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My Analog Life

Confessions of a luddite fighting screen addiction

Callum McCadden, all rights reserved

I used to run a blog called Refusing to Scroll. I suppose the idea was getting away from dopamine. Getting away from unlimited scrolling the cheap hits of dopamine associated.

Seven years later I still struggle with these algorithms. They’ve become even more intensely weaponised with the rise of short form video content. So still struggling there.

But I’m winning in some aspects, and I want to write a short series on the steps I take to have a more ‘analog’ life. Now I don’t mean analog in the traditional sense. I mean to escape the mess that is rentier capitalism whereby you are subscribed to anything, brain is flooded with everything and you own nothing. And you WILL be happy.

So come with me. I’ll email you each week with a short rant + a solution to the specific issue. End goal is to make us both happier, more connected and less frustrated.

I’ve learned that sadness is death by a thousand cuts and I’ve learned that happiness isn’t instant, but a slow accumulation of better habits through time.

So here’s the plan. One blog, twice a week. The blogs are split into four ‘sets’. Each set will start with a ‘scene setter’ which will be more emotional/philosophical and less practical. Each individual episode will go into a specific issue of the digital age, explain why it sucks and what you can do about it.

I’ll try make you laugh. I’ll go dark and light. I’ll take swipes at everyone (including myself). It’s tongue in cheek. I love you all.

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Liberton Northfield Parish Church

Sustainability Planning in a Religious Context

Through October to December 2021 I had the pleasure in working with the congregation at Liberton Northfield Parish Church. Working in a consultant role, I helped develop an ‘Eco-Plan’ that integrated both the wants of the congregation and the recognised requirement to be more sustainable.

Essential to the plan was an aim to be more integrated with their local community. As such, much of the plan was geared towards the community: employing local craftspeople, workshops and activities. The plan avoided being ‘prescriptive’, in order to avoid creating a hiearchy. I likewise tried to assimilate the ideas of the parishners from the onset, and invited feedback for immediate use in the development of the plan.

Unfortunately due to difficulties unrelated to the eco-planning, the project was put on hold indefinitely. With this said, the project was still mutually beneficial for both parties in advancing the meaning behind being a sustainable religous congregation.

By Callum McCadden. Originally written January 17th 2022.

Liberton Northfield Parish Church
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How do the tastes of ‘meatiness’ in mock meats influence their consumption and the consumer’s dietary identity?

By Callum McCadden – Word count: 1999

Introduction

Animal agriculture has been increasingly implicated in having a primary role within the ecological and climate crisis (Garnett et al., 2017). As a response, plant-based diets have been assessed to be one of the most effective personal behavioural changes tackling this global issue (Hallström et al., 2015). Companies have responded by innovating new ‘alternative proteins’ in the Western market – some genuinely new, laboratory creations; others taken from other cultures (Sexton, 2018). Currently the most popular of these alternative proteins are ‘mock meats’ – meat-like proteins made from reconstructed plant matter (Sexton, 2018). In academia, these mock meats have been analysed for their aspirations to be like meat (Adise et al., 2015; Sexton, 2016; Stahl, 2017), the problematic acceptance of their place in meals (Elzerman et al., 2013, 2011; Schösler et al., 2012), their positive role in creating plant-based diets (Nath and Prideaux, 2011) and the varied perception of the products’ taste (Adise et al., 2015; Hoek et al., 2013). These studies are set in a broader academic context that has analysed meat consumption to be reliant upon disassociation between the final product and the animals they came from (Evans and Miele, 2012; Kubberød et al., 2002; Kunst and Hohle, 2016). In addition, taste and edibility have been analysed as something socially produced (Hayes-Conroy and Hayes-Conroy, 2010; Roe, 2006; Waitt, 2014), which can have geopolitical ramifications through what is deemed as good taste (Cook, 2018). At an even broader level there exists analysis on the gendered construction of meat affinity in general (Adams, 2010; Kubberød et al., 2002). With these analyses in mind, a relatively unexplored area of this research can be expanded: how the tastes of ‘meatiness’ in mock meats are received, and if these tastes influence dietary identities. Little primary research exists specifically on this field with the most relevant being Sexton (2018) who interviewed key members of the industry in order to establish an understanding of the biopolitics of alternative protein.

Methods

To collect the required data, an online survey was personally marketed on Facebook and Instagram. As such, the responses are only representative of the audience that the algorithms of these platforms allowed the author to reach. The polling period was short (12 hours), but likely effective due to the current stay-at-home order in the United Kingdom due to the 2020 Coranavirus outbreak. The survey adopted a mixed methods approach, using both short quantitative and long qualitative questions. Participants were asked about their mock meat consumption, their feelings regarding ‘meatiness’ and how this fit with their reported dietary identity. Traditional alternative proteins such as tofu were included where they are prepared to be like meat – breaking from their separation in Sexton’s (2018) analysis. Due to their low commercial popularity in the United Kingdom, insect protein was ignored in this study.

The survey responses were anonymous and an ethical declaration atop the survey informed the participants of anonymity, the purpose of the research and the use of the data (see Appendix A). The analysis of the results is influenced by a general epistemological position of feminist-veganism (Adams, 2010). Positionally, previous public posting in favour of veganism by the author has likely alienated respondents who disagree with vegan perspectives, limiting the research where the audience reached by the social media algorithms are those who want to listen to these views. The long form responses were analysed for emerging key themes and the short form responses were used to contextualise the data.


Results
The survey was answered by forty-four people. Of these forty-four, twelve (27.3%) identified as omnivorous, eight (18.2%) as omnivorous but actively reducing meat intake, seventeen (38.6%) vegetarian, five (11.4%) vegan, one ‘freegan’ and one pescatarian (each 2.3%). The ‘reducing meat intake’ option was added to attempt to catch recent interest in ‘flexitarianism’ (Raphaely and Marinova, 2014). As predicted, the participants were largely plant-based in diet. The sample was predominantly youthful, with thirty-two (72.7%) respondents in the 18-25 age bracket, with only minor figures in the three older categories. The respondents predominantly self-described as ‘female’ in gender (61%). The self-description of ‘male’ was reported by 30%, ‘not-applicable’ by 2% and the remaining 8% did not answer this optional question. As such, this sample should not be considered representative of the general population of the United Kingdom, with plant-based diets, youth and female gender overrepresented (Office for National Statistics, 2012; Vegan Society, 2019).

Eighteen (41%) of the sample regularly consumed mock meats, twelve (27%) occasionally ate them and the remaining fourteen (32%) either have never tried them or did not consume them. Mock meats were most popular amongst vegetarians, of which 70% regularly consumed them. In the small vegan sample, three of them occasionally ate mock meats, one regularly and one did not. In the ‘reducing meat intake’ or ‘omnivorous’ categories, mock meats were the least popular with twelve (60%) indicating they had tried them but either did not consume, or enjoy, them. Regular consumption amongst these two groups was exclusively by those attempting to reduce their meat intake (four of the eight meat reducers) and occasional consumption was more prevalent amongst those not self-describing as lowering their meat reduction.

As can be seen in Table 1, behaviours of mock meat consumption varied across respondents’ ages and genders. Regular consumption was more prevalent amongst youthful respondents with 46% of the youngest age bracket being regular consumers. Likewise, regular consumption was more prevalent amongst females with 51% of them being regular consumers.

Table 1: Cross tabulation of age and gender compared to mock meat consumption:

 Age:Totals:Gender:Totals:
Consumption of mock meats:18-2526-4040-6565+ FemaleMaleN/A 
Never Consume:4213945312
Occasionally Consume:132101695014
Regularly Consume:1521018143118
Totals:3263344 442713444 44

Of those who regularly consumed mock meats, taste, texture and form were rated highly important qualities. However, being like meat in these qualities was more divisive. Only six of the eighteen regular consumers (33%) wanted their mock meats to be like meat in this sense, with a further nine (50%) reporting negative feelings towards meaty qualities. The remaining three participants occupied a middle ground, reporting texture to be vital but a preference for mock meats that don’t resemble animal meat too closely. The negative responses amongst regular consumers centred around wanting texturally satisfying proteins, but feelings of disgust were invoked by ideas of bloodiness and rawness. In this sense the form of mock meat was important, with ‘sausages’ and ‘hamburgers’ eliciting positive responses and ‘steak’ negative ones. These forms of consumption were reported by two participants as a way of maintaining social eating norms, such as ‘good to put on a BBQ’, or because of the ‘overall eating experience’ of eating hamburgers. Among the lower consuming participants, predominantly omnivores, these qualities were negatively rated with a common response indicating preference for the ‘real thing’. That said, among the omnivorous ‘meat reducers’ positive responses to meat-qualities were more popular (25%) but still a minority opinion.

In relation to their food identities, the strongest negative answers were from the omnivore category. A preference, or ‘love’, for ‘real meat’ was felt multiply and doubt was expressed of the nutritional content of mock meats. Amongst meat reducers, mock meats were identified as a popular gateway food item to eating less meat which was often felt beneficial for themselves in reducing their meat intake. For the vegetarians and vegans, mock meats were placed as being an easily accessible protein that broadened their dietary diversity (31%), although concerns were expressed about them being highly processed. For this group, mock meats often made eating out easier (27%) and a couple participants felt mock meats allowed the consumption of (altered) ‘traditional’ meals. The vegetarian and vegan group also reported mixed feelings when reflecting on the taste of meat, now and in the past. A small contingent (26%) missed the taste (often with guilty feelings), another 26% could not recall the tastes and the remainder either disliked the tastes or were actively repulsed.


Discussion

Despite the sample not being generally representative, it still holds valuable results for tensions in the literature. Firstly, this research expands upon a commonly held, relatively unproven, assumption in the literature: that some consumers like ‘meaty’ mock meats, and others do not (Elzerman et al., 2013; Sexton, 2018; Stahl, 2017). These results indicate that ‘meatiness’ may be less important than originally thought, with a high degree of responses reacting negatively towards overly-meaty characteristics, particularly amongst regular consumers. Some participants indicated meat characteristics may be important in gaining new consumers, particularly amongst omnivores, which has been noted elsewhere (Nath and Prideaux, 2011). However, omnivores often felt mock meats could never be the ‘real thing’. For the vegetarian and vegan groups, meat like texture was most popular but carnal touches such as blood invoked a disgust response. These findings potentially contradict Sexton (2018) and Elzerman et al. (2011) who find meatiness to be a necessary prerequisite in expanding mock meats’ markets. Furthermore, meat products most distant from their animal origins, such as highly processed products, are the most popular as they avoid ethical provocations (Kunst and Hohle, 2016). As such, a different pathway for consumer innovation is mock meats utilising their own tastes within common cultural food categories (e.g. burgers) – which is broadly acceptable to conservative omnivorous eaters and the plant-based in this study, and in other studies (Elzerman et al., 2013, 2011). With multiple respondents feeling mock meats were best suited as ‘conversion aids’ (Nath and Prideux, 2011), mock meat may be more popular within meal concepts as opposed to aspirations to be ‘real’ meat in their own merits. With that said, this research is weighted in favour of those who already consume mock meats, as meaty characteristics could remain a prerequisite in expanding mock meat markets to occasional consumers.

The social construction of what is good taste can have geopolitical ramifications dependent on how good taste is used by institutional powers (Cook, 2018). Likewise, the relationship between meatiness, mock meats and dietary identity in this study revealed geopolitical ramifications. Sexton (2018) notes that recreating feelings of nostalgia is a key strategy of mock meat companies. Although a minor finding, the implication that mock meats allow easier dining experiences and the consumption of traditional foods may confirm Sexton’s (2018) analysis. That said, the industry concept of good taste (meaty, bloody, juicy) could be considered dissonant from their regular consumers considering the evidence above. Again, expanded research with a larger curious and omnivorous contingent would be needed to explore this question for potential markets. Similarly, a small contingent of the respondents felt disgust towards tastes of meatiness, associating the taste with the ethical issues of animal farming. In this sense, meatiness is a biosocially created taste with negative associations – aversion creates distaste, and distaste creates aversion (Hayes-Conroy and Hayes-Conroy, 2010). When viewed not as a single variable, but as a process between taste and ethics, this contradicts Adise et al.‘s (2015: 52) assertation that distaste is not ‘a primary reason for rejection of animal-based foods’. This influence of ethics upon taste was not present amongst those who continue to eat meat.

Finally, the results were notably gendered. The aversion to carnal attributes of animal meats, such as bloodiness, amongst young woman has been previously noted (Kubberød et al., 2002). The results compound these findings within mock meats as all reservations regarding the realness of mock meats (and the associated disgust) were reported amongst the self-described females. This adds to the literature statistically grounding cultural theories regarding the links between masculinity and meat consumption such as Adams (1990) (Dowsett et al., 2018; Hayley et al., 2015) by extending the scope to include mock meats alongside animal meat.

Conclusions

This probing research aimed to explore key assumptions regarding the ‘meatiness’ of mock meats and their relationship to personal dietary identities. In doing so, this research found that aspirations to meat realism may be less important than assumed amongst regular consumers. This has important market ramifications and may represent the pushing of a correct form of mock meat taste by large food companies. However, due to a small response and relatively unrepresentative sample, extrapolation should proceed cautiously as the research says little of potential consumers. Finally, the taste of meatiness was also understood as biosocially produced and gendered, contradicting and confirming different positions in the literature.

References:

Adams, C.J., 2010. Why feminist-vegan now? Feminism & Psychology 20, pp. 302–317. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1177/0959353510368038

Adams, C.J., 1990. The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory. 1990. New York: Continuum.

Adise, S., Gavdanovich, I., Zellner, D.A., 2015. Looks like chicken: Exploring the law of similarity in evaluation of foods of animal origin and their vegan substitutes. Food Quality and Preference 41, pp.52–59. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.foodqual.2014.10.007

Cook, B., 2018. The aesthetic politics of taste: Producing extra virgin olive oil in Jordan. Geoforum, 92, pp.36–44. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.geoforum.2018.03.004

Dowsett, E., Semmler, C., Bray, H., Ankeny, R.A., Chur-Hansen, A., 2018. Neutralising the meat paradox: Cognitive dissonance, gender, and eating animals. Appetite, 123, pp.280–288. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.appet.2018.01.005

Elzerman, J.E., Hoek, A.C., van Boekel, M.A.J.S., Luning, P.A., 2011. Consumer acceptance and appropriateness of meat substitutes in a meal context. Food Quality and Preference, 22, pp.233–240. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.foodqual.2010.10.006

Elzerman, J.E., van Boekel, M.A.J.S., Luning, P.A., 2013. Exploring meat substitutes: consumer experiences and contextual factors. British Food Journal, 115, pp.700–710. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1108/00070701311331490

Evans, A.B., Miele, M., 2012. Between Food and Flesh: How Animals are Made to Matter (and Not Matter) within Food Consumption Practices. Environmental Planning D, 30, pp.298–314. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1068/d12810

Garnett, T., Godde, C., Muller, A., Röös, E., Smith, P., de Boer, I., zu Ermgassen, E., Herrero, M., van Middelaar, C., Schader, C., 2017. Grazed and confused? Ruminating on cattle, grazing systems, methane, nitrous oxide, the soil carbon sequestration question – And what it all means for greenhouse gas emissions. Oxford, UK: Food Climate Research Network (FCRN)

Hallström, E., Carlsson-Kanyama, A., Börjesson, P., 2015. Environmental impact of dietary change: a systematic review. Journal of Cleaner Production, 91, pp.1–11.

Hayes-Conroy, A. and Hayes-Conroy, J., 2010. Visceral Difference: Variations in Feeling (Slow) Food. Environmental Planning A, 42, pp.2956–2971. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1068/a4365

Hayley, A., Zinkiewicz, L., Hardiman, K., 2015. Values, attitudes, and frequency of meat consumption. Predicting meat-reduced diet in Australians. Appetite, 84, pp.98–106. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.appet.2014.10.002

Hoek, A.C., Elzerman, J.E., Hageman, R., Kok, F.J., Luning, P.A., Graaf, C. de, 2013. Are meat substitutes liked better over time? A repeated in-home use test with meat substitutes or meat in meals. Food Quality and Preference, 28, pp.253–263. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.foodqual.2012.07.002

Kubberød, E., Ueland, Ø., Rødbotten, M., Westad, F., Risvik, E., 2002. Gender specific preferences and attitudes towards meat. Food Quality and Preference, 13, pp.285–294. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/S0950-3293(02)00041-1

Kunst, J.R., Hohle, S.M., 2016. Meat eaters by dissociation: How we present, prepare and talk about meat increases willingness to eat meat by reducing empathy and disgust. Appetite, 105, pp.758–774. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.appet.2016.07.009

Nath, J., Prideaux, D., 2011. The civilised burger: Meat alternatives as a conversion aid and social instrument for Australian vegetarians and vegans. Australian Humanities Review, 51.

Office for National Statistics, 2012. 2011 Census. Available: https://www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/populationandmigration/populationestimates/bulletins/2011censuspopulationestimatesfortheunitedkingdom/2012-12-17#the-structure-of-the-population-of-the-united-kingdom (Accessed 29.04.20).

Raphaely, T., Marinova, D., 2014. Flexitarianism: Decarbonising through flexible vegetarianism. Renewable Energy, 67, pp.90–96. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.renene.2013.11.030

Roe, E.J., 2006. Things Becoming Food and the Embodied, Material Practices of an Organic Food Consumer. Sociologia Ruralis, 46, pp.104–121. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9523.2006.00402.x

Schösler, H., Boer, J. de, Boersema, J.J., 2012. Can we cut out the meat of the dish? Constructing consumer-oriented pathways towards meat substitution. Appetite, 58, pp.39–47. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.appet.2011.09.009

Sexton, A., 2016. Alternative Proteins and the (Non)Stuff of “Meat.” Gastronomica, 16, pp.66–78. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1525/gfc.2016.16.3.66

Sexton, A.E., 2018. Eating for the post-Anthropocene: Alternative proteins and the biopolitics of edibility. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 43, pp.586–600. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1111/tran.12253

Stahl, G., 2017. Making a Mockery of Meat: Troubling Texture and the Failings of the “Flesh.” Journal of Asia-Pacific Pop Culture, 2, pp.184–204.

Vegan Society, 2019. Statistics. United Kingdom. Available: https://www.vegansociety.com/news/media/statistics (Accessed 29.04.20).

Waitt, G., 2014. Embodied geographies of kangaroo meat. Social & Cultural Geography, 15, pp.406–426. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1080/14649365.2014.894113

Appendix A: Ethical Declaration

The following declaration introduced the online survey accessible via the author’s personal Facebook that states themselves a student at The University of Edinburgh:

“First please read this ethical declaration:

Any and all responses here will be anonymous. Any personal information revealed will result in your responses being discarded. Any responses here will be used to create an analysis by myself for a class essay. It is unlikely the work will be published, however if it is judged good enough this remains a possibility. If you are uncomfortable with this please do not respond. There are two questions regarding broad personal information at the bottom. They are non-identifying but could be useful in analysis. They are optional.”

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Do complementary currencies contribute towards sustainability goals?

Continuing the trend of publishing my old essays. Here is one I wrote on complementary currencies. Overall I like the piece, but I feel the ending is a somewhat surface level analysis of crypto and full reserve banking.

A general trend away from integrated communities towards atomised individualism has gripped the Global North (Lietaer, 2001). Complementary currencies (CCs) are a potential solution to this isolating aspect of capitalism (Lietaer, 2001). CCs act as alternatives to conventional money in certain situations: where national currency would be inappropriate, unavailable, or where more socially inclined currency would benefit its users more (Lietaer, 2001; Ruddick et al., 2015; Seyfang and Longhurst, 2013).

CCs are understood to have come in four major generations since the 1980s each of which will be explored below, although schemes existed before (Blanc, 2011; Fare and Ahmed, 2017). However, the term complementary currency includes a broad array of currencies not quite captured by this linear typology (Meyer and Hudon, 2019). CCs included in the four generations typology were created for community benefit with predominantly social goals and number in thousands of projects created (Seyfang and Longhurst, 2013). Outside of this typology, are ‘inter-enterprise’ currencies that operate between businesses but also have pro-social consequences such as buffering financial crashes (Meyer and Hudon, 2019). Also outside of the four generations typology are cryptocurrencies, which are alternative mediums of exchange but were not created explicitly to advance sustainability goals (however some exciting new exceptions will be discussed below) (Meyer and Hudon, 2019). All of these currencies can be understood as CCs and will be assessed for their contribution in advancing sustainability goals.

Sustainability here will be understood through Raworth’s (2017) concept of the ‘doughnut’: where social floors such as safe housing and stable diet are met but environmental limits respected for a society to be sustainable. Thus, sustainability goals are understood as those that advance social requirements and/or protect the environment. CCs have aimed to advance a plethora of goals for the betterment of their users (Miszczuk, 2018); to assess if CCs have advanced sustainability goals, this paper will outline the goals of complementary impacts, moving on to discussing the contextualised and realised impact of CCs and will conclude by situating CCs within the wider monetary system.

Overview of existing community currencies:

First and second generation CCs were primarily established to provide social benefits for their communities (Fare and Ahmed, 2017). These currencies, such as local exchange trading schemes and time banking, create a system where informal work is valued and exchanged with the intention of creating a stronger community through trusting and reciprocal relationships (Michel and Hudon, 2015). Later generations of CCs, such as convertible local currencies, have focussed in regionalising local economies, which has served to advance both ecological and pro-local business goals (Dittmer, 2013). These currencies have placed an emphasis on supporting local communities which also has the potential to localise supply chains and economies – thereby decreasing the environmental impact of users (Dittmer, 2013). Inter-enterprise currencies are designed to protect small to medium sized enterprises from economic shocks (Meyer and Hudon, 2019). Finally, cryptocurrencies are decentralised networks free from central control and authority, instead relying on the technology to prevent fraud and financial misuse (Maurer et al., 2013). Cryptocurrencies have varying objectives, but transparency in financial flows and freedom from central control are two common goals (Friis and Glaser, 2018). Furthermore, some cryptocurrencies have sustainability goals prioritised, such as FairCoin and CommunityCoin (De Filippi, 2015; Meyer and Hudon, 2019). Gladden (2015) is proposing the possibility of a smart money, one which can filter that which it is used for and Alcantara and Dick (2017) have explored cryptocurrencies potential for enhancing the economic sovereignty of indigenous tribes in North America.

Therefore, the intentions of CCs can be considered semi-sustainable; some of the schemes have social goals in mind, others economic and others environmental. They fulfil aspects of Raworth’s (2017) understanding of sustainability even if they aren’t perfectly advancing both social floors and environmental ceilings at the same time. However, the contextualised and actual impact of these CCs must be considered. Firstly, the survival rate of CC schemes is relatively low (Evans, 2009; Meyer and Hudon, 2019). Of thousands of schemes created, Evans (2009) estimates that only 155 remain active. Evans (2009) critique goes further, illustrating that the quantifiable impact of complementary currencies on their local economies is minimal – a finding reinforced by Michel and Huddon’s (2015) systematic review. An example is Marshall and O’Neill’s (2018) study of Bristol Pounds, a convertible local currency in the United Kingdom, which represented 0.007% of Bristol’s Gross Domestic Product with minimal impact on localising the Bristol economy. Despite noble intentions, CCs have only had a minimal influence over the economies in which they are situated towards their goals (Dittmer, 2013; Marshall and O’Neill, 2018; Michel and Hudon, 2015).

There are some considerable exceptions as the context of the CC is important. In Argentina, barter networks enabled people to meet their needs during economic crisis even if it was only contributing 0.6% of the national GDP (Michel and Hudon, 2015). In New Zealand Green Dollars cushioned, but did not replace, the rapid withdrawal of state welfare during the 1990s (North, 2007: 126) and the Bangla-Pesa has enabled better provision of household needs in an informal community where national currency is rare in Kenya (Ruddick et al., 2015). Furthermore, the success of CCs depends on what is counted as a CC. Lietaer (2001) includes the example of Curitiba, Brazil, which is excluded in later examples such as Michel and Huddon’s (2015) systematic review. Lietaer (2001) illustrates that in Curitiba bus tokens were exchanged for community waste sorting and disposal, and the extent of the program meant these credits operated as a CC. Applying Raworth’s (2015) principles in retrospect, the progress in Curitiba made possible by the bus tokens has created social-material benefits (rapid increase in human development index) for informal settlement dwellers in Curitiba at the same time as the city receiving recognition in 1992 as the world’s most ecological city (Lietaer, 2001). Thus, even if the overall impact of CCs is minimal, in the correct context they can be vital in advancing sustainability goals by protecting social floors and environmental limits at the macro level.

Despite a minimal overall effect, except in tough external economic conditions, CCs have had demonstrable effects for those involved within the schemes. CCs have found to improve living conditions, increase employability, value informal labour and empower marginalised peoples (Michel and Hudon, 2015; Seyfang and Longhurst, 2013). Profoundly, most of the schemes bolstered community, via expanding social networks and trust, succeeding in their aforementioned intentions (Michel and Hudon, 2015). Michel and Hudon’s (2015) review includes a few papers on CCs with environmental outcomes, finding that they can encourage pro environmental behaviour through lowered and more sustainable consumption. Key to these successes are appropriate design, community acceptance and uptake, and a visible socioeconomic impact (Alves and Santos, 2018). However, CCs often have a reliance on external recognition by larger institutions to guarantee their success which can undermine the project (Alves and Santos, 2018). At this micro level, CCs are advancing sustainability in social and environmental realms, but require careful design to be accepted and their impact optimised.

However, CCs are not exclusive to public good. Air miles and supermarket loyalty points can be considered CCs even though they are not advancing sustainability goals (Seyfang and Longhurst, 2013). In addition, few cryptocurrencies advance pro-social goals and are often used for illicit and unethical activities (Gladden, 2015; Meyer and Hudon, 2019). With a market cap of $326,171,216,306 across 1500 currencies, few of which are sustainability orientated, cryptocurrencies are a major form of complementary currency demonstrating the possibility of using other mediums of exchange but have done little to raise social floors and environmental ceilings (Meyer and Hudon, 2019).

Do CCs perpetuate a monetary system?

CCs are currently in a position where they cannot challenge the dominant monetary system. Although this is not often the explicit aim of complementary currencies, this position in the monetary order undermines both their own goals and their ability to meet sustainability goals. Direct subservience is created where CCs are convertible to national currencies, such as convertible local currencies and cryptocurrencies (Evans, 2009; Friis and Glaser, 2018). Indirectly, governments, controlling the monopoly of violence, will continue to demand tax paid in the national currency (Dittmer, 2013; Meyer and Hudon, 2019) and have crushed CCs when they were deemed a threat to the national currency (Fare and Ahmed, 2017; Ruddick et al., 2015). Thus, CCs can be stuck in a subservient position to national currencies, always complementing and not offering an actual alternative (Pfajfar et al., 2012). In this position the humble gains of CCs are offset by the larger issue of national currencies facilitating an unsustainable path of perpetual economic growth (Jackson, 2009; Raworth, 2017). It is no surprise that CCs have been criticised as being a ‘game for middle-class activists’ (Cato and Suárez, 2012). CCs were no middle-class game in Argentinian Barter Markets, Curitiba or Kenya, but these are the exception not the rule as CCs are predominantly of the Global North (Seyfang and Longhurst, 2013).

Nonetheless, CCs can act as symbolic and demonstrable alternatives to the dominant monetary system. North’s (2007) Foucauldian approach establishes money as a distinct and independent pillar of state power, one that is a power struggle not only in who has the money but in its socially constructed design. Ingham (2001) states that modern currency, disconnected from current production or commodities, is a promise on future production, controlled by the state. Therefore, it is the design of money and control of its issue which perpetuate capitalist growth (Ingham, 2001; Leonard and Treiblmaier, 2019). If the design of money perpetuates the system, money could be redesigned for sustainability purposes – the rules can be rewritten with experience gained from complementary currencies. The principle of demurrage, that hoarded money loses value through periodic unit revaluation, has been present in the design of a number of CCs (Godschalk, 2012). Theoretically, this should prevent the unfair accumulation of capital, prevent economic crises through discouragement of saving, act as a counter to interest-bearing-debt issued by commercial banks and encourage regenerative investing (Godschalk, 2012; Raworth, 2017). However, the demurrage concept has faced sharp criticism from Godschalk (2012) who illustrates the lack of evidence of its intended effects when demurrage and non-demurrage CCs are compared. An opposing solution to a debt-based monetary supply offered by national currencies is cryptocurrencies, that by having a maximum volume, are inherently deflationary and discourage growth (Leonard and Treiblmaier, 2019). Finally, CCs act as a test for the proposed sustainability solution of full reserve banking – where private banks can no longer profit in creating money by issuing debt and are required to hold the full amount of all funds entrusted in them (Dittmer, 2013; Røpke, 2017). For every local exchange trading scheme debit there is a credit and every hour used through a time bank is an hour earned; cryptocurrencies are decentralised, created autonomously and are not issued through the creation of debt (Maurer et al., 2013). In these situations, full-reserve banking works, but it is vital to note this may only be the case because these are currently complementary currencies and are not used solely on their own. Full-reserve banking, at a national scale, remains mired in theoretical difficulties (Dittmer, 2015).

Conclusions

Complementary currencies have come in a number of forms, advancing different goals, some of which are sustainability orientated. The impacts of CCs are varied. The context in which they emerge is vital for assessing their impact, as they have provided real aid in tough economic situations. Outside of these CCs have minimally advanced Raworth’s (2017) understanding of sustainability. This is the result of CCs existing in a subservient position to national currencies that perpetuate capitalist growth, always complementing, never being the alternative. With this said, they have demonstrated and prototyped concepts such as demurrage and full reserve banking that are proposed as tools to redesign national currencies that currently work against sustainability goals. Resultantly, CCs can be understood to be more symbolically powerful as experiments than they have been tangible actors in achieving sustainability goals.
Reference List:

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De Filippi, P., 2015. Chapter 23 – Translating Commons-Based Peer Production Values into Metrics: Toward Commons-Based Cryptocurrencies, in: Lee Kuo Chuen, D. (Ed.), Handbook of Digital Currency. Academic Press, San Diego, pp. 463–483. https://doi.org/10.1016/B978-0-12-802117-0.00023-0

Dittmer, K., 2015. 100 percent reserve banking: A critical review of green perspectives. Ecological Economics 109, 9–16. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecolecon.2014.11.006

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Leonard, D., Treiblmaier, H., 2019. Can Cryptocurrencies Help to Pave the Way to a More Sustainable Economy? Questioning the Economic Growth Paradigm, in: Treiblmaier, H., Beck, R. (Eds.), Business Transformation through Blockchain: Volume II. Springer International Publishing, Cham, pp. 183–205. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-99058-3_7

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Untitled Oats

Untitled Oats was an oatmilk company that I, with the excellent Alex Baldwin, started in early 2020.

I conceived of the company whilst finishing my degree in Sustainable Development at the University of Edinburgh. The logic behind the company was not to get rich, but to answer a sustainability problem. The problem was found between two disparate groups: Scottish farmers who advocate local produce as a sustainability solution and Scottish vegans who advocate a plant-based diet as a sustainability solution. The problem is they are both correct.

However there is some mutual ground: oats. Add this observation to the startling discovery that oat milk is often imported across the sea to Scotland, the land of the oat, and a company was born.

Alex and I operated Untitled Oats from June 2020 through to its acquisition in April 2022. The business expanded from a kitchen operation to providing fresh oat milk on a regular basis to hundreds of customers and dozens of retail outlets across Scotland’s central belt. We were the first commercially available oat milk in Scotland and have encouraged growth in the industry – even going so far as establishing an Association to assist other fledgling producers.

In April 2022 we made the decision to sell our company and everything we knew to the Mackintosh family. With considerable investment, the company can now go on to providing Scottish oat milk at a much larger scale – multiplying the environmental benefits. Alex and I have continued working with the company, now named Mackintosh Oats Scotland, to facilitate its continued success.

Ultimately, Untitled Oats was a great learning exercise for both of us and it taught me valuable lessons in leadership, realism, and working with stainless steel.

Post by Callum McCadden. August 2022.

Me and Alex after upgrading our tanks.
Stirring in amalyse, an essential step.
Labelling
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Agroecology and Organic agriculture as sustainable food systems


Callum McCadden – 3411 words



Critically examine the claims that agroecological and organic systems of agricultural production can contribute to creating more ecologically sustainable food systems, as well as for achieving food security and supporting the livelihoods of small-holder farmers.

One area of human-environment interaction that has come under intense scrutiny is that of agriculture. In the media and politics this area has been blindsided by emissions and waste, but a raging debate has waged in grassroots political circles and academic lecture halls. This movement is backed by critical discourse that has long been analysing the faults of conventional agriculture. Two of these discourses are organic agriculture and agroecological methods. Both organics and agroecology claim to represent a better form of farming and are built on their criticism of conventional agriculture: that it is inherently unsustainable, and its negative outcomes outweigh its positives, now and/or later. This brief overview will seek to summarise and analyse the state of the debate between these three discourses. Agroecology and organics will be treated as similar but different discourses, and the arguments of one will be used to advance the other. Organics here is understood as a specific set of cultivation rules under the broader philosophy of agroecology which aims to understand the already present ecology and work with it. The paper firstly examines environmental impacts, highlighting the spectrum of methods employed within food production systems and their relative impact on the environment. Following this, the paper will examine food security in the context of distribution and demand, illustrating that questions of food security cannot be reduced to yield. The paper then touches on farmer livelihoods under the different systems.

Agroecology, and organics as a type of agroecology, attempt to approach farming from a more holistic perspective, in which an ecosystem is managed according to its own ebbs and flows but still directing energy towards to production of food for human consumption. In this way of farming the farm is seen as a system of cycles, as opposed to a linear machine of production. The definition of organics places it in contrast with conventional agriculture, ‘It relies on ecological processes, biodiversity and cycles adapted to local conditions, rather than the use of inputs with adverse effects.’ (IFOAM, 2005. Emphasis Added). Agroecology defines itself similarly, but one that also addresses economic, social and cultural sustainability of a production system (Rosset and Altieri, 1997). Organics can be seen as a set of strict rules under a more general philosophy that is agroecology. Currently just under 1% of the worlds farming area is farmed organically (Lee et al., 2015). Both systems define themselves in critique of conventional agriculture which is seen as ecologically unsustainable, perilously insecure and damaging to human livelihoods.

Primarily organics and agroecology argue that they offer a more environmentally friendly solution to farming. This has been attributed to the farming ‘crisis (Rosset and Altieri, 1997) created by conventional farming methods. The primary argument is that the use of synthetic pesticides and fertilisers used in conventional agriculture is both excessive and damaging. In the global context this a major problem, in Steffan et al’s (2015) planetary boundaries biogeochemical flows of nitrogen and phosphorus are two of the top three most breached boundaries, the third being genetic biodiversity. In waterways the excess amount of minerals leads to ‘eutrophication’, the process whereby algae grow rapidly (‘bloom’) overtaking the waterway. The end result is an oxygen starvation of the waterway, devoiding it of life bar the algae. Both conventional and organic systems leach nitrogen and phosphorus but the eutrophication link has been made to excess chemical fertilisers used in conventional farming (Reganold & Wachter, 2016). This is contested however, with Clark & Tilman (2017) arguing the eutrophication potential of organic production is higher due to widespread application of manure. It is found that per unit area organics leach less of these minerals, but due to lower production organics creates more per product (Tuomisto et al., 2012).  Finally, Rosset & Altieri (1997) argue an agroecological perspective that both of these perspectives (chemical nitrogen or nitrogen provided through manure) do not tackle the root problem of the system, and that a nitrogen rich soil is the outcome of a healthy biologically rich soil.

The broad application of synthetic pesticides is likewise condemned by organics and agroecology, both for its affects on the environment and its affect on humans. Pesticides have the affect of eliminating plants, fungi and animals that compete with the desired crop for resources. It is argued pesticides increase production (Wilson & Tisdell, 2001). Organics and agroecology don’t necessarily refute this but argue the drawbacks for soil health are not worth the gains. Organic farms have higher biodiversity with safe havens for predators, parasites, pollinators and soil fauna (Altieri and Nicholls, 2004; IPES, 2016), have been championed to reverse soil degradation (Gliessman, 2007; FAO, 2015) and perform better in drought years (Reganold & Wachter, 2016). Considering that 20 per cent of the Earth’s land is now degraded (UNCCD, 2012), these criticisms must be taken seriously.

It is logically plausible that conventional could reduce its usage of chemical inputs to a reasonable pollution level without going full agroecological. However, this is practically impossible due to seed and fertility dependence. Many of the crops used in conventional agriculture today are the result of the ‘green revolution’ (IPES, 2016). They are designed high yielding varieties that were selected for their high yields in the presence of these chemical inputs (IPES, 2016).  Furthermore, overtime dependence has increased, this is evident from the increasing amount of nitrogen fertiliser used in order to produce the same yield (Rosset & Altieri, 1997). Finally, the high capital investment of conventional large-scale monocropping makes it financially difficult to change systems where farmers have loans to pay (Weibe, 2016).

The secondary arguments advanced by organic and agroecology criticisms relate to methods employed by conventional systems, namely: mass monocropping, crop rotation and the use of GMOs. The use of GMOs is beyond the scope of this paper, however mass monocropping and crop rotation (or lack thereof) are all used in agroecological and organic arguments to advance the idea that conventional agriculture is unsuitable for long term sustainability (Rosset & Altieri, 1997). The environmental impact of mass monocropping and lack of crop rotation is well documented to reduce soil fertility and increase erosion (IPES, 2016). However, the solutions proffered by organic and agroecological agriculture such as poly-cropping and crop rotation are not necessarily unique and can be employed in conventional systems. It is entirely possible that an agenda could be advanced for conventional agriculture to take on these agroecological practices without necessarily going the full way and adopting agroecological or organic farming.

It is important to acknowledge the rebuttal of conventional agriculture, that conventional methods are more environmental through land sparing. Land sparing is the concept that because conventional agriculture has higher yields, conversion to organic would necessarily bring currently unused land into production (Ramankutty & Rhemtulla, 2012; Phalan et al. 2011). The concept pivots on the idea that agriculture is inherently damaging, and we must maximise conservation of land untouched. The argument is that due to the lower yields of organic methods, conversion to organic farming would lead to a 16-33% increase in land under cultivation (Muller et al., 2017). This would likely increase current sites of expansion: fragile areas such as rainforests (Searchinger et al., 2018) would suffer with deforestation 8-15% higher under a scenario of full organic conversion (Muller et al., 2017 – variances reflect uncertainty regarding organic yield gaps). In order to convert fully to organic agriculture without increasing land use above the baseline scenario, significant changes within the food system would have to be made (Muller et al., 2017). Notably Muller et al., (2017) find that full conversion to organic agriculture would require significant reductions in meat consumption and food waste.

On the other hand, the argument of land sparing rests on three faulty assumptions. First the concept of land sparing considers that all land that would be expanded onto would be ‘pristine’ wilderness areas, in fact often land expanded on is ex-farmland or hinterland that is relatively ecologically unproductive (IPES, 2016). Secondly, and related, the concept of land sparing pivots on an idea of the ‘pristine wild’, a social construction blind to human-environmental interactions that have occurred on almost every inch of the globe throughout history (Cronon, 1996). The flipside of this assumption is that land-sharing with wildlife is denigrated to the point it is deemed to have no value, such as the high on-site biodiversity on organic farms (IPES, 2016).  Finally, the concept of land-sparing is temporally fixed, blind to the idea that conventional agriculture may destroy the land it is operated on and then move onto to cultivating the only fertile land left: the conserved ‘pristine’ areas.

In sum it is evident from both meta-analysis, and exploration of the issues above that agroecological methods, including organics, have a demonstrated, although imperfect, track record of being more ecologically sustainable. The question in contention is how this is practically managed to produce the current level of food. As a result, it is unsurprising to note Muller et al., (2017) conclude that the practical solution to feed the world without increasing land use is a mixture of organics and conventional. With this noted the next section will explore the assumption of this conclusion: that we need to produce the same, if not more, food.

Food Security

Agroecology and organics have advanced criticism regarding the state of food security offered by conventional farming, as well tying in on debates regarding the term itself. Food security will be discussed here in its classical definition as people’s access rights to sufficient and acceptable food (FAO, 2009). A core belief in conventional farming wisdom is that organics and agroecology cannot meet the challenge of food security as it is unable to produce enough to feed the current population, never mind a growing population. Primarily this is borne out in the debate regarding the yield gap: that agroecology and organics produce less food. Several meta-analyses have found that on average organics produce less of the same crop across the same amount of land (Reganold & Wachter, 2016). Studies vary, but generally organic systems produce between 8 and 25% less (Reganold & Wachter, 2016). With this said, organic polycultures (true to the holistic ethos of agroecology and organics) produce only 9% (+-4%) less than conventional monocultures (typical of industrial farming) (Ponisio et al., 2015). Organics and agroecology look less impressive when conventional farming uses polycultures (21+- 6% yield gap) or when the philosophy of organics is diluted, and organic crops are planted as monocultures (17+-3%). Similar statistics are found for crop rotations (Ponisio et al., 2015). It is evident that conventional farming can adopt agroecological practices such as polyculture and maintain higher yields over organics. However, it is not evident that conventional farming has done so, with 80% of arable land being managed as monocultures (Altieri et al., 2015). Regardless, the conventional agricultural system can be defended simply: why in a world of 800 million to 2.5 billion hungry people (Holt-Giménez, 2018) would we risk producing less food?

The counter-argument brought forth by agroecological and organic discourses is that the yield gap is mute as we actually already produce more than enough food for the world’s population. The current output of global agriculture is enough to feed a world of 10 billion people (Holt- Giménez et al., 2012).  A full conversion to organic agriculture without increased land use, would lead to less food produced, however this wouldn’t necessarily lead to people going hungry as it is currently the ability to acquire or purchase food, not the absolute amount produced, that leaves people hungry (Sen, 1982). Likewise, a further argument is advanced by agroecological discourse that the multiple-output nature of agroecological small-scale farming increases dietary diversity (Holt-Gimenez et al., 2012). Finally, it is argued that the adoption of industrial agriculture has not only not led to less hungry people, but a marked increase in both undernourishment and obesity/ overnourishment where the overproduction of staples like grains and sugar has led to the mass-availability of reconstructed processed foods (Mahoney, 2015; Rocha, 2018)

Secondly in the debate around food security it is critical to analyse the comparative metric we are using: yield. Yield is useful as a quick metric for comparing systems, but like any quick metric carries assumptions and flaws. Primarily yield works to compare the output of a single crop across farming systems. This means a mono-cropped industrial field of wheat is compared to a small-hold agroecological farm intercropping wheat with other crops. The yield is higher in the monocrop, but the output of the intercropped plants is negated. At quick glance it seems the industrial monocrop is more productive, even if the small-hold agroecological set up is producing more nutritional energy across its multiple crops (Altieri, 2009). Using yield also masks the quality of the crops produced as the nutritional quality of the crop is presumed the same. The current consensus is that organic produce has a higher nutritional content as often advanced by advocates, but the consensus is out on whether this is utilised by the human body (Reganold & Wachter, 2016).

The access to a varied and healthy diet is essential to food security. The conventional paradigm is for farmers to specialise and produce at maximum capacity one type of product, the economies of scale making individual items cheaper (Carolan, 2018). The conventional paradigm would argue this allows consumers to put together a healthier diet in the marketplace, as healthy choices fall in price. Advocates of agroecology such as Altieri (2009) would argue instead that food security can only be achieved by supporting small-scale agroecological farms which allow people a local and more secure connection to food produced. A result of this conventional model is that the dietary diversity of richer countries has increased as they have gained access to a wider degree of food items, whilst traditional diets in poorer countries have declined as their agricultural systems move from diversity to export-orientated homogeneity (IPES, 2016).

Agroecology and organics lodge a further criticism of the conventional production paradigm by highlighting its vulnerability to collapse, particularly in reference to climate change. Agroecology argues here that the lack of genetic diversity in the industrial farming system creates vulnerability (Altieri et al., 2015). Throughout history dependence on few species has created or exacerbated food crises, thus the considerable dependence today is risky (Altieri et al., 2015). Agroecology argues that adoption of at least some its methods will be necessary to ensure food security in a world of weather extremes (Lin et al., 2008; Altieri et al., 2015). It has been observed that organic crops perform better in drought conditions than non-organic due to relationships with soil fungi (Tesvetkov et al., 2018) as well as in flood conditions (Lotter, 2003). It should be noted that the dependence on chemical fertility should be considered a vulnerability in of itself. Should these inputs become scarce, they are created from oil, it could a significant period of time to rebuild biological soil fertility – a precarious notion for food provision.  A final influencing factor in the vulnerability of farming systems is their management, it is argued by agroecological advocate Altieri (2009) that small agroecological farms use their resources better. Human agency is thus paramount, and the agents themselves must also be considered as below.

Livelihoods of small-holder farmers

A considerable amount of the debate regarding agroecology and conventional farming is how each system affects the livelihoods of farmers, particularly small-scale farmers. Considering that 60 per cent of the world’s food production is from small-hold farms, their livelihoods hold up the system (IPES, 2016). Foremost conventional agriculture has been criticised for pushing small-scale farmers out of production, the ‘get big or get out’ philosophy (Carolan, 2011; IPES, 2016). The bulk of this criticism is been observing the ‘cost-price squeeze’ exerted on farmers in the conventional model, where the costs of inputs such as chemicals and seeds has increased whilst the amount offered for the produce by fewer and fewer buyers has become less over time (Carolan, 2011; Weibe, 2016). The result is increasing dependence on fewer, more strained farmers.

Agroecology through organics has been defended through the organic ‘premium’ that farmers can get at market through farming this way. This premium has allowed organic farmers to enjoy better incomes whilst incomes from conventional farmers reduce (Lotter , 2003; Weis & Weis, 2007; Weibe, 2016). Over the last 50 years farmer income has reduced as conventional agriculture has allowed the upward consolidation of ownership (Carolan, 2018). This has borne out in its extreme to the point farmers in certain industries do not even own their operations but are paid workers on minimum wages to complete the task of farming (Domina & Taylor, 2010). An example of this would be contract poultry farming, popular in many countries both in the Global North and Global South (Domina & Taylor, 2010; Begum, 2005; Delforge, 2007). In this system the farmers (referred to as ‘growers’) own their land but not the chickens they grow, nor the feed or fuel (Carolan, 2011). The result is they are indebted and lack agency or power (Friedrich & Wilson, 2015). This decline in livelihoods and financial precarity is an obvious criticism of the conventional model. At the same time it is also evident that through the organic premium agroecological/organic farmers enjoy higher financial stability through increased profits (Crowder & Reganold, 2015).  It is vitally important to note that the organic premium at market does not solely represent an increased cost in organic production (Crowder & Reganold, 2015). Although labour costs are higher in organic production, there are less inputs purchased (Crowder & Reganold, 2015). Thus, Crowder & Reganold (2015) found that despite a 29-32% organic premium, only a 5-7% premium would be needed to cover the extra cost of organic production to match the profits of conventional production (which is predominantly caused by the yield gap). Importantly, as established, the squeezed profits and upward flowing profit system of conventional agriculture is no benchmark but there does appear to be room for organics to expand. This however may not be a good thing, as strong competition in the organics market could drive down this premium all the way down to 5-7% and make organic production no better for farmer livelihoods than conventional farming, economically at least.

The second important factor for determining which system is better for small-holder farmer livelihoods is the health of workers operating these systems. It is particularly noted in the literature that workers on conventional farms are repeatedly exposed to pesticides, endangering their health and causing a broad range of negative health outcomes such as birth defects to Alzeheimers (IPES, 2016). It is further noted that communities in the vicinity of sprayed fields have a marked increase in health problems, attributed to the farming (IPES, 2016). As a result, working in the absence of synthetic pesticides would reduce this risk, as on agroecological and organic farms. However, a study by Cross et al. (2008) could not establish a difference in health between conventional and organic seasonal farm workers in the United Kingdom. Cross et al. (2008) did establish that workers on organic farmers were happier than their conventional counterparts. Any indications that one system is healthier for the farmers must be taken seriously, as it is paramount to the overall sustainability of the system.

In conclusion there are many aspects and intricacies in the debate between agroecological, organic and conventional farming methods. Each system, or school of thought, comes out of a place of trying to achieve a goal. Conventional farming, stemming from the Green Revolution, has focussed on producing lots of food to feed many people. Agroecology and organic farming have stemmed from a long-running critique not necessarily of this goal, but rather of the ecological and human impact of the methods employed by conventional agriculture. It appears that organic farming in itself, as a strict set of rules, may not be a perfect antidote for the environmental woes it has with conventional farming but conventional farming itself has been running for too long on borrowed time and must desperately start adopting practices from agroecology and organic farming to avoid ecological disaster. This itself plays into the food security debate borne out between them and defendants of conventional farming must realise it has already achieved its goal: human society already produces enough food. Finally, the better livelihoods enjoyed by organic farmers and their workers should be treated as a goal for our agriculture system, as opposed to the financial precarity and stress we’ve allowed our conventional system to push our farmers to in the past few decades.

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Rocha, C., 2018. Framing the nutrition problem: the political-economic obstacles to healthier diets. UNSCN News, (43), pp.25-32.

Searchinger, T.D., Wirsenius, S., Beringer, T. and Dumas, P., 2018. Assessing the efficiency of changes in land use for mitigating climate change. Nature, 564(7735), p.249.

Sen, A., 1982. Poverty and famines: an essay on entitlement and deprivation. Oxford university press

Steffen, W., Richardson, K., Rockström, J., Cornell, S.E., Fetzer, I., Bennett, E.M., Biggs, R., Carpenter, S.R., De Vries, W., De Wit, C.A. and Folke, C., 2015. Planetary boundaries: Guiding human development on a changing planet. Science, 347(6223), p.1259855.

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Tuomisto, H.L., Hodge, I.D., Riordan, P. and Macdonald, D.W., 2012. Does organic farming reduce environmental impacts?–A meta-analysis of European research. Journal of environmental management, 112, pp.309-320

Weibe, N. 2016 ‘Crisis in the Food System’ in Koç, M., Sumner, J. and Winson, A. (eds), 2016. Critical perspectives in food studies (No. Ed. 2). Oxford University Press.

Weis, A.J. and Weis, T., 2007. The global food economy: The battle for the future of farming. Zed Books.

Wilson, C. and Tisdell, C., 2001. Why farmers continue to use pesticides despite environmental, health and sustainability costs. Ecological economics, 39(3), pp.449-462.

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Resilience vs Vulnerability Analysis

The following short answers were my response to a class assignment in late 2018. Short and sweet, I think it quickly illustrates the issues with ‘resilience’ and its apolitical nature.

From a resilience theory perspective, in what ways can a city’s resilience to disasters be defined and measured?

Resilience theory is a contested framework on viewing socio-ecological change. The internal contestations mean that there is no clear definition of what ‘resilience’ is, nor how to apply it practically. In this context one can define a ‘city’s resilience to disasters’ in a number of ways. Firstly, there is the discourse of ‘engineering resilience’ (Davoudi, 2012). This discourse defines resilience as the speed to which as system reverts itself to its original state following a disturbance (Davoudi, 2012). A resilient city in this paradigm may be measured in its speed of emergency response team mobilisation, or its speed of rebuilding felled buildings.

Another view of resilience is that of ‘ecological resilience’, as theorised by Holling (Davoudi, 2012). This definition considers the magnitude of disturbance a system faces. The larger magnitude of disturbance the system can adapt to without changing its original state and function, the more resilient the system is (Davoudi, 2012). Operationalised, this definition may measure the extent of which a chronic stressor affects a city’s function, such as drought or annual flooding.

A further view of resilience is ‘evolutionary resilience’ (Davoudi, 2012). This view is built from the criticism that the two above models are built on an assumed position of ‘normality’ of which they advocate a return to. Evolutionary resilience does not believe in an equilibrium, but rather socio-ecological systems are constantly changing with or without disturbance (Davoudi, 2012). In the words of Davoudi (2012: 302), ‘change can happen because of internal stresses with no proportional or linear relationship between the cause and the effects’. Evolutionary resilience has been represented by Gunderson and Hollings (2002) panarchy model, illustrating the many different ways in which change manifests – from ‘slow to fast/ small to large/ short to long’ (Davoudi, 2012: 304).

What are the risks in applying resilience thinking to cities?

There are a number of risks in applying these theories into preparing cities for socio-ecological change. Davoudi (2012) questions to what extent does this approach accounts for human intervention and ingenuity. In this sense resilience thinking is problematic in painting these dramatic changes as ‘inevitabilities’ (Davoudi, 2012). If we take disasters as normal, does this distract from our role in increasing their frequency through anthropogenic climate change?

Furthermore, Davoudi (2012: 305) takes issue with resilience thinking for being a ‘quintessentially American idea’ of self-reliance – highlighting both its arbitrary localism and its centrism to the culture of the United States. Davoudi’s (2012) point is short, appearing as a throwaway comment, yet it is a strong criticism in its own nature: is it best practice to assume communities such as cities can become best prepared in isolation (i.e. resilient) for disasters? Is it fair to say a community, or city, suffered and continues to suffer from a disaster because they weren’t resilient where American ‘resilient’ cities will always have the backup assistance of the U.S. government, but others do not?

Davoudi (2012: 305) adds to this, asserting that resilience thinking pays homage to wider neoliberal discourse, morally excusing a lack of government involvement in disaster relief, labelling it ‘a kind of social Darwinism’. By its nature, resilience thinking requires bounding: drawing a line of what is and isn’t included. Since resilience thinking has no clear definition, it is entirely possible for resilience washing to become prominent, where governments offload the moral responsibility for disaster relief to local communities, or even individuals. In this sense, resilience thinking can be both academically apolitical by not examining power structures, and practically politicised where it is used to excuse inaction.

Furthermore, Miller et al. (2010) feel there is few operationalised examples of resilience (as of 2010). This is clearly problematic. Simply put, resilience thinking has no clear long-term history of being successfully operationalised in practice or policy at even the micro level, so why should it deserve to be applied at the city level?  

In what ways might a vulnerability framework help navigate these risks?

A vulnerability framework can navigate the risk of resilience thinking being ignorant of human intervention, as it is more actor orientated (Miller et al., 2010). Miller et al. (2010: np) acknowledge this stating ‘an actor-oriented view’ is important in analysing power structures and conflict. With that said, Miller et al. (2010) also acknowledge that resilience thinking ‘implicitly’ deals with this problem. Thus, a vulnerability framework could assess risk by making obvious that which is implied by resilience thinking. Vulnerability frameworks are suited to deal with the risks inherent in resilience thinking’s tendency to be apolitical (Adger, 2006; Miller et al., 2010). Vulnerability frameworks, in line with political ecology, seek to actively identify underlying political reasons to why certain groups are more exposed to disturbances –  examples including poor governance, race relations and economic history (Adger, 2006). In other words, ‘Likewise, resilience approaches aimed at securing future sustainability cannot be realized without understanding the socio-political processes and environmental linkages that underpin the foundations of vulnerability.’ (Miller et al., 2010: np). It is this ‘foundation’ of vulnerability that allows it to engage with the above risks of resilience thinking: the interference of Americentric cultural ideas of self-reliance and the wider cultural siting within neoliberalism. Thus, Miller et al. (2010) make the substantiated point that vulnerability and resilience thinking can, and should, converge in order to cover the weaknesses of each other.

Finally, vulnerability analysis can help navigate the risk of resilience thinking’s few practical examples of application. Vulnerability analysis has been successfully applied in the fields of ‘development, food security, and disaster risk communities…’ (Miller et al., 2010: np). It is in this area again that vulnerability analysis can ‘converge’ with resilience thinking in order to co-create better knowledge. However, Miller et al. (2010: np) are keen to point out that both fields must ‘better identify specific intervention points’ in order to be more impactful. Miller et al. (2010) imply that the converged fields must theorize policy measures to be of practical use – however it is important to note this exposes resilience and/ or vulnerability thinking to politicisation. By providing these ‘specific intervention points’ scholars may make vulnerability and resilience thinking a partisan exercise.

Reference List:

Adger, W. N.. 2006. Vulnerability. Global environmental change, 16(3), 268-281

Davoudi, S. 2012. Resilience: A Bridging Concept or a Dead End?. Planning Theory and Practice 13(2): 299-306 ONLY

Miller, F., et al. 2010. Resilience and vulnerability: complementary or conflicting concepts?. Ecology and Society 15(3): 11.


Callum McCadden

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The neo-colonial plunder of West African fisheries

BY CALLUM MCCADDEN WORDS: 2047

It has been a few years since I originally wrote this piece. It was created and researched in 2018 as part of my university degree. I’m sad to report after a quick google it appears that the situation has not much improved, with foreign trawlers still engaging in illegal activities along this coast line.

I will note here that upon re-reading this paper I changed a few words and sentences about to combat an overarching tone which could border on white savourism. As it stands I think the piece works, but I’m open to critique on this. What I am trying to achieve is placing the fault upon the EU, South Korea and China. With that said I recognise the piece has a strong moralistic tone, for example using Sierra Leonne as an example – however I do think the increased piracy during this particular country’s crisis, and the fact I had never heard of this before speaks volumes to Western indifference.

….

West African fishing grounds exist in a state of neo-colonial plunder. This essay will argue that incursions of third-party countries fishing in the waters of West Africa, either legally or illegally, constitute an unfair imperial practice that is morally reprehensible in the 21st century. The situation in Sub-Saharan West African fisheries is dire as fish stocks have become overexploited as they have been harvested at unsustainable levels (Antonova, 2016; Doumbouya et al., 2017). In the exploited waters of these developing and predominately poor nations, trawlers from the European Union, South Korea and China operate (EJF, 2009, Doumbouya et al., 2017; Monbiot, 2013). This essay will operationalise Val Plumwood’s (2008) ‘shadow places’, arguing that West African fisheries are a place of material support for the (conceptual) West where they export fish to the European Union (EU), South Korea and China yet receive little in return. It will argue that this material support is unfairly compensated for with legal practices, and outright stolen through Illegal, Unreported and Unregulated fishing (IUU) which shall be referred to as piracy, a crime the West is rarely accused of.

The conceptual framework of this essay will be Plumwood’s (2008) shadow places, underlined with Adger’s (2006) and Pelling’s (2003) understandings of vulnerability, set up in a post-colonial framework. Plumwood (2008) argued that a better ‘ecological consciousness’ is needed for the earth, where attention to place is not an arbitrary chosen ‘my place’, such as your own nation state, but rather attention should be given to all places which materially support you. In the globalised world of the 21st century, individuals are seldom supported by their own nations, drawing resources across the globe from the Chinese smartphones in their pockets to the West African fish on their plates. This essay will argue it is this place indifference that has led to the piracy of West African waters. This situation is important. It has created a situation of vulnerability for West Africans, specifically their food security. This vulnerability is physically true in the region, but it doesn’t have to be and has been socially caused (Adger, 2006). The social cause is this piracy, which acts as a ‘chronic stressor’ not just for regional cities, but for the entire region (Pelling, 2003). Finally, it is worth noting that this essay has drawn significantly from the work of a non-academic paper (EJF, 2009). Unironically this issue has received little attention in academia, particularly geography. The credibility of the report used here, by the Environmental Justice Foundation, is strong considering the organisation is referenced in papers such as Doumbouya et al. (2017).

Illegal, Unreported and Unregulated Fishing:

The occurrence of IUU in West Africa waters is morally bankrupt as it is stealing from those unable to defend themselves. IUU constitutes a number of activities from outright theft in countries unable to guard their waters (Illegal), taking advantage of non-managed areas (Unregulated), or deceiving authorities by having a literal layer of an allowed fish on top of a prohibited species to mask what the boat has actually caught for example (Unreported). Countries in this area are often unable to patrol their Exclusive Economic Zone’s (EEZs – the coastal area of which a nation has the exclusive right to control resources) due to budgetary constraints as these countries are relatively poor, and navies are very expensive (Figure 1 -Belhabib et al., 2015; Doumbouya et al., 2017). The link to piracy is direct and it has been observed that the countries in the area that can afford to patrol their waters, suffer less from this piracy (Doumbouya et al., 2017). This is predatory behaviour, and deserves international condemnation as opposed to current state of apathy from international actors, particularly the European Union (Monbiot, 2013; Antonova, 2016). A telling example is the case of Sierra Leone. Sierra Leone is last in the United Nation’s Human Development Index, a vulnerable post-conflict state with large amounts of poverty and undernourishment (EJF, 2009). During the Sierra Leone’s devastating civil war in the 1990s, and as the country suffered from the Ebola crisis in 2014, IUU fishing in the country’s EEZ increased (Doumbouya et al., 2017; EJF, 2009). This is a prime example of the perversity of piracy being practiced in these waters; an assault on the weakened which must be condemned. Sierra Leone is not an isolated example, it is estimated that up to 40% of fish caught in the West African region is done so illegally, alarming levels indicating that the situation is both a crisis and a plunder (Doumbouya et al., 2017).

IUU is particularly heinous in West African waters because it creates a situation of food insecurity. A geographic lens demands not just moral cries, but analysis of the extent of issues across space and place. The piracy of fish in West Africa creates food insecurity because of the dependence on fishing for the local population(s). In Sierra Leone, fish constitute 80 per cent of animal protein (EJF, 2009). In Senegal, 75% (Antonova, 2016). This is a common trend across the region due to the high fertility of the ocean in the region (Ndiaye, 2011; Doumbouya et al. 2017), which is further exacerbated by inland infertility due to the arid Sahel landscape for certain countries such as Mauritania and Senegal.  In this sense the dependency on fishing resources is well-established. This pirate fishing threatens these ecosystems on which West African nations rely, and hence the food produced from it. Methods employed, particularly trawling, are destructive and destroy reproductive abilities of marine ecosystems by killing infantile fish as well as ripping up production habitats and reducing biodiversity (Srinivasan et al., 2010; Ndiaye, 2011; Monbiot, 2013). This situation is precarious for West Africans as distant water fleets from the EU and Asia act as a chronic stressor, increasing food insecurity through overexploitation – a vulnerability that needs addressed sooner than later to avoid further undernourishment or a food crisis (Pelling, 2003; Adger, 2006). In this sense, West African nations are being made vulnerable for the seafood palates of the West, whom have already overexploited their own waters such as the case of the EU which now imports 70% of seafood from out with European waters (Belhabib, 2015). The EU (along with other western powers, predominantly China and South Korea) now exploit these West African nations as shadow places, unknown to the western consumer (Plumwood, 2008; Belhabib, Sumaila & Pauly, 2015). The difference between the Western consumer and the West African consumer is that the Western consumer is not dependent on fish as a primary protein, having the financial capital to change diets with relative ease, a luxury dependent West African fishing communities cannot afford.

Finally, it is pertinent to note that fish piracy is having an adverse economic impact on the countries in the region. Foremost pirate fishing is damaging economies in the area by underreporting, using prohibited gear, fishing in prohibited areas and fishing without a licence (Doumbouya et al., 2017). The impact of IUU activities is estimated to cost approximately $2.3 billion annually across the coastline from Mauritania to Sierra Leone (Doumbouya et al., 2017). To frame this, only $29 million was collected in fines via policing in these waters during the whole period 2009-2016. It is thus evident, the extent of piracy in West African waters is enormous, hitting fishermen whom are often poor themselves the most (Béné, 2003). To compound this problem, pirate fishing vessels have been documented being aggressive towards local artisanal fishermen, destroying fishing gear and ramming boats which take extensively long periods to replace on their low incomes (EJF, 2009: 14; Ndiaye, 2011). Fishermen with remaining boats and gear can be left wading through waters of floating dead fish, a result of the extreme amounts of ‘bycatch’ being thrown overboard, unwanted by commercial interests (Ndiaye, 2011; EJF, 2009). It is estimated that up to 90% of fish caught may be discarded in this way, left to wash up on the shores of undernourished and underdeveloped nations (Ndiaye, 2011). Through this lost commercial potential of their marine resources, the development of these West African nations is stifled, which further reinforces their inability to police their waters.


Legal fishing:

Fishing arranged legally between distant fishing nations and local West African nations is unfair at best, deceitful and exploitative at worst.  At the macro level, Antonova (2016) has explored the unequal EU-Senegal ‘Sustainable Fishing Partnership Agreement’ (SFA). Antonova (2016) argues that although the EU has positioned itself normatively as a beacon of sustainability, its SFA with Senegal contradicts its normative position. Antonova (2016) illustrates that the SFA provides new waters for European trawlers in exchange for cash. As a result Senegal’s waters have become overexploited, with little financial gain for the country (Antonova, 2016). This could be attributed to short-termism on behalf of the Senegalese government, however Antonava chooses instead to highlight the power imbalance between the EU and Senegal as well as the hypocrisy of the EU’s proposed sustainable norms on one hand and their actions on another. In this sense the EU is paying cash for fish, no matter the degradation of the resource. To Alder (2004: 156) these unfair agreements result from ‘colonial ties’ which structured and framed the fishing relationships that were available to post-independent West African states. Financially these agreements don’t work in the favour of African states, with the Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations estimating if fish caught by foreign nations was instead domestically caught it would ‘generate an additional value of US$3.3 billion, which is eight times higher than the current US$0.4 billion African countries earn from fisheries agreements.’ (FAO, 2014). To the EU this agreement is beneficial, going so far as to provide subsidies for European fishermen to fish in these waters (Monbiot, 2013; Antonova, 2016). Exploitation by larger nations has a long history in West Africa, and I posit alongside Alder (2004) that this colonial history as reason behind the EU’s wilful ignorance of the problem.

At the micro level legal fishing also exists in an exploitative manner in these waters. It is of particular note that fishing vessels operating illegally in West African waters often have full legal hygiene certification by the European Union’s Directorate General for Health and Consumer Protection of the European Commission (DG Sanco)(EJF, 2009). This means the catch of these ships is of a certified quality to be consumed in the European Union, regardless of the means of procurement (EJF, 2009). DG Sanco should work with DG Mare (The European Union’s Directorate-General of Maritime Affairs and Fisheries – responsible for IUU) but does not (EJF, 2009). This leaves a situation where uninspected, often unsanitary ships, operate illegally in West African waters but carry the legal certification for European Union export (EJF, 2009). Finally, the deceitful tactic of transhipment is prevalent in the region, allowing illegal fishing to hide under a façade of legal operations. During this process ships operating illegally will transfer their loads to licenced ships. In this manner fishing operations will only need one licence, and one EU hygiene certification (EJF, 2009; Ndiaye, 2011). It is these operational arrangements that allow vessels to conduct illegal activities yet appear as legal and licenced operators.

Conclusions:

The practice of piracy in West African waters, legal or illegal, exists in an international vacuum of responsibility. It is undeniable that the opportunity is created from the failure of the domestic nation states to protect their own waters. As such it is no surprise that Doumbouya et al. (2017) find that states who impose strong monitoring, control and surveillance with strong punishments for offenders have the least amount of fish piracy in their waters. However, this must be understood in context. The states in question are poor and vulnerable. The powers practicing extractivism in their waters are not. To crack down on this piracy in West African waters we must go beyond recommendations of better governance on behalf of West African states. Instead, as done so briefly here, the exploitative post-colonial relationships existing between Western fishing states and West African fish-providing states must be explored and the neo-colonial plunder must cease.  To do so relevant powers such as the European Union, South Korea and China must take responsibility for their merchant fishing vessels operating in the region. To pressure them, the debate must shine light onto this shadow place, exposing the literal thieves in the night.

Figure 1: West African Exclusive Economic Zones included for reference from: Belhabib, D., et al., 2015. Euros vs. Yuan: Comparing European and Chinese Fishing Access in West Africa – Scientific Figure on ResearchGate. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/Exclusive-Economic-Zone-waters-of-the-West-African-countries-considered-here-also_fig1_274385630 [accessed 3 Nov, 2018]

Reference List:

Alder, J. & Sumaila, U.R., 2004. Western Africa: A Fish Basket of Europe Past and Present. The Journal of Environment & Development, 13(2), pp.156–178

Antonova, A., 2016. The rhetoric of “responsible fishing”: Notions of human rights and sustainability in the European Union’s bilateral fishing agreements with developing states. , pp.77–84. ISSN 0308–597X

Belhabib, D., et al., 2015. Euros vs. Yuan: Comparing European and Chinese Fishing Access in West Africa – Scientific Figure on ResearchGate. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/Exclusive-Economic-Zone-waters-of-the-West-African-countries-considered-here-also_fig1_274385630 [accessed 3 Nov, 2018]

Belhabib, D., Sumaila, U.R. & Pauly, D., 2015. Feeding the poor: Contribution of West African fisheries to employment and food securitbey. Ocean and Coastal Management, 111, p.72.

Béné, C., 2003. When Fishery Rhymes with Poverty: A First Step Beyond the Old Paradigm on Poverty in Small-Scale Fisheries. World Development, 31(6), pp.949–975.

Doumbouya, A. et al., 2017. Assessing the Effectiveness of Monitoring Control and Surveillance of Illegal Fishing: The Case of West Africa. Frontiers in Marine Science, 4,

EJF, 2009. Dirty Fish – How EU Hygiene Standards facilitates illegal fishing in West Africa. Environmental Justice Foundation: London. Available: https://ejfoundation.org/resources/downloads/report-dirty-fish.pdf [Accessed: 03/11/2018]

Graaf G. & Garibaldi, L. 2014. The Value of African Fisheries. Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. Rome.

Monbiot, G. 2013. Feral: Rewilding the Land, Sea and Human Life. London: Penguin

Ndiaye, T. 2011. Illegal, unreported and unregulated fishing: Responses in general and in west africa. Chinese Journal of International Law 10(2), 373-406.

Plumwood, V. 2008. Shadow Places and the Politics of Dwelling. Ecological Humanities, Issue 44, March

Srinivasan, U.T., et al. 2010. Food security implications of global marine catch losses due to overfishing. Journal of Bioeconomics. 12: 183

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The geopolitics of shipworms

CALLUM MCCADDEN – 2000 WORDS

One of the greatest parasites in all human history is now forgotten. Naval museums are full of triumph of how we bested the oceans; from perilous expeditions to massive cargo ships that backbone the globalised economy, a lot has changed. Many inventions are categorised and detailed, from the invention of waxed sails to the steamship. Yet one problem is seldom discussed, for it never truly was solved: shipworm.

Shipworm is a generic term that refers to many species, a family of creatures some 20 million years old (Hoppe, 2002). Most infamous, albeit barely today, is the species Teredo Navalis. Teredo Navalis (henceforth teredo), will make short work of wooden structures in its viable waters, capable of completely devouring wooden piles in weeks to months (Cohen, 2014; Nelson, 2016). The reputation of this species is so powerful that the term teredo is short-hand in the literature for the many species of shipworm (Nelson, 2016). In addition, shipworms are highly diverse and not all are categorised (Lee et al., 2019). Shipworms, generally, have blighted ships throughout history, being major issues for seafaring empires from the Egyptians to the British (Davy, 1824; Hoppe, 2002). Even today, shipworms create damages estimated at one billion US dollars a year (Cobb, 2002). However, shipworms have a complicated relationship with humans, antagonistic in some areas but beneficial in others – in some countries they are eaten as delicacies (Lee et al., 2019). This short paper will analyse the lifeworld of the shipworm from three environmental humanities perspectives. Firstly, the biological understanding of the shipworms’ lifeworld will be outlined. Secondly, the political ecology of the imperial seafaring past will be analysed, with the shipworm considered a more-than-human agent. Finally, the shipworm will be considered in the context of climate change literature, and its potential to alter the future.

The shipworm’s lifeworld:

Shipworms exist in saline conditions, between 5 °C and 30 °C, where they have access to wood for food (Paalvast and van der Velde, 2011). Brooding and spawning varieties exist; both reproduce in large numbers (MacIntosh et al., 2014). Importantly, shipworms are not worms at all, but molluscs, meaning they filter-feed on nutrients in the water (Hoppe, 2002). They bore down the grain of the wood with two small retractable siphons pointing out of their cavity as the only indication of their presence, one injecting and one ejecting water (Hoppe, 2002). As a result, any piece of wood can literally be riddled with shipworm, completely instable, and yet look fine to the eye (Nelson, 2016). This is the primary reason that the shipworm has been implicated in great disasters such as the dyke failures in the Netherlands and the failure of the Spanish Armada’s English invasion (Nelson, 2016).

These creatures occupy an incredible niche in the oceans, forming a symbiotic relationship with bacteria in order to thrive on a diet of wood –  sometimes exclusively (Hoppe, 2002). The bacteria produce cellulase from the cellulose in wood which is used as energy by shipworms (they also fix nitrogen) (Waterbury et al., 1983). The uniqueness of these bacteria has gained attention from researchers hoping to use the bacteria for commercial purposes, from enriching cattle food to creating biofuels (Cobb, 2002). It is this bacteria relationship that has allowed shipworm species to evolve into different niches. Recently, a proposal for new genus and species Lithoreo abatanica was put forward on the grounds its rock boring and ingesting traits set this shipworm apart (Shipway et al., 2019). It is currently unknown whether this shipworm gains nutrition from the ingested rock, or that its gut bacteria provide all nutrients through the water the shipworm continues to filter (Shipway et al., 2019). Likewise, giant shipworms have been discovered in the Philippines that survive solely on the hydrogen sulphide rising from vents on the ocean floor – a unique evolution from their wood eating cousins (Distel et al., 2017). In all, shipworms are abundant in the world’s oceans and occupy ecologically significant niches responsible for breaking down materials that are not conventionally food for most animals.

Empire and shipworms:

Due to their woody appetite, shipworms have long frustrated imperial ambitions, creating a political force of nature that has held back plans of empire. Greek and Roman vessels used lead sheeting as an attempted deterrent for shipworms (Crippa and Borrelli, 2019). Lead fell out of fashion soon after, likely due to its expense, and for the next 1500 years the seabound were left with inefficient tactics involving regular waxing, tarring and the literal charring of the bottom of boats (Crippa and Borrelli, 2019; Hoppe, 2002). The efficacy of these tactics is contested (Cock, 2001; Gollasch et al., 2009; Hoppe, 2002). Other than this, taking boats to freezing waters, careening the boat for repairs (where the boat is tipped onto its side) or the use of drydocks, if available, were the best methods for preventing destruction by shipworm (Cock, 2001). This had to be done regularly due to the rapid action of shipworm. 16th century European explorers were hampered by shipworm, with whole voyages being stalled (Cobb, 2002). By the time the British Empire had ambitions in tropical waters, where shipworm thrives, the threat for merchant ships was greater than that of pirates (Hoppe, 2002). Vessels involved in the slave trade rerouted around known shipworm waters and certain areas were never colonised (Nelson, 2016). In this manner, much like yellow fever in Anim-Addo’s (2014) example, ship worms expressed a more-than-human geographic agency on the route masters of colonialization.

Conversely, despite the best efforts of avoidance, there is considerable belief that the flows of empire and the Atlantic slave trade were vital in moving shipworm around the world – particularly to colder European waters where they further frustrated imperial ambition (Nelson, 2016). Capable of surviving six weeks out of water, shipworms were observed to be reproducing in British waters for the first time mid-18th century (however it had been present in warmer European waters earlier) (Cock, 2001; Hoppe, 2002). At this point, the accepted norm was the creation of sacrificial outer hulls from cheap timber for the shipworm to eat (Cock, 2001). This still required regular replacing and would cause deforestation in British colonies to fuel the demand for cheap timber (Cock, 2001; Nelson, 2016). In response to the expanding issue of shipworm, copper sheeting was introduced in the British Navy as an effective deterrent (Cock, 2001). Copper corrodes in seawater, and thus prevents shipworm from taking hold due to the poisonous film produced (Cock, 2001). This effect was observed, but lack of understanding of copper and iron’s reaction in seawater (an electrolyte) prevented the British Admiralty from knowing why the new copper sheeting was causing the rapid deterioration of ships’ iron bolts (Cock, 2001; Davy, 1824). Shipworm was clearly a massive issue for Britain’s imperial navy, as the Admiralty decided to copper all their ships despite the known issues (Knight, 1973). The exact effect on history is difficult to calculate, but what is clear is that shipworm was an evidenced natural barrier that constrained imperial ambitions, and one that followed the flows of imperial shipping, even if its exact origin is unknown (Gollasch et al., 2009).

In the post-colonial era, shipworms continued to be a political agent in the projection of force over the ocean. In the 19th century, coppering was replaced with copper alloys and slowly paints replaced plating (Cobb, 2002). Metal ships, after the invention of the ironclad, although blighted by other biofouling, do not suffer from shipworm (Dafforn et al., 2011). Despite innovation, the establishment of the United States of America as a fledgling power in the 19th century was a constant battle against shipworm (Nelson, 2016). Teredo devoured new port infrastructure wholesale, became a known term with many (negative) meanings, became an advertising point for freshwater harbours and its reputation was even manipulated politically to advance agendas even in its absence (Nelson, 2016). Teredo, was a terrifying word (Nelson, 2016). Today, the imperial powers of the modern era are in a position of relative liberty from shipworm. However, less powerful and poorer countries still suffer under the blight of the shipworm, only exaggerating the power imbalance (Cobb, 2002). Poorer boat owners often work with wooden vessels and are unable to afford expensive biocidal paints (Cobb, 2002). Combine the fact that these people are often fishermen, and the paints used are highly toxic to the environment, prevention of shipworm can be multifaceted and devastating (Cobb, 2002). Shipworms are powerful because of their longevity, even surviving long ocean voyages after the Japanese 2011 tsunami creating a potential invasive species threat for Hawaii (Treneman et al., 2018). Furthermore, the globalised movement of goods which is so often facilitated by capital coming from neo-imperial powers can actually move shipworm around the world, surviving in the ballast water of container ships (Cohen, 2004), although mediocre progress has been made by the ‘International Convention for the Control and Management of Ships’ Ballast Water and Sediments’ that entered into force in 2017 (IMO, 2020). As such, shipworms, along with other invasive species, continue to be a political agent in the world’s oceans.

Climate change and the future:

Due to anthropogenic climate change, the territory of shipworms is set to expand and through differing access to technology this reflects global inequality. Freshwater is a natural defence against shipworms, which need salinity to survive (Nelson, 2016). Resultantly, it is of considerable worry that climate change induced droughts could increase the salinity of estuary harbours and thus increase the habitat of shipworms (Paalvast and van der Velde, 2011). This specific example has been modelled in Rotterdam, where climate change leads to the scenario of teredo shipworm expanding upriver and destroying wooden structures (Paalvast and van der Velde, 2011). Furthermore, many countries have banned traditional biocides used to prevent shipworm, namely Creosote and Chromated Copper Arsenate (Cobb, 2002). These toxic substances are carcinogenic to their environments but without them wooden structures are vulnerable (Dafforn et al., 2011). There are alternatives such as the use of concrete (expensive; vulnerable to a different boring clam species), plastic structures (expensive; vulnerable to melting) and tropical timbers that cause deforestation issues (Cobb, 2002; Nelson, 2016). As such, Nelson’s (2016) contention that ‘for all intents and purposes, teredo is history’ is an incredibly bold one considering the habitat of shipworm is set to expand particularly into areas with wooden structures and that much of the world still uses wooden boats for their livelihoods (Cobb, 2002). Furthermore, a deep environmental perspective may consider wood as a more ecologically sustainable material against non-renewable metals. For example, most metal cargo ships going out of service are ‘broken’ at dangerously polluted coasts, particularly in Bangladesh and India (Hossain and Islam, 2006; Psaraftis, 2019). There are new shipping companies that have returned to wooden vessels such as Tres Hombres shipping and Sail Cargo (Sail Cargo, 2020; Tres Hombres, 2020). With that said these two examples are a drop in the ocean compared to the world’s 62,503, predominantly steel, cargo ships (Psaraftis, 2019). The ability to prevent expanding shipworm territories reflects and expands global inequalities, where cheaper measures are toxic and the alternatives expensive.

Conclusions:

Shipworms are an ecologically important, if relatively unknown, set of molluscs. They continue to inhibit human efforts in the oceans, particularly in countries with less financial capital. The deterrents used are either toxic in the case of chemicals, impractical as in plastics and concrete, or expensive and exhaustible as metals. Throughout history, and today, shipworms express a more than human agency on human efforts in the sea. Looking forward, shipworms are likely to be a bigger issue for human structures as their territory expands into spaces considered relatively safe. Considering the geographic implications of shipworm now could be useful in preventing the wholesale destruction of human structures without desperate last-minute application of biocides. In the uneven outcomes of a global issue, shipworms have come to represent many issues in our unsustainable global world, from colonial histories to unjust economic outcomes and the contested release of toxic pollutants into the natural world.

Word Count: 2000

All rights reserved to Callum McCadden. Originally submitted to the University of Edinburgh as coursework for ‘The Blue Humanities’ geography course, 2020. Later self-published in June 2021 via this website.

“Original Assignment: ‘Demonstrate how your understanding of an organism’s lifeworld is informed by conceptual approaches derived from the environmental humanities’.”

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