Tag: sustainability

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Football and Climate Change

Dr James Jackson

Sustainable Consumption Institute (SCI) The University of Manchester James.jackson-2@manchester.ac.uk

Dr Mark Doidge

Sport for Climate Action and Nature group Loughborough University m.doidge@lboro.ac.uk

Dr Oscar Berglund

Cabot Institute for the Environment University of Bristol Oscar.berglund@bristol.ac.uk12

Jennifer Amann & Samuel Toscano (postgraduate researchers)

Introduction

The relationship between football and climate change has become increasingly significant. Recent reports highlight the environmental impact of football, especially in the context of the 2026 FIFA World Cup. This tournament is expected to be the most polluting ever, due to the vast distances teams and fans will travel and the involvement of major polluters like Aramco as sponsors. These impacts are not accidental but are politically produced, as outlined in this report.

Historical Context and Growth

Football’s spread and growth have always been linked to the expansion of carbon-intensive industries. The sport, while now a significant industry, primarily serves a cultural role in promoting and embedding these industries. According to the World Trade Organization, football contributed $200 billion to global GDP in 2022, a small fraction of the world’s total GDP, but its cultural influence is unmatched. The sport’s global reach surpasses even that of religion, music, or film.

Historically, football grew alongside industrialization in Europe, particularly in Britain. The Factory Act of 1850 allowed workers Saturday afternoons off, leading to the tradition of 3 pm kick-offs. Industrialization enabled larger crowds and broader competitions, and football spread from England to industrial regions across Europe and Latin America. Many early clubs were founded by British industrialists and had strong ties to local industries. After World War II, football became more professionalized, with clubs often linked to major industries, such as Juventus with Fiat and Wolfsburg with Volkswagen.

Globalization and Commercialization

The 1990s marked a period of globalization for football, with the creation of the Champions League and the Premier League. This era saw increased investment from fossil fuel interests and a concentration of elite clubs in major cities. The expansion of competitions, such as the Champions League and the World Cup, has led to more games, more travel, and greater resource consumption, further increasing football’s carbon footprint.

There is a tension between football’s sustainability efforts and the growth pursued by governing bodies like FIFA. While some argue that expanding competitions increases inclusivity, critics contend that the primary motivation is financial gain, often benefiting fossil fuel sponsors. The construction of new stadiums and infrastructure for major tournaments also contributes significantly to environmental degradation.

Sustainability Challenges

Sustainability managers in football clubs often face the challenge of balancing environmental initiatives with commercial realities. Clubs tend to focus on increasing revenues rather than minimizing costs, making it difficult to prioritize sustainability unless it can be framed as revenue-generating. The costs of climate change, such as flooding or heat stress, are often overlooked in favor of short-term financial considerations.

Sportswashing and Fossil Fuel Influence

Football has become central to the petrostate strategy of sportswashing, where fossil fuel interests use the sport to maintain cultural dominance and legitimacy. Sponsorships, ownership of clubs, and major events in petrostates embed fossil fuels within football culture, making it harder to imagine the sport without them. This strategy differs from greenwashing, as it seeks to normalize fossil fuel involvement rather than merely improve public perception.

FIFA’s partnerships with fossil fuel companies and its willingness to host events in petrostates raise questions about its commitment to sustainability. The organization’s sustainability strategies often align closely with the interests of host nations, undermining its credibility as an independent governing body.

Policy Recommendations

The report makes several policy recommendations to address football’s destructive relationship with climate change:

  1. Stop hosting events in petrostates: FIFA should avoid awarding major tournaments to countries with strong fossil fuel interests, focusing instead on nations that would benefit more from development opportunities.
  2. Restrict fossil fuel ownership: UEFA should limit the ownership of clubs by petrostates and fossil fuel companies to reduce their influence over the sport.
  3. Focus on costs as well as revenue: Clubs should consider the long-term costs of climate change and prioritize sustainability initiatives, even if they require upfront investment.
  4. Fan representation on boards: Fans should have a voice in club decision-making, especially regarding sustainability, through democratically elected organizations rather than commercial mechanisms like fan tokens.
  5. Ban fossil fuel advertisements: Sponsorships from fossil fuel companies should be prohibited, similar to bans on tobacco advertising, to reduce their cultural influence.
  6. Fund adaptation for grassroots football: Financial support should be provided to grassroots football to help adapt to the impacts of climate change, following the example of UEFA’s Climate Fund.
  7. Embed sustainability managers: Sustainability managers should be fully integrated into club operations and involved in all major decisions, not just as a formality.
  8. Stop expanding competitions: Football’s governing bodies should halt the expansion of competitions and focus on optimizing schedules to reduce environmental impact and improve player welfare.
  9. Encourage player activism: Players should be empowered to speak out on sustainability issues and organize collectively through unions and associations.

Conclusion

Football’s environmental impact is deeply rooted in its historical and political context. Addressing these challenges requires systemic changes at all levels of the sport, from governance and sponsorship to grassroots participation and fan engagement. By implementing these recommendations, football can begin to break its destructive relationship with climate change and move towards a more sustainable future.

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The Anthropocene as framed by the far right

Dan Bailey, Joe Turner

Homeland’, borders, and business-as-usual

Framing the environmental crisis

It has long been accepted amongst various communities of academics that both political ideas and discourses matter in framing political issues, rendering actors and phenomena visible or invisible, and shaping political outcomes.1 A pertinent example of this is the phrase ‘Anthropocene’ – used to denote a new geological era in which human activity has significant impacts on planetary ecosystems – but which is itself contestable for the phenomena it captures and elides. Some have put forward the alternative term of ‘capitalocene’ to reflect the understanding that the primary driving force of ecological change in this era is not human activity per se, but the capitalist systems which continue to drive resource extraction, greenhouse gas emissions, and rising inequalities.2

“The far right discourse on the ecological crisis has historically been to deny its existence”

The ecological crisis is subject to a series of political discourses which each imperfectly capture the complex myriad of social, economic, and technological dynamics that are degrading planetary ecosystems. These discourses shape the public understanding of the environmental crisis and the appropriate strategies for its resolution, with each discourse purveyed by distinctive but evolving political factions and social forces.3,4

The far right discourse on the ecological crisis has historically been to deny its existence.5,6 This denial has taken many forms, but most commonly the science of ecological degradation has been disavowed and this has been matched by the refusal to accept any national responsibility for addressing the unfolding global ecological catastrophe. Customarily, the scientific evidence has been pronounced as a conspiracy designed to benefit ‘globalist elites’ or a plot to undermine national sovereignty through the ratification of multilateral agreements. This has served to bolster resistance to effective environmental policies.

However, this environmental discourse is no longer as central to the far right movement as it was in the 2000s and 2010s. Increasingly, climate science is tacitly accepted, but the finger of blame is being disingenuously pointed towards the far right’s traditional enemies.

The shifting environmental discourses of the European far right

As environmental issues have risen up the political agenda (becoming salient to younger voters in particular), far right parties have seemingly shifted away from denialism of the science. This shift has not led to a recognition of the need for a just economic transformation or, indeed, any political action commensurate to the scale and character of the environmental crisis. Instead, the increasing (albeit belated) recognition of environmental issues (primarily those which exist within national borders) has been fused with an anti-immigration agenda to create a new invidious framing of environmental politics. The emerging discourse, which we have conceptualised as ‘ecobordering’ elsewhere,7 is characterised by climate nationalism and seeks to depict immigration (of which migration from the Global South is made hyper-visible) as a threat to local and national environments.

This discourse takes two primary forms. First, it aims to politicise the environmental impacts of ‘mass immigration’ from the Global South, while depoliticising the impacts of ‘natives’. This includes linking ‘mass immigration’ with rising demand for natural resources and local environmental problems such as the pollution resulting from greater traffic and consumption. Immigration, it is suggested, is to blame for such problems, which were not issues of concern for local areas prior to multiculturalism.

At the same time, this narrative stokes fears that mass immigration will lead to population growth amongst non-white communities which will exacerbate these local environmental issues further and deplete finite natural resources, in what could be termed ‘racialised Malthusianism’. This was particularly exhibited by the British National Party (BNP),8 the National Rally,9 the Swiss People’s Party,10 Vlaams Belang,11 and Alternative for Deutschland.12 The Swiss People’s Party repeatedly claimed that it is the bulwark against “the greatest environmental killer, overpopulation… by urging people to limit immigration”,13 while the British National Party adopted the same Malthusian logic that it “is the ONLY party to recognise that overpopulation – whose primary driver is immigration, as revealed by the government’s own figures – is the cause of the destruction of our environment”.14

“The depiction of Global South migrants is juxtaposed with the depiction of ‘natives’ as responsible stewards of their ‘homeland’”

The second form this discourse takes is the depiction of Global South migrants as environmental hazards, with no personal aptitude for managing natural resources due to a lack of belonging to, or lack of financial or emotion investment in, local areas. This has been most strongly exhibited by far right parties such as Golden Dawn,15 the National Rally,16 the BNP,17 the Swiss People’s Party,18 and Vox.19 This has included the disparagement and scapegoating of migrants in numerous ways, such as littering, causing forest fires, the inhumane treatment of animals, and the destruction of ‘indigenous wildlife’ amongst other environmental offences.

“The purported threat posed by immigration and migrants… seeks to vindicate the notion that border policies are key forms of statecraft for the protection of the environment”

The lack of belonging is key to understanding this portrayal; as Le Pen explicitly put it: “environmentalism [is] the natural child of patriotism, because it’s the natural child of rootedness… if you’re a nomad, you’re not an environmentalist… Those who are nomadic… do not care about the environment; they have no homeland”.20 The depiction of Global South migrants is juxtaposed with the depiction of ‘natives’ as responsible stewards of their ‘homeland’ and adept stewards of their ‘little platoons’ (to invoke the eco-fascist and Burkean logics which this framing draws upon). This typically entails glorifying the historic stewardship of pastoral national citizens (such as farmers21 or foresters22) and the proclaiming the sound management of domestic natural resources by ‘natives’23 over the ‘homeland’.24,25 The National Front and Golden Dawn have even established wings of their movements called ‘New Ecology’26 and ‘Green Wing’27 designed to protect “family, nature and race”28 and “the cradle of our race”29 respectively.

Both of these discursive traits have since been identified more recently in Marine Le Pen’s recent presidential campaign in which she obtained 41.5 per cent of the vote. Dubbed ‘patriotic ecology’ by her followers, the fallacious depictions of culprits and saviours in the environmental crisis have become normalised in French politics to the extent that they are echoed by rival conservative politicians.

The purported threat posed by immigration and migrants to previously ‘pure’ and ‘sustainable’ spaces of European nature seeks to vindicate the notion that border policies are key forms of statecraft for the protection of the environment. As a senior figure in Marine Le Pen’s National Rally, Jordan Bardella, declared in 2019: “borders are the environment’s greatest ally… it is through them that we will save the planet”.30

A shift away from climate denialism, but at what cost?

The potential electoral potency of fusing border securitisation and climate issues – however fallaciously – underlines the importance of recognising and challenging these discourses. Should the ascendant far right in Europe gain any further power, or have further influence on traditionally conservative political parties, this discourse could more forcefully shape public understandings of the environmental crisis and the strategies for its resolution in the future.

“To ignore the root causes of the ecological crisis at this juncture would be catastrophic for the natural world”

This would be catastrophic on two fronts. On the one hand, the discourse prescribes a form of statecraft centred on border security rather than systemic economic transformation, which represents an apocryphal programme of environmental protection. It does so by focusing narrowly on ‘national’ nature (peripheralising global issues) and obscuring the material economic drivers of ecological degradation (such as the heavily polluting energy and aviation industries, for which Global North populations are primarily culpable). To ignore the root causes of the ecological crisis at this juncture would be catastrophic for the natural world, but that is precisely what this political framing inculcates.

Just as importantly, ecobordering seeks to inflict further structural violence on those who those exploited at the peripheries of the global economy. The nationalistic framing emerges at a time when immigration is rising because of climate change, and the discourse thus seeks to diagnose the symptoms of ecological degradation as the causes of it. There is already evidence that the rise of the far right strengthens political resistance to climate migration,31 and this framing serves to justify this resistance from an environmental perspective. At a global scale, these framings threaten to rationalise a de facto climate apartheid; with Global North populations and elites in the Global South enjoying the spoils of an environmentally deleterious global economy, while poorer Global South populations become confined to increasingly uninhabitable areas facing escalating risks of climate shocks and deteriorating health conditions.

The meaning and practical implications of climate justice will become an increasingly hot topic in the Anthropocene. Challenging the depictions of culprits and saviours purveyed by far right figures is only an initial step to preventing injustices mounting further.32 Recognising the historical constitution of the global economy and the inequalities and vulnerabilities resulting from it underlines the injustices of far right framings and the need for progressive actors to advance more transformative approaches.33 Progressive responses to the rise of the far right in the Anthropocene requires formulating and advancing notions of a just transition which accounts for the movement of people affected by climate change as well as other less privileged groupings in society.34 This will require far more progressive forms of statecraft which are a world away from those advocated in the framings of the far right.

Biographies

  • Dan Bailey is a senior lecturer in international political economy at Manchester Metropolitan University. His is interested in the evolving and complex interactions between the global economy, climate change, the objectives and strategies of political institutions, and the ideas and discourses that shape public understandings of the ecological crisis and sustainability transitions. He has authored a series of academic publications and policy reports on topics relating to these interactions.
  • Joe Turner is a lecturer in international politics at the University of York. His interdisciplinary examines how border regimes in post-imperial states like Britain are structured by imperial and colonial histories and hierarchies of human value. He recently published the book Migration Studies and Colonialism with Lucy Mayblin.

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Impacts of agrisolar co-location on the food–energy–water nexus and economic security

Nature Sustainability volume 8, pages 702–713 (2025)

Abstract

Understanding how solar PV installations affect the landscape and its critical resources is crucial to achieve sustainable net-zero energy production. To enhance this understanding, we investigate the consequences of converting agricultural fields to solar photovoltaic installations, which we refer to as ‘agrisolar’ co-location. We present a food, energy, water and economic impact analysis of agricultural output offset by agrisolar co-location for 925 arrays (2.53 GWp covering 3,930 ha) spanning the California Central Valley. We find that agrisolar co-location displaces food production but increases economic security and water sustainability for farmers. Given the unprecedented pace of solar PV expansion globally, these results highlight the need for a deeper understanding of the multifaceted outcomes of agricultural and solar PV co-location decisions.

Main

Climate change threatens our finite food, energy and water (FEW) resources. To address these threats by transitioning towards net-zero carbon emissions energy systems, new energy installations should be designed while considering effects on the complete FEW nexus. The rapid expansion of solar photovoltaic (PV) electricity generation is a key part of the solution that will need to grow more than tenfold in the United States (US) by 2050 to meet net-zero goals1. However, solar PV expansion presents threats to agricultural production due to its land-use intensity and potential in croplands2. A considerable portion of ground-mounted solar PV facilities in the US are installed in agricultural settings3,4,5. Yet regions with high solar breakthrough, such as the California Central Valley (CCV), are often among the most valuable and productive agricultural land in the US3,5,6. It is not yet clear how the current solar PV landscape affects agricultural security, much less under 2050 net-zero expansion. Here we quantify both the agricultural offsets of solar PV land-use change and the decision-making processes behind these transitions for existing solar PV arrays in agriculture.

Competition between solar PV and agricultural land uses has led to various co-location methods where installations are sited, designed and managed to optimize landscape productivity across a wide range of ecological and anthropogenic services7. This approach differs from conventional solar PV deployment, which is often installed and managed primarily for electricity output and reduced maintenance7. Emerging concepts such as techno-ecological synergies (TES)8 and more recently, ecovoltaics7, encompass a wide range of co-location strategies enabling renewable energy installations to serve multiple productive ecosystem services. Agricultural production and solar PV can be laterally integrated (agrisolar co-location)9 or directly share land and photons via vertical integration (agrivoltaic co-location)10,11.

Agrivoltaic co-location involves the direct integration of solar and agriculture (crops or grazing) or ecosystem services (pollinator habitat, native vegetation) within the boundaries of solar infrastructure11. The earliest technical standardization, originating from Germany, specifies that this can occur under or between system rows, but not adjacent to, while agricultural yield losses are reduced to less than one-third of reference (without solar PV) yields10. Effective agrivoltaic management can improve agricultural yield, microclimate regulation, soil moisture retention, nutrient cycling and farmer profitability, while enhancing public acceptance12,13,14,15. Thus, agrivoltaic co-location can address the agricultural competition concerns created by solar PV expansion.

The term agrisolar is more broadly defined (modified from SolarPower Europe9), as the integration and co-management of solar photovoltaics, agriculture and ecosystem services within agroenergy landscapes, explicitly considering the trade-offs and co-benefits of agricultural, environmental and socio-economic objectives. Thus defined, agrisolar practices align with TES and ecovoltaic principles and encompass both coincident (‘agrivoltaic co-location’) and adjacent co-location where agricultural land is replaced (hereafter ‘agrisolar co-location’)11,16. However, replacing agricultural land with solar PV (‘adjacent agrisolar’) without implementing agrivoltaic management has historically been considered conventional solar and thus excluded from co-location research because agricultural production is ceased on site10. There is some evidence, however, that converting portions of agricultural fields to solar PV in water-stressed regions can also provide water and economic benefits that enhance agricultural security despite food production losses17,18. Adjacent agrisolar replacement appears to be the dominant practice, with recent work showing that there have been relatively few documented agrivoltaic installations compared to total solar PV deployment in agriculture in the CCV5,19. Because agrisolar practices are understudied relative to literature on other forms of co-location14,20, there is a need to assess regional resource outcomes for most existing solar PV installations and consequences for lost food production without agrivoltaic management. Conceptual examples of solar PV co-location are shown in Fig. 1.

figure 1
Fig. 1: Conceptual diagram of trade-offs and co-benefits with agrisolar, agrivoltaic and ecovoltaic co-location.

We argue that by enhancing water, energy and economic security, transitioning farm fields to solar PV installations can be considered adjacent agrisolar management in water-stressed regions. Here security is the capacity of a farmer to maintain or improve their financial well-being, operational resilience and access to essential resources, such as water and energy, while preserving the integrity and future of their agricultural practices. We assess the FEW security effects of these agrisolar PV installations across the CCV through 2018 and estimate the economic potential of those arrays throughout a 25-year operational-phase lifespan. We compute landowner cash flow including net energy metering (NEM) for commercial-scale PV installations and land leases for larger utility-scale arrays. All resource and economic effects are referenced to a counterfactual business-as-usual scenario with no solar PV installation, assuming continued agricultural production and operation on the same plot of land. The purpose of this analysis is to evaluate the lifespan FEW and economic impacts of existing agrisolar arrays in the CCV. Rather than projecting future installations or policies, we report on the existing agrisolar placement, design and policy practices to inform future practices on a per-hectare basis, tailored to regional needs. We also highlight the need for, and opportunities within, additional research into agrisolar practices.

Results

Commercial- and utility-scale agrisolar arrays in CCV

We assembled a comprehensive dataset of agriculturally co-located solar PV installations within the CCV through 2018. We identified 925 solar PV arrays installed between 2008 and 2018, with an estimated capacity of 2,524 MWp on 3,930 ha of recently converted agricultural land. The estimated array capacity of each individual array ranged from 19 kWp to 97 MWp. A temporal synthesis of the input solar PV dataset, separated by array scale, is shown in Fig. 2b,c. The smaller commercial-scale arrays are roughly twice as common, yet account for one-tenth of the installed capacity and converted land area of utility-scale arrays. Note that commercial-scale arrays are predominantly fixed axis, whereas utility-scale arrays are more frequently single-axis tracking systems. There are also notable peaks in the number of installations for both array scales in 2016, potentially in response to the NEM 2.0 legislation timeline21. While there is some spatial clustering of converted crop types (Fig. 2a), converted crops were widely distributed across the CCV.

figure 2
Fig. 2: Study area and characterization of ground-mounted agrisolar PV installations.

Offset food and nutritional production

The 925 agriculturally co-located arrays displaced 3,930 ha of cropland, which is ~0.10% of the CCV active agricultural land22. In the baseline scenario (Methods provide scenario details), nutritional loss was 0.16 trillion kcal (Tkcal) and 1.41 Tkcal foregone by commercial- and utility-scale arrays, respectively (Fig. 3). The total, 1.57 Tkcal, is equivalent to the caloric intake of ~86,000 people for 25 years (solar lifespan), assuming a 2,000 kcal d–1 diet. The nutritional footprint of commercial-scale arrays (−21.2 million kcal (Mkcal) ha–1 yr–1) was greater than utility-scale arrays (−15.6 Mkcal ha–1 yr–1) and the total impact was primarily composed of grain (58%), orchard crops (21%) and vegetables (10%). Utility-scale arrays displaced the nutritional value of grain (60%) hay/pasture (16%) and vegetables (10%). Note that for displaced kcal production of hay/pasture, contribution was negligible despite dominating the converted area due to inefficient caloric conversion to human nutrition for feed and silage crops. Resource footprint, total lifespan impact and crop contribution is shown in Fig. 3. Cumulative resource impacts across the region through time are available in Supplementary Fig. 1.

figure 3
Fig. 3: Lifespan land use, food loss, electricity production and potential irrigation electricity offset and potential water conservation with agrisolar co-location in California’s Central Valley.

Electricity production and consumption

We modelled the annual electricity generation for each array and offset irrigation electricity demand. Total cumulative electricity generation for these identified arrays by 2042 was projected to be 10 TWh for commercial-scale arrays and 113 TWh for utility-scale arrays. The potential electricity saved by not irrigating converted land was 11 GWh and 146 GWh for commercial- and utility-scale arrays, respectively. Note that this was three orders of magnitude less than the total electricity generation. For reference, the total lifespan impact of electricity production and potential irrigation electricity offset ( ~ 124 TWh) could power ~466,000 US households for 25 years (assuming 10.6 MWh yr–1 per household).

Changes in water use

Most (74%) agriculturally co-located arrays in the CCV replaced irrigated croplands. On the basis of the business-as-usual change in total water-use budget (considering irrigation water-use offset and operation and maintenance—O&M water use), we estimate that agrisolar co-location in the region would reduce water use by 5.46 thousand m3 ha–1 yr–1 (total: 42.1 million m3) and 6.02 thousand m3 ha–1 yr–1 (total: 544 million m3) over the 25-year period for commercial- and utility-scale arrays, respectively. This could supply ~27 million people with drinking water (assuming 2.4 liters per person per day) or irrigate 3,000 hectares of orchards for 25 years. O&M water use on previously irrigated land was ~eight times less than irrigated crops—if offset irrigation water were conserved rather than redistributed. Irrigated crops that contributed the most to the offset irrigation water use were orchards (29%), hay/pasture (28%) and grain (27%) for commercial-scale installations and grain (37%), hay/pasture 31%), cotton (15%) for utility-scale installations.

Agricultural landowner cash flow

Adjacent agrisolar co-location is more profitable than the baseline agriculture-only scenario, regardless of how landowners are compensated (Fig. 4). For commercial-scale arrays, agrisolar landowners experience early losses from installation expenditure (−US$53,000 ha–1 yr–1). However, the lifespan cash flow was dominated by NEM, offset electricity costs and surplus generation sold back to the grid, resulting in a net positive economic footprint of US$124,000 ha–1 yr–1, 25 times greater returns than lost food revenue (−US$4,920 ha–1 yr–1). The resulting economic payback period was 5.2 years (best- and worst-case payback in 2.9 and 8.9 years respectively; Supplementary Fig. 2).

figure 4
Fig. 4: Lifespan economic footprint of commercial- and utility-scale agrisolar co-location.

