#futuregen: Lessons from a Small Country

Introduction

For Our Future Generations

The eyes of all future generations are upon you.

And if you choose to fail us, I say we will never forgive you.

GRETA THUNBERG, 2019 UN Climate Action Summit

We hope that what Wales does today, the world will do tomorrow. Action, more than words, is the hope for our current and future generations.

NIKHIL SETH, head of sustainable development, United Nations Development Programme

In 2015 our government in Wales passed into law the Well-being of Future Generations (Wales) Act. This Act is the first legislation in the world to enshrine the rights of future generations alongside current ones and requires Welsh Government ministers and the organisations they oversee to embed this commitment into everything they do.

When it received Royal Assent in 2015, Carl Sargeant AM (Assembly Member), the sponsoring minister, said: ‘By passing the Well-being of Future Generations Act, we have formally placed sustainable development at the heart of our public services and legislated for a set of goals – linked to the UN’s Global Goals – that set a clear path to a sustainable future.’

The creation of the Act was a brave and wonderful deed by the Welsh Government and a vote of confidence by the Welsh legislature for a different, more sustainable future for Wales. The Act proposes simply that the effect of decisions on the needs of future generations is factored into the decision-making process and gives guidance on how to do that – it provides permission to think sustainably in an unsustainable world. It is revolutionary because it enshrines into law that the well-being of the current and future people of Wales is explicitly the core purpose of the government of Wales – the principle at the heart of government.

Such a core principle is revolutionary in its own right, but the Act goes further: after specifying the intention, it shows us how to get there – becoming a framework for collective action. If you ask the question, ‘What does the Act do?’, it creates seven goals for living within our environmental limits in the arenas of health, prosperity, resilience, communities, language and heritage, equality and Wales’ role in the world.

If you ask the question, ‘How should people comply with the Act?’, it directs five ways of working to reach decisions: prevention, long-termism, collaboration, participation and integrating activities to reach positive outcomes for as many of the goals as possible. The seven goals are the what; the five ways of working are the how. This is a moral agenda, predicated not on what is right in the short term or for individual benefit, but on what is right for the well-being of our communities, our countries and our very existence as humans in nature.

I write this story as the minister who proposed the Act. I recount what led up to it, examine why Wales was first to do it and then assess whether it is working and what needs to happen next. Many times I have been asked about why I wanted to create a law to benefit future generations. I didn’t set out to do that, but when I asked myself how we could reset the needle for a new age of politics and offer hope to future generations and to nature – which doesn’t have a vote – I came to the conclusion that the only way to ensure a positive future for the next generation, and the ones that follow, is for government to act differently now. I’ve been called its mother, its architect, its creator, all of which are very flattering, but not accurate. I accept that if I had not been in the ministerial position that I was, at the time that I was, we may not have an act in Wales now, but this is probably more to do with my inherent obstinacy, a refusal to take no for an answer on something I believe in, than any higher motive.

This book is a frank account of the journey Wales took from my personal perspective, hopefully answering the questions ‘why Wales?’ and ‘why now?’, along with looking at whether the first country in the world to take legislative action specifically to protect generations yet to come is doing the job envisaged.

Lessons from a small country

The story of Wales is a story of ambition. In 1999 this small country sought a new opportunity, through its new legislature, the National Assembly for Wales, to reframe the traditional role of government by creating a new context in which to inspire better decisions in the interests of current and future generations.

People of Wales have big hearts. They belong in a small country, but, oh man, they really have the kick of a mule!

ARCHBISHOP DESMOND TUTU

I am strongly of the belief that there are particular opportunities for a small country to be a test bed; to be smarter and more flexible than its larger neighbours. Here cultural behaviour-change experiments can be piloted and new approaches forged.

Culturally, Wales has sustained the oldest Celtic language in the world into current use. The Welsh language has official status in Wales, and all political parties are encouraging its expansion. Many people who come to Wales for the first time are surprised to hear that a fifth of people in Wales speak Welsh as their first language as they go about their daily activities. Nearly a third of school pupils receive all or most of their education in Welsh. I live in one of the many places in Wales where all services are naturally delivered in Welsh by Welsh speakers. This makes it a very different environment to other parts of the U.K. and is worthy of celebration. The National Eisteddfod of Wales, which dates back to Cardigan Castle in 1176, is not only the annual celebration of Welsh language and culture and the largest celebration of minority-language culture in Europe but is also the largest poetry and music festival in Europe, recognised globally by its ancient Red Dragon flag that is proudly outside the Union Jack. Its young person equivalent, the Urdd National Eisteddfod – the annual Welsh-language youth festival of literature, music and the performing arts – is also Europe’s largest youth festival. I will come back later to the important part Welsh language and culture play in the Well-being of Future Generations Act.

