You aren’t at school today. You follow your parents up the path into the mountains, looking for grasses and plants with edible roots. You have coupons but there’s no food. Your parents are thinner than you; in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea children are always fed first.
Your country is crossed by many mountain ranges. It’s hard to find the land to grow food, and the season is short. Your teacher told you how between 1961 and 1988 your country doubled the food it could produce by using marginal slopes, irrigating them by pumping water from reservoirs connected by thousands of kilometres of waterways. Your people were proud to be self-reliant.
But everything took energy. It took electricity to pump the water and manufacture fertilisers. It took oil to run the power stations. When the Eastern Bloc collapsed in 1991 cheap oil imports ended and power cuts stopped farming. The land dried out. Heavy storms caused floods that destroyed the power stations. When the drought hit the reservoirs were dry.
You call the famine that killed two million people ‘The Arduous March’, but it hasn’t stopped. Today thirty seven percent of North Korean children are severely malnourished and your leaders rely on food aid from China, Japan, South Korea and the United States.
Monday, 1 March 2010
China’s Great Leap Forward
You would make the People’s Republic of China great. Your campaign would transform the vast population of farmers into an industrialised country.
The pressure of numbers on the land was not a new problem. Past leaders had increased food production by cutting down forests, and later by introducing New World crops like corn which would grow on marginal lands. Now there was no more new land to use. New ideas were needed to feed the growing population.
If you controlled agriculture you could establish a monopoly over grain production. You could export it and raise capital to industrialise and pay off your country’s debts. You held meetings to force the peasants to give their land to the government. The grain stores filled and your officials announced bumper harvests, ignoring the widespread famine they were causing. If quotas dropped, you punished the desperate, starving villagers.
‘Mao Zedong’s Great Leap Forward is the way to the future,’ you told them. ‘Loyalty is essential.’ Those who spoke out were purged. Half a million disappeared in your Anti-Rightist Campaign.
You caused the worst famine ever recorded. Thirty million died. In 1959 you stepped down, feeling you had become a ‘dead ancestor’ still respected, but no longer consulted in matters of state.
The pressure of numbers on the land was not a new problem. Past leaders had increased food production by cutting down forests, and later by introducing New World crops like corn which would grow on marginal lands. Now there was no more new land to use. New ideas were needed to feed the growing population.
If you controlled agriculture you could establish a monopoly over grain production. You could export it and raise capital to industrialise and pay off your country’s debts. You held meetings to force the peasants to give their land to the government. The grain stores filled and your officials announced bumper harvests, ignoring the widespread famine they were causing. If quotas dropped, you punished the desperate, starving villagers.
‘Mao Zedong’s Great Leap Forward is the way to the future,’ you told them. ‘Loyalty is essential.’ Those who spoke out were purged. Half a million disappeared in your Anti-Rightist Campaign.
You caused the worst famine ever recorded. Thirty million died. In 1959 you stepped down, feeling you had become a ‘dead ancestor’ still respected, but no longer consulted in matters of state.
Monday, 22 February 2010
The burial of Riez
The pilgrims look up at the magnificent temple, full of hope. You tell them how to make sacrifices to Aesclepius, son of Apollo. Later you will let them bathe in the holy waters before spending the night in the temple where serpents move freely, bringing augural dreams.
Set in a wide valley in the southern alps at the junction of two rivers, Reii Appollinaires is known far and wide for its healing powers. Its reputation has made your town rich. But the uplands have been deforested to build the magnificent town and heat its baths, and soil has started to wash off the hills.
No one thought the holy waters might be the town’s undoing. But their steady tide of alluvial silt was lifting the level of the plane, burying the buildings. Your descendants built a cathedral ontop of the temple. Its bishops had great influence. But the tide from the hills was relentless. By the middle ages the town abandoned the site and tried to rebuild on higher ground it was too late, Riez’s glory days were done.
All that remains of your magnificent town today are four slender temple columns and a sleepy village surrounded by fields of lavender.
Set in a wide valley in the southern alps at the junction of two rivers, Reii Appollinaires is known far and wide for its healing powers. Its reputation has made your town rich. But the uplands have been deforested to build the magnificent town and heat its baths, and soil has started to wash off the hills.
No one thought the holy waters might be the town’s undoing. But their steady tide of alluvial silt was lifting the level of the plane, burying the buildings. Your descendants built a cathedral ontop of the temple. Its bishops had great influence. But the tide from the hills was relentless. By the middle ages the town abandoned the site and tried to rebuild on higher ground it was too late, Riez’s glory days were done.
All that remains of your magnificent town today are four slender temple columns and a sleepy village surrounded by fields of lavender.
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Madagascar
It is 1896. You keep watch while your father hunts. If you see the French coming through the forest you are to make the special call. You hold your breath, listening.
Deep thuds make a bass note to the usual forest sounds. It is the steady pounding of axes as the French clear the forest.
Your father has heard their plans. In the Central Highlands they will grow rice; in the north cloves, vanilla and sugar; and in the west rice, maize and cattle. Here, where you live, they will clear the ancient forests to plant lucrative coffee, the crop that causes the most erosion because it leaves the soil unprotected.
This is how they will harness Madagascar’s precious land, the complex ecosystems which evolved in isolation over one hundred and sixty five million years to produce unique plants and animals. Rare orchids and lemurs, spiny forests and hundreds of species of frogs; all of Madagascar’s riches will give way to the needs of Europe’s hungry population.
Families like yours will be forced onto marginal lands, causing yet more damage to the island. In just over a century, two thirds of your people will live in abject poverty as Madagascar’s red soil bleeds out into the sea.
Deep thuds make a bass note to the usual forest sounds. It is the steady pounding of axes as the French clear the forest.
Your father has heard their plans. In the Central Highlands they will grow rice; in the north cloves, vanilla and sugar; and in the west rice, maize and cattle. Here, where you live, they will clear the ancient forests to plant lucrative coffee, the crop that causes the most erosion because it leaves the soil unprotected.
This is how they will harness Madagascar’s precious land, the complex ecosystems which evolved in isolation over one hundred and sixty five million years to produce unique plants and animals. Rare orchids and lemurs, spiny forests and hundreds of species of frogs; all of Madagascar’s riches will give way to the needs of Europe’s hungry population.
Families like yours will be forced onto marginal lands, causing yet more damage to the island. In just over a century, two thirds of your people will live in abject poverty as Madagascar’s red soil bleeds out into the sea.
Monday, 8 February 2010
The decline of Bruges
‘Things will work out. Don’t worry.’
What would she have you do, run to England like her brothers? Give up this life you’ve worked so hard to build?
The cloth you weave is renowned around the world. Traders come from as far as Russia and the Middle East. Your Flemish tradition of craftsmanship started in Roman times. The population was high, even then, and farmers had to supplement their income with weaving. That’s how you Flemish are; you solve problems.
When silt first started to block the Zwin estuary, you built out-ports nearer the sea. In the thirteenth century, when local timber ran out, you organised imports. Look at Bruges now, this city of 200,000 is amongst the richest in the world; home to the royal court, famous artists, even that Englishman Caxton, printing his books.
It’s true; the out-ports are silted now, and farmers have moved their cattle off the exhausted land onto the coastal dunes, defying the ancient charters.
Rumours circulate that Antwerp will take your trade. ‘Our days are numbered,’ they say, but you ignore them. You cannot imagine that in a few generations your city will be the poorest in Belgium. Abandoned, practically deserted. It seems impossible; Bruges always pulls through.
What would she have you do, run to England like her brothers? Give up this life you’ve worked so hard to build?
The cloth you weave is renowned around the world. Traders come from as far as Russia and the Middle East. Your Flemish tradition of craftsmanship started in Roman times. The population was high, even then, and farmers had to supplement their income with weaving. That’s how you Flemish are; you solve problems.
When silt first started to block the Zwin estuary, you built out-ports nearer the sea. In the thirteenth century, when local timber ran out, you organised imports. Look at Bruges now, this city of 200,000 is amongst the richest in the world; home to the royal court, famous artists, even that Englishman Caxton, printing his books.
It’s true; the out-ports are silted now, and farmers have moved their cattle off the exhausted land onto the coastal dunes, defying the ancient charters.
Rumours circulate that Antwerp will take your trade. ‘Our days are numbered,’ they say, but you ignore them. You cannot imagine that in a few generations your city will be the poorest in Belgium. Abandoned, practically deserted. It seems impossible; Bruges always pulls through.
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Fatehpur Sikri
No one could imagine your pain when the twins died. How could you fulfil your destiny as a great Mughal emperor if you had no heir? You travelled to Sikri, the remote village west of Agra, to consult the Sufi hermit Chishti.
‘You must have faith,’ he said. Soon after, Jodha Bai, your Hindu Queen, gave birth to a son. Your joy knew no bounds; you would honour Chishti; you would build a great city; you would make auspicious Sikri your capital.
You oversaw the planning personally, creating a delightful arrangement of squares and bazaars around a silver lake. In just five years Fatehpur Sikri was complete. You invited representatives from all religions to debate in your city, and made great advances in administration, creating fairer laws.
The city swelled and prospered. It was a golden age. The caravanserais were so packed that visiting Portuguese priests complained about the noise.
But in just fifteen years the land around the city was exhausted and the lake became dry. In 1585 you moved your capital to Delhi, leaving Fatehpur Sikri to decay. All that remains is your crumbling palace and the Great Mosque, the silent home of the reclusive Chishti’s tomb.
‘You must have faith,’ he said. Soon after, Jodha Bai, your Hindu Queen, gave birth to a son. Your joy knew no bounds; you would honour Chishti; you would build a great city; you would make auspicious Sikri your capital.
You oversaw the planning personally, creating a delightful arrangement of squares and bazaars around a silver lake. In just five years Fatehpur Sikri was complete. You invited representatives from all religions to debate in your city, and made great advances in administration, creating fairer laws.
The city swelled and prospered. It was a golden age. The caravanserais were so packed that visiting Portuguese priests complained about the noise.
But in just fifteen years the land around the city was exhausted and the lake became dry. In 1585 you moved your capital to Delhi, leaving Fatehpur Sikri to decay. All that remains is your crumbling palace and the Great Mosque, the silent home of the reclusive Chishti’s tomb.
Thursday, 21 January 2010
Ephesus
A plume of dust showed their journey along the coast. You told your family to take the goats into the hills and hide.
But the scouts who came were no bandits. Their armour shone through the dust. They bowed in thanks at the water you offered. You had heard of these Christian crusaders travelling to the holy land.
‘Our king seeks the great port.’
‘This is Ayasalouk, my village.’
They laughed.
‘But where is Ephesus?’
You shrugged. The men showed you a map and you stared at the end of the Cayster River.
‘This is mistaken; it is fields here, land, there is no water, no harbour like this.’
Their map showed fertile land with forests around a magnificent city. ‘Ephesus was the biggest city in the world after Rome. Have you never heard of it? The Temple of Artemis; with its columns encrusted in jewels? It is one of the seven wonders of the world.’
You thought of telling them that sometimes you found carved stones buried in dense layers of silt. But that was five kilometres inland, nowhere near the sea.
The men rode on and your thoughts turned to finding pasture for your goats in your barren, treeless land.
But the scouts who came were no bandits. Their armour shone through the dust. They bowed in thanks at the water you offered. You had heard of these Christian crusaders travelling to the holy land.
‘Our king seeks the great port.’
‘This is Ayasalouk, my village.’
They laughed.
‘But where is Ephesus?’
You shrugged. The men showed you a map and you stared at the end of the Cayster River.
‘This is mistaken; it is fields here, land, there is no water, no harbour like this.’
Their map showed fertile land with forests around a magnificent city. ‘Ephesus was the biggest city in the world after Rome. Have you never heard of it? The Temple of Artemis; with its columns encrusted in jewels? It is one of the seven wonders of the world.’
You thought of telling them that sometimes you found carved stones buried in dense layers of silt. But that was five kilometres inland, nowhere near the sea.
The men rode on and your thoughts turned to finding pasture for your goats in your barren, treeless land.
Hispaniola
How could things come to this? What happened to your paradise island with its white-sand beaches and staggering mountains, with its fertile valleys and rich forests?
In 1492 the Taínos welcomed Columbus with gold, but the diseases he brought wiped them out. When the mines failed on ‘La Isla Espaňola’, Spain turned to other lands to plunder.
In the 1640s, the French took over the eastern side of Hispaniola, bringing your people from Africa in chains. You cleared the land of trees and planted sugar. Your sweat made St-Dominique the richest colony in the world.
You gained independence and called your new country Haiti, ‘mountainous land’. But Haiti had grown barren. You needed farmland to feed your growing nation, timber to make charcoal for fuel. In 1923 Haiti’s forests covered sixty percent of the land; now they cover less than two. The soils are thin and the rains don’t come.
The Spanish side of the island, the Dominican Republic, had been poorer, less populous. But a dictator protected their forests and subsidised imported gas so the poorest did not have to rely on charcoal. Today its forests remain, its lands are still rich, whilst Haiti is one of the poorest and most densely-populated nations in the world.
In 1492 the Taínos welcomed Columbus with gold, but the diseases he brought wiped them out. When the mines failed on ‘La Isla Espaňola’, Spain turned to other lands to plunder.
In the 1640s, the French took over the eastern side of Hispaniola, bringing your people from Africa in chains. You cleared the land of trees and planted sugar. Your sweat made St-Dominique the richest colony in the world.
You gained independence and called your new country Haiti, ‘mountainous land’. But Haiti had grown barren. You needed farmland to feed your growing nation, timber to make charcoal for fuel. In 1923 Haiti’s forests covered sixty percent of the land; now they cover less than two. The soils are thin and the rains don’t come.
The Spanish side of the island, the Dominican Republic, had been poorer, less populous. But a dictator protected their forests and subsidised imported gas so the poorest did not have to rely on charcoal. Today its forests remain, its lands are still rich, whilst Haiti is one of the poorest and most densely-populated nations in the world.
Friday, 15 January 2010
Bodmin Moor
It was spring 1300. Your husband had set out early to begin work. You bent over the fire, raking the glowing turf ‘coals’, adding dampened turves to keep it going through the day, crying a little in the acrid-sweet smoke. Hard weeks lay ahead; cutting, transporting and drying the ten thousand turves your farm would need in the coming year.
Your house was near a Bronze Age settlement. The field boundaries and paths you used were the same. Bodmin Moor had been shaped and changed over hundreds of generations, each careless of the impact they might have. The earliest hunter-gatherers burned swathes of the dense oak and hazel woodland to make hunting easier. Bronze Age farmers thrived, creating more than two hundred settlements. Those who came next cut down more and more trees until, by 1300, you had nothing but the turf to use as fuel. But turf seemed inexhaustible. Moor industries relied on it; streamworking, quarrying and clay-working. In 1305 alone, smelting stream tin used 250 tonnes of turf charcoal. Did you ever think it might run out?
All that remains today is an acid grassland able to support a few sheep and ponies. People revere it for its loneliness; thinking its windswept, barren hills one of the last untouched places in Britain.
Your house was near a Bronze Age settlement. The field boundaries and paths you used were the same. Bodmin Moor had been shaped and changed over hundreds of generations, each careless of the impact they might have. The earliest hunter-gatherers burned swathes of the dense oak and hazel woodland to make hunting easier. Bronze Age farmers thrived, creating more than two hundred settlements. Those who came next cut down more and more trees until, by 1300, you had nothing but the turf to use as fuel. But turf seemed inexhaustible. Moor industries relied on it; streamworking, quarrying and clay-working. In 1305 alone, smelting stream tin used 250 tonnes of turf charcoal. Did you ever think it might run out?
All that remains today is an acid grassland able to support a few sheep and ponies. People revere it for its loneliness; thinking its windswept, barren hills one of the last untouched places in Britain.
Sugar
You saw three ships heading for port. You thought nothing of it until the captain came to your palace. The dashing Italian kissed your hand and said you were beautiful. He said one day the world would know his name. You laughed and took him to your bed.
The four days Christopher Columbus planned in the Canary Islands stretched to a month, you wanted him to stay but always his eyes turned to the sea. You hid your pain. To prove your sweetness, you gave him sugarcane cuttings to take on his voyage. Only when he had gone did you give vent to the true malice of your feelings. Those around you knew your cruelty.
Your legacy would span the world, Beatriz de Bobadilla y Ossorio. Those few stems you gave him would leave entire countries in poverty. Vast lands would be deforested to make way for sugar plantations and the hungry crop would exhaust the soil. Millions of Africans would be enslaved and shipped around the world. And the global society which would emerge five hundred years later would be smitten with an insatiable desire for sweetness in spite of the obesity and global diabetes epidemic it would cause. All this from a single gesture from a gracious, cruel hand.
The four days Christopher Columbus planned in the Canary Islands stretched to a month, you wanted him to stay but always his eyes turned to the sea. You hid your pain. To prove your sweetness, you gave him sugarcane cuttings to take on his voyage. Only when he had gone did you give vent to the true malice of your feelings. Those around you knew your cruelty.
Your legacy would span the world, Beatriz de Bobadilla y Ossorio. Those few stems you gave him would leave entire countries in poverty. Vast lands would be deforested to make way for sugar plantations and the hungry crop would exhaust the soil. Millions of Africans would be enslaved and shipped around the world. And the global society which would emerge five hundred years later would be smitten with an insatiable desire for sweetness in spite of the obesity and global diabetes epidemic it would cause. All this from a single gesture from a gracious, cruel hand.
Monday, 11 January 2010
St Matthew Island
You had heard of St Matthew Island, the narrow strip of arctic tundra far out in the Bering Sea. You had heard how in 1944 the US Coast Guard had shipped in twenty nine reindeer as food for the navigation station personnel, and how in the rush of the end of the war they had been left behind.
You were curious about what would have happened to a herd with abundant food and no predators, and in 1957 you got a chance to visit. You found 1,350 fat reindeer. It seemed ideal; the herd density matched the capacity of the land. But small patches of overgrazing made you wonder.
Six years later you went back to find innumerable tracks and droppings and bent-over willows. The reindeer numbers had exploded to 6,000, but they were thinner now, stressed.
The winter of 1965 was too severe to return. A plane flew over but saw no deer. The pilot refused to fly lower. Did you miss them? In July 1966 you found an island littered with skeletons and only forty two reindeer. There were no active males. Soon the herd would be extinct. The unintended experiment had come full circle; arctic foxes would again be the largest mammal on this windswept island.
You were curious about what would have happened to a herd with abundant food and no predators, and in 1957 you got a chance to visit. You found 1,350 fat reindeer. It seemed ideal; the herd density matched the capacity of the land. But small patches of overgrazing made you wonder.
Six years later you went back to find innumerable tracks and droppings and bent-over willows. The reindeer numbers had exploded to 6,000, but they were thinner now, stressed.