The net economic footprint for utility-scale agrisolar landowners (US$2,690 ha–1 yr–1) was 46 times less than the commercial-scale footprint (Fig. 4b). In contrast to commercial-scale arrays, utility-scale agrisolar landowners were not responsible for installation or O&M costs but still lost food revenue (−US$3,330 ha–1 yr–1) and were only compensated by land lease (US$1,940 ha–1 yr–1) and offset operational (US$3,830 ha–1 yr–1) and irrigation water-use costs (US$220 ha–1 yr–1). In the worst-case scenario, the total budget was negative (−US$432 ha–1 yr–1), suggesting that some landowners could lose revenue. There was no payback period for utility-scale agrisolar landowners because the net economic budget was always positive (baseline and best-case scenario) or always negative (worst-case scenario). Cumulative economic impacts across the region in Supplementary Fig. 3.

On average, estimated foregone farm operation costs exceeded forgone food revenue (Fig. 4). While this may be affected by reporting differences in agricultural revenue and farm operation cost sources, agricultural margins are known to be small, or negative, for certain croplands (for example, pastureland), with margins likely to decrease further under future climate change and water availability scenarios23. For commercial-scale installations, cutting farm operation costs in half (highly conservative) resulted in a longer economic payback period of just a month. Cutting offset farm operation costs in half for utility-scale installations did not affect economic payback or the always-positive baseline and best-case budget.

Discussion

The effect of agrisolar co-location on food production

We found that displacing agricultural land with solar PV locally reduced crop production ( ~ 1.57 Tkcal), which may affect county- and state-level food flows. Fortunately, on national and global scales, food production occurs within a market where reduced production in one location creates price signals that can stimulate production elsewhere. For example, high demand and increased irrigation pumping costs in the CCV have resulted in higher prices received for specialty orchard crops. Thus, farmers have elected to switch from cereal and grain crops to specialty crops24. Solar PV is also far more energy dense per unit of land than growing crops to produce biofuels18—a practice common across large swaths of agricultural farmland in the US and elsewhere. We show that conversion of feed, silage and biofuel croplands provides high irrigation water-use offsets while minimizing nutritional impacts due to the low or non-existent caloric conversion efficiencies of these crops (Fig. 3). Though, considering food waste and a lack of crop-specific nutritional-quality knowledge, we cannot evaluate end-point impacts of reported foregone kcal (calories) on human diets and health25.

California produces 99% of many of the nation’s specialty fruit and nut orchard crops (for example, almonds, walnuts, peaches, olives)26. Fields producing these crops were commonly converted to solar PV (270 ha of orchard crops), and it may be difficult to shift production of these crops to other locations due to their intensive water footprint, climate sensitivity and time to production27,28. Altering global supply of these crops could lead to food price increases similar to biofuel land-use changes29 with agricultural markets taking time to compensate30. We found that these nutritionally dense, valuable and operationally costly crops are more commonly replaced by commercial-scale rather than utility-scale installations, resulting in a higher nutritional footprint at the site scale (Fig. 3). However, due to their smaller arrays size (Fig. 2), these arrays have a lower regional lifespan nutritional impact. The total solar PV area we consider (the area covered by panels and space between them) does not account for total cropland transformation by all solar energy infrastructure. Thus, total cropland area converted and associated caloric losses may be underestimated by up to 25%. We conducted a sensitivity analysis on this potential area bias for all area-based metrics and discuss the details of this underestimate in Supplementary Discussion.

Global food needs are projected to double by 205031,32. To meet these needs, yield per unit area must increase, agricultural land area under production must increase and/or food waste and inefficiency must be reduced. Reducing waste is feasible but requires a considerable change in dietary preferences33 and supply chain pathways34. Yield increases alone are unlikely to meet these needs31 and half of global habitable land is already agricultural35. Cultivated lands are facing additional pressures due to soil quality deterioration, aridification, water availability, urban growth and threats to global biodiversity that will be exacerbated under a changing climate36,37,38,39. Given these pressures on arable land, cropland selection for future agrisolar co-location, both commercial- and utility-scale, should be assessed at local, regional, national and international scales to maintain food availability and security.

Water security potential with agrisolar co-location

Here we show that solar PV installations preferentially displace irrigated land in the CCV (3,310 ha and 74% of co-located installations). Displacing this irrigated cropland enhances farmer cash flow while probably reducing overall water use by 5.46 and 6.02 thousand m3 ha–1 yr–1 for commercial- and utility-scale arrays, respectively. The total displaced irrigation water use was eight times the O&M use for those arrays. Thus, installing solar PV in water-scarce regions has substantial potential to reduce water use, which bolsters findings from previous studies17,18,40,41. This analysis does not incorporate the additional hydrologic effects of modifying surface energy and water budgets, including reducing evapotranspiration and the potential for increased groundwater recharge42,43.

Given that the cash flow benefits from utility-scale agrisolar co-location are relatively small, we evaluated how water-use limitations may be a factor in farmland conversion decisions. We hypothesize that fallowing land is largely a consequence of water shortages in the CCV24,40, thus fallowing land proximal to an array (within 100 metres) may indicate an emergent agrisolar practice: intentional fallowing and irrigation water-use offset adjacent to arrays supported by revenue from the array. Each array was coded by the adjacent crop type before and post installation of the array. While we cannot know what landowners would have done with the array acreage absent the installation, this analysis provides evidence of broader land-use trends that might have been driving decisions. The transition of array acreage from before proximal post-installation land use for utility-scale arrays is displayed in Fig. 5.

figure 5
Fig. 5: Land-use change adjacent to utility-scale solar PV installations on previously irrigated cropland in the CCV.

Understanding how economic incentives affect the replacement of valuable cropland with solar PV is essential to inform future energy landscape models and policies. Here we examined the transition to post-solar installation fallowing in adjacent irrigated cropland (Fig. 5). We observed fallowing of adjacent irrigated cropland at 58 utility-scale installations totalling 658 MWp and 968 ha (27% of utility-scale area) composed of 410 ha of grain, 250 ha of hay and pasture, 225 of orchards, grapes and vegetables and 82 ha of cotton and other crops. The direct area of these arrays (968 ha) can be linked to a potential irrigation water-use offset of 195 million m3 over 25 years. If these arrays were on-farm plots of average size, 14,000 ha of fallowed land adjacent to these 58 arrays could displace an additional 120 million m3 of irrigation water use, each year, or 3,000 million m3 over 25 years (Supplementary Methods). Thus, if landowners choose to fallow farmland adjacent to leased land for utility-scale arrays, the water-use reductions are greatly amplified. We discuss several important limitations44 of the Cropland Data Layer (CDL) regarding this analysis in Supplementary Discussion.

Intensely irrigated cropland in the CCV is vulnerable to drought, especially in southern basins that rely heavily on surface-water deliveries due to limited groundwater availability45. The California Budget Act of 2021 provides financial support for fallowing to motivate farmers to reduce water use46. Whereas fallowing land can help mitigate some hydrological problems, removing production can also result in large agricultural revenue losses47. Converting land with solar electricity production, rather than simply fallowing could reduce risks to farmers while enhancing financial security17, especially during periods of extreme drought40. Whereas this has implications for future installations, we show that farmers already appear to be practicing solar fallowing, probably resulting in long-term irrigation water-use reductions.

We acknowledge the potential issues in assuming that foregone irrigation water use due to solar PV installations was conserved rather than redistributed. However, a portion of this potential offset is probably real given three observations: (1) utility-scale installations correlate with newly fallowed land, which was not observed for commercial-scale arrays; (2) the 2014 Sustainable Groundwater Management Act (SGMA)48 requires water-use reductions by the 2040s and (3) agriculturally co-located solar PV maintains Williamston Act Status under the Solar-Use Easement49 (which has recently been revived50), a California tax incentive common in irrigated lands highly suitable for solar51. In our dataset, 46% of utility-scale installations and 58% of commercial-scale installations were completed after SGMA was enacted (Fig. 2b,c). We also performed a sensitivity analysis where only 50% of irrigation water-use offset was conserved rather than redistributed, which still resulted in an estimated US$9 million and 246 million m3 conserved due to the regional change in water use from just direct area converted (Supplementary Discussion).

Given this potential for water-use offset, solar fallowing for water-use reduction presents an opportunity for incentivized solutions that are already of interest to landowning farmers in the region17. With suitable solar area in the CCV exceeding projected fallowing acreage to comply with SGMA51, implementing agrisolar co-location policies and incentives such as these could promote complementary land uses and enhance public support15.

Achieving economic security across return structures

Regardless of scale and related financial benefits, farmers are switching away from cultivating crops to cultivating electricity. This study empirically demonstrates that both NEM and land-lease incentive structures have been viable frameworks for PV deployment in some of the most valuable cropland in the US6. Critically, we incorporate farm-specific agricultural dynamics across a region (offset farm operation costs, irrigation costs and food revenue) into economic considerations for replacing cropland with solar.

By including these revenues and costs, this study clearly demonstrates the strong economic incentives to replace cropland with commercial-scale arrays (Fig. 4a). Under the grandfathered NEM 1.0 and 2.0 agreements, commercial-scale agrisolar landowners enhanced financial security by 25 times lost food revenue over the lifetime of the array, while simultaneously reducing water use. The resulting total net revenue, US$124,000 ha–1 yr–1, is potentially underestimated because post-lifespan module replacement, resale or continued use is likely, and property values could increase (terminal value) compared to the reference scenario. We also have not considered several programmes, credits and incentives (for example, Rural Energy for America Program) that could enhance net revenue (Supplementary Discussion). However, these returns are not unlimited due to NEM capacity limitations (<1 MWp) and requirements to size the installation below annual on-farm load21.

Renewable energy policy evolves quickly, shifting incentives for new customer generators. Whereas climate change and decreasing water availability in the coming decades23 will probably increase financial motivation to install solar in agriculture, future adoption and the co-benefits reported here will also depend on new business models for grid pricing52. Pricing structures have already and will inevitably continue to change as utilities, regulators and grid customers adapt to distributed renewable generation, avoid curtailment and avoid the utility death spiral52. Although future installations and policy are not the focus of this study, the newest policy, NEM 3.0, substantially reduces compensation for surplus generation and limits options for multiple metered connections53, probably requiring future installations to add battery storage and other measures to maintain similar profitability54. However, this study considers solar arrays that are grandfathered into their respective NEM 1.0 and 2.0 agreements. Additionally, our estimated load contributions suggest that revenue reported here mostly originates from offset demand rather than credit for surplus generation (Supplementary Notes and Supplementary Discussion). The bottom line is that owning solar PV, offsetting annual on-farm electric load and selling surplus electricity back to the utility under NEM 1.0 and 2.0 has increased economic and energy security for farmers with existing arrays and has probably promoted water-use reductions in the region. Importantly, we also assumed that all decisions were made by and returns received by landowning or partial-owning farmers. We do not have access to land-ownership data for the CCV, but nearly 40% of agricultural land in the region is rented or leased55.

Utility-scale land-lease rates alone do not offset lost agricultural revenue. However, including offset farm operation costs results in a substantially lower but still profitable agrisolar economic footprint with no major up-front capital investment (Fig. 4b). In water-scarce regions, particularly where water-use reduction is required, the smaller returns from utility-scale agrisolar practices and potentially related fallowing of land may be more attractive than continued cultivation under water-supply uncertainty17. Thus, without profitable compensation, agrivoltaic practices may not be feasible if offset operational costs and water-use reductions are driving utility-scale agrisolar decision making. We also omit some agricultural dynamics (such as the environmental benefits of carbon reduction), which could reinforce resource and economic security for both commercial- and utility-scale installation (Supplementary Discussion).

Opportunities for agrisolar research

Whereas funding and incentives for co-location research have expanded rapidly in recent years, we advocate extending these to agrisolar co-location. Adjacent agrisolar replacement with barren or unused ground cover still falls short of the full potential of ecovoltaic and agrivoltaic multifunctionality7,9,10,11. However, the regional resource and economic co-benefits of replacing irrigated land in water-stressed regions with solar PV here cannot be ignored. These findings are also immediately relevant to the Protecting Future Farmland Act of 202356, which set out a goal to better understand the multifaceted impacts of installed solar on US agricultural land. We discuss additional placement and management decisions that fall under the umbrella of agrisolar co-location in Supplementary Discussion.

We have shown that the goal of co-location, to enhance synergies between the co-production of agriculture and/or other ecosystem services and net-zero electricity production, is at least partially achievable with agrisolar co-location. Broader agrisolar research may also expose the consequences of not widely adopting agrivoltaics to retain agricultural production and protect food security. Given the ecosystem service benefits reported here, there may be an opportunity to broaden the scope of co-location research and incentives to include agrisolar co-location practices defined here.

Methods

Identifying agrisolar PV arrays across the CCV

We used remotely sensed imagery of existing solar PV arrays and geographic information system (GIS) datasets to develop a comprehensive and publicly available dataset of ground-mounted arrays co-located with agriculture in the CCV through 2018. We extracted all existing non-residential arrays from two geodatabases (Kruitwagen et al.4,57 and Stid et al.5,58) within the bounds of the CCV alluvial boundary59. We removed duplicate arrays and applied temporal segmentation methods described in Stid et al.5 to assign an installation year for Kruitwagen et al.4 arrays. We acquired Kruitwagen et al.4 panel area within array bounds by National Agriculture Imagery Program imagery pixel area with solar PV spectral index ranges suggested in Stid et al.5 and removed commissions (reported array shapes with no panels). We then removed arrays with >70% overlap with building footprints60 to retain only ground-mounted installations. Finally, overlaying historical CDL crop maps with new array shapes, we removed arrays in areas with majority non-agricultural land cover the year before installation (Supplementary Fig. 4 and Supplementary Discussion).

The resulting dataset (925 agrisolar co-located arrays) included 686 ground-mounted arrays from Stid et al.5 plus 239 from Kruitwagen et al.4. For these sites, we calculated array peak capacity (kWp) by61:

(1)

where  is the total direct area of PV panels in m2,  is the average efficiency of installed PV modules during the array installation year62 (Supplementary Fig. 5) and  is the irradiance at standard test conditions (kW m–2). Arrays were split into ‘Commercial-’ (<1 MWp) and ‘Utility-’ (≥1 MWp) scale arrays following the California Public Utility Commission NEM capacity guidelines63.

Scenario summary and assumptions

We computed annual FEW resource and economic values for each ground-mounted agrisolar PV array identified across the CCV for four scenarios: (1) reference, business as usual with no solar PV installation and continued agricultural production on the same plot of land, (2) baseline, agrisolar PV installation with moderate assumptions related to each component of the analysis, (3) worst case, PV installation with high negative and low positive effects for each component, (4) best case, similar but opposite of the worst-case scenario. We compare baseline to the reference scenario to estimate the most likely FEW and economic effects and use the differences between best- and worst-case scenarios to estimate uncertainty. Supplementary Tables 2 and 3 provide an overview of scenarios for each resource and Supplementary Tables 4 and 5 for baseline agrisolar lifespan FEW resource and economic value outcomes, respectively.

Identified arrays were installed between 2008 and 2018 and were assumed to have a 25-year lifespan for arrays due to performance, warranties, module degradation and standards for electrical equipment64,65. We assumed that land-use change effects ceased following 25 years of operation to simplify assumptions about module replacement, resale or continued use. We then summarized the FEW and economic effects of all arrays across the CCV and divided our temporal analysis into three phases: (1) addition (2008–2018) where arrays were arrays were being installed across the CCV, (2) constant (2019–2032) with no array additions but all arrays installed by 2018 are operating and maintained and (3) removal (2032–2042), where arrays are removed after 25 years of operation.

We performed several sensitivity analyses to address limitations in the available data and methods and to show how changes in future policy (NEM) could affect incentives displayed here. Sensitivity analysis included the capacity cut-off between commercial- and utility-scale (5 MW), solar PV lifespan (15 and 50 years), nominal discount rate (3%, 7% and 10%), solar PV direct area bias (proportional direct to total infrastructure area and a uniform perimeter buffer) and irrigation redistribution (assuming 50% of irrigation water-use offset is redistributed rather than conserved), all else equal (Supplementary Discussion and Supplementary Tables 6–20). We discuss additional assumptions and limitations in Supplementary Discussion.

Displaced crop and food production

Replacing fields (or portions thereof) with solar PV arrays affects crop production by (1) lost production of food, fibre and fuels and (2) reduced revenue from crop sales. We simplify the complex effects of lost production and include solely the foregone calories through both direct and indirect human consumption, which is justified because CCV crop production is largely oriented towards food crops. Future analyses could evaluate the lost fibre (primarily via cotton) or fuel (via biofuel refining) production.

We evaluated the economic and food production effects of displaced crops through a crop-specific opportunity cost assessment of land-use change, incorporating actual reported; yields, revenue, caloric density and regionally constrained caloric conversion efficiencies for feed/silage and seed oil crops. All crop type information was derived from the USDA National Agricultural Statistics Service (NASS) CDL22 for the array area in both prior- and post-installation years (Supplementary Fig. 4 and Supplementary Methods provide the adjacent fallowed land analysis). Each array was assigned a majority previous crop from the spatially weighted means of crop types within the array area for the five years before the installation.

We converted all eligible crop types to kcal (also called calorie) for human consumption after Heller et al.25. Foregone food production ( in kcal) following PV installation was then defined for each array as:

(2)

where  is in kcal kg–1,  is in kg m–2 and  of each array in m2. Crop-specific caloric density data (kcal kg–1) were derived from the USDA FoodData Central April 2022 release66. FoodData food descriptions and nutrient data were joined and CDL specific crop groupings were made through a workflow described in Supplementary Fig. 6. Crop-specific yield data (kg m–2) were derived from the USDA NASS Agricultural Yield Surveys67. State-level (California) yield data were processed similarly, with missing crop data filled based on national average yields. We used caloric conversion efficiencies for feed, silage or oil crop to account for crop production that humans do not directly consume.

For each array, we calculated annual revenue of forgone crop production in real (inflation adjusted) dollars, calculated by:

(3)

where  is in US$ kg–1,  is in kg m–2 and  of each array in m2. We used the annual ‘price received’ for all crops in the USDA NASS Monthly Agricultural Prices Report for 2008 through 201868. For the baseline case, we assumed that food prices will scale directly with electricity prices through 2042 given that they respond to similar inflationary forces69. Supplementary Fig. 6 and Supplementary Methods provide a more complete workflow including best- and worst-case scenario assumptions.

Change in irrigation water use and cost savings

Irrigation water use can only be offset by agrisolar co-location if the prior land use was irrigated. The presence of irrigation was inferred from the Landsat-based Irrigation Dataset (LanID) map for the year before installation70,71 (Supplementary Fig. 4). If the array area contained irrigated pixels, then we assumed the cropland area and all respective crops within the rotation were irrigated.

We calculated the total forgone irrigation water use ( in m3) by:

(4)

where  in m is the crop-specific irrigation depth,  in m3 is the annual county-level irrigation water-use estimate and  in m3 is the county-level irrigation water-use estimate for the respective survey year irrigation depths.

We estimated annual crop-specific county-level irrigated depths from survey and climate datasets for each array. Crop-specific irrigation depths () were taken from the 2013 USDA Farm and Ranch Survey72 and 2018 Irrigation and Water Management Survey73, and logical crop groupings were applied (for example, almonds, pistachios, pecans, oranges and peaches were considered orchard crops). Because irrigation depths depend on the total precipitation in each survey year, we used multilinear regression to build annual county-level irrigation water-use estimates () from five-year US Geological Survey (USGS) water use74, gridMET growing season average precipitation75, with year as a dummy variable to incorporate temporal changes in irrigation technologies and practices. For the installation phase (2008 to 2018), these depths varied based on historical climate and survey data, whereas the projection phases (constant and removal) used a scenario-dependent moderate, wet (worst-case, least water savings) or dry (best case, most water savings) year estimate from the historical record (discussed in Supplementary Methods).

Assigning an economic value to water use is difficult and varies based on the temporally changing supply and demand76. We calculated the economic value of the change in water use (Water in real US$) to the farmer by:

(5)

where  (m3) is the offset irrigation water use for the co-located crop minus O&M projected water use,  (MWh m–3) is the irrigation electricity required to irrigate the co-located crop given local depth to water and drawdown estimates from McCarthy et al.77,  (US$ MWh–1) is the utility-specific (commercial-scale) or regional average (utility-scale) annual price of electricity based on the electricity returns and modelled electricity generation described in Supplementary Methods and  is a CCV-wide average water right contract rate of ~ US$0.03 m–3 (ref. 78). Here we assume that water (and thus energy) otherwise used for irrigation was truly foregone and not redistributed elsewhere within or outside the farm. Change in O&M water use was based on Klise et al.79 reported values, described in Supplementary Methods.

Electricity production, offset and revenue

Installing solar PV in fields has three benefits: (1) production of electricity by the newly installed solar PV array, (2) reduction in energy demand due to reduced water use and field activities and (3) revenue generation via net energy metering (NEM) or land lease. Here we assume that on-farm electricity demand is dominated by electricity used for irrigation and ignore offset energy (embodied) used for fuel.

We modelled electricity generation for each array using the pvlib python module developed by SANDIA National Laboratory80. Weather file inputs for pvlib were downloaded from the National Renewable Energy Laboratory (NREL) National Solar Radiation Database81. We also estimated annual on-farm load to differentiate offset electricity use and surplus generation. Not only is electricity generated by the arrays, but electricity consumption is foregone for each array due to not irrigating the array area. The annual change in electricity consumption due to water use ( in GWh) is calculated by:

(6)

where  is the county-level rates for irrigation electricity demand in GWh m–3 and  is the change in water use in m3 from equation (5). County-level electricity requirements to irrigate were calculated using irrigation electricity demand methods described in McCarthy et al.77 modified with a CCV-specific depth to water (piezometric surface) product for the spring (pre-growing season) of 201882.

Revenue from electricity generation was calculated separately for each array depending on array size and the installation year. Commercial-scale arrays (<1 MW) were assumed to operate under an NEM 1.0 if installed before 2017 and NEM 2.0 if installed later, which allows for interconnection to offset on-farm load and compensation for surplus electricity generation (Supplementary Methods and Supplementary Table 21). Thus, for commercial-scale arrays, annual cash flow from solar PV (NEM in US$) is calculated as:

(7)

where  is real US$ saved by offsetting annual on-farm electric load and  is real US$ earned by surplus PV electricity generation sold to the utility under NEM guidelines. Both  and  are estimated based on pvlib modelled electricity generation and valued at the historical utility-specific energy charge retail rates. Historical energy charges are available either through utility reports83,84,85 or the US Utility Rate Database via OpenEI86. We made several assumptions that resulted in omission of fixed charges including transmission and interconnection costs from the analysis. Details about electricity rates and omitted charges are summarized in Supplementary Methods.

For utility-scale arrays (≥1 MW), annual revenue from agrisolar co-location (Lease in US$) was assumed to be given by:

(8)

where Lease is the economic value estimated to be paid to the farmer by the utility for leasing their land in US$ m–2 and Area of each array in m2.

