24/07/2016

Truth About Australia’s Coal Industry And Climate Policy

The Saturday Paper - Guy Pearse


If Malcolm Turnbull or freshly appointed Environment and Energy Minister Josh Frydenberg stood on Queensland’s coast and saw a coal-fired power station float past, they’d notice, right? If more than half a million new cars drove past, they’d surely raise an eyebrow. Or would they? Each day, more than a million tonnes of Australian coal sails up that coast, past the Great Barrier Reef, to power stations or steel mills elsewhere, quietly fuelling climate change and bleaching the reef. Once used, the coal exported daily generates about as much carbon pollution as a 500-megawatt coal-fired power station, or 570,000 cars, in a year.
Yet for 30 years, Australia has quarantined the CO2 exported in our coal from climate policy attention. Governments get the link between fossil fuel use, climate change and coral bleaching, but the link between the bleaching and “our” coal eludes them still. Their capacity to mentally detach the bleaching below the surface from the coal ships above knows no bounds.

The significance of the industry to the economy is in freefall, and it has happened in spite of huge increases in coal export volumes ... We’re left with an industry of much less value doing far more harm.

The recent election campaign provided a perfect example. Malcolm Turnbull held a press conference in Townsville to announce a $1 billion Reef Fund “for projects that will both reduce emissions, use clean energy and, of course, protect the reef”. Farmers living near the reef could get loans from the Clean Energy Finance Corporation for solar-powered or energy-efficient projects to reduce agricultural runoff. Solar could “substitute for diesel”, drive water-efficient irrigation, or power electric fences to keep cattle out of creeks.
Turnbull didn’t say how much CO2 would be saved by the undoubtedly worthwhile projects supported by the Reef Fund. Progress to date with the government’s Emissions Reduction Fund suggests eight million tonnes a year might be achievable. Pretty impressive, except that the carbon pollution exported in our coal negates that saving every three days. We’re meant to ignore such facts, but take the environmental commitment seriously.
It’s the same with approval processes for new coalmines and export terminals, all subject, as Turnbull’s government says each time, to the “strictest conditions in Australian history”. From protecting endangered species and water quality, to requiring dredging spoil to be disposed on land, we’re assured no stone is unturned. When then environment minister Greg Hunt approved the largest coalmine in Australian history, he said the conditions would ensure “that all impacts, including cumulative impacts, are avoided, mitigated or offset”. Except one, which happens to be the biggest by far: the emissions that occur when the coal is eventually used.
Ignoring the carbon exports in coal is only possible because the globally agreed carbon accounting system counts emissions where they occur. It enables fossil fuel exporters to focus on emissions produced within their own borders, and disown exported emissions. It has been a very convenient arrangement for the export-oriented Australian coal industry, but will it last?
This year, Australia will export about one billion tonnes of carbon dioxide in coal. Yet the emissions being produced domestically are roughly what they were in 1990 – about 560 million tonnes. They’d be much higher without all the policy attention, but our domestic contribution to climate change hasn’t changed much. What’s changed is the nearly fourfold increase in coal exports.
When local emissions comprised most of our contribution to climate change, a focus on domestic policy made sense, particularly given the global carbon accounting rules. Now, we export nearly twice the emissions produced domestically, but the policy debates haven’t kept pace. Factor in the 280 per cent increase in coal exports, and Australia’s yearly contribution to climate change has nearly doubled in 25 years. All that effort to cut emissions, billions of dollars invested by government and business, millions of Australians doing their bit with solar panels on the roof, all those years spent arguing over carbon taxes, emissions trading and Direct Action – all quietly negated by our coal exports.
Today, as well as our domestic emissions, one in every 35 tonnes of CO2 emitted worldwide comes from exported Australian coal. It ends up counting in someone else’s domestic tally, but it’s facilitated by Australia. By peddling coal on a grand scale, and targeting poorer countries with modest emission commitments, we’re keeping the dirtiest power generation and steelmaking options cheaper for longer. In this, we’re now surprisingly isolated.
Among developed countries whose fossil fuel-based industrialisation caused the problem, none has expanded coal exports on remotely the same scale. Indeed, Australia exports three times as much coal as all other OECD countries combined. Canada has done something similar with oil exports in recent years, but it involves less than half the carbon exported in Australian coal, and Canada’s domestic emissions still eclipse their carbon exports. The only country approaching the coal example of Australia is Indonesia, which briefly rivalled us as the largest coal exporter before cutting production. The big difference is that Indonesia’s domestic emissions are close to 2.5 billion tonnes, primarily because of deforestation. So their carbon exports in coal are less than half as significant as their domestic emissions.
China and India have dramatically increased coal production, too, but the coal is used locally, so the emissions aren’t being disowned. The same goes for the gas boom in the United States, which remains a net importer. Even in Russia, which has sought to increase coal and oil exports, domestic emissions remain more significant than exported emissions, notwithstanding a 50 per cent decline since the fall of the Soviet Union.
By contrast, 80 per cent of Australia’s contribution to climate change could soon come from carbon exports not covered by our international commitments. Over the next five years, our annual carbon exports in coal could even overtake Saudi Arabian oil exports. By 2030, we might export nearly four times the carbon pollution we produce. As domestic emissions become less significant, so, too, does our domestic response.
On current projections, if Australia meets the commitment made in Paris to reduce domestic emissions by 26-28 per cent by 2030, coal exports will erase the saving nearly seven times over. The Adani coalmine proposed in Queensland’s Galilee Basin on its own would add three-and-a-half times as much carbon pollution between 2020 and 2030 as the government hopes to save through the Emissions Reduction Fund. Coal exports would even negate Labor’s commitment to “net zero” emissions by 2050. “Net zero” counts cheap imported carbon credits, but there’s no indication that Labor would count carbon in coal exports, in which it says, “Australia will continue to have a competitive advantage”. Factor that in, and Australia could still contribute more emissions in 2050 than today.
Somehow, both major parties remain convinced that expanding coal exports for decades to come, and disowning the emissions, is consistent with an effective global response. Underpinning their delusion is a steadfast faith that Australia’s interests and the coal industry’s interests are inseparable. Coal is presumed an indispensable contributor to gross domestic product, exports and employment. The funding required for roads, schools, hospitals, police and much else are presumed to depend on the taxes and royalties raised from coal.
There’s just one very big problem – the economy is leaving coal behind. What was a $54 billion export industry looks like being worth $31.5 billion this financial year. What was worth nearly 5 per cent of GDP is about 2 per cent and falling. Coalmining jobs have shrunk nearly 30 per cent. Coal royalties are providing 58 per cent less revenue in Queensland than in 2009, and 37 per cent less in New South Wales. Federally, the tax the industry claims to pay accounts for 0.63 per cent of total revenue. The significance of the industry to the economy is in freefall, and it has happened in spite of huge increases in coal export volumes as the investment and construction phase of the boom gives way to a production boom. We’re left with an industry of much less value doing far more harm.
Some dismiss this as a transient downturn from which the industry will bounce back. Once an oversupplied global coal market shakes out less competitive producers, it is assumed prices will rise, and profits and royalties will start flowing. But this misses the broader economic transformation under way – the very one Malcolm Turnbull keeps talking up, as Australia diversifies away from reliance on resources.
While the value of coal exports has shrunk by nearly a third, GDP has grown by a third. Coal shed nearly 20,000 jobs, but the broader economy has added more than 1.1 million. Total exports grew, too, so where coal used to account for 22 per cent of exports, this year it could fall below 10 per cent. Other sectors have filled the vacuum left by coal many times over. The myth that coal is indispensable is being utterly shattered, time and again, in spite of government policy.
It’s great news for Australia, a cue to move on. Yet government policy is stuck in a different world: where domestic emissions are our main contribution to climate change; where coal is indispensable to Australia; where it makes expedient sense to keep green-lighting new coalmines, railways and terminals; and where the global community forever lets us ignore the consequences. It’s a la-la land in which we’re “overachievers” at reducing emissions, where lending farmers money to erect solar-powered electric fences is a big deal, but exporting a coal-fired power station worth of emissions each day goes routinely unnoticed.
If the reef could speak, it would scream, “Snap out of it.” But you wonder whether they’d notice that either.

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Graphic: Global Warming From 1880 To 2015

NASA


NASA/Goddard Space Flight Center Scientific Visualization StudioData provided by Robert B. Schmunk (NASA/GSFC GISS).

Earth’s 2015 surface temperatures were the warmest since modern record keeping began in 1880, according to independent analyses by NASA and the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA).
Globally-averaged temperatures in 2015 shattered the previous mark set in 2014 by 0.23 degrees Fahrenheit (0.13 Celsius). Only once before, in 1998, has the new record been greater than the old record by this much.
This color-coded map displays a progression of changing global surface temperature anomalies from 1880 through 2015. Higher than normal temperatures are shown in red and lower then normal termperatures are shown in blue. The final frame represents the global temperatures 5-year averaged from 2011 through 2015. Scale in degree Celsius.

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Ghastly Weather: What Frankenstein Can Tell Us On Climate Change

New Scientist - Boyd Tonkin

How should we respond to our ever-more-stormy planet? Read the Romantics, says Boyd Tonkin

Frankenstein was written in the wake of the 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora, which was followed by "a year without a summer" AP Photo/KOMPAS Images, Iwan Setiyawan
"Really we have had lately such stupid mists, fogs, rains and perpetual density," Lord Byron wrote from Switzerland to fellow poet Samuel Rogers in July 1816, "that one would think Castlereagh had the foreign affairs of the kingdom of Heaven also upon his hands."
By mock-blaming the dreadful weather of mid-1816 – soon dubbed "the year without a summer" – on the policies of Britain's reactionary foreign secretary, Byron spoke a century or two ahead of time. Without any human agency, the April 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora on the island of Sumbawa in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), at 10 times the force of the legendary Krakatoa in 1883, threw enough volcanic ash, dust and debris into the atmosphere to ruin crops and trigger famines from China to New England. The disaster also killed around 90,000 local people, mostly through starvation.

Year without a summer
Historian John Post called the aftermath "the last great subsistence crisis in the Western world". Average global temperatures fell by an estimated 0.4 to 0.7 °C. Land became flooded or parched.
In faraway Virginia, where it snowed in June 1816 and crops failed, Thomas Jefferson lamented "the most extraordinary year of drought and cold" America had ever seen. In Bengal, three years of skies shrouded in a sulphate veil impeded the monsoons and led not only to mass hunger but also to the spread of a new strain of cholera, triggering a global epidemic.
And in Switzerland, where the scandal-clouded Byron had fled to spend the sodden summer with his new poetic soulmate Percy Shelley, Shelley's teenage lover Mary Godwin and Mary's stepsister Claire Clairmont, rain fell on 130 of 153 days between April and August.
At the dawn of Europe's industrial revolution, a purely natural disaster – possibly the most extreme volcanic eruption since the Hatepe event in New Zealand around AD 185 – thus convulsed societies and states across the globe.
Two centuries later, in a world of frets and fears about human responsibility for climate change, the cultural fallout from that "year without a summer" still colours the stories we tell.
As Byron's jokey aside about Castelreagh hints, for post-Enlightenment minds in the early 19th century, it was no longer easy to endure climate calamities as the simple will of God. In the US, penitent cults spread as ruined farmers migrated from the cold, barren soils of New England.
For free-thinking Europeans such as the Bryon-Shelley crew, these grim months came swiftly on the heels of Napoleon's defeat and the collapse of hopes for change. However much it rested on coincidence and contingency, the collision of social and natural catastrophes gave rise to long, dark nights of the Romantic soul.

Stormy origins
On one of those dark nights, in late June 1816, an evergreen myth was born. The story of how 18-year-old Mary Godwin, the precocious daughter of two notorious radical thinkers (Mary Wollstonecraft and William Godwin) and already mother to a baby boy, came to compose Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, has been told many times. The most gripping account remains her own. It appears in the preface to an 1831 edition of the novel, in which Mary Shelley (she married Percy in December 1816) distilled the hopes and fears of Enlightenment enquiry and Romantic imagination into a deathless story of curiosity and obsession.
In that "wet, ungenial summer", she recalls, "incessant rain often confined us for days to the house". One soaking night, at Byron's rented Villa Diodati beside Lake Geneva in Switzerland, the company of rebels had spooked themselves by reading a collection of German horror stories. "We will each write a ghost story," Byron imperiously declared afterwards. Nothing came to Mary.
A few days later, however, she sat silent and attentive while Byron and Shelley ruminated over galvanism, the experiments of physician Erasmus Darwin and "the principle of life" itself. Later that night, sleepless and "possessed… beyond the usual bounds of reverie", Mary in a "waking dream" saw "the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together".
In the morning, dread yielded to exultation: "What terrified me will terrify others," she later wrote. By January 1818, she had published Frankenstein. It shocked the critics but thrilled its readers. With lordly understatement, Byron told his publisher John Murray: "Methinks it is wonderful work for a girl of nineteen – not nineteen, indeed, at that time." The "girl" had changed, forever and everywhere, the popular conception of Western science.

