Battle to Preserve Baja’s Whale Nursery Celebrated, but Threats Remain
"…. for there is no splendor greater than the gray when the light turns it to silver ." — Homero Aridjis, The Eye of the Whale Ten years ago this month, the Mexican government — under intense pressure from environmentalists — announced it was canceling a proposed industrial salt factory at Baja’s Laguna San Ignacio. The lagoon serves as the last undeveloped birthing habitat for the eastern Pacific population of gray whales, which were hunted almost to extinction a century ago and continue to make a tentative recovery. (Their Atlantic cousins succumbed to overhunting and have disappeared from the seas.) The sudden and surprising decision to scrap the saltworks was a landmark victory for U.S. and Mexican environmental groups, including the Natural Resources Defense Council, which had been fighting for five years to stop the joint venture between Mexico and Japan’s Mitsubishi Corporation. When many of the key participants in that fight gathered last week for a reunion at the remote lagoon, it was clear that ongoing efforts to protect this unique part of the Vizcaíno Biosphere Reserve were having a profound impact. At game parks on the African Serengeti, humans go to view wildlife - but here in Baja, the wildlife comes to you. The gray whales were out to greet everyone, some 200 strong for twice-daily whale watches, exhaling a heart-shaped mist as they chuffed past the panga boats. They sometimes approached close enough for onlookers to touch or even rub the baleen inside their mouths. "A magical gift, transcending time," as Mexican poet and environmental leader Homero Aridjis described one two-hour visit on the water. Gray whales make one of the longest migrations in the animal kingdom, traveling 5,000 miles or more from sunny Baja to the cold Arctic, where they feed during the long days of summer. But they mate and give birth primarily in a few special lagoons along the Baja coast. The two other habitats they frequent have already seen considerable development, including a large saltworks. San Ignacio alone remains pristine. Had the salt project gone forward here, it would have meant a mile-long concrete pier across the whales’ migratory path and diesel engines pumping 6,000 gallons of sea water per second into 116 square miles of diked salt evaporation ponds. Given the many other threats facing the 17,000 remaining gray whales — from deafening Navy sonar to climate change impacts on their food supply — industrial expansion into this nursery would likely have proven disastrous. During the anniversary gathering last week, a symposium to discuss future steps for protecting the area drew a standing-room-only crowd of well over 100 people to one of the lagoon’s nine eco-tourist campgrounds. "This past decade has been a watershed moment in the way we lived and perceived ourselves," said Josele Varela, president of the new Rural Association of Collective Interests and one of a number of local community members from among the lagoon’s 205 families giving presentations. In 2004, lagoon residents formed an alliance with some of the 36 other biosphere reserves in Mexico to exchange information. These are sites designated for their natural beauty to foster sustainable development. "With this alliance, we’ve been able to learn new ecological methods," said Raul Lopez. New projects at the lagoon include oyster aquaculture and an award-winning effort to grow and restore mangrove forests. Such efforts by the lagoon’s six ejidos (communal land cooperatives) have been bolstered by the Laguna San Ignacio Conservation Alliance, which is also comprised of five outside NGO’s — NRDC, International Fund for Animal Welfare, International Community Foundation, Wildcoast, and Pronatura. "I think we’re about halfway to where we want to be, in terms of increased protections for the lagoon," said Jacob Scherr, NRDC’s director of international programs.The purchase of conservation easements now protects roughly 140,000 acres on the lagoon’s eastern side, he said. "We’ve also gotten a commitment from the national government to preserve about 100,000 acres of federal lands on the other side of the lagoon." However, as marine biologist Steven Swartz put it, "I think we need to remain vigilant." Mitsubishi and its Mexican counterpart, Exportadora de Sal (ESSA), still maintain the legal right to renew their proposal. A year after the saltworks project was halted, according to Scherr, "without any real fanfare ESSA renewed that concession for another 50 years. We became aware of this and are now in the process of trying to have it nullified." Mark Spalding, director of the Ocean Foundation, which fiscally sponsors the Laguna San Ignacio Ecosystem Science Program, adds: "The land conservation easements and other land purchases have been very strategic, in hopes of making it extremely difficult for Exportadora to revive the project. But future oil or gas development is still a real risk here." A proposal to improve or even pave the rough road that runs 37 miles from the town of San Ignacio to the lagoon is under consideration by Baja authorities. The local community would, of course, benefit from quicker access to fish markets and medical facilities. But many fear better roads would also increase the likelihood of development. "They want to keep the flavor of a wilderness experience, because that’s part of the allure," said Swartz. Scientists are also studying the potential noise impacts of construction, especially on the lagoon’s bird population. Swartz’s ongoing census of the lagoon’s gray whales found an increase during this winter’s mating and breeding season, from 193 at the 2009 peak to upwards of 260 now. However, the number of mothers with newborns appears to have fallen. And although scientists are seeing fewer skinny whales than last year, concerns remain about the gray whales’ food supply in the warming Arctic. Due to climate change, the tiny crustaceans called amphipods upon which they customarily feed at the end of their 5,000-mile-long migration have disappeared from the traditional sites, forcing the whales to range even farther north. "So there is nutritional stress, and some whales have lost all their body fat," Swartz told the symposium. Still, a decade after the saltworks was stopped, "the basic integrity of the area has been maintained," according to NRDC’s Scherr. "At the end of the day, you can never preserve a place unless you have the local people with you. That’s what’s been such an important part of the story of Laguna San Ignacio." Among the "friendly" grays this March, that was true cause for celebration.
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How to Fix the World
Life on a fault line should concentrate the mind, and make it serious. If you want to build an office tower in California, for example, laws require that you make sure it will stand up to a major earthquake. Over the years the specifics change, as both building technology and seismic research advance, but the general principle endures: politics, technology, and science should work together to protect people’s lives. Imagine, though, what earthquake preparedness would be like if it were handled the way American society deals with climate change. There would be little debate on the real choices ahead, but plenty of "debate" over the "alleged scientific proof" that earthquakes are actually real or that humans can do anything about them. Deniers would trot out one or two dissident seismologists to claim (falsely) that there is no scientific consensus. The reality-based community would take the bait and claim (falsely) that all scientists agree about everything. In An Inconvenient Truth , Al Gore states that there are 930 papers that agree on human-made climate change and zero that dispute it. But as the climatologist James Hansen recently noted, "That’s just not normal for science." Instead of pondering probabilities and degrees of confidence, we have allowed our deliberative processes to turn the world’s environmental crises into culture wars. Last December, for example, the biggest climate news concerned not scientists’ data but their stolen personal e-mails. As the sideshows go on, the risk of global catastrophe keeps rising. The entire human population now lives on an environmental fault line. So why, when we debate what to do about global warming or long-term sustainability, can’t we sound like grown-ups? In The Essential Engineer , Henry Petroski offers an answer. Americans, he suggests, are deluded about what science is and how it works. We want high-tech ways to cope with the risks of (to use a list of potential worldwide disasters that Petroski himself quotes) "a modern day global famine; an astronomical event leading to complete or partial extinction of life on Earth; a hundred- or thousand-year severe storm, earthquake or volcanic eruption; a terrorist attack that can kill tens or hundreds of thousands of people, or a climate change that could lead to total extinction of life on Earth." Instead, Petroski argues, American politics and culture prepare citizens for a fantasy world in which science eliminates all uncertainty, predicts the future perfectly, and provides technical solutions untainted by politics and money. "Conventional wisdom is that science is sure," he writes. "In fact that is often the way its findings are reported." Of course, the actual language of science is nothing like this. Only crazy cult leaders tell their followers that the next big earthquake will strike at 8:14 a.m. on April 12, 2016. The best scientists can do is to say there is a 46 percent probability that an earthquake with a 7.5 magnitude will strike Southern California in the next 30 years, and a "greater than 90 percent certainty" that human activities drive global warming. Those are impressive intellectual achievements, and we should be glad to fold them into policy debates. Instead, we want scientists to act like cult leaders. How did that happen? The role of theoretical physics in the development of the atomic bomb, Petroski believes, led us astray. For a few decades during and after World War II, with physicists "almost running amok in political influence," it really did seem that abstract, all-knowing science was the root of progress, both for our understanding of nature and our ability to make airplanes, cell phones, and other useful stuff. In reality, knowledge more often flows from material progress. "The rocket came before the mathematical solution to the problem of rocket flight," Petroski notes. "Inventors seldom have the patience of scientists." From steamships to pasteurization to refrigeration to the earthquake-resistant Golden Gate Bridge, the typical history of invention belongs to practical people trying to make things that we can use, building on what has come before. Revolutionary leaps are rare, unintended consequences ever-present, and a certain amount of failure is inevitable. Indeed, Petroski writes, it is failure that teaches inventors how to improve. The people plodding along this path don’t refine beautiful theories or wait for perfect insights. They just get things done. Approvingly, Petroski quotes a "frequently cited” definition of structural engineering: "the art of assembling materials whose properties we do not fully understand into arrangements we cannot fully analyze to support loads we cannot fully predict — and to do so in a convincing enough fashion so that the public has complete confidence in the resultant structures." The driver of progress, then, isn’t pure science (which often brings up the rear, advancing