Bamboo makes handbags stylish, captures carbon, and might be the next big thing on the Italian food scene

Me in Osun Grove, Osogbo, Nigeria, 2023
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Bamboo might be the next big thing in—wait for it—Italian food.

Many years ago, when I lived in Arkansas, a green-thumbed friend (and brilliant criminal-defense appellate lawyer) came by my house and advised me to rip out a small patch of bamboo that had taken root in my backyard.

"You don't want that," she said, eyes wide with murderous intent.

A first-time homeowner, I was skeptical of this plant prejudice. I could not get anything else green to survive the scorching summer in Arkansas. It seemed wrong to kill a stalwart survivor.

Moreover, my limited prior experience with bamboo was not adversarial. My university fraternity, in Virginia, maintained a small crop. Our annual harvest for a South Pacific-themed party—yeah, I see the cliché too, and you can bet we played into it—seemed to keep the growth in check.

My friend continued: "It'll take over, and you won't be able to get rid of it." 

"Well if it gets to be too much," I posited cautiously, "how do you get rid of it? There must be a way."

"Well," she cocked her head and thought for a moment. Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips. "You can nuke it," she said wryly. 

She might have overstated the requisite pruning strategy. But she wasn't wrong.

Once bamboo gets a foothold, it is extremely difficult to eradicate. It grows through a network of underground stems, from which it can re-sprout, even after you tried painstakingly to pull it all out. In New England, where I live now, bamboo is a problematic invasive species. It grows fast, expands its territory aggressively, and devours water, destabilizing native habitats.

Fast forward to a visit to Italy two summers ago, and I was surprised to discover that my cousin Daniele is in the bamboo business. When he first said "bambù," describing his venture and passion, I thought it was an Italian word that I didn't know.

No; it's a cognate. Daniele Marroni is the brains and heart behind Maremma Che Bambù, a thriving bamboo grower making food products.

The business has a clever name, actually, a play on words. This is an aside, but stay with me; it's worth it.

"Maremma" is a region in Tuscany that includes Pitigliano, where Daniele is and is from, and where my grandparents emigrated from. The Maremmano sheepdog and horse are named for this region. Pitigliano is in the heart of the Maremma Grossetana, meaning the part of Maremma in the province of Grosetto, in the south of Tuscany.

The coastal and low-lying parts of the Maremma region were once much swampier than they are today, having been widely drained for development. Accordingly, in the lower case, maremma, in English as well as Italian, refers to a marshland, exactly the sort of watery terrain where bamboo thrives, and which has not disappeared from the region.

Meanwhile, maremma has an entirely other usage in Tuscan slang. It's one of my favorite things in language, in fact: a "near curse," or what linguists call a "minced oath"—like "gosh" instead of "God, "darn" instead of "damn," or "freakin'" instead of, well, you know. Maremma is old; probably it comes from "Madonna," so a way to take the Virgin's name in vain without offending hearers.

In this usage, "maremma maiala," the latter word meaning sow, in the swine sense, is a generic, mild curse. Alternatively, maremma acts as an exclamation to emphasize what follows. Thus, Google translates "maremma che bambù" as "wow, look at that bamboo!" Or, at risk of lexical borrowing, I prefer, "Mamma mia, look at that bamboo!" (HT @ Mmargheritas.)

Bamboo and Ginger Jam
by Maremma Che Bambù
© Maremma Che Bambù
Used with permission

So back to the bamboo.

Archaeologists tell us that bamboo once grew in Italy, in prehistoric times, but went extinct something like a million years ago. It returned in modern times, imported from Asia, first as an ornamental plant, as early as the 19th century. It worked its way into textiles after World War II, famously pairing with Italian leather to form the handle of an "iconic" 1947 Gucci handbag. 

In the 21st century, bamboo has taken off as a crop in the name of sustainability. It's now farmed widely in Italy and elsewhere, where it is not native. Especially in the south of Italy, giant bamboo species are farmed on a large scale. The appeal of the "bamboo forest" is that it's a huge carbon sink, removing climate-change-inducing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere at perhaps 36 times the rate of an ordinary woodland —also thereby entitling investors to carbon offset credits, where such programs exist.

The ideal, then, is to turn the bamboo into product, to close the sustainability loop. Forever Bambù, for example, an Italian benefit corporation, touts its "Made-In-Italy" branding and posits that bamboo biomass can replace problematic products such as plastics, along with dangerous forever chemicals.

"Alongside other partners, we have produced the first biopolymer granules with a variable percentage of giant bamboo filler, a fully biodegradable material," CEO Mauro Lajo told Renewable Matter last year. "We are also doing research into the worlds of bioconstruction and eco-leather products, with incredible results." I don't know what all that means, but it sounds promising.

Daniele Marroni
© Maremma Che Bambù
Used with permission

Daniele is working the edible angle in the sustainability loop. He explained at Maremma Che Bambù (translated):

Bamboo shoots are a healthy food with rich nutritional properties. Low in sugar and fat, they are rich in B vitamins, minerals (copper, manganese, calcium, iron, potassium, and phosphorus), and fiber, contributing to proper metabolism. They are excellent for those following a low-calorie diet and for vegan or vegetarian diets. Their calorie intake is very low: only 27 kcal per 100 g. In Asian cuisine, bamboo shoots are used primarily in soups or stir-fried with mushrooms, vegetables, white meats, or fish. Their flavor is very delicate, a blend of artichoke, asparagus, peas, and potatoes. A neutral base that lends itself perfectly to original pairings with local produce.

Maremma Che Bambù sells Bamboo and Artichoke Cream, Bamboo and Ginger Jam, Bamboo Shoots, and Ready-Made Bamboo and Vegetable Sauce. I'm a pushover for ginger, admittedly, but I give an earned nomination all the same to the jam as my favorite. Shipping presently only goes to Italy, but if you want to place a large order, I'm sure it's worth reaching out.

Pitigliano, 2024
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Even better, visit Pitigliano. At Maremma Che Bambù, you can visit the bamboo grove, sample the product, and, best of all, pair bamboo with wine.

Daniele's roots are in Pitigliano and Maremma Grossetana almost literally; since 2015, the bamboo venture has taken over what once was family vineyard.

Pitigliano wine exports shrank in recent decades, as the global industry saw mass-market producers price out smaller vineyards from international trade. Daniele appropriately diversified, but managed to stay in farming and preserve a local vibe. Pitigliano and neighboring towns on the Etruscan Via Cave trails still produce mouthwatering wines and other fare you can try when you're there.

At the end of the day, I confess, I don't know the math on climate change and bamboo farming in Italy. But if I can help the environment by eating, I'm in.

And hey, if it doesn't work out—worst case? We nuke it.

Me at the (defunct) nuclear launch controls of Oscar-Zero (NHS/SHS) in North Dakota, August 2026
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

This post is not promotional, and no compensation, edible or otherwise, was exchanged for my endorsement of the business and products discussed herein.

Avalanche pressures Shah reform agenda in Nepal

Mount Kailash, 2016
Jean-Marie Hullot via Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 4.0

The devastating avalanche in Nepal is pushing the country's infrastructure to the limit and confronting the reform administration of Balen Shah with an overwhelming challenge.

I was in Nepal for the national election in March that catapulted rapper-politician Shah to the prime minister's office. Last week, an avalanche of ice, rock, and water tore through the Bhote Koshi and Trishuli river systems, pouring out of the Lhende River in Tibet and sweeping away downstream Nepali villages. The death toll is expected to top 1,000 easily and soon, as hundreds missing are likely buried beneath mud and debris.

(Two CCTV captures from the China-side border crossing at Gyirong Port have been widely shared and are public domain. They're disturbing, so I'm placing them at the bottom of this post and not higher up, for any reader who wants to view them. They do demonstrate the shocking speed and power of the avalanche. The videos are available from Wikimedia Commons (1, 2).) 

Pilgrims circumnavigating Mount Kailash, 2016
Jean-Marie Hullot via Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 4.0

Pilgrims, including tourists, visiting Mount Kailash are among the missing. Mount Kailash is believed to be the home of Lord Shiva and his wife Parvati. The mountain is a holy site in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Bon, an indigenous Tibetan spiritual tradition.

As I've watched the coverage, I'm reminded that infrastructure was a key issue in the March election. Nepal has asked for foreign aid with rescue and recovery, including genetic testing to identify victims, and resources for reconstruction. Reuters reported the need is on the scale of billions of dollars.

And time is of the essence. Nepali rescuers now are drilling through the baking, hardening surface of the mudflows to try to reach survivors who might be trapped underneath. The rapid advance of ice and earth likely left pockets of air in what used to be vehicles, buildings, and tunnels.

Getting to the northern border region of Nepal is no small feat. Flights to Kathmandu are limited in the best of times. In March, I took one of few large carrier approaches, Cathay Pacific via Hong Kong; Middle East connections were closed because of the U.S.-Iran War. Most flights into Kathmandu are regional connections. Closer Tibetan airports pose prohibitive barriers with prerequisite visas, travel permits, and border crossings.

The Nepali side of the border area is another six to eight hours' drive from Kathmandu. And that doesn't take account of conditions on two-lane roads amid the crisis, nor time to acclimate to altitude. Arriving at Kathmandu already puts one at about 4,400 feet (1,300 meters). The border town of Rasuwagadhi is at 6,000 feet (1,830 meters).

Hiking near Nagarkot, east of Kathmandu, 2026
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

In the election in March, Shah supporters worried whether they could marshal the youth vote precisely because of limited transportation infrastructure. Nepali law required that votes be cast in a person's home district. But more than a million Nepali people, especially young voters, left their home villages to seek employment in Kathmandu.

I wrote in March about a medical student I met in Kathmandu on election day who, representatively, was not voting, because he could afford neither the time nor expense to reach his home village, 16 hours away by bus. Anger over undeveloped infrastructure in Nepal is thus tied closely to the familiar economic issues of jobs and educational opportunity.

Shortly before the election, in February, Shah's party had released a 100-point "manifesto" (Nepali language) outlining the policy changes a Shah administration would implement. Anti-corruption measures in the judiciary, for example, were to include meritocratic appointments, live broadcast of court proceedings, and statutory enhancement of judicial independence. The manifesto promised to get monied influences out of politics and to beef up the economy through apolitical partnerships with China and India. (Nepal News.)

Home construction near Nagarkot, 2026
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

A bold economic development agenda included measures such as rapid growth of capacity in electricity generation, airports, and rail networks. Some of this work was under way; hydropower operators and construction workers at existing and new facilities are a significant number of the hundreds now missing.

Painfully apropos of the present circumstances, the manifesto called for "major reforms in mountain tourism safety and management," according to Nepal News, including "modern technologies such as drones and digital monitoring systems ... to strengthen safety, search, and rescue operations," especially in the Himalayan region on the Nepal-China border, and "hill stations in mountainous areas located within 1.5 hours of the India-Nepal border."

It's early to be Monday-morning quarterbacking what went wrong in the instant disaster—besides that climate change generally is melting glaciers and destabilizing permafrost at high altitudes. We know that affected Nepali villages received no early warning of the avalanche. Commenters have said that existing early warning systems are sparse, too widely dispersed, and depend on primitive and inadequate measurements, such as water levels. Moreover, sensitive technologies with communication capacity and weather resilience are difficult to install at high altitudes, and national borders complicate installation and communication.

An informative assessment of the early warning angle was posted Saturday by "The Honest Broker," political scientist and American Enterprise Institute senior fellow Roger A. Pielke Jr. He quoted a regional news source explaining that existing sensors, such as they were, ordinarily reporting every ten minutes, were simply swept away and silenced by the flash flood.

At 0.9 kmh, the record 200 million liters of water (52.8 billion U.S. gallons, filling 80,000 Olympic-sized swimming pools) reportedly traveled at twice the speed of past floods.

Residential woodpile, Nagarkot, 2026
RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Before the avalanche, when the Shah administration marked 100 days in office, on July 4, there was ample optimism and satisfaction in Nepal; Shah supporters generally were pleased. The party claimed meaningful progress on 70 to 90 manifesto points, according to various reports. A Kathmandu Post analysis pegged achievement at more like 38. But really, that's not bad for a start.

A range of initiatives already are transforming healthcare. Digital tools have been deployed to facilitate access to hospitals, an air ambulance system has extended its capacity to remote locales, and burn units and pharmacy services are expanding.

The administration reimbursed small-account holders who lost money in a public savings corruption scandal and compensated families of persons killed in the Gen Z protests (more on the protests in my earlier posts). Government offices have been streamlined, reducing backlogs and wait times on services such as passports, driver licenses, and business licenses. Legislative groundwork has been laid for constitutional and economic reforms.

There has been pushback and controversy. The administration has implemented a range of anti-corruption initiatives, including investigation and arrest of the prior prime minister. I'm not a fan of criminalizing politics, but in this case, the move is not unwarranted.

Nevertheless, and perhaps predictably, legislators are fretting over Shah's imperiousness. And outcry is coming not only from opposition parties, as Shah upends the status quo. Though I figure that's to be expected when a serious reformer takes on corruption. Imagine if Bernie Sanders had won the U.S. election in 2020. Opponents in his own party fretted that he would get nothing done with a recalcitrant Congress, but I thirsted for the effort and the naming of names it would entail.

The Shah administration also has drawn displeasure by seizing land, even if the takings are legitimate. Some seizures represent claw-backs of public lands that were sold off or given away as a function of government corruption (Yosemite, anyone?). Some seizures are lawful takings for infrastructure development. The problem arises in that with a downtrodden working class, much land is occupied by squatters, and the government has not always been gentle with their removal. Human rights advocates have criticized the Shah administration for forgetting the people whilst helping The People.

