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The Long Emergency
What's going to happen as we start running out of cheap gas
to guzzle?
By James Howard Kunster
03/27/05 "Rolling
Stone" - - A few weeks ago, the price of oil
ratcheted above fifty-five dollars a barrel, which is about
twenty dollars a barrel more than a year ago. The next day,
the oil story was buried on page six of the New York Times
business section. Apparently, the price of oil is not
considered significant news, even when it goes up five bucks
a barrel in the span of ten days. That same day, the stock
market shot up more than a hundred points because, CNN said,
government data showed no signs of inflation. Note to
clueless nation: Call planet Earth.
Carl Jung, one of the fathers of psychology, famously
remarked that "people cannot stand too much reality." What
you're about to read may challenge your assumptions about
the kind of world we live in, and especially the kind of
world into which events are propelling us. We are in for a
rough ride through uncharted territory.
It has been very hard for Americans -- lost in dark raptures
of nonstop infotainment, recreational shopping and
compulsive motoring -- to make sense of the gathering forces
that will fundamentally alter the terms of everyday life in
our technological society. Even after the terrorist attacks
of 9/11, America is still sleepwalking into the future. I
call this coming time the Long Emergency.
Most immediately we face the end of the cheap-fossil-fuel
era. It is no exaggeration to state that reliable supplies
of cheap oil and natural gas underlie everything we identify
as the necessities of modern life -- not to mention all of
its comforts and luxuries: central heating, air
conditioning, cars, airplanes, electric lights, inexpensive
clothing, recorded music, movies, hip-replacement surgery,
national defense -- you name it.
The few Americans who are even aware that there is a
gathering global-energy predicament usually misunderstand
the core of the argument. That argument states that we don't
have to run out of oil to start having severe problems with
industrial civilization and its dependent systems. We only
have to slip over the all-time production peak and begin a
slide down the arc of steady depletion.
The term "global oil-production peak" means that a turning
point will come when the world produces the most oil it will
ever produce in a given year and, after that, yearly
production will inexorably decline. It is usually
represented graphically in a bell curve. The peak is the top
of the curve, the halfway point of the world's all-time
total endowment, meaning half the world's oil will be left.
That seems like a lot of oil, and it is, but there's a big
catch: It's the half that is much more difficult to extract,
far more costly to get, of much poorer quality and located
mostly in places where the people hate us. A substantial
amount of it will never be extracted.
The United States passed its own oil peak -- about 11
million barrels a day -- in 1970, and since then production
has dropped steadily. In 2004 it ran just above 5 million
barrels a day (we get a tad more from natural-gas
condensates). Yet we consume roughly 20 million barrels a
day now. That means we have to import about two-thirds of
our oil, and the ratio will continue to worsen.
The U.S. peak in 1970 brought on a portentous change in
geoeconomic power. Within a few years, foreign producers,
chiefly OPEC, were setting the price of oil, and this in
turn led to the oil crises of the 1970s. In response,
frantic development of non-OPEC oil, especially the North
Sea fields of England and Norway, essentially saved the
West's ass for about two decades. Since 1999, these fields
have entered depletion. Meanwhile, worldwide discovery of
new oil has steadily declined to insignificant levels in
2003 and 2004.
Some "cornucopians" claim that the Earth has something like
a creamy nougat center of "abiotic" oil that will naturally
replenish the great oil fields of the world. The facts speak
differently. There has been no replacement whatsoever of oil
already extracted from the fields of America or any other
place.
Now we are faced with the global oil-production peak. The
best estimates of when this will actually happen have been
somewhere between now and 2010. In 2004, however, after
demand from burgeoning China and India shot up, and
revelations that Shell Oil wildly misstated its reserves,
and Saudi Arabia proved incapable of goosing up its
production despite promises to do so, the most knowledgeable
experts revised their predictions and now concur that 2005
is apt to be the year of all-time global peak production.
It will change everything about how we live.
To aggravate matters, American natural-gas production is
also declining, at five percent a year, despite frenetic new
drilling, and with the potential of much steeper declines
ahead. Because of the oil crises of the 1970s, the
nuclear-plant disasters at Three Mile Island and Chernobyl
and the acid-rain problem, the U.S. chose to make gas its
first choice for electric-power generation. The result was
that just about every power plant built after 1980 has to
run on gas. Half the homes in America are heated with gas.
To further complicate matters, gas isn't easy to import.
Here in North America, it is distributed through a vast
pipeline network. Gas imported from overseas would have to
be compressed at minus-260 degrees Fahrenheit in pressurized
tanker ships and unloaded (re-gasified) at special
terminals, of which few exist in America. Moreover, the
first attempts to site new terminals have met furious
opposition because they are such ripe targets for terrorism.
Some other things about the global energy predicament are
poorly understood by the public and even our leaders. This
is going to be a permanent energy crisis, and these energy
problems will synergize with the disruptions of climate
change, epidemic disease and population overshoot to produce
higher orders of trouble.
We will have to accommodate ourselves to fundamentally
changed conditions.
No combination of alternative fuels will allow us to run
American life the way we have been used to running it, or
even a substantial fraction of it. The wonders of steady
technological progress achieved through the reign of cheap
oil have lulled us into a kind of Jiminy Cricket syndrome,
leading many Americans to believe that anything we wish for
hard enough will come true. These days, even people who
ought to know better are wishing ardently for a seamless
transition from fossil fuels to their putative replacements.
The widely touted "hydrogen economy" is a particularly cruel
hoax. We are not going to replace the U.S. automobile and
truck fleet with vehicles run on fuel cells. For one thing,
the current generation of fuel cells is largely designed to
run on hydrogen obtained from natural gas. The other way to
get hydrogen in the quantities wished for would be
electrolysis of water using power from hundreds of nuclear
plants. Apart from the dim prospect of our building that
many nuclear plants soon enough, there are also numerous
severe problems with hydrogen's nature as an element that
present forbidding obstacles to its use as a replacement for
oil and gas, especially in storage and transport.
Wishful notions about rescuing our way of life with "renewables"
are also unrealistic. Solar-electric systems and wind
turbines face not only the enormous problem of scale but the
fact that the components require substantial amounts of
energy to manufacture and the probability that they can't be
manufactured at all without the underlying support platform
of a fossil-fuel economy. We will surely use solar and wind
technology to generate some electricity for a period ahead
but probably at a very local and small scale.
Virtually all "biomass" schemes for using plants to create
liquid fuels cannot be scaled up to even a fraction of the
level at which things are currently run. What's more, these
schemes are predicated on using oil and gas "inputs"
(fertilizers, weed-killers) to grow the biomass crops that
would be converted into ethanol or bio-diesel fuels. This is
a net energy loser -- you might as well just burn the inputs
and not bother with the biomass products. Proposals to
distill trash and waste into oil by means of thermal
depolymerization depend on the huge waste stream produced by
a cheap oil and gas economy in the first place.
Coal is far less versatile than oil and gas, extant in less
abundant supplies than many people assume and fraught with
huge ecological drawbacks -- as a contributor to greenhouse
"global warming" gases and many health and toxicity issues
ranging from widespread mercury poisoning to acid rain. You
can make synthetic oil from coal, but the only time this was
tried on a large scale was by the Nazis under wartime
conditions, using impressive amounts of slave labor.
If we wish to keep the lights on in America after 2020, we
may indeed have to resort to nuclear power, with all its
practical problems and eco-conundrums. Under optimal
conditions, it could take ten years to get a new generation
of nuclear power plants into operation, and the price may be
beyond our means. Uranium is also a resource in finite
supply. We are no closer to the more difficult project of
atomic fusion, by the way, than we were in the 1970s.
The upshot of all this is that we are entering a historical
period of potentially great instability, turbulence and
hardship. Obviously, geopolitical maneuvering around the
world's richest energy regions has already led to war and
promises more international military conflict. Since the
Middle East contains two-thirds of the world's remaining oil
supplies, the U.S. has attempted desperately to stabilize
the region by, in effect, opening a big police station in
Iraq. The intent was not just to secure Iraq's oil but to
modify and influence the behavior of neighboring states
around the Persian Gulf, especially Iran and Saudi Arabia.
The results have been far from entirely positive, and our
future prospects in that part of the world are not something
we can feel altogether confident about.
And then there is the issue of China, which, in 2004, became
the world's second-greatest consumer of oil, surpassing
Japan. China's surging industrial growth has made it
increasingly dependent on the imports we are counting on. If
China wanted to, it could easily walk into some of these
places -- the Middle East, former Soviet republics in
central Asia -- and extend its hegemony by force. Is America
prepared to contest for this oil in an Asian land war with
the Chinese army? I doubt it. Nor can the U.S. military
occupy regions of the Eastern Hemisphere indefinitely, or
hope to secure either the terrain or the oil infrastructure
of one distant, unfriendly country after another. A likely
scenario is that the U.S. could exhaust and bankrupt itself
trying to do this, and be forced to withdraw back into our
own hemisphere, having lost access to most of the world's
remaining oil in the process.
We know that our national leaders are hardly uninformed
about this predicament. President George W. Bush has been
briefed on the dangers of the oil-peak situation as long ago
as before the 2000 election and repeatedly since then. In
March, the Department of Energy released a report that
officially acknowledges for the first time that peak oil is
for real and states plainly that "the world has never faced
a problem like this. Without massive mitigation more than a
decade before the fact, the problem will be pervasive and
will not be temporary."
Most of all, the Long Emergency will require us to make
other arrangements for the way we live in the United States.
America is in a special predicament due to a set of
unfortunate choices we made as a society in the twentieth
century. Perhaps the worst was to let our towns and cities
rot away and to replace them with suburbia, which had the
additional side effect of trashing a lot of the best
farmland in America. Suburbia will come to be regarded as
the greatest misallocation of resources in the history of
the world. It has a tragic destiny. The psychology of
previous investment suggests that we will defend our
drive-in utopia long after it has become a terrible
liability.
Before long, the suburbs will fail us in practical terms. We
made the ongoing development of housing subdivisions,
highway strips, fried-food shacks and shopping malls the
basis of our economy, and when we have to stop making more
of those things, the bottom will fall out.
The circumstances of the Long Emergency will require us to
downscale and re-scale virtually everything we do and how we
do it, from the kind of communities we physically inhabit to
the way we grow our food to the way we work and trade the
products of our work. Our lives will become profoundly and
intensely local. Daily life will be far less about mobility
and much more about staying where you are. Anything
organized on the large scale, whether it is government or a
corporate business enterprise such as Wal-Mart, will wither
as the cheap energy props that support bigness fall away.
The turbulence of the Long Emergency will produce a lot of
economic losers, and many of these will be members of an
angry and aggrieved former middle class.
Food production is going to be an enormous problem in the
Long Emergency. As industrial agriculture fails due to a
scarcity of oil- and gas-based inputs, we will certainly
have to grow more of our food closer to where we live, and
do it on a smaller scale. The American economy of the
mid-twenty-first century may actually center on agriculture,
not information, not high tech, not "services" like real
estate sales or hawking cheeseburgers to tourists. Farming.
This is no doubt a startling, radical idea, and it raises
extremely difficult questions about the reallocation of land
and the nature of work. The relentless subdividing of land
in the late twentieth century has destroyed the contiguity
and integrity of the rural landscape in most places. The
process of readjustment is apt to be disorderly and
improvisational. Food production will necessarily be much
more labor-intensive than it has been for decades. We can
anticipate the re-formation of a native-born American
farm-laboring class. It will be composed largely of the
aforementioned economic losers who had to relinquish their
grip on the American dream. These masses of disentitled
people may enter into quasi-feudal social relations with
those who own land in exchange for food and physical
security. But their sense of grievance will remain fresh,
and if mistreated they may simply seize that land.
The way that commerce is currently organized in America will
not survive far into the Long Emergency. Wal-Mart's
"warehouse on wheels" won't be such a bargain in a
non-cheap-oil economy. The national chain stores'
12,000-mile manufacturing supply lines could easily be
interrupted by military contests over oil and by internal
conflict in the nations that have been supplying us with
ultra-cheap manufactured goods, because they, too, will be
struggling with similar issues of energy famine and all the
disorders that go with it.
As these things occur, America will have to make other
arrangements for the manufacture, distribution and sale of
ordinary goods. They will probably be made on a "cottage
industry" basis rather than the factory system we once had,
since the scale of available energy will be much lower --
and we are not going to replay the twentieth century. Tens
of thousands of the common products we enjoy today, from
paints to pharmaceuticals, are made out of oil. They will
become increasingly scarce or unavailable. The selling of
things will have to be reorganized at the local scale. It
will have to be based on moving merchandise shorter
distances. It is almost certain to result in higher costs
for the things we buy and far fewer choices.
The automobile will be a diminished presence in our lives,
to say the least. With gasoline in short supply, not to
mention tax revenue, our roads will surely suffer. The
interstate highway system is more delicate than the public
realizes. If the "level of service" (as traffic engineers
call it) is not maintained to the highest degree, problems
multiply and escalate quickly. The system does not tolerate
partial failure. The interstates are either in excellent
condition, or they quickly fall apart.
America today has a railroad system that the Bulgarians
would be ashamed of. Neither of the two major presidential
candidates in 2004 mentioned railroads, but if we don't
refurbish our rail system, then there may be no long-range
travel or transport of goods at all a few decades from now.
The commercial aviation industry, already on its knees
financially, is likely to vanish. The sheer cost of
maintaining gigantic airports may not justify the operation
of a much-reduced air-travel fleet. Railroads are far more
energy efficient than cars, trucks or airplanes, and they
can be run on anything from wood to electricity. The
rail-bed infrastructure is also far more economical to
maintain than our highway network.
The successful regions in the twenty-first century will be
the ones surrounded by viable farming hinterlands that can
reconstitute locally sustainable economies on an armature of
civic cohesion. Small towns and smaller cities have better
prospects than the big cities, which will probably have to
contract substantially. The process will be painful and
tumultuous. In many American cities, such as Cleveland,
Detroit and St. Louis, that process is already well
advanced. Others have further to fall. New York and Chicago
face extraordinary difficulties, being oversupplied with
gigantic buildings out of scale with the reality of
declining energy supplies. Their former agricultural
hinterlands have long been paved over. They will be encysted
in a surrounding fabric of necrotic suburbia that will only
amplify and reinforce the cities' problems. Still, our
cities occupy important sites. Some kind of urban entities
will exist where they are in the future, but probably not
the colossi of twentieth-century industrialism.
Some regions of the country will do better than others in
the Long Emergency. The Southwest will suffer in proportion
to the degree that it prospered during the cheap-oil blowout
of the late twentieth century. I predict that Sunbelt states
like Arizona and Nevada will become significantly
depopulated, since the region will be short of water as well
as gasoline and natural gas. Imagine Phoenix without cheap
air conditioning.
I'm not optimistic about the Southeast, either, for
different reasons. I think it will be subject to substantial
levels of violence as the grievances of the formerly middle
class boil over and collide with the delusions of
Pentecostal Christian extremism. The latent encoded behavior
of Southern culture includes an outsized notion of
individualism and the belief that firearms ought to be used
in the defense of it. This is a poor recipe for civic
cohesion.
The Mountain States and Great Plains will face an array of
problems, from poor farming potential to water shortages to
population loss. The Pacific Northwest, New England and the
Upper Midwest have somewhat better prospects. I regard them
as less likely to fall into lawlessness, anarchy or
despotism and more likely to salvage the bits and pieces of
our best social traditions and keep them in operation at
some level.
These are daunting and even dreadful prospects. The Long
Emergency is going to be a tremendous trauma for the human
race. We will not believe that this is happening to us, that
200 years of modernity can be brought to its knees by a
world-wide power shortage. The survivors will have to
cultivate a religion of hope -- that is, a deep and
comprehensive belief that humanity is worth carrying on. If
there is any positive side to stark changes coming our way,
it may be in the benefits of close communal relations, of
having to really work intimately (and physically) with our
neighbors, to be part of an enterprise that really matters
and to be fully engaged in meaningful social enactments
instead of being merely entertained to avoid boredom. Years
from now, when we hear singing at all, we will hear
ourselves, and we will sing with our whole hearts.
Adapted from The Long Emergency, 2005, by James Howard
Kunstler, and reprinted with permission of the publisher,
Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
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