Seems logical

I’ve just had a new visa issued from the Home Office. My previous visa was issued in Prague; the passport itself was issued in Miami. This visa is from—Vulcan. Place of Issue: Vulcan 2. That would seem to considerably extend the boundaries of my residential options!
For everyone wondering what I’m doing; I’m in the final stages of finishing my dissertation—trying to plough right on through and get a complete draft finished in the next few days so it can sit for a bit and I can revise before submitting it on 8 September. I’m slightly miffed with my supervisor as he is off in France somewhere and apparently won’t be able to read and comment on a draft before I turn in the final copy. Update: he returned and made comments; I’m now much less miffed.

As a complete aside; I just walked from town back in to the West End of Glasgow. On the way two fellows passed me, turned, looked about, and crossed the street. I noted how—Glaswegian they looked. There was a haggard leanness to them; both looked ill-nourished and pale. Their bodies had the look of men overwrought by too much drink and smoke and I could see the tension in their shoulders. They moved with a permanent stoop as if they are constantly crouched down waiting for a blow. Though, in many ways, this is a great city at ease with itself; there is a whole “segment of society” that desperately needs healing.

Scotch around the world

I went to a community ceilidh on Saturday evening in the Highlands (to celebrate the opening of the new community hall in Arnisdale). It was good fun, food, and music (there was plenty of fast whirling dancing which I was not adventurous enough to get in on).
To raise funds for the community there was a raffle. I bought a ticket and won (of all things) a little bottle of scotch whisky and a flask. It’s packaged in a cardboard and plastic box; the back label states, “Whisky product of Scotland, Hip flask and funnel product of China, Bottled in the UK, Packed in China.” So…this little bottle of whisky was made in Scotland, then shipped to China and packaged, then shipped back to Scotland to be given to me in a village one-hundred miles from its origin. It was shipped around the world and back to go 100 miles! That is seriously screwed up.

Choices Choices

I’m looking for a new camera; it’s not for myself but for a new job I’m starting next month (will give more details on that when I sign on the dotted line). Despite the fact that I’ve worked professionally as a photographer and know the ins and outs of most of the different camera systems, I’m finding this a very difficult endeavour.
Photographers are notorious for “equipment obsession”; until the advent of digital cameras the discussions centred around lens specifications, film emulsions, and all the little bits and bobs that made up the chain from subject to print. Now we have the added complexity of digital; I spent a good amount of time yesterday in the camera store looking at various cameras (I’ve been given a bit of free reign on which system I choose since we are starting from a blank slate…which makes it even more difficult because that multiplies the choices exponentially). The good news is that most of the cameras on offer have higher specifications than the $30,000 digital cameras I was working with 10 years ago for 1/20 the price; the bad news is that those will be obsolete in a year. (Of course the thing with digital, with any volume of shooting, the camera quickly pays for itself…that’s why purchasing a $30,000 camera back makes perfect business sense if one is using $20,000 of film and processing a year anyway.)

I’ve not been equipment shopping for some time; my initial thought upon picking up most of the cameras yesterday was wunderplastik. Most of my professional work with with Hasselblad and Leica systems (imagine a group of Swiss watchmakers decided to build a precision brick oven and you’ll get something of the design ethos); everything else now seems rather flimsy. When one has a camera that’s been out in the pouring sea salt rain, freezing cold, blazing heat, dropped on the pavement, and still kept happily clicking away, it gives a bit of pause when handling what is basically a complex computer crammed into a plastic body. One camera I’m particularly keen on is brimming over with controls and has a huge screen that displays every conceivable bit of information concerning its status and exposure information. This is useful, as is the ability to immediately view the image one has just captured; however, how many times on my little digital camera have I stopped to look at the image I’ve just shot and missed the next one because I was gazing at the screen? The temptation is too great.

My Leica has exactly three controls: aperture, shutter speed and shutter release; there are two red arrows in the viewfinder that say give a bit more exposure or give a bit less exposure. Some of the greatest photos of the 20th century were made with a camera just like this (most of which did not have the helpful little arrows). For the majority of my work (on any system), I use only one or two focal lengths. The camera is way way over-engineered and, provided there is still film then, will outlast me. It is a very simple, well built instrument—which I have not yet learned to use.

Obviously, I know what it does; I spent several years in film school studying all the mechanics of photography (I was probably in the last generation of students that went through the laborious study of all the film and chemistry; it was just on the cusp of the digital era). I understand implicitly what the camera’s function is and how to operate it. But, as an instrument in the sense that a violin is an instrument, I’m still a novice at its operation. So I feel torn standing there in the camera store looking at all the new electronic instruments; it’s as if I’m starting up the oboe before really grasping the bassoon.

Cameras have become another mass-produced digital item that are obsolete as soon as they leave the store—and something galls me about that. Maybe it’s that I spent all this time learning about film and how it works and that’s no longer necessary. Or maybe it’s just the sense that I’m not really into disposable equipment (when one goes out to photograph with a solid block of metal, there is a certain mindset that comes into play). Mainly I’m thinking that, if Henri Carter Bresson could go his entire career with basically just one camera and a lens, why the heck do I need all this complexity?

I’m tempted to ask for a light kit and just use my camera for the time being; there is a digital Leica (though I don’t think they’ll drop £3000 to purchase one for me right at the start). But that’s probably not what I’ll do; I’ll put together a solid and flexible kit to cover the stuff I’ll need to cover. Of course, that will be thousands of pounds anyway…

I am aiming for simplicity and economy in everything; how can I bring that into this situation?

Shifting the paradigm

I’m transcribing interviews from last weekend. I’ll not post extensive quotes; however, here is one from Anthony Hodgson of the International Futures Forum.
bq. The word steward implies that one does not own and in a capitalist society ownership is everything; so stewardship is a difficult perspective for most people to adopt because we are deeply inculcated that “if it’s mine, I can do what I like with it” mentality. But, in an uncertain world, ownership is up for grabs—it doesn’t mean the same thing as what we’ve assumed. Stewardship is a holistic concept; good stewardship is always looking out for the whole on any scale and trying to be responsible in the micro, meso, and macro levels. I think the deeper meaning is more reflected in indigenous societies; I’ve been recently studying the Peruvian shamans and their language of Pachu Mama, the Mother Earth. Whereas we got thrown out of the Garden of Eden and have been fighting nature ever since, in those societies nature is the provider, the Mother, the being in whom we live and have our being. Stewardship without a paradigm shift in capitalist views or communist views or all the “usual” philosophies, to me, is going to miss the point. I don’t know what the new paradigm is—but I know we need one; so a constant checking of what the foundations are in which we are placing this idea of stewardship is important. The thing about this new paradigm is that it will certainly include a gift economy or gift transactions; where the reason things are done is because of where it fits in the scheme of things not what its cash value is or how it contributes to our various prides and vanities.

McIntosh at the Big Tent Festival

This is a lecture presented to a packed out audience (at the Big Tent Festival) by Alastair McIntosh on his new book Hell and High Water: Climate Change, Hope and the Human Condition. It’s published by Birlinn Press and can be ordered from their website or Amazon. I’m reading the book right now and will comment after finishing it; Alastair introduces the book and provides some context for the writing of it. It’s worth listening all the way through the end questions; his last comment is simultaneously inspirational and haunting.
Listen to the MP3 here—it’s about 40MB but should open in your browser.

Sorry for the slightly dodgy audio quality; I was tied into a PA system and the line feed was a bit overmodulated at times.

Several months ago, Alastair presented a similar lecture at the Centre for Human Ecology AGM; I recorded it and you can listen to the MP3 here.

2008 Big Tent Festival

Last weekend I attended the Big Tent Festival Scotland’s Festival of Stewardship (seemed like an apt place to research my dissertation topic). I basically wandered around the festival sticking a microphone in people’s faces and asking about their concept of stewardship. There were some surprising answers (one of the exhibitors had no idea what a steward is; she thought it was just the person directing traffic at a football game). Most people though had some personalised concept of stewardship (either they thought of themselves as stewards or could verbalise what the responsibilities of a steward would be).
In a discussion with one of my professors (sitting by hay bales at the organic food stall), I had a bit of an epiphany concerning my research; at the outset, I had hoped to come up with a definitive definition of stewardship—something that would be applicable in any context. However, it is such a personalised concept that this might not be either possible or desirable. It’s rather like discussions on faith; if you are dogmatic and say it is just this one thing and nothing else, the discussion becomes closed and static. If one allows an “amorphous” definition of stewardship that can evolve and become personalised, everyone can come to the table and share in the idea.

The festival itself was—refreshing; it didn’t have the dizzying noise-filled atmosphere of many festivals, there were not stalls of cheap plastic toys made in China, the food was generally local and organic (if you are going to pay festival prices for food, it might as well be good food), people seemed generally at ease and enjoying themselves. There was a whole area set aside for lectures and debates on the environment, a poetry tent, yoga, massage, a tent for food demonstrations, several demonstrations on how to improve the efficiency of one’s home or install home solar or wind energy. Plus, and this is why many people came to start with, the music was fantastic! There was a “main” stage where the big um…amplified…bands played (though, thankfully, it wasn’t amplified to some ear-bleeding level. Most of the attendees were not the ear-bleeding type). There was also a small folksy tent music venue for groups that were just getting together to jam or singer-songwriter types. Plus, of course, people were just sitting about in the grass or in the campground playing instruments together. (An aside on the campground: my tent was about ten metres from the compost toilet—compost toilets are great! By the end of the weekend, though hundreds of people were using them, they had no smell whatsoever. In contrast, the porta-loos reeked! Plus, the compost toilets were these pleasant wooden structures, a place where one might enjoy spending a bit of time for…doing the thing one does there.)

I spoke with a range of folk in interviews: from academics who have devoted their careers to thinking of these things to a housewife who is trying to bring her children up as stewards in a disposable culture to a small-scale organic farmer (who started his work many years ago “traditionally” but became ill from the pesticides and decided to go organic). Each of these people have their own idea of what it means to steward. There was much discussion of community involvement and returning local “ownership” of communities; I think this is probably the beginning of a new sort of stewardship as communities begin to (or return to) local production of food, energy, etc. (considering the rise in energy costs and environmental concerns, one of the first issues discussed at the festival was local production of renewable energy).

I’m not sure how to define it, but I sensed a genuine feeling of connexion between people at the festival. There were people walking around who were obviously “upper class” as well as funky folk with dreadlocks and handmade clothes—and everyone seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. There is something happening around this idea of stewarding—a growing awareness of our care or neglect of the place around us—that doesn’t depend or divide down the lines of class or income. I find that very encouraging and exciting.

A turbine for the community

This is the second discussion session I attended at Friday’s Transition Town meeting.
A community wind farm turbine purchase
This session was on the community purchase of a wind turbine in a new development in Fintry (Scotland). A developer approached the community with a plan to build a 14 turbine wind farm; the community proposed an additionality that they would purchase a 15th turbine and receive income from the electricity generated. They found funding and purchased the turbine for £2.5 million (turbine was originally expected to pay itself off in roughly 15 years; however, as electricity prices are increasing, the return on investment time is growing shorter. It will, again depending on electricity prices, generate an income of £50 to £100,000 a year till it is paid off then £400,000 to £500,000 a year for the community).

Fintry is a rural community that is trying to become carbon neutral; they are connected to the national grid but are without a gas mains connexion (and therefore most homes are heated with wood or LPG). They are looking at renewables as a means to achieve this carbon neutral target. David Howell of Fintry Renewable Energy Enterprise led a discussion of the community’s efforts to purchase the turbine and some of the issues and opportunities communities face when considering renewable energy. These are some of the main points of the open session:

  • The community hired a solicitor and wind industry analyst to ensure due diligence through the whole process (to show accountability to investors and make sure the wind farm developers were presenting accurate information to all involved).
  • Are the Renewable Obligation Certificates (ROCs) essentially good for renewable development? The argument for is that the government is supporting renewables through this program and encouraging developers to make the necessary investment as well. However, the question arises about the financial sustainability of such programs (if the next government suddenly decides that this is not a plan they want to support, what happens to the viability of renewables). Or, rather than relying on grant support, should renewables be financially viable from the outset (there was no argument that they are viable over the long term). Of course, the nuclear industry is heavily subsidised as well; the fear voiced is what will happen if nuclear energy is classified “renewable”? “It will hoover up all the available funds for wind, solar, and hydro” into large scale centralised solutions.
  • The main objections are aesthetic; however, the stereotypical objector in rural Scottish community is the incomer who wanted a quaint get-away cottage and can afford higher energy bills to begin with. Communities have to balance aesthetic concerns with long-term economic and environmental viability. (Argument is that we can put another coal or nuclear plant somewhere else and pollute the rest of the planet or place our energy generation on the hill outside the village where we can see it and know it’s not doing harm—plus receive an economic benefit rather than depending on the variable prices of carbon fuels).
  • Nothing is completely neutral; yes, a big concrete base is necessary to anchor the turbines and there will be power lines (though the communities can advocate that these be buried rather than on pylons). The important thing is to be completely up front and involve the community in the discussion. Community “buy-in” is primary as the decision to install a wind farm will set the agenda for the next 25 years (the planning licence for a farm); the decision to not install a wind farm will also set an agenda. Discuss and consider the consequences of both; there is not a one size solution.
  • There are opportunities for landowners to bring in income for otherwise sub-optimal land (land not readily usable for agriculture or forestry); however, there is the danger of falling into old power paradigms between communities and landowners.
  • The weak point here (in Scotland) is the lack of grid infrastructure to deliver generated energy in a balanced way (to send wind generated electricity to the places where solar is not generating, solar to the places the wind is not blowing, etc.).
  • The government tends to support large scale centralised projects (because, generally, they are easier to control). However, renewables make more sense as de-centralised locally controlled idea. So rather than having a few gigantic wind, solar, and tidal farms, how can each community have a mix of microgeneration with a small local infrastructure? How can we meet our renewables target by doing less—in a big way?
  • Also, will energy wealth become the central issue with devolution and independence?