Something happened to the world sometime after 1945. Something that included the end of World War II and post-war recovery, but was far more fundamental than that.
Humanity went into overdrive.
In my reading on the Anthropocene, this book and this phrase keep cropping up. The Great Acceleration gives a bird’s-eye view of the environmental history of our world since the 1950s. A period when multiple factors—technological, medical, and demographical—converged to propel the human species onto a trajectory of unprecedented growth.
The Great Acceleration: An Environmental History of the Anthropocene Since 1945, written by John R. McNeill and Peter Engelke, published by Belknap Press (a Harvard University Press imprint) in April 2016 (paperback, 275 pages)
Let me begin with two pieces of background information to set the scene. First, this book. It was originally published in 2014 as chapter 3 of the book Global Interdependence. This, in turn, is the sixth volume of Harvard University Press’s ambitious book series A History of the World which is almost complete (only the second volume remains in preparation as of this moment). At well over 1,000 pages per volume, these books are no lightweights and notable contributions have been reissued in paperback, as happened for this book in 2016.
Second, the term “Anthropocene”. Coined in the year 2000 by Paul Crutzen and Eugene Stoermer, it describes the most recent period in human history in which our activities, and especially their unintended consequences, have started significantly impacting, even overwhelming, Earth’s natural biogeochemical cycles. I have previously reviewed The Anthropocene as a Geological Time Unit which makes the geological case for this term (McNeill contributed to this book). The Great Acceleration draws on environmental history to make the case that the Anthropocene started around the 1950s. In four large chapters, the authors touch on a range of topics to show how this has been “the most anomalous and unrepresentative period in [our] 200,000-year-long history” (p. 5).
“The Great Acceleration gives a bird’s-eye view of the environmental history of our world since the 1950s. […] “certainly the most anomalous and unrepresentative period in [our] 200,000-year-long history“”
First they turn to two of the biggest drivers of the many Anthropocene signatures: energy and population. Fossil fuels unlocked plentiful energy, with the coal-driven Industrial Revolution just a warm-up exercise. In the decades after World War II, several factors converged (the rise of consumer culture, the desire for affluence going global, oil overtaking coal) to explode energy consumption. Of all the quoted numbers I will just mention one: “our species has probably used more energy since 1920 than in all of our prior human history” (p. 9). Cheap energy expanded the scope of what was economically rewarding, bringing into existence new energy-intensive activities, e.g. the Haber–Bosch process to produce artificial fertiliser. Another contributing factor was, of course, population growth, with our numbers more than tripling from 2.3 to 7.2 billion between 1945 and 2015. Of note, though, is McNeill and Engelke’s nuanced attitude on this topic. Through a range of examples they show that the axiom of modern environmentalism, that more people means more environmental damage, “is not true always and everywhere. When and where it is true, the degree to which it is true is extremely variable” (p. 50). That said, our hunger for energy causes environmental problems at every step: during extraction (mining and drilling), refinement, transportation (particularly oil spills), and burning (air pollution).
Closest to home for me was the second chapter which covered climate and biodiversity. Some of the topics discussed here are the rise in atmospheric CO2, the history of climate science, and its entry into the political arena. But also biodiversity loss, global deforestation, and overfishing. When you plot these in graphs, many of them, though not deforestation, show a clear upward inflection point around the 1950s.
“”The entire life experience of almost everyone now living has taken place within the eccentric historical moment of the Great Acceleration“. […] We take this to be the new normal, but this “brief blip in human history” cannot last.”
Less familiar ground for me was the chapter covering cities and the economy. This discusses urbanisation and its discontents (poverty and slums, and the effect of the car on suburbs) and experiments with green(er) cities. Economic growth was enabled by, again, abundant energy, population growth (more people means more economic activity), and technological inventions. Two particularly influential inventions are highlighted here. First, the humble shipping container that, since its invention in 1956, “did more to promote international trade than all free trade agreements put together” (p. 136). Second, the explosion around WWII in mass production of many new variants of that miracle material: plastic; though that love affair quickly soured when we discovered most of it ends up in the ocean. McNeill and Engelke furthermore consider both global economic patterns (former colonies and socialist countries being brought into the capitalist fold) and regional economic shifts in Asia and Russia, plus the dissenting views of ecological economics and sustainable development that have nevertheless not been able to stem economic growth.
The most interesting chapter for me was the last one on the Cold War and the rise of environmentalism. Noteworthy highlights here are the environmental cost of nuclear weapons production and testing, and how it spawned much of the environmental movement. The insanity of China’s Great Leap Forward that, through failed grain production and Mao Zedong’s fetish for steel production, took a staggering toll on both humans and the environment. Or the environmental legacy of the Cold War in Southern Africa and Vietnam—we all know Agent Orange, but look up Rome plows. When McNeill and Engelke chart the rise of the environmental movement, they look well beyond the cliché of young hippies and the idea that only wealthy Westerners, no longer worried about meeting their basic needs, have environmental concerns. Environmentalism became wedded to social justice movements for many of the world’s poor who found themselves at the receiving end of what Rob Nixon has called the “slow violence” of pollution and climate change. And it became wedded to political dissent in socialist Russia and China where environmentalism was long suppressed.
“”to date, the Anthropocene and the Great Acceleration coincide. But they will not for long” […]. Their disentangling heralds a new transition […] for which we are woefully unprepared.”
The most frightening and simultaneously eye-opening insight this book offers is that of shifting baselines: “Only one in twelve persons now alive can remember anything before 1945. The entire life experience of almost everyone now living has taken place within the eccentric historical moment of the Great Acceleration” (p. 5). We take this to be the new normal, but this “brief blip in human history” cannot last. The authors remain agnostic on whether the future holds sustainability or collapse, whether our environmental legacy will haunt us for generations to come or outlive us. However, “to date, the Anthropocene and the Great Acceleration coincide. But they will not for long” (p. 208). Their disentangling heralds a new transition, whether to collapse or a steady-state economy, for which we are woefully unprepared.
The range of countries and historical episodes included make The Great Acceleration a deeply informed and refreshingly broad work. If you want to understand how the whole world veered onto a radically new trajectory post-1950s, this compact book is a fascinating and quick read that offers a bird’s-eye view.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
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Harvard University Press’s A History of the World series:
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“There is a vast, arterial power humming all around us, hiding in plain sight” (p. 320). With these words, geographer Laurence C. Smith concludes his engaging and impressive book on the environmental history of rivers. Touching on a multitude of topics, some of which I did not even know I cared about, I found my jaw dropping more than once.
Rivers of Power: How a Natural Force Raised Kingdoms, Destroyed Civilizations, and Shapes Our World, written by Laurence C. Smith, published in Europe by Allen Lane in April 2020 (hardback, 364 pages)
For a big book on the environmental history of rivers, you expect some classical history, Brian-Fagan style. Rivers of Power does not disappoint and dishes out fascinating introductions to the ancient Harappan civilization in South Asia who mastered municipal plumbing two millennia before the ancient Romans, the early Mesopotamian cities that sprang up around the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, and the importance to ancient Egypt of the Nile and its annual flooding.
But Smith ranges far wider—take his sections on more recent historical events that revolve around rivers. One of the decisive battles of the American Revolution was Washington’s nighttime crossing of the Delaware River which helped America win its war for independence with Britain. Or the sordid history of Britain’s opium wars in China, which relied heavily on shipping traffic up the Yangtze River and the opening of so-called treaty ports to force China to accept the importation of opium in exchange for goods the English wanted. These are both examples of historical episodes I knew little about, but for which Smith here provides context and background in a pleasingly compact manner.
Rivers can also influence human affairs in more roundabout ways and Rivers of Power includes some remarkable examples. The disastrous 1889 Johnstown flood changed the face of US law forever. When a neglected dam belonging to a gentlemen’s country club burst, it wiped this Pennsylvanian settlement off the map. When neither the club nor its millionaire members could be held responsible for the death and destruction caused by their negligence, the ensuing national uproar led to the introduction of strict liability laws, creating a culture of litigation that persists to this day. Similarly, Smith argues that the 1927 Mississippi flood changed the face of US politics for good. Herbert Hoover cleverly used the disaster for self-promotion, contributing to his victory in the next presidential election. But when he never made good on his promises to provide black sharecroppers with mortgage payments for land resettlement, it spelt the end of African American support for the Republican Party.
“Rivers can also influence human affairs in more roundabout ways […] The disastrous 1889 Johnstown flood […] created a culture of litigation that persists to this day.”
Smith possesses some serious writing chops and has contributed pieces to the Financial Times, New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and other major outlets. My jaw dropped more than once. The identity of the young German boy that historians now believe was saved from drowning and grew up to be an influential statesman? That reveal hit me like a bombshell. Some of the details of the aftermath of the Johnstown flood make for chilling reading. And the interview with a veteran of the Vietnam war, a war largely fought from riverboats in the Mekong delta, was particularly gripping.
And what of the topics I would otherwise snooze through? Normally, my eyes are likely to glaze over when you say “transboundary river treaty” or “mega-dam geopolitics”. Instead, I found myself reading with great interest about Laos’s unilateral decision to build dams in the Mekong River, or the current construction of the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam in one of the Nile’s two main tributaries and the political upset this is causing in Egypt. Smith also makes clear the immense scale at which we are now modifying landscapes. No longer content with simply building dams and canals, China, India, and several African countries are in the process of rerouting whole drainage basins in megaprojects known as interbasin transfers. Rivers of Power will teach you as much about historical events as it does about current affairs.
The above is but a sampling of the numerous interesting stories and studies that Smith covers here. In a book that wanders this widely, there will inevitably be sections that are of less interest. For me, it was the last chapter on riverfront redevelopment projects. Instead, I wanted to read more about Smith’s own hydrological research. For example, I was surprised at how brief his mention of the upcoming SWOT satellite mission was, given that he has been involved in conceiving and planning it for nearly two decades. Short for Surface Water and Ocean Topography, it will map the whole of the Earth’s surface waters in 3D. At the same time, it is testimony to the huge amount of research that Smith has put into this book that he is not choosing the easy option of writing mostly about the topics he knows intimately.
“Smith also makes clear the immense scale at which we are now modifying landscapes. [Several countries] are in the process of rerouting whole drainage basins in megaprojects known as interbasin transfers.”
Despite the chapters appearing long at the outset, they have been divided into shorter subheaded sections, so I never found the book wearing on me. Although no references or annotations are given in the text, the reference section at the back is organised according to the same subheaded structure, so finding sources and more information is fairly painless.
If I have to gripe about something, I feel that Smith is sometimes a bit too neutral in his reporting. Riverfront redevelopment is all fine and dandy but is a luxury for nations that have off-shored their heavy industry. Or take Egypt, which has single-handedly commandeered most of the Nile’s water discharge through the 1959 Nile Waters Agreement: “A new international agreement […] is badly needed. Yet any reduction in the total volume of water flowing downstream is potentially devastating for Egypt” (p. 155). To call Egypt not acknowledging upstream nations a “glaring omission” as Smith does here is putting it mildly, it strikes me as a scandalous example of overreach by a single nation.
Furthermore, a chapter dedicated to the effects of climate change on rivers would have been prudent—coverage of it is now scattered over different chapters. There is, for example, the shocking fact that half of the world’s glacier-fed rivers are past peak water (this refers to the highest discharge rate from glacier melt). Or the increased likelihood of more extreme floods thanks to the Clausius–Clapeyron relation (warm water holds more water vapour and will result in more rainfall—in effect increased temperatures accelerate the evaporation–precipitation cycle).
But these are minor complaints. Overall, Rivers of Power is bristling with fascinating and skilfully told riverine topics. Though meandering widely, it remains captivating throughout thanks to Smith’s excellent writing.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
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I thought I knew of the horrors to be found on the open ocean.
I was wrong.
New York Times investigative reporter Ian Urbina has spent five years, three of which at sea, documenting the stories told here. What began as an award-winning series of articles has now been turned into a book by the same name: The Outlaw Ocean. In turns nail-biting and gut-wrenching, this brutal reportage shows the open ocean to be a dystopian place of crime and exploitation that is hiding in plain sight.
The Outlaw Ocean: Crime and Survival in the Last Untamed Frontier, written by Ian Urbina, published in Europe by The Bodley Head (a Vintage imprint) in September 2019 (hardback, 544 pages)
On land, it is relatively hard to escape law and order. Not so on the high seas. Outside of territorial seas (everything within 12 nautical miles of a country’s coastline) and exclusive economic zones (everything within 200 nautical miles), a vast swathe of the globe is liquid no man’s land: the high seas, waters that fall outside of anyone’s jurisdiction and that are effectively a marine wild west. (According to the Ocean Health Index, we are talking about 64% of the ocean’s surface and 95% of its volume). The lack of oversight and law enforcement, plus the sheer size and impossibility of patrolling the oceans, allow a rainbow of crimes to flourish.
Urbina opens and closes the book accompanying vigilante conservationist group Sea Shepherd. Not shying away from direct action at sea to frustrate ships that are fishing in off-limit zones or whaling, this organisation regularly makes headlines. They have a “flexible” approach to the law, quipping that “it takes a pirate to catch a pirate”. It seems they have realised they need allies, so nowadays they are cooperating with Interpol. An anonymous source there mentions to Urbina that “they’re getting results”, leading Interpol to turn a blind eye to Sea Shepherd’s transgressions. I find it hard not to come away feeling supportive of their efforts. Urbina joins them for part of their pursuit of the highly wanted fishing vessel Thunder, and later during an anti-whaling campaign.
I came away with a similar positive feeling from the chapter that reports on the renegade Dutch doctor-activist Rebecca Gomperts. Her initiative Women on Waves offers abortions to women worldwide by sailing them into international waters and offering them abortion pills. These people are breaking and bending rules, yes, but the means justify the ends. However, when anti-whaling and pro-abortion efforts are the most cheerful topics you can muster, you know you are in for grim reading.
