Opinion
In a context marked by climate change and growing social, economic and environmental exposure to risk, disaster risk reduction (DRR) has become a strategic priority. We are no longer talking only about specific emergencies, but about a structural phenomenon that affects human security, economic stability and sustainability. Disasters, which are becoming increasingly frequent and complex, are the visible symptom of a system that needs anticipation, cooperation and shared knowledge. In this regard, the Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015-2030 was adopted by UN Member States on 18 March 2015 at the Third United Nations World Conference on Disaster Risk Reduction in the Japanese city of Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture. The overall objective of this framework is to achieve a substantial reduction in disaster risk and losses in terms of lives, livelihoods and health, as well as in the economic, physical, social, cultural and environmental assets of individuals, businesses, communities and countries over the coming years. Its specific targets are as follows: Platforms for Disaster Risk Reduction The Global Platform is a forum for exchanging information, discussing the latest developments, sharing knowledge and establishing partnerships between different sectors, with the aim of increasing the implementation of disaster risk reduction through better communication and coordination between different stakeholder groups. This platform allows governments, NGOs, scientists, professionals in different fields, and United Nations organisations to share experiences and agree on strategic guidelines for the implementation of the Sendai Framework. Regional Platforms are multisectoral forums that reflect the commitment of governments to improve coordination and carry out activities for disaster risk reduction, while establishing links with national and international initiatives. Similarly, the United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (UNDRR) promotes the establishment of multisectoral coordination mechanisms for DRR, such as National Platforms for Disaster Risk Reduction, in order to highlight the relevance, added value and cost-effectiveness of a coherent and coordinated approach to disaster risk reduction at the national level. In Spain, the creation of this National Platform would not start from scratch, as the National Disaster Risk Reduction Plan already exists. This plan, which forms part of the National Civil Protection System, already establishes the necessary strategic architecture to either be used directly as the space from which to direct DRR research and actions, or as an inspirational model for creating an ad hoc body specifically dedicated to this mission. The urgency of creating this Platform Anticipating risk is now a matter of public and collective responsibility. The increasing frequency of extreme events, the exposure of critical infrastructure and the inequality in response capacity require a stable coordination structure that operates on a permanent and cross-cutting basis. Only an integrated vision, combining science, territorial planning and institutional cooperation, can offer a coherent response to the challenges of this new reality. The creation of this Platform is a strategic necessity. The justification is based on two interconnected pillars: 1. The new reality of disasters: the complexity, intensity and frequency of some disasters are increasing, very often due to climate change. Extreme weather events, increasingly linked to this phenomenon, know no administrative boundaries or sectoral competences. Today’s disasters are not isolated events, but interconnected crises. A forest fire is not just a problem for firefighters; it affects biodiversity, air quality, public health, the local economy and infrastructure. Understanding this network of interdependencies is key to anticipating and reducing impacts before they turn into disasters. Managing it effectively requires a comprehensive vision that can only be achieved through ongoing multisectoral coordination. 2. Consistency and efficiency: acting in isolation and in a fragmented manner is inefficient and costly. A National Platform enables a consistent and coordinated approach. This means: – Avoiding duplication between different administrations. – Sharing information: creating a flow of data and intelligence on risks that benefits all stakeholders. – Optimising resources: investing more intelligently in prevention, preparedness and response, obtaining a greater return in terms of safety for citizens. – Giving relevance: raising disaster risk reduction to the highest political priority, recognising its crucial value for the country’s sustainable development. Towards a Culture of Prevention The true value of a National Platform for DRR goes beyond emergency management when disaster has already struck. Its most important mission is to foster a culture of prevention. Instead of simply being reactive—waiting for the worst to happen before acting—this Platform would enable proactive work to identify risks before they materialise, strengthen critical infrastructure, educate the population, plan land use more safely, and ensure that our early warning systems are as robust as possible. Promoting a culture of prevention also promotes equity. Disasters hit the most vulnerable communities hardest (those living in precarious housing, in risk areas or with less access to information). A National Platform can become an instrument for strengthening territorial and social justice, ensuring that no one is left behind in the face of climate and environmental impacts. Anchored in existing structures such as those derived from the National Disaster Risk Reduction Plan, and backed by the National Civil Protection Council, the Platform would have the authority and capacity to drive this change in mindset, moving risk reduction from the technical sphere to the heart of the country’s strategic planning. P. Cotarelo and O. Mayoral
Opinion
The large urban areas of the 21st century no longer fit within the boundaries of their municipalities. The expansion of cities, daily mobility between localities and shared challenges — from housing to climate change — require metropolitan governance capable of coordinating decisions that affect millions of people and interconnected territories. Thinking on a metropolitan scale Today’s cities function as living networks. People live in one municipality, work in another, consume resources that come from a third, and generate environmental impacts that extend far beyond their administrative boundaries. In this context, urban problems—mobility, pollution, housing, water or waste management—can no longer be solved in isolation. Climate change further exacerbates this situation. Emergencies associated with extreme phenomena, such as DANA (isolated high-altitude depressions) that repeatedly affect the Mediterranean, or fires, reveal the limitations of fragmented management. When each local council acts on its own, the response is slowed down and valuable resources are lost. Managing climate risks such as floods, heat waves and forest fires requires a vision that transcends municipal boundaries and addresses phenomena on a territorial scale. Decisions on urban development, infrastructure and land use in one municipality can have direct effects on neighbouring territories. Metropolitan planning allows for a broad vision of land use, ensuring an adequate proportion of permeable surfaces and infrastructure capable of absorbing and retaining water, securing spaces for flood control and drainage, and reviewing supra-municipal infrastructure that can act as barriers or flood traps. At the same time, this scale of management makes it easier to coordinate the availability of different types of climate shelters, organise networks of health and logistics centres to care for displaced populations, and plan for storage and distribution of aid in large-scale emergencies. This comprehensive approach broadens the focus of land management and allows for a more effective and equitable response to the complexity of contemporary risks. A metropolitan body provides a common institutional framework for coordinating policies, sharing infrastructure, optimising services and anticipating climate risks, with a view to governing the actual territory, and not just the administrative level. Barcelona as a benchmark: integrated management The Barcelona Metropolitan Area (AMB) is the most advanced example of this type of governance in Spain. It brings together 36 municipalities and manages a wide range of areas, from urban planning to mobility, housing, the environment and economic development. Some of its key areas are as follows: • Land use planning and urban planning: it plans urban growth based on criteria of sustainability, social balance and territorial efficiency. • Transport and mobility: it coordinates buses, the underground and metropolitan networks, promoting intermodality and reducing emissions. • Environment and sustainability: manages the water cycle, waste and environmental protection and biodiversity programmes, including a metropolitan plan to combat climate change. • Renewable energies: promotes sustainable facilities and supports the energy transition of municipalities. • Housing and social cohesion: acts on behalf of local councils to ensure a solidarity-based land policy between municipalities. • Economic development and employment: promotes innovation, business creation and regional competitiveness. This model demonstrates that institutional cooperation expands the capacity for action in the face of challenges that no municipality can solve on its own, even if the capital is as important as Barcelona. An opportunity to be seized in the face of current challenges The contrast between AMB and existing associations of municipalities shows how a metropolitan body integrates strategic planning and coordinates resources, while current associations are limited to the management of specific services, which does not reach the strategic scale necessary to address the major urban and environmental challenges of the region they cover. Cities such as Valencia and its surroundings form one of the most dynamic metropolitan areas in the Mediterranean, with an integrated social metabolism: flows of people, resources, energy and waste circulate daily between municipalities. However, it lacks a political body capable of coordinating this metabolism and transforming it towards sustainability. Something similar is happening in other metropolitan areas, which exist in socio-economic reality but not in administrative terms. Creating a metropolitan management body—with clear powers in mobility, housing, territorial planning and climate adaptation—would improve institutional efficiency, reduce duplication and anticipate environmental risks such as those arising from climate change. Adapting to climate change: an integrated approach The creation of metropolitan bodies is not just a question of governance, but also a climate adaptation strategy. Urban agglomerations concentrate population, critical infrastructure and emissions, but they also concentrate capacity for innovation and collective action. A well-designed metropolitan system can: • Coordinate emergency and civil protection plans in the event of extreme events, integrating climate risk management (floods, heat waves, fires, etc.) through shelter infrastructure, early warning systems, and supra-municipal assistance and support networks. • Manage the water and waste cycle in an integrated manner. • Reduce emissions through public transport and clean energy. • Plan urban expansion avoiding climate risk areas. • Boost economic and social resilience, ensuring territorial equality. In short, it enables a shift from reaction to strategic prevention, with decisions based on data and cooperation, and to a culture of resilience, with structures and mechanisms designed to ensure the capacity to withstand. P. Cotarelo and O. Mayoral
Opinion
Current events present us with apparent paradoxes, such as the fact that we live in a world of global connections with vast amounts of information available on any subject almost in real time, but we are often unaware of the details of the place we live in and on which we depend for the most basic activities. We may know more about the capitals of the Western world than we do about the geological history of our valley, river or mountain, and we may be more familiar with international trends than with rainfall patterns, prevailing winds or the processes of regression or advancement of our coastline after storms. However, in the context of climate change, this lack of knowledge about our territory has become a very risky luxury. Beyond the map: living, multidimensional knowledge However, knowing a territory is not just about being able to point out its borders on a map. It means understanding its ecology, history, culture and human relationships. It means understanding, for example, why one ecosystem is resilient to fire and another is not, or how past land management conditions present risks. It is about appreciating its anthropology, its collective memory and its stories, which have been able to read the signs of the climate over generations. Knowing the territory also involves recognising the different types of ‘situated knowledge’ that explain it: scientific, technical, peasant, traditional or emotional knowledge. Situated knowledge, which arises from direct experience with the environment, complements academic science and enriches local decision-making. All of these contribute essential pieces of the same reality, where daily observation and direct experience are as valuable as satellite data or technical reports. The aim of gaining a better and more comprehensive understanding of the territory is to provide people with a ‘territorial lens’ through which to interpret their reality, understanding, for example, that a neighbourhood built on a dry riverbed is not just an urban planning fact, but a future flood risk. This ‘lens’ allows us to connect knowledge and responsibility, and to understand that every local decision is part of an interconnected system. Tools for a local educational revolution The need for a ‘territorial lens’ to interpret reality challenges society as a whole. Therefore, knowledge about the local environment must be based on an educational ecosystem adapted to social and generational realities. In this context, the development of ‘climate-territorial competence’ becomes key. This competence can be defined as the ability to understand the territory in which one lives, identify climate-related risks and vulnerabilities, and act individually and collectively to prevent, mitigate and adapt, participating in local management and governance. The European GreenComp framework on sustainability competences provides a useful reference for guiding this competence. Among its 12 competences, systemic thinking, contextualisation of problems and collective action stand out, all of which are closely linked to territorial knowledge. The integration of these elements into the educational curriculum ensures that anyone who passes through our education system acquires a solid foundation in landscape reading, risk analysis and commitment to their environment. This type of teaching approach should include elements such as: Knowledge as an antidote to vulnerability Although it may be uncomfortable to admit, it is necessary to recognise that vulnerability is unevenly distributed. Vulnerability to the effects of climate change or other phenomena is not the same for all people or at all stages of life. It depends on social, economic and gender factors. For example, an elderly person living alone on the ground floor, without a family network and with reduced mobility, is inherently more vulnerable to flooding than a young person on a high floor. Knowledge of the territory is a ‘critical equaliser’ as it empowers the most vulnerable people, giving them the cognitive and practical resources to understand their risk and know how to act. Climate justice begins by recognising that not all communities face the same threats or have the same resources to deal with them. Knowing the territory, then, is not only an educational issue, but also an ethical and political one. Towards an informed and resilient citizenry An integrated plan for knowledge of the territory is a fundamental strategy for adapting to climate change and building social resilience. It is the difference between being passive spectators of disasters and being active agents of our own safety. It is a profoundly democratic initiative that returns the power of knowledge to society. It does so because it fosters a ‘rooted’ citizenry, with deep roots in understanding their environment, capable of enjoying it and reading the warning signs, participating in solutions and caring for the place they consider their home. Feeling that the territory is our own is the first step towards caring for it collectively, towards recognising it as an extension of our own history and our shared life. In a world of climate emergency, hyperlocal knowledge, acquired by walking, observing and listening, becomes the first line of defence, the basis of our safety. O. Mayoral and P. Cotarelo
Opinion
In the context of climate change, where human development is increasingly pushing biophysical limits, thinking about the territory in terms of its carrying capacity is no longer an academic question, but an urgent necessity. Cities and regions must learn to function as sustainable organisms, capable of maintaining their vitality without depleting natural resources or damaging the environment on which they depend. Social metabolism: understanding the life of the territory Just as an organism needs energy and nutrients to survive, human societies also have a metabolism: they extract resources, transform them, produce goods and generate waste. This constant flow of matter, energy and information constitutes what is known as social metabolism. Applying this approach to the territory allows us to measure its carrying capacity, that is, to determine the extent to which it can withstand a certain amount of human pressure without deteriorating. By identifying regional metabolic units, we can analyse the exchanges between nature and society and, on that basis, guide public policies towards realistic adaptation. The goal is to align the functioning of society with the rhythms and limits of the ecosystem. When a region consumes more than its environment can regenerate, it weakens in the long term. Conversely, planning that respects its metabolism builds resilience and lasting well-being. Beyond classical urban planning Traditional urban design has tended to focus on the relationship between population and built-up land, but it has done so in a partial way. Cities grow driven by demographic, economic or political needs, and this expansion often generates environmental and social impacts that are difficult to reverse. The history of recent centuries is one in which urban development and population distribution are deeply intertwined. It is not just a question of where people live, but also of how the functions of the territory are distributed, what mobility they require, what energy consumption they involve and how they transform the landscape. Urban systems are complex combinations of economic, social, ecological and cultural factors. Understanding their sustainability requires viewing them as a whole, not as separate parts. In this sense, the metabolic approach allows us to integrate this complexity: measuring flows, understanding their interactions and designing policies that are consistent with the material reality of each region. Urbanisation and resilience The way in which a territory is urbanised defines its resilience to disruptive phenomena such as climate change. While scattered expansion increases energy consumption and habitat fragmentation, excessive densification can overwhelm basic services. At both extremes, the balance of the urban metabolism is disrupted. On the contrary, analysing the relationship between population and built-up land allows us to detect these tensions and redesign occupation patterns, for example, in relation to reducing dependence on motorised transport, promoting energy self-sufficiency or integrating green spaces into the urban structure. The result of incorporating a resilient vision into urban planning allows us to move from cities that consume land to cities that coexist with it. Towards a new territorial pact Adapting to carrying capacity essentially means redefining the relationship between society and its environment. It involves recognising that human well-being does not depend on dominating it, but on coexisting with it within sustainable limits. This approach gives rise to what we might call a metabolic pact. That is, an implicit agreement between the population and its territory to maintain a functional balance. When that pact is broken—through overexploitation, pollution, or territorial inequality—the system enters into crisis. Adopting a methodology based on social metabolism allows us to rebuild that pact on solid scientific and political foundations, orienting it towards functional sustainability, where prosperity is measured not only in terms of economic growth, but also in terms of ecological stability, social equity and quality of life. A practical methodology The specific way of incorporating social metabolism into territorial and climate planning could be based on four essential steps: 1. Delineate regional metabolic units Spaces where energy, water, material and population flows behave in a coherent manner. These units allow each territory to be analysed as a living system. 2. Assess carrying capacity Determine the point at which human pressure—urban, industrial, agricultural or tourist—exceeds the environment’s capacity to regenerate. This calculation integrates ecological, social and economic factors. 3. Adjust public policies Translate the results of the analysis into concrete decisions: where to expand or densify, how to plan mobility, which land uses to prioritise, or what limits to impose on resource consumption. 4. Monitor and adapt Territories change, and policies must change with them. This is why a continuous monitoring system is necessary, with indicators that allow strategies to be adjusted in real time. P. Cotarelo and O. Mayoral
Opinion
For centuries, the concept of ‘rights’ has been reserved for people. However, the 21st century is broadening that horizon, and nature is beginning to be recognised as a subject of rights. This change, which may seem symbolic, represents a true legal, ethical and political revolution. It means moving from protecting the environment ‘for utility’ to recognising its intrinsic value and capacity for existence. The starting point is a pioneering case: Law 19/2022, which granted legal personality to the Mar Menor and its basin. This experience has opened up a broader debate: what does it mean to recognise the rights of an ecosystem? What changes in environmental management when the territory ceases to be an object and becomes a subject? The Mar Menor precedent: when nature speaks for itself Law 19/2022, passed by the Congress of Deputies in 2022, made the Mar Menor the first European ecosystem to be recognised as a subject of rights. This historic step was inspired by international models, such as the Whanganui River in New Zealand and the Atrato River in Colombia, where communities and lawyers had argued that ecosystems should have their own legal mechanisms of defence. Under Spanish law, the Mar Menor has four fundamental rights: 1. Right to exist and evolve naturally This implies respecting the ecological laws that sustain its balance. It is not just a question of ‘conserving’ the lagoon, but of allowing it to regenerate and evolve according to its natural dynamics, free from excessive human pressure. 2. Right to protection This means stopping or not authorising activities that pose a risk to its integrity, such as dumping, construction or overexploitation. 3. Right to conservation This requires active measures to preserve species, habitats and protected areas associated with the lagoon and its basin. 4. Right to restoration This requires the repair of damage caused, restoring the ecosystem’s functionality and the natural services it provides to society. To enforce these rights, the law created a system of institutional representation: a Committee of Representatives, a Monitoring Commission and a Scientific Committee. Together, they act as the ‘voice’ of the Mar Menor before the authorities and the courts. With this structure, the lagoon ceases to be a mere natural space managed by sectoral policies and becomes a political and legal entity with its own legitimacy. From protection to coexistence: towards a new legal culture The recognition of rights for entities other than humans marks a radical shift in how we understand the relationship between society and nature. Until now, environmental legislation has focused on regulating the use of resources: how much can be extracted, dumped, occupied or transformed. But in the context of climate crisis and ecological collapse, this model has shown its limitations. Recognising an ecosystem as a subject of rights means overcoming the instrumental view—nature as ‘property’ or ‘resource’—and placing it as part of the community of life, with dignity and a voice of its own. This change has profound consequences: • It introduces new ethical criteria into public decision-making. • It reinforces the ecological responsibility of institutions and companies. • It allows legal action to be taken on behalf of the ecosystem, even when there is no direct impact on people. • It broadens the notion of justice to an ecological and collective level. The concept of ‘more than human entities’ encompasses not only rivers and lakes, but also forests, mountains, soils, wetlands and key species that sustain life in a region. Each of these could, under certain conditions, be recognised as a subject of ecological law, especially those that are essential for climate adaptation. This change is also supported by a deeper understanding of nature itself. Ecosystems are not simply aggregates of biological or geographical elements, but complex systems with emergent properties (such as self-regulation, resilience, or adaptability) that allow them to maintain their balance and sustain life. These properties arise from the interaction between their components and cannot be understood from the sum of their parts. Thus, these new rights not only expand the legal framework, but also reflect an evolution in the scientific and ethical understanding of the planet: recognising nature as a set of interdependent beings, endowed with responsiveness and intrinsic value. Climate adaptation with rights The inclusion of formal recognition of the rights of more-than-human entities in climate change adaptation policies could ensure a more just, durable and biophysically coherent adaptation. For example, granting rights to strategic ecosystems—such as wetlands, rivers or forests—would make it possible to: • Establish automatic legal defence mechanisms against threats. • Ensure ecological priority in planning processes. • Encourage co-management between institutions and local communities. • Promote an integrated territorial vision that transcends administrative divisions. In this way, climate change adaptation would cease to be merely a technical policy and become a matter of ecological justice. A growing global trend The recognition of rights to nature is not an isolated anomaly. In recent years, this trend has spread throughout the world: • Ecuador was the first country to enshrine the ‘rights of nature’ (Pachamama) in its Constitution (2008). • Bolivia passed the Mother Earth Law (2010), recognising its intrinsic value. • In Colombia, the Constitutional Court declared the Atrato River a subject of rights. • In New Zealand, the Whanganui River and Mount Taranaki have legal personality and designated guardians. • In India, the Ganges and Yamuna rivers were given similar status (although with subsequent legal disputes). Towards a more than human democracy Ultimately, exploring and recognising new rights for more than human entities is a way of democratising our relationship with ecosystems, which cease to be mere settings for human life and become actors with their own agency and vulnerability. Recognising the complexity of ecosystems implies accepting their responsiveness and their role in the planet’s balance. From this perspective, more than human democracy is understood as a form of co-responsibility with everything that makes life possible. Furthermore, incorporating this vision into climate and adaptation policies is a necessary step to ensure the integration of resilience and sustainability into
Opinion
We are living in times of profound transformation. While the effects of climate change are becoming increasingly palpable in our daily lives – from more intense heat waves to extreme weather events – a silent transformation is taking place in the field of law that seeks to answer the fundamental question of whether we have a right to a healthy environment. The affirmative answer to this question has set in motion an international legal and political movement that is redefining the obligations of states and the rights of citizens. The climate emergency as a human rights issue Traditionally, climate change has been conceptualised as an environmental, energy or economic problem. However, this perspective is falling short. The climate crisis is, above all, a human rights crisis, and social perception of it is gradually moving towards this interpretation. This is because a stable environment and climate are the foundation on which all other rights are based. Without them, the right to health is compromised by diseases spread by heat or pollution; the right to housing is threatened by forced evictions after flooding; the