Having a flutter: a lack of food for butterfly larvae has eaten into numbers. Photo: Getty
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Butterflies are beautiful but we need to love their larvae too

The numbers of monarch butterflies are at a record low and a large part of this is because of the disappearance of the milkweed plant, eaten by caterpillars.

Sometimes, to prove a point, you have to starve a larva. It’s all too easy to be bewitched by the beauty of a passing butterfly but not so easy to admire the foraging of a voracious caterpillar. We should, though: it turns out that the two are linked.

Researchers in the US have been putting monarch butterfly larvae on strict diets and observing the consequences for the butterflies they become. This kind of butterfly is in grave trouble. Every year, the insects perform an extraordinary 3,000-mile migration from Canada and the northern US down to central Mexico, where they gather on a few mountaintops for the winter.

In 2012, about 60 million monarchs arrived in the Mexican mountains. That was a record low until the 2013 figures came in – the number arriving was almost half that of the previous year. It was the lowest figure since records began in 1993.

A big problem is the widespread disappearance of the milkweed plant. Monarch larvae eat only milkweed and urbanisation and industrial farming practices have made it scarce.

Hence the research, which was published last April. The researchers found that restricting the monarch larva’s milkweed intake reduces the size of its wings when it emerges from the chrysalis. It is likely that this stunted growth makes the migration much harder work.

Monarchs also seem to need food to maintain their looks. The colours of the orange-and-black wing patterns are deeper, with more striking contrast, in monarchs covering the most distance. It may be that feeding up the larvae to produce better fliers will also produce more beautiful butterflies.

The aesthetic argument is one of very few available to conservationists. Researchers can’t point to any specific benefit that monarchs bring: they don’t seem to play a crucial role in any ecosystem and their removal from specific ecosystems “would probably not have lasting repercussions”, as one report put it. The monarchs don’t contribute anything apart from a beautiful spectacle when they migrate.

British butterflies are even worse off – they don’t have a spectacular migration. In March, the UK government issued a draft of its “pollinator strategy” document, which outlines what might be done about the severe decline in numbers of pollinating insects such as bees, butterflies and moths. The charity Butterfly Conservation said that it “strongly welcomes” the proposed strategy (though it dismisses as “ludicrous” the idea that pesticide companies should self-regulate).

Yet there is a slightly dejected tone to the charity’s chief executive’s observations. He points out that while bees are acknowledged to have economic value as pollinators of agricultural crops, butterflies are not and are therefore less likely to receive government help. In the age of market forces, it is not enough to be beautiful.

However, as the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change noted in March, butterflies’ relatively short life cycle and “high dispersal capacity” make them very useful markers of climate change.

That is certainly true of the British butterfly population, which, apart from a few cold-loving species, is thriving in our warming climate. In the past 20 years, for instance, the orange-and-black comma butterfly has spread 137 miles northwards.

If you lived in Edinburgh in the early 1990s, you would not have seen one. Now they’re not an uncommon sight: an effect of global warming that’s hard to complain about.

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

This article first appeared in the 14 April 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Easter Double

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The City of London was never the same after the "Big Bang"

Michael Howard reviews Iain Martin's new book on the legacy of the financial revolution 30 years on.

We are inundated with books that are, in effect, inquests on episodes of past failure, grievous mistakes in policy decisions and shortcomings of leadership. So it is refreshing to read this lively account of a series of actions that add up to one of the undoubted, if not undisputed, successes of modern ­government action.

Iain Martin has marked the 30th anniversary of the City’s Big Bang, which took place on 27 October 1986, by writing what he bills as the inside story of a financial revolution that changed the world. Yet his book ranges far and wide. He places Big Bang in its proper context in the history of the City of London, explaining, for example, and in some detail, the development of the financial panics of 1857 and 1873, as well as more recent crises with which we are more familiar.

Big Bang is the term commonly applied to the changes in the London Stock Exchange that followed an agreement reached between Cecil Parkinson, the then secretary of state for trade and industry, and Nicholas Goodison, the chairman of the exchange, shortly after the 1983 election. The agreement provided for the dismantling of many of the restrictive practices that had suited the cosy club of those who had made a comfortable living on the exchange for decades. It was undoubtedly one of the most important of the changes made in the early 1980s that equipped the City of London to become the world’s pre-eminent centre of international capital that it is today.