The winter of 1965 was too severe to return. A plane flew over but saw no deer. The pilot refused to fly lower. Did you miss them? In July 1966 you found an island littered with skeletons and only forty two reindeer. There were no active males. Soon the herd would be extinct. The unintended experiment had come full circle; arctic foxes would again be the largest mammal on this windswept island.
Saturday, 9 January 2010
The American dustbowl
On Sunday April 14 1935, after four years of drought, your family was at church. ‘Give us back our lush green land,’ you prayed, but that afternoon the worst of the black blizzards hit.
The house shook. Dust squeezed past the wet rags at the windows, filling the air. Anxiously you listened. Your father had gone into the biting blackness to settle the cattle. Finally he returned, choking, spitting up mud.
The pioneers had called your tree-less land the ‘Great American Desert’. Experts had warned the lack of crop rotation and deep ploughing would leave soil exposed to the wind. But the farmers hadn't listened.
People died from the dust, the rest began to starve. Proud, your father refused handouts, but soon he had no choice: seven failed harvests out of eight. He sold the cattle, watched them slaughtered. You packed your meagre belongings and left, not even bothering to close the door.
By 1940 2.5 million people had left, and in the next seven years another 5 million would leave, ending single-family farming in the American Great Plains.
The house shook. Dust squeezed past the wet rags at the windows, filling the air. Anxiously you listened. Your father had gone into the biting blackness to settle the cattle. Finally he returned, choking, spitting up mud.
The pioneers had called your tree-less land the ‘Great American Desert’. Experts had warned the lack of crop rotation and deep ploughing would leave soil exposed to the wind. But the farmers hadn't listened.
People died from the dust, the rest began to starve. Proud, your father refused handouts, but soon he had no choice: seven failed harvests out of eight. He sold the cattle, watched them slaughtered. You packed your meagre belongings and left, not even bothering to close the door.
By 1940 2.5 million people had left, and in the next seven years another 5 million would leave, ending single-family farming in the American Great Plains.
Monday, 21 December 2009
The Vikings in Greenland
Eric the Red was back from exile, he had found a new land. ‘Pasture enough for anyone who chooses to come,’ he said. You joined him, what choice did you have? All Iceland’s good land was taken.
In 986AD five hundred settlers started to build Europe’s most remote outpost. You worked hard and you flourished, growing to five thousand strong. When Christianity came you embraced it. You built a cathedral, exporting vast amounts of walrus ivory, not for iron or tools, but in church tithes and for windows and communion wine.
You scorned the Inuit who came to your hunting grounds. What could pagan ‘wretches’ teach you? If you noticed their kayaks and toggle harpoons, you did not copy them. Nor their skill in hunting ringed seal, the only food available in Greenland’s deepest winter; you had stores.
But slowly, as the weather changed, the impact of your community began to show; you had cut too much turf and the soils had thinned, too many animals had grazed on fragile new shoots. When the spring came the ice did not melt and the animals you hunted did not come. There were too many of you to feed. You ate your last stores before slowly starving, leaving Greenland to the Inuit, who hunt there still.
In 986AD five hundred settlers started to build Europe’s most remote outpost. You worked hard and you flourished, growing to five thousand strong. When Christianity came you embraced it. You built a cathedral, exporting vast amounts of walrus ivory, not for iron or tools, but in church tithes and for windows and communion wine.
You scorned the Inuit who came to your hunting grounds. What could pagan ‘wretches’ teach you? If you noticed their kayaks and toggle harpoons, you did not copy them. Nor their skill in hunting ringed seal, the only food available in Greenland’s deepest winter; you had stores.
But slowly, as the weather changed, the impact of your community began to show; you had cut too much turf and the soils had thinned, too many animals had grazed on fragile new shoots. When the spring came the ice did not melt and the animals you hunted did not come. There were too many of you to feed. You ate your last stores before slowly starving, leaving Greenland to the Inuit, who hunt there still.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
The sacred city of Angkor
You watched the procession; the trooping army’s fluttering banners; horses draped in gold; ministers with red umbrellas; and behind them all, the king standing on an elephant with shining tusks of gold.
