Recently I have been mainly procrastinating by crafting a smug blog post about the low-carbon merits of not flying. Thankfully I have scrapped that for a less-smug version because, to tell the truth, I got really quite confused about the whole thing – to fly or not to fly? And does it really matter?
This all started with an exasperating few hours spent in the wee small hours the other night trying to book a flightless journey to Sicily for a climbing trip. I googled, I clicked, I huffed and I puffed, I deliberated and I quietly despaired. Despite the fantastic help from websites like Man in Seat 61 and Loco2, a train journey to Sicily turns out to be fraught with tricky decisions, unavailable timetables and comparatively high prices. The temptation to ‘just fly’ grew.
This situation bought out a classic case of ‘cognitive dissonance’ in me – a psychological term which describes the mental stress of having two conflicting ideas and values: on one hand, I have a desire to (continue to) enjoy cheap and readily accessible adventures around the world, such as everyone else around me seems to be having (thank you, facebook). On the other hand, what I know about climate change and my own disproportionate consumption of resources leaves me with increasing discomfort – even anguish – about flying, to the point that I now try to avoid flying or – if I do fly – accept a lingering feeling of guilt and disappointment with myself that comes with it.
But is this necessary? There are two bits of information which are often banded about in this kind of debate, and they pull me in different directions. The first is that air travel is the single biggest contributor to our INDIVIDUAL carbon footprints: on average, air travel accounts for 34% of our individual carbon footprints in the UK and so is one area of our lives where we can drastically reduce emissions. If you consider also that the globally agreed target budget of 2 tonnes of carbon per person per year by 2050 would be entirely used up by one return trip to Bangkok from London, then the impact of emissions from aviation seems huge. However, the other commonly touted number is that globally, aviation accounts for a relatively small proportion of total carbon emissions, around 2.5% (although this rises to 6% in the UK). From this perspective, aviation is dwarfed even within the category of ‘transport’ by cars and lorries, and more generally by the carbon emissions from electricity generation (~30%), manufacturing (~18%) and agriculture (~10%).
So what am I to do?
In turmoil the other evening, with thoughts of ‘oh what difference can I make any way?’ creeping into my head and my cursor hovering over the ‘Skyscanner’ tab, I googled – in desperation – ‘low carbon rock climbing’ and to my surprise, a blog post popped up by Kevin Anderson, a professor of climate and energy and deputy director of the Tyndall Centre for Climate Change Research. His first line was this:
“My partner and I recently arrived in Sicily for a couple of weeks’ camping and rock climbing…. As we try to avoid flying we’ve travelled here by train……”
The fact that Anderson describes a cheaper train route to Sicily that I hadn’t previously thought of is only the second best thing about his post. The first best thing is that the rest of the post has done a lot to reassure me that reducing how much I fly is not a completely pointless endeavour. I have outlined his arguments below, with some information from other sources thrown in along the way:
1. Reducing total emissions is what counts According to Anderson and others’ work at the Tyndall Centre, wealthy, high-emitting nations need to be reducing total emissions by around 10% a year in order to have a chance of staying below a 4 degrees Celsius warming (compare this to the target of 3% here in Wales, and elsewhere). When you keep this in mind, questions around the precise differences of efficiency between train and plane travel or whether what you save by travelling by train is ‘worth the effort’, rather miss the point. Besides, as Anderson points out, the savings (of not flying) really are significant: “at a system level, trains have an order of magnitude lower emissions than the metal bird alternative.”
2. Carbon lock-in By buying a plane ticket we are sending a very clear market signal: build more planes please, and expand airports while you are at it. What this does is lock the future into a high-carbon aviation infrastructure which is already operating at its maximum conceivable level of efficiency – that is, the jet engine isn’t likely to be getting any ‘cleaner’ any time soon, and so will continue consuming fossil fuels and emitting carbon dioxide at the same rates for as long as the infrastructure created to support it allows. On the other hand, train efficiency has a lot of potential to improve, and so travelling by train is sending a signal to the industry to make these improvements faster. Even better, trains can run on electricity which can – and increasingly will – be low-carbon. When you add to this that one reason that flying tends to be cheaper than going by train is that the aviation industry doesn’t pay any fuel duty or VAT on tickets, then the thought of being complicit in this stacking of the odds makes me squirm even more!
3. When is essential really essential? Anderson has a particular issue with flying to academic conferences and argues that ‘essential’ has become a relative term dependent on things like whether the trip is doable by plane, whether friends are going and whether it’s a nice place to visit rather than any real questions of necessity. He makes the point that if you were to cram into a small hatchback with four colleagues to make the trip to that ‘essential’ conference in Venice then the meaning of ‘essential’ quickly disintegrates by the time you’ve reached Dartmouth….
The issue of flying in academic culture is a thorny and complicated one (being based in a Geography department myself I am acutely aware of the contradictions between what we study and all the flying it seems to entail). Often academics will point out that slow travel just isn’t feasible when you have to live in the ‘real world’ of busy work life, but Anderson argues that “the real world has us flying half way around the world to give banal 20 minute presentations to audiences who know what we’re going to say.” In other words, the real world can be bonkers. He continues: “surely those of us intimately engaged in climate change should, at the very least, curtail our use of the most carbon-profligate activity (per hour) humankind has thus far developed.”
It’s a fair point, and – as he has written elsewhere – if we are to avoid the most dangerous impacts of climate change then we need to radically reduce emissions fast, and someone needs to catalyse these changes. If not ‘us’, the people with the most knowledge about climate change and who also emit a disproportionately large amount of carbon, then who? In fact, in the last few days Anderson’s colleagues at the Tyndall Centre have published an illuminating report which argues that there needs to be a fundamental change in research culture and flying in order to ‘align the walk with the talk’ and therefore provide leadership and engender trust in the climate science messages the community is putting out. This article about the psychology of inspiration is also an interesting read relating to the production and reproduction of social norms.
But what of the ‘pro-flying’ argument? I am still somewhat confused about what the ‘true impact’ of flying is, and I would be very happy for any enlightenment or other perspectives on this. It can also be difficult to reconcile the ‘no-flying’ argument with an acknowledgement for how travel can break down personal prejudices, broaden horizons and encourage open-mindedness about different cultures. But I wonder if reducing flying means relinquishing these benefits? As I pondered in a previous post about ‘green modernity’, perhaps I need to stop framing these issues in terms of ‘reduce, stop, do less’ but more in terms of valuing different ways of ‘doing’ life. For example, by readjusting to ways of travelling which are more about quality and less about quantity. As Anderson notes, travelling slowly means travelling less and being more selective, but perhaps I’ll stay longer and make the most of places while I am are there.
I started out researching this blog post trying to pin down what the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ thing to do is. This approach caused me, first, a good deal of anxiety and, later, hours spent trawling the net for data. It resulted not in me finding a definitive answer but in selecting one particular blog which conveniently reinforced my pre-existing – if wavering – feelings. Perhaps I should have listened to those feelings in the first place. Perhaps my decision not to fly doesn’t have to be justified by ‘rational’ (i.e carbon reduction) reasons (although they do help) because my own instincts are just as, if not more, important tools for making ethical and moral decisions which align best with my own values. Cognitive dissonance averted? Well, until the next journey, at least!