Previous: Chapter 7. I’m relying on your common decency
Chapter 8. Celebrate the day a better world was won
On the day, the storm has just begun/I will still hope that there are better days to come (VNV Nation, “Sentinel”)
Glasgow, September 2028
On a late morning in September, with the sun starting to burn away the mists and the thin layer of cloud, and the promise of a beautiful day, I was walking to my office from Hyndland station instead of Partick. It was a slightly longer route, but I was now randomly picking either station and several routes to the department to make it harder to be followed. It was also a much nicer route, with more trees, so I didn’t really mind. The leaves on the lindens and horse chestnuts were just starting to turn. I savoured the feeling of autumn in the warming air and the slanting rays of the brightening sun.
At the same time, I was thinking over the state of the project. I was feeling very upbeat. Many good things had happened since the early spring, when we had decided to go into hiding.
That had been a good decision, if only for our peace of mind. We had also handed over all public communication to our institutions, who would post bland official statements on social media and ignore the trolls, and only grant interviews to journalists from trusted media. From our postdocs and PhD students we learned that a heated battle had been taking place on the internet, and it looked like our side had gained the upper hand. By the start of summer, the rumours and lies were slowly dwindling. Maybe shills, trolls and bots needed a holiday too.
This phase of the project was effectively a re-run from the previous phase but with better data, so I had expected everything to go very smoothly. Or at least as smoothly as such things ever go. The new data were richer than the first set, so the simulation codes would have to be adapted to deal with that. But that should have been straightforward. However, although I had anticipated this modification and communicated the complete netCDF file data structure to the teams when we disclosed the provenance, several of the researchers had simply kept on using their previous formats as it was good enough at the time and more convenient. The best-laid plans and all that. More debugging was needed. But in spite of that, less than half a year later, the first results started to come in, and after some intense writing and editing we now had the final paper, ready for preprint.
Two weeks earlier, after careful internal review, I had passed the draft on to John, because the time had come for him and his US counterpart to spill the beans to their superiors. He had clearly played his cards carefully because after less than a fortnight of nail-bitingly tense waiting on my part (and no outward sign of any nervousness on his), he told me that some top brass would like a quiet talk with me, off the record. Apparently the military was with the times because a video call would do.
Helensburgh, September 2028
John’s superior, whose name he mentioned (but who I couldn’t help but thinking of as “Steve”) as well as his title (which I promptly forgot as it meant nothing to me; but apparently he was quite high up), was an altogether unimposing man in a dark blue (“navy”, I guess) uniform shirt, sitting in an anonymous office. I decided to be formal and address him as “sir”, and he was correct and addressed me as “doctor Blohm”, even getting the pronunciation right. I guessed he was actually a little younger than John, and therefore than myself. Secretly I was highly amused about the opposites we presented: a very important middle-aged white English man with a cut-glass posh accent, and an unimportant foreign academic woman of colour. All we seemed to have in common was that I was middle-aged too, and we both still had quite a few dark strands amongst our grey hairs.
“Dr Blohm,” he opened, “Cdr Worthington has informed us of some survey work his vessel has undertaken on its most recent patrol, and which had not been officially sanctioned in advance.”
Cdr Worthington, ah yes, that was John. This was just stating the facts so I said nothing, although the “not sanctioned” made me very apprehensive.
“He also informed us of the purpose of this survey, and the measures taken to safeguard operational security on publication of the data.”
I heaved an inward sigh of relief. I suspected that Steve was trying to play cat and mouse with my emotions.
“We discussed this with our US counterparts, who somehow” — he smiled thinly — “have found themselves in a similar predicament.” His smile broadened a little. “It seems you are aware of all this, is that not so?”
I nodded,”Yes sir. The survey data will help us narrow down the collapse of the thermohaline circulation to within a few years. We hope that this will lead to mitigating action in Northern Europe and Northern America.”
He indicated his understanding with a measured nod. “What the Cdr might not have told you, Dr Blohm, is that the Navy has had its own experts looking for a while at the consequences of climate change for our national defence.”
I thought it wise to go along with this. “That’s right, sir.”
He did the thin smile again, and once again it broadened out a little. “The upshot is that from our perspective, having an accurate prediction of the AMOC collapse and its effects is of strategic importance.”
