Invest $1 in tackling water shortage, get $5 return

10 most populous river basins will contribute 25 per cent of world GDP by 2050

Few resources are more fundamental to health and development than water. Agriculture, energy and industry rely on it, and access to safe, clean water can have an instant and dramatic impact on individuals and communities, helping them to move out of poverty and secure their livelihoods.

Yet, nearly 800 million people are without access to safe water, 2.5 billion people are living without access to basic sanitation and a quarter of the world’s population live in ecosystems that are under threat from water scarcity.

Change requires rapid, collaborative action worldwide and a significant investment – both public and private – but making the case for such investment is a complex matter. Addressing these issues has clear humanitarian and development benefits, and a new report from Frontier Economics, commissioned by HSBC, presents clear evidence and strong rationale of the significant potential of water to help economies grow at a local and global level.

According to new findings from the report, Exploring the links between water and economic growth, securing universal access to clean, safe water and sanitation would call for significant investment, whether from governments or businesses, of some US$725bn – but these investments would yield real returns.

Achieving the Millennium Development Goals (MDG) on water supply and sanitation worldwide would amount to an equivalent of more than $56bn per annum in potential economic gains between now and 2015; and providing universal access to safe water and sanitation would imply potential economic gain of $220bn per annum. Providing universal access in Brazil, India, and China alone would amount to an equivalent of more than $113bn.

Frontier Economics also found that globally the average return on each dollar invested in universal access was just under $5, even after taking maintenance costs into account. In Latin America the figure is $16 while in some African countries, the capital investment would be paid back in only three years. Several countries in Africa and Latin America would stand to gain an average of more than 15 per cent of their annual GDP from achieving universal access.

Alongside water and sanitation, there is also a strong economic argument for an investment in water resource management which includes; efficiently sharing or allocating the available water supply; ensuring water consuming industries are using it as efficiently as possible; protecting water quality and sustaining eco-systems and; managing water infrastructure.

The report reveals the world’s 10 most populous river basins are forecast to contribute 25 per cent of global GDP by 2050 – a sharp rise from a current 10 per cent and a figure greater than the combined future economies of US, Germany and Japan. However, as they stand, seven in 10 of those river basins face significant or severe water scarcity by 2050, meaning the forecasted economic growth in these basins may not materialise without investment in sustainable water management.

These findings make it clear that the future of river basins is critical for global economic growth and the economic rationale for improving access to freshwater and sanitation is strong and clear.

The HSBC Water Programme, a new $100m, five-year partnership with WWF, WaterAid and Earthwatch will tackle water risks in river basins; bring safe water and improved sanitation to over a million people; and raise awareness about the global water challenge - taking one step towards achieving change, delivering benefits to communities in need, and enabling economies to prosper.

Over the next five years, we will continue to share the lessons we learn and the data we gather, in order to encourage others to join us in recognising the value of water, benefiting communities today, and unlocking growth for years to come.

Please follow our progress at www.thewaterhub.org where you can also access the full research findings.

Note: The world’s 10 most populous river basins are: Ganges, Yangtze (Chang Jiang), Indus, Nile, Huang He (Yellow river), Huai He, Niger, Hai, Krishna and the Danube.

A bather in the Ganges river. Photograph: Getty Images

Nick Robins is head of HSBC's Climate Change Centre of Excellence

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad