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Sweden abolishes tax on plastic bags despite warnings usage could rise

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Thursday, October 31, 2024

A tax that has reduced plastic bag consumption in Sweden by more than three-quarters in four years is being abolished on Friday, despite warnings that the move could lead to usage rising back towards previous levels.Since the introduction of the 3 kroner (£0.21) tax in May 2020, plastic bag usage in the country has slumped. In 2019, before the levy was introduced, people in Sweden used an average of 74 plastic bags (15-50 micrometres thick) per person each year each. In 2023 that number had dropped to 17.The law was introduced after the EU’s 2015 plastic bag directive required member states to dramatically cut usage.Among those to criticise the end of the tax in Sweden was the government’s own environmental protection agency, which warned the levy was still needed to consolidate new behaviours.“We don’t think the government should lower the tax already,” said Åsa Stenmarck, a spokesperson for the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency. “We think they could have evaluated this properly before making a decision.”Last year, Sweden’s centre-right coalition government, backed by the far-right Sweden Democrats, announced the tax would be abolished. It said the country’s plastic bag consumption was already below the EU target, which meant the levy was “not deemed necessary for its purpose”.Stenmarck said: “We don’t know what will happen now. The consumption target of 40 bags per person still exists from 2025 onwards and if we don’t reach it, we will be fined by the EU.”Now the responsibility fell to industry, which Stenmarck said she hoped would not start marketing plastic bags, and consumers, who she hoped had “largely changed their behaviour and carry their own bags”.Despite Sweden’s involvement in the invention of the plastic bag, which was patented by the Swedish company Celloplast in 1965 and quickly went on to replace cloth and plastic bags in Europe, the country has been a frontrunner on reducing usage.The big supermarkets have long charged for plastic and paper bags, in turn encouraging people to bring their own, while the tax rapidly reduced consumption in other areas of retail.But the levy has fallen victim to rightwing populism and culture wars, said Rolf Lindahl, a climate and energy campaigner for Greenpeace Sweden.skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Headlines EuropeA digest of the morning's main headlines from the Europe edition emailed direct to you every week dayPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotion“The plastic ban tax has become a part of a very unfortunate populist narrative around climate policies from the rightwing parties and they have used it as an example of environmental overreach from the government,” he said.“We worry that dropping the tax will mean increased plastic use and a return to the norm of always buying new bags at the supermarket.”Joakim Brodahl, from the non-profit organisation Keep Sweden Clean, said the removal of the tax would probably lead to plastic bags costing less to consumers and in turn increasing consumption. “We see that there is a risk that the behaviour can quickly turn back unless, for example, the trade is alert to changes in their sales of plastic bags,” he said.

Levy that reduced usage by more than three-quarters in four years fell victim to rightwing culture wars, say criticsA tax that has reduced plastic bag consumption in Sweden by more than three-quarters in four years is being abolished on Friday, despite warnings that the move could lead to usage rising back towards previous levels.Since the introduction of the 3 kroner (£0.21) tax in May 2020, plastic bag usage in the country has slumped. In 2019, before the levy was introduced, people in Sweden used an average of 74 plastic bags (15-50 micrometres thick) per person each year each. In 2023 that number had dropped to 17. Continue reading...

A tax that has reduced plastic bag consumption in Sweden by more than three-quarters in four years is being abolished on Friday, despite warnings that the move could lead to usage rising back towards previous levels.

Since the introduction of the 3 kroner (£0.21) tax in May 2020, plastic bag usage in the country has slumped. In 2019, before the levy was introduced, people in Sweden used an average of 74 plastic bags (15-50 micrometres thick) per person each year each. In 2023 that number had dropped to 17.

The law was introduced after the EU’s 2015 plastic bag directive required member states to dramatically cut usage.

Among those to criticise the end of the tax in Sweden was the government’s own environmental protection agency, which warned the levy was still needed to consolidate new behaviours.

“We don’t think the government should lower the tax already,” said Åsa Stenmarck, a spokesperson for the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency. “We think they could have evaluated this properly before making a decision.”

Last year, Sweden’s centre-right coalition government, backed by the far-right Sweden Democrats, announced the tax would be abolished. It said the country’s plastic bag consumption was already below the EU target, which meant the levy was “not deemed necessary for its purpose”.

Stenmarck said: “We don’t know what will happen now. The consumption target of 40 bags per person still exists from 2025 onwards and if we don’t reach it, we will be fined by the EU.”

Now the responsibility fell to industry, which Stenmarck said she hoped would not start marketing plastic bags, and consumers, who she hoped had “largely changed their behaviour and carry their own bags”.

Despite Sweden’s involvement in the invention of the plastic bag, which was patented by the Swedish company Celloplast in 1965 and quickly went on to replace cloth and plastic bags in Europe, the country has been a frontrunner on reducing usage.

The big supermarkets have long charged for plastic and paper bags, in turn encouraging people to bring their own, while the tax rapidly reduced consumption in other areas of retail.

But the levy has fallen victim to rightwing populism and culture wars, said Rolf Lindahl, a climate and energy campaigner for Greenpeace Sweden.

skip past newsletter promotion

after newsletter promotion

“The plastic ban tax has become a part of a very unfortunate populist narrative around climate policies from the rightwing parties and they have used it as an example of environmental overreach from the government,” he said.

“We worry that dropping the tax will mean increased plastic use and a return to the norm of always buying new bags at the supermarket.”

Joakim Brodahl, from the non-profit organisation Keep Sweden Clean, said the removal of the tax would probably lead to plastic bags costing less to consumers and in turn increasing consumption. “We see that there is a risk that the behaviour can quickly turn back unless, for example, the trade is alert to changes in their sales of plastic bags,” he said.

Read the full story here.
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Ghosts of the landscape: how folklore and songs are key to rewilding Finland’s reindeer

For ecologists restoring the vast bogs of remote Karelia, wild reindeer are not just part of the environment but entwined with the ancient culture of the boreal forestsThe Finnish folk musician Liisa Matveinen lives in a mustard-coloured house in Ilomantsi, 12 miles (20km) from the Russian border. Large books of folk songs line her walls. Sitting in her kitchen, Matveinen sings a about a humble hunter going into the woods to find reindeer.The song tells us how they were “honoured” providers of food, clothing and a sense of place, says Matveinen, who is recognised as a doyenne of Finnish folk music. Continue reading...

The Finnish folk musician Liisa Matveinen lives in a mustard-coloured house in Ilomantsi, 12 miles (20km) from the Russian border. Large books of folk songs line her walls. Sitting in her kitchen, Matveinen sings a about a humble hunter going into the woods to find reindeer.The song tells us how they were “honoured” providers of food, clothing and a sense of place, says Matveinen, who is recognised as a doyenne of Finnish folk music.Singing takes Matveinen back to a vanished world of hunting and fishing in the Finnish and Russian region of Karelia, where she was brought up and now lives.The folk singer Liisa Matveinen, whose repertoire reflects the role of wild reindeer in the traditions of Karelia. Photograph: Salla Seeslahti/The Guardian“I always come back here like a boomerang,” says Matveinen. She has a deep love for this remote part of eastern Finland, a place covered in vast peatlands and rivers where the oral poetry tradition stretches back 3,000 years.Few people now know these songs. And along with the songs, the reindeer themselves have disappeared. The last wild forest reindeer was shot in the Koitajoki area in 1919. Its horns are on display in a local restaurant, not far from Matveinen’s house.Now, a plan is being hatched to reintroduce them. The peatland has been restored and the first wild reindeer will be released here in 2028. The aim is to eventually have a herd of 300. Scouting animals – known as “ghost reindeer” – are already coming back down from their range farther north to look at these peatlands, suggesting the habitat could be suitable for them.Bringing back reindeer, however, is only one part of this rewilding project. The other components are part of an approach called “deep mapping”, which includes rejuvenating the culture and folklore associated with these animals to rebuild people’s connection to the land around them.The Rune Singer’s House near Ilomantsi, which records the traditional Karelian culture and way of life. Photograph: Salla Seeslahti/The GuardianWestern organisations that protect wildlife have tended to overlook biodiversity’s links with culture and language. Recently, there has been criticism of species reintroduction projects for not thinking enough about the people who live alongside them.“Deep mapping appreciates an understanding of linguistic, cultural and biological diversity as all being important,” says Tero Mustonen, who is leading the reintroduction. He is a professional fisher and a lead climate scientist on the UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report.“We are the guardians of the reindeer and they are the symbol of the boreal forest,” says Mustonen.Rejuvenating culturesThe hope of the project is that once reindeer are reintroduced, communities will want to preserve them, and understand why they are important animals culturally and ecologically.The Finnish climate scientist Tero Mustonen has been leading efforts to reintroduce wild reindeer to Karelia. Photograph: Salla Seeslahti/The GuardianFor more than 24 years, the Finnish environmental non-profit organisation Snowchange, founded by Mustonen and his wife, Kaisu, has been carrying out research on oral histories among reindeer-hunting communities.The way people think about their responsibility to animals is important, says Mustonen, who would want people to hunt the reintroduced reindeer once again – provided it is done in the traditional way, with respect and in sustainable numbers. “Oral poems represent hundreds of years of knowledge,” says Mustonen. “They are just like a compass. We’re trying to rebuild culture and ecosystems as best as we can.”For reindeer to thrive here again, however, they must have habitat to return to. Close to 3,500 hectares (9,000 acres) of boreal peatlands are being restored by Snowchange, thanks to funding from the University of Cambridge’s Endangered Landscapes and Seascapes Programme.Restoration of this peatland in Rahesuo landscape will help the wild reindeer population as they need the open spaces to give birth safely. Photograph: Salla Seeslahti/The GuardianOne of these landscapes is the peatland in Rahesuo. Two years ago, 160 hectares of this land began to be restored and ditches were filled in to raise the water level. Sphagnum moss is now starting to proliferate – a sign that this site is in recovery. Black-tailed godwits, northern lapwings and ptarmigans are among the bird species that bred on this bog last year. “The birds tell us it is recovering,” says Tero Mustonen.Reindeer can give birth on these peatlands, which should be relatively devoid of trees so they can see and smell predators. It will be 15 or 20 years before this peatland is fully restored (quicker than usual because the damage was only done in the 1970s).Peatland in Rahesuo. Tiina Oinonen, a biologist, left, and Kaisu Mustonen, whose organisation Snowchange has been leading restoration efforts. Photograph: Salla Seeslahti/The GuardianReindeer are not the only ghosts of this landscapes. Old societies would have taken advantage of the birthing grounds and used this area to hunt. “This landscape is filled with knowledge, if you can find it,” says Mustonen, who describes peatlands as “our cultural memory”.Protecting the futureMaking people care about landscapes – and understanding their connection to them – could also help protect them in the future. In the past, these fragile, carbon-rich places have been destroyed for forestry plantations.Siberian jays (Perisoreus infaustus) vanished from southern Finland as old-growth forests were felled. Photograph: AlamyIn the early 1900s industrial logging and pulp companies saw these landscapes as empty spaces and so they took them over. Old-growth forests, peatlands and wetlands were lost as commercial forestry spread.Today, despite 76% of Finland being forested, woodland birds are declining because of the replacement of ancient forests with plantations. Few trees are more than 100 years old. The Siberian jay has already disappeared from southern Finland because it requires old-growth forests.Kesonsuo bog is one of the largest intact mires. You can see for a couple of miles in every direction: a flat landscape covered in brownish grasses, small trees and little ponds that glisten blue under a big sky.It is late September and the boreal winter is approaching. A flock of 200 geese fly clumsily in to land on their journey down from the Arctic tundra. Much of the Koitajoki region would have looked like this before industrial forestry was introduced, but now only 20% of the original peatland is left.“It’s a big symphony to live in the boreal with these dark forces and dramatic seasonal changes. Now we have this last burst of light before the boreal winter,” says Mustonen.Despite providing such inspiration for painters, musicians and writers, this landscape is vulnerable to extractive industries, he says. Adding meaning and revitalising people’s connection to the land is another way to protect it in the future.Mustonen does not want the past to repeat itself: “Without people, nature and culture, this land is empty for the taking.”