We assumed commercial-scale arrays installed before 2017 were grandfathered into NEM 1.0 guidelines for the duration of their lifespan. However, arrays installed in 2017 and 2018 fall under NEM 2.0 guidelines which include a US$0.03 kWh–1 non-bypassable charge removed from 21,87,88. Annual on-farm operational load was estimated and distributed across the year based on reported California agricultural contingency profiles89 and Census of Agriculture county-level average farm sizes90,91,92 (Supplementary Figs. 7 and 8 and Supplementary Methods). With distributed hourly load estimations and modelled solar PV electricity generation, we delineated electricity and revenue contributing to annual load () from surplus electricity and revenue that would have been sold back to the grid and credited via NEM ().

Future electricity revenue was projected using 2018 conditions (contribution to annual load, to surplus) and energy charge rates, modelled electricity production described above (includes degradation, pre-inverter, inverter efficiency and soiling losses) and projected changes in the price of electricity. The Annual Energy Outlook report by the US Energy Information Administration (EIA) provides real electricity price projections annually between 2018 and 2050 for ‘Commercial End-Use Price’93. This annual rate of change was used to estimate projected deviations from 2018 energy charges (2018 US$ kWh–1) during the constant and removal phases (2019–2042), with projected solar PV generation including discussed losses.

We used solar land consultant and industry reports for solar land-lease () rates that ranged from US$750 ha–1 yr–1 to US$4,950 ha–1 yr–1, with high-value land averaging IS$2,450 ha–1 yr–1 in the CCV94,95. Comparable lease rates (~US$2,500 to US$5,000 ha–1 yr–1) were reported by developers in the CCV region17 and used in a solar PV and biomass trade-off study in Germany18 (~US$1,000 to US$2,950 ha–1 yr–1).

Array installation and O&M costs

Historical installation costs (Installation) were taken from the commercial-scale PV installation prices reported in the Annual Tracking the Sun report where reported prices are those paid by the PV system owner before incentives62. The baseline scenario is the median installation price, whereas the best- and worst-case scenarios are the 20th and 80th percentile installation costs, respectively. These reported values are calculated using NREL’s bottom-up cost model and are national averages using average values across all states. Installation cost was not discounted, as it represents the initial investment for commercial-scale installations at day zero. All future cash flows, profits and costs are compared to this initial investment. We also included the 30% Solar Investment Tax Credit in the Installation for commercial-scale arrays96. The system bounds of this impact analysis were installation through the operational or product-use phase. We, therefore, did not assume removal expenses or altered property value (terminal value) to remove uncertainty in decision making at the end of the 25-year array lifespan.

Historically reported and modelled O&M values (pre-2020) range from US$0 kWp–1 yr–1 (best case) to US$40 kWp–1 yr–1 (worst case) with an average (baseline) of US$18 kWp–1 yr–1 (refs. 97,98). Projected O&M costs were based on modelled commercial-scale PV lifetime O&M cost to capital expenditure cost ratios from historical and industry data that provided scenarios varying on research and development differences (conservative, moderate, advanced). The annual reported values are provided from 2020 to 2050 for fixed O&M costs including: asset management, insurance products, site security, cleaning, vegetation removal and component failure and are detailed in the Annual Technology Baseline report by NREL97, which are largely derived from the annual NREL Solar PV Cost Benchmark reports.

Farm operation costs

Business-as-usual farm operation costs (Operation) were derived from the ‘Total Operating Costs Per Acre to Produce’ reported in UC Davis Agricultural and Resource Economics Cost and Return Studies99. We removed operational costs to ‘Irrigate’ from the total because we estimate that as a function of electricity requirements and water rights (described in ‘Change in irrigation water use and cost savings’) while retaining ‘Irrigation Labour’ as this was not included in our irrigation cost assessment. Best- and worst-case scenarios for farm operation costs coincided with yield scenarios described in ‘Displaced crop and food production’.

Discounted cash flow for agrisolar co-location

For each commercial-scale array in the CCV, we computed the annual real cash flow as:

(9)

and for each utility-scale array as:

(10)

where Commercial is the real return in 2018 US$ for commercial-arrays (<1 MWp) and Utility is the real return in 2018 US$ for utility-scale arrays (≥1 MWp). Each of the terms on the right-hand side of these equations are defined in the sections above.

We then computed real annual discounted cash flow () for each array to estimate the total lifetime value of each array. The  at any given year n is calculated for each array by:

(11)

where  is the real annual cash flow at year n (either Commercial or Utility as relevant for each array) and  is the real discount rate without an expected rate of inflation (i) from the nominal discount rate () calculated using the Fisher equation100:

(12)

Vartiainen et al.101 clearly communicates this method in solar PV economic studies and discusses the importance of discount rate (in their case, weighted average cost of capital) selection. For i, we use 3%, which is roughly the average producer price index (PPI) and consumer price index (CPI) (3.4% and 2.4%, respectively) between 2000 and 2022 and comparable to other solar PV economic studies101,102. We use a 5% 103 and perform a sensitivity analysis using 3%, 7% and 10%  and discuss discount rates used in literature in Supplementary Discussion. Separately from the sensitivity analysis for , we also calculated our best-case and worst-case scenarios for each array.

All prices were adjusted to 2018 US dollars for calculation of real cash flow terms in equations (11) and (9). We adjusted consumer electricity prices and installation costs for inflation to real 2018 US$ using the US Bureau of Labor Statistics Consumer Price Index for All Urban Customers104. We adjusted all production-based profits and costs (all other resources) using US Bureau of Labor Statistics Producer Price Index for All Commodities105.

Reporting summary

Further information on research design is available in the Nature Portfolio Reporting Summary linked to this article.

Data availability

The datasets and outputs generated in the current study are publicly available via Zenodo at https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.10023293 (ref. 106) with all source data referenced in the published article and in its Supplementary Information files.

Code availability

The code used to generate and analyse the datasets reported here are hosted via GitHub at https://github.com/stidjaco/FEWLS_tool and are available via Zenodo at https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.10023281 (ref. 107).

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Acknowledgements

This work was supported by the USDA National Institute of Food and Agriculture (NIFA) INFEWS grant number 2018-67003-27406. We credit additional support from the USDA NIFA Agriculture and Food Research Initiative Competitive grant number 2021-68012-35923 and the Department of Earth and Environmental Sciences at Michigan State University. Any opinions, findings and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this publication are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the USDA or Michigan State University. We are grateful to B. McGill for bringing the vision of agrisolar co-location to life through her artistic conceptual depiction.

Author information

Authors and Affiliations

  1. Department of Earth and Environmental Sciences, Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI, USAJacob T. Stid, Anthony D. Kendall & Jeremy Rapp
  2. Department of Civil and Environmental Engineering, Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI, USASiddharth Shukla & Annick Anctil
  3. Department of Sustainable Earth System Sciences, School of Natural Sciences and Mathematics, The University of Texas at Dallas, Richardson, TX, USADavid W. Hyndman
  4. Biological Systems Engineering, University of Wisconsin-Madison, Madison, WI, USARobert P. Anex

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Cultivating agro-ecology to harvest positive social impact

Agroecology advances environmental sustainability and revitalizes the economy and culture of rural communities. How does it achieve this? 

alt-img-positive-society

Javier Pardo Torregrosa

Can a crop represent action for change? Or a cow, grazing, an instrument against climate change? In a world where fields are often reduced to statistics, chemicals or massive harvests, there is another way to farm. It is not only about eliminating pesticides and rendering the soil fertile once more, but connecting ancestral knowledge with science, countryside with culture, production with dignity. And also with flavors!

Change in the agro-food sector toward production that is respectful to the environment has become fundamental in achieving climate neutrality and a more sustainable world. Ecological agriculture contributes a much deeper and more integrated view of how to do this, with its own implications and needs.

What will I read in this article?

What is agro-ecology and why is it key to a sustainable future?

But what exactly is agro-ecology? According to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations, agro-ecology is a way of connecting traditional and scientific knowledge with the aim of producing food in a more sustainable way. It is based on, says the FAO, the three pillars of sustainable development, so that, through the economic, social and environmental aspects, countries can increase their food production at the same time they protect the environment and promote social inclusion. In other words, as a practice, agro-ecology pursues the optimization and stabilization of production through less-polluting techniques, biodiversity conservation and the protection of animal well-being. But, also, through social movement, it aims to improve social justice, nourish rural identity and culture, and reinforce the economic viability of rural areas.

Agro-ecology pursues the optimization and stabilization of production through less-polluting techniques, biodiversity conservation and the protection of animal well-being

Biological control to chemical-free farming

Food systems face enormous challenges, from soil degradation to biodiversity loss and the climate crisis. Agro-ecology is not just the most viable option, but also the most urgent. More than a technique, it is a way of thinking and relating to the land, a view combining tradition, science and innovation to produce food sustainably, respecting ecosystems and those who live in them.

For agro-ecology to begin to become a reality, we need to forget all kinds of pesticides, herbicides and chemical and synthetic fertilizers, and control infestations biologically. Europe, for example, has spent years introducing the parasitic wasp Encarsia formosa into greenhouses for tomatoes and peppers, with the aim of controlling whitefly populations while significantly reducing the use of chemical pesticides.

Although the emphasis is often on applying innovative techniques, sometimes it is enough to look back to the past. We can achieve soil regeneration, for example, by using traditional historical and cultural practices such as organic fertilizers and incorporating livestock into the farming cycle. Or find the response in respecting nature’s cycles and its inherent way of doing things. This way we can imitate natural ecosystems through a seasonal crop and varied natural environment integrating autochthonous trees, plants and animals, which helps in the capture of carbon and, simultaneously, biodiversity conservation.

Although the emphasis is often on applying innovative techniques, sometimes it is enough to look back to the past

Technology and agro-ecology, an alliance for sustainable farming

Agro-ecology also requires us to steer technological and scientific advances toward better efficiencies in farming, always maintaining a position of respect toward nature. This is what the project, AgriBIT, financed by European funds, aims to do. Its researchers have developed a series of services using AI-based precision technologies for remote, real-time detection of plagues and bacterial infections in crops such as industrial tomatoes, using satellites and ground-based sensors. These kind of technologies can also serve systems for monitoring, harvesting, irrigation and soil regeneration. Also key is the implementation of solar photovoltaic systems and wind turbine generators, and the use of biomass derived from farming and livestock waste, to increase energy independence and reduce carbon emissions.

Social and economic benefits of agro-ecology

But the agro-ecological movement is not limited to a series of farming techniques focused exclusively on caring for the environment, it also pursues economic, social and cultural benefits.person in crop field

Agro-ecology results in better soil fertility and increased regularity in production, as well as diversifying the risk in cultivating different foods. It contributes to economic dynamism and job creation in rural communities, and involves civil society in the re-activation of areas.

One inspiring example of agro-ecology as an engine of social change is the Agroecology Action Research Network (AARN) in Australia. The network connects researchers, farmers and educators to promote the transformation of food and agricultural systems in the country through the co-creation of knowledge and the implementation of agro-ecological practices adapted to local needs.

Among the specific initiatives developed include so-called Agro-ecology Farmer Field Schools, spaces where farmers demonstrate and validate the techniques they are using to manage plagues, diversify crops and reduce synthetic inputs. The network also explores new research fields, such as the organic management of disease, agriculture without ploughing, and carbon sequestration on farmland.

The role of the community

Often when we fill the basket full of shopping, we ask ourselves why some products are so expensive. Meanwhile, small farmers are complaining that sometimes they are forced to sell below the cost of production. Agro-ecology looks for mechanisms to improve direct sales to consumers and consumer groups, as well as establish principles underpinning better balance in supply chains. It also calls on communities to buy locally directly from the farmer or small shops, also reducing pollution from transport. In Spain, the project Roots: Women, Agro-ecology and Local Consumption, for example, seeks to establish producer networks that come together to distribute their products, generating short distribution channels, organizing eco-markets with producers, and certification marks for participants. The program also takes into account the special role of women in rural areas.

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What is the role of creative industries in the Anthropocene? An argument for planetary cultural policy

Miikka Pyykkönen a, Christiaan De Beukelaer bc

https://doi.org/10.1016/j.poetic.2025.101971

Under a Creative Commons license

Open access

Highlights

•International policy discourses on culture and sustainability are anthropocentric, economic growth-oriented and methodologically nationalist, and international cultural policy organisations and documents, such as United Nations resolution on the International Year of Creative Economy for Sustainable Development 2021, have been impotent in intertwining culture with ecological sustainability.

•Economy for Sustainable Development 2021 is analyzed as an examplar of this anthropocentric and economist discourse.

•The ideological underpinnings of cultural policy are the primary reason why culture has not been seriously recognized in international sustainability policies. A profound shift away from anthropocentric worldviews, growth-oriented ideologies, and methodologically nationalist frameworks is needed.

•This ‘new’ understanding of culture in international cultural policies have to cover nature and ecology and see humans and their culture as part of larger ecosystemic framework. Incorporating such a view in public policy requires a new kind of “planetary cultural policy”.

Abstract

Many artistic expressions call for cultural, social and political change. Though the policy environments in which they emerge remain predominantly wedded to a consumption-driven creative economy. In doing so, they tacitly endorse a methodologically nationalist perspective on artistic expression, trade in creative goods and services, and cultural identity. By using the United Nations resolution on the International Year of Creative Economy for Sustainable Development 2021 as a case in point, we argue that the language of this document, which reflects the current hegemonic discourse of creative economy, misses its target when claiming to promote sustainability because it is (1) anthropocentric, (2) growth-focused and (3) methodologically nationalist. Through a discourse analysis of this particular UN resolution, we demonstrate the multiple and conflicting connections between culture and sustainability through the perspective of planetary well-being. The main target of our criticism is the anthropocentric nature of sustainability discourses, but also their unreserved promotion of perpetual economic growth. In response, we articulate the need for a profound cultural shift from anthropocentric worldviews, growth-oriented ideologies, and methodologically nationalist frameworks to enable environmentally engaged cultural policies and citizens.

Keywords

Creative economy; Climate crisis; Anthropocentrism; Methodological nationalism; Cosmopolitanism; Planetary well-being

1. Introduction: the tension between planet, people and culture

In November 2019, the 74th session of the United Nations General Assembly declared that 2021 would be the International Year of Creative Economy for Sustainable Development. The idea of the theme year was formulated in discussions between United Nations (UN) agencies, including UN-Habitat, UNESCO and UNCTAD (United Nations Conference on Trade and Development; recently rebranded as UN Trade & Development), which also consulted representatives of pro-creative economy organisations such as the OECD and the Asia-Europe Foundation. Indonesia drafted the resolution text, which was then presented to a group of representatives of 27 countries from all inhabited continents. The final and published version of the resolution is a consensus of these multi-layered discussions. Rather than being a final result that every involved state can fully rally behind, in practice a “consensus” text is precisely one containing conflicts. It is through the subtleties of phrasing that consenting parties ensure that all other parties can recognise their red lines, pet peeves, and concerns in the text, without (seemingly) ceding too much ground. A consensus is therefore not a strong joint position, but merely a position that no one strongly objects to.

Much like other United Nations documents, the resolution commits loyalty to the background organisations and their policies and programmes, as well as the international organisations and their branches that work on the topics of the resolution:

Recalling the Constitution of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, which states that the organization, as part of its purposes and functions, will maintain, increase and diffuse knowledge by encouraging cooperation among the nations in all branches of intellectual activity, and noting the report of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization on culture and sustainable development, in which it is stated that cultural and creative industries should be part of economic growth strategies […] Welcoming the efforts of the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, the United Nations Development Programme, the International Labour Organization, the United Nations Office for South-South Cooperation, the World Intellectual Property Organization, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations and other entities of the United Nations system to promote the creative economy for sustainable development. (United Nations, 2019, 2, emphasis added)

The resolution is, therefore, not so much a visionary document but largely a reflection of past initiatives and interventions. The document is thus a palimpsest through which decades of ideas and initiatives filter through.

The key argument of the resolution is that the creative industries can, should and do promote sustainable and innovation-based economic growth. The resolution mainstreams culture in and for sustainability by defining culture above all through its economic significance and national scope: “[The resolution] encourages all to observe the year in accordance with national priorities to raise awareness, promote cooperation and networking, encourage sharing best practices and experiences, enhance human resource capacity, promote an enabling environment at all levels as well as tackle the challenges of the creative economy” (UNCTAD, 2021). UNCTAD led the implementation of the theme year policies and activities in consultation with UNESCO and other relevant UN agencies.

Despite the triumphant tone of the resolution, culture plays a minor role in policies for sustainable development (Duxbury et al., 2017). If anything, it plays a contradictory role: art and culture can certainly play a positive part, but the creative industries have an enormous environmental impact that needs to be addressed (Miller, 2018). This is partly because of how the sector operates, but also because of the sponsorship connections many arts institutions maintain with fossil fuel producers, airlines and car manufacturers (Evans, 2015).

Our article builds on the following streams and debates in cultural policy: the dominant discourses and trends in international cultural policies, the economisation of cultural policies, the position of creative economies and industries in national economies, and, most of all, the meaning and position of culture in policies and politics for an ecologically sustainable world, that is, the rethinking of the human/culture and nature relationship. Brkldly, and eventually, the focus of our article is on the relation between cultural policy and cosmopolitan citizenship and identity, we posit that a new kind of human actorship in the era of climate crisis, one that includes the idea of human beings as members of the planetary community/entity. This is because we think we need more critical use of comprehensive research and policy concepts cultural policies. Such concepts still remain disconnected from the commonplace understandings of sustainability in cultural policy, as we explain in this paper. We use concepts such as the planetary well-being approach (Kortetmäki et al., 2021; Brundtland Commission, 1987) down-to-earth approach, which combine ecological, social, cultural and economic perspectives, allowing us to transcend the afore-mentioned tensions and dualisms. (A) They allow us to move towards a more robust and permanent approach when it comes to human and cultural actions – be they economic, anthropocentric or related to identity/citizenship – within natural ecosystems. (B) They enable us to rethink what culture should mean to become a key concept in the manifold efforts for sustainable futures. (C) We can use them to break the local/national-global dualism and reconstruct cosmopolitan or cosmopolitical (Beck, 2016) approaches.

This article thus explores how international policy documents frame culture, creative economy and culture’s role in sustainability. We look, in particular, at the documents and narratives proposed by United Nations Agencies, because they and their sub-actors pursue trendsetting in terms of what national, regional and local cultural policies focus on, and how culture should or could be approached (Pirnes, 2008). We are aware that there are local cultural policies and practices, which include critical and eco-sensitive features (see e.g. Bell et al., 2011; Gross & Wilson, 2020; Perry & Symons, 2019) and which potentially could be scaled at least to national level policies and practices, but to study them and their potential impacts is a topic for another article. Nevertheless, one of the key issues in international cultural policies on sustainability in the near-future is to change the orientation radically from one-sided economism towards discursive formulation and facilitation of ecological and non-anthropocentric ‘sustainable culture’. Part of this should be the rebuilding these policies more bottom-up than before in the sense that local ecological, planetary and non-capitalist forms of cultural production would get more attention in them.

The overall question this article sets out to answer is thus: Do the hegemonic creative economy and climate change discourses of international cultural and sustainability policies recognise the urgent need to rethink the human/nature and culture/nature relations? This is particularly relevant as climate change itself is a tricky concept that can be characterised as a “hyperobject” (Morton, 2013) or as an “event” (Tavory & Wagner-Pacifici, 2022). The main target of our criticism is the anthropocentric nature of the resolution and its unreserved promotion of perpetual economic growth, which are fundamentally incompatible with ecological sustainability (Hickel & Kallis, 2020; Jackson, 2021; Raworth, 2017) and “organismal needs”, as we explain below (Kortetmäki et al., 2021). By using the above concepts, we try to articulate the need for a profound cultural shift from anthropocentric, growth-oriented ideologies and methodologically nationalist frameworks to enable environmentally engaged cultural policies.

2. Data, methods and theory

Through a discourse analysis of the resolution, we demonstrate the multiple and conflicting connections between culture and sustainability through the perspective of planetary well-being and other relevant current social scientific theories.

Our primary data consists of a single document: the resolution on the International Year of Creative Economy for Sustainable Development (United Nations, 2019), which declared 2021 to be that year, to be led and implemented by UNCTAD and Indonesia. This decision – together with the more general policy discursive and organisational history – has influenced the way the relation of creativity and sustainability is understood in the Resolution as UNCTAD unexceptionally defines it with the strong economy association (see e.g. UNCTAD, 2022) and Indonesian creative policies have also a long tradition of linking it to economic growth (De Beukelaer, 2021).

The resolution is exemplary of how a cultural policy commonly connects culture and creativity to sustainable development. As we explore in section “The context of the resolution” the document under scrutiny is a political culmination of two decades of UN inter-agency work on the issue. It is an apt summary of the issues addressed, and given its limited length it exposes the discursive shortcuts inherent to the discourse – which often remain buried in verbose reports. The document is exemplary in its message and useful in its brevity, even if it offers a simplified conceptualisation of the creative economy. However, the resolution is not norm-setting. It rather reflects existing norms and concerns. Like many such United Nations documents, it offers (almost by definition) a consensus text of how states see a certain issue.

Due to the importance of this history and context, we have also looked beyond this single document by engaging with other recent documents of international organisations to describe more comprehensively the current hegemonic discourse on cultural sustainability and its construction over time in the field of international cultural policies (see below).

We use rhetorical discourse analysis as our method for analysing the resolution. It means that we concentrate on “textual practices” (Fairclough, 1995, 185): how certain kinds of words and expressions are used to construct certain kinds of definitions of culture and sustainability and to convince the reader of their validity (cf. Johnstone & Eisenhart, 2008). We also pay attention to other levels of discursive formation by shedding light on the organisational roles and practices that influence the messages of the resolution and their value in international and national cultural policies (cf. Pyykkönen, 2012). Before the actual discourse analysis, we provide a theoretically-driven content analysis of the resolution to initially clarify its key ways of speaking about culture and sustainability in the light of our theoretical framework.

We use multiple theories and theoretical perspectives to interpret the results and further discuss our findings. The first theoretical perspective focuses on the cultural economy (e.g., Throsby, 2010) and the idea of a so-called value-based economy (Klamer, 2017), which aim to emphasise the role of culture in orthodox economic thinking. The second theoretical perspective concentrates on recent social scientific and anthropological theories that attempt to rethink and reformulate the human/culture/nature relations. Here our aim is to show how the definitions of culture and sustainability – under the umbrella of the creative economy discourse – tend to be growth-centred, anthropocentric and methodologically nationalistic (Beck, 2006; 2016; Latour, 2018; Malm, 2018). The third theoretical perspective focuses on planetary well-being, which to our understanding further directs the criticism at the conventional culture and sustainability nexus by suggesting orientations and practices that intertwine culture – and policies concerning it – with our planetary existence and identity in a novel way (Kortetmäki et al., 2021). Besides planetary well-being, we rely on Tim Jackson’s (2009, 2021) ideas on prosperity and post-growth to put practical flesh on the theoretical bones of the necessary change.

Building on these theoretical and conceptual foundations, we strive for a new conceptualisation of “planetary cultural policy”, which consists of such policy discourses and practices on heritage, arts, creative work and identity in which nature and culture are seen as part of the same systemic totality, and the intrinsic and other values of cultural activities are determined based on how they promote ecological sustainability.

