The UK is trying to replicate the US gas boom. It will fail

Tax incentives won’t help.

Chancellor George Osborne’s announcement last week that the UK will offer what he is calling the world's "most generous" tax relief regime, of 30 per cent, down from a typical 62 per cent, to hydraulic fracturing companies, has sent a clear signal that it’s not a case of if we should frack in the UK, but when.  

In the US the hydraulic fracturing revolution has seen gas prices tumble from around $14 per million BTU in 2008 to around $3 in December 2012 ( a fall of around 90 per cent) and according to the International Energy Agency, the US could be independent in oil and gas by 2035.

This is something Osborne says he wants to replicate; however, his enthusiasm may be premature.

The British Geological Survey estimates there may be 1,300 trillion cubic feet of shale gas present in the north of England– but it is important to remember this is as yet unproven and we don’t know how much of it is actually accessible.  As yet, companies have only "fracked", as it is commonly known, a few wells; a process which involves removing natural gas trapped in shale formation deep underground by mixing gallons of water with a cocktail of chemicals and injecting them into the earth.

With a 50 per cent tax break Osborne seeks "to create the right conditions for industry to explore and unlock that potential [of shale gas]," as he says. However, though a bonus for shale gas companies if they do succeed in extracting gas, it isn’t going to make production come any quicker or current conditions for the industry any better.

Companies have already said it is not taxation that is putting them off investment but planning permissions and public resistance.

This is because unlike the US, which is a vast sprawling country, the UK is relatively small and compact meaning fracking will inevitably take place much closer to communities, resulting in a high possibility of public opposition. The strong aversion to wind farms in the UK’s countryside gives you a clue as to the opposition fracking companies are likely to encounter. In 2012 approvals for onshore wind farms were down to 35 per cent – in the same year a Guardian poll said opposition had tripled – from 70 per cent in 2008.

Fracking wells won’t only be an eyesore for communities but there are other issues, such as a small risk of earth quake tremors, water contamination and methane leaks – in Pennsylvania, USA, residents complained of finding methane in their water, along with up to 27 other chemicals.

The government has said fracking will boost local communities with jobs and that they will give them £100,000 per well and up to 1 per cent of all revenues from production, but will this be enough to temper possible widespread resistance?

In the US, farmers, in often economically repressed areas, can directly lease their land to fracking companies agreeing a fee and often a royalty payment on top, meaning they have much more of an incentive to accept fracking.

If the government is hell bent on Fracking, engaging with communities and getting them onside with rock solid incentives and reassurance of strict regulation is likely to speed things along and be more beneficial for everyone in the longer run than slapping a tax break on profit not yet earned.

Also, as the UK’s shale gas reserves are as yet unproven, offering a deal similar to what Norway offers to oil and gas exploration companies – a promise of a 78 per cent refund of cost if a company drills a dry well – might show more confidence and incentive to fracking companies, if the government is so sure the UK can replicate the US’s success. But as it stands fracking is still a long way from fruition, and, if it ever does get off the ground, it is still uncertain it will match the shale gas boom the US have seen.

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Heidi Vella is a features writer for Nridigital.com

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism