Sunk Costs – More About Nuclear Power

Edit: It occurs to me that I neglected to mention that I used to work in the nuclear field. Just in case that might be relevant to whether you are going to write me off as a crank, or something. Not that I’m not cranky. But I’m an informed crank.

***

Also known as, “Throwing Good Money After Bad”

Also known as, “Why we can’t get off fossil fuels”

Also known as, “The Biggest Problem with Nuclear Power”

The biggest problem with nuclear power isn’t the possibility of meltdown and fallout, although that is a problem worth considering and worrying about. Nor is the biggest problem with nuclear power the spent fuel, which concentrates a nasty mixture of incredibly toxic materials in a small space, requiring thousands of years of containment and protection, both from the nefarious and the naive. Nor is it the fact that nuclear power is not carbon-neutral, having fairly intense inputs of non-electric power at the construction, mining, transport, and decommission stages. The worst part about nuclear power isn’t even the fact that uranium is an extraordinarily non-renewable resource, subject to depletion in a matter of 10s to 100s of years (depending on which projections bear out).

The biggest problem with nuclear power is the future reality of the sunk costs that will go into this system, keeping us, once again, from doing the right thing until no other options are available. A switch to sustainable power is inevitable, as in… unavoidable, as in… we’re going to have to do it eventually, as in… we are going to run out of non-sustainable things to deplete… deep breath!

Right this moment, we have the potential to use the tail end of this cheap concentrated form of fuel to carry us over the hump to a new strategy for meeting our needs. But instead of taking advantage of forward thinking, looking at this as an opportunity to make substantial change, we are dragging our heels, clinging to the vestiges of existing power structures, and remaining tied up in existing infrastructure.

Let me be very clear in my language here. When I say that something is unsustainable, I do not mean that it isn’t nice, or kind, or morally defensible. I mean that there is a limiting factor that must necessarily lead to an end, either because we will run out of the resource, or because it leads to a society that tends to cause revolutions, or because it leads to an environmental system that is incompatible with life. You can only pour so many toxins into a pond before the fish start to die. You can only catch so many fish before the population collapses. You can only make a field so large before the bees can’t find their way to the middle of it. You can only pull so much of an element out of the ground before no more remains. There are real, concrete, physical constraints on systems. Technologies allow us to do end-runs around the constraints, increasing our catches (for example) even as the fish population is depleting to the point of collapse, but in the end this cleverness is our undoing. We have bought into the very seductive claims of hardcore economics, that the price of a resource (what it trades for on the market) in some way reflects how much remains. No, no. The “price” of a resource in our economic system primarily reflects the sophistication of our extraction methods, the demand, and how well we have concentrated the power to externalize costs. The price does not accurately reflect the cost, and the cost is where those constraints are hidden.

That, however, is a problem for another day.

What the price does reflect is the costs that companies have not managed to externalize. These can be broadly divided into operating expenses and capital. (As in Capital-ism… as in the ones with the capital have the power…) I don’t think that I will be surprising anybody by pointing out that the voices most vehemently opposed to doing anything to transition away from fossil fuels are those with the most capital invested in them. In the face of overwhelming scientific evidence that fossil fuels are a) jeopardizing the ability of the planet to regulate its climate systems, b) possibly endangering the future of human civilization, and c) probably running out, the fossil fuel industry has mounted the most astonishing campaign of disinformation conceivable. Why? Because it needs to recoup the costs of the capital it has already invested. Those costs are sunk. They are unrecoverable without continuing down the path that was projected for them. We’ve already invested billions of dollars in coal mines, coal plants, and the towns that are dependent on those for their survival. We cannot stop mining coal; in fact we will pursue more aggressive techniques, like blowing tops off entire mountains. We cannot stop drilling for natural gas; we have entire cities hooked up for it. So we will inject high pressure water into shale formations, effectively removing the water from the water cycle, releasing methane, and potentially poisoning the surrounding water supply. And we cannot get off oil, because our entire transportation, food, and technology sectors depend on it, so we will mine more and more difficult sources, spend more and more on the military “protection” of oil rich land, and drill deeper and deeper, regardless of the risks.

This is the nature of sunk costs. It is a cycle of dependency that exceeds the worst nightmare stories of “The Right”, because it is not one (vilified, disenfranchised, gendered, racialized, easily attacked) group of people-over-there. It is all of us, our entire culture, our entire society, our entire world, constrained to worse and worse future choices by those of the past.

What it means for nuclear power is this: The IAEA report in 2000 was asked to project the world supply of Uranium to 2050. Under a number of different scenarios, they considered at what point it would become economic to mine various sources. The possibility that they should not mine particular locations is never discussed. Once we build the plants, we are committed to continue to supply them until all the uranium is gone. That is why they are already considering mining uranium in the Grand Canyon.

So. While I have chapters in the works on all of those issues I mentioned in the first paragraph, what I really want to ask of fellow environmentalists is this: Do we really want to go down this path? We’ve done it once already, and we know where it ends. Disruption, pollution, toxic waste sites, social upheaval, company towns, strip mining, budget overruns, unanticipated retrofit expenses, and above all, the inability to step off the path once we are fully committed.

And that, my friends, is the biggest risk of nuclear power.

The Troll and the Farmers Market

alternately titled: “Be Careful, She Might Have a Blog.”

Today somebody walked up to my table at the market, picked up a jar of my spices, said, “That’s too expensive,” and banged it back down onto the table. This was  the first time that somebody has been that abrupt about it in three years, and I was shocked.It’s one of the things that craftspeople live in fear of: Being told that your work isn’t worth it. “Everything in Cape Breton is too expensive,” he continued. “I could get far more spices than that in Vancouver for half the price.” (In fact, this is sort of true: I purchase my ingredients wholesale. It is a much cheaper way of getting spices. So is the bulk food store. But they are not the same spices in these jars; I am not just reselling those spices, I actually have a set of “products” that I spent several months taste-testing and developing. I cannot sell at cost.)

“Well, Cape Breton is in the middle of nowhere,” I said, trying not to get too upset.

“No, it’s not.” (Given that it is a 5 hour drive to the next urban centre of any size, and another 10 hours to find a million people in one place, I stand by my claim.)

I started out with my normal ‘spiel,’ but you can see how I might have sounded a little defensive by this point. “Well, they’re organic, and fair-trade, and I mix them in batches of 3 – 4 jars at a time so that they are always fresh.”

“Who cares about that? I’m just saying that I could get an enormous quantity of spices for $65 in Vancouver, and from you I would only be able to get 10 jars.”

“Well, I have to pay myself for my time.”

“Why? Why should I pay you for your time?”

He kept going like this for another 15 minutes. I swear to god, every single bit of knowledge I had, every bit of self-respect I carry drained right out of my feet and into the floor. My time was worthless, my knowledge was useless, I was stupid for not knowing that in a capitalist society I should just go out and get a job, buy stuff at Walmart because they had done more for the organic movement than any little upstart cottage industry producer ever could think of… at one point I interjected with the fact that I only was actually making about $2 an hour at these prices, and he told me, in so many words, that I should give up doing something so stupid and go get a minimum wage job instead of starting a business that was overpriced, couldn’t compete in a global economy, and didn’t add any value to the world as well as only paying me $2 an hour. “Don’t you watch Dragon’s Den? You’re not being consistent. You don’t have a consistent story. Why are you concerned about making a job for yourself that will eventually pay minimum wage rather than just going and taking a minimum wage job at Walmart right now?”

I tried. I don’t know why, but I tried. “Walmart can only look like a reasonable business model because every move that they make is subsidized by the fact that they aren’t required to pay a living wage, and society makes up the difference. Besides that, they only can keep their prices so low in the continued presence of cheap oil that allows them to outsource production to the other side of the world, because shipping things around the globe (sometimes several times) is less expensive than actually paying somebody enough to live on. Or even NOT enough to live on.” I talked about the need to re-establish local and regional economies, the incredible risk we are living with when we live on an island with no primary production, the moral and practical difficulties with relying on a global economy in which we only maintain our superior position by taking advantage of people too poor to protect themselves.

What was I thinking? Why did I engage, other than the fact that I was trapped in a corner behind a table, somewhere that the customer has the upper hand?

Partly I wanted to reiterate it for myself, because that Ayn Rand-Fountainhead – nobody is responsible for anybody but themselves – who the hell do you think you are to try and do something for the greater good, you stupid, stupid woman – oh, it’s nothing personal – bullshit can be pretty compelling when you’ve been trying to make a go of it and failing for three years. Throw in the towel and get a job like the rest of us, you idiot.

But mostly, I was just trying not to scream, “Why the hell are you even in a farmers market??? Just go wherever these mythical cheap spices are and leave me alone. Order your own fucking wholesale products. Just don’t come and attack me, and my work, and my product, and my values, and the mission statement I just helped to write for the market you are standing in to prove your intellectual and moral superiority, you miserable, CHEAP bastard!” Because that probably wouldn’t contribute to the conversation… not that we were having one.

The Price Of Gas!

Oh! It is time to run in circles and flap our hands! Gas is going up! Food will cost more! Who could ever have predicted this???

Here is one of the places where the division between structural analysis and the personal impact becomes glaring. It has become apparent to me over the last few years that I cannot actually afford to run a car. I certainly can’t afford to run two cars. And I really can’t afford to run a minivan which now costs $8 in gas alone every time we decide to go to town. Just to clarify the costs, gas is now (as of this morning) around $1.29 per litre, or about $4.87 per gallon. The van runs about 12 L per 100 km on average, but the starting, warming, and going up hills that we do around here takes a little more, so we basically go through 6 L every time we start her up (the round trip to town is about 30 km, so as soon as we do any scooting we’re up to 50 km by leaving the driveway). Then the two vehicles ran through about $4000 in repairs between December and February.

No. I cannot afford to keep doing this. We cannot afford to keep doing this. And by “we” I mean, “our entire culture,” not just my immediate family.

The price of gas is a shake up: we are not going to spend or subsidize our way out of peak oil, international conflict, and suburban sprawl (in which I am participating.) Even we in North America, even in the ostensible middle class, are going to have to spend a higher fraction of our budget on food. We will not be able to buy stuff, because we will need to feed ourselves. Our houses are too big; we will not be able to afford to keep them as warm/cool as we are used to. Our ability to isolate ourselves from the environment, and manipulate the world around us through the liberal application of fossil fuels is coming to a close. Probably. A miracle may occur. But we cannot bank our futures upon technologies that don’t yet exist. We must work sideways towards solutions, change our ways or perish. (I got that from a comedy routine(1), not a sign on a street corner.)

I look at my own situation, and the car problem in particular, and I come up with these possible solutions:

  1. Move to town. Give up chickens, gardens, greenhouse, land, swimming, canoeing, apartment, garage, writing studio, and dreams. Break my children’s hearts (and my own) to be more fiscally responsible in the short term. Abandon hope for sustainability, buy back into the rat race. Give up… Wait. That doesn’t sound like a solution. (Yes, I know about Urban Homesteading. To get within walking distance of the university would cost me the same amount as we can sell the current house for, and would result in a reduction of about 3.25 acres of land.)
  2. Strictly ration driving for “necessary” trips. Give up swimming lessons, meditation, tae kwon do, orchestra, drama, and social life. Resort to a utilitarian life and hope for redemption in the afterlife. Unfortunately, I don’t believe that I’m getting a reward at the end of all of this, so it doesn’t give me a lot to go on, other than a vague sense of moral superiority, which is just not enough to run a life on. I’m going to need more payoff than, “My life sucks, but at least I’m not fucking it up for everybody else.” Also, that’s not a solution that has much to sell it, and what I’m really looking for is scalability.
  3. Get rid of van. Give up cargo space and the ability to spontaneously take other people places. Still need to purchase a replacement, because otherwise we will be giving up everything in number 2 as well. Also requires us to take two vehicles if we want to take our entire family somewhere. Probably can get $7000 for it, which could be rolled over to “new” smaller vehicle. Would need to replace the functions of the van by renting truck from time to time. The van was supposed to be a temporary solution, to be disposed of when we no longer required 3 car seats. We’ve been down to two car seats for about 2 years, but now the kids are starting to get big. Just last week I had to put my oldest in the front seat for the first time, since he no longer fits between the two seats in the back of the Echo. Can a family of 6 get around with a Honda Civic and a Smart Car? (Three adults, three kids, one about to go through his first teenage growth spurt.)
  4. Get our friends to move closer so that we can still do everything in #2, or replace with equally fun activities. Ha ha ha. Rural village full of interesting, intelligent, and healthy people: good idea. Intentional community with people we already know? Pipe dream. But not one that I am alone in. Maybe it is the goal we secretly all yearn for. It is probably the solution for what ails us, culturally. Urban villages, probably, with walkability thrown in and a reinvention of The Commons. Transition towns for the Long Descent. (I haven’t read it. Have you?) But how to get there? How to get there? There’s the rub.It’s not going to work this way, one house at a time, one family (or two) at a time, with all of us tied to the places we happened upon. It certainly isn’t going to work with temporary jobs, no stability, and a constant threat of layoff hanging over our heads. We’re part way there, but of the four adults who live on our property, only one has been able to parlay his skills and knowledge into a paying full-time job. The rest of us patch things together, start micro-businesses which lose money (but only a couple of hundred dollars at a time), and pick up part-time teaching gigs when possible. We can’t save the world, or even ourselves, running scared.

    Ah: here’s a bit of my own structural analysis. (Remember, structure does not imply intent or conspiracy.) It happens to have been beneficial for a large group of people/organizations to keep us “running scared,” making sure that we never feel like our “needs” are met. Keep up with those Jonses: if you let them get too far ahead, you will be so ostracized that your very survival will be on the line! This is a tremendously powerful message. We are tribe animals, we need belonging the same way that we need air and food, albeit on a slower scale. A solitary human being is actually in jeopardy, isolated from access to basic support systems for food and shelter. There is no such thing as true self-sufficiency, there is only interdependence.

    But a truly functioning community of interdependence, working to meet its needs and trade the excess? One that includes a sense of personhood for its youngest and its eldest? One that values the life-supporting work that is traditionally done by women, and expects its men to contribute to the private sphere so that the women have enough space in their days and intellectual life to participate fully in the public sphere? There is a foundation from which we can start to rebuild a society that can deal with the price of gas… without flapping our hands and running in circles.

Too bad it doesn’t solve my immediate transportation problem.


1. Kevin and God. Radio Free Vestibule

On Debates and Being Right

Margaret Wente has declared the debate on Anthropogenic Global Warming over. Her side has won. We have decided what we are going to do about climate change, and the answer is… nothing.

Congratulations, climate change deniers. You played your hand well. Apparently our culture is unwilling to make any sacrifices to preserve an uncertain future for people who haven’t even been born yet. It’s a terrible pity, though, that it wasn’t a game.

You seem to be right in your calculation that we don’t value life enough to give up (or even scale back) this:

or this:

or this:

So that these people:

Residents of the island nation of Kiribati

or these people:

Bangladesh flood survivors

or these people:

The children at the end of my driveway

Can be assured of having this:

Rice Grains: by Ashok Menon, via wikimedia commons

or these:

Medical Facility - Intesive Care Unit. Norbert Kaiser via wikimedia commons

Fir Trees, by Cruizer, via wikimedia commons

Or these:

It’s really too bad that the planet won’t do the decency of conforming to your expectations. Although your rhetoric is strong, and your resources are formidable, the molecules that our world is made from are going to stubbornly insist upon obeying the laws of physics. Which, I fear, are far less forgiving than the “laws” of the market. If only, along with being powerful, manipulative, and convincing, you could also be right.

Peak Oil and the Zombie Apocalypse

Have you ever had this conversation?

Amy: I’m sort of worried about this peak-oil thing.

Bruce: Yeah. What are we going to do when we can’t afford to fill our cars?

Amy: Well, groceries are going to get more expensive.

Bruce: We might have to fix up those old bikes.

Amy: And I guess that we won’t be taking many trips to the mall…

Bruce: … since there won’t be much to buy there anyway…

Amy: And we’ll probably have bigger things to worry about…

Bruce: … what with the Zombie Apocalypse!

Amy and Bruce: Bwa ha ha!…  Followed by Nervous laugh. Darting eyes. Deep sigh.

Pause.

Bruce: So, did you pick out a colour to paint the living room?


What is the world like, and what comes next?

 

This week, after an article in Brain, Child, some of the Moms in the blogosphere (and the NY Times) were pondering impending “Armageddon”, technological development, and the tendency to push children to be competitive at ever younger ages. At heart lies this question: Are we preparing our kids for a future of depletion and severe disruption, or are we preparing them for a future that looks pretty much like the present, only faster? (Always faster.) And in case I didn’t feel up to writing about this question, my inbox this morning contained a link to CBC’s Doc Zone for the week, Surviving the Future.

The question of the week was “Are you preparing your children for profound and unpredictable social change?” And if you are, how do you do that without scaring/scarring them? (1)

Depending on whom I ask, I have either grown up at the a world teetering on the brink of catastrophe (nuclear war/winter, environmental degradation, rainforest and biodiversity loss, civil unrest, genocide, climate change, AIDS, incipient anarchy, water stress) or a world at the pinnacle of human achievement (access to education, the internet, economic growth, instant communication, medical technologies, a huge middle class, freedom of speech, thought and assembly, cheap and plentiful food).

It’s not that this paradox is new to me. Through the wonders of technology, I’ve seen the demise of apartheid and the fall of the Berlin Wall, the emergence of the personal computer and the internet, and the reduction of risk in our middle-class-developed-world-lives to such an extent that we are fixated on ever-more-remote and hypothetical dangers. I have also watched the world stand by and allow genocide, seen international “leaders” squabbling instead of taking action in the face of the most pressing environmental concerns, the time-lapse extinction of animals, plants and biomes that have been predicted since my childhood, and heartbreaking inaction on the real issues of global poverty and human rights.

In the face of all that, I must confess that I am preparing my children for unpredictable social change… wherein lies the problem. By its nature, the future is unpredictable. And, if it’s anything like the past, it will be different from the present.

From social change to zombies

Which brings me, oddly enough, to Zombies. A not-insignificant portion of our culture has recently become… erm… obsessed, shall we say. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Zombies in all the campus-generated scripts I worked on at university, Zombies on the internet. Zombies vs. Ninjas. Zombie movies. Comedic Zombie movies. Zombies have become part of the great urban myth, a modern fairy-tale thing that goes bump in the night, and then eats your brains. In all these stories, Zombies are also our former neighbours and our friends, and they illustrate the heart of a great discomfort.

Many writers who acknowledge concerns about possible social disruption them have difficulty confronting how difficult things can actually get. We seem to display a profound split between our literary knowledge and our own ability to believe things. One of the things I heard during the coverage of 9/11 was, “This is worse than we could possibly have imagined.” And I thought, “No, it’s exactly the sort of thing we’ve imagined.” Modern literature is full of pandemics, nuclear attacks on major urban centres, water-contamination, biological weapons, and horror disguised as other-worldly. We have disaster movies, dystopian fiction, and post-apocalyptic epics. These fears are a bubbling cauldron just beneath the popular conversation. Secretly, or not, we sometimes think, “They could turn on us at any point! We might have to choose between our selves and them!”

But we can’t live our lives that way. So we come up with all kinds of techniques for diverting our own minds from the reality that things can suddenly go horrifyingly awry.

One of the great denials sounds like this: “Oh, you doomsayers are always predicting catastrophe, and it never comes.” Only it does. Catastrophe comes with great regularity – in the form of natural disasters, wars, plagues, famines, droughts, and terrorist attacks. Every day, all over the world, people are struck down in the midst of lives that they weren’t done with. Social fabrics tear and neighbours turn on each other, and astonishingly awful things happen. I’m not going to detail them, because they already get the majority of air time on our mainstream media. You’ve had to watch and listen to them for years already. And even though it doesn’t happen here, it could.

Oh, wait. It does happen here. Katrina, wildfires, 9/11, profound poverty and homelessness – we have instant and slow-motion disasters unfolding in North America too. There is nothing different about here from anywhere else except the sheer amount of resources we have at our disposal… but our current set of values has produced a society of people who are not very good at sharing or taking care of themselves. In the midst of a society of great abundance and wealth, we have left ourselves profoundly dependent and vulnerable to systems and supply chains that are stretched paper thin.

We have a dual myth working against us here. On the one hand, we have the self-made man, the individual standing alone. At the very same time we demand a high level of social conformity, particularly with respect to participation in a consumption-based economy. Neither of these turns out to be a particularly effective strategy for weathering social crises, during which compassionate leadership, the ability to cooperate, and the practical skills that our consumption culture has eliminated all turn out to be highly valuable.

Do you know where your food comes from? Really?

First, a couple of unrelated facts that are relevant to this discussion:

  1. The fact that our home is more than one gas tank from the nearest major urban centre comes up in conversation fairly regularly.
  2. After four years of pretty intensive gardening, we still found ourselves eating Swiss Chard and eggs several days in a row this summer, and eventually conceding and going to the grocery store.

I considered my move to the country to be partly an exercise in awareness. What, exactly, was I asking of people when I suggested that they needed to find different balance in their lives, more practical skills, and less reliance on increasingly unstable employment? I had previously purchased shares in Community Supported Agriculture when I lived in the city. It occurred to me that for there to be a CSA, there needed to be an A, and I’m deeply practical. But maybe, just maybe, I was thinking, “How hard could it be?”

Let me tell you; it’s harder than I expected. Not hard-unpleasant, but certainly hard-challenging. The first thing that has to come is a different relationship to time. If you want green beans in January, you have to plant them in June. Which means that you need to order seed in May. And ideally prepare the garden bed the previous October. That’s a 15-month lead time on out-of-season green beans. Moreover, you need to know that if you miss the day to harvest them, they will be past edible, and the plant will be satisfied that it has reproduced and stop making new beans. Also, you need to know that if you add too much manure (that is, nitrogen) to the bean patch, you will get lovely leafy plants – with no beans. And as a clincher, you need to know how to store them so that you’ll still want to eat them in January.

Well, that’s just beans. And after this summer, I’m here to tell you, woman does not live by beans alone.

Here’s what it comes down to: we transplanted urban folk don’t know what we’re doing. We are each attempting to reconstruct 10,000 years of oral tradition and skills training by reading a few books, attending some workshops, and examining some pictures on the internet. All while being mocked, or scoffed at, or gazing wistfully over the fence at Starbucks, fancy clothes, and a life devoid of manure. Really, it is my greatest irony that I went to graduate school to get away from manual labour. Ha ha, universe. Good one.

It’s not that I don’t want to share with my neighbours; it’s that if I fed all my neighbours, we’d get one meal, and then we’d be out of food.

Preparing my children for an uncertain future

Let me get this straight: I would love to be wrong about all of this. I would love to wake up one day to a miraculous world in which some technology has absolved us of all our environmental sins, and in which energy is cheap, harmless, and abundant. Internet? I’m in favour. Medical science? Has already saved at least two lives in our family directly. Sterile surgical theatres? I’m all over it. Same thing with refrigeration, running water, and light switches.

But since I can’t guarantee that, and there’s pretty good evidence that at least some things are going to get worse, I’m trying to raise kids that have skills and a sense of pride in them. We spend a lot of time on emotional intelligence, communication, and constructing strong social networks.We still drive a lot (more than I care to admit), but the conversation about transportation is open and on-going. My son is a bicycle convert, while my daughter is convinced that the future lies in horses. (She also thinks that it would be a good idea to live in a tent or a tree, though, so she doesn’t get a vote for practicality just yet.) And as a final immunization against affluenza, we try to take joy in simpler things, like a good stomp in the woods, a day of playing board games with other families and friends, or reading by the woodstove.

If nothing happens to go wrong, and I’ve raised skillful, resilient, creative, open-minded and caring people for no good reason, I’ll just have to live with that.

We need to laugh at the things that terrify us the most

So, among the converted, those of us who are already teaching our children life-sustaining skills, raising our own food, and generally getting on with the business of the slow decline, just in case there’s something to all of this, the conversation often goes more like this:

Amy: So, do you think when peak oil hits, there’s going to be a Zombie Apocalypse?

Bruce: Um. Yeah. I’m a little worried about that.

Amy: Yeah. Me too. Think we can do anything about it?

Bruce: Sure, but only if we can get the neighbours to start growing food instead of lawns.

Amy and Bruce: Bwa ha ha!…  Followed by Nervous laugh. Darting eyes. Deep sigh.

Pause.

Bruce: So, did you find any decent mistints to paint the barn yet?


  1. Or, for the post-structural among us, scar(r)ing them.
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