thanks to the new instruments and data created by the practical inventors). It’s engineering, broadly defined as the business of making things people can use out of what is available, with whatever knowledge is at hand, and accepting the constraints of politics, money, and human nature. "Engineers do not need to imagine the unimaginable," Petroski writes. "They have to imagine the manageable." As a claim about the history of progress, this is an extreme position in a long-standing debate. (Do new machines foster new thought, or does new thinking lead to new machines? Surely it’s a little of both.) And Petroski, a professor of civil engineering at Duke University who has written 15 books (counting this one) that explain the engineer’s mind-set, lays it on thick. In The Essential Engineer , scientists merely know, but engineers do . Petroski’s scientists are passive and innately pessimistic, content to study nature and think their impractical "out of this world" thoughts. But engineers are active, upbeat, and always useful. After all, Petroski writes, while scientists "tend to be more flamboyant than engineers" and "sometimes appear to think of themselves as special," it’s the engineers who, though they have "few if any literary allusions or plays on words in their work," are "in a position to change the world, not just study it." If this makes Petroski sound as if he has a chip on his shoulder, let me hasten to clarify: it’s a boulder, and it makes him, and his argument, look small. The peevish tone is unfortunate, because the book makes a valuable point. Engineering as Petroski describes it is the human side of our science-based civilization. It involves all the mess and strife from which we dream that pure science is immune: incomplete knowledge, insufficient budgets, political trade-offs, fads, fears, and foibles. When we forget all this, we end up expecting inhuman perfection from scientists. We want to know exactly how climate change is happening and precisely what we can do about it. Hence the sorry state of climate politics: if you believe science can know everything , then the slightest uncertainty or disagreement can make science look like it doesn’t know anything. People who think too much of science, in other words, will end up thinking too little of it. So Petroski is right to encourage an engineer’s grown-up perspective. But he goes too far, and it’s not just in his self-indulgent grousing about the "separate and unequal" professional relationships of scientists and engineers. The Essential Engineer isn’t an argument for correcting the imbalance; it’s a call for reversing it. On climate change, for example, Petroski believes we’ve had too much study and not enough action. It’s not enough for scientists to do science, he says; they should also do engineering, or let the engineers do it themselves: "Scientists should either hand the problem over to engineers or engage not only in science relevant to climate change but also in engineering means to control it." But global warming is exactly the kind of problem for which his get-it-done, use-what-we-know solutions could be disastrous. Like any good engineer, Petroski wants to plan our actions on global warming by adding up the dollars and cents and using what knowledge we have. After all, "engineering is all about designing devices and systems that satisfy the constraints imposed by managers and regulators." That leads him to accept without question the supposedly hardheaded, by-the-numbers reasoning of Bjørn Lomborg, the Danish political scientist who claims society should spend its scarce resources on problems other than climate change. Petroski quotes Lomborg as saying that "spending an extra dollar cutting CO2 to combat climate change generates less than one dollar of good, even when we add up all the economic and environmental benefits." These numbers have been disputed by economists, but there’s a larger problem with this kind of analysis: it works only if we can be certain we know exactly how much good will result in 2030 from a choice made in 2010. In other words, it assumes that past experience is a good guide to the future. Petroski, eager to accept the constraints imposed by managers and regulators, buys that premise without question. But climate scientists, whose discipline gave us the term "butterfly effect," know that the planet’s natural history is nonlinear. Sudden shifts in global climate have occurred out of all proportion to their causes, and in those times the past was no guide to the future at all. Before we try to engineer the climate, then, it’s probably a good idea to learn more about what could go wrong. Hence, we’re lucky we still have some people pursuing impractical knowledge instead of just making better refrigerators at a better price. Petroski prefers doing to knowing; he wants to roll up his sleeves and start geo-engineering. But a society that takes his advice to heart could end up not knowing what it’s doing.