Wales is both a nation with an ancient parliamentary history going back to 1404 and a modern vibrant country with world-class universities and fantastic natural resources – its coasts and its mountains bring tourists from all over the world. Many people who come to university here never leave because of the quality of the natural environment. Adjacent to its second city, Swansea, lies the Gower Peninsula, the first designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in the U.K. The Gower’s beaches have regularly featured among the best in the U.K., as have those in the county I live in, Pembrokeshire, and the Llŷn Peninsula and the island of Anglesey in North Wales. Snowdonia, the mountainous region in the north, is famed for hosting the second highest mountain in the U.K. and the world’s steepest road.

But Wales’ beauty and its modern, outward-looking approach bely a darker legacy.

Wales is often recognised as the first industrial country, whose considerable wealth and health was extracted from it for the benefit of people elsewhere. Wales has often led innovation. The 1841 census showed it to be the first country in history to move from agriculture to industry; the first £1 million cheque ever was signed here, in the Cardiff Coal Exchange. Its industrial development, while kick-starting the industrial revolution, was based primarily on coal, iron, copper and steel and came at an appalling cost to both its environment and the health and well-being of its people. Quarrying was the other key industry that fuelled the revolution, with stone used for buildings and roads. Records and pictures from the 19th century are accounts of hell, where the work was impossibly hard, conducted in atmospheres of belching smoke, dangerous blasting, poisonous fumes or the unstable dark of the mines. As we leave the old industries behind, there is a danger that we also leave behind the current and future generations of the thousands of families who contributed to Wales’ industrial strength.

With this industrial heritage, Wales unsurprisingly has a very poor health record, with life expectancies varying by five years. Inequalities in health are most pronounced in areas that also experienced social and economic deprivation, such as South Wales’ former mining valleys.

Wales has a small population – fewer than 4 million – with substantial cultural diversity in the towns and cities with docks, where different communities have integrated well for over a century. The Labour Party has been the dominant political force in Wales for more than a century. Social justice and tackling poverty remain key political themes, as does a wider equality agenda including ethnicity and gender. There is a pervading feeling in communities ‘left behind’ by the move away from coal and steel – and with some justification – that they did all the work and did not receive the benefit. If any country needs to look after the health and well-being of future generations, it is Wales!

But how resilient is it as a nation? According to Professor Herbert Girardet of the World Future Council, the South Wales valleys are surrounded by hills rich in wind-, solar- and hydro-power potential. Surprisingly, he says, very little of this has so far been developed – and hardly any to the benefit of local communities:

In Wales, so far, some £2 billion has been invested in onshore and offshore wind turbines, generating over £340 million in revenue per annum, largely to the benefit of remote shareholders. Not surprisingly, in the Valleys there has been strong resistance against new wind power development. Why should the intrusion of large wind farms into the local countryside be tolerated if it has few tangible benefits to local people? But whilst large-scale wind, hydro and solar energy development cannot replace the 100,000 former coal and steel industry jobs in the Valleys, it could, nevertheless, spawn many new businesses and job opportunities, and a huge revenue stream for local communities.

For years the notion of getting on in Wales was to get out – and indeed the 20th century saw Welsh emigration across the world. In this century, however, there are signs of people wanting to come back to Wales, citing quality of life, distinctiveness, the Welsh language and increasingly the fact that Wales now has its own legislature. Excitingly, the Well-being of Future Generations (Wales) Act itself is becoming a tool of Wales’ ‘soft power’ in the world, where its very existence tells you about the characteristics of a nation open to change and prepared to be responsible for future generations.

We live in interesting times. We might be the poorest country in the U.K., but we are innovators: at the forefront of genetic and Alzheimer’s disease research, but also the world’s first Fairtrade nation, a world leader in recycling, a U.K. leader in organ donation, one of the only countries in the world where ‘you can walk the shape of a nation’ along our coast and of course the first country in the world to legislate for future generations.

In so many ways, it would be easy to suggest that we live in very dark times: when drawbridges are being pulled up across the world; when those fleeing persecution, famine, disease or flood are turned back at borders, sometimes losing their lives in the process. But there is hope – hope from individuals, from movements, from science, from politics. One of my favourite calls to action is often attributed to Margaret Mead, the anthropologist: ‘Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.’

We have been and are being transformative, we have been and are used to big ambition; but making this huge commitment to living more sustainably for the benefit of current and future generations – how exciting and groundbreaking is that? If lessons from the small country of Wales can help keep the intergenerational beacon alight, my job will have been well done.

During my years in government and more recently in the writing of this book, I spoke and corresponded extensively with the people mentioned in these pages, and these conversations were the source for their words here, including the quotes that open each chapter. Links to the statutory Sustainable Development Schemes and Effectiveness Reviews discussed here can be found in the useful resources on page 187, together with links to other useful or relevant reports.

‘What is so compelling about the future generations approach is the way it gives governments and decision-makers worldwide a tangible, almost personal reason to act and think long-term. Thinking of fairness, justice, equity – however you choose to frame it – in terms of the interests and well-being of our own children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren makes the demands of future generations suddenly more urgent and more immediate.’

Catarina Tully, director, School of International Futures

‘The Well-being of Future Generations Act represents a part of our society that cannot stand up for itself yet. Enshrined in its remit is to protect the future. Let’s hope it does that and is able to create its own form of immortality by reproducing itself.’

Juliet Davenport, founder and CEO, Good Energy

CHAPTER 1

From Nature to Politics

How They Became One

We can never have enough of Nature.

HENRY DAVID THOREAU

I remember the moment I fell in love with the abundance of nature. It was 1964 and I was seven years old, newly kitted out with my birthday bicycle, a glorious translucent red BSA (Birmingham Small Arms) steel creation which was my winged chariot, my explorer’s horse. On it I would cycle to school and, much more important, was allowed to go on my own across wasteland and veldt in the unfinished suburb of Mount Pleasant in Salisbury, Rhodesia. In that year of the bicycle, snakes crossed my path, as did monkeys, the occasional herd of duiker or Thomson’s gazelle and an enormous variety of insects and spiders of fantastic sizes and colours. My favourite were the chongololos, wonderfully armoured millipedes, bigger than my hands, which at the first sign of danger would curl up into tightly wrought shiny golden circles, paired legs curled beautifully in order. As a child, I spent hours encouraging as many chongololos as possible to be rings on my fingers – until they fell off when, in their view, danger was averted. I remember 26 being my goal – 3 on each of my longer fingers and 2 each on the little finger and thumb – but I don’t remember ever achieving anything like that. Chongololos get bored easily, as it turns out.

I remember the trees in my life – the custard apple outside our back door; the rustling murmur of our neighbour’s tall eucalyptuses outside my bedroom window with their silvery bark and sharp tang when licked; the stately Acrocarpus (pink cedar) towering above the drive – which I was forbidden to climb, but had such delectable horizontal branches, rising ladderlike into the skies. There were the fruit trees rich with their citrus aromas, particularly the naartje – a native version of a tangerine, twice the size and a hundred times the flavour; the avocado pears and mangoes growing wild wherever their seeds had landed. Not forgetting the baobab – once witnessed, never forgotten – the upside-down tree, looking for all the world as if it were waving its roots in the air. More than any other plant, the baobab captured my childhood imagination. To this day a picture of one brings memories of my childhood in Africa flooding back: the smell of red earth after rain in the wet season, azure skies with endless promise of picnics and exploring and swimming in the dry season and a cacophony of sounds and colours assaulting the senses; nature in harmony and on display, infiltrating all my senses, abundant and ever giving. I was part of nature and nature was part of me. Together we were whole.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, this is when the wildness of nature entered my soul and became an essential part of who I was then and who I am now: not the tidy, regimented planting of suburban gardens (although I’m always impressed at the effort involved) but geology and animals in their natural habitats – the lushness of tiny ferns making dead trees their home; the joy of the swallows’ nests in the eaves of the garage; the nest of slow worms in the compost heap; the majesty of mountains and what their existence does to the sky above; the plunging, bent, tortured geology of the coastal cliffs; the flick of a dolphin’s tail; the plaintive call of an oystercatcher; the feel of the bark of a tree; the scent of spring. I am the one hand clapping in the forest, leaving behind only footprints. These treasures are there for us all, every single day of our lives if we look – and they need protecting. I’ve started each chapter therefore with a reflection on what nature speaks to me and how that integrates with my thinking about the opportunities from the Well-being of Future Generations Act for Wales and elsewhere.

Early upbringing

I was brought up in Zimbabwe when it was called Rhodesia. My professor father had been seconded by the University of Birmingham in 1962 to establish a new multiracial medical school at the University College of Rhodesia in its capital, Salisbury (now Harare). The medical school was to be a beacon of hope in southern Africa, training indigenous doctors of all colours and creeds.

Both my parents had strong notions of fairness and service. My mother, also a doctor, worked for the Rhodesian Family Planning Service on a part-time basis, often in remote parts of the country. I grew up with three household staff – a cook (Godfrey), a nanny (Mary), both of whom were effectively family, and with us all through my early life, and a succession