The Observer view on Baillie Gifford sponsorship row: writing is on the wall for book lovers | Observer editorial
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Even in inclement weather, literary festivals can be magical: the gentle patter of rain on canvas as audiences tune in to what they hope will be another sparkling conversation. For some, it’s a chance to catch a glimpse of a favorite author and perhaps have a signature on a favorite paperback. For others, it’s the place to discover new voices and then read their work, hot off the press, in a lounge chair with a cup of tea (or something stronger). Questions are asked. The connections are made. Children are well catered for, whether they want to meet the Gruffalo or climb the pyramids with Greg Jenner. In 2024, such gatherings are as vital and enjoyable a part of the nation’s cultural diary as the FA Cup or the Proms – the only difference is that they usually cost a lot less to attend.
But how many more will they exist, at least in their current form? Last week after the organization’s campaign Free fossil booksinvestment fund Baillie Gifford announced that it is to terminated its remaining sponsorship agreements with literary festivals.
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Such news was perhaps predictable. The Hay Festival and the Edinburgh International Book Festival had already canceled their arrangements with Bailey Gifford: Julie Finch, the chief executive of the former, said somewhat oddly that she wanted to ensure “freedom on our stages and spaces for open debate”; Jenny Niven, the director of the latter, spoke of the “unbearable pressure” on her staff. Surely it was only a matter of time before Bailey Gifford left. Nevertheless, the anger, frustration and anxiety among both the public and the publishing community was – and is – widespread and very real.
Bailey Gifford’s exact sins are hard to fathom. While Free fossil books claims the firm is involved in “fossil fuels, genocide and colonial violence”, its ties to Israel appear to include only small investments in multinationals such as Amazon and Meta, while only 2% of its total portfolio is in fossil fuels (it invests a lot more in green energy).
But the bigger problem now lies in the future. Other potential funders—assuming they exist, which is moot if we consider arts funding in general—must ask themselves: is there a business that is good enough—pure enough—for these activists? Big, democratic festivals will shrink, others may wither on the vine, and we’ll all be poorer for it, including those writers whose threats to boycott some festivals hastened Bailey Gifford’s departure.
UK book festivals are part of an extremely fragile ecosystem. It took decades of hard work by their organizers, as well as armies of local volunteers, to get them to where they are now, popular and vibrant. In an era of austerity, cutbacks and social fragmentation, their contribution to literacy and good mental health is increasingly significant. In a society where soft censorship is rife and free-thinking is often stigmatized, they provide a forum where difficult, controversial ideas can be discussed and disseminated. But if they are important to their communities, their value to writers, and therefore to literature itself, is also crucial. Very few authors can afford to turn down a festival invitation if they are lucky enough to receive one. Sales of books, and especially of literary novels, are vanishingly small; a few thousand copies sold will put you on the bestseller list. Most writers struggle to make a living.
Don’t we already know that what we lose we never get back? Since 2010 nearly 800 libraries closed their doors, one-fifth of the total. They sit, sad and empty, waiting for an offer from a hotel chain or developer. Whatever their original intentions, the activists and celebrity supporters of Fossil Free Books are effectively campaigning against both the charities that do nothing but good work in this country and the life of its mind. They should be careful what they wish for.
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