Green and Prosperous Land

2

BUSINESS-AS-USUAL

Imagine waking up in May 2050. You might remember the May mornings before 2020. This was a time of bright yellow oilseed rape fields. There were still some swallows, a few swifts and the occasional cuckoo. In the right place you might have heard a curlew. If you were really lucky you might have seen a spotted flycatcher. In 2050 it will be very different if we go on as we are. By then, all these birds will be rarities. There will be even fewer insects, agriculture will be more intensive and the fields barren of anything but the chosen crop.

There will be 5 million more houses, and little left of the Green Belt, except perhaps in name. Lots more roads, railway lines, solar panels and wind turbines will have industrialised the countryside. There will be very few wild salmon left, but lots of fish farms and more Trump-style golf courses. Nature will be ever-more confined to reserved areas – like zoos in an increasingly urban and industrial landscape.

There will be compensations. You will have communications technologies that cannot even be imagined today, just as I have an iPhone now, which was unimaginable a couple of decades ago. Everything will be digital, with robots, 3D printing and artificial intelligence (AI) fulfilling many of your needs. You will know your genome, and have medical treatments available to you that again are hard to imagine now.

Some economists continue to think that the natural capital you will have lost is a price worth paying for all these new benefits. But much of this can’t be simply substituted, because natural capital is not like that, open to a marginal loss here and a marginal loss there. Nature isn’t marginal, and it does not come in discrete bits to trade off against discrete bits of man-made and human capital. Worse still, it might bite back: you may know your genome, but you might not have any antibiotics that work.

This is the silent, grey and impoverished natural world we could leave to the next generation. It is what it might look like if we don’t act now, and confront the stark reality that we face if current trends continue. We cannot and should not shy away from thinking through what will happen if we carry on damaging nature and allowing our stock of natural capital to continue to decline. It is not just about the loss of nature, and all the spiritual and emotional underpinnings to what makes us fully human, but about our economic prosperity, which depends on nature and natural capital. The land would be a dull, brown and unprosperous land – and a lot less appealing to share pictures of on whatever replaces Instagram by then. We really would need a virtual and screen-based reality to console ourselves with.

Being brown, not green, means a lower level of sustainable economic growth, and perhaps even no growth at all. It is against this background that the case for nature is to be seen as a great opportunity to make us all better off: better off in a narrow economic sense, as well as a wider sense. May 2050 could be noisier and more vibrant and exciting than May 2020, and more prosperous too. But not unless we make this happen.

A damaged inheritance

The decline of nature in Britain has been extensively documented by some of the world’s best naturalists. There are books about the decline of particular species, and studies and reports on the more general declines of life on farmland, uplands and in the soils. Even where things appear to have got better, as with water and urban air quality, some of this is not what it seems.1

Much of this evidence is specific to particular species and habitats, and it is supplemented by anecdotes and personal memories, and in novels and films. It is a spiritual and aesthetic loss, as well as a scientific one. Laurie Lee’s world of Cider with Rosie in the Slad Valley in Gloucester, Flora Thompson’s Lark Rise to Candleford, and the novels of Thomas Hardy describe a landscape full of colour and variety, with wild flowers, songbirds and elements that could almost be called wild, even though they are all man-made.2 The early landscape painters and the Romantics eulogised nature and developed concepts of the ideal landscape and the picturesque, and Wordsworth underscores the special powers of the natural world to heal our minds – a point made repeatedly down the ages.

This art and literature, often dismissed as ‘romantic’, has a hard scientific foundation. Over the twentieth century the colour and vitality of the British landscape has been replaced by monotones of green, yellow and brown. There are dark and dense conifer forests, vivid green fertilised fields of grass, and the yellow and brown of cereal landscapes. The people have gone too: farmland, which makes up 70 per cent of the country, is now managed largely by fertilisers, agrichemicals and machines, and in time it might be autonomously farmed by robots. To the silent spring of the birds has been added the silence of people.

It has not all been downhill. The pea soup fogs have gone from the cities and the gross pollution of the mid-twentieth century has been gradually unwound. There are few rivers now that could be called biologically dead, as the Mersey and even parts of the Thames have been until relatively recently. Sewage is no longer dumped at sea, and DDT has been banned.

Some species have recovered, and these are often trumpeted as ‘successes’. The peregrine falcon is becoming quite common again (albeit as much in cities as in the uplands where illegal persecution remains); the buzzard has broken out of its southwestern enclaves; and the odd salmon has even made it up the Thames. The red kite is back in the Chilterns and mid-Wales, and is spreading fast. The cirl bunting has been pulled back from the brink of extinction in the southwest of England. Even the pine martens are showing tentative signs of recovery, and the fortunes of the otter have been transformed.