Notwithstanding political discontent, reasoned criticism, and media impatience, to my mind, Shah has been on a tear. Now the disaster poses a test. 

Of course, no one will blame Shah for the avalanche, nor for melting glaciers. Rather, if he plays his cards right, he can blame the West for global warming, China for lack of early warning, and his predecessors for the weak infrastructure that is aggravating rescue and will dog recovery. 

Rather, his problem is a plain old economic one. Collecting billions in foreign aid will be a chore in the present batten-down-the-hatches transnational zeitgeist. And focusing efforts on the relatively small and remote northern border region where the disaster occurred will mean a major drain on national resources, diverting focus and finance from the prime minister's agenda. 

Natural disasters have undone chief executives before. Ready or not, Nepal is going to find out whether Balen Shah has the right stuff to overcome.

CCTV Capture 1 at Gyirong Port

CCTV Capture 2 at Gyirong Port

Conservancy loss illustrates ongoing impotence of environmental protection right in state constitution

Franklin Park postcard, c. 1930-1945
Boston Public Library, public domain

In the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court Wednesday, environmentalists lost their bid to block renovation of a stadium in a Boston park.

I wrote about the case in the lower court at some length in 2024. The Emerald Necklace Conservancy and local residents wanted to stop the road construction and structural overhaul to bring White Stadium in Boston's Franklin Park into service as stadium host of Boston Legacy, a football club in the U.S. National Women's Soccer League. The "Emerald Necklace" is an urban greenway that landscape architect Franklin Law Olmsted planned to encircle Boston and was widely disrupted in the city's 20th century growth.

The court affirmed on various grounds, and two are of interest to me relative to environmental litigation. First, the court held that The Emerald Necklace Conservancy lacked standing to challenge the project as a violation of terms of the trust that supports the existing stadium and park.

This result is not unusual; environmentalist standing has been a challenging plaintiff problem since I studied environmental law decades ago. (Hat tip to Profs. James Boyle & Jonathan Weiner.) But the outcome shows that that's still so. The doctrine of locus standi in the European Union and elsewhere looks like standing in U.S. constitutional law, but is not as prohibitive, and in many jurisdictions—such as Malawi, where I traveled this summer—legislators have enacted workarounds to allow conservation organizations to respond to industry abuses that endanger human welfare.

Second, the court held that the Massachusetts legislature removed the stadium property from park status no later than 1950, thus depriving the plaintiffs of a claim to which they might otherwise be entitled under Amendments Article 97 (Article XCVII) of the Massachusetts Constitution, a conservation measure that voters approved overwhelmingly in 1972.

Article 97 interests me because of its potential breadth. Its first paragraph articulates a powerful affirmative right: "The people shall have the right to clean air and water, freedom from excessive and unnecessary noise, and the natural, scenic, historic, and esthetic qualities of their environment; and the protection of the people in their right to the conservation, development and utilization of the agricultural, mineral, forest, water, air and other natural resources is hereby declared to be a public purpose."

This language dates to the same year, 1972, as the Clean Water Act in federal law, and the likes of article IX of the Montana Constitution, which sustained the youth climate claim in Held v. Montana in 2024. The language weirdly resonates with later constitutional expressions of environmental rights elsewhere in the world, such as South Africa's (article 24). 

Thus far, however, the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court has interpreted Article 97 narrowly, only in connection with designated park land and only as implemented by the legislature—so hardly a constitutional right at all.

The case is Emerald Necklace Conservancy, Inc. v. City of Boston (Mass. Aug. 19, 2026). Justice Gabrielle R. Wolohojian wrote the unanimous opinion of the court.

Make space for public lands, right to recreate

Beaver Dam State Park

Different people feel differently the pinch of the federal government shutdown in the United States. 

(All photos from Nevada in August 2025, except T.R. Birthplace; all photos by RJ Peltz-Steele, CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.) 

I'm fortunate not to depend on the federal government for my paycheck. I'm saddened for the steadfast government clerk trying to make ends meet, and nothing I write here means to diminish that anxiety. Professionally, I've been disappointed to see the work of the federal Freedom of Information Act Advisory Committee paralyzed. The committee comprises some heroic public servants in federal agencies.

Theodore Roosevelt Birthplace
National Historic Site,
N.Y., June 2025

On the purely personal front, what hits me hardest is to see the closure of public lands, such as parks and museums. I treasure these places where the public can find education, recreation, and respite. Maybe because I'm an academic, I don't much distinguish among the three. So much of our public dialog in America is preoccupied with how we work. But it's on public lands that Americans live.

As a libertarian, I'm wary of public lands. But I'm not a great, or "pure" libertarian. I have always been what I call a "moderate" libertarian—I've been called a "bad" libertarian—because I do not believe that the private sector is the answer to all problems. I rather believe that being a libertarian is about being thoughtful: making an informed decision at the threshold of any given problem as to whether the problem is better addressed by society as a composition of independent private actors—the presumption—or by society as a collective.

A vexing problem for libertarians is the tragedy of the commons, which arises when competing private individuals, acting in their own interests, will intolerably deplete a resource that the society as a collective requires. The environment is often raised as paradigmatic example. Any one private actor is incentivized only to cut down the trees, or use fresh water. But society needs there to be trees and fresh water, saved from depletion.

Selected public lands in Nevada, besides state parks

American society is heavy on libertarianism—the "Wild West" ethos has long outlived western settlement—but maintains its own delicate balance of liberty and collectivism. The duplexity was embodied by President Theodore Roosevelt, whose reconstructed childhood home I visited in New York in the summer. Roosevelt, a nature enthusiast, was a rugged individualist, and also is credited with founding the very notion of U.S. national parks, which today are widely regarded as a crown jewel of federal government purpose.

All 27 Nevada state parks

Pure libertarians respond to the tragedy of the commons by insisting that the private sector can handle it. The tree cutters ultimately will stop cutting trees, or farm more trees, because they want to keep cutting trees. Water consumers will not use all of the water, because eventually, they will suffer thirst. A slightly watered down take on pure libertarianism makes room for non-governmental public interest organizations to manage collective resources. But there's no place for government.

My Nevada drive
(excluding two national parks
I visited previously)

I find these responses strained and unconvincing. If we destroy the glaciers of Glacier National Park because corporations want to commodify the pure waters, or because wealthy people want to land helicopters on them and take home souvenirs, there's no restoring a natural glory that took 170 million years to form.

If the planet bakes while we wait for the trees to regrow, then the private-sector experiment has failed in a profound and irreversible way. If we run out of fresh water while we wait for innovation to perfect desalinization, then millions might die, and only a few persons with inherited wealth might survive. I wouldn't call that a socially optimal outcome. 

The problem with the purely individualist approach is that it assumes infinite time, perpetual capacity for resource renewal, and indifference to human suffering in the meantime. That sounds to me like a recipe for humanity's self-extinction.

"Citizen Science Station,"
Tule Springs Fossil Beds National Monument

Public lands are an easy call for me, even as a libertarian. I would like to live in a world in which everyone has access to recreational opportunities, and everyone has a chance to see the inexplicable glory of the creation that fills the earth.

Writing about nuclear weapons in September, I mentioned the time I spent in the summer exploring public lands in Nevada. I visited all 27 Nevada state parks, and a great many other public lands as well: local, state, and federal. Local and state parks fortunately carry on while the federal government is shut down.

I am grateful for all these places, local, state, and federal, and the people who steward them.

One fun thing I happened upon in Nevada was a "Citizen Science Station" at the Tule Springs Fossil Beds National Monument. There, a bracket is mounted on a pole, prepared to receive a smartphone, so that passersby can take a photograph of the terrain. Images can then be uploaded to Chronolog.io, which partners with the National Park Service. The collected images are then compiled into a time lapse series (below, at end), which users can enjoy and study. I contributed an image (Aug. 7, 2025).

Notwithstanding so much natural beauty and the participatory excitement of the Citizen Science Station, I found memorable something else I saw at Tule Springs, a different kind of socially minded contribution from the private sector:

Go see the natural wonders of Nevada, including fossils and fossil beds. See them before the pure libertarians cart them off to private museums, where no doubt they'll be best cared for.

Durango Loop Temporary Trail at Chronolog

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'The Shipbreakers' (2000) is classic Langewiesche; Hong Kong ship-breaking convention enters force

William Langewiesche, 2007
Internaz via Flickr CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Journalist William Langewiesche died at age 70 in June (N.Y. Times).

I came to know Langewiesche's work through his 16 years with The Atlantic. He wrote subsequently for Vanity Fair and The New York Times Magazine. His long-form journalism, including nine books, is legendary. He tackled big, complex, and notorious subjects, such as ocean piracy and nuclear proliferation, helping readers to make sense of the world through concise and compelling prose.

Upon his passing, commentators have rushed to recommend their favorite Langewiesche works. Mine has been little mentioned, so I want to put it on the record.

For a quarter century, I have been haunted by Langewiesche's remarkable cover story for the August 2000 Atlantic, "The Shipbreakers." As The Atlantic teased:

On a six-mile stretch of beach at a place called Alang, in India, some 200 ships stand side by side in progressive stages of dissection, spilling their black innards onto the tidal flats. Here is where half the world's ships come to die—ripped apart by hand into scrap metal. Alang is a foul, desperate, and dangerous place, and a wonder of the world.

Typical of Langewiesche's work, the story sits at the intersection of many important subjects: contemporary colonialism, social and economic development, environmental protection, labor regulation, and accountability, or lack thereof, for transnational corporations. I can't board an ocean-going vessel today without feeling haunted by Langewiesche's narrative and worrying that I'm contributing to an ongoing human rights tragedy.

Horrifying conditions Langewiesche described in 2000 unfortunately continue today, human rights abuses having been abated only modestly and more in some jurisdictions than in others. Langewiesche focused on India, and Indian enforcement only pushed the most hazardous and ill regulated ship-breaking practices further into Bangladesh and Pakistan. 

There have been much needed regulatory innovations in recent years that mean to effect reform. The European Union adopted a Ship Recycling Regulation in 2013. The NGO Shipbreaking Platform wrote:

From 31 December 2018, EU-flagged commercial vessels above 500 GT must be recycled in safe and environmentally sound ship recycling facilities that are included on the European List of approved ship recycling facilities. The List was first established on 19 December 2016 and is periodically updated to add additional compliant facilities, or, alternatively, to remove facilities which have ceased to comply. Currently, the List comprises facilities operating in the EU, Turkey and US. 

Ship-breakers, Chittagong, Bangladesh, 2005
Adam Cohn via Flickr CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

The EU adopted the regulation after accession to the 2009 Hong Kong Convention for the Safe and Environmentally Sound Recycling of Ships (International Maritime Organization), which entered force just recently, on June 25, 2025. India, Bangladesh, and Pakistan also have signed on to the convention. At least, then, standards for proper ship-breaking are being articulated.

However, neither the EU regulation nor the overarching Hong Kong Convention solves the problem of jurisdictional reach to ships under flags of convenience. The shipping industry has long relied on re-flagging vessels to circumvent regulations of all kinds, and the problem remains intractable. Newly articulated standards will only work insofar as nations refuse to provide a haven for illicit ship-breaking and for its concealment by re-flagging.

Meanwhile, the cruise industry continues to burn through generations of ships in never-ending pursuit of size and extravagance.

"The Shipbreakers" was long posted in full text at Longform, but recently became unavailable there, apparently upon a change of ownership of an underlying ISP. (But archived at the time of this writing.)

Rest in peace, William Langewiesche.

Kuwait ponders a future after fossil fuels

Kuwait City skyline

Kuwait is an oil country, and Kuwait City glows with prosperity. Kuwaitis know, though, that they can't ride the oil train forever.

Earlier this month, I took part in a program of the Kuwait Bar Association (KBA) and International Association of Lawyers (UIA) in Kuwait on the mediation of energy disputes. (All photos RJ Peltz-Steele CC BY-NC-SA 4.0.)

Kuwait Bar Association (Society of Lawyers)

The program addressed both state and corporate actors, which often in the Middle East are functionally the same, as political royals are only formally differentiated from their investments. Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990 largely in response to long-running disputes over access to oil reserves under the countries' desert border. So it's understandable that Kuwait, powered by a 70-year-old, $1tn sovereign wealth fund born almost entirely of oil revenue, is an eager evangelist for non-violent dispute resolution in extractive industries.

Kuwait Towers

I spent some additional time in Kuwait, besides the KBA-UIA program, to see the sights of Kuwait City. The first place I went was the iconic Kuwait Towers. Dating to 1979, the towers were designed to be monumental more than functional, architecturally distinct among Kuwait's historical water towers, a remaining few clusters of which dot the urban landscape. Repaired since they were trashed in the Iraq invasion, and refurbished in the 2010s, the Kuwait Towers are a patriotic reminder of a Kuwait that long imported fresh water for its survival, before oil wealth paid for expensive but effective desalinization. 

Dhow model at Marine Museum

On display at the Al Hashemi Marine Museum and the Maritime Museum are Kuwaiti dhows dating to the 19th century. Some were used for pearling, the dangerous prospect but potential big score of a once seafaring economy. Many of the dhows are specially fitted with large water tanks running along the keel.

Thus imported, water historically was famously expensive in Kuwait. There's still a popular maxim that water, the truly scarce resource of the desert, is more expensive than oil. Water still is expensive, or should be, because desalinization is expensive and largely fossil fueled. 

Other legacy water towers

Government subsidies, however, obscure the cost of water. A combined utility bill in Kuwait, including water, electricity, sewer, garbage, etc., might run US$40 or $50 a month, single family—a lot for some locals, especially ex-pat laborers. But even correcting to U.S. cost of living with a 250% multiplier, utilities including water are far cheaper than in the States. Environmentalists fret over the conceit that water is inexpensive. I thought that my hotels would caution about water consumption, as is common in desert countries, not to mention American desert states, but they did not.