“[…] when anti-whaling and pro-abortion efforts are the most cheerful topics you can muster, you know you are in for grim reading”
A large part of Urbina’s reporting deals with the fishing industry. In other reviews, I have already dealt with the history of overfishing and its its consequences. Urbina documents the destruction wrought by trawling, by-catch and other questionable practices such as the reduction industry, but also the side often ignored by environmentalists: the human cost.
Many of these ships use intermediate manning agencies to press-gang poor men into barbaric working conditions. Urbina investigates in Palau, New Zealand, Singapore, Thailand, Indonesia, Vietnam, and Somalia, to name but some of the hotspots. What he uncovers is nothing short of slavery: 20-hour workdays, 7-day work weeks, withheld salaries, frequent beatings, intimidation, rape, even murder. No, slavery was not abolished, it just moved offshore.
Urbina alternates his reporting on these human rights abuses with other, “lighter” topics, some rather bizarre. Take the self-proclaimed micro-nation Sealand off the British coast. Or repo man (short for repossession) Max Hardberger who, by cunning rather than force, steals stolen vessels and returns them to their owners. Others are deeply troubling: the dumping of waste by luxury cruise ships, the fate of stowaways, oil companies covering up the existence of fragile coral reefs in areas targeted for oil drilling, the limbo of crew members stranded on bankrupt vessels.
“No, slavery was not abolished, it just moved offshore.”
Although it makes for a bit of a wandering narrative, I think it is a good move. I admit not necessarily having a high opinion of the human species, but there is only so much despair, violence, and misery that I can endure. The sheer visceral intensity of Urbina’s reporting was such that it brought me close to tears on several occasions, which happens rarely. Whether the high seas bring out the worst in man, or whether they attract the worst kind of man, The Outlaw Ocean offers an unflinching look at some of the most depraved excesses of human cruelty. The dystopic drudgery on display here is near-Orwellian: “If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.“
Part of what allows this inhumane treatment to continue are the many byzantine maritime laws, which, Urbina observes, protect a ship’s cargo more than its crew. Especially the practice of flags of convenience, whereby a company in country A can register their ship in country B, has encouraged companies to shop around for countries with minimal regulation and oversight. Add manning agencies in country C recruiting people from country D, and fishing companies are answerable to no one. As a spokesperson of a migrant advocacy group in Singapore observes: “That’s exactly how this business is designed“.
“[…] there is only so much despair, violence, and misery that I can endure. The sheer visceral intensity of Urbina’s reporting was such that it brought me close to tears on several occasions”
Sure, corrupt port authorities and inspectors are being bribed to look the other way, but we would do well to remember that we are all in on this. One of Urbina’s most incisive passages is worth quoting at length:
“manning agencies […] provide the efficiencies that fishing companies need to hold up a fantasy that consumers around the world desperately want to believe […] that it is possible to fish sustainably, legally, and using workers with contracts, making a livable wage, and still deliver a five-ounce can of skipjack tuna for $2.50 that ends up on the grocery shelf only days after the fish was pulled from the water thousands of miles away.” (p. 192)
As long as we continue to feel entitled to the lowest prices, we are turning a blind eye to labour abuses, whether in sweat-shops, Amazon warehouses, iPhone production lines, or fishing vessels. “Such is the inconvenient truth of globalization […] more a market sleight of hand than […] Adam Smith’s invisible hand“. I was hoping Urbina would return to this in his appendix where he recommends what readers can do and what organisations they can support, but was disappointed to see he refrains from further reflective condemnation.
“fishing companies are answerable to no one […] “That’s exactly how this business is designed“.”
The reporting in this book is top-notch, and I was not surprised to read that the original article series received seven major awards. Clearly, Urbina can call on deep pockets and influential contacts around the globe, not to mention an unhealthy dose of persistence and courage, to get him into locations and near people you would normally actively avoid. More than once, he puts his life on the line and finds himself in rapidly escalating situations. However, I never got the feeling that he is driven by bravado, more by an unquenchable urge to uncover injustice. His concern is more with witnesses, fixers, translators, or photographers close to him than with his own safety. Even so, some of the encounters described here made my pulse race.
The Outlaw Ocean is an exceptional reportage that encompasses almost every conceivable form of misconduct playing out on the high seas. I found the book impossible to put down. Shocking, urgent, and gut-wrenching in places, it left a deep and lasting impression on me.
Disclosure: The publisher provided a review copy of this book. The opinion expressed here is my own, however.
Other recommended books mentioned in this review:
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