Tuesday, April 17, 2007

The Power of Green

New York Times, April 15, 2007

The Power of Green

I.

One day Iraq, our post-9/11 trauma and the divisiveness of the Bush years will all be behind us — and America will need, and want, to get its groove back. We will need to find a way to reknit America at home, reconnect America abroad and restore America to its natural place in the global order — as the beacon of progress, hope and inspiration. I have an idea how. It’s called “green.”

In the world of ideas, to name something is to own it. If you can name an issue, you can own the issue. One thing that always struck me about the term “green” was the degree to which, for so many years, it was defined by its opponents — by the people who wanted to disparage it. And they defined it as “liberal,” “tree-hugging,” “sissy,” “girlie-man,” “unpatriotic,” “vaguely French.”

Well, I want to rename “green.” I want to rename it geostrategic, geoeconomic, capitalistic and patriotic. I want to do that because I think that living, working, designing, manufacturing and projecting America in a green way can be the basis of a new unifying political movement for the 21st century. A redefined, broader and more muscular green ideology is not meant to trump the traditional Republican and Democratic agendas but rather to bridge them when it comes to addressing the three major issues facing every American today: jobs, temperature and terrorism.

How do our kids compete in a flatter world? How do they thrive in a warmer world? How do they survive in a more dangerous world? Those are, in a nutshell, the big questions facing America at the dawn of the 21st century. But these problems are so large in scale that they can only be effectively addressed by an America with 50 green states — not an America divided between red and blue states.

Because a new green ideology, properly defined, has the power to mobilize liberals and conservatives, evangelicals and atheists, big business and environmentalists around an agenda that can both pull us together and propel us forward. That’s why I say: We don’t just need the first black president. We need the first green president. We don’t just need the first woman president. We need the first environmental president. We don’t just need a president who has been toughened by years as a prisoner of war but a president who is tough enough to level with the American people about the profound economic, geopolitical and climate threats posed by our addiction to oil — and to offer a real plan to reduce our dependence on fossil fuels.

After World War II, President Eisenhower responded to the threat of Communism and the “red menace” with massive spending on an interstate highway system to tie America together, in large part so that we could better move weapons in the event of a war with the Soviets. That highway system, though, helped to enshrine America’s car culture (atrophying our railroads) and to lock in suburban sprawl and low-density housing, which all combined to get America addicted to cheap fossil fuels, particularly oil. Many in the world followed our model.

Today, we are paying the accumulated economic, geopolitical and climate prices for that kind of America. I am not proposing that we radically alter our lifestyles. We are who we are — including a car culture. But if we want to continue to be who we are, enjoy the benefits and be able to pass them on to our children, we do need to fuel our future in a cleaner, greener way. Eisenhower rallied us with the red menace. The next president will have to rally us with a green patriotism. Hence my motto: “Green is the new red, white and blue.”

The good news is that after traveling around America this past year, looking at how we use energy and the emerging alternatives, I can report that green really has gone Main Street — thanks to the perfect storm created by 9/11, Hurricane Katrina and the Internet revolution. The first flattened the twin towers, the second flattened New Orleans and the third flattened the global economic playing field. The convergence of all three has turned many of our previous assumptions about “green” upside down in a very short period of time, making it much more compelling to many more Americans.

But here’s the bad news: While green has hit Main Street — more Americans than ever now identify themselves as greens, or what I call “Geo-Greens” to differentiate their more muscular and strategic green ideology — green has not gone very far down Main Street. It certainly has not gone anywhere near the distance required to preserve our lifestyle. The dirty little secret is that we’re fooling ourselves. We in America talk like we’re already “the greenest generation,” as the business writer Dan Pink once called it. But here’s the really inconvenient truth: We have not even begun to be serious about the costs, the effort and the scale of change that will be required to shift our country, and eventually the world, to a largely emissions-free energy infrastructure over the next 50 years.

II.

A few weeks after American forces invaded Afghanistan, I visited the Pakistani frontier town of Peshawar, a hotbed of Islamic radicalism. On the way, I stopped at the famous Darul Uloom Haqqania, the biggest madrasa, or Islamic school, in Pakistan, with 2,800 live-in students. The Taliban leader Mullah Muhammad Omar attended this madrasa as a younger man. My Pakistani friend and I were allowed to observe a class of young boys who sat on the floor, practicing their rote learning of the Koran from texts perched on wooden holders. The air in the Koran class was so thick and stale it felt as if you could have cut it into blocks. The teacher asked an 8-year-old boy to chant a Koranic verse for us, which he did with the elegance of an experienced muezzin. I asked another student, an Afghan refugee, Rahim Kunduz, age 12, what his reaction was to the Sept. 11 attacks, and he said: “Most likely the attack came from Americans inside America. I am pleased that America has had to face pain, because the rest of the world has tasted its pain.” A framed sign on the wall said this room was “A gift of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.”

Sometime after 9/11 — an unprovoked mass murder perpetrated by 19 men, 15 of whom were Saudis — green went geostrategic, as Americans started to realize we were financing both sides in the war on terrorism. We were financing the U.S. military with our tax dollars; and we were financing a transformation of Islam, in favor of its most intolerant strand, with our gasoline purchases. How stupid is that?

Islam has always been practiced in different forms. Some are more embracing of modernity, reinterpretation of the Koran and tolerance of other faiths, like Sufi Islam or the populist Islam of Egypt, Ottoman Turkey and Indonesia. Some strands, like Salafi Islam — followed by the Wahhabis of Saudi Arabia and by Al Qaeda — believe Islam should be returned to an austere form practiced in the time of the Prophet Muhammad, a form hostile to modernity, science, “infidels” and women’s rights. By enriching the Saudi and Iranian treasuries via our gasoline purchases, we are financing the export of the Saudi puritanical brand of Sunni Islam and the Iranian fundamentalist brand of Shiite Islam, tilting the Muslim world in a more intolerant direction. At the Muslim fringe, this creates more recruits for the Taliban, Al Qaeda, Hamas, Hezbollah and the Sunni suicide bomb squads of Iraq; at the Muslim center, it creates a much bigger constituency of people who applaud suicide bombers as martyrs.

The Saudi Islamic export drive first went into high gear after extreme fundamentalists challenged the Muslim credentials of the Saudi ruling family by taking over the Grand Mosque of Mecca in 1979 — a year that coincided with the Iranian revolution and a huge rise in oil prices. The attack on the Grand Mosque by these Koran-and-rifle-wielding Islamic militants shook the Saudi ruling family to its core. The al-Sauds responded to this challenge to their religious bona fides by becoming outwardly more religious. They gave their official Wahhabi religious establishment even more power to impose Islam on public life. Awash in cash thanks to the spike in oil prices, the Saudi government and charities also spent hundreds of millions of dollars endowing mosques, youth clubs and Muslim schools all over the world, ensuring that Wahhabi imams, teachers and textbooks would preach Saudi-style Islam. Eventually, notes Lawrence Wright in “The Looming Tower,” his history of Al Qaeda, “Saudi Arabia, which constitutes only 1 percent of the world Muslim population, would support 90 percent of the expenses of the entire faith, overriding other traditions of Islam.”

Saudi mosques and wealthy donors have also funneled cash to the Sunni insurgents in Iraq. The Associated Press reported from Cairo in December: “Several drivers interviewed by the A.P. in Middle East capitals said Saudis have been using religious events, like the hajj pilgrimage to Mecca and a smaller pilgrimage, as cover for illicit money transfers. Some money, they said, is carried into Iraq on buses with returning pilgrims. ‘They sent boxes full of dollars and asked me to deliver them to certain addresses in Iraq,’ said one driver. ... ‘I know it is being sent to the resistance, and if I don’t take it with me, they will kill me.’ ”

No wonder more Americans have concluded that conserving oil to put less money in the hands of hostile forces is now a geostrategic imperative. President Bush’s refusal to do anything meaningful after 9/11 to reduce our gasoline usage really amounts to a policy of “No Mullah Left Behind.” James Woolsey, the former C.I.A. director, minces no words: “We are funding the rope for the hanging of ourselves.”

No, I don’t want to bankrupt Saudi Arabia or trigger an Islamist revolt there. Its leadership is more moderate and pro-Western than its people. But the way the Saudi ruling family has bought off its religious establishment, in order to stay in power, is not healthy. Cutting the price of oil in half would help change that. In the 1990s, dwindling oil income sparked a Saudi debate about less Koran and more science in Saudi schools, even experimentation with local elections. But the recent oil windfall has stilled all talk of reform.

That is because of what I call the First Law of Petropolitics: The price of oil and the pace of freedom always move in opposite directions in states that are highly dependent on oil exports for their income and have weak institutions or outright authoritarian governments. And this is another reason that green has become geostrategic. Soaring oil prices are poisoning the international system by strengthening antidemocratic regimes around the globe.

Look what’s happened: We thought the fall of the Berlin Wall was going to unleash an unstoppable tide of free markets and free people, and for about a decade it did just that. But those years coincided with oil in the $10-to-$30-a-barrel range. As the price of oil surged into the $30-to-$70 range in the early 2000s, it triggered a countertide — a tide of petroauthoritarianism — manifested in Russia, Iran, Nigeria, Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Sudan, Egypt, Chad, Angola, Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan. The elected or self-appointed elites running these states have used their oil windfalls to ensconce themselves in power, buy off opponents and counter the fall-of-the-Berlin-Wall tide. If we continue to finance them with our oil purchases, they will reshape the world in their image, around Putin-like values.

You can illustrate the First Law of Petropolitics with a simple graph. On one line chart the price of oil from 1979 to the present; on another line chart the Freedom House or Fraser Institute freedom indexes for Russia, Nigeria, Iran and Venezuela for the same years. When you put these two lines on the same graph you see something striking: the price of oil and the pace of freedom are inversely correlated. As oil prices went down in the early 1990s, competition, transparency, political participation and accountability of those in office all tended to go up in these countries — as measured by free elections held, newspapers opened, reformers elected, economic reform projects started and companies privatized. That’s because their petroauthoritarian regimes had to open themselves to foreign investment and educate and empower their people more in order to earn income. But as oil prices went up around 2000, free speech, free press, fair elections and freedom to form political parties and NGOs all eroded in these countries.

The motto of the American Revolution was “no taxation without representation.” The motto of the petroauthoritarians is “no representation without taxation”: If I don’t have to tax you, because I can get all the money I need from oil wells, I don’t have to listen to you.

It is no accident that when oil prices were low in the 1990s, Iran elected a reformist Parliament and a president who called for a “dialogue of civilizations.” And when oil prices soared to $70 a barrel, Iran’s conservatives pushed out the reformers and ensconced a president who says the Holocaust is a myth. (I promise you, if oil prices drop to $25 a barrel, the Holocaust won’t be a myth anymore.) And it is no accident that the first Arab Gulf state to start running out of oil, Bahrain, is also the first Arab Gulf state to have held a free and fair election in which women could run and vote, the first Arab Gulf state to overhaul its labor laws to make more of its own people employable and the first Arab Gulf state to sign a free-trade agreement with America.

