Ruminations from Hurghada: Environment, Climate and Development in Egypt

Recently I was in Hurghada. Maybe not a name that immediately strikes a light in one’s head but still quite a significant place on the Egyptian Red Sea, not far south from the more famous Sharm El Sheikh. The UN Development Programme (UNDP) had agreed with the Egyptian government to organize the 6^th National Evaluation Capacities conference there.

Upon arrival, the participants found themselves in an all-inclusive resort surrounded by thousands of half-naked German, Russian, British and other tourists indulging in numerous different pools, water games and, less so interestingly, the beautiful sandy beach lining the sea. And of course, the watering holes in this dry seashore where numerous. We found ourselves navigating towards the massive conference center in our dark suits and ties in the heat that in the daytime exceeded 30 degrees Celsius past the inquisitive looks of the sunbathers.

Egypt is one of the world's most vulnerable countries to climate change. Its lifeline is the Nile river that gets its start from two branches beyond the national territory: the White Nile at Lake Victoria in Uganda and the Blue Nile in the highlands of Ethiopia. Merging around Khartoum, the capital city of Sudan and Egypt’s southern neighbor, the river flows into the country that was the birthplace of an ancient civilization that predated that of Rome and Greece. Already that civilization, 5,000 years ago, was dependent on the Nile for enabling food production.

Still today, most of Egypt’s almost 100 million people live along the banks of the Nile. Cairo, the chaotic and fabulous capital city of 9.5 million, lies in the northern parts of the country where the fertile river delta begins to fan out. Cairo is defined by the existence of the river that cuts through it. The famous pyramids of Giza are located just outside of the city where the Saharan sand dunes overtook them already a long time ago.

Decades ago, as a young researcher and evaluator, I well remember driving north – downstream, as the Nile somewhat counterintuitively drains into the Mediterranean – in a Peugeot with some much more experienced experts whom I was lucky to have joined on a joint FAO-IFAD mission to define priorities for new investment projects in the Nile delta. The road was straight but rather narrow and the traffic already then was heavy, which did nothing to make me less uneasy shaking at the back of the car in the African heat. We stopped by the Suez Canal, for some refreshments on our way to Port Said on the Mediterranean coast. I remember vividly seeing the tops of great vessels passing through the canal like ghost ships in the desert.

Our goal was to investigate the environmental status of the coastal lagoons – Lake Burullus and Lake Manzala in particular – in the widening delta of the world’s longest river. Conflict had arisen among fishermen and fish farmers in these parts due to overexploitation of the resources and our task was to figure out initiatives that could help the fisheries and lessen the tensions.

The year was 1986 and climate change was still far down the list of worries of those of us concerned with sustainable use of natural resources, including freshwater. We bunked up in the coastal city of Alexandria and soon walked down to the Mediterranean shore. Our senior team members with the linguistic and bargaining abilities strolled to the fishermen pulling in their nets and secured us a delicious meal of freshly caught shrimp that was cooked right there on the beach.

More than two decades later, I was lucky enough to visit Alexandria again and actually spend time in the fabulous reincarnation of its legendary library, the original version of which was destroyed during the Roman period. I was stunned to see how the city had grown, an almost interminable string along the Mediterranean coast. For it was virtually impossible to expand inland in a more concentric manner: the lagoons prevented it as did the soon encroaching Sahara. In Alexandria, I read Naguib Mahfouz’s lovely and melancholy novel Miramar and imagined how the city must have been in the 1960s: a beautiful and cosmopolitan city, distinctly part of the Mediterranean cultural sphere, where cafés dotted the waterfront. It was still lovely, but had grown with too little planning, with traffic on the coastal boulevard threatening pedestrian life both with its speed and its pollution.

Meanwhile in Hurghada by the other sea, a traditional fishing village was being developed with an intrusion of foreign money. In a couple of decades it grew from a small sleepy settlement into a conglomeration of resorts to cater to wealthy Europeans who wanted to explore the fabulous corals of the Red Sea (or just turn coral red themselves from the sun and booze at the resorts). I’ve been to such resorts in the Caribbean and the only thing different in Hurghada was the accent of the people working there and the fact that their first instinct was to address you in German rather than English.

The Red Sea corals suffer equally from multiple threats: sewage from the tourist industry, the massive onslaught by the visiting snorkelers and divers who can’t keep their hands and feet away from them, as well as the global problems of climate change and ocean acidification. Surprisingly, it has been found that the corals in the northern parts of the Red Sea appear to be rather resilient to climate change, but those in the south are barely surviving at their maximum temperature tolerance.

At the conference that focused on how evaluation can contribute to the achievement of the 2030 Sustainable Development Agenda with its stated goal of “leaving no one behind,” my plea to the participants who included high government officials from Egypt (including a Deputy Minister) and from numerous other countries in the South and the North, as well as staff from UN organizations, civil society, private sector and academia, was that “sustainable development” as it is proclaimed rests on the foundations of the natural environment. If there is someone or something that should not be left behind, it is the natural environment with all its wonders.

Today, climate change combined with population growth that continues at an annual rate of 1.9% is posing tremendous challenges to Egypt, as it is to many countries in arid North Africa and the Middle East. The scarce water resources of the country – 85% of freshwater in Egypt is supplied by the Nile – are overused and abused by urban, agricultural and industrial development (another threat is posed by the upstream countries that need the water to develop their own economies, thus potentially leading to conflict: as I write this, Ethiopia is building a massive dam on the Blue Nile). The unique biological diversity along the Nile is also on the verge of extinction, just like the coral reefs in the southern parts of Red Sea.