3. The hegemonic discourses of culture and sustainability

Sustainability and culture have been discussed in the national and international cultural policy contexts for over 20 years from various perspectives: What does “culture” stand for in culture and sustainability? What is the role of culture among the pillars of social, economic, and ecological sustainability? What is cultural sustainability? And, above all, how should cultural policies tackle sustainability issues? Due to the diversity of interests, intentions, expectations, discourses and related practices, sustainability does not have any single form in cultural policies. Similarly, researchers argue that culture has remained too vague to be a pragmatic policy issue, confined to the margins of national and international policies for sustainability (e.g., Sabatini, 2019; Soini & Dessein, 2016). Others claim that proponents of cultural sustainability have not managed to intertwine culture with the other pillars of sustainability, especially ecological sustainability, which has diluted the significance of culture in sustainability policies (e.g., Kagan, 2011). For instance, culture is not explicitly mentioned in any of the titles of the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) (United Nations, 2018; Vlassis, 2015).

As a reaction – less openly expressed – to this vagueness and marginalisation of culture in global sustainability policies, key international cultural policy agencies such as UNESCO and UNCTAD have embraced the economisation of culture (De Beukelaer & Spence, 2019; Garner & O’Connor, 2019; Pyykkönen, 2012).Despite some voices that have tried to expand the hegemonic economic reductionism of value (‘economism’) in more or less liberal societies by emphasising the social and educational values of cultural expressions (e.g., Klamer, 2017; Throsby, 2010), the research on this move has been ontologically uncritical the “economy”. The issue of how culture should contribute to sustainability – especially to its ecological dimension, which we consider the most critical and significant one – in this intertwinement has also remained almost unstudied in realpolitik.

This economism in the culture and sustainability discourse – and the general understanding of culture’s value – is underpinned by widely shared and ideologised significations of the capitalist market economy. In particular, the neoclassical theories of economic growth (Solow, 1999), Schumpeterian ideas on innovation, creativity and entrepreneurialism (Schumpeter, 1942; see also Potts, 2009) and related political ideas and trends (e.g., Hautamäki, 2010) have had a tremendous but thus far under-researched impact on cultural policies. These ideologies have created and strengthened a global discourse according to which the wealth and well-being of the world, nations and people are dependent on increasing productivity and economic growth. Through education, consumerism and national financial and economic policies, for instance, and through being entwined with the globalising knowledges and practices of capitalist production, these principles and their logics have become naturalised presumptions in our societies and cultures (Jackson, 2009; 2021). According to some current researchers of philosophy, environmental sociology and politics, capitalist market economism has intertwined with two cornerstones of our Western culture: anthropocentrism and methodological nationalism (Beck, 2006; Malm, 2018). Latour (2018) argues that the cultural mindset stemming from this hinders us from thinking of ourselves and our actions – practical, discursive, political etc. – as “terrestrial”, as being part of the earth and its ecosystems when acting both locally and globally.

Over time, the principles of capitalist production and market economy have also become normalised in cultural policies that guide the creative and cultural industries (McGuigan, 2015), particularly after key international players such as UNESCO and UNCTAD have adopted them as norms (De Beukelaer & Spence, 2019; Pyykkönen, 2012). In the case of UNESCO, it has meant the culmination of its long “struggle” to justify the significance of culture and cultural diversity by creating such a numerical and measurable framework discourse for them. This framework resonates positively with both the dominant rationalities of global politics and the interests of nation states and their “methodological nationalism”. UNCTAD has helped popularise the “creative economy” discourse since 2004. UNCTAD’s ostensible goal is to enhance the prosperity and wealth of the poorest countries by facilitating access to global markets for their products. Both UNCESCO and UNCTAD implicitly ground their work on anthropocentrism: the ideas and the actions they support are from humans, for humans. Nature is an instrument of their creative expressions and economic efforts.

One might argue that this particular resolution – and the work of the United Nations in general – is already “planetary” or “universal”. We disagree, because United Nations agencies are intergovernmental forums that serve to find a common ground among nations through multilateral processes (De Beukelaer & Vlassis, 2019), not to foster an overarching set of principles that serve humanity or the planet – let alone the “universe” – as a whole. Hence, the discourse we criticise is inter-national at best, whereas what we call for is a fundamental shift in the normative foundations of global governance, by prioritising the planetary above the (inter)national. In our approach and in the context of this analysis, planetarism means that in global cultural policy, in addition to human values and well-being – and against the dominant emphasis on economic value – the values ​​and well-being of the environment has to be seriously and thoroughly considered, and to reconsider the concept of culture and to rescale it so that it intertwines with the nature and not detaches from it, as has been mostly typical for the hegemonic narrative of modernism (Koistinen et al., 2024; Kortetmäki et al., 2021; see also Latour, 2017). Alasuutari (2016) argues that policy discourses across most domains have become “synchronised”, not through coercion, but through the voluntary creation of epistemic communities. In this discourse making and identicalisation the supranational organisations, such as UN and EU, are significant players due to their legal and legitimate grounds to determine the dissemination of ideas and discourses to international and intranational policymaking. These kinds of organisations take a clear step forward on putting the ecological sustainability as the first and main goal of the cultural policies. They thus actually, though not inherently, act as an ‘obligatory passage point’ for planetarisation of cultural policies. Signs of this can be already found from the documents such as New European Bauhaus (European Commission, 2021) and Pact for the Future (United Nations, 2024), and some related policy initiatives. How these changes take place in practice, is always an empirical question and a topic of deep discussion and observation beyond the scope of this article, where our focus is on global cultural policymaking discourses.

Research debates have been more diverse than the policy discussions, especially the dominant policy discourses. Among the best-known research publications on culture and sustainability are those originating in the research network “Investigating Cultural Sustainability” (which was active 2011–2015), which brought together more than 50 European researchers. One of the key findings of this collaborative research is that culture can function for, in and as sustainable development (Dessein et al., 2015; Soini & Birkeland, 2014). Consequently, if cultural policy wants to broaden its scope of influence, it should opt to focus on the “for” sustainable development perspective because it allows the development of the sustainability of cultural expressions as well as the use of the cultural sphere and policies to enhance other aspects of sustainability, especially the ecological one (Duxbury et al., 2017). One of the key perspectives in policy reports and research papers on culture and sustainability is that they strive for “mainstreaming culture” by explaining it and its meanings next to the other pillars of sustainability. In our view, this, however, involves the “risk” that analyses merely concentrate on explaining the value of different kinds of cultural expressions and thus usually justify the economic determination of culture (e.g., Sabatini, 2019).

While some of the above-mentioned studies briefly suggest that the interrelatedness of biological and cultural forms of diversity should be enhanced in the culture and sustainability discourse/praxis (see, e.g., Dessein et al., 2015), we try to critically renew and complement them. We argue that the “mainstreaming of culture” should not be realised on an “anything goes” or economic basis, but rather by binding culture strongly and explicitly to the planetary and ecological aspects of sustainability. This does not only concern economism, but applies to anthropocentrism and methodological nationalism as well: the “planetary mainstreaming of culture” should consider principles, solutions and identities/citizen-subjectivities broader than national and human ones – ones that are both cosmopolitical and ecosystemic (see also Beck, 2006; Malm, 2018).

4. The context of the resolution

The concept of sustainable development was introduced in 1987 by the “Brundtland Commission”, formally known as the World Commission on Environment and Development (Brundtland Commission, 1987). It first defined “sustainable development” in its report Our Common Future. This document aimed to respond to the environmental threat of global warming and the need to raise the living standards of those in so-called developing countries as well as to ensure a focus on economic growth, which was seen as one of the key indicators of economically sustainable development. Culture was not an explicit topic in the report, although many of its themes were related to it. When culture was first explicated as an issue of sustainability in international cultural policy during the UNESCO Decade of Culture and Development (1988–1997), it was connected to socioeconomic dimensions. Culture was seen as a root and a driving force of economic development and social improvement in so-called developing countries (WCCD, 1995). As we already referred, this stance has been predominant in UNCTAD’s and UNESCO’s recent approaches on culture and sustainability.

UNCTAD has been instrumental in framing culture in and for sustainability, especially in so-called developing countries. UNCTAD has been greatly involved in the international creative economy policy discourses since 2004, which also marked their beginning globally. Its programmes and documents have framed culture and sustainability to describe the broader discursive practice that is indelibly linked to the resolution and its overwhelmingly economic tone. UNCTAD uses programmes and reports to turn its rich datasets on trade in creative goods and services into analyses and trends. The best known is the Creative Economy Programme, dating back to 2004 (see, e.g., UNCTAD, 2022). The programme’s main purpose is to generate “economic information through a trade lens, to understand past trends and project into the future and to promote data-led understanding of trade in creative goods and services, intellectual property, ideas and imagination” (ibid.). At its core are the so-called Creative Economy Mandates (see ibid.), one of which is the resolution we are studying here. The mandates are based on the research and policy analyses that UNCTAD produces with its partners. The central ones for UNCTAD’s meaning making are creative industry reports such as Creative Industry 4.0: Towards a New Globalized Creative Economy (UNCTAD, 2022), which aims to argue not only that the creative economy is crucial for national and global economies, but also that the creative industries can actually be key drivers of the technological change and, thus, the large-scale economic and livelihood changes of the near future.

UNESCO, whose mandate explicitly covers culture, is another key actor in defining culture in, for and as sustainability. Since the afore-mentioned Brundtland Commission (1987) report, it has explicitly discussed sustainability as a key issue to enhance through its policies. UNESCO’s declarations and conventions – such as Our Creative Diversity (WCCD, 1995), Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Heritage (UNESCO, 2001) and the Convention on the Protection and Promotion of Diversity of Cultural Expressions (UNESCO, 2005) – have outlined UNESCO’s arguments on the need to secure a sustainable future and apply culture in it. One might even say that UNESCO has been the prima driver of novel significations and contexts for culture within the framework of sustainability (cf. Dessein et al., 2015, 45, 51). The 2005 UNESCO Convention is a useful starting point for analysing the organisation’s rationale on culture and sustainability as it stresses the economic significance of cultural expressions and the construction of strong cultural industries (De Beukelaer et al., 2015; Garner & O’Connor, 2019; Pyykkönen, 2012).

UNESCO’s work is not only about making meanings, but also consists of collecting and analysing worldwide data on culture and sustainability. On the basis of this knowledge, it launches and participates in projects that promote culture in and for sustainability, such as the International Year of Creative Economy for Sustainable Development. UNESCO worked hard to get culture included in the Sustainable Development Goals (Soini & Birkeland, 2014) but was not successful as none of the original 17 SDGs focus exclusively on culture (United Nations, 2018). However, there are official post-SDG explanations about how culture nonetheless is “at the heart of SDGs” (Hosagrahar, 2017), and what nations and local advocates should do to pay attention to culture when trying to follow the SDGs (UCLG, 2021). After a few years of active campaigning, culture was finally explicitly noted in four of what are called SDG targets in the revised version of the goals (United Nations, 2019).

It is not only the UN or its agencies that have intertwined culture and sustainability with the economy in recent international policies. Both the OECD and the G20 have recently published reports that are very much in line with the principles and objectives of UNCTAD and the resolution we analyse here. Although the OECD pays attention to the creative economy’s potential in enhancing environmental sustainability in its note for Italy’s 2021 G20 presidency (OECD, 2021), the paper includes parts that openly favour culture’s role for economic growth (e.g., ibid., 12). The text-level discursive similarity between the G20’s (2021) Creative Economy 2030 policy brief and UNCTAD’s recent statements is striking: “Before COVID-19 hit, the global creative economy was growing rapidly in many regions. This momentum should not be lost in the wake of the pandemic; rather, greater investment needs to flow to the creative industries that have the potential to make localised and high impact, and help us shift to a new sustainable economy” (ibid., 9–10). This is not surprising as representatives of UNCTAD and other pro-creative economy organisations (e.g., the Creative Industries Policy and Evidence Centre and the Global Project Culture and Creative Industries) have participated in writing the G20’s policy brief. The World Bank & UNESCO (2021), too, greatly participates in the economist discourse making through its publication Cities, Culture, Creativity: Leveraging Culture and Creativity for Sustainable Urban Development and Inclusive Growth, jointly produced with UNESCO: “Cultural and creative industries are key drivers of the creative economy and represent important sources of employment, economic growth, and innovation, thus contributing to city competitiveness and sustainability” (ibid., 2).

