“Pylon Wars” shows why big energy plans need local people

Thousands of new electricity pylons will be built in parts of England under the government’s plan to decarbonize electricity. And some people are not happy.

A look at the recent Daily Telegraph articles seems to suggest that most of the elegant English countryside is about to be handed over by evil metal monsters. The story of the “noisy” pylon headline will become “scythe spell “” “scythe” “spoiled countryside”, leading to a “pylon penalty” for home prices and “massive social unrest.”

Some stories are quite above, but they reflect genuine anxiety and there was an important campaign against the pylon. In Suffolk, for example, resistance is built against the plan for a 114-mile transmission line that links a new offshore wind farm to Norwich and beyond.

So why do these towering steel structures evoke such powerful emotions?

Pylons have been particularly appealing since they were first introduced in the 1920s. Still, the biggest challenge was getting “waiveves” (permission) to cross the farmland. To calm rural protest groups, the government’s electricity committee commissioned architect Reginald Bromfield to design the transmission tower with an eye on “visual amenities.”

In the most protected areas, expensive underground cables were used to completely hide transmission lines. Using its extensive marketing material, the board emphasized that this option is about six times more expensive and therefore is only for exceptional use. By the 1940s, pylons were much cheaper than underground cables, providing a politically compelling techno-economic basis today.

Why we love the countryside

One of the reasons why pylons are so controversial is related to the appeal of English, particularly to the landscape. Geographer David Matress wrote several years ago about the “strong historical connection” between English and its country vision. People feel a certain degree of ownership over a variety of landscapes, including lowlands and highlands, north and south, picturesque darkness, and often have strong opinions about what “fits, what constitutes ‘heritage’, what is ‘out of place’.

Even if the majority of England were privately owned and commercially farming, many imagine the land as a public interest tied to national sentiment, and viewing the pylon as a landscape invader.

This can also explain why proposals to build infrastructure in rural England often raise major objections. My research into planning in Home County (the region surrounding London) in the 1990s revealed a very decisive population of highly educated, highly resourced people who are willing to spend a considerable amount of time and money to ensure that the landscape meets their expectations.

For example, we saw proposals from the then conservative government to build a highway through Chiltern Hill, west of London.

Countless village groups have sometimes been willing to stand up to public inquiries and pay lawyers to launch appeals and legal challenges. They may have been skeptical of the more frightening road protesters (historically embodied by indomitable swamps), but certainly had a common purpose.

My conclusion at the time was not to underestimate the effectiveness of local actions that challenged people’s visions for the British countryside. More recently, plans to run the HS2 railway line through the same hills came across fierce local opposition, which prompted a significant redesign.

It all went well, and today we are facing catastrophic climate change and biodiversity losses. Wind turbines are one of the most effective ways to decarbonise power sources, but they are located in different locations than older coal and gas power plants. Ironically, the same love for the landscape that pushed wind farms into the sea now opposes cables that return power to land.

A democratic decision?

One of the challenges here is that decisions such as high voltage transmission lines are based on models that attempt to “optimize” equipment design based on cost, effectiveness, or both. These models have no way of explaining the value or aesthetics of landscapes and heritage, and are not the sole basis for decisions about infrastructure.

Running a pylon across Suffolk might be the cheapest route with minimal electrical loss, but is that the best option? What is the alternative? Starting discussions from the fundamentals of techno-economic modeling often preempts a well-balanced discussion.

This is not a discussion of or against a large pylon. It calls for more democratic plans, not more.

Research consistently shows that people are excluded from decisions to reconstruct their landscapes and environments. Planning is a political process, in such a process, humiliating the enemy rarely leads to long-term harmony.

Top-down decisions on “national infrastructure” may save paper time, but they are not a good way to make progress. It appears to be dictatorial and moves opponents on the streets or to the courts.

The actual consultation takes time and effort. But it builds trust and leads to better results.

Pylons are probably the most incredible option. Probably not. But we don’t know unless we ask – and listen.

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