Category Archives: Environmental politics

Books Environmental politics

Want to understand our current mess? Read this

A shorter version was first published on Blogcritics.

Nature and Power: a Global History of the Environment is a book of big ideas an attempt to make broad conclusions about the long-term relationship between humans and our world. Joachim Radkau makes some simple, but hugely telling points – about the fact that only 150 years ago (and for all of previous human history and pre-history) we had an almost totally solar and broadly sustainable economy (really on photosynthesis – wood from trees and horses powered by grain and grass).

He’s a man who really can see the wood for the trees – and dispel simplistic claims about why they might be disappearing. He explains how some past “simple” societies were greatly destructive of their environment, and some complex ones had worked it out pretty well – he sees the nature-human relationship “not only as a gloomy, never-ending process of destruction, but as a suspenseful mixture of destruction and creative processes” (p. 26) “One must not think of ‘nature as a stable organic unit in a state of constant harmony, but that nature changes continuously even without human help”. (p. 20)

It might be a lesson for the environmental movement – it is impossible to think about environmental history in isolation from general history, and particularly political history. Radkau never really explains the title explicitly, but is is pretty well covered in a look at how well traditional knowledge understood soil. He quotes Joannes Colerus in about 1600, who told his readers that the good farmer had to understand “rightly and properly the nature of his land and soil… abstain from forcing his fields to grow and produce one thing or another that was contrary and abhorrent to them”. And he notes how weeds were once a useful indicator of soil nature – “corn poppy indicated soil rich in lime, sorrel was evidence of acidic, chamomile of wet, and chickweed of excellent soil”. But …”quite often it was the political, economic and legal conditions that prevented farmers from making use of their collective, experiential knowledge about cautionry behaviour. The pressure of taxes, high rent dues, uncertain inheritance rights, overpopulation poromoted by a governmental policy of boosting human numbers, outside control exercised in distant metropolises, invading armies, the socially conditioned separation of farming and herding, but also the the incentives of the advancing market economy; all these things together probably contributed far more to unsettling the balance between humans and the environment than lack of knowleldge about soil and fertilization.” (p. 77)

Humans should be wary of apparently revolutionary innovations is another of the “big” conclusions. It is, Radkau says “often the pseudo-success of environmental policy that mask a most calamitious decline of the environment”. He quotes the case of marl, made up of lime and silicic acid, which when added to lime-deficient soilds can produce high yields, but over time this extracts other nutrients, which if not replaced exhausts the soil. “Marl makes rich fathers and poor sons” 18th-century peasants said in Germany and Denmark. (p. 76) And he looks at the arrival of guano from Peru in England around 1840, which was reckoned to be about 30 times more effective than farmyard manure. “Henceforth it no longer seemed so important to agriculture to pay attention to a balance of field and pasture, since a deficit of fertilisers, that is, an inherent lack of sustainability, could now be remedied by guano. This opened the door to the triumphant advance of the water closet, which robbed agriculture of human excrement.” (p 191)

He also questions if autarky ever really existed anywhere. “…it would not not be correct to equate the subsistence economy with individualistic narrow-mindedness and to link it only with the individual farmer; the principle of providing for one’s own need radiated far beyond the house economy and was, right into the modern age, a self-evident principle of the economy of village communities, landed estates, vities, and states. This principle meant that providing the local population with basic foodstuffs and with wood took precedence over export. [How different to our current desperate – and practically impossible – bids by many economies for ‘export-led recoveries’.] But while the self-sufficiency of the single farmstead, without the need to purchase anything from the outside, was an old peasant ideal, the reality was often very different. The kind of subsistence economy that was the rule in historical reality was not isolated and cut off from all higher culture, but contained elements of a local and regional division of labor. In many regions of the world we find old, “natural” trading relations between neighbouring regions with different natural resources: between pasture areas of the uplands and the agriicultural regions in the valleys, between wetland areas rich in marine life and zones of deciduous forests in which pigs were pastured.”(p40)

But we’re back to politics – “the chief weakness of the subsistence economy was and is not ecological but political in nature: since it did not generate the potential for power on the same scale as economies geared towards the production of added value, it easily fell under foreign control, and self-sufficiency was disturbed by taxes and dues.” (p. 39) Smallholding is “an economic way of life that is capable of economic and ecological perfection”.
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Books Environmental politics

Food – how are we doing?

I’m currently reading Nature and Power, by Joachim Radkau, which is powerful and very interesting – nothing less than an attempt to set the framework for a mature study of environmental history.

But one fact in it really brought me up short. Before 1945, the vast bulk of the world depended on locally grown foodstuffs – very little was moved much distance at all – when you think about it every town in grain-growing areas of any size had a mill and presumably sold most of its flour more or less locally, and international trade was negligible.

Yet now, we’ve got vast amounts of bulk transports, and huge international transfers. In half a century, and I suspect lots of that change has happened in only the last 30 years or so, there’s been a huge unplanned, unconsidered, unmonitored change in how our most basic need is met.

