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.

Felipe Araujo
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Hull revisited: What happens when a Brexit stronghold becomes City of Culture?

We report from Hull, to find out if you can replace the kind of nostalgia that led to a Leave vote with cultural investment.

At 75 metres long, the offshore wind turbine blade erected across Queen Victoria Square, in the heart of Hull, is a sculpture intended to mark a new chapter in the city’s history. For the next 12 months, Hull, a city of more than a quarter of a million people in the northeast of England, will be the UK’s City of Culture.

The 28-tonne blade hails from the local Siemens plant. The German technology company employs around 1,000 people in the area, making it Hull’s biggest single employer.

Seen up close in this context – laid dormant in the middle of a town square instead of spinning up in the air generating energy – the structure is meant to remind passersby of a giant sea creature. It is also, I’m told, an allusion to Hull’s rich maritime history.


All photos: Felipe Araujo

Nostalgia is a big thing in this part of the country. At one point, Hull was the UK’s third largest port but technology and privatisation drastically changed that. The battle over cod fishing with Iceland in the waters of the North Sea 40 years ago has also dealt a major blow to a region with a long and proud trawling tradition.

People here still talk about a bygone era when the fishing industry provided jobs for everyone and there was enough money to go around.

Fast forward to 2017, and the country’s new capital of culture is the same city that voted 67 per cent in favour of leaving the EU last June. Its new-found prestige, it seems, is not enough to erase years of neglect by a political class “too busy for commoners like us”, as one resident puts it.

“More than a message to Brussels, it [the Brexit vote] was a message to Westminster,” Paul Leeson-Taylor, a filmmaker born and bred in Hull, tells me. “For the first time in a long time people in Hull felt like they had the chance to change something, and they took it.”

But while speaking to people on the high street and hanging out with locals at the Community Boxing Club in Orchard Park, one of the city’s most deprived areas, there is one word that consistently popped up in conversation – more than any specific policy from Westminster or the much-hated rules “dictated” by Brussels. Foreigners.

According to official figures, Hull’s population is 89.1 per cent white British. Still, immigration is big on people’s minds here.

During my two-day stay in the city, I find myself being the only black person in most places I visit – I’m certainly the only black guy at the boxing club. So when someone begins a sentence with “I’m not racist but…”, I know a tirade on immigrants is about to ensue.

“There are just too many of them,” Nick Beach, an estate agent whose Polish clientele is a big part of his business, tells me as he is about to teach a boxing class to local children. Beach was born in Shepherd’s Bush, in West London, but has been living in Hull for the last 20 years.

“When I go down there these days and go into Westfield shopping centre, it is very rare you get an English person serving you now,” he says. “I just find it disappointing that you go into your capital city and you are a minority there.”

These are the much-discussed “left behind”, a white working-class community that has gained particular prominence in a time of Brexit and Donald Trump. Under economic pressure and facing social change, they want to have their say in running a country they claim to no longer recognise.

For Professor Simon Lee, a senior politics lecturer at the University of Hull, immigration is only a superficial layer when it comes to explaining the resentment I witness here. For him, the loss of the empire 70 years ago is still something that as a country Britain hasn’t come to terms with.

“The reason for us to be together as a United Kingdom has gone, so what is the project?”

As destiny would have it, a foreign company will now play a major role on Hull’s economic future, at least in the short term. In the wake of the Brexit vote, there were widespread fears Siemens would pull out of the region and take its factory elsewhere. With the massive blade looming large in the background, Jason Speedy, director of the blade factory in Hull, assures me that isn’t the case.

“The Brexit decision has made no difference. We have made our investment decision, so Siemens, together with the Association of British Ports, has put in £310m. It’s all full steam ahead.”

As Hull becomes the country’s cultural hub for the next few months, the hope is that its residents stop looking back and start looking forward.

For Professor Lee, though, until there is a complete change in the power structures that run the country, the north-south divide will remain – with or without the EU. “The way you kill nostalgia is to have something new,” he said. “The reason why people here are nostalgic is because there is nothing to replace it with.”

Felipe Araujo is a freelance journalist based in London. He writes about race, culture and sports. He covered the Rio Olympics and Paralympics on the ground for the New Statesman. He tweets @felipethejourno.