To offer a meaningful alternative economic system, I believe it is essential that we engage with what we dream of as ‘good lives ‘— the diverging stories, in their own framing and in their own language, of what this looks like to different people all around the world.

As someone who has been exploring the human relationship to money and work, I’ve always had a quiet tension in my mind as I move between the personal world and the one we need to build. It has been well established that we urgently, desperately need to change the growth-at-all-costs paradigm of capitalism that we are operating under. The consequences of the climate crisis become ever more clear, wars wage on, and the same cycle of austerity is imposed as the answer for conserving security. Like many, I’ve been looking towards the degrowth, post-growth, and economic justice movements for answers. The umbrella of policy proposals and bolstering already implemented and successful reforms seem to show that they will provide the just transition we need. But this article is not about that — but rather the possible tension in values, and the versions of ‘The Good Life’ imposed by growth that is still deeply embedded throughout the world.

I grew up in the intersection of class change between Malaysia and China, reflecting what some would call ‘new money.’ The celebration of rags to riches, scarcity to abundance, is central to this weighty, judgmental term. And yet, it has been evident to me that the behaviors and beliefs around me about our place in the economy are still shaped by a kind of survivalism, carrying invisible stories and lessons from when my great-grandparents fled civil conflict and poverty in China to Southeast Asia. This manifests in things such as wealth accumulation, addiction, abuse — and, most importantly, a deep belief system around what it takes to build a better life. We celebrate economic growth — we are told it is the key to our liberation. But is it?

Some degrowth scholars have touched upon this in a macro-economic lens, bringing forward questions such as, “What about the Global South: Do they have to stop growing?”

Others react to the threat of economic slowdown that they believe degrowth is trying to achieve, equating it to something akin to an economic crisis:

Economic crises have a monumental impact on people’s lives — something to be well feared. And yet, the psychological scarcity caused by such crises is often weaponized by populist narratives and ideological actors scapegoating progressive policies with stories of conservation or more consumerism, more free market economics without barriers, and removing protections of vulnerable people.

I feel called to explore some of these questions and resistances towards the movement. As someone who has been interviewing psychologists and activists, and running workshops for different communities in Europe, I’m surprised by how little our culture and current discourse allows us to evaluate our relationship with money and work — the dynamics that are fundamentally intertwined with what we aspire to, and whether the promise of security is actually is delivered to us.

So, what does it mean to engage with our personal and intergenerational histories with the economy? How should post growth advocates address this?

Money scripts, stress, and trauma

Collective attitudes about money and work are doorways into our history, tied in with stories of security, identity, and belonging. A familiar idiom I grew up with was that the path to success was paved with the need ‘to eat bitterness.’ (吃苦) My family would often talk about this, echoing faraway memories that I always tried to grasp, but could never get the full picture of. Today, for some Chinese people, that saying has evolved into an embodiment of this memory — ‘even without bitterness, to keep eating it.’ (没苦硬吃) — emphasizing frugality and a belief in hardship, even if scarcity is no longer a material reality.

This is by no means exclusive to the Chinese. No matter where you’re from, you will probably find similar idioms.

A lot is still misrepresented about what our relationships with money and work are supposed to be like. Despite much discourse around it being a rational matter, 90 percent of all financial behaviors are made emotionally. Our experiences with money in our childhood and adult life have a significant impact on our personal and collective money stories. Our bodies elicit stress responses such as fight, flight, and freeze when feeling under threat. This can manifest in economic attitudes — never feeling secure no matter how much money is made, anxiety and preoccupation, burnout, or gambling, impulsive spending, and financial avoidance.

Living through economic hardship will shape what we aspire to, and what we become. Polyvagal Theory explores how “our values shift from collaborative and aspirational to defensive and primal” under certain stress states. I recall my own intuition of why so many tropes exist in Chinese communities around the world around our ‘hard-working ethic’ or security orientation. Many Chinese families pressure their children to pursue certain careers, and to have a competitive put your head down and work spirit.

Our experiences with money have a significant impact on our personal stories. This can manifest in things like never feeling secure no matter how much money is made, anxiety and preoccupation, burnout, gambling, impulsive spending, or financial avoidance.

Evidently, we don’t exist in vacuums, and this narrative also becomes weaponized by people outside of the community. There is a lot that people point towards to make an inherently racialized point of the supposed biological quality of ‘efficiency’ or ‘intelligence’ ingrained in Asian people, that’s enabled their societies to be wealthier. This story blatantly zooms into images of Shanghai, Singapore, and Seoul while ignoring the growing inequality and complex class dynamics that are deeply embedded in the same places and beyond. Bill Gates cited on a trip to India during a period of technological industrialization that South Asians were the second smartest people on the planet, while hinting that the Chinese were the first. In the US, the model minority myth emerged directly through the civil rights movement to weaponize against Black activists who were demanding rights. “Asians don’t complain; they work hard — as if to say that blacks don’t work hard. The implications is that blacks complain and ask for handouts,” decolonial writer Vishay Prashad writes in Karma of the Brown Folk.

While I speak mostly for myself and for people I know, this trope isn’t always purely external, but also deeply internalized. Asian Americans cite the model minority myth as one of the strongest sources of stress, leading many to experience depression and anxiety. We were supposed to be good at business, at money, and work harder to get ahead of other people. Imagine the dismay when we can’t live up to that — when the reality of success and ‘The Good Life’ still feels far from reach.

“If we’re hard-working enough, we can achieve ‘The Good Life’”

The meritocracy story has stretched far beyond its initial inception from within the academic discipline of economics. ‘Rags to riches’ hits are all over the media with films and books like The Pursuit of Happiness and Crazy Rich Asians. For those who never had access to wealth, these stories are incredibly appealing — we are told it is up to us to pave the way to our destiny. Even the idea of Black Capitalism, a movement intended to close the wealth gap between Black and White communities in America, focuses primarily on individual success. This is the rule and not the exception. Recently, the indigenous concept of ‘sumak kawsay’ which emphasizes a good life in tune with nature in Bolivia and Ecuador was brought into politics. In South Korea, the ‘space out competition was created to protest the intense work culture. But these are still rare in comparison.

During a recent visit to China, I was struck by how concepts like degrowth felt like distant abstractions — especially in the ‘tier 1’ megacities like Shenzhen. In many ways, it is the pinnacle of how cultural values in the country have changed over the years.

Designated as the country’s first Special Economic Zone, Shenzhen echoes an economy paired with a narrative that can only be compared to the American Dream. Migrants from all over the country go there to pursue the promise of ‘The Good Life’ — a life of economic abundance and the pinnacle of modernity. As a local saying goes, “No matter where you’re from, you are a Shenzhen person now.”

So much felt familiar to the China I knew — groups of older people were still out playing games and exercising together, families on the streets laughing with their children. Yet everywhere you look, there’s shopping malls, electric cars, new high rises, and robots coming to serve you in restaurants — a progress junkie’s ultimate dream. Convenience culture is king — you can order absolutely anything and everything to your doorstep within hours.

Between dramatic historical forces, the government’s agenda for the country has changed from ‘to be poor is to be glorious’ to spearheading ‘it is glorious to be rich.’ Rapid class mobility was within grasp for many Chinese communities in certain areas during former leader Deng’s economic transition, whilst many others lost out. Over the years, the Chinese economy has transformed from a producer market to just as strong a consumer market. Many of the older generation who managed to benefit from this could finally afford to do everything they wanted to do. But this is changing.

Beneath the veneer of the new modernism and policy intervention, capitalism’s familiar cracks have emerged. Mass industrialization in China was paired with a grueling work culture that became pervasive to anyone from blue collar workers to executives, such as 996 (working from 9am-9pm 6 days a week). In the 2010s, major iPhone factory Foxconn in Shenzhen was brought under global public scrutiny when a whistleblower publicised the 18 attempted suicides within its factories. I happened to meet one of the managers of these factories in 2019, who I knew personally also came from a poorer background. He responded to my confrontations, saying, “This is still better for the Chinese than the life they had before.” At the same time, medical professionals in China also cite the country’s rising problem with high cholesterol, blood sugar, and blood lipids to an adoption of ‘Western-style’ consumerism — the rise of an affluent diet of fast and processed foods with low nutritional quality, while living with high stress levels and longer working hours.

Beneath the veneer of the new modernism and policy intervention, capitalism’s familiar cracks have emerged.

What happens after societies become more ‘abundant’ — and, does this bring about wellbeing? I can’t speak for everyone — reality is personal and nuanced. But at a macro level, China is becoming more individualistic — a sharp turn from the collectivist culture that’s deeply embedded in our culture. Moving between dramatic cultural and economic changes, Chinese youth today are facing much disillusionment as they struggle with a hyper-competitive job market and mass unemployment. They may be even more materialistic than their predecessors, but like much of youth culture, are also shaping the fight towards a better life, fighting for better work conditions.

The conservative ‘Good Life’

There is a stark contrast between the ideals of a life that growth promises us, and the reality. That’s why the pursuit of The Good Life so often gives rise to cognitive dissonance (which ironically takes that lofty goal even further away). While young Chinese are hurled into a rat race, the West is similarly grappling with rising living costs, causing a fracturing disillusionment that leads in turn to a sharp rise in populist thinking and reactionism. Progressives are shocked, rightfully, at the recent election results in the US, with much rumination about how such a regressive president could have won the popular vote.

“With great humility, I am asking you to be excited about the future of our country…. “We’re going to reduce your taxes still further,” said Trump at one of his rallies. “And it’s going to lead to tremendous growth.”

I don’t need to prove to you that economic hardship and populism have historically led to a rise in fascism, or that there is a stark fallacy that Trump’s policies actually lead to people overall living better economic lives. These are well established patterns. But progressives in the US failed to narrativize to engage with communities that felt left behind. They failed to significantly address the rising costs of groceries, housing, and insurance. They failed to take even a small step backwards from perpetuating the apex of their global military order. They also failed to acknowledge what Trump voters were primarily concerned with — economic issues and immigration and that narratives from both concerns centered around security and safety. Even the massively blown up fears around immigration can be mostly traced back to safety — whether from a crime rate or job guarantee perspective, which lead quickly into classist and racist ideas.

Today, three out of four Millennials and Gen-Z’s in America report having PTSD-like symptoms caused by financially-induced stress. But aligning our approach to money and work with classical economics delineates systemic inequalities to poor education or negative personal character. This paves the way for an even wider adoption of more conservative ideals — subscribing to pro-business policies, scraping social security, minimal regulation, and low taxes. This kind of framing is accepted because it’s pitched as being in favor of people’s empowerment and safety. In the age old story of American meritocracy, success depends on the individual.

The narrative that Democrats only focus on ‘globalist’ and ‘elitist’ problems such as climate policy, also reflects a fear of being left behind. Climate agendas in the West are gradually put on the back burner of parliamentary discourse as politicians desperately try to appeal to voters who feel they have more immediate concerns. Populists state that carbon taxes or mandates for energy-efficient appliances are designed without considering the financial realities of all citizens — suggesting that these products only cater to urban elites while neglecting rural and working-class communities. In that, there is a nod to something deeper: the nostalgia of hyper-nationalism — when Trump promises to “bring back jobs” or “make America great again,” he is tapping into this deeper yearning for stability and identity. It is a vision that offers clear answers in an uncertain world, even if those answers are deeply hurtful, harmful, and regressive.

Changing course on what we want and how to get there

Like many, I wanted to get closer to the degrowth and post-growth movements not only because I believed in their proposals, but because the alternative kind of life it values and offers resonated — the quieter, sometimes more politically understated values of minimalism, community care, and wellbeing without traditional economic parameters. And at the same time, the movement has a lot of practical work to do to build up the foundations to build such a reality. As I heard facilitator Tadeáš Žďárský say at the AltShift Degrowth Festival this year: “If everyone were to be minimalist right now, the interdependent global economy would collapse.” We are still intertwined with the overproduction of goods and services we don’t need and that causes harm. We first need those protection mechanisms — job guarantees, higher social investment, and stronger safety nets. These need to be urgently (re)framed to ensure those at risk economically truly understand the implications, not for it to be weaponized.

‘The Good Life’ created under the conditions of capitalism today, imposes, for many around the world, a fallacy of being able to truly meet our needs. Even if it does, it ends up being at the expense of others. The altar of materialism and far right ideology are fundamentally detached from the extractivism they rely on — the inequality of workers who provide the resources, and the iron wall enforced on the vulnerable in order to maintain the veneer of a safe bubble. It offers solutions that are often “pseudosatisfiers” — as economist Manfred Max-Neef puts it — pretending to meet our needs, but not actually doing so, or causing unintended destruction for ourselves.

Before we all go adopting a minimalist, post-growth lifestyle, we first need protection mechanisms in place— job guarantees, higher social investment, and stronger safety nets.

Researchers around the world have vigorously and tangibly defined what human needs concretely mean — and they can be accounted for in an economy that organizes under a needs-based approach. As economist Jason Hickel demonstrated in a recent publication, good lives under decent living standards can be provided for everyone on the planet, only requiring “30% of current global resource and energy use, leaving a substantial surplus for additional consumption, public luxury, scientific advancement, and other social investments.”

To offer a meaningful alternative, I believe it is essential that we engage with what we dream of as good lives — the diverging stories, in their own framing and in their own language, of what this looks like to different people all around the world. The stress and trauma of living under economic scarcity and competition have a real impact on human psychology, and it funnels people towards conservation and security. There is an almost-universalism of people globally having to struggle upstream for money, for work, and for a life well-lived. But critically, I don’t believe economic struggle always has to lead to the far rightism and neoliberalism we see today. It is only when people feel left behind and unacknowledged, when a vacuum is created for stories that are individualistic or segregative to emerge, that those who feel abandoned are scooped up by harmful extremism — all under the illusion of care.

I want ‘The Good Life’ to be inclusive of everyone, to be truly pluralistic in not leaving anyone behind across ideological and geographic lines. As my dear confidant Rafal Faraj keeps reminding me, we need to meet people where they are at.

---