Weird weather
That "ungenial summer" lends the novel its backdrop of meteorological shock and awe. Weird weather scours the book. The sense of transgression and reversal, as summer became winter and day night, also underlies The Vampyre, the clumsy but influential entry in the ghost-story contest by John Polidori, Byron's doctor and companion. In this uncanny season, as the frontiers among the elements collapsed, so did frontiers in the mind: between reason and magic, daylight and dream, the living and the dead.
Byron himself, in response to those "stupid" mists, fogs and rains, wrote the apocalyptic poem Darkness, with its vision of a "void" planet: "A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay", where "Morn came and went, and came, and brought no day".
Mary, too, felt horror at these atmospheric breakdowns – but also a sense of galvanising possibility. Frankenstein's mission, and his noble Creature, excites as much it dismays. As the cultural historian Alexandra Harris puts it in Weatherland, her book about climate in English literature, "Where Byron saw lumpen deathliness that summer, Mary Shelley saw terrifying new forms of vitality."
Darkness is a mesmeric piece of verse, much quoted during Cold War-era panics about the threat of "nuclear winter". Frankenstein, though, conceives of something grander than another doomsday chill. Along with its mood of risk and guilt come idealism and hope – dashed not by the high-minded Creature, but by the self-hatred and broken vows of his fabricator. Mary Shelley delivers heroism along with hubris.

The age of cli-fi
Now, 200 years after her world-shaking summer, the art that responds to human-made environmental peril may have more to learn from Shelley than from her aristocratic ally.
At least since J. G. Ballard published his great twin tales of planetary catastrophe in the early 1960s (The Drowned World and The Burning World, later retitled The Drought), climate-change fiction has spread like livid algae across a stagnant pool. "Cli-fi", as the critic Dan Bloom called it, now stretches across 200-odd titles – from early visions such as Arthur Herzog's Heat to the ecological precision of Barbara Kingsolver's Flight Behaviour and the exuberant end-time speculation of David Mitchell's The Bone Clocks.
Even before the hard news came in about greenhouse gas emissions, weather-driven apocalypse had long lost its novelty. In Mary Shelley's spirit of excitement and enchantment, writers and other green-minded artists may now need to recalibrate their instruments of warning and prophecy.
A couple of years before Ian McEwan published Solar – his bold bid in 2010 to do exactly that – he told me in an interview about the limits of disaster narratives. "We've had so many dystopias that we're brain-dead in that direction," the novelist argued. Instead, climate change called for fiercer, nimbler forms of art. "It's got to be fascinating, in the way that gossip is. It's got to be about ourselves. Maybe it needs an Animal Farm. Maybe it needs an allegory. But if you're going in that direction, you need a lot of wit."

A light in the darkness
With wit, cunning and a measure of satirical ferocity, McEwan went on to create (in Solar) the Nobel-prizewinning slob Michael Beard: a guzzling, boozing, one-man embodiment of human overconsumption, but also a potential saviour with a mind to change the world.
Although more comic than tragic, Beard perhaps has something in common with Victor Frankenstein himself. As the Genevan scientist and his undead progeny celebrate their bicentenary, remember that their inventor reacted to the crashing turbulence that oversaw their birth more with delight than dismay.
"One night we enjoyed a finer storm than I had ever before beheld," she wrote to her half-sister Fanny Imlay. Mark the verb. While Mount Tambora's ash cloud did its remote, unknown worst, the lightning bolts lit creative exhilaration rather than frozen doom and gloom. As Mary Shelley intuited, and Ian McEwan knows, the art of climate crisis demands more than endless downpours of apocalypse. It's high time for a break in the clouds.

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Cheap And Clean: Australian Company Creates Hydrogen With Near-Zero Emissions

The Guardian - Myles Gough

With hydrogen tipped to become an important clean energy fuel, a new process may be the solution to powering electric vehicles and heating buildings
A new process for converting natural gas into hydrogen could be the solution for powering electric vehicles Photograph: Scott Olson/Getty Images
An Australian company is using "cheap as dirt" iron ore to convert methane in natural gas into hydrogen. Importantly, their process generates near-zero emissions, as the carbon content of the gas is captured in the form of high-quality graphite.
As a clean-burning fuel, hydrogen could play a key role in future energy markets, but production methods are still too energy-intensive and costly.
Hazer Group is a Perth-based company, spun out of the University of Western Australia, which plans to halve the cost of hydrogen production. It is currently scaling-up its patented process, based on "methane cracking".
"The chemistry is remarkably simple," says Geoff Pocock, the managing director of the ASX-listed company, which raised A$5m at its initial public offering in September 2015. "You can think of it as a self-sequestering energy production system."
As natural gas passes through the heated iron ore catalyst, methane in the gas breaks down into its constituent elements: hydrogen and carbon. But instead of carbon dioxide, would-be emissions are captured in the form of solid graphite.
Some of the hydrogen is used to power the system, and in the surplus "you've got a hydrogen source, which hasn't got a CO2 footprint," he says.

Halving the cost of hydrogen
What's most intriguing about Hazer's process is the ultra-cheap catalyst and the secondary commodity in graphite, which can be sold to offset production costs.
Graphite is used in the production of lithium-ion batteries, and while prices vary depending on the quality, Pocock says it averages at about US$1,000 per tonne. Globally, the graphite market is worth around US$13bn annually.
"The early stage indication is certainly that it has the potential to be not only the cleanest but the cheapest way of making hydrogen globally," says Pocock.
"We're using a catalyst that, in Western Australia in particular, is as cheap as dirt. You can throw it away when you don't need it anymore, and it suddenly means that the catalyst cost comes out of the economics of the process.
"Our goal is to be halving or more than halving the cost [of hydrogen production], so taking it from $1 to $1.50, down to $0.50 to $0.75 per kilogram."

A gateway to cleaner energy
When hydrogen is combusted to generate heat, or used in fuel cells to generate electricity, the only byproduct is water. As a result, it has long been heralded as a low-carbon energy carrier, which could replace gasoline as a transport fuel, powering electric vehicles, or natural gas as fuel to heat buildings.
But less than 5% of the 65m tonnes of hydrogen produced each year (comprising a market worth about US$100bn annually) is currently used for energy applications, says Pocock.
Hydrogen is primarily used as an industrial chemical in the oil and gas industries, and for producing ammonia, which is used to make fertiliser and explosives. Many companies set up energy-intensive, greenhouse gas-emitting production plants on-site, to make hydrogen where it's needed.
Hazer has long-term plans to build and operate small and medium-sized plants that will be cost-competitive with on-site industrial chemical plants. Pocock says there would also be an opportunity to sell hydrogen to buyers in energy markets, either as a bulk commodity or as electricity.
With a clean, cost-effective production process enabling more energy applications, he says the $100bn per year hydrogen market could grow significantly.

Methane cracking made viable with iron ore
The chemistry of methane cracking has been understood since the 1950s. But until now, catalysts – such as nickel – were typically more expensive than the resulting graphite.
This created an economic dilemma: graphite forms in layers on the surface of the catalyst, and at a certain point, causes it to deactivate, or stop working.
But because the catalysts were so expensive, producers needed a way to recover them for future use. This additional step in the process was costly and involved burning off the graphite.
"That's why the use of iron ore is such a benefit," says Pocock. "What it's doing is reducing the economic barrier of this process being commercialised."
While there are some CO2 emissions associated with mining iron ore, Pocock says these aren't a factor for Hazer because they use a relatively small amount of the mineral.
For each tonne of iron ore used as a catalyst, Hazer will be able to produce up to 10 tonnes of hydrogen, says Pocock.
Similarly, the company doesn't factor in the emissions associated with producing natural gas. Pocock says this is true of alternative hydrogen producers, who also rely on fossil fuels.
"As long as you're comparing like for like, you are getting a legitimate picture of the overall CO2 reduction between each process", he says.

Advances in iron ore catalysis of interest to science
Dr Ken Chiang is a chemical engineer at CSIRO, who is not involved with Hazer Group.
While Chiang couldn't comment on Hazer's specific process, he says iron ore has been "considered as an option for a catalyst by many research groups".
"Iron ore is much cheaper than many commercial catalysts," he says. "Any development in iron ore catalysis will be very interesting fundamentally."
He says graphite will provide the company with an additional income stream.
Hazer Group, which formed in 2010, is currently working with scientists at the University of Sydney's Laboratory of Sustainable Technologies to scale up their process.
By the end of 2017, the company plans on having a pilot plant capable of producing tens to hundreds of kilograms of hydrogen per day, or about 30 tonnes per year.
To reach an industrially relevant scale, it will need to build plants that can produce more than 10,000 tonnes per year, says Pocock.
He says the company is also interested in using methane from bio-gas, derived from plants and other organic matter.
In this way, Hazer could effectively become a carbon sink, he says.
"If you look at the whole [carbon] cycle, the carbon that was previously atmospheric CO2 could be stored in the form of sustainable, commercially viable graphite."

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