People change when they have to — not when we tell them to — and falling oil prices make them have to. That is why if we are looking for a Plan B for Iraq — a way of pressing for political reform in the Middle East without going to war again — there is no better tool than bringing down the price of oil. When it comes to fostering democracy among petroauthoritarians, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a neocon or a radical lib. If you’re not also a Geo-Green, you won’t succeed.

The notion that conserving energy is a geostrategic imperative has also moved into the Pentagon, for slightly different reasons. Generals are realizing that the more energy they save in the heat of battle, the more power they can project. The Pentagon has been looking to improve its energy efficiency for several years now to save money. But the Iraq war has given birth to a new movement in the U.S. military: the “Green Hawks.”

As Amory Lovins of the Rocky Mountain Institute, who has been working with the Pentagon, put it to me: The Iraq war forced the U.S. military to think much more seriously about how to “eat its tail” — to shorten its energy supply lines by becoming more energy efficient. According to Dan Nolan, who oversees energy projects for the U.S. Army’s Rapid Equipping Force, it started last year when a Marine major general in Anbar Province told the Pentagon he wanted alternative energy sources that would reduce fuel consumption in the Iraqi desert. Why? His air-conditioners were being run off mobile generators, and the generators ran on diesel, and the diesel had to be trucked in, and the insurgents were blowing up the trucks.

“When we began the analysis of his request, it was really about the fact that his soldiers were being attacked on the roads bringing fuel and water,” Nolan said. So eating their tail meant “taking those things that are brought into the unit and trying to generate them on-site.” To that end Nolan’s team is now experimenting with everything from new kinds of tents that need 40 percent less air-conditioning to new kinds of fuel cells that produce water as a byproduct.

Pay attention: When the U.S. Army desegregated, the country really desegregated; when the Army goes green, the country could really go green.

“Energy independence is a national security issue,” Nolan said. “It’s the right business for us to be in. ... We are not trying to change the whole Army. Our job is to focus on that battalion out there and give those commanders the technological innovations they need to deal with today’s mission. But when they start coming home, they are going to bring those things with them.”

III.

The second big reason green has gone Main Street is because global warming has. A decade ago, it was mostly experts who worried that climate change was real, largely brought about by humans and likely to lead to species loss and environmental crises. Now Main Street is starting to worry because people are seeing things they’ve never seen before in their own front yards and reading things they’ve never read before in their papers — like the recent draft report by the United Nations’s 2,000-expert Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, which concluded that “changes in climate are now affecting physical and biological systems on every continent.”

I went to Montana in January and Gov. Brian Schweitzer told me: “We don’t get as much snow in the high country as we used to, and the runoff starts sooner in the spring. The river I’ve been fishing over the last 50 years is now warmer in July by five degrees than 50 years ago, and it is hard on our trout population.” I went to Moscow in February, and my friends told me they just celebrated the first Moscow Christmas in their memory with no snow. I stopped in London on the way home, and I didn’t need an overcoat. In 2006, the average temperature in central England was the highest ever recorded since the Central England Temperature (C.E.T.) series began in 1659.

Yes, no one knows exactly what will happen. But ever fewer people want to do nothing. Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger of California summed up the new climate around climate when he said to me recently: “If 98 doctors say my son is ill and needs medication and two say ‘No, he doesn’t, he is fine,’ I will go with the 98. It’s common sense — the same with global warming. We go with the majority, the large majority. ... The key thing now is that since we know this industrial age has created it, let’s get our act together and do everything we can to roll it back.”

But how? Now we arrive at the first big roadblock to green going down Main Street. Most people have no clue — no clue — how huge an industrial project is required to blunt climate change. Here are two people who do: Robert Socolow, an engineering professor, and Stephen Pacala, an ecology professor, who together lead the Carbon Mitigation Initiative at Princeton, a consortium designing scalable solutions for the climate issue.

They first argued in a paper published by the journal Science in August 2004 that human beings can emit only so much carbon into the atmosphere before the buildup of carbon dioxide (CO2) reaches a level unknown in recent geologic history and the earth’s climate system starts to go “haywire.” The scientific consensus, they note, is that the risk of things going haywire — weather patterns getting violently unstable, glaciers melting, prolonged droughts — grows rapidly as CO2 levels “approach a doubling” of the concentration of CO2 that was in the atmosphere before the Industrial Revolution.

“Think of the climate change issue as a closet, and behind the door are lurking all kinds of monsters — and there’s a long list of them,” Pacala said. “All of our scientific work says the most damaging monsters start to come out from behind that door when you hit the doubling of CO2 levels.” As Bill Collins, who led the development of a model used worldwide for simulating climate change, put it to me: “We’re running an uncontrolled experiment on the only home we have.”

So here is our challenge, according to Pacala: If we basically do nothing, and global CO2 emissions continue to grow at the pace of the last 30 years for the next 50 years, we will pass the doubling level — an atmospheric concentration of carbon dioxide of 560 parts per million — around midcentury. To avoid that — and still leave room for developed countries to grow, using less carbon, and for countries like India and China to grow, emitting double or triple their current carbon levels, until they climb out of poverty and are able to become more energy efficient — will require a huge global industrial energy project.

To convey the scale involved, Socolow and Pacala have created a pie chart with 15 different wedges. Some wedges represent carbon-free or carbon-diminishing power-generating technologies; other wedges represent efficiency programs that could conserve large amounts of energy and prevent CO2 emissions. They argue that the world needs to deploy any 7 of these 15 wedges, or sufficient amounts of all 15, to have enough conservation, and enough carbon-free energy, to increase the world economy and still avoid the doubling of CO2 in the atmosphere. Each wedge, when phased in over 50 years, would avoid the release of 25 billion tons of carbon, for a total of 175 billion tons of carbon avoided between now and 2056.

Here are seven wedges we could chose from: “Replace 1,400 large coal-fired plants with gas-fired plants; increase the fuel economy of two billion cars from 30 to 60 miles per gallon; add twice today’s nuclear output to displace coal; drive two billion cars on ethanol, using one-sixth of the world’s cropland; increase solar power 700-fold to displace coal; cut electricity use in homes, offices and stores by 25 percent; install carbon capture and sequestration capacity at 800 large coal-fired plants.” And the other eight aren’t any easier. They include halting all cutting and burning of forests, since deforestation causes about 20 percent of the world’s annual CO2 emissions.

“There has never been a deliberate industrial project in history as big as this,” Pacala said. Through a combination of clean power technology and conservation, “we have to get rid of 175 billion tons of carbon over the next 50 years — and still keep growing. It is possible to accomplish this if we start today. But every year that we delay, the job becomes more difficult — and if we delay a decade or two, avoiding the doubling or more may well become impossible.”

IV.

In November, I flew from Shanghai to Beijing on Air China. As we landed in Beijing and taxied to the terminal, the Chinese air hostess came on the P.A. and said: “We’ve just landed in Beijing. The temperature is 8 degrees Celsius, 46 degrees Fahrenheit and the sky is clear.”

I almost burst out laughing. Outside my window the smog was so thick you could not see the end of the terminal building. When I got into Beijing, though, friends told me the air was better than usual. Why? China had been host of a summit meeting of 48 African leaders. Time magazine reported that Beijing officials had “ordered half a million official cars off the roads and said another 400,000 drivers had ‘volunteered’ to refrain from using their vehicles” in order to clean up the air for their African guests. As soon as they left, the cars returned, and Beijing’s air went back to “unhealthy.”

Green has also gone Main Street because the end of Communism, the rise of the personal computer and the diffusion of the Internet have opened the global economic playing field to so many more people, all coming with their own versions of the American dream — a house, a car, a toaster, a microwave and a refrigerator. It is a blessing to see so many people growing out of poverty. But when three billion people move from “low-impact” to “high-impact” lifestyles, Jared Diamond wrote in “Collapse,” it makes it urgent that we find cleaner ways to fuel their dreams. According to Lester Brown, the founder of the Earth Policy Institute, if China keeps growing at 8 percent a year, by 2031 the per-capita income of 1.45 billion Chinese will be the same as America’s in 2004. China currently has only one car for every 100 people, but Brown projects that as it reaches American income levels, if it copies American consumption, it will have three cars for every four people, or 1.1 billion vehicles. The total world fleet today is 800 million vehicles!

That’s why McKinsey Global Institute forecasts that developing countries will generate nearly 80 percent of the growth in world energy demand between now and 2020, with China representing 32 percent and the Middle East 10 percent. So if Red China doesn’t become Green China there is no chance we will keep the climate monsters behind the door. On some days, says the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, almost 25 percent of the polluting matter in the air above Los Angeles comes from China’s coal-fired power plants and factories, as well as fumes from China’s cars and dust kicked up by droughts and deforestation around Asia.

The good news is that China knows it has to grow green — or it won’t grow at all. On Sept. 8, 2006, a Chinese newspaper reported that China’s E.P.A. and its National Bureau of Statistics had re-examined China’s 2004 G.D.P. number. They concluded that the health problems, environmental degradation and lost workdays from pollution had actually cost China $64 billion, or 3.05 percent of its total economic output for 2004. Some experts believe the real number is closer to 10 percent.

Thus China has a strong motivation to clean up the worst pollutants in its air. Those are the nitrogen oxides, sulfur oxides and mercury that produce acid rain, smog and haze — much of which come from burning coal. But cleaning up is easier said than done. The Communist Party’s legitimacy and the stability of the whole country depend heavily on Beijing’s ability to provide rising living standards for more and more Chinese.

So, if you’re a Chinese mayor and have to choose between growing jobs and cutting pollution, you will invariably choose jobs: coughing workers are much less politically dangerous than unemployed workers. That’s a key reason why China’s 10th five-year plan, which began in 2000, called for a 10 percent reduction in sulfur dioxide in China’s air — and when that plan concluded in 2005, sulfur dioxide pollution in China had increased by 27 percent.

But if China is having a hard time cleaning up its nitrogen and sulfur oxides — which can be done relatively cheaply by adding scrubbers to the smokestacks of coal-fired power plants — imagine what will happen when it comes to asking China to curb its CO2, of which China is now the world’s second-largest emitter, after America. To build a coal-fired power plant that captures, separates and safely sequesters the CO2 into the ground before it goes up the smokestack requires either an expensive retrofit or a whole new system. That new system would cost about 40 percent more to build and operate — and would produce 20 percent less electricity, according to a recent M.I.T. study, “The Future of Coal.”