The optimists get terribly excited about these very visible improvements. Such success stories can be tracked, filmed and shown on screens, unlike the bulk of the biodiversity that lies beneath our feet in the soils. But welcome though they are, they don’t tell us much about the underlying adverse trends; nor do they indicate some quick and miraculous improvement. Like the climate sceptics who point to the odd colder year, or even just a cold snap, they mistake exceptions for the trend. It simply is not true to suggest that as people get richer, they reverse the declines and get back to anything like what has been lost. Ecosystems are complex; they require firm foundations, and many of the building blocks have been knocked away, diminishing resilience to what is coming. There is not much chance of simply going in reverse gear back to the status quo ante. We can’t just have a couple of hundred years of industrialisation, take a big environmental hit, and then, Humpty-Dumpty-like, try to put it all back together again. Nature doesn’t work like that: much has gone for good – because of us, and the inefficient short-term economy we have built.

The fundamental building blocks of natural capital – the soils, groundwater, the river catchments and the air – are not getting much better. Soils are still deteriorating from a terrible baseline; groundwater will continue to deteriorate for at least another 60 years even if we limit current pollution;3 the carbon in the atmosphere has exceeded 400 parts per million and does not appear to have peaked;4 and the mayflies in many rivers are now scarce. Statistically, adding more and more aliens as the globalisation of species plays out may increase the narrow measure of species biodiversity, but this is not the same thing as improving ecosystems. Counting species does not tell us much about the health of our environment. Zoos have lots of species, but not lots of nature.

While it is true that the chemicals applied to the land are sometimes used to a lesser extent than they once were, and in a narrow sense water quality has improved, in a dynamic ecosystem stopping pollution inputs does not halt the decline in the underlying assets. A tanker can stop its engines, but it will plough on for a long way before coming to a halt.

What is missing, and what matters, is the aggregate measure of the overall state of our natural capital, as well as the constituent parts, and the overall state of the natural environment that has been lost since the Industrial Revolution, and especially since the coming of industrial agriculture. A full picture will have to wait until proper national natural capital balance sheets have been developed and populated with good data. In time and with the explosion of new digital technologies to do the measuring, this will be possible and the numbers for the past can be added, in the way in which numbers for populations and economic performance in past centuries have been added to the national statistics by painstaking research.

In the absence of an aggregate, the best that can be done is to piece together the evidence for the main categories of our natural capital. This is something that naturalists and conservationists and ecologists have been doing for a long time. There are bird atlases, plant atlases, insect and butterfly atlases, and reptile and amphibian atlases, and there are New Naturalist studies on specific species and habitats. The non-governmental organisations (NGOs) have brought much of this together in the ‘State of Nature’ reports, led by the RSPB (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds).5 Steps to develop more comprehensive databases, using the full panoply of digital mapping techniques, will shortly give us a real-time and extremely detailed understanding of exactly what is going on.

This is not the place to try to provide a comprehensive summary. It is both beyond the scope of this book, and well beyond the abilities of an economist to construct. The direction of travel is, however, pretty clear, and it is this that we need to bear in mind in being realistic about the baselines, the scale of the challenges, and the disastrous consequences that will follow if we do nothing to hold the line.

More declines

The easy bit is the non-renewables which, as the name implies, can be used once.6 Nature has endowed us with them – they are natural – but they do not renew themselves except over geological time. They include the coal, iron ore, tin, oil and gas upon which our economy has been built and remains utterly dependent. Unsurprisingly, we know a lot about them. There are detailed measurements of the volumes mined and extracted, and there is also price data. This least interesting dimension of natural capital is the easiest to measure. It is also the dimension of which, by 2050, much will have been exhausted or, in the case of coal, oil and gas, hopefully left in the ground. In chapter 10, we will see that we should compensate future generations for what we have consumed, and for the legacy of carbon and other mineral pollution we have left behind from our largely selfish use of these non-renewables.

When it comes to the really important stuff, the renewables – the natural capital that nature can keep on giving us for ever – there are two obvious starting points. The first is the bits we are familiar with: the birds, plants, mammals, fish and invertebrates. The second, the one we concentrate on throughout, is the habitats and ecosystems, including the river catchments, the farmed lands, the uplands, the coasts and the urban areas.

How bad could the river catchments get in a business-as-usual scenario? Think of the stresses they already face. If you drink tap water in London it is often said that it may have already been through up to seven people.7 That water will have been abstracted from rivers and cleaned of all the chemicals that have leached into it, and will be again after your sewage has been collected, processed and discharged back into the river. It might also include raw sewage from storm overflows. The sewage, before it is treated, will be contaminated with pharmaceutical products. Take a look in the cupboard under your sink. See the cleaning fluids you put down the sink and the toilet. Take a look in your bathroom at all the products you use. Many of these end up down the plughole, and we all just expect the environment – in this case the rivers – to absorb them. You turn on the tap and you expect clean water to flow. You water your garden and wash the car with this costly, treated water, and you don’t want to pay much for it.

Yet that is just the beginning. We go on tipping more and more fertilisers, pesticides and herbicides into our watercourses, and allow the silt to run off the land from intensive farming practices. Industry adds its pollution too. Add all the plastic and other rubbish that gets thrown in and you can see the results alongside any major river.