Culture
Food
Forests

Why Has Gold Dazzled So Many Cultures Throughout History?

An exhibition in Brooklyn examines gold's ubiquitous appeal across thousands of years through art, artifacts, paintings, sculptures and fashion

This gold wreath thought to be from Corinth, Greece, dates to the third to second century B.C.E. Brooklyn Museum From ancient Egyptian jewelry to contemporary fashion, gold has been linked to opulence and wealth for millennia. A new exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum is exploring why this particular metal has transfixed so many cultures throughout history and how its meaning has changed over time. Titled “Solid Gold,” the show explores gold’s ubiquitous appeal through art, fashion, film, music and design. “‘Solid Gold’ will transport visitors through the many worlds of gold, its joyful, though at times heartbreaking, histories,” says Matthew Yokobosky, the show’s senior curator, in a statement. “As a museum dedicated to bringing art and people in shared experiences, audiences will find inspiration, opening them to unexplored realms of beauty in their world.” The show opens with a video of the 2018 launch of NASA’s Parker Solar Probe, the first spacecraft to fly into the sun’s upper atmosphere. This footage “sets the tone for an expansive, trippy show dedicated to the precious metal the Incas poetically called ‘the tears of the sun,’’’ as Artnet’s Raquel Laneri writes. An installation view of "Solid Gold" at the Brooklyn Museum Paula Abreu Pita The elaborate showcase, which includes items from around the world, is part of the museum’s 200th birthday celebrations. About half of the 500 items in the exhibition come from the Brooklyn Museum’s collections, including historic coins, Greek jewelry, Japanese screens and Renaissance altarpieces. “I based the exhibition checklist on our impressive permanent collection,” Yokobosky tells Vogue’s Christian Allaire. “In reviewing our holdings, nearly 4,000 works are gold or have a gold aspect and span thousands of years, from ancient times to today.” The show’s opening galleries display an impressive array of artifacts that demonstrate the ancient world’s interest in gold, such as a sarcophagus dating to between 945 and 740 B.C.E. decorated with golden pigments—which are meant to mimic gold inlays. A golden ballgown from Balenciaga's haute couture spring/summer 2020 collection © Pari Dukovic / Trunk Archive The exhibition’s ancient artifacts are contrasted with contemporary artworks, films and designs. For instance, pieces of gold facial jewelry made in Panama around the first millennium C.E. are shown alongside examples of grills made in recent decades. As the New York Times’ Aruna D’Souza writes, “This is ultimately a show about fashion.” “Among the highlights are splendid couture gowns from the Blonds, Christian Dior, Yves Saint Laurent, Pierre Cardin, Hubert de Givenchy, Marc Bohan, Azzedine Alaïa and John Galliano while he was at the helm of Christian Dior,” writes Vogue. Other items on view include a prototype of a necklace made for Elizabeth Taylor to wear in the film Cleopatra (1963) and a variety of Cartier jewels. A Roman bracelet from 379 to 395 C.E. decorated with gold, emeralds, sapphires and glass The J. Paul Getty Museum, Villa Collection, Malibu, California Museumgoers will also learn about gold’s origins, as well as the consequences connected to its production. Through artworks and artifacts, one section of the exhibition “tells a global story of ecological transformation, environmental impact and the human repercussions that result from the search for this precious metal,” per the statement. Nearby, a display of gold coins explores how currency was used to spread propaganda images of powerful rulers. In addition to gold’s cultural appeal, the exhibition also spotlights the lasting nature of the material itself. When it survives, gold provides researchers and archaeologists a window into the lives of cultures throughout history. “Even though it doesn’t corrode or tarnish, and thus can last a really long time, gold was commonly reused in the ancient world—melted down and shaped into new forms,” writes the Times. “When it endures, it feels a little bit miraculous.” “Solid Gold” is on view at the Brooklyn Museum through July 6, 2025. Get the latest stories in your inbox every weekday.