China — which is constructing the equivalent of two 500-megawatt coal-fired power plants every week — is not going to pay that now. Remember: CO2 is an invisible, odorless, tasteless gas. Yes, it causes global warming — but it doesn’t hurt anyone in China today, and getting rid of it is costly and has no economic payoff. China’s strategy right now is to say that CO2 is the West’s problem. “It must be pointed out that climate change has been caused by the long-term historic emissions of developed countries and their high per-capita emissions,” Jiang Yu, a spokeswoman for China’s Foreign Ministry, declared in February. “Developed countries bear an unshirkable responsibility.”

So now we come to the nub of the issue: Green will not go down Main Street America unless it also goes down Main Street China, India and Brazil. And for green to go Main Street in these big developing countries, the prices of clean power alternatives — wind, biofuels, nuclear, solar or coal sequestration — have to fall to the “China price.” The China price is basically the price China pays for coal-fired electricity today because China is not prepared to pay a premium now, and sacrifice growth and stability, just to get rid of the CO2 that comes from burning coal.

“The ‘China price’ is the fundamental benchmark that everyone is looking to satisfy,” said Curtis Carlson, C.E.O. of SRI International, which is developing alternative energy technologies. “Because if the Chinese have to pay 10 percent more for energy, when they have tens of millions of people living under $1,000 a year, it is not going to happen.” Carlson went on to say: “We have an enormous amount of new innovation we must put in place before we can get to a price that China and India will be able to pay. But this is also an opportunity.”

V.

The only way we are going to get innovations that drive energy costs down to the China price — innovations in energy-saving appliances, lights and building materials and in non-CO2-emitting power plants and fuels — is by mobilizing free-market capitalism. The only thing as powerful as Mother Nature is Father Greed. To a degree, the market is already at work on this project — because some venture capitalists and companies understand that clean-tech is going to be the next great global industry. Take Wal-Mart. The world’s biggest retailer woke up several years ago, its C.E.O. Lee Scott told me, and realized that with regard to the environment its customers “had higher expectations for us than we had for ourselves.” So Scott hired a sustainability expert, Jib Ellison, to tutor the company. The first lesson Ellison preached was that going green was a whole new way for Wal-Mart to cut costs and drive its profits. As Scott recalled it, Ellison said to him, “Lee, the thing you have to think of is all this stuff that people don’t want you to put into the environment is waste — and you’re paying for it!”

So Scott initiated a program to work with Wal-Mart’s suppliers to reduce the sizes and materials used for all its packaging by five percent by 2013. The reductions they have made are already paying off in savings to the company. “We created teams to work across the organization,” Scott said. “It was voluntary — then you had the first person who eliminated some packaging, and someone else started showing how we could recycle more plastic, and all of a sudden it’s $1 million a quarter.” Wal-Mart operates 7,000 huge Class 8 trucks that get about 6 miles per gallon. It has told its truck makers that by 2015, it wants to double the efficiency of the fleet. Wal-Mart is the China of companies, so, explained Scott, “if we place one order we can create a market” for energy innovation.

For instance, Wal-Mart has used its shelves to create a huge, low-cost market for compact fluorescent bulbs, which use about a quarter of the energy of incandescent bulbs to produce the same light and last 10 times as long. “Just by doing what it does best — saving customers money and cutting costs,” said Glenn Prickett of Conservation International, a Wal-Mart adviser, “Wal-Mart can have a revolutionary impact on the market for green technologies. If every one of their 100 million customers in the U.S. bought just one energy-saving compact fluorescent lamp, instead of a traditional incandescent bulb, they could cut CO2 emissions by 45 billion pounds and save more than $3 billion.”

Those savings highlight something that often gets lost: The quickest way to get to the China price for clean power is by becoming more energy efficient. The cheapest, cleanest, nonemitting power plant in the world is the one you don’t build. Helping China adopt some of the breakthrough efficiency programs that California has adopted, for instance — like rewarding electrical utilities for how much energy they get their customers to save rather than to use — could have a huge impact. Some experts estimate that China could cut its need for new power plants in half with aggressive investments in efficiency.

Yet another force driving us to the China price is Chinese entrepreneurs, who understand that while Beijing may not be ready to impose CO2 restraints, developed countries are, so this is going to be a global business — and they want a slice. Let me introduce the man identified last year by Forbes Magazine as the seventh-richest man in China, with a fortune now estimated at $2.2 billion. His name is Shi Zhengrong and he is China’s leading manufacturer of silicon solar panels, which convert sunlight into electricity.

“People at all levels in China have become more aware of this environment issue and alternative energy,” said Shi, whose company, Suntech Power Holdings, is listed on the New York Stock Exchange. “Five years ago, when I started the company, people said: ‘Why do we need solar? We have a surplus of coal-powered electricity.’ Now it is different; now people realize that solar has a bright future. But it is still too expensive. ... We have to reduce the cost as quickly as possible — our real competitors are coal and nuclear power.”

Shi does most of his manufacturing in China, but sells roughly 90 percent of his products outside China, because today they are too expensive for his domestic market. But the more he can get the price down, and start to grow his business inside China, the more he can use that to become a dominant global player. Thanks to Suntech’s success, in China “there is a rush of business people entering this sector, even though we still don’t have a market here,” Shi added. “Many government people now say, ‘This is an industry!’ ” And if it takes off, China could do for solar panels what it did for tennis shoes — bring the price down so far that everyone can afford a pair.

VI.

All that sounds great — but remember those seven wedges? To reach the necessary scale of emissions-free energy will require big clean coal or nuclear power stations, wind farms and solar farms, all connected to a national transmission grid, not to mention clean fuels for our cars and trucks. And the market alone, as presently constructed in the U.S., will not get us those alternatives at the scale we need — at the China price — fast enough.

Prof. Nate Lewis, Caltech’s noted chemist and energy expert, explained why with an analogy. “Let’s say you invented the first cellphone,” he said. “You could charge people $1,000 for each one because lots of people would be ready to pay lots of money to have a phone they could carry in their pocket.” With those profits, you, the inventor, could pay back your shareholders and plow more into research, so you keep selling better and cheaper cellphones.

But energy is different, Lewis explained: “If I come to you and say, ‘Today your house lights are being powered by dirty coal, but tomorrow, if you pay me $100 more a month, I will power your house lights with solar,’ you are most likely to say: ‘Sorry, Nate, but I don’t really care how my lights go on, I just care that they go on. I won’t pay an extra $100 a month for sun power. A new cellphone improves my life. A different way to power my lights does nothing.’

“So building an emissions-free energy infrastructure is not like sending a man to the moon,” Lewis went on. “With the moon shot, money was no object — and all we had to do was get there. But today, we already have cheap energy from coal, gas and oil. So getting people to pay more to shift to clean fuels is like trying to get funding for NASA to build a spaceship to the moon — when Southwest Airlines already flies there and gives away free peanuts! I already have a cheap ride to the moon, and a ride is a ride. For most people, electricity is electricity, no matter how it is generated.”

If we were running out of coal or oil, the market would steadily push the prices up, which would stimulate innovation in alternatives. Eventually there would be a crossover, and the alternatives would kick in, start to scale and come down in price. But what has happened in energy over the last 35 years is that the oil price goes up, stimulating government subsidies and some investments in alternatives, and then the price goes down, the government loses interest, the subsidies expire and the investors in alternatives get wiped out.

The only way to stimulate the scale of sustained investment in research and development of non-CO2 emitting power at the China price is if the developed countries, who can afford to do so, force their people to pay the full climate, economic and geopolitical costs of using gasoline and dirty coal. Those countries that have signed the Kyoto Protocol are starting to do that. But America is not.

Up to now, said Lester Brown, president of the Earth Policy Institute, we as a society “have been behaving just like Enron the company at the height of its folly.” We rack up stunning profits and G.D.P. numbers every year, and they look great on paper “because we’ve been hiding some of the costs off the books.” If we don’t put a price on the CO2 we’re building up or on our addiction to oil, we’ll never nurture the innovation we need.

Jeffrey Immelt, the chairman of General Electric, has worked for G.E. for 25 years. In that time, he told me, he has seen seven generations of innovation in G.E.’s medical equipment business — in devices like M.R.I.s or CT scans — because health care market incentives drove the innovation. In power, it’s just the opposite. “Today, on the power side,” he said, “we’re still selling the same basic coal-fired power plants we had when I arrived. They’re a little cleaner and more efficient now, but basically the same.”

The one clean power area where G.E. is now into a third generation is wind turbines, “thanks to the European Union,” Immelt said. Countries like Denmark, Spain and Germany imposed standards for wind power on their utilities and offered sustained subsidies, creating a big market for wind-turbine manufacturers in Europe in the 1980s, when America abandoned wind because the price of oil fell. “We grew our wind business in Europe,” Immelt said.

As things stand now in America, Immelt said, “the market does not work in energy.” The multibillion-dollar scale of investment that a company like G.E. is being asked to make in order to develop new clean-power technologies or that a utility is being asked to make in order to build coal sequestration facilities or nuclear plants is not going to happen at scale — unless they know that coal and oil are going to be priced high enough for long enough that new investments will not be undercut in a few years by falling fossil fuel prices. “Carbon has to have a value,” Immelt emphasized. “Today in the U.S. and China it has no value.”

I recently visited the infamous Three Mile Island nuclear plant with Christopher Crane, president of Exelon Nuclear, which owns the facility. He said that if Exelon wanted to start a nuclear plant today, the licensing, design, planning and building requirements are so extensive it would not open until 2015 at the earliest. But even if Exelon got all the approvals, it could not start building “because the cost of capital for a nuclear plant today is prohibitive.”

That’s because the interest rate that any commercial bank would charge on a loan for a nuclear facility would be so high — because of all the risks of lawsuits or cost overruns — that it would be impossible for Exelon to proceed. A standard nuclear plant today costs about $3 billion per unit. The only way to stimulate more nuclear power innovation, Crane said, would be federal loan guarantees that would lower the cost of capital for anyone willing to build a new nuclear plant.

The 2005 energy bill created such loan guarantees, but the details still have not been worked out. “We would need a robust loan guarantee program to jump-start the nuclear industry,” Crane said — an industry that has basically been frozen since the 1979 Three Mile Island accident. With cheaper money, added Crane, CO2-free nuclear power could be “very competitive” with CO2-emitting pulverized coal.

Think about the implications. Three Mile Island had two reactors, TMI-2, which shut down because of the 1979 accident, and TMI-1, which is still operating today, providing clean electricity with virtually no CO2 emissions for 800,000 homes. Had the TMI-2 accident not happened, it too would have been providing clean electricity for 800,000 homes for the last 28 years. Instead, that energy came from CO2-emitting coal, which, by the way, still generates 50 percent of America’s electricity.

Similar calculations apply to ethanol production. “We have about 100 scientists working on cellulosic ethanol,” Chad Holliday, the C.E.O. of DuPont, told me. “My guess is that we could double the number and add another 50 to start working on how to commercialize it. It would probably cost us less than $100 million to scale up. But I am not ready to do that. I can guess what it will cost me to make it and what the price will be, but is the market going to be there? What are the regulations going to be? Is the ethanol subsidy going to be reduced? Will we put a tax on oil to keep ethanol competitive? If I know that, it gives me a price target to go after. Without that, I don’t know what the market is and my shareholders don’t know how to value what I am doing. ... You need some certainty on the incentives side and on the market side, because we are talking about multiyear investments, billions of dollars, that will take a long time to take off, and we won’t hit on everything.”

Summing up the problem, Immelt of G.E. said the big energy players are being asked “to take a 15-minute market signal and make a 40-year decision and that just doesn’t work. ... The U.S. government should decide: What do we want to have happen? How much clean coal, how much nuclear and what is the most efficient way to incentivize people to get there?”

He’s dead right. The market alone won’t work. Government’s job is to set high standards, let the market reach them and then raise the standards more. That’s how you get scale innovation at the China price. Government can do this by imposing steadily rising efficiency standards for buildings and appliances and by stipulating that utilities generate a certain amount of electricity from renewables — like wind or solar. Or it can impose steadily rising mileage standards for cars or a steadily tightening cap-and-trade system for the amount of CO2 any factory or power plant can emit. Or it can offer loan guarantees and fast-track licensing for anyone who wants to build a nuclear plant. Or — my preference and the simplest option — it can impose a carbon tax that will stimulate the market to move away from fuels that emit high levels of CO2 and invest in those that don’t. Ideally, it will do all of these things. But whichever options we choose, they will only work if they are transparent, simple and long-term — with zero fudging allowed and with regulatory oversight and stiff financial penalties for violators.

The politician who actually proved just how effective this can be was a guy named George W. Bush, when he was governor of Texas. He pushed for and signed a renewable energy portfolio mandate in 1999. The mandate stipulated that Texas power companies had to produce 2,000 new megawatts of electricity from renewables, mostly wind, by 2009. What happened? A dozen new companies jumped into the Texas market and built wind turbines to meet the mandate, so many that the 2,000-megawatt goal was reached in 2005. So the Texas Legislature has upped the mandate to 5,000 megawatts by 2015, and everyone knows they will beat that too because of how quickly wind in Texas is becoming competitive with coal. Today, thanks to Governor Bush’s market intervention, Texas is the biggest wind state in America.

President Bush, though, is no Governor Bush. (The Dick Cheney effect?) President Bush claims he’s protecting American companies by not imposing tough mileage, conservation or clean power standards, but he’s actually helping them lose the race for the next great global industry. Japan has some of the world’s highest gasoline taxes and stringent energy efficiency standards for vehicles — and it has the world’s most profitable and innovative car company, Toyota. That’s no accident.

The politicians who best understand this are America’s governors, some of whom have started to just ignore Washington, set their own energy standards and reap the benefits for their states. As Schwarzenegger told me, “We have seen in California so many companies that have been created that work just on things that have do with clean environment.” California’s state-imposed efficiency standards have resulted in per-capita energy consumption in California remaining almost flat for the last 30 years, while in the rest of the country it has gone up 50 percent. “There are a lot of industries that are exploding right now because of setting these new standards,” he said.

VII.

John Dineen runs G.E. Transportation, which makes locomotives. His factory is in Erie, Pa., and employs 4,500 people. When it comes to the challenges from cheap labor markets, Dineen likes to say, “Our little town has trade surpluses with China and Mexico.”

Now how could that be? China makes locomotives that are 30 percent cheaper than G.E.’s, but it turns out that G.E.’s are the most energy efficient in the world, with the lowest emissions and best mileage per ton pulled — “and they don’t stop on the tracks,” Dineen added. So China is also buying from Erie — and so are Brazil, Mexico and Kazakhstan. What’s the secret? The China price.

“We made it very easy for them,” said Dineen. “By producing engines with lower emissions in the classic sense (NOx [nitrogen oxides]) and lower emissions in the future sense (CO2) and then coupling it with better fuel efficiency and reliability, we lowered the total life-cycle cost.”

The West can’t impose its climate or pollution standards on China, Dineen explained, but when a company like G.E. makes an engine that gets great mileage, cuts pollution and, by the way, emits less CO2, China will be a buyer. “If we were just trying to export lower-emission units, and they did not have the fuel benefits, we would lose,” Dineen said. “But when green is made green — improved fuel economies coupled with emissions reductions — we see very quick adoption rates.”

One reason G.E. Transportation got so efficient was the old U.S. standard it had to meet on NOx pollution, Dineen said. It did that through technological innovation. And as oil prices went up, it leveraged more technology to get better mileage. The result was a cleaner, more efficient, more exportable locomotive. Dineen describes his factory as a “technology campus” because, he explains, “it looks like a 100-year-old industrial site, but inside those 100-year-old buildings are world-class engineers working on the next generation’s technologies.” He also notes that workers in his factory make nearly twice the average in Erie — by selling to China!

The bottom line is this: Clean-tech plays to America’s strength because making things like locomotives lighter and smarter takes a lot of knowledge — not cheap labor. That’s why embedding clean-tech into everything we design and manufacture is a way to revive America as a manufacturing power.

“Whatever you are making, if you can add a green dimension to it — making it more efficient, healthier and more sustainable for future generations — you have a product that can’t just be made cheaper in India or China,” said Andrew Shapiro, founder of GreenOrder, an environmental business-strategy group. “If you just create a green ghetto in your company, you miss it. You have to figure out how to integrate green into the DNA of your whole business.”

Ditto for our country, which is why we need a Green New Deal — one in which government’s role is not funding projects, as in the original New Deal, but seeding basic research, providing loan guarantees where needed and setting standards, taxes and incentives that will spawn 1,000 G.E. Transportations for all kinds of clean power.

Bush won’t lead a Green New Deal, but his successor must if America is going to maintain its leadership and living standard. Unfortunately, today’s presidential hopefuls are largely full of hot air on the climate-energy issue. Not one of them is proposing anything hard, like a carbon or gasoline tax, and if you think we can deal with these huge problems without asking the American people to do anything hard, you’re a fool or a fraud.

Being serious starts with reframing the whole issue — helping Americans understand, as the Carnegie Fellow David Rothkopf puts it, “that we’re not ‘post-Cold War’ anymore — we’re pre-something totally new.” I’d say we’re in the “pre-climate war era.” Unless we create a more carbon-free world, we will not preserve the free world. Intensifying climate change, energy wars and petroauthoritarianism will curtail our life choices and our children’s opportunities every bit as much as Communism once did for half the planet.

Equally important, presidential candidates need to help Americans understand that green is not about cutting back. It’s about creating a new cornucopia of abundance for the next generation by inventing a whole new industry. It’s about getting our best brains out of hedge funds and into innovations that will not only give us the clean-power industrial assets to preserve our American dream but also give us the technologies that billions of others need to realize their own dreams without destroying the planet. It’s about making America safer by breaking our addiction to a fuel that is powering regimes deeply hostile to our values. And, finally, it’s about making America the global environmental leader, instead of laggard, which as Schwarzenegger argues would “create a very powerful side product.” Those who dislike America because of Iraq, he explained, would at least be able to say, “Well, I don’t like them for the war, but I do like them because they show such unbelievable leadership — not just with their blue jeans and hamburgers but with the environment. People will love us for that. That’s not existing right now.”

In sum, as John Hennessy, the president of Stanford, taught me: Confronting this climate-energy issue is the epitome of what John Gardner, the founder of Common Cause, once described as “a series of great opportunities disguised as insoluble problems.”

Am I optimistic? I want to be. But I am also old-fashioned. I don’t believe the world will effectively address the climate-energy challenge without America, its president, its government, its industry, its markets and its people all leading the parade. Green has to become part of America’s DNA. We’re getting there. Green has hit Main Street — it’s now more than a hobby — but it’s still less than a new way of life.

Why? Because big transformations — women’s suffrage, for instance — usually happen when a lot of aggrieved people take to the streets, the politicians react and laws get changed. But the climate-energy debate is more muted and slow-moving. Why? Because the people who will be most harmed by the climate-energy crisis haven’t been born yet.

“This issue doesn’t pit haves versus have-nots,” notes the Johns Hopkins foreign policy expert Michael Mandelbaum, “but the present versus the future — today’s generation versus its kids and unborn grandchildren.” Once the Geo-Green interest group comes of age, especially if it is after another 9/11 or Katrina, Mandelbaum said, “it will be the biggest interest group in history — but by then it could be too late.”

An unusual situation like this calls for the ethic of stewardship. Stewardship is what parents do for their kids: think about the long term, so they can have a better future. It is much easier to get families to do that than whole societies, but that is our challenge. In many ways, our parents rose to such a challenge in World War II — when an entire generation mobilized to preserve our way of life. That is why they were called the Greatest Generation. Our kids will only call us the Greatest Generation if we rise to our challenge and become the Greenest Generation.

Thomas L. Friedman is a columnist for The New York Times specializing in foreign affairs.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Rocket Man

Face value | Rocket Man

Mar 22nd 2007
From The Economist print edition

Elon Musk is part playboy, part space cowboy

IT IS midnight at the Playboy mansion and Elon Musk is in the cigar alcove with a couple of friends, holding forth. His vantage point gives him panoramic views of the goings-on at the party and easy access to the poolside bunnywalks. He seems like just another wealthy playboy. After all, when he is not partying with Playmates, Mr Musk likes to entertain in style at his pricey Bel Air home and speed around Los Angeles in his million-dollar McLaren racer.

But Mr Musk has no sense of occasion. He is talking expansively about saving the planet and conquering space. Moreover, unlike other Silicon Valley “thrillionaires” who throw money earned in the internet boom into voguish new hobbies, he is proving to be just as original in his thinking about his new pursuits as he was about his old ones.

On March 20th the Falcon, a two-stage rocket owned by Mr Musk's Space Exploration Technologies (SpaceX), lifted off from the Marshall Islands and climbed to an altitude of some 200 miles. Although the second stage failed to reach its intended orbit, the Falcon can claim to be the first rocket designed, developed and financed by the private sector that is anywhere near carrying a payload into space. Mr Musk founded SpaceX five years ago and designed much of the rocket himself.

Though he is only 35, Mr Musk has already made surprising progress toward the three modest goals he set for himself when at college: to transform the internet, make a breakthrough in clean energy and propel mankind towards inter-planetary travel. He arrived at Stanford University intending to do a doctorate on batteries for electric cars, but dropped out to jump on the internet bandwagon. He struck gold when he sold PayPal, the online payments firm, to eBay for $1.5 billion in 2002. Rather than retire comfortably, he says he “doubled down” his proceeds into his two other passions: clean energy and space.

The first bet was Tesla Motors, an electric-car company that is the first new American automobile firm in decades. Many consumers associate electric cars with golf carts and fear they will have only limited range; the motor industry refused to make them after a failed effort in the 1990s. Mr Musk may prove the nay-sayers wrong. In July Tesla unveiled its first model: a sports car which is faster than a Ferrari, more environmentally friendly than a Toyota Prius and can travel 250 miles after charging overnight through an ordinary household socket. The first few have been pre-sold, but the concept will be properly tested only when they start rolling off the production line in August.

Taking on Detroit hardly counts as easy—except if you compare it with conquering space. Giant defence contractors close to the Pentagon and NASA, America's space agency, have long dominated the business of launching satellites. “Launch vehicles today are little changed from those of 40 years ago,” Mr Musk complained during a recent tour of his manufacturing facilities near Los Angeles airport. So he set about redesigning rockets from the bottom up.

Just near the entrance of a “clean room” on his shop floor, there is a large display of mechanical parts, engine components and other tired-looking bits and bobs. “That's all the stuff that didn't work,” he explains. The display highlights one of SpaceX's strengths: a culture of experimentation. His firm is stocked with experts poached from Northrop Grumman, Boeing and other aerospace giants. “These guys used to get frustrated at the old bureaucracies,” he says. “Here, it's more Google-ish.”

Breaking the space oligopoly

Because it was designed from scratch, the Falcon is much simpler than most rockets and thus free of some of the risks and costs of complexity. The version launched this week cost under $7m. SpaceX's competitors charge four or more times that for a launch. If Mr Musk's rockets can be recovered and recycled (he has designed them to be “used over and over like jet engines”), then the cost would fall even further.

In time, he believes his rockets will costs a tenth as much as his competitors' while lifting payloads much larger than they can. That matters, because the really big money is in the market for launching heavy payloads. But Mr Musk alleges that the industry has unfairly tried to keep him out. When the American air force recently awarded some two dozen future rocket launches to a consortium formed by Boeing and Lockheed Martin, the sector's dominant firms, SpaceX cried foul. It has sued them on the ground that they are colluding to keep low-cost competitors out—a charge both firms deny. SpaceX lost the initial case, but is appealing.

Entrenched incumbents are the least of SpaceX's problems. Mr Musk may fail simply because rocket science is, well, rocket science. He compares designing one to writing computer code that can be tested only in parts and which, when run for the first time, must be perfectly bug-free. The Falcon's first test a year ago ended in tears when a fuel leak after launch destroyed the rocket. Mr Musk sees this week's glitch as less serious. The launch, he says, “retired almost all of the significant development risk”, in that both lift-off and the separation of the two stages went smoothly. That has greatly encouraged the customers waiting for SpaceX to launch their satellites, including an arm of the Pentagon and the Malaysian government.

Falcon's progress has convinced Mr Musk that his dream of interplanetary travel may yet come true. “If normal humans ever travel beyond Earth, it will be because of SpaceX or companies like it,” he says. He reckons Mars is amenable to civilisation, and ought to be colonised as a “life-insurance policy” that guarantees the continuity of humanity. When mankind eventually gets to the red planet, the cars people will drive, Mr Musk fully expects, will be made by Tesla Motors.

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

The Power of Babble

The Power of Babble

Wired, Issue 15.04 - March 2007

MIT researcher Deb Roy is videotaping every waking minute of his infant son's first 3 years of life. His ultimate goal: teach a robot to talk.

By Jonathan Keats

The time is late morning. The place, a home in the Boston suburbs. Wriggling around on the living room floor with his baby boy, Deb Roy invents a game. One-year-old Dwayne watches him, then joins in. Fingers wiggle and arms waver. Rules change, morphing with their moving limbs. After a while, Dwayne tires. Roy picks him up and, cradling the child in a hug, lays him gently in his crib.

Fast-forward several weeks. In a laboratory at MIT, a grad student named Rony Kubat is editing a videoclip on a PC monitor. Onscreen, there's Dwayne (a name used for this article only), resting just as his father left him in the crib that morning. Roy watches as Kubat punches keys to scroll through the footage. Other grad students sit at computers nearby. A 6-foot-tall robot slouches, deactivated, in the corner. Arms crossed, Roy scrutinizes the images, which are overlaid with spectrograms and Kubat's annotations.

Almost every new dad breaks out a videocam to record his kid's early years. But Roy is working on a much more ambitious scale. Eleven cameras and 14 microphones are embedded in the ceilings of the Roy household and connected by some 3,000 feet of cable to a terabyte disk array in the basement. Roy has already captured more than 120,000 hours of footage. Data from the disks gets backed up to an automated tape library, and every 40 days Roy shows up at work with a rolling suitcase to download his new haul of data onto a dedicated 250-terabyte array in the air-conditioned machine room of the MIT Media Lab.

Roy, 38, directs the Media Lab's Cognitive Machines Group, known for teaching remedial English to a robot named Ripley. By recording the early stages of his boy's life, Roy is seeking to supplement his steel-and-silicon investigations: His three-year-long study will document practically every utterance his young son makes, from the first gurglings of infancy through the ad hoc eloquence of toddlerdom, in an unprecedented effort to chart — uninterrupted — the entire course of early language acquisition. The goal of the Human Speechome Project, as he boldly calls his program, is to amass a huge and intricate database on a fundamental human phenomenon. Roy believes the Speechome Project will, in turn, unlock the secrets of teaching robots to understand and manipulate language.

Disarmingly convincing with a calm manner and understated black attire, Roy goes on to explain how the project will ultimately let him combine human observation and robotic experimentation to address some of the most basic questions about how words work and what language reveals about cognition. There's a practical side to this: the motivation of an engineer who wants to make machines talk and think. There's also a speculative side: the motivation of a scientist who wants to explore language as a means of investigating the brain.

Over the past months, though, such grand problems have been the least of Roy's concerns. Kubat, along with grad students Philip DeCamp and Brandon Roy (no relation to Deb), has been wrestling with the task of managing and analyzing the hundreds of thousands of hours of raw multichannel video that are accruing. With input from his wife, Northeastern University speech pathologist Rupal Patel, Roy is attempting to make the project scientifically meaningful without turning baby Dwayne's life into The Truman Show. Even if Roy's work — endorsed by academic luminaries like experimental psychologist Steven Pinker and philosopher Daniel Dennett — fails to provide major linguistic insights, the data-mining techniques he's developing and the experimental protocols he's establishing will change how early childhood development is researched. His colleagues in the field are watching his methods with interest. "This is groundbreaking work ," says Carnegie Mellon developmental psychologist Brian MacWhinney, keeper of the world's leading repository of childhood speech transcripts. "More and more, it's the technology that drives the science."

Child psychology has always lacked a killer app. The first significant use of technology was the language lab, outfitted with one-way mirrors and video cameras to provide researchers with a window into the relationship between babies and their mothers. By the early '80s, though, the laboratory setup was under attack by educational psychologists like Jerome Bruner. To get a realistic picture of parent-child interaction, Bruner claimed, you need to "study language acquisition at home, in vivo, not in the lab, in vitro." His point was well taken but not easily addressed.

Researchers might visit a house a few hours a week, producing speech recordings hardly representative of daily experience. (MacWhinney estimates that the transcripts in his archive capture less than 1.5 percent of the typical child's upbringing.) More intensive documentary efforts, narrower in scope, have been made by psychologists keeping detailed diaries on the linguistic development of their own children. These, too, are necessarily sparse and can be just as artificial as bringing a child into a lab equipped with hidden cameras. (Psychologist Michael Tomasello experienced the dreaded "observer effect" when his young daughter did something clever, then paused to ask him if he was going to write it down.)

Roy combines the best attributes of both approaches, turning the home into a lab that never shuts down. Thanks to his experience in robotics, he had the technical background to design the project. And when his wife became pregnant in 2004, he had the perfect test subject. Fifty thousand dollars in seed funding from the National Science Foundation coincided with open-checkbook support from the Media Lab's corporate backers. In less than a trimester, the Human Speechome Project was born.

Much had to be done before the birth of Dwayne in mid-2005. Assisted by a contractor and an electrician, Roy first embedded eleven 1-megapixel color video cameras in the white stucco ceilings of his house. Each camera was fitted with a hand-ground fish-eye lens — made by a Japanese manufacturer cashing in on the post-9/11 surveillance market — collectively providing overlapping coverage of all rooms that the baby might occupy. Fourteen microphones were then positioned to exploit the ceiling's own resonating qualities, canceling out low-frequency background noise to deliver CD-quality sound. Roy and his crew next ran cable through the walls to the basement, where a 10-computer cluster was programmed to time-stamp and compress the raw data — an estimated daily take of 200 Gbytes — before sending audio and video files to the 5-terabyte storage array.

Even more formidable is Roy's planned $2.5 million retrofit of the Media Lab machine room, which will include a new 1.4-petabyte storage array cooled by 30 tons of air-conditioning. Network World has rhapsodized about the setup. Grid Today described the system as "one of the largest and highest-performance data storage arrays in the world." Roy's name for the software that retrieves all this data is somewhat more provocative: Total Recall.

Deb Roy's recall of his own childhood in Winnipeg, Manitoba, in the '70s is less than total, reaching clarity only after his sixth birthday, when he started building robots. "At first they were just cosmetic," he says. "Then I got interested in building the robot brain, not just the body, and I realized that I didn't have very good ideas about how to design controllers. So I started to think, how do people work?" He went to the library, where he found more questions than answers, too many unknowns. Humans were a complicated species. Psychology was vague. By the time Roy finished high school, he had decided to pursue a degree in engineering.

At the University of Waterloo, he learned about computer engineering and programming, and he found those disciplines as unsatisfying as the idle speculations about human nature at the local library. "Given a set of specs, a traditional engineer tries to work out the optimal design," he says. "I was more interested in questioning the specs." So, after four years of applying his engineering skills to engineering school — figuring out how to pass classes with the minimum possible effort — he had a pretty good sense of the environment he needed to satisfy his particular blend of curiosity and pragmatism. He found it as a grad student at MIT's famously iconoclastic Media Lab.

"There's a basic idea of learning by doing here," Roy says, sitting in the office that came with the faculty post tendered to him upon graduation in 1999. Cluttering his office and scattered throughout the Lego-like Ames Street building is evidence of this philosophy in practice. To the uninitiated, the Media Lab resembles a high school science fair with the budget of the Pentagon and no grown-up judges on hand. Genuinely revolutionary projects (the $100 laptop) share space with the outlandish (electromagnets that give musical novices a feel for playing the piano) and the frivolous (messenger bags that change appearance using flexible digital displays). While Roy is clearly at the serious end of the spectrum, his first research robot, done up like a cartoon toucan, bears the unmistakable markings of a '90s Media Lab project. "There was a lot of interest around the lab about how to show internal states," Roy explains, pointing to Toco — as the robot is called — retired on a high bookshelf. "The eyelids would open when the vision was on, the feathers would move when it heard something, and the beak would move when there was speech output." Roy shrugs. "But basically it's a camera on a stick."

As robots go, Roy's camera on a stick was Paleolithic, but it was the start of the research that led him to the Speechome Project. As part of his doctoral work, Roy built Toco to find out how boundaries between words are discovered, sifted from the slurry of everyday speech. To do so, he would allow the robot to learn by doing.

In other words, there wasn't going to be any fancy artificial intelligence poured into Toco's empty vessel of silicon. Roy would just utter simple phrases like "Look at the red ball" to find out whether, using basic pattern- recognition software, Toco could figure out that red was one word and ball was another and that they belonged to different grammatical categories.

Of course, pattern-recognition algorithms were well developed by 1999. What made Toco unique was its interaction with the physical world. Told to look at a red ball, Roy's robot was able to do it. Previous forays into pattern recognition had given rise to chatbots with remarkable conversational skills based on a grasp of language that was completely circular. They were like dictionaries: words related to one another but not to the world. "Chatbots work beautifully, as do dictionaries," Roy says, "but the meaning of words, when you dig deep enough, is not in other words. There's a reality out there to which these symbols relate." Roy designed Toco — and ultimately the Human Speechome Project — to find out how language connects to physical reality.

Toco took well to having eyes and ears, learning with startling alacrity how to talk about the properties of simple objects. "What color is the ball?" Roy might ask, to which the robot might reply, studiously ignoring a yellow cube and a blue cone, "Red ball." A toddler could have had a stimulating discussion with Toco, perhaps even have learned a thing or two about basic geometry.

Does this mean that Toco the robotic toucan might help us understand how children learn language? To address this question, Roy uses an appropriately avian analogy, comparing birds and planes. "They don't look alike," he says, "yet both share the property of flight. We learn most of our aerodynamics by building aircraft. We learn about drag and lift, which are also principles used by birds." In other words, experiments with gliders and biplanes gave us the physics to understand how eagles and hawks stay aloft, a template for specialized investigation of wings and feathers. Likewise, the thinking went, a robot capable of humanlike behavior will provide a rough model for the study of lobes and neurons.

Back in the late '90s, Roy was a bit more brash, at least when talking to his soon-to-be fiance. "My robot is learning," he bragged. "It's learning the way kids learn. I bet that if we gave it the sort of input that kids get, the robot could learn from it."

Patel took one look at him, a guy who could read resistors based on their bands of color but wouldn't know a binkie from a blankie, and said, "Prove it."

It was no idle challenge. Patel was working toward her PhD in speech pathology at the University of Toronto, and she had access to an infant lab. So Roy bought a box of toys and flew to Canada, where Patel instructed a gathering of mothers to play with their babies while she videotaped their interactions. For an entire weekend, in hour-long sessions, the mothers babbled happily about balls and doggies and choo-choo trains. Then Roy gathered up the toys and caught a plane back to Cambridge. "After watching a few hours of video, I realized that I hadn't structured my learning algorithm correctly," Roy says. "Every parent knows that when you're talking to an 11-month-old, you stay on a very tight subject. If you're talking about a cup, you stick to the cup and you interact with the cup until the baby gets bored, and then the cup goes away." Roy needed to give his algorithm an attention span.

The idea was to supplement his robot's long-term memory with short-term memory. Both would be engaged in pattern recognition, searching speech input for recurring phonemes, but the short-term memory would focus on the recent past . By giving Toco a mild case of ADD, Roy made his robot more like the kids he was trying to emulate. Without the ability to prioritize recent experience, Toco's search algorithm had been spending valuable time cycling through every phoneme it had ever encountered.

And with the addition of short-term focus? Roy found that Toco could learn much faster if it were allowed to concentrate on the ball or the cup. Taking input directly from the baby lab — raw audio that the machine "hears" by analyzing the sound's spectrograph — Toco was building an elementary vocabulary. "It caused quite a stir," Roy says. "This was the first time that a computer took a lot of audio input without a lot of massaging."

Still, Toco was no Cicero. For instance, it couldn't make out the difference between ball and round, and it lumped them both in the same linguistic category. So Roy spent the next several years developing Newt and Ripley, younger brothers to Toco, with many more sensors and capabilities. Ripley had rudimentary motivations, balancing conflicting urges to explore its surroundings, cool its motors, and obey human commands. "Toco had no purpose in learning," Roy says. "It built associations, but there was no reason to have those associations." A robot assigned explicit responsibilities and required to coordinate them efficiently, would be motivated to know about its surroundings, balls and all. Roy was applying an idea of child psychologist Jean Piaget, that objects might be understood in terms of potential actions.

His work with Toco was bedeviled by a more fundamental problem, though. "It was unclear to me how much of the day a mother spends playing with her baby when she's not in a lab being filmed."

Enter baby Dwayne. Persuading his wife to go along with the experiment was easier than might be expected. As a professor herself, she was familiar with the history of researchers observing their own children and was curious, like any good scientist, about the potential results: Might her son's development offer some key insight in her own work on speech pathology? "But mostly," Roy says, "she has a lot of tolerance for me."

Still, Patel insisted on a zone of privacy. "Deb and I agreed that if any aspect of the project intruded on our daily lives, we would immediately make whatever changes were necessary to alleviate the problem," she says. "That included shutting the project down if we felt it was the right thing to do."

At the moment, the critical work of data mining and visualization programming is led by Kubat, a 28-year-old sporting a shaved head and an earring. With a secondary interest in theater direction and a steady, low voice that could pacify a riot, he is well suited to the task of managing the daily 200-gig deluge.

Calling up a sequence in which Dwayne plays in his elastic baby bouncer, Kubat points out how only the cameras that sense motion are filming at 14 frames per second, while the others are idling at a superlow-res 1 fps that can be filtered out automatically. "Generating a complete transcript is going to be tedious and hard," he says. "The idea is to create an attentional mechanism for the house that focuses in on what matters." While Dwayne screeches loudly — effectively demonstrating the system's sound fidelity — Kubat shows how Total Recall cues up audio in blurbs brief enough to be sequentially transcribed . On screen, Roy comments to his wife that Dwayne is laughing more lately. Kubat points out the box where those words (and a typographic representation of Dwayne's laughing screech) will be input. "My estimate is that there are about 5,000 hours of transcription time for a year of data," says Roy, hovering nearby. If you pay $10 an hour, you're looking at $50,000 for the year, so I don't think it's crazy." Roy has already put Dwayne's daytime sitter, former grad student Alexia Salata, to work as a stenographer while Dwayne naps, a task that can't be more onerous than changing diapers.

Once the transcript is complete, the data mining can zero in on critical moments and trends. For instance, as Dwayne starts to build a vocabulary, it will be possible to measure statistical correspondences between his word use and that of his parents. The larger breakthrough, though, is in data visualization, the ability to monitor activity in the Roy household, down to the second or for entire years, in search of meaningful patterns. As Kubat explains it, the principle is to create "prisms of video": By stacking video stills like playing cards, long spans of activity can be seen at a glance. The same is done with audio spectrograms, allowing Kubat and Roy to spot when key interactions occur — crying, soothing words, encouraging utterances. "After a while, it's possible to read the audio and video," Roy says. "There are distinct patterns." Eventually, these signature moments will be extracted automatically.

Kubat zooms out to a whole day, showing that the system was switched on at 9 am and switched off at 10 pm. At this scale, the aggregated patterns line up to form what Roy calls "spacetime worms." They look like a cross between a cast-off snake skin and Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase. Kubat zooms out to a week, a month, Dwayne's whole life. Roy looks on. No other father has ever seen so much of his son's life in a single glance.

Still, there are gaps in the record, and not only while Dwayne sleeps or when the family goes out. (Despite rumors circulating on the Internet, Dwayne isn't under house arrest and has even had his first summer vacation.) Sometimes several cameras are down; other times the spectrograms register hours of silence. These blank spots are intentional, blinders that Roy allows himself in the eye of his self-imposed panopticon. In fact, Roy is fanatical about privacy, declining all requests from reporters to visit his home and refusing to reveal his baby's real name. ("Dwayne" was chosen for this article in keeping with Roy's practice of naming his robotic research subjects after Aliens characters — in this case, Corporal Dwayne Hicks.) "It comes down to managing privacy issues in an experiment that's the first of its kind," Roy says. "I've been erring on the conservative side because right now I'm living it and my wife is living it, so I don't trust my intuition."

Erring on the conservative side means killing the system if he or his wife is in a bad mood and might want to vent over dinner. They can also switch off the cameras while Patel is breast-feeding or hit the "oops" button when something too personal gets recorded. In fact, a glowing, wall-mounted "oops" button can be found in every room, allowing them to make Total Recall's archive something less than total. Roy pressed it one day after emerging naked from the shower when the cameras were running.

For the moment, Dwayne doesn't have that option, and Roy is OK with that. He argues that parental consent is standard in child psychology. If anything, he considers the extra attention a boon for Dwayne . Roy also insists that he'll shut down the experiment when his son is consistently constructing rudimentary sentences — well before he's even aware of the cameras — which may happen before his third birthday .

Roy also plans to protect the data against Truman Show sensationalism. "If we took embarrassing things that happened to my 1-year-old and posted them online, like many people do today, I'm sure my son would be pissed off at us," Roy says. Instead, he has set up secure servers, accessible to only a few trusted people. Transcribers will be given only short stretches of audio, in random order, obliterating context. Even researchers working with the data won't do so directly. Instead, they'll use algorithms to extract meaning and insight from the giant data set. For instance, a researcher might want to use an algorithm to test the hypothesis that a child assimilates his mother's utterances into his vocabulary more rapidly than his father's . "The question becomes, whose algorithms have access to the data?" Roy says. "And that's a different story."

The promise, then, is that computers will be able to test hypotheses about language acquisition by matching researchers' predictions to recorded patterns. Moreover, the predictions themselves may be suggested by careful observation of the spacetime worms. This mix of observation and investigation is well established in child psychology, tried-and-true. The difference with the Human Speechome is that a data set of this size and quality has never before been collected.

Once the database is complete, Roy's intention is to revisit his work on his early robot, Toco, at a petabyte scale. He plans to expose his newest sensor-loaded machine, Trisk, to Speechome-generated stimuli. "The robot will step into my son's shoes," he says.

Beyond the undeniable sci-fi thrill of it, Roy has a serious motivation. "The data we're collecting is dead data," he explains. "You can describe it and model it, but you can't poke at it." A researcher cannot change a parameter — blindfold the baby, say — and see how the same three-year period would play out for the boy linguistically. But embodied in a robot, the data can be made to live again, and all parameters become malleable. With Toco, for instance, the length of short-term memory could be adjusted, and Toco could be made to relearn the same vocabulary, from the same stimuli, over and over again. A researcher could run simplified experiments on the robot to home in on how short- and long-term memory interrelate in learning. Befitting a data set many orders of magnitude larger, Roy's ambitions with Trisk are many orders of magnitude grander: He's trying to determine the optimal proportion of hardwired programming to learned behavior — nature versus nurture — in robots.

"My assumption has always been that if something is learned from the environment, it must be simpler that way," he says. "Nature builds in some simple learning principles and lets the environment do its job. But there's a counterpressure, which is that life is short." If the environment is stable, hardwiring knowledge into the brain is more efficient than making each generation learn it anew. By letting Trisk live the first few years of Dwayne's life — learning what he learns, with varied bodies of knowledge patched in — Roy hopes to gain new insight into the nature-nurture balance.

This may sound fantastic, and the Media Lab has a reputation for sometimes making promises as exaggerated and insubstantial as playground boasts. Even MacWhinney, the Carnegie Mellon researcher, is cautious, comparing Roy's investigations to humankind's first experiments with flight, reckoning that the full potential won't be realized for decades. Certainly, the relationship between nature and nurture won't be resolved simply by running 6 feet of firewire between Total Recall and Trisk. As proven by Roy's success with Toco, though, it's realistic to expect that Trisk can be given experiences roughly similar to Dwayne's and can be monitored as it accumulates and processes months or years of stimuli according to different learning algorithms. Alter the preprogramming and you change the balance between nature and nurture. The effect on Trisk's language acquisition won't tell us how humans actually learn, but at least we'll get some new ideas about what to look for as we monitor the next generation of children.

Baby Dwayne is already negotiating the twin forces of nature and nurture, though he's hardly in a position to talk about it. So far, the only word he's uttered is bath, and Roy isn't sure whether he means it as a description or a command, or whether he even understands the difference.

When he grows up, Dwayne Roy will be able to retrace his well-documented babyhood — watching himself wriggle around on the floor with his dad, playing made-up games, hearing his own first words. Like anyone's childhood, it will be a one-time event. But the robots trained by his father might live a thousand versions of Dwayne's life, babbling tirelessly, until one of them finally learns to talk.

Jonathon Keats (jonathon_keats@yahoo.com) writes the Jargon Watch column and is the author of Control + Alt + Delete: A Dictionary of Cyberslang.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

Leave No Child Inside

Leave No Child Inside

The growing movement to reconnect children and nature

by Richard Louv

Published in the March - April 2007 issue of Orion Magazine



Photograph by Kate Anderson, used with permission

AS A BOY, I PULLED OUT DOZENS—perhaps hundreds—of survey stakes in a vain effort to slow the bulldozers that were taking out my woods to make way for a new subdivision. Had I known then what Ive since learned from a developer, that I should have simply moved the stakes around to be more effective, I would surely have done that too. So you might imagine my dubiousness when, a few weeks after the publication of my 2005 book, Last Child in the Woods, I received an e-mail from Derek Thomas, who introduced himself as vice chairman and chief investment officer of Newland Communities, one of the nation’s largest privately owned residential development companies. “I have been reading your new book,” he wrote, “and am profoundly disturbed by some of the information you present.”

Thomas said he wanted to do something positive. He invited me to an envisioning session in Phoenix to “explore how Newland can improve or redefine our approach to open space preservation and the interaction between our homebuyers and nature.” A few weeks later, in a conference room filled with about eighty developers, builders, and real estate marketers, I offered my sermonette. The folks in the crowd were partially responsible for the problem, I suggested, because they destroy natural habitat, design communities in ways that discourage any real contact with nature, and include covenants that virtually criminalize outdoor play—outlawing tree-climbing, fort-building, even chalk-drawing on sidewalks.

I was ready to make a fast exit when Thomas, a bearded man with an avuncular demeanor, stood up and said, “I want you all to go into small groups and solve the problem: how are we going to build communities in the future that actually connect kids with nature?” The room filled with noise and excitement. By the time the groups reassembled to report the ideas they had generated, I had glimpsed the primal power of connecting children and nature: it can inspire unexpected advocates and lure unlikely allies to enter an entirely new place. Call it the doorway effect. Once through the door, they can revisualize seemingly intractable problems and produce solutions they might otherwise never have imagined.

A half hour after Thomas’s challenge, the groups reported their ideas. Among them: leave some land and native habitat in place (that’s a good start); employ green design principles; incorporate nature trails and natural waterways; throw out the conventional covenants and restrictions that discourage or prohibit natural play and rewrite the rules to encourage it; allow kids to build forts and tree houses or plant gardens; and create small, on-site nature centers.

“Kids could become guides, using cell phones, along nature trails that lead to schools at the edge of the development,” someone suggested. Were the men and women in this room just blowing smoke? Maybe. Developers exploiting our hunger for nature, I thought, just as they market their subdivisions by naming their streets after the trees and streams that they destroy. But the fact that developers, builders, and real estate marketers would approach Derek Thomas’s question with such apparently heartfelt enthusiasm was revealing. The quality of their ideas mattered less than the fact that they had them. While they may not get there themselves, the people in this room were visualizing a very different future. They were undergoing a process of discovery that has proliferated around the country in the past two years, and not only among developers.

For decades, environmental educators, conservationists, and others have worked, often heroically, to bring more children to nature—usually with inadequate support from policymakers. A number of trends, including the recent unexpected national media attention to Last Child and “nature-deficit disorder,” have now brought the concerns of these veteran advocates before a broader audience. While some may argue that the word “movement” is hyperbole, we do seem to have reached a tipping point. State and regional campaigns, sometimes called Leave No Child Inside, have begun to form in Cincinnati, Cleveland, Chicago, the San Francisco Bay Area, St. Louis, Connecticut, Florida, Colorado, Texas, and elsewhere. A host of related initiatives—among them the simple-living, walkable-cities, nature-education, and land-trust movements—have begun to find common cause, and collective strength, through this issue. The activity has attracted a diverse assortment of people who might otherwise never work together.

In September 2006, the National Conservation Training Center and the Conservation Fund hosted the National Dialogue on Children and Nature in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. The conference drew some 350 people from around the country, representing educators, health-care experts, recreation companies, residential developers, urban planners, conservation agencies, academics, and other groups. Even the Walt Disney Company was represented. Support has also come from religious leaders, liberal and conservative, who understand that all spiritual life begins with a sense of wonder, and that one of the first windows to wonder is the natural world. “Christians should take the lead in reconnecting with nature and disconnecting from machines,” writes R. Albert Mohler Jr., president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, the flagship school of the Southern Baptist Convention.

To some extent, the movement is fueled by organizational or economic self-interest. But something deeper is going on here. With its nearly universal appeal, this issue seems to hint at a more atavistic motivation. It may have something to do with what Harvard professor E. O. Wilson calls the biophilia hypothesis, which is that human beings are innately attracted to nature: biologically, we are all still hunters and gatherers, and there is something in us, which we do not fully understand, that needs an occasional immersion in nature. We do know that when people talk about the disconnect between children and nature—if they are old enough to remember a time when outdoor play was the norm—they almost always tell stories about their own childhoods: this tree house or fort, that special woods or ditch or creek or meadow. They recall those “places of initiation,” in the words of naturalist Bob Pyle, where they may have first sensed with awe and wonder the largeness of the world seen and unseen. When people share these stories, their cultural, political, and religious walls come tumbling down.

And when that happens, ideas can pour forth—and lead to ever more insightful approaches. It’s a short conceptual leap, for example, from the notions generated by Derek Thomas’s working group to the creation of a truly sustainable development like the pioneering Village Homes, in Davis, California, where suburban homes are pointed inward toward open green space, vegetable gardens are encouraged, and orchards, not gates or walls, surround the community. And from there, rather than excusing more sprawl with a green patina, developers might even encourage the green redevelopment of portions of strip-mall America into Dutch-style eco-communities, where nature would be an essential strand in the fabric of the urban neighborhood.

In similar ways, the leave-no-child-inside movement could become one of the best ways to challenge other entrenched conceptions—for example, the current, test-centric definition of education reform. Bring unlike-minded people through the doorway to talk about the effect of society’s nature-deficit on child development, and pretty soon they’ll be asking hard questions: Just why have school districts canceled field trips and recess and environmental education? And why doesn’t our school have windows that open and natural light? At a deeper level, when we challenge schools to incorporate place-based learning in the natural world, we will help students realize that school isn’t supposed to be a polite form of incarceration, but a portal to the wider world.

All this may be wishful thinking, of course, at least in the short run. But as Martin Luther King Jr. often said, the success of any social movement depends on its ability to show a world where people will want to go. The point is that thinking about children’s need for nature helps us begin to paint a picture of that world—which is something that has to be done, because the price of not painting that picture is too high.

Within the space of a few decades, the way children understand and experience their neighborhoods and the natural world has changed radically. Even as children and teenagers become more aware of global threats to the environment, their physical contact, their intimacy with nature, is fading. As one suburban fifth grader put it to me, in what has become the signature epigram of the children-and-nature movement: “I like to play indoors better ‘cause that’s where all the electrical outlets are.”

His desire is not at all uncommon. In a typical week, only 6 percent of children ages nine to thirteen play outside on their own. Studies by the National Sporting Goods Association and by American Sports Data, a research firm, show a dramatic decline in the past decade in such outdoor activities as swimming and fishing. Even bike riding is down 31 percent since 1995. In San Diego, according to a survey by the nonprofit Aquatic Adventures, 90 percent of inner-city kids do not know how to swim; 34 percent have never been to the beach. In suburban Fort Collins, Colorado, teachers shake their heads in dismay when they describe the many students who have never been to the mountains visible year-round on the western horizon.

Urban, suburban, and even rural parents cite a number of everyday reasons why their children spend less time in nature than they themselves did, including disappearing access to natural areas, competition from television and computers, dangerous traffic, more homework, and other pressures. Most of all, parents cite fear of stranger-danger. Conditioned by round-the-clock news coverage, they believe in an epidemic of abductions by strangers, despite evidence that the number of child-snatchings (about a hundred a year) has remained roughly the same for two decades, and that the rates of violent crimes against young people have fallen to well below 1975 levels.

Yes, there are risks outside our homes. But there are also risks in raising children under virtual protective house arrest: threats to their independent judgment and value of place, to their ability to feel awe and wonder, to their sense of stewardship for the Earth—and, most immediately, threats to their psychological and physical health. The rapid increase in childhood obesity leads many health-care leaders to worry that the current generation of children may be the first since World War II to die at an earlier age than their parents. Getting kids outdoors more, riding bikes, running, swimming—and, especially, experiencing nature directly—could serve as an antidote to much of what ails the young.

The physical benefits are obvious, but other benefits are more subtle and no less important. Take the development of cognitive functioning. Factoring out other variables, studies of students in California and nationwide show that schools that use outdoor classrooms and other forms of experiential education produce significant student gains in social studies, science, language arts, and math. One 2005 study by the California Department of Education found that students in outdoor science programs improved their science testing scores by 27 percent.

And the benefits go beyond test scores. According to a range of studies, children in outdoor-education settings show increases in self-esteem, problem solving, and motivation to learn. “Natural spaces and materials stimulate children’s limitless imaginations,” says Robin Moore, an international authority on the design of environments for children’s play, learning, and education, “and serve as the medium of inventiveness and creativity.” Studies of children in schoolyards with both green areas and manufactured play areas have found that children engaged in more creative forms of play in the green areas, and they also played more cooperatively. Recent research also shows a positive correlation between the length of children’s attention spans and direct experience in nature. Studies at the University of Illinois show that time in natural settings significantly reduces symptoms of attention-deficit (hyperactivity) disorder in children as young as age five. The research also shows the experience helps reduce negative stress and protects psychological well being, especially in children undergoing the most stressful life events.

Even without corroborating evidence or institutional help, many parents notice significant changes in their children’s stress levels and hyperactivity when they spend time outside. “My son is still on Ritalin, but he’s so much calmer in the outdoors that we’re seriously considering moving to the mountains,” one mother tells me. Could it simply be that he needs more physical activity? “No, he gets that, in sports,” she says. Similarly, the back page of an October issue of San Francisco magazine displays a vivid photograph of a small boy, eyes wide with excitement and joy, leaping and running on a great expanse of California beach, storm clouds and towering waves behind him. A short article explains that the boy was hyperactive, he had been kicked out of his school, and his parents had not known what to do with him—but they had observed how nature engaged and soothed him. So for years they took their son to beaches, forests, dunes, and rivers to let nature do its work.

The photograph was taken in 1907. The boy was Ansel Adams.

Last spring, I found myself wandering down a path toward the Milwaukee River, where it runs through the urban Riverside Park. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about the young people I encountered. A group of modern inner-city high school students, they dressed in standard hip-hop fashion. I would have expected to see in their eyes the cynicism so fashionable now, the jaded look of what D. H. Lawrence long ago called the “know-it-all state of mind.” But not today. Casting their fishing lines from the muddy bank of the Milwaukee River, they were laughing with pleasure. They were totally immersed in the fishing, delighted by the lazy brown river and the landscape of the surrounding park, designed in the late nineteenth century by Frederick Law Olmsted, the founder of American landscape architecture. Ducking a few backcasts, I walked through the woods to the two-story Urban Ecology Center, made of lumber recycled from abandoned buildings.

When this Milwaukee park was established it was a tree-lined valley, with a waterfall, a hill for sledding, and places for skating and swimming, fishing and boating. But when adjacent Riverside High School was expanded in the 1970s, some of the topography was flattened to create sports fields. Industrial and other pollution made the river unfit for human contact, park maintenance declined, and crime became a problem. Then, in the early 1990s, something remarkable happened. A retired biophysicist started a small outdoor-education program in the abandoned park. A dam on the river was removed in 1997, and natural water flow flushed out contaminants. Following a well-established pattern, crime decreased as more people used the park. Over the years, the outdoor-education program evolved into the nonprofit Urban Ecology Center, which annually hosts more than eighteen thousand student visits from twenty-three schools in the surrounding neighborhoods.

The center’s director, Ken Leinbach, a former science teacher, was giving me a tour. “Many teachers would like to use outdoor classrooms, but they don’t feel they’re trained adequately. When the schools partner with us, they don’t have to worry about training,” he said. An added benefit: the center welcomes kids from the surrounding neighborhood, so they no longer associate the woods only with danger, but with joy and exploration as well. Later, we climbed to the top of a wooden tower, high above the park. Leinbach explained that the tower creates the impression that someone is watching over the kids—literally.

“From up here, I once tracked and gave phone reports to the police about a driver who was trying to hit people on the bike path,” he said, looking across the treetops. “Except for that incident, no serious violent crime has occurred in the park in the past five years. We see environmental education as a great tool for urban revitalization.” Even as it shows how nature can be better woven into cities, the Urban Ecology Center also helps paint a portrait of an educational future that many of us would like to see: every school connected to an outdoor classroom, as school districts partner with nature centers, nature preserves, ranches, and farms, to create the new schoolyards.

Such a future is embodied in the nature-themed schools that have begun sprouting up nationwide, like the Schlitz Audubon Nature Center Preschool, where, as the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel reported in April 2006, “a 3-year-old can identify a cedar tree and a maple—even if she can’t tell you what color pants she’s wearing. And a 4-year-old can tell the difference between squirrel and rabbit tracks—even if he can’t yet read any of the writing on a map. Young children learn through the sounds, scents, and seasons of the outdoors.” Taking cues from the preschool’s success in engaging children, an increasing number of nature centers are looking to add preschool programs not only to meet the demand for early childhood education but also to “create outdoor enthusiasts at a young age,” the Journal Sentinel reported. And their success points to a doorway into the larger challenge—to better care for the health of the Earth.

Studies show that almost to a person conservationists or environmentalists—whatever we want to call them—had some transcendent experience in nature when they were children. For some, the epiphanies took place in a national park; for others, in the clump of trees at the end of the cul-de-sac. But if experiences in nature are radically reduced for future generations, where will stewards of the Earth come from? A few months ago, I visited Ukiah, California, a mountain town nestled in the pines and fog. Ukiah is Spotted Owl Central, a town associated with the swirling controversy regarding logging, old growth, and endangered species. This is one of the most bucolic landscapes in our country, but local educators and parents report that Ukiah kids aren’t going outside much anymore. So who will care about the spotted owl in ten or fifteen years?

Federal and state conservation agencies are asking such questions with particular urgency. The reason: though the roads at some U.S. national parks remain clogged, overall visits by Americans have dropped by 25 percent since 1987, few people get far from their cars, and camping is on the decline. And such trends may further reduce political support for parks. In October 2006, the superintendent of Yellowstone National Park joined the cadre of activists around the country calling for a no-child-left-inside campaign to make children more comfortable with the outdoors. In a similar move, the U.S. Forest Service is launching More Kids in the Woods, which would fund local efforts to get children outdoors.

Nonprofit environmental organizations are also showing a growing interest in how children engage with nature. In early 2006, the Sierra Club intensified its commitment to connecting children to nature through its Inner City Outings program for at-risk youths, and it has ramped up its legislative efforts in support of environmental education. The National Wildlife Federation is rolling out the Green Hour, a national campaign to persuade parents to encourage their children to spend one hour a day in nature. John Flicker, president of the National Audubon Society, is campaigning for the creation of a family-focused nature center in every congressional district in the nation. “Once these centers are embedded, they’re almost impossible to kill,” says Flicker. “They help create a political constituency right now, but also build a future political base for conservation.”

Proponents of a new San Diego Regional Canyonlands Park, which would protect the city’s unique web of urban canyons, have adjusted their efforts to address these younger constituents. “In addition to the other arguments to do this, such as protecting wildlife,” says Eric Bowlby, Sierra Club Canyons Campaign coordinator, “we’ve been talking about the health and educational benefits of these canyons to kids. People who may not care about endangered species do care about their kids’ health.” For conservationists, it could be a small step from initiatives like these to the idea of dedicating a portion of any proposed open space to children and families in the surrounding area. The acreage could include nature centers, which ideally would provide outdoor-oriented preschools and other offerings. Of course, such programs must teach children how to step lightly on natural habitats, especially ones with endangered species. But the outdoor experiences of children are essential for the survival of conservation. And so the truth is that the human child in nature may be the most important indicator species of future sustainability.

The future of children in nature has profound implications not only for the conservation of land but also for the direction of the environmental movement. If society embraces something as simple as the health benefits of nature experiences for children, it may begin to re-evaluate the worth of “the environment.” While public-health experts have traditionally associated environmental health with the absence of toxic pollution, the definition fails to account for an equally valid consideration: how the environment can improve human health. Seen through that doorway, nature isn’t a problem, it’s the solution: environmentalism is essential to our own well-being. Howard Frumkin, director of the National Center for Environmental Health, points out that future research about the positive health effects of nature should be conducted in collaboration with architects, urban planners, park designers, and landscape architects. “Perhaps we will advise patients to take a few days in the country, to spend time gardening,” he wrote in a 2001 American Journal of Preventive Medicine article, “or [we will] build hospitals in scenic locations, or plant gardens in rehabilitation centers. Perhaps the . . . organizations that pay for health care will come to fund such interventions, especially if they prove to rival pharmaceuticals in cost and efficacy.”

Here’s one suggestion for how to accelerate that change, starting with children: nationally and internationally, pediatricians and other health professionals could use office posters, pamphlets, and personal persuasion to promote the physical and mental health benefits of nature play. Such publicity would give added muscle to efforts to reduce child obesity. Ideally, health providers would add nature therapy to the traditional approaches to attention-deficit disorders and childhood depression. This effort might be modeled on the national physical-fitness campaign launched by President John F. Kennedy. We could call the campaign “Grow Outside!”

In every arena, from conservation and health to urban design and education, a growing children-and-nature movement will have no shortage of tools to bring about a world in which we leave no child inside—and no shortage of potential far-reaching benefits. Under the right conditions, cultural and political change can occur rapidly. The recycling and antismoking campaigns are our best examples of how social and political pressure can work hand-in-hand to create a societal transformation in just one generation. The children-and-nature movement has perhaps even greater potential—because it touches something even deeper within us, biologically and spiritually.

In January 2005, I attended a meeting of the Quivira Coalition, a New Mexico organization that brings together ranchers and environmentalists to find common ground. The coalition is now working on a plan to promote ranches as the new schoolyards. When my turn came to speak, I told the audience how, when I was a boy, I pulled out all those survey stakes in an attempt to keep the earthmovers at bay. Afterward, a rancher stood up. He was wearing scuffed boots. His aged jeans had never seen acid wash, only dirt and rock. His face was sunburned and creased. His drooping moustache was white, and he wore thick eyeglasses with heavy plastic frames, stained with sweat. “You know that story you told about pulling up stakes?” he said. “I did that when I was a boy, too.”

The crowd laughed. I laughed.

And then the man began to cry. Despite his embarrassment, he continued to speak, describing the source of his sudden grief: that he might belong to one of the last generations of Americans to feel that sense of ownership of land and nature. The power of this movement lies in that sense, that special place in our hearts, those woods where the bulldozers cannot reach. Developers and environmentalists, corporate CEOs and college professors, rock stars and ranchers may agree on little else, but they agree on this: no one among us wants to be a member of the last generation to pass on to its children the joy of playing outside in nature.


Richard Louv is a veteran columnist with the San Diego Union-Tribune and the author of seven books, including, most recently, Last Child in the Woods. He is chairman of the Children & Nature Network.

Kate Anderson is the recipient of the Mary C. McLellan Scholarship in Art. Her work has been exhibited recently in the Rockford Art Museum, the Illini Union Art Gallery, and at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design.