Now add another quarter-century of all this. Add more and more chemicals, and more demand for more water for everything from land irrigation to servicing the expanding population. The National Infrastructure Commission8 recommends a new water grid to connect major rivers just to meet demand (and without much regard for the environmental consequences of the mixing of waters).9

Now add climate change on top. You may be confused by the various claims about the impacts of climate change. Droughts, floods and plagues make the headlines, and dire warnings may induce scepticism or, worse, fatalism, but behind the hysteria lie some very inconvenient predictions. Heat in summer means more demand for water.10 Floods in winter mean more silt and more pollution. The river life is adapted to what we have, not the climate we might get. For the river catchments, business-as-usual for another quarter of a century looks bad.

Agriculture plays a big part in both water demand and pollution and much else. A common theme in all these sad tales of decline is the impacts of modern farming not just on specific species, but on farmland birds generally and on the state of our rivers and on inshore marine environments and on the emissions and air-quality consequences and on the loss of invertebrates and mammals and the serious decline in the soils. It is beyond doubt that it is the intensification of farming, and in particular the application of chemicals, that is a primary driver of this major environmental damage.

By 2050, targeted chemicals should be able to get rid of almost anything that competes with or damages crops. Indeed, many can now. Almost all arable weeds (and in some robotic applications every individual weed) can be killed off with the non-selective herbicide glyphosate. That is why one well-known brand is called ‘Roundup’. As glyphosate comes under increasing regulatory scrutiny, replacements are on their way. Without a change of direction in agriculture, by 2050 herbicides will be completely and selectively engineered for specific crops, and pesticides will finish off specific insects. Ultimately nothing will be left for wildlife to eat. By 2050 it will largely be over.

The uplands will not escape these pressures in the business-as-usual scenario. Being home to a lot of biodiversity now does not mean they will continue to be so. The economics of marginal upland farming is already precarious. If and when the main elements of the CAP wither away, and in the absence of proactive efforts to protect and enhance the uplands, things could go downhill very quickly. This farmed landscape could revert to ranch-style extensive farming, to intensive game-shooting and to development. Worse still, it might simply be abandoned. The rewilders might like this idea. Let the scrub grow back and then the woodlands re-clothe the hills. Except it will not be like this. The uplands are farmed landscapes. It is farmers who have shaped the landscapes that so many people, and so much of nature, enjoy. Farmers created the hedgerows, and the ditches and the lanes and the meadows. Grazing stock is the essence of the uplands. Woodland birds and woodland mammals might benefit, but this will not conserve the nature and landscapes we so admire today. By 2050 the uplands may be playgrounds still, but not the playgrounds we know now. Few think that zero subsidies will produce a helpful answer, except those who simply want us humans to abandon the land.

The impacts of farm pollution are exacerbated by other developments. Fish farms bring direct pollution to our coasts, and perhaps even more pernicious is the harvesting of sand eels and other small marine life to feed the farmed salmon. Direct pollution from shipping, from oil slicks and the washing of tanks at sea (including now palm oil), to the illegal dumping of waste and chemicals, all contribute to the declines. Plastics have become ubiquitous in our seas and along our coasts. Their sources are all largely out of sight, diffuse, and able to escape the law.11 These are largely out of control. By 2050, with lots more trade and shipping, with lots more fish farms, and with global warming impacting on already stressed ecosystems, there may be no puffins, few gulls, and below the surface a more lifeless habitat. By 2050, eels and wild salmon might be an occasional rarity, as their populations decline below the thresholds for renewing themselves naturally.

The threats to our urban environment out to 2050 are about both its size and its content. There can be little doubt there is going to be a lot more ‘urban’ in 25 years’ time. More greenfield and brownfield sites12 will be built on, new villages and towns will be built, and the built land area will absorb more and more of the Green Belt. There will be quite a lot of semi-urban sprawl for the ‘executive homes’ so beloved and profitable to the building companies. It is not inevitable that all of these developments will have less biodiversity than the land they concrete over. But concrete they will, and without strong net environmental gain compensations, the aggregate impacts are probably going to be worse. For every showcase green development project, there are many that are anything but.

In terms of the content of urban areas, the temptation to concrete over the green spaces in our towns and cities will become increasingly intense. The parks and gardens are going backwards for a variety of reasons, and over the next quarter of a century, if we carry on as we are, these will gradually disappear. What remain may be turned into amusement parks, and nature will get squeezed out. Brownfield sites, even where they have surprisingly high levels of biodiversity, will go under concrete.

What is coming next

The above stock-taking is a picture of general declines, with some noticeable exceptions. Almost all of the causes are known and persistent, and all can and should be dealt with. Yet what dramatically raises the stakes are the new challenges the natural environment is facing. Without positive action, all the trends described above will continue. It will be a picture of gradual declines, punctuated by sudden population collapses and occasional trumpeted successes. As resilience is tested, one day you will look up and there won’t be any swallows and swifts in May. The scary thing is that you might not even notice. For the next generation, it may be a case of not missing what they have never seen, except in pictures and films.