Now I’ve been reading about the terrible rice crop in Vietnam, dreadful conditions in China, about the drought striking the Russian and central Asian breadbasket, and it has been extremely dry in much of Britain and France … and so I wondered how we are doing.

Looking around led me to this excellent overview from the London Review of Books, and to the US Department of Agriculture June report (which seems pretty sanguine – although some of the weather has happened since then – and it does predict a 7.5m tonne fall in wheat crop), and a very useful FAO summary site.

And today the Guardian reports that speculators are getting heavily into the whole business – just what we all don’t need.

So the short-term answer seems to be “worry”, and the longer-term answer is “be very, very worried”.

Environmental politics

Mares milk, viper’s venom and really serious decadence

The time has long gone when anyone seriously tried to claim that it was decadence that did for the Roman empire – all those larks’ tongues and luxury silks – but in so many ways there’s a “last days of the empire” feel about life today.
And that’s not just because of two articles I noticed today – one in the Autun edition of Le Journal de Saone-et-Loire, and the other in an April copy of Macleans, which has just made its way around our village to me. (Can’t say English-language magazines aren’t well used here.)

Locally, just up the road from us, near the Gallo-Roman citdel at Bibracte, is a new farm, specialising in mare’s milk, mostly, it would seem, for cosmetics. No objection, per say, although I can’t help wondering what they do with the male foals, knowing what happens to dairy calves. Still, one can’t help thinking of Cleopatra and those fabled baths…

Seriously madder, I learn of a $525-a-jar cosmetic, the no-so-secret ingredient of what is the venom of the temple viper, Tropidolaemus wagleri, which “works in a similar way to Botox, which paralyses the muscles that cause facial wrinkles”. Poison away those wrinkles…

But no, my favourite example is still the billboard-sized screens showing adverts in Tube stations in London – with the latest climate change predictions ringing in my ears, the idea that we are producing carbon dioxide for this purpose still tops my list of decadent madness.

Environmental politics

Are we innovating our way to non-function?

What started this chain of thought was the less-than-wonderful Dyson Airblade, which after colonising the loos at work seems to be spreading like some slow-moving cockroach to public facilities around London. It looks hi-tech, and makes grand claims, but has more than a few drawbacks.

First, it sounds like a 747 warming up, which rather destroys any peace and tranquility the facilities might previously have had, as well as making impossible those convenient little business chats that enable you to casually float some extra work for someone without marching up to their desk. It also removes the larger drops from your hands, spraying them around your feet and the floor, without actually drying your hands, and leaves a large puddle to gently ferment on the floor.

Then I got to thinking about my laptop computers – probably while I was wrestling with one. The best one I’ve ever had was a little 12 inch or so Toshiba that I bought back around 1997. Since then I’ve been through a Dell (never again – it died beyond hope about five days after a one-year warranty ended), an MSI Wind (which died hopelessly within warranty and after a month away for major repairs came back and is still struggling on, but with a hopelessly noisy fan that almost rivals the Airblade), and an Acer (“blessed” by some regular total-freeze-up problem that seems incomprehensible and irrepairable, and a keyboard that couldn’t be a better fluff collector if you’d designed it for that purpose).

Then I think of a set of nearly new lifts I know that are out of order more often than in, and have recently acquired the laughable mechanical voice addition saying “express service”, as they take you from one floor to the next very, very slowly.

Yet I regularly leaflet in Bloomsbury mansion blocks using some delightful, reliable lifts that are certainly Edwardian. And I’m old enough, just, to remember when you expected an electrical appliance to last decades – more or less the lifetime of the young setting-up-a-household buyer – and trust it to do what it was supposed to without adding minor miseries to your life.

It’s not just designed obsolescence, although that’s certainly part of the problem. More, it’s the mad desire for innovation and change, driven by the desire to sell new stuff, every year, which means that change for change sake is taking us away from functional, sensible designs into mad, barely functional excesses.

I’m reminded of the wonderfully prescient Douglas Adams of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fame, and the Nutri-Matic, which “made an instant but highly detailed examination of the subject’s taste buds, a spectroscopic examination of the subject’s metabolism and then sent tiny experimental signals down the neural pathways to the taste centers of the subject’s brain to see what was likely to go down well. However, no one knew quite why it did this because it invariably delivered a cupful of liquid that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea.”

Come to think of it, I know a high-tech machine that while it doesn’t quite make those claims, certainly delivers a hot brown liquid designed to appear like tea, while tasting like dishwater…

An heretical thought: Once a good sensible design for a practical need is devised, why change it?

Dare I suggest a towel? Adams certain thought it a practical and useful object.

Environmental politics Feminism

Things I failed to learn from my grandmother

Since I tried to make my first ever batch of preserves, at the age of 43, I’ve been musing on how much knowledge my grandmother had that she took to her grave, because I failed to learn it from it.