But it was not the only one. There was the decision early in the life of the Thatcher government to dismantle foreign-exchange restrictions, as well as the redevelopment of Docklands, which provided room for the physical expansion of the City (which was so necessary for the influx of foreign banks that followed the other changes).

For the first change, Geoffrey Howe and Nigel Lawson, at the Treasury at the time, deserve full credit, particularly as Margaret Thatcher was rather hesitant about the radical nature of the change. The second was a result of Michael Heseltine setting up the London Docklands Development Corporation, which assumed planning powers that were previously in the hands of the local authorities in the area. Canary Wharf surely would not exist today had that decision not been made – and even though the book gives a great deal of well-deserved credit to the officials and developers who took up the baton, Heseltine’s role is barely mentioned. Rarely is a politician able to see the physical signs of his legacy so clearly. Heseltine would be fully entitled to appropriate Christopher Wren’s epitaph: “Si monumentum requiris, circumspice.”

These changes are often criticised for having opened the gates to unbridled capitalism and greed and Martin, while acknow­ledging the lasting achievements of the new regime, also explores its downside. Arguably, he sometimes goes too far. Are the disparities in pay that we now have a consequence of Big Bang? Can it be blamed for the increase in the pay of footballers? This is doubtful. Surely these effects owe more to market forces, in the case of footballers, and shortcomings in corporate governance, in the case of executive pay. (It will be interesting to see whether the attempts by the current government to address the latter achieve the desired results.)

Martin deals with the allegation that the changes brought in a new world in which moneymaking could be given full rein without the need to abide by any significant regulation. This is far from the truth. My limited part in bringing about these changes was the responsibility I was handed, in my first job in government, for steering through parliament what became the Financial Services Act 1986. This was intended to provide statutory underpinning for a system of self-regulation by the various sectors of the financial industry. It didn’t work out exactly as I had intended but, paradoxically, one of the main criticisms of the regulatory system made in the book is that we now have a system that is too legalistic. Rather dubious comparisons are made with a largely mythical golden age, when higher standards of conduct were the order of the day without any need for legal constraints. The history of insider dealing (and the all-too-recently recognised need to legislate to make this unlawful) gives the lie to this rose-tinted picture of life in the pre-Big Bang City.

As Martin rightly stresses, compliance with the law is not enough. People also need to take into account the moral implications of their conduct. However, there are limits to the extent to which governments can legislate on this basis. The law can provide the basic parameters within which legal behaviour is to be constrained. Anything above and beyond that must be a matter for individual conscience, constrained by generally accepted standards of morality.

The book concludes with an attempt at an even-handed assessment of the likely future for the City in the post-Brexit world. There are risks and uncertainties. Mercifully, Martin largely avoids a detailed discussion of the Markets in Financial Instruments Directive and its effect on “passporting”, which allows UK financial services easy access to the European Economic Area. But surely the City will hold on to its pre-eminence as long as it retains its advantages as a place to conduct business? The European banks and other institutions that do business in London at present don’t do so out of love or affection. They do so because they are able to operate there with maximum efficiency.

The often rehearsed advantages of London – the time zone, the English language, the incomparable professional infrastructure – will not go away. It is not as if there is an abundance of capital available in the banks of the EU: Europe’s business and financial institutions cannot afford to dispense with the services that London has to offer. As Martin puts it in the last sentences of the book, “All one can say is: the City will survive, and prosper. It usually does.”

Crash Bang Wallop is not flawless. (One of its amusing errors is to refer, in the context of a discussion of the difficulties faced by the firm Slater Walker, to one of its founders as Jim Walker, a name that neither Jim Slater nor Peter Walker, the actual founders, would be likely to recognise.) Yet it is a thoroughly readable account of one of the most important and far-reaching decisions of modern government, and a timely reminder of how the City of London got to where it is now.

Michael Howard is a former leader of the Conservative Party

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood