Category: Climate change

In my August post, I commented on the importance of gaining a ‘feel’ for one’s individual carbon footprint. This post is a case in point.

Recently, we had one of the coldest August Bank Holidays recorded in the UK. A friend commented that she had put on the heating in her home. Separately, during a call about sustainability practices at a local school, someone raised the suggestion that pupils should always be encouraged to turn the lights off when leaving schoolrooms.

Which is more significant in terms of carbon: leaving the lights on, or turning up the thermostat? Here’s a simple comparison.

Consider a modern kitchen lit by eight LED bulbs in the ceiling, each one with a power output of 5W. If the lights in this kitchen are left on for 24 hours, the electricity usage is about 1 kWh. The carbon intensity of electricity in Britain is now around 0.2 tCO2/MWh, or equivalently 200 gCO2/kWh, so the carbon emissions would be about 200 gCO2.

Now imagine turning up the thermostat by, say, 3 degrees Celsius. A typical home in the UK (three-bed semi-detached, built in the first half of the twentieth century) might require about 7 kWh of gas per day per degree Celsius of extra temperature. To a rough approximation, the required heat energy is proportional to the temperature differential between inside and outside, so turning the thermostat up 3 degrees might require around 21 kWh of extra gas per day. The carbon intensity of natural gas, by coincidence, is about the same as the current electricity coefficient, i.e. about 200 gCO2/kWh. So the carbon emissions would be about 4200 gCO2, over twenty times the figure for leaving the lights on.

Of course, I am comparing here the impact of switching on lights in one room, the kitchen, with turning up the heating for the whole house. But then we normally switch on lights one room at a time, but switch the (central) heating on for the whole property.

It was not always thus. Back in 1990, say, around three-quarters of our electricity was generated from coal-fired power stations; and incandescent light bulbs were normal. Combining these two effects, it is quite possible that the carbon footprint of lighting a kitchen would have been around ten to twenty times what it is now. Back then, the two actions in this comparison might have been similar in their carbon impact – and it is likely that switching off the lights in the house as a whole would have been more significant than moving the thermostat by 3 degrees, even allowing for a less efficient gas boiler back then.

But times change, and we need to keep up-to-date. What we decide to do with the updated information is another matter – but perhaps we could enable and educate school pupils to turn down the heating first, before turning off the lights, whenever they leave a classroom.

In his book “Religion for Atheists”, the philosopher Alain de Botton outlined the following paradox about education: despite the importance that secular society attaches to it, the education we receive is largely irrelevant to our lives. It fails to teach us wisdom, or provide much guidance on how to be happy and fulfilled. Hence his School of Life, which aims to remedy these deficiencies.

De Botton’s emphasis is on personal relationships and psychological health. I am not enough of an expert to know whether his criticism is valid, though it accords with my personal teaching experience some years back. But there is another, more clear-cut, reason for re-focussing education: the state of the environment. Teaching this should be as fundamental, as ‘core’, as reading, writing and arithmetic in schools; and arguably mandatory in the curricula of universities. It would go much further than OCR’s proposed GCSE for Natural History for which the consultation period ended a couple of weeks ago, i.e. much further than just an option for those in Years 10 and 11. It would be a School for Life.

Importance of the environment

Concern is rising again in Europe about Covid-19, which appears to be making a comeback here. And elsewhere in the world – in India, Mexico, Brazil, Australia and the United States – we read about records being broken for new cases or number of deaths.

As alarming as the pandemic is, I think most scientists would agree that climate change is a bigger issue for humanity than Covid-19, and will cause more widespread harm to us and the biosphere in the decades to come. But that is not how it seems to be perceived by the general public.

From a couple of recent conversations with teenagers, I have been reminded (again) of how astonishingly little is taught about the state of the living world, the threats of climate change and biodiversity loss, and what we can do about it. Isn’t this as important as basic numeracy, especially today?

(Maybe it’s in our human nature to overestimate our own importance and underestimate the importance of the environment. That might be why history books, and the media, seem to ‘explain’ events such as major wars in terms of the machinations of individual leaders rather than population living conditions, access to water, and availability of food and land and other resources.)

How can teachers get through?

But is this naive? Is it realistic to expect young people to be particularly interested in something as seemingly irrelevant to their personal life as global warming? Or, for that matter, adults who already have more than enough to think about from one day to the next?

I do not know, although examples like Greta Thunberg and the interest she has generated would suggest that we are not irretrievably parochial. It seems likely that teaching about climate change would be at least as efficacious as most of the current ‘core’ curriculum. Whether successful or not, surely we need grassroots change, not simply a new option for GCSE pupils. So here are seven, if not pillars exactly, stepping stones of wisdom that a green education could try to impart:

1) We will not be saved by miracles

In our secular world, science has largely replaced religion as the object of blind faith. Technology in particular is revered. Politicians frequently herald its potential for salvation, a non-pandemic-related example being Boris Johnson’s announcement before Christmas that “there is a place in Oxfordshire on the verge of delivering virtually unlimited zero-carbon power”, the Culham Centre’s own verdict being that the first fusion power station might be operating in the 2040s. Faith in fusion resurfaced at the end of July with ITER’s announcement that the world’s largest fusion project is under way in southern France. Given that this project was conceived 35 years ago, it too seems unlikely to meet our Prime Minister’s optimistic timescale.

Technology has, of course, an important role to play; but reliance on it saving us is too often just an excuse for political and social inaction. In schools, we could teach two things: that human beings have a tendency to believe in miracles; and that any technological development can only work within the constraints of the laws of physics. An appreciation of these points would help whenever we read reports of new planes that use little energy, or machines that will suck the carbon dioxide out of the global atmosphere. We would be less inclined to believe in a panacea.

2) Government is a lever, not a primary force

In Britain, there is a particularly strong tendency to think that government action is the answer. Why rely on eight billion individual decision makers, the argument goes, when it’s really a few dozen political leaders who have the power to get things done?

Using an analogy from physics, this argument mixes up force and leverage, which correspond respectively to the popular mood and government. I might not be able to ride up a steep hill without a good bicycle – one with low gears – but there is no way the bicycle is doing it on its own.

Our leaders do what they think is politically popular, as measured by polls and disingenuous consultations and voter behaviour. So individual action matters – not because of what it achieves directly but because of the commitment it demonstrates. (Politicians may be forgiven for doubting our sincerity if we protest but do not alter our behaviour.) It is the small push on the pedal that gets the bicycle started.

3) Greenwash: the art of taking credit without doing anything useful

Imagine a birthday party with a birthday cake. Part of the cake is green and part – the larger part – is brown. Everyone wants a slice of cake, but only some guests are concerned to have a green slice. The rest don’t care about the colour, perhaps because they haven’t been trained to appreciate that the green cake tastes better.

There is enough green cake for all the guests who care about it to have a green slice. Those who don’t care are likely to end up with a brown slice. There is no need to make more of the cake green and everyone is happy.

Most green energy tariffs should be thought of in this way; but sadly, most of the people I know are easily duped by green suppliers. I genuinely support green tariffs, but am strongly resistant to claims that they have had, thus far, a major impact on the generation mix in Great Britain, or resultant emissions of carbon dioxide.

Perhaps if we were taught from an early age the difference between taking credit for an effect, and actually contributing to it, we would be less easily brainwashed. We would have a more trustworthy instinctive response to claims made by big companies that they are now zero carbon, or to our national claims about leading the rest of the world in emissions reduction.

4) We are good at making lists but bad at prioritising

How many times in business have you gone through a ‘brainstorming’ session, which inevitably involves a long list of possible actions and outcomes? And in how many of those has someone wisely said, and been listened to: “let’s not attempt to be comprehensive here; it’s enough to make progress on the 2-3 most important actions”? How much time gets wasted on diversions and minor issues?

In an earlier post this year, I commented on the Ethical Consumer’s 2019 compilation of 60 actions that individuals can do to reduce their carbon footprint. 6 key actions would have been more useful. There was no attempt at ranking: for instance, the second action in the compilation was to buy a bamboo toothbrush, which is trivial in the scheme of things, but apparently not obviously so. Any reader not familiar with the energy world would have been confused about what really matters.

Perhaps we could spend more time on prioritisation, on understanding and comparing orders of magnitude, and less time brain-dumping. We could usefully be taught to ask the question “What else?” less often and the question “How important?” more often.

5) Habit and happiness are not the same thing

We are inculcated with the notion that consumerism is not only essential for job protection (“shop with confidence” implored Boris Johnson a few weeks ago); but also makes us happy. Perhaps theories of employment are a little ambitious for the school curriculum, but it should be possible to teach the difference between behaviour that has become habitual and behaviour that actually makes people happier. In my own experience, economists mix these up, then complain that it would be sinister to interpret a voluntary purchase as anything other than an increase in consumer welfare.

We do not need to create a brave new world in which the state tries to engineer people’s happiness. But we do need to be more assertive in questioning the benefits of consumerism, especially though not solely because of its impact on the environment; and where better to raise the questions than in schools?

6) Defensiveness gets in the way of change

But there is a big problem here. Any major change to our lifestyle or employment naturally raises this question: why were we living or working like that before? And, in turn, does that mean our previous lifestyle or work was somehow ‘wrong’? Are we being blamed?

We hate the thought of blame, and go to great lengths to avoid any admission of past error. This often means carrying on with a way of life or form of employment even after it has been shown to be unsustainable. There may also of course be significant practical difficulties in the way of change; but the psychological element of self-justification seems to me to be under-acknowledged.

Education could help us out here. It could teach us how to cope with change; how to be open and accepting of each other’s mistakes; and about the general futility of casting blame.

7) We can all learn the right questions to ask

David Mackay, a former Chief Scientist of the erstwhile Department of Energy and Climate Change, was fond of saying that we should all get into the habit of asking ourselves, frequently, this question: where is the energy coming from? It applies to the energy embodied indirectly in our purchases and our diet, as well as the energy consumed directly by our transport, lighting and heating. Everyone can get into the routine of asking the question; no PhD in physics is required.

Schools and universities can and should teach everyone to develop a ‘feel’ for their energy consumption: what matters and what does not in the scheme of things. Rough answers will do; holistic ones are essential.

To that great question, I would add a couple more: (i) what is the land imprint of your diet; and (ii) what is the additional benefit of any specific green action?

And there are others. Including this one: What ultimately is the point of education if it does not teach us the most important questions to ask?