It was 1297 and your diplomatic trip to Angkor was over, but you were reluctant to leave this bustling city of 750,000 people at the heart of the Khmer Empire.
It was so vast, so beautiful and ordered, how could you describe it to your Chinese Emperor? Angkor Wat was the most magnificent temple you had ever seen. It evoked Mount Meru, font of the cosmos, with its five gilded towers rising like peaks, and its vast artificial lakes symbolising the oceans. Its sacred reservoirs were practical too, storing monsoon rains to guarantee harvests; they were the source of the city’s six centuries of success.
But the system had become too ambitious, too reliant on a stable climate. When the first drought hit the empire lost its outlying lands. When the next drought hit the city failed. Angkor fell to invaders. They in turn tried to use its finely-balanced infrastructure, but it was beyond repair. The largest city in the pre-industrial world was abandoned, reclaimed by the jungle, and the wonders of the Khmer Empire were forgotten by all.
It was 1297 and your diplomatic trip to Angkor was over, but you were reluctant to leave this bustling city of 750,000 people at the heart of the Khmer Empire.
It was so vast, so beautiful and ordered, how could you describe it to your Chinese Emperor? Angkor Wat was the most magnificent temple you had ever seen. It evoked Mount Meru, font of the cosmos, with its five gilded towers rising like peaks, and its vast artificial lakes symbolising the oceans. Its sacred reservoirs were practical too, storing monsoon rains to guarantee harvests; they were the source of the city’s six centuries of success.
But the system had become too ambitious, too reliant on a stable climate. When the first drought hit the empire lost its outlying lands. When the next drought hit the city failed. Angkor fell to invaders. They in turn tried to use its finely-balanced infrastructure, but it was beyond repair. The largest city in the pre-industrial world was abandoned, reclaimed by the jungle, and the wonders of the Khmer Empire were forgotten by all.
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
The fall of classical Greece
‘It is essential we look after the land,’ you told them. ‘Our numbers are grown so great; we must manage the resources we have.’
They did not listen. ‘So much of our food must be imported,’ they said. ‘Our farmers must grow more. What if Greece should go to war?’
You tried to make them understand. You told them how in 5000BC the first settlers were wise, selecting only fertile areas; how time passed and through forgetfulness and necessity, the communities expanded onto the fragile slopes.
‘Look around,’ you said. ‘Like the skeleton of a sick man, the hills of Attica are stripped bare. All of Greece is like this. The trees are gone and the soil washes away. We must manage the land as Xenphon taught us.’
Solon, the great reformer, understood, passing laws to ban hillside ploughing. But when Peisistratus came to power he reversed the order, bringing more and more land into use.
It gave you no pleasure to have your predictions come true, to see productivity decline and Greece’s power wane. The Peloponnesian War marked the end of a great era, but the land continued to suffer. Now it is estimated nearly a third of the country is just one step from becoming desert.
They did not listen. ‘So much of our food must be imported,’ they said. ‘Our farmers must grow more. What if Greece should go to war?’
You tried to make them understand. You told them how in 5000BC the first settlers were wise, selecting only fertile areas; how time passed and through forgetfulness and necessity, the communities expanded onto the fragile slopes.
‘Look around,’ you said. ‘Like the skeleton of a sick man, the hills of Attica are stripped bare. All of Greece is like this. The trees are gone and the soil washes away. We must manage the land as Xenphon taught us.’
Solon, the great reformer, understood, passing laws to ban hillside ploughing. But when Peisistratus came to power he reversed the order, bringing more and more land into use.
It gave you no pleasure to have your predictions come true, to see productivity decline and Greece’s power wane. The Peloponnesian War marked the end of a great era, but the land continued to suffer. Now it is estimated nearly a third of the country is just one step from becoming desert.
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