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In Praise of the Nimby
Opponents of local developments are not always selfish
or narrow-minded: often they are the true heroes of
democracy.
New Statesman, 3 May 2004
The latest flashpoint is the colour
of red brick. In March, the government-commissioned
Barker report on housing recommended the construction
of 120,000 new homes every year, to alleviate a growing
housing shortage and dampen down the insane spiral of
property prices. It also recommended that current planning
restrictions on greenfield housebuilding be eased, to
make construction faster and more "flexible".
The government welcomed the report.
So, unsurprisingly, did the House Builders Federation.
Trying to sound like the spokesman for a charity rather
than for a profit-hungry gaggle of bricklayers, Pierre
Williams talked of the "serious social and economic
problems" caused by rocketing house prices. And
he blamed "the Nimby lobby" for the current
lack of construction. "They have no interest in
the wider environment," he lamented, "only
their backyards . . . Their views are seriously damaging
the lives of the moderately paid."
Since the late Nicholas Ridley, as
Tory environment secretary in the late 1980s, first
popularised the word, "Nimby" has been the
first insult that big developers throw at their opponents.
It stands for "not in my backyard" ("back
garden" would be more culturally appropriate, but
Nimbg wouldn't have the same ring to it) and it suggests
that opponents of roads, airports, waste facilities,
mobile-phone masts and housing estates are selfish,
short-sighted enemies of progress, prepared to put their
narrow interests above those of wider society.
All this, however, is the propaganda
of the powerful. It is the whining of the thwarted lobby
group, the frustration of the man from the ministry,
brought up short in his grand designs by the tiresome
objections of people who will actually have to live
with them. Often, the Nimby is not the enemy of progress
but its begetter. In a land, and increasingly a world,
where democracy is bought and where the global trumps
the local every time, the Nimbys - those prepared to
defend what they know and love against the depredations
of the distant and the disengaged - are the true heroes.
It is they, not the housebuilders and their tame ministers,
who represent the best of what democracy is about.
Consider two recent examples. At the
end of March, protest camps along the route of a £54m
new bypass to be built around Blackwood, in South Wales,
were evicted by police and bailiffs. Local people had
been trying to protect one of the last local fragments
of ancient woodland. The government said the road would
provide a vital economic boost to a poor area. Protesters
replied that the boost would be to Asda/Wal-Mart, General
Electric and the arms firm General Dynamics, all of
which would benefit from the access provided by the
road. Irene Jones, who had campaigned against the road
for 11 years, was in tears as she watched the camps
occupied by determined local teenagers destroyed, and
chainsaws cutting down the ancient trees. "I feel
that all these trees have been here so long, hundreds
of years, and they will all be gone in one moment, and
the heritage of this area will be gone in one moment
as well," she said.
Meanwhile, in Southampton, champagne
corks popped as residents learned that the government
had rejected a proposed £600m container port on
open green space in Dibden Bay, a wildlife site with
four separate European, national and local conservation
orders on it. Associated British Ports, which owns the
land, said that a new port was "vital for the UK
economy" and had urged the government to ignore
the objections of residents, the local MP, English Nature,
the Ramblers' Association, the Countryside Agency and
New Forest District Council. When ministers took the
protesters' side, several business leaders publicly
threatened to relocate, furious at how local people
had stopped them ruining the environment in the name
of growth.
Neither of these cases has anything
to do with the whining of a selfish bourgeoisie, worried
about their house prices falling. This is something
much more deep-seated and valuable, something that should
be celebrated rather than dismissed. This is the sound
of people who care about the place they live in, who
feel they belong to it, who understand why it matters
and who are prepared to fight for it. This is the sound
of political engagement.
When people involve themselves in such
local battles, as I myself discovered during the road
protests of the 1990s, something wider and deeper begins
to happen. What begins small starts to grow, to fan
outwards, as people start to question and then to understand
the wider political and economic forces that created
the need for more air travel, faster trunk roads or
larger container ports. Local communities learn, from
what is happening on their doorstep, about what is happening
in the wider world, and why. They meet outsiders who
come to help them. They learn how to fight back, how
to say no, and how to think about what the alternatives
might be.
They become, in other words, engaged,
informed, passionate citizens: exactly what this government
says it wants us all to be. More even than that, they
learn to turn an unspoken, maybe even incoherent, love
of place into a road map for political action.
As I have written in these pages before,
much of the world is becoming a playground for the "citizens
of nowhere", a rootless global elite hopping from
hotel to boardroom, skyscraper to airport lounge, trailing
behind them a homogenised, plastic world of non-places,
inhabited by people who could be anywhere at all. As
this placeless world spreads, and as progress is increasingly
defined as the ability to look out of a hotel window
in any city and see the same neon-lit corporate logos,
the most radical thing to do is to belong. To belong
to a place, a piece of land, a community - to know it
and to be prepared to defend it. Here, we disparagingly
call these defenders Nimbys. In other countries, the
terminology is different, but the contempt from above
is the same.
Take, for example, the struggle in
the Narmada Valley, India, a struggle that has been
going on for decades. The government of the state of
Gujarat is building 30 large, 135 medium-sized and 3,000
small dams along the length of the Narmada River. It
is described as the most ambitious such project in human
history and its supporters say it will provide vast
amounts of water and electricity desperately required
for development. But it will displace at least 320,000
people and affect the lives of another million. Villages
are to be drowned, with paltry recompense to the inhabitants.
The dams will submerge more than 4,000 square kilometres
of forest. Ten thousand fisher families that depend
on the Narmada estuary for a living are likely to lose
their livelihoods.
The Narmada Bachao Andolan, a network
of protesters, involves hundreds of thousands of people
in the area. Many are Adivasis, the tribal people of
India, lowest of the low; all are poor. The electricity
generated by the dams will not go to them, but to large,
often foreign industries, which have come to "develop"
their country. The protesters say they will stay in
their villages and drown as the dam waters rise.
These people, who would be called Nimbys
in Britain, are in India called Luddites and anarchists,
selfishly standing in the way of the greater common
good. "If you have to sacrifice a little bit of
your own to help the society, do it gladly, willingly,
smilingly," instructs Gujarat's irrigation minister,
whose well-appointed house is a very long way from those
he is charged with drowning in the name of progress.
In every country on earth such battles
are going on, as the consumer machine rolls forward,
opening up new frontiers. And increasingly, the resisters
fight on a clearly defined battleground.
This is becoming the struggle of the
rooted against the rootless; a battle between those
who believe that places matter, and those - on the left
as well as the right - who see local and national geography
as an embarrassing obstacle to a truly global future.
This is the struggle of the Mexican Zapatistas and the
Welsh road protesters, the Landless Peoples' Movement
in Latin America and the family farmers of England,
the Narmada Bachao Andolan and the No Airport at Cliffe
campaign. Each time, the rallying cry is simple, ancient
and deeply democratic: Place matters. This is ours.
We decide.
The so-called Nimby, in other words,
is practising the oldest form of democracy - the local
variety. From the Greek city states through the Iroquois
democracies that inspired Thomas Paine and on to Thomas
Jefferson's original vision for the American republic
as a nation of yeoman farmers exercising their rights
through town meetings, local - direct - democracy is
the most primal and ancient form of people power.
"Not in my backyard", then,
is not a cry to be disparaged or dismissed: it is a
rallying call to gladden the heart. The yard, the garden,
the village green, the town square, the local plot of
land, inhabited, visited and protected by those who
know it, is the well from which democracy springs, and
the bench at which government and its grand projects
are judged. This is why politicians, housebuilders,
planners, bureaucrats, civil engineers and "global
citizens" everywhere hate Nimbys with such a passion.
Nimbys have power, and they are not afraid to use it.
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