Every great scheme raises great questions — and this is a sign of sound thinking, not of weakness in the plan. A book that speaks only of the beauties of its own idea and runs away from its difficulties leaves the reader not convinced, but suspicious.
So in this chapter I stand face to face with the hardest questions and answer them honestly — even where the answer is neither complete nor final.
What if some group should wish to destroy the network?
This is the first and most serious anxiety. A structure drawn out over thousands of kilometres through the heart of various lands looks vulnerable to sabotage. An extremist group, or even a government wishing to extract some concession by this means, might make a part of it their target.
The answer has several layers. The first layer is the structure of the network itself. As we saw earlier, this is not a single line; it is a net. If part of it fails, traffic passes by the other routes. Unlike a maritime chokepoint, the closing of which paralyses all trade, this network has been designed from its foundations so that no point of it is its point of death.
The second layer is technical and physical protection: continuous monitoring by sensor and drone, the cyber security of the systems, and the capacity for swift repair with the help of those same service teams stationed along the route. A structure that is continually watched and swiftly repaired is not an attractive target for sabotage.
But the third layer is the most important — and that is the logic of ownership. This network belongs to no single government and no single company; it belongs to a hundred and ninety-five nations and to millions of ordinary human beings. Whoever damages it has done harm not to some particular enemy, but to the common capital of the whole of humanity — including the people of his own land. A road which carries the bread and the medicine and the travellers of those same people is not, in their eyes, a target; it is an artery. And history has shown that what people regard as their own, they themselves guard. The best keeper of this network will not be armed soldiers, but people whose lives are knotted to it.
What if countries fall into conflict with one another?
The second question is more fundamental still: the world is full of tension and sanction and strife. How can one expect countries at odds with one another to cooperate within a common network?
First it must be said that this is precisely what mankind has done many times over. The International Space Station went on with its work even in the coldest days of political relations; scientists of rival countries stayed side by side in shared laboratories; and communications satellites carried the messages of nations that were at war with one another on the ground. When interests are plainly held in common, cooperation finds a way to survive.
Second, the effect of this network is itself a reducer of tension. Nations that trade with one another and whose peoples come and go among one another find the cost of conflict rising very much higher.
But here a point must be made clear. Economic connection alone is no guarantee of peace. History has an example to the contrary: on the eve of the First World War, Britain and Germany were among each other’s largest trading partners, and that same interdependence did not prevent the catastrophe that followed. Countries can trade with one another and at the same time fall upon each other over resources and frontiers.
So this network does not make war impossible. What it does is to raise the cost of war, to reduce its pretexts, and — more important than either — to dry up its roots: poverty, deprivation, and the ignorance of nations concerning one another. Wars generally rise out of injustice and estrangement; and this network attacks precisely those two.
And third, the mechanism for the settling of disputes: the independent Court of Arbitration and the principle of voting have been devised for just such days. Even so, one must be honest: no mechanism can guarantee that tension will never arise. What can be guaranteed is that this network has been designed to be resilient in the face of tension, and that in the long term it reduces the causes of tension itself.
If one country brings more capital, why should its vote be equal to the others’?
The question is plain: if a country brings a great part of the capital, accepts a greater risk and takes a heavier responsibility upon its shoulders, why should it have in decision-making the same single vote as a country of three hundred thousand people with a negligible share? And if that is so, what incentive remains for the great powers to join?
The answer rests upon one distinction: the distinction between “voice” and “return”.
The financial return is not equal and should not be. As we saw in the chapter on the division of profit, eighty per cent of the net profit is divided among the countries in proportion to the share of each. A country that has invested more receives more — this is economic justice, and no one doubts it.
But the voice in governance is equal. Why? Because what is put to the vote in the General Assembly is not the division of profit; it is the destiny of a common human capital. If we tie the vote to money, we build the very thing against which this book has been written from the beginning: a system in which the rich command the poor. And then the small countries — which have the greatest need of this network — either do not join, or become its economic colonies.
And this model is not without precedent. In the General Assembly of the United Nations, in the World Health Organisation, in the International Civil Aviation Organisation and in the Universal Postal Union, each country has one vote, regardless of its size and its wealth. The world has been working with this principle for decades.
Even so, let me say two things honestly.
First, this distinction does not entirely solve the problem. The Consortium may find it necessary, for purely financial decisions — such as the approval of a budget or the acceptance of a large risk — to set particular thresholds, or to devise a mechanism which both preserves the equal voice and secures the confidence of the large investor. In this book I propose the principle; its details are the work of the lawyers and the negotiators of the Consortium.
And second, this is the most delicate point in the whole scheme, and must be approached with the greatest care.
Does public ownership of itself bring justice?
In this book I have said that the owner of the network is the people. But does public ownership of itself bring justice?
Not so simply. History is full of institutions that were wholly public and were at the same time inefficient, corrupt, captive to political factions, or indifferent to deprived regions. Public ownership is a necessary condition, not a sufficient one.
What can be said is that in this scheme, alongside public ownership, three other shields have been set: transparency and open accounts, independent audit, and the mutual supervision of dozens of countries over one another. These four together reduce the likelihood of deviation — though they do not guarantee against it. And later in this same chapter I shall say why no structure, by itself, is a guarantor of justice.
What if a country does not wish to join?
The answer is simple: there is no compulsion in the matter. A country that does not wish to does not join, and no one forces it. The network passes by other routes and continues its work.
But experience says that when the neighbours of a country benefit from the prosperity of such a road, sooner or later the question “why not us?” rises in that country. The attraction of profit is more effective than any pressure. And the door of the network always remains open.
Is it even possible for 195 countries to agree upon something?
Not all at once, and not easily. But as we saw in the previous chapter, it is not necessary for all of them to agree from the first day. A small nucleus of leading countries is enough for the work to begin; the rest join by degrees. No great international organisation — from the Universal Postal Union to the aviation bodies — began with complete initial consensus; all of them began with a small group and spread by the demonstration of their usefulness.
Will this not become an instrument of domination?
This anxiety is a rightful one — particularly for nations that have the bitter experience of colonialism and of railways built only to carry away their resources.
The answer of this book is given throughout the part on governance and ownership: the principle of one country, one vote, which gives small and great an equal voice; ownership spread among millions of human beings, which makes its seizure impossible; the anti-monopoly mechanism; and transparency and independent audit.
But in the end no structure is by itself a guarantor of justice; what guarantees it is the continual vigilance of the nations. And if one day this network should stray from the road of justice, those same people who are its owners must bring it back to that road. This book can only make the principles clear; the guarding of them is the work of the generations that will come.
With such a cost, is it really worth it?
In the chapter on costs we saw that the sum of this project is not large beside what the world spends annually upon armaments. But the fuller answer is that “worth” should not be measured by cash profit alone. A road that keeps famine away from a region, that brings a child to hospital, and that quenches a war in the seed, creates a profit that fits into no accounting ledger. And alongside that, the direct and indirect revenues of the network in the long term outstrip its cost.
Perhaps by then some other technology will take the place of the railway?
The question is a fair one. But history shows that means of transport have rarely eliminated one another; more often they have added to one another. The aeroplane did not abolish the ship; the motor car did not abolish the railway. Each found its own place.
The railway, for the bulk movement of goods over land with little energy and little pollution, holds a place with few rivals, and today no available technology offers this combination better. Beyond this, the rail infrastructure is so designed as to be receptive to the technologies of the future; it remains the foundation, even if what moves upon it is transformed.
And corruption?
This is a proper warning and should not be treated lightly. The history of vast projects is full of squandered capital.
The structural answer is the one given in the part on governance: complete transparency, open accounts open to inspection, an independent audit office, and the supervision of all member countries over one another. When the owner is the general body of the people and the observers are dozens of countries, concealment becomes far more difficult.
But again let us be honest: no system is immune to corruption. What can be done is to make corruption difficult and its discovery easy. And perhaps more important than any mechanism is that same culture of which I spoke in the previous part: a project built inwardly upon sincerity, and not upon the keeping of appearances.
And if it fails?
This question too must be raised. This project may fail. A great war might close the workshops. A financial crisis might dry up the capital. A cyber attack might disable the systems. A fearful earthquake or flood might destroy a section. The demand for transport might change in some unforeseen way. And it may be that after years the nations do not come to agreement over something, and the work is left half done.
None of these can be denied. But there are two things to set against them.
First, phased execution makes total failure impossible. Because the work is not built all in one place and all at once, neither will the failure be all in one place and all at once. If one part stops, the parts already built go on working and yielding profit. This scheme, unlike monolithic projects, has no “single point of failure”.
And second, even a partial failure leaves something behind: the corridors that have been built, the standards that have come into being, the engineers who have been trained, and most important of all, the proof that such a work is possible. The Panama Canal failed once and came to a halt, and decades later others brought it to completion.
Why should one trust this book and this scheme?
And finally, the most honest question of all. The answer is this: do not trust this book blindly.
What is set out here is a proposal, not a verdict. Its numbers are conceptual estimates and must be made exact by the hands of engineers. Its routes are a preliminary sketch and must be put to the vote. And its mechanisms are proposals which the Consortium must weigh and approve.
What this book claims is one thing only: that such a road is possible, that the world has need of it, and that it is worth talking about. The final judgement rests with the collective wisdom of humanity — not with the author of a book.
What we learn from these questions
If we set all these questions side by side, one thing becomes plain: not one of these challenges makes the thing impossible. Each has a solution or a way of being reduced; and even where there is no complete answer, one can at least enter upon the work with open eyes.
The greatest danger to this scheme is not sabotage, nor political tension, nor even cost. The greatest danger is indifference — that no one should take it seriously, that the years should pass, and that the world, in the absence of such a road, should continue upon its former course.
Problems can be solved; but an opportunity lost cannot be brought back.