right to life is at risk from the violence of extreme weather events; the right to food, besieged by droughts that destroy crops; and the right to equality, in critical condition because it is the most vulnerable – the impoverished, the elderly, indigenous peoples – who suffer disproportionately from the effects of an unstable climate. The scientific community has long pointed out that ecosystem degradation, deforestation and biodiversity loss have direct consequences on human health by altering the ecological balances that sustain us. It is not just a matter of avoiding the damage that befalls us, but of understanding that we are part of the same living system. This understanding challenges the traditional anthropocentric paradigm, which has historically placed humanity above the rest of nature. This comprehensive view, supported by the One Health approach promoted by the World Health Organisation (WHO) and the scientific community, reminds us that human health, animal health and ecosystem health are closely interrelated, and reinforces the need for policies that recognise the continuity between human health, ecosystem health and the right to a healthy environment. Research and science have worked over the last few decades to prove this connection between climate change and the violation of rights through its impacts. The next step in protecting these rights lies in the legal sphere, which must translate this challenge into enforceable rights and specific obligations. It is at this point that Advisory Opinion OC-32/25 of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (IACHR) marks a turning point. The ruling of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights: a new legal paradigm In May 2025, at the request of Chile and Colombia, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights ruled on the obligations of States in the context of the Climate Emergency. Its opinion is not a mere recommendation; it is a detailed and binding legal roadmap for the countries that are part of the inter-American system. The Court breaks down the obligations of States into four fundamental pillars: 1. General obligations in the context of the climate emergency The Court makes it clear that States have a duty to prevent the catastrophic effects of climate change. This is no longer a political choice, but a legal obligation. Governments must take all necessary measures – legislative, administrative, judicial – to ensure that activities under their jurisdiction do not cause significant transboundary harm. Inaction, or insufficient action, may constitute a violation of human rights. 2. Obligations arising from substantive rights The Court explicitly links the climate emergency to established rights, such as the right to life and personal integrity. A healthy environment is an essential condition for the enjoyment of these rights. In practice, this could mean that an individual or community could sue the state if, for example, air pollution from a nearby thermal power plant is seriously affecting their health, arguing that the state’s failure to adequately regulate that source of emissions violates their right to personal integrity. 3. Procedural obligations: transparency and participation States must not only act, but they must do so in a specific manner. This includes: a. Access to information: ensuring that citizens have access to clear, timely and understandable information on climate impacts and policies to address them. b. Public participation: allowing people to participate meaningfully in environmental decision-making, such as the approval of a project with a high carbon footprint. c. Access to justice: ensuring that accessible judicial or administrative mechanisms are in place to challenge actions or omissions that affect the environment. 4. The principle of equality and non-discrimination The Court is unequivocal in its assertion that the climate crisis is a crisis of inequality. State obligations must be applied with a perspective of equity, prioritising the protection of vulnerable groups that are disproportionately affected. Climate policies must be designed to protect them specifically, preventing the burden of climate change from falling on those who have contributed least to causing it. Towards a new social contract The exploration of including these rights implies a profound change in the relationship between citizens, the State and the environment. For citizens: it would mean having a legal tool that would allow individuals and groups to take legal action against their governments to demand that they meet their climate targets, halt polluting projects, or implement plans to adapt to climate change and its effects. For society as a whole: it represents an opportunity to forge a new social contract that places sustainability and intergenerational justice at its core. For states: it would mean much stricter accountability at different levels of government. From climate agreements at international summits to local government resolutions, all would become legally enforceable commitments. Urban planning, energy policy and water management, for example, would inevitably have to pass through the filter of human rights. P. Cotarelo and O. Mayoral
Opinion
The complex contemporary economic processes that enable the material and symbolic sustenance of people depend on energy. It is a resource of primary necessity and this makes it strongly linked to power and conflict. Access to and control over energy has historically been a fundamental political issue. The development of our fossil economies has led to the preponderance of energy ownership schemes (public and private) consistent with the liberal vision of ownership (exclusive and exclusionary) and with the dynamics of dispossession inherent to capitalism. But the energy transition towards renewables contributes to experimenting with alternative forms to the traditional ones: public (state) and private ownership of energy. This is due to the fact that in this impasse, renewable electricity becomes relevant, allowing the involvement of a wide diversity of actors: from large financial groups to SMEs of different legal natures (including social and solidarity economy enterprises), public bodies at local or regional level, and the citizenry as a whole. However, the fact that energy is such an absolutely strategic element for a country means that it is highly intervened by States and by supra-state bodies such as the European Union, fundamentally to guarantee security of supply in a framework of international economic competitiveness and a global energy and climate crisis. Intervention mainly involves a very high degree of regulation and ownership in the global energy sector, either through the acquisition of assets or through state-owned enterprises, especially in the electricity sector. According to the report State-Owned Enterprises and the Low-Carbon Transition published by the OECD (2018), 31 of the 51 largest electricity utilities in the world have a majority public shareholding, most of them Chinese and Russian. In Europe, the so-called ‘neoliberal consensus’ of the last quarter of the 20th century led to a reduction in the weight of the state in the electricity business and, as a result, only the Swedish Vattenfall, which is fully public, the French EDF (85% owned by the French state) and, in second place, the French ENGIE and the Italian ENEL, with a minority shareholding by their states (33% and 24%, respectively), stand out. On the other hand, it is also true that the very nature of energy makes public intervention indispensable. If we focus on electricity, it should be stressed that, unlike fossil fuels, once it has been generated, it circulates through the networks with little or no possibility of being stored. This key detail conditions its management because it requires precise coordination to match supply and demand at all times. To do so, it is also necessary to take into account the constraints imposed by the different generation technologies or processes: from their capacity to regulate production (for example, a nuclear power plant cannot be shut down suddenly or the production of a wind turbine varies depending on the wind blowing) to their geographical location (the distance between the point of generation and the point of use). Nor should we forget the management of international grid connectivity with neighbouring countries. In short, these issues cannot be ignored when discussing possible – and desirable – models of energy ownership. Energy is a resource that is difficult to compare to any other, and public non-intervention is inexcusable in order to adapt to its peculiarities. Energy ownership in Spain Before continuing, it should be noted that, depending on how one looks at it, linking ownership and energy does not only mean addressing the question of the possession of legally sealed titles in the energy sector. From a republican perspective, to speak of property is to speak of access to the set of material and immaterial resources considered relevant – of a nature and quantity contingent on each spatio-temporal context – to guarantee people a dignified livelihood. The social function of property has to do with enabling people to live a life of socio-economic independence. It is also assumed that the only interdependencies with others are those that are free from arbitrary interference. Thus, ownership is also defined by the right to control these basic resources. No one doubts that energy – and more so electricity in the current transition – falls into this category of basic resources and that public authorities are needed to guarantee the right to access them. However, citizens must have the mechanisms to control these public authorities. On the one hand, so that they do not allow certain private actors to interfere arbitrarily over others, giving rise to relations of dependency; and on the other, so that they do not feed clientelistic practices that lead to oligarchic and despotic logics. Looking at the Spanish case, we can conclude that the energy ownership model is far from fulfilling its social function: on the one hand, the regulation does not define electricity as an essential good in terms of universal accessibility, and on the other hand, the structure of property rights over energy infrastructures is controlled by a small and powerful block of private companies. As accessibility to electricity is not guaranteed ex-ante, what we do find in Spain are ex-post corrective measures whose level of effectiveness in universalising reasonable access is debatable: the bono social, Law 24/2015 against supply cuts, emergency aid, advisory services on rights, generation and optimisation of consumption, tax incentives or subsidies for renewables, or municipal supply companies. These measures do not tackle a problem that is structural and related to the legal system. Beyond ex-post public intervention, it is fair to point out that there are private initiatives whose actions are not profit-oriented and which offer a supply service with certain public service overtones, as they put the coverage of their members‘ or clients’ energy needs before obtaining profitability. This is the case of the energy cooperatives, among which Som Energia stands out. In its case, it is also an actor that promotes and facilitates popular participation in renewable generation projects, as well as an energy culture based on the values of sustainability, social justice and democracy. Energy communities and public sector participation Energy access schemes are
Opinion