Culture
Nature

Norway hits the brakes on mining the Arctic Ocean — for now

The debate over deep-sea mining exposes a contradiction between the country’s proud culture of environmental stewardship and its dependence on the extraction of the ocean’s riches.

Over the last decade and a half, deep-sea mining has captured worldwide attention as a potential source for the minerals like manganese, nickel, and cobalt that are needed to make electric vehicle batteries and other technology in support of the global energy transition.  While the most coveted seabed area for potential mining — the vast and relatively flat Clarion-Clipperton Zone in the Pacific Ocean — is under international jurisdiction, parts of the world’s oceans controlled by individual nations have also attracted interest. Some countries, like Papua New Guinea, have taken the step of issuing exploration contracts. France, by contrast, passed an outright ban on mining in its waters. (In Papua New Guinea, reports recently emerged of illegal mining in its waters.) Other countries are still debating what to do. Since 2017, Norway has been considering the possibility of mining in the part of the Arctic Ocean set aside as its exclusive economic zone — specifically in an area comprising over 100,000 square miles, about the size of Italy. The resources of interest there include two coveted deposits: polymetallic sulfides, which are ores that form around hydrothermal vents, and cobalt-rich ferromanganese crusts, or accretions of metal along the sides of underwater mountains. Earlier this year, in January, a proposal to allow companies to survey Norway’s waters and assess its resource potential sailed through parliament with an 80-20 vote. Until that point, seabed mining had not been a widely publicized issue in Norway, but the vote prompted a groundswell of civil society opposition.  “To large parts of Norwegian society, this came as a surprise when the Norwegian government suddenly announced that they were going for deep sea mining, and it sparked a lot of outrage,” said Haldis Tjeldflaat Helle, a deep sea mining campaigner at Greenpeace Nordic. Environmental organizations found themselves in an unusual alliance with the country’s fishing industry, which organized against the mining plan because of the threat it posed to fish stocks (seafood is Norway’s largest export after oil and gas). There was also opposition from Norwegian trade unions and a resolution passed in the European Parliament that criticized the plan. In the fall, during the course of routine parliamentary proceedings, the Socialist Left, a small political party with just eight seats in Parliament, threatened to withhold support for the annual budget unless the government — a minority coalition between the Labour Party and the Centre Party — dropped its plans for the permit licensing program for the year ahead. This caused weeks of “intense” negotiations between the parties, according to Lars Haltbrekken, an environmental activist and Socialist Left parliamentarian. The argument in some ways reflected competing visions of how Norway should position its image to the world: “‘If we now stop this process, companies will think of Norway as an unstable country to make business in’ — that was the argument from the government. What we argued was that the environmental consequences of doing this might be so huge that it’s also a risk for Norway’s reputation around the world,” Haltbrekken said. On December 1, the plan was finally reversed. The Socialist Left didn’t put a full stop to deep-sea mining in Norway, but its maneuvering delayed the granting of exploration permits by at least a year and could make a future resumption of licensing approval unlikely. “I think that when we have stopped it for one year, we will be able to stop it for another year, and another year, and another year,” Haltbrekken said. The prime minister, Jonas Gahr Støre, described the latest outcome as merely a “postponement.”  Read Next Humans know very little about the deep sea. That may not stop us from mining it. Gautama Mehta In what some observers saw as an indication of just how uncertain deep-sea mining is as a commercial venture, only three mining companies, all small Norwegian startups, had plans to apply for the permits. One of them, Green Minerals, said in a press release last week that it “expects a slightly accelerated timeline” for licensing approval under next year’s newly elected government, allowing the company to maintain its timeline of a first exploration cruise in 2026 and the beginning of mining operations before 2030. Norway’s waters are far more remote and harder to operate heavy machinery in than others being explored for deep-sea mining. “The weather conditions in the Norwegian Sea are very different than the ones in the Pacific,” said Helle, of Greenpeace Nordic. “We are talking about an area that is very far north. Most of it is above the Arctic Circle, close to Svalbard, and this is an area where you have a lot of high waves, you have a lot of wind and you can get temperatures around freezing, and so it is very challenging doing operations.” Norway does have a history of industrial operations in the Arctic — its primary export is oil, much of which is drilled offshore, though much closer to