Sure, when I found myself with a very large pumpkin, home-grown, a feat achieved rather more by good luck than good management, I could look up a recipe for pumpkin chutney on the internet. I could look up the process for sterilising jars, then sterilising their contents, and off I went. But there are aspects of such things that are by far the best learnt from watching and working with an expert. (The onion definitely needs to be chopped small, I learnt, too late…)

And I’ve no doubt that my grandmother was an expert. She lived in a classic Australian house on a quarter-acre block, and the whole of the extensive back yard was devoted to fruits and vegetables. Well into her 70s, she tended that garden, producing an extensive range of produce that she stored and preserved in a wide variety of forms.

Not that I often ate it as a child, although there must have been great quantities of it. But I was taught to regard this lovely, homegrown, almost-zero-food-miles produce as embarassing, laughable even. “Proper” food came out of a supermarket freezer or from a can or bottle. Homegrown was a sign of embarrassing poverty and failure. (And it required skilled labour to process.)

Many other aspects of my grandmother’s life were also a cause for family embarrassment. She almost never threw anything away, and bought very little – the house was furnished with the furniture bought on marriage, and every potentially useful item – string, wrapping paper, bits of wire, were carefully arranged in drawers, available for use whenever required.

This all required thought, organisation, planning, system – things that I failed to learn from her.

Yet now, as I try to live an increasingly “green”, environmentally-friendly life, I’m forced to reinvent the knowledge that was second nature to my grandmother.

I’m trying to cut to almost zero my use of throwaway plastic containers, where it be Chinese takeaway or packaged berries, bottled soups or coffee cups. Yet I doubt my grandmother used in her life as any as I still use in a year, much as I try to cut down.

Whenever she left home, she took a packed lunch wrapped in paper, and a thermos of tea. There might have been a tin or two of soup in the cupboard for emergencies (when she was ill), but basically she cooked everything fresh, from scratch. And if berries weren’t in season on the bush outside, she went to her preserves.

I remember her telling me a story, very late in life, she was probably in her nineties by then, about a pair of scissors she was still using. As I recall the story her sister had been cutting some flowers, and had accidentally left these scissors in the newspaper in which the clippings were thrown on the compost heap. A couple of days later my grandma realised what had happened and rescued the now rusty implements. She soaked them in oil, then sandpapered off the rust, and here there were, perhaps eight decades later, still in effective use.

I was too young then, and perhaps too wrapped in consumer culture, to really grasp what I suspect she was trying to tell me, about more than a pair of scissors: get quality things, treat them with care, and make them last a lifetime.

And yet there’s also a darker, feminist moral in my grandmother’s life – she had made much of it, yet she lived as a virtual slave, her fine cooking, food-growing and preserving going to the service of a husband who treated her very poorly, who dropped his dirty clothes on the floor for her to pick up, and ordered a cooked breakfast every morning.

I certainly would never wish to be using the skills she had, should I be able to reconstruct them, for such a purpose, so as we do return, as we must, to these skills, this careful, preserving lifestyle, there’s something we’ve got to be very careful to do differently than did this early 20th-century generation: these must be skills for everyone to learn, everyone to exercise – men, women, and children too.

Environmental politics

Why I’m becoming an almost-vegetarian

I’ve kind of known I would take this step for a while, but the recent spurt of publicity about the carbon impacts of the meat industry (and reading Prashant Vaze’s The Economical Environmentalist) has finally driven me to a decision: I’m going to become an almost-vegetarian. Using the Guardian’s carbon output ready reckoner, I calculated that my annual carbon output is now about 10 tonnes, around two-thirds of that of the average Briton, but still more than we all need to get to soon.

I don’t drive except in France (and then no great distances, and I’m looking to cut that down), don’t fly, use little gas and electricity, have been trying hard to cut down on my usage of disposable plastic containers, so it is hard to see where I can make further cuts, except in diet.

So almost-vegetarian it is.

I can see the eyebrows: “Almost?”

There are three reasons for that: 1. I can’t eat gluten, and given that the vegetarian option in restaurants is often pasta, I will be left with no alternative. There will be times when making a fuss and demanding to go off-menu just won’t be practical. 2. If the point of this is cutting carbon, then the occasional fried rice (favourite comfort food), containing a tiny smattering of pork, shrimp and chicken (or similar dish), is going to have minimal impact. (And I’m certainly not going to fuss about a Thai dish containing a dash of fish sauce.) 3. I want to allow myself room to slip up occasionally and not then feel that I’ve failed (and yes, I am going to declare oysters “almost-vegetarian”. I only eat them three or four times a year, and I LIKE them.)

Ah, but I hear the purists cry, shouldn’t I be becoming an almost-vegan? Well, yes, on carbon grounds, but sorry, I just can’t do it. I can go without meat without too much difficulty, I think, but cheese, yoghurt, butter, no!

Maybe one day, but not now…

On the other side of the sceptics’ fence, you might say that individual action is irrelevant, that major societal and government action is the only thing that can deliver real cuts in emissions. True – but you’ve got to start somewhere, and through my work for the Green Party I’m working on that too.