Contributing Op-Ed Writer
The End of California?
Ken Light / Contact Press Images, for The New York Times
May 1, 2015
ANGELS
CAMP, Calif. — IN a normal year, no one in California looks twice at a
neighbor’s lawn, that mane of bluegrass thriving in a sun-blasted
desert. Or casts a scornful gaze at a fresh-planted almond grove,
saplings that now stand accused of future water crimes. Or wonders why
your car is conspicuously clean, or whether a fish deserves to live when
a cherry tree will die.
Of course, there is
nothing normal about the fourth year of the great drought: According to
climate scientists, it may be the worst arid spell in 1,200 years. For
all the fields that will go fallow, all the forests that will catch
fire, all the wells that will come up dry, the lasting impact of this
drought for the ages will be remembered, in the most exported term of
California start-ups, as a disrupter.
“We
are embarked upon an experiment that no one has ever tried,” said Gov.
Jerry Brown in early April, in ordering the first mandatory statewide
water rationing for cities.
Surprising, perhaps
even disappointing to those with schadenfreude for the nearly 39 million
people living in year-round sunshine, California will survive. It’s not
going to blow away. The economy, now on a robust rebound, is not going
to collapse. There won’t be a Tom Joad load of S.U.V.s headed north.
Rains, and snow to the high Sierra, will eventually return.
But
California, from this drought onward, will be a state transformed. The
Dust Bowl of the 1930s was human-caused, after the grasslands of the
Great Plains were ripped up, and the land thrown to the wind. It never
fully recovered. The California drought of today is mostly nature’s
hand, diminishing an Eden created by man. The Golden State may recover,
but it won’t be the same place.
Looking to
the future, there is also the grim prospect that this dry spell is only
the start of a “megadrought,” made worse by climate change. California
has only about one year of water supply left in its reservoirs. What if
the endless days without rain become endless years?
In
the cities of a changed California, brown is the new green. A
residential lawn anywhere south of, say, Sacramento, is already
considered an indulgence. “If the only person walking on your lawn is
the person mowing it,” said Felicia Marcus, chairwoman of the State
Water Resources Control Board, then maybe it should be taken out. The
state wants people to convert lawns to drought-tolerant landscaping, or
fake grass.
Artificial lakes filled with Sierra
snowmelt will become baked-mud valleys, surrounded by ugly bathtub
rings. Some rivers will dry completely — at least until a normal rain
year. A few days ago, there was a bare trickle from the Napa, near the
town of St. Helena, flowing through some of the most valuable vineyards
on the planet. The state’s massive plumbing system, one of the biggest
in the world, needs adequate snow in order to serve farmers in the
Central Valley and techies in Silicon Valley. This year, California set a
record low Sierra snowpack in April — 5 percent of normal — following
the driest winter since records have been kept.
To
Californians stunned by their bare mountains, there was no more absurd
moment in public life recently than when James Inhofe, the Republican
senator from Oklahoma who is chairman of the environment and public
works committee, held up a snowball in February as evidence of America’s
hydraulic bounty in the age of climate change.
You
can see the result of endless weeks of cloudless skies in New Melones
Lake, here in Calaveras County in the foothills east of the Central
Valley, where Mark Twain made a legend of a jumping frog. The state’s
fourth largest reservoir, holding water for farmers, and for fish
downstream, is barely 20 percent full. It could be completely drained by
summer’s end.
It’s a sad sight — a warming
puddle, where the Stanislaus River once ran through it. At full
capacity, with normal rainfall, New Melones should have enough water for
nearly two million households for a year.
Even
worse is the Lake McClure reservoir, impounding the spectral remains of
the Merced River as it flows out of Yosemite National Park. It’s at 10
percent of capacity. In a normal spring, the reservoir holds more than
600,000 acre-feet of water. As April came to a close, it was at 104,000
acre-feet — with almost no snowmelt on the way. (The measurement is one
acre filled to a depth of a foot, or 325,851 gallons.) That’s the
surface disruption in a state that may soon be unrecognizable in places.
The morality tale behind California’s
verdant prosperity will most certainly change. In the old narrative, the
evil city took water from powerless farmers. Swimming pools in greater
Los Angeles were filled with liquid that could have kept orchards alive
in the Owens Valley, to the north.
It was
hubris, born in the words of the city’s chief water engineer, William
Mulholland, when he opened the gates of the Los Angeles Aqueduct in 1913
with an immortal proclamation: “There it is. Take it.”
But
now, just about everyone in California knows that it requires a gallon
of water to grow a single almond, or that agriculture accounts for 80
percent of the water used by humans here. Meanwhile, the cities have
become leaders in conservation. It takes 106 gallons of water to produce
an ounce of beef — which is more than the average San Francisco Bay
Area resident uses in a day. Mayor Eric Garcetti of Los Angeles wants to
reduce the amount of water the city purchases by 50 percent in the next
decade, cutting back through aggressive use of wastewater and
conservation.
It’s outlandish, urban critics
note, for big farm units to be growing alfalfa — which consumes about 20
percent of the state’s irrigation water — or raising cattle, in a place
with a third of the rainfall of other states. And by exporting that
alfalfa and other thirsty crops overseas, the state is essentially
shipping its precious water to China.
