Advocate for the planet

James Thornton, Chief executive, ClientEarth

What if the polar bears were sick of drowning in melting ice and decided it was time to do something about global warming? How could they best confront the bosses of multinationals whose power plants pollute the atmosphere? By hiring a damn good lawyer to fight in the courts for the law to be changed or enforced and for the emissions to be stopped, that's how. And that man would be James Thornton.

This quiet American's work usually involves lobbying and legal argument, but Thornton, the founding chief executive of a new legal charity called ClientEarth, has already scored dramatic victories over polluters and despoilers in the United States and now wants to do the same in Europe. The aim is to help write new laws - but also, crucially, to ensure that governments keep to the ones they have already agreed, often in a blaze of green glory, and then forgotten about or found too hard to implement.

Thornton works from the notion that his client is the earth itself. Most lawyers would swiftly object: the earth has no money. But Thornton is backed by the philanthropists Michael and Winsome McIntosh, heirs to a supermarket fortune, who have been bankrolling challenges to governments for decades. Based in London, ClientEarth recently opened offices in Brussels and Warsaw, too. It makes little fuss: the head office near a London Tube station is hard to identify, and Thornton turns out to be a balding 54-year-old in a grey suit who speaks softly and practises Zen Buddhism.

His first big effort in Britain has been to challenge plans for two new coal-fired power plants at Kingsnorth in Kent, where the Climate Camp was held last summer. "Protest is a good thing," he says, "but the law is a powerful tool to use alongside it." The weapon ClientEarth has chosen is the Strategic Environmental Assessment. The government has a legal duty to carry one out at Kingsnorth, says Thornton, who believes it would expose the "potentially devastating environmental consequences" of allowing a new generation of coal-fired plants to be launched without carbon capture.

ClientEarth's other current projects include challenging France to enforce an existing EU ban on drift-net fishing, while attempting to establish the legal right of European citizens to bring such cases at all.

Born in New York, he was the son of a law professor at the University of Notre Dame. "We grew up practising the Socratic method at the dinner table," he says. After Yale, he worked on Wall Street, then joined the "intriguingly eccentric" National Resources Defence Committee, a group of radical young lawyers recruited by the McIntoshes. Thornton targeted the Clean Water Act, which was ignored by the Reagan administration. Companies were being allowed to get away with not declaring what they were pumping out. "They thought they could violate the heck out of the rivers and seas and get away with it." His team took 60 cases to federal courts in six months and won them all. The government started enforcing the law.

Thornton's next great fight was in California, where he protected 350,000 acres of unspoiled country, armed only with a gnatcatcher. The threat of being sued on behalf of this little bird, if its environment was destroyed, persuaded developers to preserve swaths of coastal land. "The right law, properly used," he says, "can level the playing field."

ClientEarth has already attracted celebrity supporters in the UK: Brian Eno, a patron, put the organisation in contact with the band Coldplay. "Coldplay have something like a million friends through Facebook and so on," says Thornton. "They are going to introduce their friends to membership of ClientEarth. When we bring lawsuits, we will then represent a great many people all over Europe."

The ideal behind all this, for Thornton, is wild law, or earth jurisprudence: that all living things should have rights equivalent to those enjoyed by human beings, to be considered whenever resources are being exploited. Hence the militant bears. "A legal action could be brought on their behalf, as it might be for a child, to prevent damage to their environment."

For now, Thornton must act for Planet Earth by representing humans in court, case by case. He is a patient man who will be ordained a Zen priest this year, after 25 years of practice - but he knows that small shifts in the law can change the world in a very big way.

Cole Moreton is executive editor of the Independent on Sunday

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2009 issue of the New Statesman, The destruction of Gaza

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State