In keeping with the maxim, petrol is cheap. I was worried when Europcar warned me that gas stations accept only cash—until I worked out the prices. I filled up my SUV rental's 13-gallon (about 50L) tank for less than US$10.

Evening recreation at Dasman Beach

There's much to see in Kuwait City, in terms of museums and historical sites. What struck me, though, is the prevalence of western influence and a near indifference to foreign tourism. Attractions are aimed at locals. Kuwait excels at affording its people diversions of all kinds, including the educational and recreational: museums, beaches, playing fields. But the focus is decidedly domestic, bringing the world to Kuwaitis, not the other way around.

Texas Roadhouse Beneid Al Gar, one of three Kuwait City locations

Limited opening hours and a ramshackle bus system make many attractions difficult to access for visitors. Ride-share app Careem works well, though drivers speak little English. Some places' websites are in Arabic only. Besides foods, souvenirs are sorely limited: the norm is an assortment of refrigerator magnets and ball caps with cheap, afterthought patches. Walking south from Kuwait Towers on the city's corniche, the extent of Kuwait's Americanization in particular is on full display. Behind the beaches, the chain restaurants line up: TGI Friday's, the Cheesecake Factory, Texas Roadhouse.

One tentacle of sprawling Souq Al-Mubarakiya

Besides the beach, a favorite evening destination for locals is one of the city's many shopping malls, from the central 1,250-square-foot Assima Mall, with its gourmet Monoprix grocery, to the sprawling 334-acre (1.35m-square-meter) Avenues, with more than 1,100 retailers. Notwithstanding the scale and upscale nature of these operations, they are loaded with the sort of western retailers found on main street anywhere. There's plenty to buy, eat, and drink—besides alcohol; Kuwait is a dry country—but very little that is specially Arabian. A more touristically gratifying destination is the city's Mubarakiya Souq, though its modernized storefronts also cater mostly to local needs. The people-watching is better than the shopping.

Camels, highwayside

To see more than just the city, and also to get a closer look at both rural life and Kuwaiti infrastructure, I drove out both to the Iraq border in the north and to the Saudi border in the south. The highway network is impressive, if a work in progress, strong on asphalt, weak on road marking. Polished bridges here and there are designed for the exclusive use of crossing camels.

In both the north and the south, the desert is dotted with green patches of farms, fed, remarkably, by well water. Visiting these farms for markets of fresh produce, petting zoos, and other children's amusements is a seasonal family pastime.

Starbucks Wafra

Near the Saudi border, the town of Wafra is the center of an equine economy. Riding centers, breeding operations, and a market for export speak to the enduring importance of horses in Arabia. On Wafra's dusty outskirts, I was surprised to find a cluster of modern buildings, including a multistory veterinary center and, no kidding, the farthest flung Starbucks I've ever seen. A sign at Starbucks cautioned that horses are not permitted in the drive-thru.

Electric towers in the desert

Strung across the desert landscape is a mind-boggling network of electric towers, stretching lines into the distance from any vantage point. Kuwait imports electricity from Gulf partners such as Qatar and Oman, and even then struggles to meet demand in sweltering summers (e.g., N.Y. Times). Meeting electrical needs is simultaneously an incentive and an obstacle to Kuwait energy transition away from fossil-fuel dependence.

Change through energy transition and emission reduction was a recurring theme at the mediation program, besides the benefits and skills of mediation itself. I did not expect to hear, and am not accustomed to hearing, harsh criticism of fossil-fuel dependence in the Middle East. Yet in a session titled "The Climate Crisis and the Transition Imperative," speakers were adamant opponents of the status quo.

Panelists: Yousef Al-Abdullah; Elena Athwal, Qatar,
founder and CEO of consulting firm Icelis Global; and Sara Akbar

Moderator Sara Akbar, a chemical petroleum engineer, current CEO of Oilserv Kuwait, and a renowned figure in the modern history of Kuwaiti oil development, condemned the "New World Disorder" of Trumpian climate-change denial and on-again-off-again Paris participation. She argued passionately that the global costs of unchecked climate change, including devastated coastal cities and lost lives, will vastly outpace the costs of energy transition to renewables. According to Akbar, even the Kuwait oil industry understands that the era of fossil-fuel dominance in the Kuwait economy must end.

Akbar cited an interesting and alarming local statistic: Kuwait has long monitored the maximum temperature of the Persian Gulf at the sea floor, which reliably marked 95 or 96 degrees Fahrenheit. Now, she said, it routinely exceeds 100 degrees, evidencing the evaporation that is fueling catastrophic rainstorms from Dubai to Bangladesh.

Yousef Al-Abdullah, research scientist at the Kuwait Institute for Scientific Research, discussed the energy transition and emission reduction commitments of Gulf states. In contrast with the U.S. re-withdrawal from the Paris Agreement and Trump Administration promise to double-down on drilling, Gulf states have articulated ambitious aims.

A leader in goal-setting is the United Arab Emirates (UAE). The UAE aims for 47% reduction in greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions by 2030. In energy transition, the UAE aims for 15% renewables in its energy mix; has adopted a net-zero target, green hydrogen strategy, independent energy regulator, and national climate law; plans a massive expansion of solar capacity; and is investing more than $14 billion in transition this fiscal year.

Persian Gulf coastline from Kuwait Towers

Kuwait looks weak on the same benchmarks. But that's not the whole story, Al-Abdullah said. Kuwait believes that some neighbors have announced goals they can't realistically meet, such as the Saudi aim to cut 278m tons of annual GHG emissions by 2030, and Kuwait wants to be realistic. Notwithstanding articulated commitments on the international stage, Kuwait has announced targets domestically, Al-Abdullah said, such as net-zero in the oil sector by 2050, and in other sectors by 2060.

Oil production is down over 10 years, Al-Abdullah said, and that's problematic for environmental strategy. The economy remains dependent on fossil fuels, to the tune of 90% of revenues, and a strong economy is needed to transition away from fossil fuels. Production is down for many reasons, including OPEC restrictions; increased competition from other sources, such as Uruguay, Paraguay, Guyana, Mauritania, and Uganda; and rising production costs.

Here my observation on Kuwait's underdeveloped tourism economy is salient, at least in small part. Because Al-Abdullah said that key to Kuwait's future is diversification of the economy, reducing the dominant position of fossil fuels, especially relative to a newly developed service sector. 

In domestic policy, a national plan called "Kuwait Vision 2035" contemplates an economy centered on logistics, leveraging Kuwait's world-crossroads location by, for example, expanding airport and seaport capacity. Vision 2035 imagines a Kuwait that is more livable for residents and hospitable to visitors, expanding highways and building a rail and metro system.

Besides infrastructure, transformation of Kuwait's workforce is required, too. Kuwait suffers an affliction known to other oil-rich states, which is a comfortable, but under-skilled national workforce. Kuwait's education system must rise to meet the challenge of preparing Kuwaitis to participate in the new economy, while the social and economic fabric must expand the job market and incentivize people to enter it.

Like other Middle Eastern states, Kuwait has a worrisome dependence on foreign workers. Ex-pats, whom I mentioned above, constitute some 70% of the resident population and have no pathway to citizenship. Blue-collar workers hale especially from the Asian subcontinent and Pacific rim. Qatar's plight in this regard was highlighted and made controversial by the location of the 2022 FIFA World Cup there; whether reforms were meaningful or sufficient is debatable.

The existing service economy, including legal, financial, and engineering services, depends heavily on ex-pat white-collar workers, too, who make up a fair chunk of that 70%. At the KBA-UIA program, I met lawyers from other Arabic-speaking countries who have worked for years, even decades, in Kuwait. They are generously permitted to practice, more than an out-of-jurisdiction lawyer may in the States, on matters related to their home jurisdictions. But there's no pathway to bar admission, such as might expose the domestic market to competition.

Legal and regulatory reforms will have to complement the development of a service sector and trade center, Al-Abdullah said. I don't think Kuwaitis alone will be able to make that change. Rather, Kuwait will have to open itself up with a more robust immigration framework, affording ex-pats the likes of property and other rights, if not naturalization, to foster a justified sense of ownership in the new economy.

KOC Oil and Gas Exhibition Hall

Apropos of energy transition, one of the most interesting tourist attractions in Kuwait is the Kuwait Oil Company (KOC) Oil and Gas Exhibition. The exhibition—reservations required for guided tours only—offers an artfully constructed tour of the history of Kuwait, from its desert and seafaring cultural history, to British protectorate and the discovery of oil, rise to global energy power, and Iraq invasion, destruction, and recovery.

Exhibit dramatizing Kuwait oil extraction: every second, every day

The exhibition is decidedly a paean to oil. But it is not wholly environmentally tone-deaf. One dramatic exhibit shows, with a massive gush of black liquid, the astonishing amount of oil that Kuwait pumps from the earth every second of every day, averaged out. The exhibits don't say it plainly, but there is an undeniable implication that this business model is not indefinitely sustainable.

The next chapter of Kuwait energy policy is ready to be written.

Tchotchkes for sale at the KOC Oil and Gas Exhibition gift shop

Kuwait sign on the corniche