its shores than the proposed mining area. The country is at “the forefront of marine and deep-sea technology,” said Thomas Dahlgren, a Swedish biologist at the Norwegian Research Centre who studies deep-sea life. “They have Kongsberg,” he continued, referring to the defense contractor and maritime technology developer. “They have 50 years of experience in pumping up oil and gas from the seafloor and so on, and they have all the wealth they built up by exploiting fossil fuels, which they are now eager to put to work in some other industrial activity.” Aside from the technical challenges, some conservationists worry that mining for underwater sulfides could endanger a delicate and little-known part of the planet before scientists have had the chance to learn its secrets. Hydrothermal vents — underwater geysers that spout superheated, mineral-rich water from the Earth’s crust — were discovered in 1977. Scientists were astonished to find that the vents supported entire underwater ecosystems, with species found nowhere else, and in the decades since their discovery, some have speculated that these environments may hold clues to the origin of life on earth — and even the possibility of life on other planets. The total area on earth containing active vent ecosystems is estimated to be around 50 square kilometers (less than 20 square miles). Deep-sea mining proponents only suggest mining around hydrothermal vents that are extinct, or inactive — no longer spouting heated water, but still surrounded by valuable metals. But Matthew Gianni, co-founder and policy advisor of the Deep Sea Conservation Coalition, said that the easiest inactive vents for miners to locate tend to be in so-called vent fields, in proximity to active vents, which could be disturbed by mining. “If you punch a hole into an inactive deposit, you can change the hydrology of the venting system. You can basically shut down an active vent and everything living on it basically goes dead eventually,” Gianni said. A ship passes through glaciers near the Svalbard Islands, in the Arctic Ocean in Norway. Sebnem Coskun/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images The debate over deep-sea mining has touched on a contradiction in Norway’s political identity. It’s a country deeply tied to the ocean, with a proud culture of environmental stewardship, while also being heavily materially invested in the extraction of the ocean’s riches — and, like other petrostates, eager for an economic replacement in the event that the world’s appetite for Norway’s oil eventually dies. “I’m not saying we should do it,” said Steinar Løve Ellefmo, a geoscientist who facilitates an interdisciplinary pilot program at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology where researchers study deep-sea mining solutions in collaboration with public officials, NGOs, and commercial stakeholders including Green Minerals, the mining startup. “I’m saying we should investigate whether we can do it as a contribution to meeting the demand for minerals and metals” — adding that their extraction “has the potential to limit or reduce our dependence on petroleum-based energy production.” Haltbrekken, the Socialist Left parliamentarian, said he accepts the need for mineral mining, broadly speaking. “We need minerals, we do, to stop climate change. But we do need to do more recycling of the minerals that we already have. And I think even though we do have a lot of conflicts and a lot of environmental disasters connected to the mining industry on land, it’s easier for us to control and have strict environmental regulations on mining on land than mining two to three thousand meters down in the sea,” he said. “Of course, should we do more on recycling?” Ellefmo said. “But that will not really do the trick. It will contribute, yes, no question, and we should put more effort into it. We should do more on onshore mining for sure. We should do something on your and my consumption for sure. But at the same time, I think we should be allowed to investigate whether [deep-sea mining] could be a good idea. And that includes, of course, understanding the environmental impact if we were to do it.” Fundamentally, the debate has an epistemological character: The only thing everyone seems to agree on is how little is known about the deep ocean or what the effects of mining there would be. But while, for opponents of mining, this ignorance is what makes the idea of mining a hubristic folly, others see the fact of what we don’t know as the motivation for permitting exploration of the deep sea — in the interest of science. But, as Dahlgren, the Swedish biologist, said, “It would be naive to think that the research and science required to understand the baselines would appear without this industrial interest. Society will not pay for it.” This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Norway hits the brakes on mining the Arctic Ocean — for now on Dec 13, 2024.

Culture
Activism
Climate

Protect This Place: Ladakh, the Planet’s ‘Third Pole’

Home to glaciers, snow leopards, and rich human cultures, Ladakh suffers from a lack of political representation, which has inspired recent protests. The post Protect This Place: Ladakh, the Planet’s ‘Third Pole’ appeared first on The Revelator.

The Place: Ladakh, India’s cold desert, is located to the east of Jammu and Kashmir at altitudes between 8,800 and 18,000 feet. This mountain enclave is geographically distinct, with unique climatic and ecological characteristics fostering a rich culture amidst towering peaks. Ladakh is marked by steep cliffs, deep valleys, arid plains, salt flats, and sparse vegetation. Situated between Pakistan and China, it nurtures a population of around 275,000 people, as well as rare and beautiful wildlife such as snow leopards and Tibetan antelopes. The people and wildlife here depend on the Hindu Kush ranges to the northwest for essential resources. The other mountain ranges surrounding the Ladakh, the Karakoram to the north and the Himalayan to the south, are some of the highest in the world. Together known as the Hindu Kush Himalaya, these ranges are often referred to as the “Third Pole.” They feature the world’s most renowned peaks, clad in over 30,000 square miles of glacial ice — the largest concentration of glaciers outside the Arctic and Antarctic. Why It Matters: High-altitude regions have fragile ecosystems and experience the effects of climate change more acutely and earlier, which also makes them indicators of broader climate trends. This allows scientists to study shifts in weather phenomena, migration, and ecosystem responses along with the tectonic processes involved in the region’s varied geology. A rich diversity of medicinal plants can be found here, such as Himalayan yew, known for cancer-fighting properties; ashwagandha, used for stress relief; and ginger, valued for anti-inflammatory benefits. Protecting these unique environments is essential to sustaining traditional medicine practices and preserving these invaluable resources. Ladakh is home to a rich tapestry of cultures, traditions, and religions, including Buddhism and Islam. Its monasteries, festivals, and unique lifestyles provide insights into how diverse ways of living have adapted to harsh conditions. The area’s unique wildlife play essential roles in nutrient cycling and maintaining ecological balance: Himalayan blue sheep, also known as bharal, graze on alpine meadows, while Himalayan marmots aerate the soil and serve as prey for other species. The Threat: The local ecosystems in Ladakh, and the more than 1.2 billion people downstream, depend on glaciers for their freshwater supply. As the permafrost thaws, concerns about potential pandemics from viral spillover have surfaced. Recently a collaborative effort of Ohio State’s Byrd Center and Chinese Academy of Sciences isolated 33 viruses from ice samples in the Tibetan Plateau, 28 of which were novel and estimated to be approximately 15,000 years old. The runoff from glacier melt has furthered the risk of introducing diseases into vulnerable communities. Recent examples of mega-scale flash floods and landslides underscore the impact of man-made disasters and the urgent need for new policies. Militarization has occurred in Ladakh due to its strategic location and geopolitical conflicts. Unregulated tourism, construction, global warming, and various forms of pollution are worsening the situation. Snow in the glaciers melts faster as black soot from fossil fuels settle on the snow and ice and absorb the sunlight they would normally reflect. Water contamination is another major concern, and flooding has altered soil functions, microbial communities, and soil redox potential. Floods cause soil erosion, nutrient loss, and siltation of water bodies, reducing the already constrained agriculture yield in the region. Ladakhis also lack access to essential healthcare facilities and services that reflect their needs and support their wellbeing. A decade of unfulfilled promises has left residents feeling politically marginalized and skeptical of policymakers, especially concerning healthcare and land rights. Recent amendments to forest laws allow forest land use for nonforest purposes, jeopardizing biodiversity and Indigenous livelihoods and deepening distrust. Who Is Protecting It Now: Ladakh activist Sonam Wangchuk and others have spent the past few months fasting, protesting, and educating the community, with the goal of bringing more autonomy to the region. Wangchuk’s dedication to innovation and sustainable development has earned him numerous accolades, including the Ramon Magsaysay Award, often referred to as Asia’s Nobel Prize, in 2018. His initiatives — including ice stupas, artificial glaciers that store water — highlight time-tested and Indigenous innovations in the face of climate challenges. While he envisions a future of innovative development and education for all, Wangchuk is particularly currently focused on preservation of ecosystem in Ladakh. With the extreme conditions and limited resources, the Ladakh protests are addressing the need for reforms to support the unique challenges faced by the region and he is the face of the protests. What This Place Needs: The ongoing protests in Ladakh reflect a desire for political representation and autonomy and are aimed at preserving ecological integrity and Tribal rights. Among the primary demands are full statehood within India, recognition as a Scheduled Tribe under the Sixth Schedule of the Indian Constitution for legislative and administrative control, and the implementation of policies aimed at safeguarding Ladakh’s fragile ecosystem while balancing developmental needs and local participation. Ladakhis have reason to be worried: The government of India has plans for massive solar and hydroelectric projects that come with substantial environmental and social costs, including biodiversity loss, land degradation from extensive solar farms, and alterations in local water flows. Socially these projects have the potential to displace communities and lead to external control over local resources, and eventually the influx of workers would pose a threat to the Ladakhi livelihoods and culture. Lessons From the Fight: The people of Ladakh teach us spiritual resilience. The unique demographics of the region, with its blend of Buddhist and Muslim populations, foster a sense of solidarity in advocating for local governance and sustainable development. As both groups confront external pressures from national policies and environmental changes, their collective efforts symbolize a shared commitment to protect their heritage and secure their futures in an increasingly complex geopolitical landscape. This collaboration highlights a broader geopolitical context, as both communities face common challenges related to resource management, healthcare access, and demands for statehood. Traditional practices, often overlooked, can play a crucial role in sustainability. Empowering small-scale and indigenous communities helps preserve their knowledge and ways of life. One possible answer is economic localization, which prioritizes local, sustainable practices like ecotourism that celebrate rather than exploit local culture. Small-scale green energy projects can reduce reliance on fossil fuels, protecting delicate ecosystems. Water conservation, forest management, and incentives for local businesses should replace resource extraction by large corporations. Fast-paced change often overlooks the science behind traditional practices that can help save our planet. Follow the Fight: Himalayan Institute of Alternatives Ladakh Students’ Educational and Cultural Movement of Ladakh (SECMOL) Do you live in or near a threatened habitat or community, or have you worked to study or protect endangered wildlife? You’re invited to share your stories in our ongoing features, Protect This Place and Species Spotlight.  Scroll down to find our “Republish” button Previously in The Revelator: Protect This Place: The Mountainous Ulu Masen Ecosystem The post Protect This Place: Ladakh, the Planet’s ‘Third Pole’ appeared first on The Revelator.

Culture
Activism
Business

AI isn’t about unleashing our imaginations, it’s about outsourcing them. The real purpose is profit

Artificial intelligence doesn’t just incrementally erode the rights of authors and other creators. These technologies are designed to replace creative workers altogetherGet our weekend culture and lifestyle emailBack in 2022, when ChatGPT arrived, I was part of the first wave of users. Delighted but also a little uncertain what to do with it, I asked the system to generate all kinds of random things. A song about George Floyd in the style of Bob Dylan. A menu for a vegetarian dinner party. A briefing paper about alternative shipping technologies.The quality of what it produced was variable, but it made clear something that is even more apparent now than it was then. That this technology wasn’t just a toy. Instead its arrival is an inflection point in human history. Over coming years and decades, AI will transform every aspect of our lives.Songs arise out of suffering … the complex, internal human struggle of creation … [but] algorithms don’t feel. Data doesn’t suffer … What makes a great song great is not its close resemblance to a recognisable work. Writing a good song is not mimicry, or replication, or pastiche, it is the opposite. It is an act of self-murder that destroys all one has strived to produce in the past.Sign up for the fun stuff with our rundown of must-reads, pop culture and tips for the weekend, every Saturday morning Continue reading...

Back in 2022, when ChatGPT arrived, I was part of the first wave of users. Delighted but also a little uncertain what to do with it, I asked the system to generate all kinds of random things. A song about George Floyd in the style of Bob Dylan. A menu for a vegetarian dinner party. A briefing paper about alternative shipping technologies.The quality of what it produced was variable, but it made clear something that is even more apparent now than it was then. That this technology wasn’t just a toy. Instead its arrival is an inflection point in human history. Over coming years and decades, AI will transform every aspect of our lives.But we are also at an inflection point for those of us who make our living with words, and indeed anybody in the creative arts. Whether you’re a writer, an actor, a singer, a film-maker, a painter or a photographer, a machine can now do what you do, instantly and for a fraction of the cost. Perhaps it can’t do it quite as well as you can just yet, but like the Tyrannosaurus rex in the rear vision mirror in the original Jurassic Park, it’s gaining on you, and fast.Faced with the idea of machines that can do everything that human beings can do, some have just given up. Lee Sedol, the Go Grandmaster who was defeated by DeepMind’s AlphaGo system in 2016 retired on the spot, declaring AlphaGo was “an entity that couldn’t be beaten”, and that his “entire world was collapsing”.Others have asserted the innate superiority of art made by humans, effectively circling the wagons around the idea that there is something in the things we make that cannot be replicated by technology. In the words of Nick Cave: Songs arise out of suffering … the complex, internal human struggle of creation … [but] algorithms don’t feel. Data doesn’t suffer … What makes a great song great is not its close resemblance to a recognisable work. Writing a good song is not mimicry, or replication, or pastiche, it is the opposite. It is an act of self-murder that destroys all one has strived to produce in the past. It’s an appealing position, and one I’d like to believe – but sadly, I don’t. Because not only does it commit us to a hopelessly simplistic – and, frankly, reactionary – binary, in which the human is intrinsically good, and the artificial is intrinsically bad, it also means the category of creation we’re defending is extremely small. Do we really want to limit the work that we value to those towering works of art wrought out of profound feeling? What about costume design and illustration and book reviews and all the other things people make? Don’t they matter?Perhaps a better place to begin a defence of human creativity might be in the process of creation itself. Because when we make something, the end product isn’t the only thing that matters. In fact it may not even be the thing that matters most. There is also value in the act of making, in the craft and care of it. This value doesn’t inhere in the things we make, but in the creative labour of making them. The interplay between our minds and our bodies and the thing we are making is what brings something new – some understanding or presence – into the world. But the act of making changes us as well. That can be joyous, and at other times it can be frustrating or even painful. Nonetheless it enriches us in ways that simply prompting a machine to generate something for us never will.What’s happening here isn’t about unleashing our imaginations, it’s about outsourcing them. Generative AI strips out part of what makes us human and hands it over to a company so they can sell us a product that claims to do the same thing. In other words the real purpose of these systems isn’t liberation, but profit. Forget the glib marketing slogans about increasing productivity or unleashing our potential. These systems aren’t designed to benefit us as individuals or a society. They’re designed to maximise the ability of tech corporations to extract value by strip-mining the industries they disrupt.This reality is particularly stark in the creative industries. Because the ability of AI systems to magic up stories and images and videos didn’t come out of nowhere. In order to be able to make these things, AIs have to be trained on massive amounts of data. These datasets are generated from publicly available information: books, articles, Wikipedia entries and so on in the case of text; videos and images in the case of visual data.Exactly what these works are is already highly contentious. Some, such as Wikipedia and out-of-copyright books, are in the public domain. But much – and possibly most – of it is not. How could ChatGPT write a song about George Floyd in the style of Bob Dylan without access to Dylan’s songs? The answer is it couldn’t. It could only imitate Dylan because his lyrics formed part of the dataset that was used to train it.AI-generated artworks by Mario Klingemann that were auctioned at Sotheby’s. Photograph: Malcolm Park/AlamyBetween the secretiveness of these companies and the fact the systems themselves are effectively black boxes, the inner processes of which are opaque even to their creators, it’s difficult to know exactly what has been ingested by any individual AI. What we do know for sure is that vast amounts of copyright material has already been fed into these systems, and is still being fed into them as we speak, all without permission or payment.But AI doesn’t just incrementally erode the rights of authors and other creators. These technologies are designed to replace creative workers altogether. The writer and artist James Bridle has compared this process to the enclosure of the commons, but whichever way you cut it, what we are witnessing isn’t just “systematic theft on a mass scale”, it’s the wilful and deliberate destruction of entire industries and the transfer of their value to shareholders in Silicon Valley.skip past newsletter promotionSign up to Saved for LaterCatch up on the fun stuff with Guardian Australia's culture and lifestyle rundown of pop culture, trends and tipsPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionThis unconstrained rapaciousness isn’t new. Despite ad campaigns promising care and connection, the tech industry’s entire model depends upon extraction and exploitation. From publishing to transport, tech companies have employed a model that depends upon inserting themselves into traditional industries and “disrupting” them by sidestepping regulation and riding roughshod over hard-won rights or simply fencing off things that were formerly part of the public sphere. In the same way Google hoovered up creative works to make its libraries, filesharing technologies devastated the music industry, and Uber’s model depends on paying its drivers less than taxi companies, AI maximises its profit by refusing to pay the creators of the material it relies on.Meanwhile the human, environmental and social costs of these technologies are kept carefully out of sight.Interestingly the sense of powerlessness and paralysis many of us feel in the face of the social and cultural transformation unleashed by AI resembles our failure to respond to climate change. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. With both there is a profound mismatch between the scale of what is taking place and our capacity to conceptualise it. We find it difficult to imagine fundamental change, and when faced with it, tend to either panic or just shut down.But it’s also because, as with climate change, we have been tricked into thinking there are no alternatives, and that the economic systems we inhabit are natural, and arguing with them makes about as much sense as arguing with the wind.In fact the opposite is true. Companies like Meta and Alphabet and, more recently, OpenAI, have only achieved their extraordinary wealth and power because of very specific regulatory and economic conditions. These arrangements can be altered. That is within the power of government, and we should be insisting upon it. There are currently cases before the courts in a number of jurisdictions that seek to frame the massive expropriation of the work of artists and writers by AI companies as a breach of copyright. The outcome of these cases isn’t yet clear, but even if creators lose, that fight isn’t over. The use of our work to train AIs must be brought under the protection of the copyright system.And we shouldn’t stop there. We should insist upon payment for the work that has been used, payment for all future use and an end to the tech industry practice of taking first and seeking forgiveness later. Their use of copyright material without permission wasn’t accidental. They did it on purpose because they thought they could get away with it. The time has come for them to stop getting away with it.For that to happen we need regulatory structures that ensure transparency about what datasets are being used to train these systems and what is contained in those datasets. And systems of audits to ensure copyright and other forms of intellectual property are not being violated, and that enforce meaningful sanctions if they are. And we need to insist upon international agreements that protect the rights of artists and other creators instead of facilitating the profits of corporations.But most of all, we need to be thinking hard about why what we do as human beings, and as creators and artists in particular, matters. Because it isn’t enough to fret about what is being lost, or to fight a rearguard action against these technologies. We have to begin to articulate positive arguments for the value of what we do, and of creativity more broadly, and to think about what form that might take in a world where AI is a pervasive reality.

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