Resource security isn't achieved by locking up commodities

We must strike at the root of resource insecurity, by demateralising our economy where we can.

Last week, Chatham House added to the drumbeat of concern about resources, declaring that "the spectre of resource insecurity has come back with a vengeance." In its dense, persuasive report, Resource futures (pdf), Chatham House's researchers diagnose the problems posed by increasing resource insecurity in detail, systematically identifying the causes of insecurity. This is an expansive analysis, and a major achievement, but the recommendations made in the report have the air of the outcomes of international climate talks: frameworks and processes to find solutions rather than actual solutions.

In researching the existing literature on material security as part of our work for the Circular Economy Task Force, we at Green Alliance have found that much of the debate about resource security has focused on two factors: raw material price volatility and the risk that international trade of raw materials will be restricted by nation states.

This reductionist framing of material security risk has artificially narrowed thinking about the underlying risks which foster price volatility and restricted access to materials. This, in turn, has limited the options we use to mitigate these risks.

Focusing on political risk has led to responses like land banking, in which countries and companies directly purchase foreign land to serve their resource needs; and raw material agreements, where countries sign contracts to trade raw material supplies for technology or infrastructure development. China, Japan, and Germany have all pursued these strategies in the last two years, for a wide variety of commodities ranging from food to metals.

Resource futures notes these developments and rightly shows how these and similar policies, including production subsidies, the actions of state owned enterprises, and market manipulation, have "fuelled the fire" of resource insecurity. It is clear that these strategies also have social drawbacks, but they are more fundamentally flawed because they deal with the symptoms of insecure resources, not the causes.

Getting to the bottom of price volatility and restrictions on raw material trade means understanding more about why we can't simply meet growing demand for resources the way we did in the 20th century: by expanding extraction. Absolute scarcity is rarely a hard limit. But across a whole host of materials, the rising environmental costs of production are a big part of the reason for volatile prices and restrictions on access to materials. Resource futures dissects these causes in discussion about "environmental faultlines", the "interconnected nature of the resource production system," and the risks embedded in the push to extract resources from "extreme environments" like the Arctic.

Chatham House has done a major service in moving debate on material security from symptoms to causes. But the juggernaut runs into the sand when it comes to recommendations, which stress that "collaborative governance is the only option" and prescribe rule-based resource governance, informal stakeholder dialogues, and multilateralism.

The report itself admits that "success to date [of political responses] has been patchy" for timber, "unsuccessful" for agricultural export restrictions, and "largely unsuccessful" in tackling price volatility for resources from oil to tin. It should come as no surprise that countries have therefore relied on unilateral measures which are politically insecure. The reasons for this, put simply, are that foreign land ownership or exclusive supply contracts merely cut the global resource cake into different slices, with larger proportions going to countries willing to pay, contract, or fight for a larger share of resources than they control within their borders. This enforced inequality isn't a durable solution. Ownership, contracts, and commitment to free markets fall by the wayside when resource prices spike, as examples like the restriction on Argentinian beef exports in 2006 – hardly a scarce commodity – show.

Multilateral governance is better, but it's not clear that it isn't just an attempt more fairly cut up the same cake. And this is the problem: Chatham House's analysis that the "fundamental conditions that gave rise to tight markets in the last ten years remain" means that their recommendations pit diplomacy against raw resource nationalism. As their own evidence shows, diplomacy hasn't succeeded in this struggle so far. It"s not clear why diplomacy will now succeed in "mitigat[ing] excessive politicization of resource markets and trade" in "markets [that] have always been political."

The truth is that multilateralism isn't enough. We must strike at the root of resource insecurity, by demateralising our economy where we can, but also by finding sources of raw materials which avoid the environmental risks underlying material insecurity. The circular economy represents one way of doing this. It's still more of a good idea than a plan of action, but without it we're stuck merely managing resource insecurity, rather than solving it.

A smelter shovels raw iron on a blast furnace in Germany. Photograph: Getty Images

Dustin Benton is a senior policy adviser at Green Alliance, leading the Resource Stewardship theme.

Getty
Show Hide image

Arsène Wenger: how can an intelligent manager preside over such a hollowed-out team?

The Arsenal manager faces a frustrating legacy.

Sport is obviously not all about winning, but it is about justified hope. That ­distinction has provided, until recently, a serious defence of Arsène Wenger’s Act II – the losing part. Arsenal haven’t won anything big for 13 years. But they have been close enough (and this is a personal view) to sustain the experience of investing emotionally in the story. Hope turning to disappointment is fine. It’s when the hope goes, that’s the problem.

Defeat takes many forms. In both 2010 and 2011, Arsenal lost over two legs to Barcelona in the Champions League. Yet these were rich and rewarding sporting experiences. In the two London fixtures of those ties, Arsenal drew 2-2 and won 2-1 against the most dazzling team in the world. Those nights reinvigorated my pride in sport. The Emirates Stadium had the best show in town. Defeat, when it arrived in Barcelona, was softened by gratitude. We’d been entertained, more than entertained.

Arsenal’s 5-1 surrender to Bayern Munich on 15 February was very different. In this capitulation by instalments, the fascination was macabre rather than dramatic. Having long given up on discerning signs of life, we began the post-mortem mid-match. As we pored over the entrails, the curiosity lay in the extent of the malady that had brought down the body. The same question, over and over: how could such an intelligent, deep-thinking manager preside over a hollowed-out team? How could failings so obvious to outsiders, the absence of steel and resilience, evade the judgement of the boss?

There is a saying in rugby union that forwards (the hard men) determine who wins, and the backs (the glamour boys) decide by how much. Here is a footballing equivalent: midfielders define matches, attacking players adorn them and defenders get the blame. Yet Arsenal’s players as good as vacated the midfield. It is hard to judge how well Bayern’s playmakers performed because they were operating in a vacuum; it looked like a morale-boosting training-ground drill, free from the annoying presence of opponents.

I have always been suspicious of the ­default English critique which posits that mentally fragile teams can be turned around by licensed on-field violence – a good kicking, basically. Sporting “character” takes many forms; physical assertiveness is only one dimension.

Still, it remains baffling, Wenger’s blind spot. He indulges artistry, especially the mercurial Mesut Özil, beyond the point where it serves the player. Yet he won’t protect the magicians by surrounding them with effective but down-to-earth talents. It has become a diet of collapsing soufflés.

What held back Wenger from buying the linchpin midfielder he has lacked for many years? Money is only part of the explanation. All added up, Arsenal do spend: their collective wage bill is the fourth-highest in the League. But Wenger has always been reluctant to lavish cash on a single star player, let alone a steely one. Rather two nice players than one great one.

The power of habit has become debilitating. Like a wealthy but conservative shopper who keeps going back to the same clothes shop, Wenger habituates the same strata of the transfer market. When he can’t get what he needs, he’s happy to come back home with something he’s already got, ­usually an elegant midfielder, tidy passer, gets bounced in big games, prone to going missing. Another button-down blue shirt for a drawer that is well stuffed.

It is almost universally accepted that, as a business, Arsenal are England’s leading club. Where their rivals rely on bailouts from oligarchs or highly leveraged debt, Arsenal took tough choices early and now appear financially secure – helped by their manager’s ability to engineer qualification for the Champions League every season while avoiding excessive transfer costs. Does that count for anything?

After the financial crisis, I had a revealing conversation with the owner of a private bank that had sailed through the turmoil. Being cautious and Swiss, he explained, he had always kept more capital reserves than the norm. As a result, the bank had made less money in boom years. “If I’d been a normal chief executive, I’d have been fired by the board,” he said. Instead, when the economic winds turned, he was much better placed than more bullish rivals. As a competitive strategy, his winning hand was only laid bare by the arrival of harder times.

In football, however, the crash never came. We all wrote that football’s insane spending couldn’t go on but the pace has only quickened. Even the Premier League’s bosses confessed to being surprised by the last extravagant round of television deals – the cash that eventually flows into the hands of managers and then the pockets of players and their agents.

By refusing to splash out on the players he needed, whatever the cost, Wenger was hedged for a downturn that never arrived.

What an irony it would be if football’s bust comes after he has departed. Imagine the scenario. The oligarchs move on, finding fresh ways of achieving fame, respectability and the protection achieved by entering the English establishment. The clubs loaded with debt are forced to cut their spending. Arsenal, benefiting from their solid business model, sail into an outright lead, mopping up star talent and trophies all round.

It’s often said that Wenger – early to invest in data analytics and worldwide scouts; a pioneer of player fitness and lifestyle – was overtaken by imitators. There is a second dimension to the question of time and circumstance. He helped to create and build Arsenal’s off-field robustness, even though football’s crazy economics haven’t yet proved its underlying value.

If the wind turns, Arsène Wenger may face a frustrating legacy: yesterday’s man and yet twice ahead of his time. 

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit