'What we’re seeing is a two-tier system of responsibility for the environment.' Henry Nicholls/AFP via Getty


February 11, 2025   6 mins

I spent the week before last on a hillside with some young people planting 12,000 saplings — oaks, and other native broadleaf species. We were helping to recreate a vital lost habitat, wood pasture, that will someday be home to a host of wild things, including my cows. Occasionally, I’d check the news on my phone. It just so happened this was one of the most insane weeks in living memory for anyone who cares about the British countryside.

First up, Steve Reed, the Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, announced that his new “Nature Restoration Fund” would “speed up the building of new infrastructure and homes across the country” and support a third runway at Heathrow — the fund is part of a crazed plan to make 150 infrastructure decisions by the end of this Parliament, “while supporting nature recovery at scale”!

Environmentalists everywhere gasped at his audacity. This was Orwellian doublespeak of the most shameless kind. Building roads, houses and runways is literally the opposite of nature restoration. The point isn’t that we don’t need more infrastructure projects — we often do, but until now no one has claimed they are “green”, or that environmental funding should be used to speed them up.

This is the same Steve Reed who has failed to deliver thousands of farmers the “green transition” that they were promised, and allowed the Treasury to torpedo, or pause, several strands of environmental funding for farms. It seems that in our age of Austerity 2.0, the Government can’t foot the bill for any environmental programmes it promised to pay for five years ago.

Oh, and that same week, Rachel Reeves claimed that “bats and newts” were holding up economic growth, and  we really ought to be less sensitive. And that aviation is now cleaner and greener, so we don’t need to worry about that anymore — seriously, Rachel? The Chancellor likes to say that she’s making necessary “ruthless decisions”. The question is whether she makes good ones. Her number one mission for this Government is “growth” — and clearly, this even applies to environmental policy. What could possibly go wrong?

Then Steve Reed popped back up, and told us we needed to have a “national conversation about land use”. Really, Steve? How do you think a national conversation is going to go when the giant polluters are rich and powerful with direct access to No. 10? How do you think Welsh or Cumbrian hill farmers are going to fare in that conversation? What we need instead is a conversation about how corrupted, confused and contradictory environmental policy has become, and how little trust any of us have in government now.

“What we need is a conversation about how corrupted, confused and contradictory environmental policy has become.”

Up until now, we were assured we were “all in it together” when it came to fighting climate change and biodiversity loss in the UK. I might have to change my diet or type of car, my household heating system or how I manage my fields, but that was kind of OK, because everyone else was doing their bit too.

But recently, this solidarity has begun to fracture. The idea of reducing consumption isn’t going down very well with voters, to put it mildly. Donald Trump was barely in the White House for five minutes when he told Americans to ignore all the climate doom and gloom and embrace cheap energy. “Drill, Baby, Drill!” he bellowed.

A similar rebellion is taking place in the UK. Not long ago, almost everyone in British politics paid lip service to the idea that we really ought to address climate and biodiversity crises. Delivery was often slow, with ridiculously small budgets, but it at least looked like we were trying. But in their desperation for economic growth, the Left, as well the Right, is now ripping up previously sacrosanct environmental and political norms.

Yet should “growth” really be our only priority? The Chancellor needs to be careful because the grown-up green consensus is a fragile one. Solving big environmental problems is hard, and most of us don’t want to do it. So if we get the hint that we’re off the hook, then the project could fall apart pretty quickly.

As a farmer, I know how frustrating environmental policy can be. Ideally, farmers would like to dredge rivers, rip out hedges and trees in our fields, and use synthetic fertilisers, pesticides, and herbicides. All this would maximise productivity — and if “growth” was the sole purpose of our farms, we’d do all this and more. We would clear the last remaining forests and drain the last wetlands, and even reclaim the estuaries and marshes as we once did to feed Britain. But we know that doing this made our farmed landscapes into some of the most nature-depleted regions in the world. The awkward and frustrating truth is that growth isn’t the only metric that counts.

Yet the alternative — sustainable economic growth — is hard work and complicated. Not only do we have to think about boosting productivity, but we also need to consider the environmental costs. Only idiots get to “Drill, Baby, Drill!” or “Plough, Baby, Plough!” like we live in a world without consequences.

One way that economists have tried to square this circle is “carbon offsetting”. This is when individuals and companies invest in environmental projects elsewhere — often in developing countries — in order to balance out their own carbon footprint. They can then boast about being “carbon neutral”. In theory this system allows growth to happen, while also paying for the damage we do to nature. But it is a terribly flawed idea.

When we agree to the principle of offsetting, we accept that the cost of helping nature in one place is its destruction in another. In this way, we are all made complicit in the systemic destruction of the natural world.

Offsetting creates vast flows of capital (as “carbon credits” can be traded), but it is inherently dishonest. It is a gold rush fuelled by bullshit — it’s all about creating some numbers to put in a spreadsheet back at HQ so you can claim your airline, powerplant or supermarket is “carbon neutral”. Naturally, some good will be done with some of this offsetting money, and many environmentalists are doing their best. But in the end, it’s a smoke-and-mirrors game, which turns bad guys into heroes, and assuages the guilt and responsibility of the wealthy.

It’s above all a game that plays to the strengths of the rich and powerful. A new kind of feudalism is now emerging in the British countryside. Large landowners, who have always held their tenants and workers in contempt, can now get rid of them, let the land go, and claim vast sums of money for preserving nature and offsetting carbon emissions. You don’t need to be a qualified environmentalist to get your hands on this offset cash, just a plenty of acres, the gift-of-the-gab, some claims about “carbon sequestration” or “biodiversity gain” and a swanky  website. These landowners have the scale required to play the game — and they’d far rather have a safari experience outside the back door than some grumpy tenant farmers.

What we’re seeing is a two-tier system of responsibility for the environment, with the powerful and wealthy given a free pass to pollute because they are the miraculous deliverers of “growth”. It has become a giant power play (which is about to get worse because of the vast energy needs of AI), in which the wealthy assuage their guilt by buying out everyone else — including farmers, who can’t possibly compete. Indeed, Britain’s landscapes are being rapidly bought up by wealthy landowners and giant corporations: more than 40% of land purchased last year was by non-farmers. And they seem to have our government in their pockets. They whisper about “growth” and needing deregulation and suddenly Labour becomes their pet. Meanwhile, the rest of us are bribed and cajoled into “offsetting” their mess.

Another problem is that offsetting is rarely a straight swap. A developer might bulldoze an ancient woodland, and pay for a new one to be planted elsewhere. But even if it’s twice the size, this low-quality replica won’t truly offset their damages. The ancient oak tree they felled to clear space for a new road would have taken centuries to grow, and it would have been part of an ancient ecosystem supporting hundreds of species of wild things. The new woodland they plant with plastic tree guards is an entirely false creation that will take decades, if not centuries to remotely resemble what they have destroyed. And given the logic of offsetting, someone else will in time destroy this new wood too. This cycle will repeat itself until nature is pushed to the lowest quality land and everywhere else is tarmac, housing and shopping centres.

The worst thing about offsetting, though, is that it stops us talking honestly about industries that do real damage — burning fossil fuels or using finite natural resources. It allows us to keep polluting under the illusion it’s all OK, and that the debt has been paid. Yet shifting emissions from one place to another, from a factory to a forest, won’t reduce the emissions. It just allows big business to keep on polluting.

The solution, of course, is for the state to pay for nature restoration, or mandate it through regulation, so we all pay the real price of pollution and nature destruction. But being broke is making our government desperate and weak. Rachel Reeves’s proposed Heathrow runway threatens to create so many emissions that all the offsetting we’ve done for years will be pointless.

I’ll go back to our hillside later today, to plant some more trees, out of sheer bloody stubbornness if nothing else. In a year or two this place will be different, an emerging wood pasture with lots of wildflowers. Productive, bio-diverse and beautiful, a once broken place helped to heal. From the crest I can see for miles out across Northern England — a bleak half-broken landscape that could be an inspired mix of nature restoration and thriving family farms. Such a landscape would be full of jobs and produce vital and valuable food.

We should invest in the work of restoring the countryside, not because it greenwashes some other ugly industrial thing elsewhere, but because it is a good investment itself. It would create something for us all. But, then, it seems that we’re not all in this together: some of us are being used, and it’s starting to feel like it is for nothing.


James Rebanks is a fell farmer and the best-selling author of The Shepherd’s Life. His latest book is The Place of Tides.

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