Tag: University of Bristol

Back to the Future ‘Hothouse’

Posted on by janet.crompton

Our current global warming target and the trajectory it places us on, towards a future ‘Hothouse Earth’, has been the subject of much recent discussion, stimulated by a paper by Will Steffen and colleagues.  In many respects, the key contribution of this paper and similar work is to extend the temporal framing of our climate discussions, beyond 2100 for several centuries or more.  Analogously, it is useful to extend our perspective backwards to similar time periods, to reflect on the last time Earth experienced such a Hothouse state and what it means.

The Steffen et al paper allows for a variety of framings, all related to the range of natural physical, biological and chemical feedbacks that will amplify or mitigate the human intervention in climate.  [Note: the authors frame their paper around the concept of a limited number of steady state scenarios/temperatures for the Earth.  They then argue that aiming for 2C, potentially an unstable state, could trigger feedbacks tipping the world towards the 4C warmer Hothouse.  I find that to be somewhat simplistic given the diversity of climate states that have existed, if even transiently, over the past 15 million years, but that is a discussion for another day.] From my perspective, the most useful framing – and one that remains true to the spirit of the paper is this: We have set a global warming limit of 2C by 2100, with an associated carbon budget. What feedback processes will that carbon budget and warming actually unleash over the coming century,  how much additional warming will they add, and when?

That is a challenging set of questions that comes with a host of caveats, most related to the profound uncertainty in the interlinked biogeochemical processes that underpin climate feedbacks. For example, as global warming thaws the permafrost, will it release methane (with a high global warming potential than carbon dioxide)? Will the thawed organic matter oxidise to carbon dioxide or will it be washed and buried in the ocean? And will the increased growth of plants under warmer conditions lead instead to the sequestration of carbon dioxide? The authors refer to previous studies that suggest a permafrost feedback yielding an additional 0.1C warming by the end of the century; but there is great uncertainty in both the magnitude of that impact and its timing.

And timing is the great question at the heart of this perspective piece.  I welcome it, because too often our perspective is fixed on the arbitrary date of 2100, knowing full well that the Earth will continue to warm and ice continue to melt long after that date.  In this sense, Steffen et al is not a contradiction to what has been reported from the IPCC but an expansion on it.

Classically, we discuss these issues in terms of fast and slow feedbacks, but in fact there is a continuum between near instantaneous feedbacks and those that act over hundreds, thousands or even millions of years.  A warmer atmosphere will almost immediately hold more water vapour, providing a rapid positive feedback on warming – and one that is included in all of those IPCC projections.  More slowly, soil carbon, including permafrost, will begin to oxidise, with microbial activity stimulated and accelerated under warmer conditions – a feedback that is only just now being included in Earth system models.  And longer term, all manner of processes will come into play – and eventually, they will include the negative feedbacks that have helped regulate Earth’s climate for the past 4 billion years.

There is enough uncertainty in these processes to express caution in some of the press’s more exuberant reporting of this topic.  But lessons from the past certainly underscore the concerns articulated by Steffen et al.  We think that the last time Earth had 410 ppm CO2, a level similar to what you are breathing right now, was the Pliocene about 3 million years ago.  This was a world that was 1 to 2C warmer than today (i.e. 2 to 3C warmer than the pre-industrial Earth) and with sea levels about 10 m higher.  This suggests that we are already locked into a world that far exceeds the ambitions and targets of the Paris Agreement.  This is not certain as we live on a different planet and one where the great ice sheets of Greenland and Antarctica might not only be victims of climate change but climate stabilisers through ice-sheet hysteresis. And even if a Pliocene future is fixed, it might take centuries for that warming and sea level change to be realised.

But that analogue does suggest caution, as advocated by the Hothouse Earth authors.

It also prompts us to ask what the Earth was like the last time its atmosphere held about 500 ppm CO2, similar to the level needed to achieve the Paris Agreement to limit end-of-century warming below 2C.  A useful analogue for those greenhouse gas levels is the Middle Miocene Climate Optimum, which occurred from 17 to 14.7 million years ago.

Figure showing changes in ocean temperature (based on oxygen isotopic compositions of benthic foraminifera) and pCO2 over the past 60 million years (from Palaeo-CO2).  Solid symbols are from the d11B isotope proxy and muted symbols are from the alkenone-based algal carbon isotope fractional proxy. Note the spike in pCO2 associated with the MMCO at about 15 million years ago.

As one would expect for a world with markedly higher carbon dioxide levels, the Miocene was hotter than the climate of today.  And consistent with many of Steffen et al.’s arguments, it was about 4C hotter rather than a mere 2C, likely due to the range of carbon cycle and ice-albedo feedbacks they describe.  But such warmth was not uniform – globally warmer temperatures of 4C manifest as far hotter temperatures in some parts of the world and only slightly warmer temperatures elsewhere. Pollen and microbial molecular fossils from the North Sea, for example, indicate that Northern Europe experienced sub-tropical climates.

But what were the impacts of this warmth?  What is a 4C warmer world like?  To understand that, we also need to understand the other ways in which the Miocene world differed from ours, not just due to carbon dioxide concentrations but also the ongoing movement of the continents and the continuing evolution of life.  In both respects, the Miocene was broadly similar to today.  The continents were in similar positions, and the geography of the Miocene is one we would recognise. But there were subtle differences, including the ongoing uplift of the Himalayas and the yet-to-be-closed gateway between North and South America, and these subtle differences could have had major impacts on Asian climate and the North Atlantic circulation, respectively.

Similarly, the major animal groups had evolved by this point, and mammals had firmly established their dominance in a world separated by 50 million years from the dinosaurs.  Remnant groups from earlier times (hell pigs!) still terrorised the landscape, but many of the groups were the same or closely related to those we would recognise today.  And although hominins would not appear until the end of the Miocene, the apes had become well established, represented by as many as a 100 species. In the oceans, the differences were perhaps more apparent, the seas thriving with the greatest diversity of cetaceans in the history of our planet and associated with them the gigantic macro-predators such as Charcharadon megalodon (The MegTM).

Smithsonian mural showing Miocene Fauna and landscape.

But it is the plants that exhibit the most pronounced differences between modern and Miocene life. Grasses had only recent proliferated across the planet at the time of the MMCO, and the C4 plants had yet to expand to their current dominance. And in this regard, the long-term evolution of Earth’s climate likely played a crucial role.  There are about 8100 species of C4 plants (although this comprises only 3% of the plant species known to us) and most of these are grasses with other notable species being maize and sugar cane. They are distinguished from the dominant C3 plants, which comprise almost all other species, by virtue of their carbon dioxide assimilation biochemistry (the Hatch-Slack mechanism) and their leaf cellular physiology (the Kranz leaf anatomy).  It is a collective package that is exceptionally well adapted to low carbon dioxide conditions, and their global expansion about 7 million years ago was almost certainly related to the long-term decline in carbon dioxide from the high levels of the Middle Miocene. Although C4 plants only represent a small proportion of modern plant species, the Miocene world, bereft of them, would have looked far different than today – lacking nearly half of our modern grass species and by extension clear analogues to the vast African savannahs.

Aside from these, the most profound differences between the Miocene world and that of today would have been the direct impacts of higher global temperatures.  There is strong evidence that the Greenland ice sheet was far reduced in size compared to that of today, and its extent and even whether or not it was a persistent ice sheet or an ephemeral one remains the subject of debate. Similarly, West Antarctica was likely devoid of permanent ice, and the East Antarctic Ice Sheet was probably smaller – perhaps far smaller – than it is today.  And collectively, these smaller ice sheets were associated with a sea level that was about 40 m higher than that of today.

The hot Miocene world would have been different in other ways, including the hydrological cycle.  Although less studied than for other ancient intervals, it is almost certain that elevated warmth – and markedly smaller equator-to-pole temperature differences – would have impacted the global distribution of water.  More water was evidently exported to the high latitudes, resulting in a warmer and vegetated Antarctica where the ice had retreated. It was also likely associated with far more extreme rainfall events, with the hot air able to hold greater quantities of water.  More work is needed, but it is tempting to imagine the impact of these hot temperatures and extreme rainfall events.  They would have eroded the soil and flushed nutrients to the sea, perhaps bringing about the spread of anoxic dead zones, similar to the Oceanic Anoxic Events of the Mesozoic or the dead zones of modern oceans caused by agricultural run-off. Indeed, the Miocene is characterised by the deposition of some very organic-rich rocks, including the North Pacific Monterey Formation, speaking to the occurrence of reduced oxygen levels in parts of these ancient oceans.

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It is unclear if our ambitions to limit global warming to 2C by the end of this century really have put us on a trajectory for 4C. It is unclear if we are destined to return to the Miocene.

