We live in times of urgent calls to action. In May I was asked to sign 39 different petitions, statements and open letters. Among these was the open letter from Fossil Free Books, demanding that the investment firm Baillie Gifford “divest from the fossil fuel industry and from companies that profit from Israeli apartheid, occupation and genocide”.

This seemed reasonable, necessary, urgent even, in these times of ongoing ecocide and genocide. But the letter continued: “If our demand is not met, we reaffirm our commitment to take action through disruption and by withdrawing our labour.”

And here, before signing, I paused in concern. Yes, it is the role and duty of protest to disrupt in order to bring about change. Yes, I urgently want to stop the mechanisms of destruction which are ruining my children’s world and killing my Palestinian friends.

But I worry that the consequences of this disruption have not been thought through. I worry that, instead of forcing Baillie Gifford to divest, this way of enforcing demands will force festivals to close.

And as May came to a close, a statement from the Edinburgh Book Festival announced that their 20 year funding relationship with Baillie Gifford has ended due to intolerable pressure created by calls for boycott, and that ‘without the support of our partners and donors, the future of festivals like ours – and all of the benefits these events bring to authors and readers alike – is in jeopardy’. So then where will we go, as writers and thinkers, as humans who ask questions and seek answers?

We have already seen Glasgow’s beloved literary festival, Aye Write, close due to a funding crisis. Edinburgh looks set to lose Summerhall as an iconic centre for the arts: the venue is for sale, to the dismay of many, and risks becoming yet another cluster of student flats or boutique hotels.

There is urgency in the petitions circulating to reverse this diminishment of places where people can gather to share and enjoy art, where opinions can be exchanged to help inform choices. There is urgency in the demands of Fossil Free Books. There is urgency in the calls for solidarity of my friends and colleagues in Gaza. How do we navigate these urgencies without destroying what sustains our capacity for collective thinking and debate? How can we stop our calls for justice from forcing our festivals to close?

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It would be unacceptable, now, for cultural events to be sponsored by tobacco companies as happened in the past. In future times, sponsorship by companies linked to fossil fuels will surely be considered just as unacceptable. The apartheid regime in South Africa is recognised, now, as an abhorrent system which was justly boycotted. In future times – I am sure of it – Israel’s occupation will also be abhorred, and the BDS movement will be vindicated.

Across the world the tide is turning: protests are growing, Palestine is being recognised as a state, the current atrocities perpetuated by the Israeli state in Gaza are being condemned and the highest legal authorities have ordered Israel to desist. But right now, in the messy present whose many urgent demands we need to navigate, the question keeps returning: how can we stop our calls for justice from forcing our festivals to close?

This is a matter of morals and of money. We live among the ruins of austerity politics whose result is the appalling scarcity which forces festivals and cultural venues to rely on private funding in order to survive. And this scarcity, of course, generates conflict.

It is immensely frustrating to see writers, ‘book workers’ and festivals pitted against each other, sparring online, issuing ultimatums - as if they are antagonists. The real antagonists are these brutal funding systems which risk leading to cultural impoverishment instead of enriching exchange.

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How did we arrive at this point, where festivals rely on private donors to the extent that they risk closure if this funding ends? Where have Scottish Government and local council investments been in this slide towards Scotland becoming one of the worst-performing countries in Europe when it came to arts spending per head of the population? And what is EIBF supposed to do next? Triple its ticket prices? Lay off most of its staff? Vastly reduce its author programme, and therefore the number of authors supported?  Cut its children’s programme?  Will the people behind the Fossil Fuel Books calls for boycotting EIBF and other festivals suggest alternatives, solutions even? Will they step up to offer support in fundraising, budget juggling, HR and venue management?

As a writer, as a scholar, as an activist who has supported Palestinian liberation for 25 years and counting, I write these words in hope that they may generate helpful conversations. Like the ones I have had over the years at the Edinburgh International Book Festival, where I have chaired events with Raja Shahadeh; with Nayrouz Qarmout, who would not have been able to leave Gaza had it not been for EIBF’s invitation; with the family of ‘Alaa Abd el Fattah, who is still unlawfully detained by the Egyptian government because of his searing writings condemning injustice in Egypt and Gaza.

Whatever happens next, writers, ‘book workers’ and book festivals urgently need to work together towards dialogue and solutions. May we step back from the language of ultimatums, blame, shame and resentment. May we use words to generate open conversations which help us imagine better futures. May we protect the spaces that make such conversations possible.

Esa Aldegheri is a multilingual writer, activist and scholar at the University of Glasgow. She has a longstanding commitment to conflict transformation and creative conversations.