Yay, I thought; but the smile faded quickly and he continued quite sternly: “I’ll be candid. We have been going through your life with a fine comb. I make no apologies for that. We know that, apart from being a foreigner, you are a pacifist, leftist and green activist with a history of protest against our nuclear deterrent.”
I said nothing, what could I say? He was right, even though I’d never considered myself a “green activist”.
He went on, “You have no idea how much your background has complicated things. But our investigation also shows you to be a responsible academic of high integrity and considerable loyalty to both your institution and your adopted country.”
Well, that was one way of looking at it, I supposed.
“Also, like I said, we are confident that releasing the data will not compromise our national security. So we have decided to go ahead.” Another one of those smiles, “After all, to be even more candid, doing this will not only be for the greater good, it will also garner a lot of goodwill for the Navy. We’re not doing this out of kindness.”
I was internally jubilant, and I didn’t care much whether it showed or not. “Thank you, sir. I am very grateful that the Navy has reached this decision. This work is really of global importance.” I hoped that sounded formal enough.
He did that brief nod again. “Are you in a position of authority with respect to the publication, or do you need higher approval?”
I was a bit nonplussed, but then I understood. “I and my co-authors are entirely responsible for what we publish and any attribution of data. In this case, we’ll want to inform our institutions in advance but that is only so they are prepared for the publicity.”
He now smiled quite broadly. “Very good. We will pass on the wording of the attribution, including contact information, to Cdr Worthington. I have to impress on you that it is quite essential that you make no public statements on the matter. From now on, there will be an officially sanctioned story of how the Royal Navy and the US Navy worked together on this critical mission.”
“I understand,” I said, “you have my word. We also much prefer to have an official story for the origin of our data.”
As soon as the call was finished, I flew in search of Eilidh. I dragged her out of her office, grabbed her by the arms and danced her through the living room. We were both so elated. John came home soon after, and I related the whole call to him. “Bill is a good guy,” he said.
Ah yes, “Steve” was really a William, Bill to his friends.
“I’ve known him for ages. I’m not political enough to rise through the ranks like he did, but we’ve always remained close. He was in on this from the start. He did a lot of work behind the scenes to get support.” He gave me a sharp glance. “He was quite right, you know, your background was really problematic for some of the more hardline officers. Their knee-jerk reaction was to class you as some kind of anarchist, communist or foreign spy. Bill personally ensured that the security service’s report on you didn’t have any negative biases. He fenced for me too, because merely my association with you was enough to make me suspect as well.”
I was dismayed. “Oh no! John, that could have finished your career!”
He waived his hand as though wiping something of a imaginary table. “Luckily, I know a few more people who were sympathetic to the cause.” He looked me in the eye and added, “but to be honest, I was a bit more worried than I let on at the time.”
He left me at a loss for words.
“Well, “ said Eilidh, “now that you got the good news, let’s celebrate!”
“OK, let’s,” I said, “but first I must give my team mates the good news!”
And celebrate we did, late into the night. And so it came that I was walking to the department close to noon the next day.
Two weeks later we released the preprint. It was the best estimate of the AMOC collapse date by a large margin, and the widest consensus ever reported on this kind of work: seven different teams and models, all in accordance. The paper stated plainly that, unless emissions were cut really drastically in the next five years, AMOC would collapse in 2045 with a window of just one year on either side and still better than 95% certainty.
It also contained a very precisely-worded attribution of the provenance of the data. This stated unambiguously that the data used in the study had been obtained by joint survey by nuclear submarines of the Royal Navy and United States Navy, because of the strategic importance of the work.
It was a blooming revolution. Right after the synchronised publication of the joint press release by all institutions involved, all hell broke loose.
By that time, both sides of the “AMOC debate” had become firmly entrenched, and the claims of the detractors had slid deeply into conspiracy territory. But public opinion was now overwhelmingly on our side and “Stop the Freeze!” had become an international demand. Even the more right-wing government parties had added it to their manifestoes.
The submarine results really were our trump card: faced with an actual conspiracy way beyond even their wildest imaginings, the conspiracy theorists and deniers lost all footing. Contesting the data or their provenance was now futile; contesting the results based on the data was not in their league.
The media went berserk, and the rest, as they say, is history. At the next elections, Greens everywhere won by a landslide, and radical action to mitigate the AMOC collapse was started.
Next: Chapter 9. Underneath all currents