A country that has invested so much in its role as a political, economic, cultural and touristic hub in the region, is seeing its natural and cultural assets erode. And it is facing a problem of burgeoning numbers of young people with little hope for advancement despite better education This latter issue, of course, is a major contributor to discontent, social upheaval, rise of Islamism and all the issues that these bring along.

Alexandria, the seaside center up north with a population of more than 5 million, the port where not only fish, but also cosmopolitan ideas and cultural tolerance have landed for millennia, is slowly taken over by the Mediterranean. Sea-level rise has led to rapidly increasing and more frequent floods that severely disrupt life and cause massive amounts of economic loss. The rising Mediterranean also leads to saltwater intrusions into the fertile delta that threaten both agriculture and freshwater resources.

The country that contributes less than 1% of the global greenhouse gas emissions is feeling the brunt of the impacts. As always, when the going gets rough, it’s the poor people that suffer the most.

The good news is that the Government of Egypt appears quite aware of what these challenges mean to the continued economic and social development of the country. The government has attempted to integrate its national strategy for climate change adaptation into its National Development Plan. A number of initiatives related to energy, water, agriculture, coastal zone management and other factors to enhance sustainability and resilience are underway. For the sake of the ancient country and the whole world, we need to hope that these succeed in time.

Sources

Altzitser, Sonia (2019). Red Sea Corals may be Resilient to Climate Change. The Maritime Executive [https://www.maritime-executive.com/editorials/red-sea-corals-may-be-resilient-to-climate-change]

Conniff, Richard (2017). The Vanishing Nile: A Great River Faces a Multitude of Threats. Yale Environment 360 [https://e360.yale.edu/features/vanishing-nile-a-great-river-faces-a-multitude-of-threats-egypt-dam]

Eissa, Hesham (n.d.). Egyptian Development & Climate Change. Presentation to the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) [https://unfccc.int/files/adaptation/application/pdf/nwa_1.2_development_planning_and_climate_change_in_egypt.pdf]

Fine, M., Cinar, M., Voolstra, C.R., Safa, A., Rinkevich, B, Leffoley, D., Hilmi, N. and Allemand, D. (2019). Coral reefs of the Red Sea – Challenges and potential solutions. Regional Studies in Marine Science 25: 100498.

Khalil, Maha T. (2019). Egypt’s Lukewarm Response to Climate Change. Worldcrunch [https://www.worldcrunch.com/tech-science/egypt39s-lukewarm-response-to-climate-change]

UNEP (2018). How Climate Change and Population Growth Threaten Egypt’s Ancient Tresures. United Nations Environment Programme ;https://www.unenvironment.org/news-and-stories/story/how-climate-change-and-population-growth-threaten-egypts-ancient-treasures]

Qingchengshan beauty in the mist

[This trip took place in September 2018 after the Asian Evaluation Week that was held in Chengdu, Sichuan.]

It was a grey morning with a constant drizzle in Chengdu when my friend Nanthi and I decided to stick to our plan to head towards Mt. Qingcheng, a sacred mountain where it is said Taoism was born. We grabbed a taxi and headed to the Chengdu North railway station where we arrived less than half an hour later. We had consulted the train schedule and left ourselves ample time to catch the targeted train. This was good, as we would need ample time to figure out how the system worked.
The rainy square in front of the station was crowded with people. There were many who looked like migrant workers from the countryside. A tiny elderly couple – or perhaps they were just middle-aged whose life had taken a toll on them – were walking with huge backpacks on their backs. Some seemed to have camped by the station keeping the rain out with plastic sheets. A tall, slim woman in an elegant red dress and matching high-heel shoes was leading a couple of older peasant-looking folks along – relatives from the countryside, perhaps even her parents (what a difference a generation and life in the big city makes!).

Initially, we headed towards the station gate and pronounced “Qingchengshan” (‘shan’ being the Chinese word for mountain) to the young lady occupying the booth that we first approached. Her face didn’t register any understanding of the message, but soon a uniformed guard appeared from the side and pointed us toward another large building across the vast square. Nanthi, being his stubborn self didn’t want to follow the instructions – after all, he argued rather logically, we were at the gates to the railway station from where the train would likely leave – but I convinced him to go look at the other place. We crossed the square and first arrived at a fence with a sign “Emergent Exit” (apparently it wasn’t quite ready yet) but to the right of it, there were stairs that led to a place clearly identifiable as ticket counters. So we placed ourselves in two lines to see which one would move faster. I had used my smart phone translation to pull up “Qingchengshan” (青城山) in Chinese on the screen. Soon enough we had our tickets in hand. The one-way trip put us back by ¥19 or about $2.75.



We returned to the station gate where we had started and presented the tickets. Once the nice lady had inspected our passports, we were allowed into the spacious waiting room of the station. There were perhaps a dozen or two other people there, but the large room appeared almost empty. Now that we had made it in, we actually had some time to look around in the few shops around there. There were a couple of grocers that sold whatever you might need on a train trip, from snacks and beer to small souvenirs. Food-wise, the choice was between McDonald’s and a local place that specialized in deep fried chicken feet. Luckily we had had a good breakfast.

 Our train left on time and we had numbered seats, so boarding was orderly even though the train became rather full (apparently, other passengers had been able to time their arrival to the station better). It was a bullet train that reminded me of the shinkansen in Japan: new, clean, sleek and fast. Like in Japan, the train attendants would stop and bow as they entered the compartment. Leaving from the northern part of the city, the tracks first traversed residential areas where everywhere there was major urban renewal taking place. Chengdu has grown to a metropolis of 14 million people. All over, old shabby looking buildings were being torn down to be replaced by massive modern apartment blocks.

As there were a few stops on the outskirts of the city, the bullet train didn’t travel at top speed but it still reached 190 km/h at some stretches. While the American flagship train, Acela, could in theory reach the speed of 240 km/h, it never travels that fast on its route from Washington, DC to New York and Boston due to the poor condition of the old tracks. On that stretch, there are a few patches where the train can go up to 160 km/h, but also passages where the top speed is just 40 km/h. I am convinced that this lack of upgrading and maintenance of infrastructure will be the downfall of the USA. But there are too many politicians, especially in the Republican party, who consider trains and other forms of public transport to be socialism and therefore not to be funded.

In about 40 minutes we reached the Qingchengshan station about 60 km northwest of Chengdu. The station was modern and clean. In front of it there was again a wide square on the other side of which we spotted a tourist information booth. Again, our initial approach caused some consternation but the person at the booth managed to fetch a young woman with adequate English to cater to us. We ended up taking a taxi to the entrance of where the Mt. Qingcheng cultural protected area starts. Beyond that, no motorized vehicles were allowed but there were electric vehicles, not unlike large golf carts, that shuttled people from the parking lot to the traditional gate of the area. We invested in a ticket to save some time instead of walking and were soon speeding soundlessly through a road lined with beautiful forest.

Once we reached the gate to the mountain, we disembarked. From here on, we would walk. The entrance to Mt. Qingcheng is a sight in its own right: a striking structure with pagoda-like tiled gables, guarded by imperial guardian lions carved from stone on both sides. The area outside of the entrance itself was surrounded by beautiful evergreen forests. All the buildings were traditional in style. But passing through the gate we entered another world of lush green vegetation and surprising peacefulness despite the many people around us. The air was pleasantly cool but very moist. A stream forming small waterfalls ran from higher up in the mountains. Mt. Qincheng is located at the southwest part of the traditional Dujiangyan irrigation system.

We followed the path that was covered with meticulously maintained wooden planks. We first arrived at the Natural Pavilion, which according to the sign integrates, “to a great extent,” the Taoist ideas of “syncretism between heaven and man, leaning from the nature, and the three begetting all things of the world.” The sign also informed us of the more than a hundred kiosks and pavilions on Mt. Qingcheng, which are exquisitely decorated and feature “quietness, depth, queerness, peril, grandness, beauty, aliveness, profoundness, etc.” Our expectations were raised.



Continuing our way up the hitherto mercifully gentle slope we arrived at a lake at a higher plateau. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful with green mountains shrouded by low-hanging clouds on the other side of the still lake. A decorated ferry crossed the lake ferrying travelers across. We saw no other foreigners anywhere. Soon we, too, were on the ferry that quickly became crowded. The crossing took only a few minutes and we disembarked on the other side.

Here was a cable car station and we boarded a gondola that took us up to a high peak. From the gently swaying gondola we could see that the mountainside was covered in thick, almost inpenetrable green vegetation, but there were Buddhist objects hidden in the shrubbery. Having placed them where they were must have taken plenty of determination and effort.



We first arrived at the Ciyun Tower, a wonderfully beautiful structure but with no apparent religious meaning.

We continued on foot across the mountain forest with moss-covered rocks on both sides until we reached a further peak. Mt. Qingcheng is 1,260 meters tall and we must have been close to the highest point. From here the view was exactly like in a classic Chinese ink wash painting from Tang Dynasty (618-907). The view was across a valley with several other peaks standing at various distances giving the impression of depth continuing in eternity. The fog made the landscape look monochromatic.

Continuing our climb, we arrived at the Shangqing Palace. The palace was originally built during the Jin Dynasty (265-420) but was subsequently destroyed and rebuilt during the Qing Dynasty (1644-1912).  The place was decorated with red flags of Buddhism and equally red candles burned in the incense burners. An old monk and a young temple maiden with a long braid down her back were guarding the site. What a blessed life they must lead, I thought.

In the area there are many of Taoism’s most revered buildings amongst the gorgeous natural landscape, each more beautiful than you could imagine.

We continued our hike towards the summit of Mt. Qingcheng from where the views were magnificent. Unfortunately, because of our limited time it was impossible to see even half of this unique place and its incredible cultural history. We had to descend again so that we would be able to catch another train and get to Chengdu by evening. Along the way, we encountered numerous gorgeous buildings, some of which contained shops where one could purchase refreshments and Buddhist items, such as prayer beads.

We retraced our steps, took the cable car down and crossed the lake to the opposite direction. In the process we had walked for several kilometers and given the gradient, I could feel it in my leg muscles. Luckily, though, I did not have to submit to be carried down in a bed suspended between two long bamboo poles. This mode of transportation was readily available. The men in charge cheerfully ran along the mountain paths with their load resting in the crib. Their lungs and circulation must have an incredible capacity to absorb oxygen.



Further down we came across kiosks that sold a large variety of dried mushrooms and other products from the mountain. No doubt they would all have medicinal qualities – perhaps some bore the secret to the porters’ extraordinary stamina.

We returned passing by the Enchanting Pavilion and the Happiness Pavilion until we were back at the Nature’s Pavilion heading towards the Celestial Hall until we reached the clear stream and the gate to Qingchengshan at the elevation of 780 meters above sea level. Here a sign explained that, according to monitoring results, the negative oxygen ion concentration here was 180 times that of the city. This was the result of the particular geological conditions, the dense forest vegetation and the humid climate of Mr. Qingcheng. The sign further explained that when the negative oxygen ion concentration reaches a certain degree, “it will make people breath smoothly and feel refreshed, thus is good for immunity system and health.” Based on my experience today, I have no reason to doubt these beneficial effects on the health of both my body and mind.

Excursion to the Western Mountains

[In September 2019 I attended the annual Asian Evaluation Week in Kunming, Yunnan. In the late-1990s when I was with the United Nations University based in Tokyo, I had a joint project in Yunnan with the Kunming Institute of Botany, which allowed me to visit Kunming and travel around the beautiful province of Yunnan on several occasions. This was my first time back in 21 years. Just earlier this week, I visited my then collaborators with whom I have kept in touch through all these years, Guo Huijun and Liang Luohui. Guo who was a young promising researcher when we worked together has last year been appointed President of the Southwestern Forestry University, a major research university with 22,000 students. Liang, now affiliated with the Chinese Academy of Sciences was the one who introduced me to Yuanmei Jiao.]

Huating Temple

It was a foggy morning and there was a palpable threat of rain in the air when Zhijuan picked us up from the hotel in southwest of Kunming. Miki and I were ready for a short excursion to the hills just 12 km outside of town. Zhijuan Zeng was a graduate student of geography at Yunnan Normal University. Her professor, Yuanmei Jiao, had assigned her to accompany the foreign visitors on this trip. Dismissing our praise for her hospitality and kindness, Yuanmei assured us that the day trip would be good for Zhijuan’s English practice. (Zhijuan’s presence would definitely make the trip easier. A year ago, having attended the same annual meeting in Chengdu, my friend Nanthi and I took another mountain and temple tour by ourselves. We managed well, despite the language barrier.)

Zhijuan, Miki and I took a taxi to the foot of Xi Shan (西山) or Western Mountains. Driving through the town, gave a clear indication of how the city has grown both vertically and horizontally in the intervening two decades I have been away. Thankfully, it still has retained much of its charm, thanks largely to the genuinely welcoming people.

When we reached the base of the mountain, we switched to a bus that would take us further up. The Xi Shan is a protected area and a popular recreation spot for locals because of the clean air and beautiful scenery. My friend Liang, a Yunnan native, says that he comes here at least once a month when he needs some rest for his soul. We first got off the bus at a temple halfway up. Huating is a Buddhist temple with a history that reaches back to the Yuan Dynasty (1271-1368). The temple itself was first established in 1320 but it got its name – Huating – only in 1441 by Emperor Yingzong of the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644). The temple, having been built of wood, suffered several calamities during its history but was always reconstructed. This is a common practice with temples in East Asia and the fact that something has been destroyed and rebuilt many times over the centuries does nothing to reduce its historical value. The current Huating Temple stems from the 1920s. Huating is a National Key Buddhist Temple according to the Chinese government.

The temple consists of two main halls, the Four Heavenly Kings Hall and the Mahavira Hall. When you enter the Four Heavenly Kings Hall, you walk in between large statues of Heng and Ha, two ancient Shang Dynasty generals in Chinese legend, before reaching the statues of Buddha and the bodhisattva Skanda (guardian of Buddhist monasteries) at the center.

Zhijuan explores Huating grounds

Although not particularly large, the Huating is very beautiful and has a peaceful atmosphere. Temple gardens are often important repositories of local biodiversity, as the groves have been spared from cutting down for long periods. There were a few other visitors, all Chinese. Two of the women stopped to pray at the Buddha.

Having spent a good hour admiring the Huating and soaking in its peacefulness, we returned to the roadside to wait for another bus to take us further up the hill. We were lucky as the rain never came. In fact, from time to time the sun would peek out from between the clouds.

We got off at the final stop of where the entrance to the mountain peak was located. Here there were considerably more people but, again, no other foreigners in sight. Soon after the gates, the path started to climb. The famous Longmen Grottoes have been carved into the hillside during a 72-year period starting in 1782 during Qing Dynasty. The grottoes are connected by narrow stone-paved paths and extremely steep steps. I soon started to feel the exercise in my lungs. We were between 2,250 and 2,300 meters above sea level and the thin air together with the strain of the climb were getting to me. Even Miki confessed that he was feeling tired. Although I had been in Kunming for a week and the city itself lies at 1,800 meters’ altitude, I hadn’t gotten accustomed to the elevation. This being a weekday, there were lots of old people on the path. I admired their stamina.

Taking the excuse of studying some historical construct or admiring the view, I rested at every level place during the climb. The 23-year-old Zhijuan didn’t seem to grasp that we were getting rather exhausted but she accepted the frequent stops. Having said that, the views from the hill down to Dianchi Lake and beyond to the city were quite stunning. The air was still rather misty, which limited the visibility. Still, in the balance, I was pleased that the sun wasn’t blaring upon us from a cloudless sky.

The hillsides were extremely steep and at times the path passed through grottoes so low that I had to crouch to get through. The workers who constructed the trail 250 years ago clearly were smaller than I. 

Dianchi Lake with Kunming City in the distance

We eventually reached the destination: the Dragon Gate complex resting on a hillside so steep that the drop is absolutely vertical to the lake shore. Having spent some time admiring the place and taking photographs of each other with the view, just like all the local tourists, it was time to head back. The way down was easier on the lungs, but walking down the narrow stone steps that were moist as a result of the earlier fog, was hard on the legs as one had to tense the thigh muscles constantly in order not to roll down the hill.

The excursion was short but refreshing. Back in the city, we still had daylight to enjoy a leisurely walk around the beautiful Cuihu park with its lakes and waterways covered with lotus waterlilies. Unfortunately, the flowering season was over and only a few of the plants still bore gorgeous flowers. I personally was most happy to be walking on flat land.

Kyushu floods: Sign of things to come?

While Europe and the Middle East swelter under record temperatures, the southern island of Kyushu in Japan has been devastated by floods caused by extreme rainfall. Evacuation orders or advisories have been issued targeting close to 2 million people in Kagoshima, Miyazaki and Kumamoto prefectures. More than 1,000 mm of rain has fallen on Kyushu in the past week. The average annual rainfall in Kagoshima is about 2,300 mm – it is a wet place even normally – which means the southernmost prefecture of the island has seen almost one half of its annual precipitation fall within just one week. The weekly amount is more than double the monthly average for July.

JMA weather analysis map 6 July 201

The rains have brought on heavy floods and overflowing rivers in the mountainous region. Landslides have already caused at least two casualties, as two women had their homes overtaken by mudflows in two separate incidences on Monday and Thursday. News broadcasts on the national Japanese NHK channel show mountain sides slipping away bringing along big trees and entire forest patches to the valleys. Cars and houses have been inundated by mud. The Japan Meteorological Agency (JMA) says that a highly moist and warm seasonal front hovering above Kyushu is causing heavy rainclouds to form above the island and affecting areas in western and central Japan.

In 1993, Kyushu experienced the most devastating rainfall caused disasters in history. That cool summer, the rainy season was exceptionally long and the peak of torrential rains took place in early-August. Then, too, parts of Kyushu experienced rainfall of more than 1,000 mm. A veteran Asahi Shimbun correspondent who was then based in the paper’s Kagoshima office recalls the devastation, with cars piled up by the flowing water, even a twisted train. Debris flows caused large damage: there were 22 major ones, especially in the coastal areas where the mountains run into the sea, and where the major roads and railways are located. Some 2,500 people were trapped in cars, buses and trains, and had to be evacuated by boat.

Although this is officially tsuyu, or the rainy season, the amount of rain received in Kyushu is exceptional – except that the same happened a year ago. On 28^th of June 2018, a non-tropical low front became stationary over Japan. Then, too, several areas received more than 1,000 mm of rain in a short period of time. That time the worst hit areas were in western parts of the main island of Honshu, from Hiroshima and Nagasaki to Kyoto, with Tottori and other areas on the Sea of Japan getting their share. At least 225 people were confirmed dead in the related mudslides and landslides and having their vehicles swept away by floods. In worst affected areas, the flood waters rose to 5 meters. The rains finally eased during the second week of July when also the temperatures soared. More than 11,000 households were left without electricity and, thus, without air conditioning and clean water.

The previous year, in 2017, torrential rainfall and floods left 155 people dead and forced the evacuation of two million people, mostly in Kyushu. At that time, it was the most devastating rain-related event in Japan in nearly three decades.

As I write this, rainfall is continuing in the south. Where I sit, in Iwate prefecture in the north of Honshu, the rain is a light drizzle interspersed with sunshine. The temperature is mercifully cool. The question on my mind is whether these exceptional weather anomalies are linked to climate change. There is some evidence that this would be the case, as warming sea surface in areas of the East China Sea pushes the seasonal rain front and warm air northward to Japan even when the rainy season is officially over. The JMA’s annual climate change monitoring report published in October 2018 recorded unusual weather conditions on the Pacific side of Japan, while mean temperatures were significantly higher than normal in the Okinawa-Amami islands. In a press release on the primary factors contributing to the heavy rains in July 2018, the same Agency concluded that:

“The long-term trend of increased intensity in observed extreme precipitation events in Japan and the clear upward trend in amounts of airborne water vapor also suggest that the Heavy Rain Event may be linked to global warming. Global warming and ongoing higher-than-normal zonally averaged tropospheric air temperatures associated with the northward shift of the subtropical jet stream are also considered responsible for the extreme heatwave.”

According to WWF, the impacts of climate change are already being felt in Japan, i.a. in terms of increased frequency and intensity of heavy rains and other extreme weather events.

Japan is a country that is likely the best prepared in the world to cope with natural hazards and disasters. Still, climate change will provide – and is already doing so – challenges that will be costly to the government and the private sector, as well as every person inhabiting these islands in the Pacific Ocean.

Reports referred to in this blog include:

Primary Factors behind the Heavy Rain Event of July 2018 and the Subsequent Heatwave in Japan from mid-July Onward. Japan Meteorological Agency (22 Auguste 2018)

Climate Change Monitoring Report 2017. Japan Meteorological Agency (October 2018)

Nippon Changes. WWF (no date)

In addition, I’ve used news reporting by NHK, Mainichi Shimbun, Asahi Shimbun, The Japan Times, BBC and NPR.

Monterey Jazz Festival on Tour @ The Music Center at Strathmore, March 21, 2019

It was an entertaining and varied night, even though it was the same combination of six musicians throughout, and it led to two standing ovations from the large crowd at the Strathmore in North Bethesda. There were hundreds of people in the audience despite the pouring rain that had led to a flood warning across the entire capital region.

The program had been put together by Christian Sands, a phenomenal pianist with a highly unique style. Taking a youthful orchestra on tour to celebrate the legendary Monterey Jazz Festival that is now in its 62^nd year was a great idea. Another innovation was to have the frontline horns performed by two young ladies, Bria Skonberg and Melissa Aldana. The classic jazz quintet was completed by the bassist Yasushi Nakamura and drummer Jamison Ross. The singer Celine McLorin Savant would come and go throughout the evening.

This outfit, it turned out, was capable of wide-ranging versatility in terms of style, while mostly maintaining its post-bop sensibilities, combining both original pieces as well as well-chosen and not worn-out compositions by others. Sands had contributed a few of the ensemble pieces that swung in a straight beat, but always with a twist, with the horns blowing the lead. Sands has an ability to write jazz tunes that are original and complex, yet still pleasing. They also provided ample solo space to all players, not least the horns.

The Chilean Melissa Aldana is undoubtedly one of the best sax players around today. Despite being only 30, she is a very mature player who is fluent in the jazz vernacular. Last year I heard her with her own quartet blowing hard at the DC Jazz Festival. She possesses full control of her horn frequently utilizing its full range – she seems to enjoy the low honks on her big pipe. Her sound is full and sonorous. She is also a highly creative improviser. Watching her is a visual reminder that playing a musical instrument is not only an intellectual and emotional exercise, but also a physical one. Her whole body follows the movements of her music, and she rises on the tips of her toes as she climbs up the scales.

Compared with her South American counterpart, Canadian Bria Skonberg has a more limited vocabulary on the trumpet. She is a solid player with a clear sound and wide range. But her chops just aren’t as smooth and inventive as those of Aldana’s. Skonberg played fine and handled the at times complex horn parts perfectly, but her soloing in the more modern idiom left something to be desired. This is understandable given Skonberg’s past focus on more traditional jazz.

The rhythm section of Yasushi Nakamura and Jamison Ross worked perfectly together. Nakamura is a powerful bass player who is also very inventive in his approach. His sound is strong and solid. In contrast, Jamison Ross’ drum work tends to be quite fluid. He keeps the time but in a loose manner creating light polyrhythmics on his small set. This pair complemented each other excellently.

Ross also got his shining moment on stage. He introduced himself as someone who has been singing all his life and who admires singing drummers, like Grady Tate. He then proceeded to perform a soulful ballad which allowed him to demonstrate his clear high-pitched voice and similar melodic fluidity as evident in his drumming.

Cecile McLorin Salvant was a new acquaintance to me – but not to my friend Freddie with whom I had come to the concert. She turned out to be a highly skilled vocalist (she used to study classical and baroque singing in France before turning to jazz) – but not gimmicky like so many other jazz singers. There was nothing artificial about her singing. Apart from one Betty Carter number, all of the songs that she would perform throughout the night were her own, a few of them written only a couple of weeks ago, still without titles. They were all beautiful and had at times funny and very human lyrics. The only issue may have been that they were all ballads, quite slow and featuring her voice in a rubato setting (Freddie confirmed that’s her style). Sands had strategically spaced them out throughout the program, so that speedier numbers livened up the mood in between.

Having said that, a highlight of the show was one of Cecile’s yet unnamed songs to which Melissa had written an extended introduction that featured elaborate arpeggios on the tenor sax and very sensitive interplay with the piano.

If I had to pick one number, though, that was the high point of the evening for me, I would have to select Christian Sands’ masterful rendition of an aria from Puccini’s Tosca. He started it as a solo piano number, his style mixing some jazzy harmonies into the classical tune. Later the bass and drums joined in but the mood remained serious building to a powerful crescendo before returning to the melancholy theme. Sands who is always an extraordinary player here made a performance that brought tears to my eyes.

Naturally, as these things go, the latter part of the concert provided some funkier stuff, including a Sands piece for the quintet in the tradition of Sonny Clark and Horace Silver, and a Yasushi Nakamura original – Yasugaloo -- a boogaloo with a strong beat and funky horn riffs. It also featured a powerful bass solo from the Tokyo-born composer.

Bria Skonberg had a chance to demonstrate her bravado in a solo number, a traditional jazz show tune by Valaida Snow. Snow (1904-1956) was a rare female jazz trumpeter at her time and a good one: Louis Armstrong called her the “second best trumpet player in the world” (after himself, of course), which earned her the nickname “Little Louis.” Here Bria was in her natural element, singing the lead vocals, interacting with the enthusiastic audience and playing the trumpet solos with a flair that was genuine to the era. During this number she seemed to switch her personality to free expression from her somewhat more restrained performance during the earlier part of the evening.

Cecile McLorin Salvant returned once again for the encore. Standing on the edge of the stage, she started her song without a microphone, her voice carrying beautifully over the large concert hall. This was a highly unusual encore and final number, a hauntingly beautiful story of a love that was lost performed only by Cecile, Bria and Jamison singing in ethereal harmonies with the latter providing atmosphere with mallets on his drums. The beautiful evening was thus over.

Shrinking the Earth: The Rise and Decline of Natural Abundance by Donald Worster

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Are there limits to growth – of economy, population, natural resource use, wealth – or will human ingenuity always concur the obstacles through capital and technology? Donald Worster, an environmental historian, tracks the ebb and flow of these contrasting ideas in North America and Europe since the discovery of the Americas half a millennium ago – the Second Earth, as he calls it. Worster’s history is an authoritative one, thoroughly researched, at times poetic, always insightful and thought-provoking. Worster builds a theory upon F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel, The Great Gatsby. The mysterious green light that Jay Gatsby saw in the mist across the Long Island Sound enticed him but in reality was nothing more magical than a light bulb at the end of Daisy’s boat dock. The green light becomes a metaphor for the perceived natural abundance that Europeans discovered as they entered the Western Hemisphere – but would this green light also turn out to be a chimera, as the nature is conquered and overexploited, and the Earth shrinks?

Worster takes as his starting point the “discovery” of the Americas (along with Australia, Oceania and southern Africa), which he marks as the beginning of the modern period of human ecology that was global in scope and triggered profound changes in almost every society on earth (p. 7).

The book is divided into three parts, roughly according to three historic periods: the expansionist age after the discovery of the Second Earth, the sobering era in the late-19th and early-20th centuries when pollution and destruction of nature became apparent, and the latter part of the 1900s when the debate on the limits to growth fully emerged. Each of these parts ends with a record of a field trip that demonstrates the previous discussion in concrete terms.

The first part of the book, ‘Second Earth,’ describes the excitement that followed the discovery of the Americas by the Europeans and how Mercator’s map with its second sphere next to the old world map (literally the second earth) spurred the imagination of men in Europe. The old continent at that time was becoming crowded, its farmland and natural resources already stretched. When the new frontier opened, it became to be seen as a source of endless wealth in terms of land, forests, water, fish and wildlife. Imaginings of gold and other treasures added to the fables as Europeans started to flock to the new continent, which was also considered empty and free for anyone to come to. Worster also discusses the more theoretical thinking about abundance in the era’s intellectual climate. He notes that economics “still carried a residue of prediscovery attitudes – and awareness of natural limits that must eventually restrain the accumulation of wealth” (p. 42). Adam Smith, known for establishing the foundations free market economy in his magnum opus The Wealth of Nations (1776), as well as John Stuart Mill both recognized that nature’s limits must ultimately lead to a stable state. This, however, was not the dominant view.

The first field trip takes us to Nantucket off the New England coast. A group of British immigrants settled on the island in 1659, soon realizing that the place was not well-suited for agriculture. Instead, they turned to hunting and fishing. Nantucket became a center of whaling, but the Atlantic whale stocks were depleted in just over a century and the Nantucket whalers ended up taking longer and longer trips with less and less catch. Using historical records, statistics and literature (notably Melville’s Moby Dick). Worster paints a lively story of the whaling industry’s rise and fall, concluding: “The new fuels (that replaced blubber) did help remove pressure from the remaining populations of whales; they did not “save” the whales. Nor did capitalism or the supposedly benign and rational play of markets save them. Whales were saved only by the passage of laws and the exercise of moral constraint” (p. 69). This reflects a common theme in the book. Markets do not self-regulate when it comes to exploiting a common resource.

The second part of the book is entitled ‘After the Frontier.’ The first chapter in it is dedicated to George Perkins Marsh, perhaps the first influential environmental thinker in America. As Worster notes, “Marsh’s book (Man and Nature; or, Physical Geography as Modified by Human Action, 1864) represents an important intellectual moment in the transition from an age of plenty to an age of limits” (p. 81). Marsh saw warning signs from the European history where overuse had taken a toll on the land. Again, Marsh’s warnings fell mostly on deaf ears. This was the time when expansion of coal mining and the creation of steel mills it enabled brought prosperity to America – or at least to the owners of these facilities, such as Andrew Carnegie – while wreaking havoc on the environment and creating severe pollution in industrial towns and regions.

President Theodore Roosevelt and his advisors, Gifford Pinchot and WJ McGee get deservedly a full chapter. Teddy Roosevelt was an outdoors man and a big game hunter. He came to be known as a great conservationist, establishing the US system of national parks. “No president, before or after, did more than Roosevelt to protect and preserve land in the United States. No one did more to conserve wild nature for its own sake” ... “Roosevelt, however, never believed that conservation should merely mean preserving the natural environment. He also sought to exploit nature in new ways and places” (p. 111). The thinking of Roosevelt and his advisors led to a technocratic approach that emphasized re-engineering nature for the purpose of expanding productivity and wealth. The period’s most prominent environmentalist, John Muir, disagreed with his friend the President on this philosophy.