In recent months, neighbourhood movements in different parts of Spain have brought to public debate the need to structurally rethink the tourism sector in their areas. They warn that in these places (and perhaps in others as well) the carrying capacity has been exceeded due to the constant growth of tourist activity and its consequences. These include environmental degradation and increased pollution, frequent and in some cases dangerous crowding, deterioration of public services such as transport, increased cost of living, displacement of local people, difficulties for working people to live relatively close to their daily place of work, housing speculation, and loss of local cultural identity. Although perhaps new to the general public, different groups and social agents have been warning about this problem for years thanks to data collected in other locations where the process of touristification has advanced before. Due to this data and the reflections, analyses and publications from the social sciences, some political leaders have tried to provide solutions from the public policy sphere to avoid the most serious effects of the tourist monoculture and, in some cases, to try to reverse it, with mixed outcomes. First of all, it must be recognised that the incentives for policy-makers are not particularly favourable for carrying out this task. For, despite the institutional mandate to represent the interests of their population, and despite the social protests that have taken place in their different forms, significant factors that encourage the opposite seem to have more weight. As a result, we see that the general tendency is to remain the same as before, i.e. to do nothing to alter the tourism mechanism. Arguably, the biggest incentive for nothing to change is that change in general, and this one in particular, is very time-consuming and complex. This is due to inertia, technical difficulties and established power relations. Among the technical difficulties, one that, despite its importance, is often overlooked is the impossibility of replacing the tourist monoculture with another activity (or activities) while maintaining the main indicators in similar terms. Like any other predatory activity, tourism extracts ‘assets’ (beaches and other natural spaces, monuments, climate, architecture, educated and cared-for population, public infrastructures, etc.). ) for free and processes them, generating an economic return (which in many cases does not return to the area, not even to its capitalist class) and generally negative externalities (such as those listed at the beginning of the text: environmental deterioration and increased pollution, overcrowding, worsening of public services, increased cost of living, displacement of the local population, difficulties for working people to live near their daily place of work, housing speculation, loss of local cultural identity). Moreover, when the monoculture of such an activity has been consolidated, too many bridges have been dynamited for it to be considered as just another activity in a range of economic activities to be developed. The tourism process advances towards the socio-economic monoculture phase and, once there, continues to advance in its depredation of the environment and society on which it is based. Indicators that tend to point unequivocally to the fact that the tourist monoculture has become established include the following: the census population is decreasing; disposable family income in the area is increasing due to the expulsion of the less well-off classes because of the generalised rise in prices and of housing in particular; the surface area dedicated to tourism and the hotel industry is increasing in relation to other economic activities, such as industry and education; the saturation of this type of activity is advancing, colonising more and more areas of the city; the proliferation of dwellings for tourist use is spreading exponentially in the absence of effective control mechanisms; shops commonly aimed at the local population, such as food shops, are turning their offer towards tourists, with the disappearance of fresh produce shops such as fishmongers, butchers and greengrocers. In addition, phenomena that are incomprehensible to the naked eye are beginning to be detected, such as the closure of shops (the closing of shutters) in the most overcrowded areas or their surroundings because they are used as warehouses for other premises (mainly restaurants) whose activity cannot develop as desired due to the high demand to which they are subjected and their need for product rotation. This also leads to an increased feeling of insecurity and/or risk in these areas. Under these conditions, an economic return of the same characteristics without incurring serious externalities is not possible. In other words, replacing this monoculture activity with another could only be done by assuming the same (or greater) amount of negative externalities. Negative externalities could be found in two broad groups: those that are outside the law, or those that would put the very survival of the business at serious risk in the short term (such as those of an environmental or social nature that would considerably disrupt the flow of capital). In fact, a large part of the expansion of this monoculture comes from the perception that it is more profitable than other activities and that it is legitimate to facilitate its development. The mechanisms that facilitate its development over other socio-economic options also form part of the very institutional structure (public and private) of the tourist monoculture, which increases the perception of its high profitability and the lack of need for other activities unrelated to it. Therefore, the more the process of deepening the monoculture advances, the more the impossibility of substituting it with another sustainable activity in economic, environmental and social terms grows. On the one hand, the collective and institutional imaginary is moving further and further away from this possibility. On the other hand, in material terms, the growing inclusion of elements that threaten the environment and social rights and conditions, inherent to monoculture tourism, makes it impossible for there to be another activity that, while complying with socio-environmental rules, could generate similar monetary returns. Such an option is ruled out for political action. It is also a tremendously perverse incentive for policy makers