But if so, the Miocene world is one both similar to but markedly distinct from our own – a world of hotter temperatures, extremes of climate, fewer grasslands, Antarctic vegetation, Arctic forests and far higher sea levels. Crucially, it is not the world for which our current society, its roads, cities, power plants, dams, borders, farmlands and treaties, has been designed.

Moreover, the MMCO Earth is a world that slowly evolved from an even warmer one over millions of years*; and that then evolved over further millions of years to the one in which we now inhabit. It is not a world that formed in a hundred or even a thousand years.  And that leaves us three final lessons from the past.  First, we do not know how the life of this planet, from coral reefs to the great savannahs, will respond to such geologically rapid change.  Second, we do not know how we will respond to such rapid change; if we must adapt, we must learn how to do so creatively, flexibly and equitably.  And third, it is probably not too late to prevent such a future from materialising, but even if it is, we still must act to slow down that rate of change to which we must adapt.

And we still must act to ensure that our future world is only 4C hotter and analogous to the Miocene; if we fail to act, the world will be even hotter, and we will have to extend our geological search 10s of millions of years further into the past, back to the Eocene, to find an even hotter and extreme analogue for our future Hothouse World.

*The final jump into the MMCO appears to have been somewhat more sudden, but still spanned around two-hundred thousand years.  A fast event geologically but not on the timescales of human history.

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This blog is written by Cabot Institute member Professor Rich Pancost, Head of Earth Sciences at the University of Bristol. This blog has been reposted with kind permission from Rich’s original blog.

Rich Pancost

Belo Monte: there is nothing green or sustainable about these mega-dams

Posted on by janet.crompton

 

File 20180807 191041 1xhv2ft.png?ixlib=rb 1.1
Google Maps

There are few dams in the world that capture the imagination as much as Belo Monte, built on the “Big Bend” of the Xingu river in the Brazilian Amazon. Its construction has involved an army of 25,000 workers working round the clock since 2011 to excavate over 240m cubic metres of soil and rock, pour three million cubic metres of concrete, and divert 80% of the river’s flow through 24 turbines.

 

The dam is located about 200km before the 1,640km Xingu meets the Amazon. kmusser, CC BY-SA

Costing R$30 billion (£5.8 billion), Belo Monte is important not only for the scale of its construction but also the scope of opposition to it. The project was first proposed in the 1970s, and ever since then, local indigenous communities, civil society and even global celebrities have engaged in numerous acts of direct and indirect action against it.

While previous incarnations had been cancelled, Belo Monte is now in the final stages of construction and already provides 11,233 megawatts of energy to 60m Brazilians across the country. When complete, it will be the largest hydroelectric power plant in the Amazon and the fourth largest in the world.

Indigenous protests against Belo Monte at the UN’s sustainable development conference in Rio, 2012. Fernando Bizerra Jr / EPA

A ‘sustainable’ project?

The dam is to be operated by the Norte Energia consortium (formed of a number of state electrical utilities) and is heavily funded by the Brazilian state development bank, BNDES. The project’s supporters, including the governments of the Partido dos Trabalhadores (Workers’ Party) that held office between 2003 and 2011, have justified its construction on environmental grounds. They describe Belo Monte as a “sustainable” project, linking it to wider policies of climate change mitigation and a transition away from fossil fuels. The assertions of the sustainability of hydropower are not only seen in Brazil but can be found across the globe – with large dams presented as part of wider sustainable development agendas.

With hydropower representing 16.4% of total global installed energy capacity, hydroelectric dams are a significant part of efforts to reduce carbon emissions. More than 2,000 such projects are currently funded via the Clean Development Mechanism of the 1997 Kyoto Protocol – second only to wind power by number of individual projects.

While this provides mega-dams with an environmental seal of approval, it overlooks their numerous impacts. As a result, dams funded by the CDM are contested across the globe, with popular opposition movements highlighting the impacts of these projects and challenging their asserted sustainability.

Beautiful hill, to beautiful monster

Those standing against Belo Monte have highlighted its social and environmental impacts. An influx of 100,000 construction and service workers has transformed the nearby city of Altamira, for instance.

Hundreds of workers – unable to find employment – took to sleeping on the streets. Drug traffickers also moved in and crime and violence soared in the city. The murder rate in Altamira increased by 147% during the years of Belo Monte construction, with it becoming the deadliest city on earth in 2015.

In 2013, police raided a building near the construction site to find 15 women, held against their will and forced into sex work. Researchers later found that the peak hours of visits to their building – and others – coincided with the payday of those working on Belo Monte. In light of this social trauma, opposition actors gave the project a new moniker: Belo Monstro, meaning “Beautiful Monster”.

The construction of Belo Monte is further linked to increasing patterns of deforestation in the region. In 2011, deforestation in Brazil was highest in the area around Belo Monte, with the dam not only deforesting the immediate area but stimulating further encroachment.

In building roads to carry both people and equipment, the project has opened up the wider area of rainforest to encroachment and illegal deforestation. Greenpeace has linked illegal deforestation in indigenous reserves – more than 200km away – to the construction of the project, with the wood later sold to those building the dam.

Brazil’s past success in reversing deforestation rates became a key part of the country’s environmental movement. Yet recently deforestation has increased once again, leading to widespread international criticism. With increasing awareness of the problem, the links between hydropower and the loss of the Amazon rainforest challenge the continued viability of Belo Monte and similar projects.

Big dams, big problems

While the Clean Development Mechanism focuses on the reduction of carbon emissions, it overlooks other greenhouse gases emitted by hydropower. Large dams effectively emit significant quantities of methane for instance, released by the decomposition of plants and trees below the reservoir’s surface. While methane does not stay in the atmosphere for as long as carbon dioxide (only persisting for up to 12 years), its warming potential is far higher.

Belo Monte has been linked to these methane emissions by numerous opposition actors. Further research has found that the vegetation rotting in the reservoirs of dams across the globe may emit a million tonnes of greenhouse gases per year. As a result, it is claimed that these projects are – in fact – making a net contribution to climate change.

Far from providing a sustainable, renewable energy solution in a climate-changed world, Belo Monte is instead cast as exacerbating the problem that it is meant to solve.

The ConversationBelo Monte is just one of many dams across the globe that have been justified – and funded – as sustainable pursuits. Yet, this conflates the ends with the means. Hydroelectricity may appear relatively “clean” but the process in which a mega-dam is built is far from it. The environmental credentials of these projects remain contested, with Belo Monte providing just one example of how the sustainability label may finally be slipping.

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This blog is written by Cabot Institute member Ed Atkins, Senior Teaching Associate, School of Geographical Sciences, University of Bristol.  This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

Ed Atkins

Will July’s heat become the new normal?

Posted on by janet.crompton
Saddleworth Moor fire near Stalybridge, England, 2018.  Image credit: NASA

For the past month, Europe has experienced a significant heatwave, with both high temperatures and low levels of rainfall, especially in the North. Over this period, we’ve seen a rise in heat-related deaths in major cities, wildfires in Greece, Spain and Portugal, and a distinct ‘browning’ of the European landscape visible from space.

As we sit sweltering in our offices, the question on everyone’s lips seems to be “are we going to keep experiencing heatwaves like this as the climate changes?” or, to put it another way, “Is this heat the new norm?”

Leo Hickman, Ed Hawkins, and others, have spurred a great deal of social media interest with posts highlighting how climate events that are currently considered ‘extreme’, will at some point be called ‘typical’ as the climate evolves.

As part of a two-year project on how future climate impacts different sectors (www.happimip.org), my colleagues and I have been developing complex computer simulations to explore our current climate as well as possible future climates. Specifically, we’re comparing what the world will look like if we meet the targets set out in the Paris agreement: to limit the global average temperature rise to a maximum of 2.0 degrees warming above pre-industrial levels but with the ambition of limiting warming to 1.5 degrees.

The world is already around 1 degree warmer on average than pre-industrial levels, and the evidence to date shows that every 0.5 degree of additional warming will make a significant difference to the weather we experience in the future.

So, we’ve been able to take those simulations and ask the question: What’s the probability of us experiencing European temperatures like July 2018 again if:

  1. We don’t emit any further greenhouse gases and things stay as they are (1 degree above pre-industrial levels).
  2. Greenhouse gas emissions are aggressively reduced, restricting global average temperature rise to 1.5 degrees above pre-industrial levels.
  3. Greenhouse gas emissions are reduced to a lesser extent, restricting global average temperature rise by 2 degrees above pre-industrial levels.

What we’ve found is that European heat of at least the temperatures we have experienced this July are likely to re-occur about once every 5-6 years, on average, in our current climate. While this seems often, remember we have already experienced 1C of global increase in temperature. We’ve also considered the temperature over the whole of Europe, not just focusing on the more extreme parts of the heatwave. If we considered only the hottest regions, this would push our current temperature re-occurrence times closer to 10-20 years. However, using this Europe-wide definition of the current heat event, we find that in the 1.5C future world, temperatures at least this high would occur every other year, and in a 2C world, four out of five summers would likely have heat events that are at least as hot as our current one. Worryingly, our current greenhouse gas emission trajectory is leading us closer to 3C, so urgent and coordinated action is still needed from our politicians around the world.

Our climate models are not perfect, and they cannot capture all aspects of the current heatwave, especially concerning the large-scale weather pattern that ‘blocked’ the cooler air from ending our current heatwave. These deficiencies increase the uncertainty in our future projections, but we still trust the ball-park figures.

Whilst these results are not peer-reviewed, and should be considered as preliminary findings, it is clear that the current increased heat experienced over Europe has a significant impact on society, and that there will be even more significant impacts if we were to begin experiencing these conditions as much as our analysis suggests.

Cutting our emissions now will save us a hell of a headache later.

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This blog is written by Dr Dann Mitchell (@ClimateDann) and Peter Uhe from the University of Bristol Geographical Sciences department and the Cabot Institute for the Environment.

Dann Mitchell

Grey Britain: Misery, urbanism & neuroaesthetics

Posted on by janet.crompton
View of London from the Sky Garden (source: skygarden.london).
 
“We have created a Star Wars civilization, with Stone Age emotions. We thrash about and are a danger to ourselves and the rest of life.” – E.O. Wilson, The Social Conquest of the Earth (2012).

 

In a previous article I have discussed the use of simple patterns to interpret the complexity of nature and the human interface with it. Here, I will illustrate this concept on a larger canvas, discussing this interface, between nature and social systems, more thoroughly. This final article, in the series on inter-disciplinary work I have written for the University of Bristol Cabot Institute for the Environment, is partially motivated by my personal interest in the cycle of urbanism, the associated architecture and concepts. It is also motivated by a project I followed closely during a past flirtation with living and working in London and the comparable changes I see happening around me in Bristol, where I currently live and work.
Billboard #1 from London is Changing project (source: londonischanging.org).

‘London is Changing’ was an arts project undertaken by Dr. Rebecca Ross at Central St. Martins in 2015. It highlighted the effects of economic policy in the capital by displaying the stories of individuals relocating in, out and within the capital, out of choice and necessity, on billboards around the city. On one level, this project introduced me to the plight of individuals whose movements are determined by expropriation, economic policy or various other processes largely beyond their control. On another level, it gave me an insight into the emotional response this change in environment can invoke in those undertaking such change.

Indeed, as modern society has ridden the wave of an economy of concentrated wealth creation the transient notion of moving somewhere new for education or employment has become a perceived norm. Yet, there is a polarising undercurrent to this wave, in which generations of individuals face the prospect of never being able to afford to permanently root themselves to the environment, where the terms ‘gentrification’ and ‘displacement’ have come to define the nature of settlement and where our demand, and in some cases, expectation, of a ‘home’ is placing an unsustainable strain on ourselves, materials, space and the environment at large. Be it due to social, economic or environmental causes, these trends are effectively driving people further from their familiar habitat and immediate social connections, which leads to social destabilisation – a key contributing factor of societal vulnerability.

Billboard #2 from London is Changing project (source: londonischanging.org).
The inter-environmental patterns of displacement and resettlement are as intriguing as they are worrying. Similarly, a concept related to this physical displacement, the notion of intra-environmental displacement is one which can set the foundations of an unstable social system. This is to say, an emotional displacement characterised by a detachment created through rapid physical change of the surrounding environment, one that can enhance the disconnection between people and their environment and, in some cases; other people. Notionally linked to gentrification, urban renewal or regeneration is part of the cycle of urbanisation and whilst it does not immediately or physically displace a person from the environment, it’s effects are becoming more documented and this is to a largely negative fanfare.
Drawing on the personal experience of having worked and socialised with residents of the recently regenerated Heygate, Aylesbury, the (old) south Kilburn Estates in London and coupling this with my academic work and interest, I have given great consideration to the phenomena of intra-environmental connection and disconnection. Indeed, the initial results of my own research with flooding and social systems is conspecific with the kind of systematic social change discussed in this article, differing only in temporal scale, whereby enhanced social interaction has the potential to negate the detrimental effects of uninvited change, be it rapid onset as is the case with a flood inundation or prolonged onset via environmental redevelopment, to the structure of the social system. Observing the changes currently taking place in Bristol, at Temple Quarter and along the southern bank of the Avon, I feel urgency in the need to communicate the detrimental potential of poor foresight, as well as the positive potential of implementing new approaches, in urban development and renewal of any kind.

The Biophilic Hypothesis, P2P Urbanism & Neuroasthetics

Biophilia is a term that was first introduced by psychoanalyst Erich Fromm in 1973’s ‘The anatomy of human destructiveness’ to describe a “passionate love of life and all that is alive”. One only needs to pause for a moment to consider this term in relation to current global affairs to concur with the author in his estimation that it is distinctly lacking from the zeitgeist of our time.
Biologist and foremost proponent of sociobiology, E.O. Wilson later utilised the term to describe “the urge to affiliate with other forms of life”. Wilson has suggested that this urge, to affiliate and connect with one another, other species and the natural environment at large is a biological necessity in the continuation of our species. Furthermore, Wilson has also suggested that a true or complete biophilic environment would be one that provides an appropriate habitat and home whilst also naturally connecting the human to the environment via the promotion of natural social and environmental connections. The biophilic principle has acted as the inspiration and catalyst for a divergence in thinking related to modern urban theory.

The structure of life I have described in buildings is deeply and inextricably connected with the human person and with the innermost nature of human feeling

 – Christopher Alexander, Nature of Order (1963).
Nikos Salingaros and Christopher Alexander, leading design theorists, polymaths and ardent critics of modern architectural design, have suggested in their works that a historic shift in urban architectural design accompanying post-world war II urbanisation, based on a supposed ideal concept of order over function or form, has become a pseudo-standard leading to a widespread loss of environmental identity at the human scale within the built environment initially through sprawl and latterly grand-scale, monoculture.
This loss of identity occurs through a number of routes, aesthetically via design or use of distally sourced materials, unclear structural purpose via desired use of the structure superseding local need or location via dramatic replacement of a visually recognisable building of historic or social importance. Salingaros and Alexander have suggested that this loss of identity lends itself to a loss of societal orientation and has partially or fully led to the proliferation of all things from social polarisation to the increasing rates of mental ill health in urbanised areas.
Drawing influence from Wilson’s concept of concilience, Salingaros has proposed many alternative solutions for the reconciliation of urban development at the human scale, solutions which are based on rigour with a view to addressing future human needs and ambitions. One of the most ambitious and rigorous of these solutions is P2P Urbanism.
P2P Urbanism is a process of open-source urban intervention carried out cooperatively across a spectrum of people and agencies with vested interest in the evolution of their urban environment, not just architects and city planners. It is primarily based on the application of analogous techniques of file sharing and open-source software with design patterns generated by Christopher Alexander. The idea underpinning P2P being that it is a reflection of the human elements available for input and so, theoretically, will reflect the very needs and ambitions of those engaging with the process. Thus, with greater engagement, across a broad spectrum of human groups and agencies, P2P can potentially address the need for reconnection of the urban environment at a human scale whilst offering progressive alternatives to urban sprawl and monoculture through Alexander’s designs; a potentially true reflection of us in the environment within which we reside. With Bristol’s burgeoning IT-centric industry, the potential a concept like P2P has to illicit a desirable trend of urbanisation, one which fosters a reconnection between people and place, is great.
Jinu Kitchely states, in her 2015 article on Fractals in Architecture, that “architecture as an art form enjoys the privilege of spatiality in addressing human perception and sense.” A complete biophilic environment would be one which fully addresses human perception and sense, “architects who have responded to this instinctive need, by going beyond structural constraints and catered to the emotional needs of the user, have historically achieved much more than the creation of mere shelters.” An obvious source of inspiration for the biophilic environment is nature, with many architects and designers “probing vehemently into the nature of natural forms and organisms to identify and understand the great concepts of the master designer.”
A key concept of the biophilic principle, as applied to architectural design, is the incorporation of nature’s morphology iteratively in the urban re-shaping process. I have previously spoken about how complexity arises from fractal systems, the basic quality of fractal geometry being that it is iteratively-defined – it must be described in terms of steps involving the result of previous steps. Over infinity, fractal generation is recursive and so, in theory is infinitely complex. Benoit Mandelbrot stated in his seminal book ‘The Fractal Geometry of Nature’ that the physical manifestation of this theory, of objects substituting themselves for copies of themselves, can be seen all around us and is the basic process that underpins all living things. Christopher Alexander’s analogue for this is that of a bone’s form which, evenly distributes structural stress across its surface, emerges as a result of a biological program telling cells to add bone mass where stress is likely to be greatest and so is an example of physical and structural feedback shaping the object.
Analysis from Richard Taylor’s research suggests that eye patterns traced from observations of Jackson Pollock’s paintings (left) elicit a significant physiological response in the posterior of the human brain that reduces stress through pattern recognition (right) (source: blogs.uoregon.edu).
Professor of Physics, Psychology and Art at the University of Oregon, Richard Taylor has created an interdisciplinary team that investigates the physiological response of humans when they observe these fractal patterns. Termed fractal expressionism, using work produced by Pollock and Escher, Taylor’s team has found that the format in which people examine these patterns can elicit a positive physiological response, one which reduces stress as the fractal structure of the human visual cortex resonates with the fractal image identified. From the discovery of fire by early humans to the evolution of contemporary artistic concepts, neural and physiological sense and response to natural, iterative patterns of the world around us has been influential in directing the evolution of the human brain and its emotive response system. From this understanding, it seems logical to assume that the structures we build in the environment around us possess the potential to have an impact on this system too.

Connection & disconnection

 

 

Images of the Heygate Estate, Elephant and Castle, London taken in 2014 pre-demolition, post-expropriation. (source: top middle by Tom O’Shea. Bottom: LDNGRAFITTI.co.uk
Now, as this colloquy reaches a coda it feels important to illustrate some examples of successes and failures in respect of that which is written above. The images directly above, taken of the Heygate Estate in London once all residents had been removed from the large estate complex; some forcibly others under enforced willingness – as their lifelong homes were subject to a compulsory re-purchase at 40% of their actual value. The images depict discontent and anger, indeed more damning than the enormous displacement of a strong community under duress, is that the majority of flats and houses built on the land of the Heygate have been sold to overseas investors for a price vastly above what the old flats were purchased for. It is clear that this style of urbanisation is one which fosters a disconnection between people and place.
The iconic Trellick Tower, Westbourne Park, London. Considered an eyesore in its early days and symbol of failure for the utopian architectural ideals of the ‘streets in the sky’ movement of the 60’s. The brutalist structure is now credited as a glowing success of how distinct architectural style can connect a community (source: architectsjournal.co.uk).
Just one and a half miles away from the Heygate is Trellick tower. Ernö Goldfinger’s brutalist 70’s masterpiece, designed as a positive response to the ‘architecture of doom’ employed by the Nazi’s during WWII. The tower employed biophilic facets of utilitarian materials and purpose to create an iconic aesthetic that emphasised robust and reliable living spaces for residents with community as a centrepiece. In the years since its completion, the tower has had a fair share of criticism but has since emerged as an iconic element of the London skyline, an aesthetic centre-point of the city’s urban fabric and one which is now seen as a triumph of biophilic ideals. Much like Corbusier’s Chandigarh and Bofil’s La Murilla Roja, Trellick made the needs of the human scale a priority, with form and function evolving from there. Chandigarh is consistently seen as the standard of how biophilic ideals can be applied to planned cities, Corbusier’s design for the city was based on the human body, and Bofil’s La Murilla, a community housing project in Alicante, looked to connect the residents with the cliffs into which it was built and the sea below, whilst providing a stimulating and iconic aesthetic to foster the sense of a unique community.
Images of La Murilla Roja (top) and The Palace of Assembly, Chandigarh (bottom) (source: Wikipedia).
These iconic buildings and cities contain unique community characteristics, and this is because they incorporate a consideration for just that. As British cities expand to cope with demand and greenfield sites are increasingly developed to provide affordable housing, the concepts discussed above, and examples highlighted throughout, must be considered with a view to sustainable progress. Trellick tower, Chandigarh and the like provide an iconic representation of a time and a place in our relationship with the built and natural environments, they can provide inspiration for what is possible.
Concepts like Salingaros’ P2P urbanism offer an inclusive approach for the future development of cities, currently or due to be, undergoing great change; like Bristol. Ultimately, systematic social vulnerability is a complex convolvulus of interactions on a vast spectrum of scales, addressing it should be a priority and opening the avenues of investigation outlined above is one way to begin.
Sir Denys Lasdun, said of the architect’s job as being “Not to give a client not what he wants but what he never dreamed that he wanted; and when he gets it, he recognises it as something he wanted all the time.” By considering how to connect us with our urban environments more, through the conduit of nature and the biophilic, the author believes that the process of urbanisation can afford us with a sense of place far beyond our dreams and more importantly, one which we should have had all the time. Failing this, follow the advice of the billboard below and enjoy the gifts of nature before they are consumed by the belligerent grey beast of indifferent urbanisation.
Billboard #3 from London is Changing project (source: londonischanging.org).

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This blog was written by Cabot Institute member, Thomas O’Shea, a Ph.D. Researcher at the School of Geographical Sciences, University of Bristol. His interests span Complex Systems, Hydrodynamics, Risk and Resilience and Machine Learning.  Please direct any desired correspondence regarding the above to his university email at: t.oshea@bristol.ac.uk.
Thomas O’Shea
Read Thomas’ other blogs in this series:

Bristol Future’s magical places: Sustainability through the eyes of the community

Posted on by janet.crompton
Silba Island. Credit Wikimedia Commons.

“What is science? Why do we do it?”. I ask these questions to my students a lot, in fact, I spend a lot of time asking myself the same thing.

And of course, as much as philosophy of science has thankfully graced us with a lot of scholars, academics and researchers who have discussed, and even provided answers to these questions, sometimes, when you are buried under piles of papers, staring at your screen for hours and hours on end, it doesn’t feel very science-y, does it?

As a child I always imagined the scientist constantly surrounded by super cool things like the towers around Nicola Tesla, or Cousteau being surrounded by all those underwater wonders. Reality though, as it often does, may significantly differ from your early life expectations. I should have guessed that Ts and Cs would apply… Because there is nothing magnificent about looking for that one bug in your code that made your entire run plot the earth inside out and upside down, at least not for me.

I know for myself, I spend the biggest part of my day looking at my screen, tilting my head slightly to the right like a puppy and trying to make sense of my figures and results. There are days, the really bad days, where I just ask myself out loud “what is this even?!” or “why am I even doing this?”. Screen never answers by the way; for future reference.

And then, there are other days.

As Bristol Futures has now entered its optional unit development phase, the Sustainable Futures team and myself, had the opportunity to visit an amazing island in Croatia. The island of Silba. The purpose of our visit there was to film three Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs) that are working on launching an amazing initiative: project S.I.L.B.A (Sustainability Increases Life Benefits for All). This project is targeting several Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) such as ‘Ethical Consumption and Production’, ‘Life Under Water’, ‘Life on Land’. The goal of the project is to create a waste free, carbon neutral island.

Our amazing cameraman Tim Osgood and myself arrived there thinking we were going to film the three founders of the three NGOs and be on our way. Little did we know about the amazing innovations and initiatives that were already well in place on the island of Silba. So, we decided to film several of the locals as well.

I don’t know what I expected to hear when I asked the locals if they knew ‘what sustainability and sustainable development was’. I guess I just was not prepared for someone like Mio.
Mio used to work in large ships, he used to work the radio. Of course, as technology developed his work wasn’t needed anymore, so he decided to go back to Silba and become a shepherd. For twenty years he has been raising goats and sheep, makes cheese (even vegan cheese from figs!) and sells it all over the world. He also makes and sells honey and olive oil; “sometimes” as he said, when the olive trees have behaved.

We are about to begin the interview; he explains to me that he hasn’t had any alcohol for the last 20 years, but he must smoke.

“Do you know what sustainable development is?”. That was my first question. In retrospect it was probably a very uninformed question.

Mio went away and brought me this very elaborate piece of metal and asked me if I knew what it was. Of course, I didn’t. He explained to me it was a device that helped him stabilize his saw while he would cut the very dry olive tree wood that he needed. All the materials he used for it he had found thrown away in different parts of the island, “this is what sustainable development is” he said.
Quite frankly, I was shocked; and a bit embarrassed.

I come from the Balkans myself. I’ve only lived in the UK and been in academia for 3 years! So how did I forget that of course the communities know what sustainable is? Of course the locals are very aware of all things sustainable, perhaps even more so than someone like myself that now deals these issues from a more theoretical point of view?

It’s funny, well not haha funny, but it is genuinely interesting how once you start dealing with a subject, an issue, a challenge theoretically, how fast and how subtly you can lose contact with what is actually happening out there.

And even the word ‘sustainability’, with all its complexity and definitions (oh the definitions), frameworks and literature, goals and targets, had perhaps slightly lost its meaning until Mio picked up that pile of metals and showed it to me. That’s what it was. Right there. Tangible if slightly scruffy looking.

He either read my face or my mind, so he started talking again and saved me from my own thoughts.
He explained to me the big issues the community of the island is dealing with; water shortage, growing numbers of tourists every year, infrastructure and land use.

“Do you think science can help you? Help this island?” I asked him.

And Mio held my hand and explained to me that what he wants from science, and scientists is to help him solve his problems, his real, everyday problems, and then he can solve the problems of his island; “we can do this, we can clean the island, we dealt with worst issues than plastics on our beaches, but first, first we need water all year round”.

So there you have it; that 70 year old shepherd had just defined both sustainability and science. Right there, in a 20-minute interview.

I came back to the UK feeling better. Better about the piles of papers, the effort, the staring at my screen, the bugs in my code and my screen not answering back; it all didn’t seem like such a big problem anymore.

Because that’s it, that’s what we do. We help Mio, help his island. And there is no better feeling than that.

And I guess this is why I am so very much in love with Bristol Futures at the University of Bristol, for giving us the opportunity to explore those issues, those communities, and ourselves.

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This blog is written by Cabot Institute member Eleni Michalopoulou, a Doctor of Philosophy student in the School of Chemistry at the University of Bristol.
Eleni Michalopoulou

The muddy debate: Is the Severn Estuary biologically productive?

Posted on by janet.crompton
Severn Bridge by Philippa Long

Traditionally, the Severn Estuary has been mistaken for an expansive, featureless landscape, dominated by fast-flowing muddy waters that prevent any pelagic biological activity. Although the latter could be true in terms of phytoplankton development, new research has shed light on the vital role that the benthic algal system has on controlling nutrient dynamics in the estuary.

Estuaries form at the margins between the land and the sea. The complex movement and mixing of freshwater and seawater governed by the tide, along with the trapping and recycling of continentally supplied nutrients and sediment, makes estuaries some of the most ecologically viable ecosystems in the world, in line with the biological productivity of coral reefs and tropical rainforests.

The Severn, the largest of 133 estuaries in the UK, has a mosaic distribution of intertidal mudflats, saltmarshes and wetlands, making it a unique habitat for a wide range of species. Alongside nationally scarce plant species, important wildfowl, wader populations and migratory European birds inhabit and refuel in the biologically-rich banks of the estuary. The estuarine waters are also home to over 100 fish species that use the estuary as a nursery, supporting many of the UK’s commercial fish stocks. With such a wide socio-ecological and economic importance, it is clear why the Severn was designated a Special Area of Conservation in 2009.

However, it’s less obvious as to why it has been over two decades since there have been systematic sampling studies in the Severn. Reviews have come and gone during this time, widely associated with renewable energy projects such as the Severn Barrage, but have often repeated findings from the 1990s. Furthermore, any commercially driven studies and their findings are often not disclosed to researchers or the public. This has left, in many aspects, knowledge of the Severn and its current ecosystem condition in a state of limbo. One aspect that’s often overlooked in many hydrological systems and is often overshadowed by carbon, nitrogen and phosphorus, is the element silicon, which may be one of the most important nutrients in the Severn’s environment.

Sand Bay by Holly Welsby

Why is silicon important?

Dissolved silicon is an important nutrient in aquatic environments, and is essential to siliceous organisms, for example, photosynthetic diatoms, which use dissolved silicon to form their shells (or frustules) made from biogenic silica. Diatoms are broadly categorised as ‘centric’ (round), usually occupying the surface oceans, and ‘pennate’ (long and thin), inhabiting coastal and seafloor environments, including sea ice, and intertidal mudflats such as those in the Severn Estuary.

Despite their small size, diatoms are an important group in supporting most food webs, and due to their abundance, contribute close to half of all surface ocean productivity! Diatoms are a key factor in affecting climate change due to this high productivity, as they remove the greenhouse gas carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere and export the organic carbon from the surface ocean to the seafloor when they die. Dissolved silicon and biogenic silica have been widely used to study marine silicon cycles but the impact that diatoms may have on estuarine cycles, and the potential influence on river silicon inputs to the ocean, has only recently come to light.

Silicon cycling in the Severn Estuary: new research

After the receding of the tide, large intertidal mudflats form along the shores of the Severn Estuary, which has the second largest tidal range in the world! These nutrient-rich intertidal mudflats are inhabited by pennate diatoms that live in microbial mats, called biofilms, on the mudflat surface. These biofilms, which are visible to the naked eye (the golden-brown shimmer that can be observed on the mudflats at low tide), are low in biodiversity but high in diatom abundance. Biofilms are an important food source to many mud-dwelling creatures, such as estuarine ragworm and laver spire snails, and migratory visitors such as the whimbrel and ringed plover. These ‘sticky’ mats also contribute to sediment stabilization, through the production of an organic rich network around sediment grains, and control nutrient fluxes to the overlying water.

Biofilm on the intertidal mudflats of the Severn by Holly Welsby

Compared to the well-studied carbon, nitrogen and phosphorus cycles, the importance of silicon in the Severn Estuary is less well understood. New research that has been carried out at the University of Bristol has aimed to tackle this gap, with an in-depth, seasonal study of silicon cycling along the Severn river-estuary-marine continuum. Each season in 2016, the surface and bottom waters of the Severn were sampled aboard Cardiff University’s research vessel.

It was found that the strong tidal forces and seasonal river flow fluctuations controlled dissolved silicon and other associated nutrients. In line with previous studies, the high mud water content – referred to as turbidity – limited water column primary productivity by blocking out light. This meant that there was minimal biogenic silica production in the water column itself. Instead, biogenic silica depended on the suspended particulate matter, and displayed seasonal cycles associated with benthic biogenic silica production by the diatom biofilms on the mudflats. In other words, the suspended sediment in the Severn not only originated from the rivers discharging into the estuary, but also from the erosion of the intertidal mudflats. This erosion of the mudflats in this high energy system, led to the suspension of the diatom biofilms, and so increased the biogenic silica concentrations in the water column.

This research has shown that since the 1990s reports, diatom biofilm biomass (i.e. their presence) has increased on the mudflats. These diatoms were also efficient at photosynthesis, resulting in a high potential to cycle silicon. These biofilms break up and reform rapidly between tides meaning that a large amount of silica is shuttled from the mudflats to the water column every day. This benthic biogenic silica export, which is transported further compared to dissolved silicon, could dissolve and replenish the Celtic Sea, with the dissolved silicon ready to be used by plankton that supports our commercial fish stocks.

Severn River in winter by Tim Gregory

Looking ahead

The Severn Estuary – in all its natural wonders – is a valuable resource in terms of renewable energy, tourism and business. Many of us also call it home. But what does the future hold for these diatom biofilms on the mudflats of the Severn Estuary? In many ways, their prospects are low. With extreme weather events, erosion and coastal squeezing causing a loss to our mudflat and saltmarsh habitats, influx of microplastics and associated toxins, alongside proposals for large construction projects that may alter sediment/nutrient loadings and deposition patterns, the future of these biofilms hangs is in the balance. But based on recent findings, these diatoms are tolerant to the mudflats harsh environmental conditions, which suggests they have the capability to adapt to these adverse conditions. Diatoms are a miraculous species, and their benefits to the estuary is not fully recognised.

We are beginning to understand that there is a limit to the degree that we can modify our environment, but if we could only assign an economic value to this biologically productive system, perhaps the benthic diatoms future on the Severn Estuary mudflats could be aided.

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This blog has been written by Cabot Institute member Holly Welsby, from the School of Earth Sciences at the University of Bristol.

Coconuts and climate change

Posted on by janet.crompton

Before pursuing an MSc in Climate Change Science and Policy at the University of Bristol, I completed my undergraduate studies in Environmental Science at the University of Colombo, Sri Lanka. During my final year I carried out a research project that explored the impact of extreme weather events on coconut productivity across the three climatic zones of Sri Lanka. A few months ago, I managed to get a paper published and I thought it would be a good idea to share my findings on this platform.

Climate change and crop productivity

There has been a growing concern about the impact of extreme weather events on crop production across the globe, Sri Lanka being no exception. Coconut is becoming a rare commodity in the country, due to several reasons including the changing climate. The price hike in coconuts over the last few years is a good indication of how climate change is affecting coconut productivity across the country. Most coconut trees are no longer bearing fruits and those that do, have nuts which are relatively very small in size.

Coconut production in Sri Lanka

Sri Lanka is among the top 5 largest producers of coconut, alongside Indonesia, Philippines, India and Brazil (FAOSTAT, 2014). Coconut is one of the major plantation crops in Sri Lanka and is second only to rice in providing nutrition (Samita & Lanka, 2000). Coconut cultivation represents 1/5th of the agricultural land of the country and significantly contributes to Sri Lanka’s Gross Domestic Product, export earnings and employment (Fernando et al., 2007).

Mature coconuts develop approximately eleven months after inflorescence opening (Figure 1). Of this, the first three months after inflorescence opening is said to be the most critical period as the young nuts are susceptible to climatic variation (Ranasinghe et al., 2015).

Figure 1: Development stages of a coconut bunch (Source: Coconut Research Institute, Sri Lanka)

The coconut yield is influenced by climatic variables such as rainfall, temperature and relative humidity in addition to other external factors such as pest attacks, diseases, crop management, land suitability and nutrient availability (Peiris et al., 2008). Optimum weather conditions for the growth of coconut include a well distributed annual rainfall of about 1500 mm, a mean air temperature of 27°C and relative humidity of about 80-90% (Peiris et al., 1995).

Impact of extreme weather on coconut productivity

Our study analysed the impact of extreme weather events considering daily temperature and rainfall over a 21-year period (between 1995 and 2015) at selected coconut estates in the wet, dry and intermediate zones of Sri Lanka. The study revealed drought conditions during the first four months after inflorescence opening, had a negative impact on the coconut harvest in the dry and intermediate zones (as revealed by the statistical analyses and the model relationships developed in this study). Possible reasons for this include reduced pollen production due to the exposure of male flowers to elevated temperature (Burke, Velten, & Oliver, 2004) and flower and fruit abortions caused by high temperatures and absence of rainfall over an extended period of time (Nainanayake et al., 2008).

Drought conditions not only disrupt the physiological functions of the coconut palm, but also
contribute to incidences of pest attacks. At present, the Coconut Black Beetle and the Coconut Red
Weevil pose the greatest threat to coconut plantations in Sri Lanka. Drought conditions are very
conducive for Coconut Black Beetles to pupate deep in the soil (Nirula, 1955).

Implications of the findings

This study reinforces the importance of raising awareness on the implications of climate change on crop productivity. During my visits to the coconut plantations, the superintendents of the estates as well as the labourers appeared to be aware of the warming trend of the climate. They had adopted soil moisture conservation methods such as mulching, burying coconut husks and growing cover crops to prevent extreme evapotranspiration. These are short term solutions. If we are to think about sustaining the coconut cultivation in the long-term, it is important to focus our efforts on developing drought tolerant hybrids. Global climate is projected to change continuously due to various natural and anthropogenic reasons. Policy makers and market decision makers can utilize the knowledge on how coconuts respond to drought conditions to formulate better policies and prices. This information can enable us to be better prepared and minimize loss and damage caused by a drought resulting from climate change.

References

Burke, J. J., Velten, J., & Oliver, M. J. (2004). In vitro analysis of cotton pollen germination. Agronomy Journal, 96(2), 359–368.

FAOSTAT. (2014). Retrieved January 7, 2017, from http://www.fao.org/faostat/en/#data/QC/visualize

Fernando, M. T. N., Zubair, L., Peiris, T. S. G., Ranasinghe, C. S., & Ratnasiri, J. (2007). Economic Value of Climate Variability Impacts on Coconut Production in Sri Lanka.

Nainanayake, A., Ranasinghe, C. S., & Tennakoon, N. A. (2008). Effects of drip irrigation on canopy and soil temperature, leaf gas exchange, flowering and nut setting of mature coconut (Cocos nucifera L.). Journal of the National Science Foundation of Sri Lanka, 36(1), 33–40.

Nirula, K. K. (1955). Investigations on the pests of coconut palm. Part II Oryctes rhinoceros L. Indian Coconut Journal, 8(4), 30–79.

Peiris, T. S. G., Hansen, J. W., & Zubair, L. (2008). Use of seasonal climate information to predict coconut
production in Sri Lanka. International Journal of Climatology, 28, 103–110. http://doi.org/10.1002/joc

Peiris, T. S. G., Thattil, R. O., & Mahindapala, R. (1995). An analysis of the effect of climate and weather on coconut (Cocos nucifera). Journal of Experimental Agriculture, 31, 451–460.

Ranasinghe, C. S., Silva, L. R. S., & Premasiri, R. D. N. (2015). Major determinants of fruit set and yield fluctuation in coconut (Cocos nucifera L .). Journal of National Science Foundation of Sri Lanka, 43(3), 253–264.

Samita, S., & Lanka, S. (2000). Arrival Dates of Southwest Monsoon Rains – A Modeling Approach. Tropical Agricultural Research, 12, 265–275.

Acknowledgements: This post is based on a paper published with the support and guidance from my supervisors/ co-authors Dr Erandi Lokupitiya (University of Colombo, Sri Lanka), Dr Pramuditha Waidyarathne (Coconut Research Institute, Sri Lanka) and Dr Ravi Lokupitiya (University of Sri Jayewardenepura, Sri Lanka). 

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This blog is written by Cabot Institute member Charuni Pathmeswaran.
Charuni Pathmeswaran

Food Connections

Posted on by janet.crompton

Last week the Bristol Food Connections festival explored “all that is GREAT about food in Bristol (and beyond)” [1]. This made me realise that what I am exploring are the separations in our global food system. While so much of food in Bristol is ‘GREAT’ there is still much work to do about what is NOT SO GREAT. In the global food system, the separations between those who produce and those who consume what is transported around the world are many: income, origin, lifestyle, language, history, opportunities, culture, diet, microbiome – you name it there are separations in the way we eat and live.

This weekend I co-facilitated an event, Philosophy Breakfast: The ethics of global food production, with Julian Baggini, philosopher and author of the book, Virtues of the table: How to eat and think, [2]. Julian focused our thoughts on ethics and justice, and I grounded us with a case study, on tomatoes produced in Morocco, based on my recent fieldwork. We were treated, literally, to food for thought, in the form of a breakfast bap and coffee from the Boston Tea Party as well as a full house of attendees ready and willing to reflect on their role in the food systems. I was determined that this group, who had been motivated enough to get up for a 10 am Sunday start, also be given space to tell us what we should be considering in relation to the ethics of food. So, we invited each table to choose a breakfast food element to reflect upon, bread, coffee, tea, bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms, as they slowly digested its nutrients and food dilemmas.

Framing the session Julian considered our role as consumers by drawing on the thoughts of some classical philosophers from Plato to Sen: we should not, he suggested, be afraid of always getting everything right, but we should at least do our best to avoid contributing to what we find clearly morally wrong. How to go about this? I asked our participants to think of questions which might help us reflect on each of the breakfast items to help us consider these dilemmas. Furthermore, perhaps we might have questions for others; for the supermarkets, for the governments, and for the companies involved. My favourite question from this savvy group was, for meat: “was it worth an animal dying for me to eat this?” something that connects to my blog on the great value of seeing meat as sacrifice: ‘L hawli‘.

My talk related more to the question about coffee, “What labour standards (how bad would they be) would stop you buying coffee?”. What a question. International labour standards usually boil down to a mutual agreement that the countries involved in trade will apply their national labour laws. They may also be required to ensure that these national laws meet international standards, but what are these international standards? Since the 1998 ILO Declaration on Fundamental Principles and Rights at Work (ILO, 1998) [3], international labour law has been focused, or in practice narrowed, depending on your perspective, to just eight core conventions covering four areas (collective bargaining, forced labour, child labour, non-discrimination at work), out of a possible 189 conventions covering many other very important areas [4]. So this is a relatively weak starting point, which in most cases simply attempts to ensure already existing minimum standards (laws) are implemented.

What happens also, when national laws do not meet the needs of workers? Too often agricultural work is excluded from normal labour standards, or minimum wages are lower in this sector. This is not just the case in poorer countries. In the USA, the world’s richest state, many agricultural workers are exempted from minimum wage and overtime entitlements of the main national labour legislation, the Fair Labour Standards Act [5]. This is discrimination sanctioned by law.

Such discrimination between agriculture and other sectors is also the case in Morocco, where I carried out fieldwork. Whilst the legal minimum wage in other sectors is £8.29, the minimum day wage for agricultural workers is significantly lower at £5.37. OK, you may think, but life is cheaper there. Not that much cheaper. We can convert that minimum agricultural wage to a UK equivalent via the Purchasing Power Parity formula, (or PPP) this tells you what the equivalent wage would be in the UK. That equivalent of that minimum agricultural wage in a UK context with UK housing, food and other costs would be £13.51. This is not enough to live comfortably, barely enough to survive.

This is why then, the first findings chapter of my thesis is entitled “No Money”. If a major supply chain, feeding us year round with produce that we increasingly depend upon, rests on a starting point of an unreasonably low minimum wage, we cannot consider this a socially sustainable global food connection. And it is a connection. Although we are separated by distance, language, culture and long food chains, it was not difficult to find tomatoes just on our doorstep. Even last week when the ‘counter-season’ was officially over (as we now produce more in the UK so there is less market for non-EU producers) I could easily identify tomatoes in Bristol from a major company in business just outside of Agadir, Morocco (where my research is focused). I know workers from this company’s greenhouses and packhouses and spent months in daily conversations with them about what needs to change. They are calling for increases in wages and working conditions, better childcare and better social infrastructure. The separations then, are there to be bridged.

Transparency came up a lot on the morning of our event. How is there so much information about the attributes of food itself, and so little about those that produce it? We can only find out about food if actors involved in the sector are willing to be open (governments, retailers, employers). This showed at the Bristol Fruit Market, which I also visited as part of the Food Connections festival. The openness of the owners to discuss their business and show us around their distribution centre was in very clear contrast to the supermarket distribution centres which are shrouded in secrecy. Yet this is not the case at every stage of the process and it is only by asking questions, and showing that we care, that we can have any leverage at all to shift the harshest dynamics of global food systems.

Why are wages so low in the food sector? How can we revalue food? How can we keep alternative routes to market going (such as through wholesale)? How do we know if workers are treated fairly? What does that mean? How can we improve social and labour conditions in global production? These some of the questions that I am working on at the moment.

Groups feed back from their discussions at the Philosophy Breakfast event 17 June 2018

[1] Bristol Food Connections Festival website

[2] BAGGINI, J. 2014. The virtues of the table: How to eat and think, Granta Books.

[3] ILO 1998. ILO Declaration on fundamental principles and rights at work. International Labour Conference. Geneva: International Labour Office.

[4] A list of the 189 ILO conventions

[5] See, Guide to the Fair Labor Standards Act

[6] This is known locally as the difference of the SMIG, the minimum legal industrial wage, and the SMAG, the minimum legal agricultural wage. The SMIG is set by the hour (13.46 Moroccan Dirhams). An 8-hour equivalent of the SMIG comes to the GBP of £8.29. This can then be compared to the minimum agricultural wage, set by the day at 69.73 Moroccan Dirhams, equivalent to £5.37 per day.
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This blog is written by Cabot Institute member Lydia Medland and has been reposted with kind permission from her original blog.  Lydia is from the School of Sociology, Politics and International Studies at the University of Bristol.

Lydia Medland

Find out more about the Cabot Institute’s Food Security research theme.

Pollination and International Development: How bees can help us fight poverty and feed the world

Posted on by janet.crompton

Animal pollinators are the industrious workers in the factory of life – transporting pollen from one flower to another to ensure successful fertilisation. 75% of our crop plants benefit from this free service which can increase the yield, quality and even shelf-life of their products. This translates to a US$235-577bn value to global agriculture each year. Many of our favourite foods – strawberries, coffee and cocoa – can end up shrivelled and tasteless without pollination. This ecosystem service is under increasing threat however, as pollinators face the potent cocktail of pressures we have laid upon them, declining in numbers across various parts of the world.

But what has all this got to do with international development? From what we can tell, communities in developing countries [1] are more reliant on pollinators than almost anyone, standing to lose important income, livelihoods, nutrition and cultural traditions if pollinators decline. And yet, although a number of researchers across the developing world have made substantial and important contributions to this field, limited resources and capacity have meant that only a small proportion of pollination research has focused on these regions. In fact, there isn’t even enough data to know what is happening to pollinators in the developing world, let alone how we can best conserve them and their values to human wellbeing.

Over two billion people in developing countries are reliant on smallholder farming and therefore indirectly reliant on pollinators, without necessarily knowing it.  Many valuable cash crops, for example coffee, cocoa and cashews, are highly pollinator dependent and almost exclusively grown in the developing world, providing income for millions of people. In fact the reliance on pollinator-dependent crops has increased faster in the developing world than anywhere else. Reliance on beekeeping for income and livelihoods has also increased and is becoming a common component of sustainable development projects worldwide.

Worryingly, declines in pollination will have deeper consequences than just the loss of crop yields and income. Because many of the most nutritionally important food groups such as fruits, nuts and vegetables are also the most pollinator-dependent, pollinator declines are likely to shift the balance of people’s diets away from these foods. As a result, many millions of people around the world, particularly in developing countries, are expected to become deficient in important micronutrients such as vitamin A, vitamin C, iron and folate, resulting in millions of years of healthy life lost.

So what is being done about all this? In recognition of the importance of pollinators to human welfare and the threats facing them, the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES) commissioned a global assessment of Pollinators, Pollination and Food Production, published in 2016. This triggered a great wave of political and media attention and has resulted in the incorporation of the report’s key findings into the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD). Many governments are now in the process of developing national pollinator strategies, including the developing nations of Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, South Africa and India. On this wave of momentum, the CBD has also requested the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO) to update their International Pollinator Initiative (IPI) which aims to build greater understanding, management and conservation of pollinators around the world. This international attention won’t last forever though, so it is important that the current momentum is sustained and built upon as soon as possible, ensuring as many countries as possible – particularly in the developing world – are involved.

The UK has a valuable opportunity to contribute to these efforts. As a centre of excellence for pollination science, it is the second largest funder and producer of pollination research after the US. But only c.6% of the £95M we have contributed to pollination research in the last 10 years has any link or collaboration with a developing country (ÜberResearch 2018). As more of the UK’s Official Development Assistance budget is made available for research, there is a shift in emphasis towards research that directly contributes towards international development. New funding programmes are encouraging the UK research community to engage in collaborative projects with researchers in developing countries, building valuable research capacity. With the relevance of pollination and agro-ecology to addressing the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals, these topics may fit into this new funding landscape. However, to be effective and ethical, partners and institutions in developing countries must be involved in the design of, and stand to benefit from these collaborations. See here for a UKCDS report outlining the ways in which academics and funders can help ensure fair partnerships.

As populations in the developing world expand, along with per-capita food demands, these issues become all the more pressing. Food production will need to increase by 70% come 2050 and this cannot be achieved by simply expanding agricultural land or fertilizer input. To ensure people are well-fed, in a way that is sustainable and ethical, we will have to intensify our farming in new ways. Understanding and managing pollination may be an important part of this and is something that researchers, politicians, agriculturalists and development workers will need to engage with sooner rather than later.

[1] For simplicity, we use the term ‘developing countries’ to refer to all countries listed in the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development’s (OECD) Development Assistant Committee (DAC) list of Official Development Assistance (ODA) recipients. This includes countries from a range of economic classifications, from ‘Least Developed’ to ‘Upper Middle Income’ which includes the nations of China and Brazil. Whilst we group all these nations under the broad term of ‘developing country’, we acknowledge the great heterogeneity between them in terms of wealth, development and research capacity.


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This blog has been kindly reposted from the UK CDS website.  It is written by Cabot Institute member Thomas Timberlake, a pollination ecology PhD researcher from the University of Bristol who undertook a three month project with the UKCDS looking at the relevance of pollination to international development.

Thomas Timberlake

To find out more about this project you can view the full report, or watch a recording of the UKCDS Pollination and International Development Webinar.

You can also listen to Tom speaking on Nature Xposed, a University of Bristol nature radio station, about the importance of pollinators in developing countries.

If you have any comments about this blog do tweet us @cabotinstitute @UKCDS.

Water City Bristol!

Posted on by janet.crompton
Foot selfie at secret swimming spot

If you don’t fix things in words, they might float away. So, briefly, a skeletal accounting —

  • 3 open-water swims
  • 2 workshops in maritime writing
  • 1 public lecture
  • 1 trip up the canal locks to Saltford
  • 2 days at #MT2018 (Marine Transgressions Conference)
  • 2 keynotes
  • ~ 12 panels
  • 1 Blue Humanities roundtable
  • 2 receptions
  • [a poetry reading that I missed]
  • And many half-garbled memories, starting in the middle —
The Llandoger Trow, where Daniel Defoe met Alexander Selkirk

Toxicity, the Ocean, and Urban Space (Wednesday)

I was trying some new things for this public lecture, knowing that the audience would swirl together academics with non-academics, be mostly composed of city-dwellers, and further include mostly those with a particular interest in the sea. Unpicking the knots of writing and thinking I’ve been chasing down in the wake of Oceanic New York, my talk splashed through some recent watery adventures, included images of Thanos the purple God of demonic Malthusianism, strayed into verse in three of my own poems, and — maybe? — crossed wild water to make landfall with hopeful gestures toward Ocean citizenship. How can our Cities and our bodies prepare themselves for and live with rising waters? I’d like to speak that as a not-only tragic story.

Public lecture at the University of Bristol

The Henleaze Swimming Club (Monday)

On Monday afternoon, jet-lagged and still-missing my baggage from the overnight flight in via Dublin, I bought a replacement suit & goggles from the hotel & Uber’d up to Henleaze, a former quarry that’s been a private swimming club since 1919. This gorgeous, narrow, fresh-watered lake now overflows with people, half with swimmers and half fisherfolk. What better anti-jet lag tonic can be?

Underwater Bristol (Tuesday)

Building on the perpetual inspiration of underwaternewyork.com, I hatched a plot with members of the U of Bristol English faculty to incubate some to-emerge-later responses to Bristol’s waterways. So many glorious things! A sailboat named Svendgar that I spotted a few days later for sale in the harbor. Brown mudflats. The kayaks that were paddled around the Bay by the Inuits kidnapped in Frobisher’s Second Voyage to Newfoundland in 1577. A football pitch next to a Cadbury Chocolate Factory that I’d seen earlier that morning while riding a canal boat up five locks to Saltford. Plastic. Breeding eels. What will they all become?

Brunel’s suspension bridge over the Avon

A secret monastic pool (Wednesday)

Having been promised a bit of true English wild swimming on the condition that I not mention the name or location of the waters in which I would plunge, I suppose I was a bit surprised to come around the corner of the quiet country lane to discover maybe sixty students lining the pool’s far bank, sunning themselves in post-exam freedom. The secluded pool, built “in the Middle Ages” to store fish for the Abbey of St. Augustine (founded 1140), now hosts lily pads, a gorgeous 15-foot tall purple rhododendron, supposedly a few tench, and — alas! — some horseflies that enjoyed landing on my bald head. It’s an excellent place for an afternoon’s swim. Thanks to my hosts for taking me there!

Bristol Harbour on the last night

Sea-themed creative writing workshop (Wednesday)

I was deeply impressed by the almost-dozen enthusiastic  Bristol undergrads who submitted maritime poetry and prose works for an post-term bonus workshop. I was joined also by Shakespearean Laurence Publicover and poet David Punter, and we spent a thrilling two hours wrestling with the joys and frustrations of writing with and into oceanic spaces. The student writing was gorgeous and wonderfully ambitious, from a narrative built from fragments of a diary from the S.S. Great Britain to a brilliantly post-Agatha Christie cruise montage, a boat-launching story, several quite lovely lyrics about blue spaces, and a hashing of Pip’s dream of drowning from Moby-Dick that spoke to my Melvillean core.

Clevedon Marine Lake (Fri)

Diving into Clevedon Marine Lake

Located as far upstream as big boats could travel the tidal Avon, Bristol today is water-filled but brackish rather than salt. Much of my time there was semi-marine, from the walks along the harbour to the floating bar the Marine Transgressions Conference decamped to after our final keynote. But though the Avon is tidal for a long distance and boasts (I am reliably assured by tide-guru Owain Jones from the Environmental Humanities department at Bath Spa) the second-highest tides in the world, there’s not a lot of open salt water in the city. I wanted to swim in the Bristol Channel (still known in Wales as the Severn Sea), so the morning of the conference’s last day I met swimographer Vanessa at an early hour that precluded other swimming companions, and we Uber’d out to the Clevedon Marine Lake. I’ve seldom or never seen a more starkly ideal swimscape. The pool is built, framed in by concrete and stone, but at high tide the swell tops the wall and fills the pool with ocean water. The tide was near the ebb when we arrived that morning, and over 100 yards of brown mudflat extended below the “lake,” reflecting the gray sky up toward us. The water was perfect — cool but not cold, salty but not bitter, manageable even though I’d forgotten my goggles in the hotel, and a generous 250m per lake-length. One of the few other swimmers who was also there on a grey misty morning was a man training for 70km in Lake Geneva. He churned in slow circles around the lake and planned to swim through dinner time. We had panels to rush back to in Bristol, but I was tempted just to keep swimming.

#MT2018 Marine Transgressions Conference (Thursday & Friday)

In front of Nancy Farmer tiles with Vanessa Daws at Clevedon

My visit to Bristol was fortuitously timed with an interdisciplinary conference on Marine Transgressions — a geologic term of art for moments in which the sea invades the land. Packed in to the last two days of my stay, the conference’s turbulent energy kept me going even when my own energy flagged. From Helen Rozwadowski’s amazing opening keynote on Jacques Cousteau and utopian fantasies of homo aquaticus in the 1950s and ’60s all the way through Tim Dee’s gorgeously lyrical evocation of the human and avian intertwinings of gulls and landfills, #MT2018 was an stirring mixture. I can’t do justice to all the great panels and papers that I heard over the two days, but I was struck by the variety of disciplinary perspectives — lots of poetics, history, and environmental humanities, but also marine law, policy, science, technological remediation, and other things. All these were joined together by a shared passion for the oceanic “blue” — though of course we all know, and we repeated as a kind of refrain over two days, that the ocean is also and meaningfully green, gray, purple, and many other colors — including gold, in the memorable image of the geochemist Kate Hendry describing the glimmer of microscopic diatoms on the salt flats of the Severn estuary at low tide.

Blue Humanities Round Table (Friday)

The best parts of a small conference come from listening to new things, and also from catching an extension of someone’s work over a beer at the floating bar after the day’s sessions. But in addition to many great discoveries, I’ve seldom had more fun at an academic presentation than I did chairing a Blue Humanities Round Table near the end of the second day. The amazing panel of disparate thinkers and makers included Owain Jones, whose hydrocitizenship project connects Bristol’s to its people and its past; Vanessa Daws, swimographer and immersive artist; Kate Hendry, a biogeochemist whose fields work takes her to both the Arctic and Antarctic ice fields; and my friend from the CT Shoreline Helen Rozwadowski, historian of science and founder of the Maritime Studies Program at UConn Avery Point. I started us out with a general question — “What can you do because of your focus on the sea that you could not do otherwise?” — and our conversation waterfalled down through several memorable twists and turns into a fantastic question period. With thanks to Alexandra Campbell and her twitter-agility, here’s a partial reconstruction of the ship we built as we sailed along:

  • The sea is not a metaphor (quoting Hester Blum) — except that sometimes it is, and sometimes its metaphors rub against and into the real salt water.
  • The sea is history (not-quite-remembering to quote Derek Walcott) — and given a few generations of blue humanities historical scholarship it should hopefully become more richly historicized.
  • The sea disorients and distorts, always and relentlessly, even as humans respond partially to that disorientation.
  • Is water alien? Does it come from outer space or from inside the earth’s core? Why might it matter? (in dialogue with Lindy Elkins-Tanton)
  • The sea’s lack of visibility redoubles its its moral challenge, informs the cultural history of its monstrous depths, and increases the force of its alien elements. (I rambled here about the “Creature from the Black Lagoon” poster art on the walls of Catch-22, the fish & chips place where I ate my first Bristol meal.)
  • Does the weakness of human eyesight underwater attenuate our moral connection with sea creatures? (A Levinas-ian question, though we didn’t mention his name)
  • Can science “illuminate” (Kate’s word) the sea in ways that increase its ethical claims on human subjects?
  • What are the politics of the interdisciplinary ocean? How can the sea speak to social justice, especially remembering the twin horrors of the slave trade and transoceanic capitalism (which two things might actually be parts of the same thing)?
  • Can the sea be a space of hope? (Last question, I think? We said yes. But I’m not sure that we’re sure.)

 

Selfie with mermaid and Vanessa Daws in Clevedon

“Under the sea everything is moral”

The hardest and most evocative phrase of the conference came when Helen quoted Cousteau or one of his fellow sea-utopians in her opening keynote. What might it mean for “everything” to be “moral” beneath the waves? “It’s all subtle and submarine,” says Walcott, thinking about Atlantic slavery and Caribbean beauty. Owain quite rightly objected that the underwater industriousness for which Cousteau was a booster has fouled our waters. The panel speculated together about the morality that emerges from the shared vulnerability of terrestrial human bodies in deep waters. I thought about, but did not share, a terrifying vision of drowning and struggle from Macbeth —

Doubtful it stood / As two spent swimmers that do cling together / And choke their art (1.2)

There’s another way, it occurs to me now as my big green metal bird arcs past the southern tip of Greenland, in which the undersea might be “moral.” It’s not that all undersea activities are permitted or approved, but that the questions we face — what we talk about when we talk about oceans — become starkly and painfully ethical. As mer-scholars, academic selkies, blue humanists, we swim into hard questions about disorientation, about buoyancy, about living-with alien lives. We face questions of social justice and tragic history, of oceanic dislocation and ongoing violence. Moral urgencies splash into marine lakes in the West Country and haunt overcrowded refugee boats in the Eastern Med.

The sea supports and threatens human life. What moral dilemmas fix us from the cold glaze of a fish’s eyes?

Floating bar

Thanks to all who were there this week, and in particular to my hosts at the University of Bristol, the Perspectives on the Sea cluster run by Laurence Publicover, the Brigstow and Cabot Institutes, and all the people who made Marine Transgressions possible! I’m looking forward to my next visit to Bristol already.

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This blog has been written by Professor Steve Mentz, St John’s University, New York. The blog has been reposted with kind permission from Steve’s original blog.

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