenheim), but slowly you realise you can also follow more elaborate articles. And before you know it, you have access to a whole new world of information, which hasn’t been translated in your native language. Not only do you find new sources of information, but you are also confronted to new point of views.

This is where the “usefulness” of a language should not only be measured by the number of people who speak it. Does learning Danish, a language roughly spoken by 5 million people, make any sense compared to Mandarin, spoken by 1.4 billion (assuming you don’t live in either of these countries)? Well yes: if I work in the field of renewable energy, where Denmark clearly is a leading country, and I truely want to understand the public debates which have led to these successful sustainability policies, then I’ve got to immerse myself into their newspaperes, tv shows and podcasts…in Danish.

And as you immerse yourself into these cultures, you learn to recognise some patterns (without generalising too much of course, each society definitely has its own set of values ): while not all Northern Europeans are pragmatics, the North European empiricism clearly seems to influence society deeply. The German “Energiewende” can certainly be criticised on some points, yet the country has managed to establish some of the leading companies in renewable energies through it. Meanwhile, their French neighbours in quest of the Absolute Truth, entrenched in their pro-nuclear vs. pro-renewables arguments, are still waiting for the first commercial offshore wind farm to be installed off their coast. Yet the ideas brought up during these French debates are definitely worth being spread further than the borders of the camembert hexagone. Jean-Marc Jancovici, Philippe Bihouix, Arthur Keller: all names which have a large French audience while sadly remaining largely unknow to other countries, despite ideas which could be applicable to them as well.

The more you confront yourself to these other cultures, the better you get to understand what defines your own society as well. And the perception of others on your own culture can often be quite eye-opening (even when speaking the same language): for Californians we met, my British friends and I were all obviously simply Europeans, without any afterthought. Sure enough, these college-educated folks could place London, Paris and Berlin on a map and tell me about major philosophical movements from each of these cities, but after all, these were all places with century-old buildings (well, those that weren’t bombed), where students would never think of casually walking around wearing university stash, and where it wasn’t taboo to find alcohol being served on campus (rest assured, there’s more to Europe than that). And so strangly enough, it’s confronting yourself to people on the other side of the planet that makes you realise what shapes your society and what you can do to change it.

To bring it back to languages and international collaboration for the sustainability movement, this need to understand the point of view of others is essential, now more than ever. What before seemed a simple differentiation between developing and developed countries has evolved into a puzzle of developed countries, but each according to their own definition and priorities. And before we turn on each other, arguing which definition of developed is more valid than the other, we need to understand what drives the development motivations of each culture, each country, each people. And in my humble opinion, learning languages can be a beautiful gateway to achieve this, giving at the same time an equal opportunity for everyone to discover new cultures around the world.

Indeed, with the beauty of Internet, a lot of this internationalisation can be done comfortably sat at home, relieving both your wallet and the atmosphere from another 8-hour flight. And when the time comes, you will be able to make a lot more out of your trip, ordering that “zumo de naranja sin hielo por favor” feeling like a real local. Because let’s face it, travelling is something magical we shouldn’t start frowning upon for environmental reasons. We just need to learn to appreciate it for its true value, and not just book a trip because that’s what people should do on holidays.