Still,
casting California farmers — who produce about half of the nation’s
fruits, nuts and vegetables — as crony capitalist water gluttons may not
be entirely fair. Yes, the water is subsidized, through taxpayer-funded
dams, canals and pumping systems. But that water, in some cases, ends
up as habitat for birds and wildlife. As it drains away, it can recharge
badly depleted underground aquifers. Farmers have already let more than
400,000 acres go fallow and took a $2 billion hit last year. They may
add 600,000 acres to that total this year. Almonds, after all, are a
healthy food source.
The new morality tale
becomes further muddled when you consider that San Francisco, praised
for its penurious water ways, gets its life-supporting liquid from the
Hetch Hetchy dam, in Yosemite. Many people, dating from the sainted John
Muir, believe that flooding that mountain valley was one of the bigger
crimes against nature in California history.
And
not every city is Spartan with its water. On any given day you can
find, as I did in a new housing development in the foothills east of
Sacramento, water running down the street — at a flow rate that looked
bigger than that coming from the anemic Merced River. It was pouring
onto a grass median strip, and then spilling over, in a development
called the Estates at Blackstone.
Or consider
that wealthy communities — say, Portola Valley, woodsy home to many an
environmentally conscious tech multimillionaire — use far more water per
capita than do the poor of Compton, in the Los Angeles area. When cost
is no object, there is very little incentive to cut back.
But
there is no getting around the fact that agriculture, for all its water
needs, still produces barely 2 percent of the state’s gross product,
and employs only about 3 percent of its workers.
Fair
or not, it seems incongruous that farmers in the San Joaquin Valley are
still planting new almond trees — they’ve nearly doubled the crop since
2005 — while people in the cities kill their lawns and dash in and out
of low-flow showers.
The idea that California
could have it all — a pool in every suburban backyard, new crops in a
drought, wild salmon in rivers now starved of oxygen — is fading fast.
There is only so much more “pop per drop,” as Ms. Marcus, the State
Water Resources Control Board chairwoman, said, or neighbor snitching on
neighbor, until the urban majority resists and demands a change in
allocation.
What will come, then, from this
disrupting drought is likely to be a shift of power. The urban “almond
shaming” chorus is quick to note that the crop uses enough water to
support 75 percent of the state’s population. In other words, there
would be no water shortage in San Diego or Los Angeles if nut growers
shut off the pumps.
“Imagine if somebody ever
said, ‘Let’s have a vote on how to use California’s water,’ ” said
Daniel Beard, a former Bureau of Recreation commissioner and a critic of
federal dam building. “That’s the last thing big agricultural interests
would want.”
The food industry is ripe for
disruption. The land that has been left fallow now in the Central Valley
is still less than 5 percent of all the irrigation acreage in
California. Another 5 percent would leave most of the industry standing,
and leaner. Low-value, high-water crops would disappear, as is already
happening.
Absent a vote of the people, the
free market could end up as the decider. The big city water districts
have more than enough money to buy farm water in a freewheeling
exchange. Indeed, they’ve been making numerous purchases for years —
though limited by complex water contracts and infrastructure that makes
it difficult to pipe large amounts from one place to the other.
In
addition, one fear of making water an open-market commodity is that
rich and politically powerful communities would get all the clean water
they needed, while poor public districts would be left out. A class
system around breathable air has already developed in China. Is abundant
water the next must-have possession of the 1 percent?
Agriculture
will not give up its perch atop the power pyramid without a fight.
Water that goes from the mountains to the sea is a waste, farmers say.
The drought is “a man-made” disaster, as Carly Fiorina, the former
Hewlett-Packard executive who will likely run for the Republican
presidential nomination, claims. She blames environmentalists for
blocking major dam projects.
“California is a
classic case of liberals being willing to sacrifice other people’s
lives and livelihoods at the altar of their ideology,” she said on Glenn
Beck’s radio program a few weeks ago. Of course, one of those elites
was Ronald Reagan, who as governor signed legislation in 1973 that
protected the Eel River in Northern California from dam builders.
“The
environment is already taking a big hit in this drought,” said Ellen
Hanak, director of the Water Policy Center at the nonprofit Public
Policy Institute of California. “My sense is that Californians are
pretty supportive of both a strong agricultural economy and a healthy
environment.”
Big new reservoir projects — a
return of the concrete empire — are doubtful. Without a government
subsidy, cost is the biggest obstacle. Farmers certainly aren’t going to
pay the billions now footed by federal taxpayers. And then: Where is
the “new” water going to come from? Underground, wells are probing ever
deeper, sucking aquifers dry, the land sinking at a dramatic rate.
Overhead, the sky is unreliable.
Desalination,
making seawater potable, is another option, which Carlsbad, north of
San Diego, is now pursuing with a huge plant under construction.
Australia went down this road during its epic drought in the 2000s. But
the plants proved to be so prohibitively expensive to run that four of
them were mothballed. Billions were spent without producing a drop of
clean water.
What California still has, in great
supply, is ingenuity. Three years ago, Mitt Romney compared the state to
bankrupt Greece. It was laughed at and written off by conservative
pundits. California now has a budget surplus and led the nation in job
growth last year — far outpacing Texas.
The
drought may indeed be a long overdue bill for creating an oasis
civilization. But therein lies a solution. The Golden State is an
invention, with lives to match. If the drought continues, California
will be forced to rely even more on what has long sustained it —
imagination. Not a bad thing to have too much of.
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