The field trip tells the story of California’s Imperial Valley, an arid desert near the Mexican border, which was started to be developed into agricultural land at the turn of the 20th century. The project would require enormous amounts of money and labor, but most importantly it meant dealing with the mighty Colorado river, controlling and re-channeling its waters to support agricultural production. While Imperial Valley survives as an agricultural area till today, its future remains uncertain as competition over water resources grows and demands from the cities of coastal California increases, while climate change bring further droughts.

The third and final part, ‘Planet of Limits,’ focuses on the time after World War II to the present. The initial postwar decades were marked by optimism and a belief in the America Dream. There would be no bounds to growth and prosperity. Man’s inventiveness would overcome all limitations that the natural world would try to pose. The American economy was booming and consumerism was ripe. Cars, houses, consumer goods were produced in massive quantities. At the same time, human population growth peaked: almost 200,000 babies were added to the world population every day. The world population grew from 2.5 billion in 1950 to 3.7 billion in 1970 (today there are 7.6 billion of us on the planet and, contrary to common beliefs, population growth continues at a rapid rate; projections expect our numbers to reach 9.8 billion by mid-century). Oil provided fuel for the massive expansion of economy but it didn’t add new resources to humankind. “Did cheap oil in the postwar era reopen a wholly new world of abundance to replace the one discovered by Christopher Columbus? Was it a Third Earth” asks Worster and answers: “Not all … But for a while its abundance could and did work a miraculous change” (p. 143).

Worster tracks the arguments between the believers in eternal growth and those in the emerging environmental movement. When President Harry Truman started worrying about impending resource scarcity, he appointed a Material Policy Commission. The commission recognized that it would in the future be harder to satisfy the demand for materials, but it still concluded that “the principle of Growth” through “free enterprise” was worth preserving (p. 146). This was a clear win of ideology over logic. While the economists, business people and politicians cheered on ever expanding capitalism, there was a new environmentalism rising with authors and thinkers such as Rachel Carson (Silent Spring) and Paul Ehrlich (The Population Bomb).

A chapter is dedicated to The Limits to Growth. Its main authors, Dennis and Donella Meadows, young American scientists whose eyes had been opened during a post-graduation trip to India, teamed up with the Italian visionary industrialist Aurelio Peccei and Scottish science advisor to OECD Alexander King. The latter two established the Club of Rome, a think-tank to address what they called “world problematique.” This collaboration also involved an MIT statistician Jay Forrester and led to the publication of The Limits to Growth in 1972, a highly influential book (which also greatly influenced me in my youth). At that time, the team was mostly concerned with the depletion of nonrenewable resources. They questioned the idea that growth – in population, agricultural production, industrial output – could continue infinitely on a finite planet. Their position was not dogmatic and they did not prescribe solutions; still they were attacked viciously by most economists. Donella expressed her surprise at the “intensity of the reaction” to the book that simply cautioned that exponential growth was not possibly forever (p. 169). Limits to Growth suggested that limiting the number of children and consumption was necessary. This was unacceptable to the critics who would not accept any limits to individual freedom. At the same time, there was criticism from the left on the grounds that growth was needed to eliminate poverty in the world. These tensions are of course very much present in society today.

For a while it appeared that those advocating for unlimited growth – spurred on by human ingenuity that would always find substitutes when materials ran short – was winning. And it certainly took hold of politicians and economists many of whom till this day tend to think in these terms. Yet, ideas regarding ecological limits have constantly gained momentum and attention paid to environmental destruction caused by industrial and agricultural production has increased. The science community organized itself around global initiatives, such as the International Geosphere-Biosphere Programme (IGBP) and others in the 1990s and as the concern over climate change became prevalent bodies such as the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) have gathered irrefutable scientific evidence of the environmental havoc our economic system is causing (the IPCC released its latest report in the autumn of 2018 with a dire warning for us to mend our ways or to face peril). Systematic analysis of ‘planetary boundaries’ by the Stockholm Resilience Centre led by Johan Rockström has shown that we have already breached safe operating space for humanity in terms of species extinction, climate change and nitrogen pollution.

The final field trip is to Athabasca River in western Canada, one of the remaining wildernesses in North America – the final place where the green light beckons. The area is now threatened by massive extraction of shale oil from its bituminous sands, leaving the natural beauty of the forested watersheds badly tarnished. The excavation of the tar sands is egged on by reduced availability of oil from more conventional sources and the thawing of the northern areas due to climate change.

Donald Worster has written a majestic account of the rise and fall of natural abundance in North America and the world. His prose is beautifully crafted and engaging. The historical and scientific sources are supplemented by frequent and well-chosen references to literature. Still, Worster’s account is factual and he never preaches, leaving the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. In the epilogue, ‘Life on a Pale Blue Dot,’ Worster places Earth in a cosmic perspective and concludes that irrespective of scientific and technological advances, this planet is the only home we have or will have in any foreseeable future. At the end he ponders about the future of liberal and democracy in the face of natural limits. “Is individualism sustainable when the material horizons begin to shrink and ecological systems to unravel,” he asks. On an optimistic note, “our descendants … might choose to redefine democracy in less fragmented, individualistic terms – not as a political culture devoted to freeing the individual from all restraint, but instead as a culture that embraces restraint for all” (p. 224).



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Transformational Change: Kicking Off GEF-7

This video was produced by IISD in connection with the 55th Council meeting of the Global Environment Facility (GEF) in December 2018.