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How to Fix the World
Home, Sweet Home
When American Municipal Power announced last fall that it had canceled plans to build a new coal-fired power plant in southeastern Ohio, NRDC and its allies rejoiced. For senior attorney Anjali Jaiswal, who had helped devise the legal strategy to fight the proposed plant, it was a particularly meaningful victory. She spent much of her childhood in Ohio — "I love Cleveland!" she readily exclaims — and the battle over the power plant represents what she values most about environmental law: the ability to make real change in her own backyard. Jaiswal’s affinity for protecting the places she has called home bodes well for the planet: she’s had a lot of backyards in her 35 years. Jaiswal was born in India, but her family moved to the United States when she was just 3 years old, first to Dallas and then to Akron, Cleveland, and San Diego. By the time she was in high school, the Jaiswal family was settled in the Los Angeles area. Since joining NRDC in 2001, Jaiswal has fought and won many local battles. First based in the organization’s Southern California office, she worked to protect and improve water quality in rivers, streams, and coastal areas, waging battles that yielded immediate, tangible results. Jaiswal and other members of NRDC’s California staff have also successfully advocated for upgrades to a sewage treatment plant on the central coast, where sea otters in Morro Bay were being sickened by the discharge of dirty water. She waged legal battles to strengthen water pollution controls and to stop dairies in Southern California from dumping waste into the Santa Ana River. In the Sacramento area, she helped win the fight to require that irrigation projects leave more water in ecosystems, shielding endangered fish populations from further degradation. "We said, ‘This is the law, this is the science. You have to rule for us,’" she remembers. "It was a lot of sleepless nights and hard, hard work, but we won." Last year, as Jaiswal was immersed in state and local legal offensives, a colleague approached her about trying international work. "I was conflicted," she says. "I really like working on local issues as a litigator." But as she heard more, her choice became clear. NRDC was looking to start an initiative in India, through which it hoped to bring clean energy and efficiency technologies to a country undergoing tremendous development and modernization. As the country of her birth, it was a place full of import for her. She said yes. Jaiswal had visited India several times as an adult. In 2005 she took a leave from NRDC and spent three months in New Delhi working on pollution control through the Nehru Fulbright Indo-American Environmental Leadership Program. She was gratified by how easily her knowledge transferred to a new setting, allowing her to help with a campaign to improve sewage treatment near the Ganges River. "I knew what sewage plants looked like, their operation, their energy issues," she says. "I knew about compliance and enforcement." She also knew the country on a personal level, having visited relatives in her father’s village in Gujarat, India’s westernmost state, which shares a border with Pakistan. Her experiences there gave her a snapshot of the broad challenges India faces. One evening, she and a cousin walked out into the tobacco fields surrounding the village. Her cousin wanted to show off the village’s new power plant — a sign of progress. Jaiswal couldn’t help but see the environmental repercussions of the emissions spewing from the towering smokestacks. India and the United States have two important things in common: they have large English-speaking populations and are democracies, making collaboration easier than in other rapidly developing countries, such as China. Though NRDC’s work in India is full of potential, Jaiswal says, the challenges that lie ahead are significant: some 80 percent of the infrastructure the country will need by 2030 has yet to be built, and the number of motor vehicles on the road is expected to quadruple by 2020. The environmental ramifications of India’s path forward will be felt around the world. Jaiswal and Jacob Scherr, director of NRDC’s international program, launched the India initiative last June. Their goals include fostering U.S.-India cooperation on clean energy and climate, strengthening environmental compliance and enforcement, and incorporating energy-efficiency standards into building codes to reduce carbon emissions. "One of the great challenges in India is that there are laws on the books that are not implemented or enforced," Scherr says. "Anjali is in an excellent position to explain how we handle these problems in the United States and to translate her experiences to meet the needs in India." Jaiswal sometimes thinks back to her father’s village in Gujarat. The memory she recalls is a hopeful one — that of a relative proudly leading her up to the roof to show off a new possession, the village’s first solar cookstove.
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Home, Sweet Home
China and Us
Seven years ago, the lights went out across vast swaths of China. Massive blackouts, like those in California in 2000 and 2001, left residents and businesses without power. Among the regions hardest hit was Jiangsu Province, a growing industrial center north of Shanghai, whose skyrocketing — and inefficient — industrial and residential energy use was overtaxing its power grid. Barbara Finamore, director of NRDC’s China program, recalls Jiangsu’s initial response to the energy conservation measures proposed by NRDC. "Ten years ago, they laughed," she says. But then the blackouts hit, and Jiangsu’s leaders recognized pretty quickly the role that energy efficiency could play in stabilizing the province’s power grid — and its economy. Jiangsu, with a population of 76 million, and California still have much in common. Each is a major economic engine in its country (Jiangsu’s economy accounts for 10 percent of China’s gross domestic product; California represents 11.5 percent of the U.S. GDP), and both are interested in developing cleaner sources of energy. Last October California and Jiangsu signed a formal agreement to promote cooperation between their governments, industries, and universities to boost energy efficiency and renewable energy use and to curb emissions. This is the first time that such a deal has been struck between a Chinese province and a U.S. state with the specific aim of tackling climate change. NRDC’s China program helped design the agreement’s basic framework and will continue to "help ensure that both California and Jiangsu stay on the right track," says Mona Yew, the new director of the China energy-efficiency program.
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China and Us