5. The resolution

The resolution is an exemplary and nearly caricatural account of the discourse surrounding the “creative economy”. Ecological sustainability is almost completely absent from the resolution, and when it is mentioned, it is subordinated to capitalist economic objectives. In our analysis of the resolution, we found three interlinked categories through/in which the significations of culture are constituted: (i) Anthropocentrism; (ii) Economic Determinism; and (iii) Methodological Nationalism. Through our analysis, we argue that these discourses are problematic in terms of ecological sustainability, post-Anthropocene subjectivities, and notions of planetary well-being and prosperity (cf. Jackson, 2009; Kortetmäki et al., 2021; Latour, 2018).

5.1. Anthropocentrism

In general, anthropocentrism refers to a human-centred worldview and morality: humans are the only rational and truly meaning-making species and hence the key agents of the world; they are the ones who can, through work and reuse, dominate objects that originally belonged to nature; they can own and assume control over nature due to their supreme capabilities; and the value of nature is determined by its value for humans so that nature does not have an intrinsic value (Barry & Frankland, 2002). Though this raises questions of what the Anthropocene means. Commonly, it’s a shorthand for the idea “that modern human activity is large relative to the basic processes of planetary functioning, and therefore that human social, economic, and political decisions have become entangled in a web of planetary feedbacks (Malhi, 2016). Though it risks masking the deeply unequal and inequitable distribution of human influences and consequences on this way of looking at “our” era (Malm & Hornborg, 2014).

What is emblematic of anthropocentrism is that humans are either consciously or unconsciously defined and valued against nature and its actors such as animals. This is a typical text-level ‘regularity’ (see Foucault, 1972) and order in the whole centrism discourse. On the other hand, in ecocentrism and biocentrism, for instance, nature and its well-being are observed against humans. This discursive order derives from the nature/culture division, one of the major narratives in Western thought. This binarism is indeed one of the most problematic aspects of the “centrisms” in terms of ecological sustainability because it separates humans and nature from each other per se (Boddice, 2011).

As we have already claimed, conventional cultural policy understands culture as a merely human issue and makes the human the subject of and subject to cultural policy and its share of rights, actorships, beneficiaries and, in the end, the bios itself. Most studies and documents on cultural sustainability do not really pay attention to the position and role of nature or natural agents. We can take a key UN text as an example: although the UN Sustainable Development Goals address the sustainability of the environment in multiple ways and dimensions, they mostly focus on the human perspective, and the non-human aspects of sustainability are considered only if they instrumentally contribute to the human aspects (see also Dryzek, 2005, 157). The resolution also highlights the centrality of humans within its proposed approach to linking culture and sustainability:

Recognizing the role of the creative economy in creating full and productive employment and decent work, supporting entrepreneurship, creativity and innovation, encouraging the formalization and growth of micro-, small- and medium-sized enterprises, stimulating innovation, empowering people, promoting social inclusion, and reducing poverty […]

Highlighting that the creative economy encourages creativity and innovation in attaining inclusive, equitable and sustainable growth and development, while facilitating life transitions and supporting women, youth, migrants and older persons, as well as empowering people in vulnerable situations […]

Stressing that the creative economy can contribute to the three dimensions of sustainable development and the achievement of the 2030 Agenda, including by fostering economic growth and innovation, eradicating poverty, creating full and productive employment and decent work for all, improving the quality of life and empowerment of women and young people. (United Nations, 2019, 3)

As illustrated by these excerpts, anthropocentrism stands in a logical relation to economic goals. Creative economic practices serve humans and human development without reflecting the ecological limits of these actions. Superficially, it seems that everything is in order: if the functioning of the creative economy is secured and supported, it will improve the well-being and actorship of all humans. However, we argue that this thinly veiled anthropocentrism undermines the ultimate aims of the resolution itself as well as all the other major cultural policy documents that deal with sustainability. If we want to strive for true sustainability – at the pace necessary to prevent the massive environmental crisis we are facing at the moment – we should “focus on the systems and processes that support life, well-being, and biodiversity at different spatial scales” (Kortetmäki et al., 2021, 2).

Most commonly, anthropocentrism is not an explicit point of departure or a goal. However, policy documents and research have been criticised for their “human-centred sustainability” (e.g., Lepeley, 2019): despite their good intentions, they are too much oriented to human agents and undermine the role of humans as part of broader systems and networks that also include non-human actors; all cultural and human actions have ecological and ecosystemic impacts on the planetary future (Kortetmäki et al., 2021; Latour, 2018; Malm, 2018).

The resolution is a model example of this human-centred sustainability. Although it does not explicitly mention anthropocentrism, its discussion of sustainability is limited to human needs and well-being, especially from the perspective of prosperity and economic growth. The more moral and principled sections are also human-centred: when important values and goals (human rights, human creativity and ideas, gender equality, peace) are listed, no reference is made to environmental issues, except for a loose mentioning of sustainable lifestyle. However, what overemphasises the resolution’s anthropocentrism above all is that there is no explicit recognition of planetary wellbeing, not even the term “ecological sustainability”.

5.2. Economic determinism

As the title of the resolution already indicates, the economy is its main theme. The resolution lists ways in which the cultural and creative industries (CCIs) can enhance economic growth – without, however, specifying whether it means the growth of national economies or that of private businesses – and in which the economic growth brought by the CCIs fosters social values and goals such as “empowerment for all”, “eradicating poverty”, “decent work for all” and “empowerment of women and young people”, as the following excerpts illustrate:

Recognizing the need to promote sustained and inclusive economic growth, foster innovation and provide opportunities, benefits and empowerment for all and respect for all human rights […]

[N]oting the report of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization on culture and sustainable development, in which it is stated that cultural and creative industries should be part of economic growth strategies […]

Recognizing the ongoing need to support developing countries and countries with economies in transition in diversifying production and exports, including in new sustainable growth areas, including creative industries. Emphasizing the resilient growth in international trade in creative industries, including the trade of creative goods and services, and its contribution to the global economy, and recognizing the economic and cultural values of the creative economy. (United Nations, 2019, 1–2)

Economic significance is a relatively new perspective in international cultural policy discourses: while the focus on the economic value of culture was mainly criticised until the 1980s due to the instrumentality, recuperation and alienation of arts, culture, creativity and passion (Adorno & Horkheimer, 2002, 94–136; Boltanski & Chiapello, 2007; McGuigan, 2015). Bilton (2007), among others, argues that in the 1990s, experts, consultants and researchers started to speak positively about the economic value and meanings of arts and culture. Gradually, this perspective was taken up in cultural policies and by their key spokespersons such as administrators, educators and consultants, and finally by cultural actors and professionals as well. The current discourse on the economic side of culture is neutral or even downright positive about and in favour of the commodification of cultural products. This view on the cultural industries has spread in recent years together with the increasingly prevalent talk about the “creative industries”. Bilton describes the conceptual evolution from cultural industries to creative industries as follows:

The term “cultural industries” indicates that creativity grows out of a specific cultural context and emphasizes the cultural content of ideas, values and traditions. The term “creative industries” emphasizes the novelty of ideas and products and places creativity in a context of individual talent, innovation and productivity. (Bilton, 2007, 164)

This shift resonates with larger structural developments: the discursive transition from cultural industries to creative industries started in the 1990s along with the shifts in the capitalist market economy and its business structures and economic, labour and social policies. Whereas the traditional material industries weakened in so-called Western countries, the developing immaterial and digital information economy needed concepts like creativity, innovation and information and related practices to an extensive extent. Cultural policies and cultural policy researchers seized the moment and boldly defined arts and culture as the core of the emerging creative economy and designated it as a key economic growth sector. Creative industry/economy is a vaguer concept than cultural industry/economy, but its benefit is its broader scope and association with other – economically more important – industries and sectors. Through “creative industry” or “cultural and creative industries”, it is possible to raise the broad economic importance of arts and culture – at least rhetorically (Garnham, 2005).

The “economy” in creative economy refers to the organisation and the work of structures, institutions, groups and individuals concerning the production, distribution, exchange and consumption of goods and services that are defined creative and cultural. In this context, a product is therefore one that results from creativity – whether individually, collectively or industrially contributed – and is meant to be sold in the market, and its market value is at least partially based on the creativity used in its production (Throsby, 2010).

This economism is criticised because of its instrumental character, and because it endangers the intrinsic value of culture (e.g., Adorno & Horkheimer, 2002, 94–136; McGuigan, 2015). Recently, critical attention has focused more on the factors of precarious working conditions and the exploitation of the passion and creativity of creative workers (e.g., Gielen, 2015; McRobbie, 2016). Less thought has been given to the fact that whether material or immaterial, the production of creative goods for economic growth is indelibly against the fundamentals of ecological sustainability (De Beukelaer, 2019a). However, there is a growing body of research literature theorising alternative forms of cultural economy (e.g. Clammer, 2016, 65–90; Conill et al., 2012; Maurer, 2008; Vanolo, 2012; see more about his later in this section). These studies share a justification of non-capitalist values for the cultural production and work and the exploration of post-capitalist practices of cultural sector and production (e.g. commoning). While many of them take a critical stance towards the capitalist economic growth, very few of them observe the issue from the point of view of ecological values or practices, the radically different relation of culture and nature (i.e. ecologically sustainable culture and non-antropocentric cultural subjectivity), and how these alternative paradigms are – or should be – considered in cultural policies. Increasingly, research includes perspectives on how culture and nature can be merged on the conceptual level of the cultural policies, and how culture can be approached foundational in the de- and post-growth economies and their national and local practical applications (Banks & Oakley, 2024; McCartney et al., 2023; Pyykkönen, 2024).

In this context, we neither buy into the doxa of economic growth, nor do we dogmatically defend degrowth: we remain growth-agnostic. Our key objective is to stop using economic turnover as a proxy for other goals, such as those concerning creativity, culture and environment, because they cannot be captured by this proxy (cf. van den Bergh, 2010). The obvious alternative would be to set policy objectives that do not explicitly build on growth. The macro-economic outcome could be growth or degrowth, but this ought to be secondary to stated objectives, which in our case relate to both formulating non-econocentric and non-anthropocentric international cultural policies (especially when speaking about culture and sustainability) and – through national and local policies – paving way for the ecologically sustainable cultural productions instead of capitalist cultural industries. These are important goals both for changing the mentalities and practices (i.e. immaterial and material “consumer cultures”) of our societies and recognizing the crucial place of labour-intensive jobs in post-growth economies (cf. Jackson, 2021).

The growth and intensification of creative production – and even the maintenance of the current level – will require unsustainable amounts of resources such as raw materials, energy, transportation and devices (Jackson, 2009; see also De Beukelaer, 2019). Meanwhile, research shows that it is possible for all humans to live within planetary boundaries and above social thresholds – that is, within the “doughnut” or the “safe operating space for humanity” – though not without radically rebalancing consumption patterns between rich and poor people (Hickel, 2019; O’Neill et al., 2018; see also Gibson-Graham et al., 2013; Gupta et al., 2024) while also addressing the colonial root causes of planetary plunder (Agyeman et al., 2003; Jackson, 2009; Kortetmäki et al., 2021; Malm, 2018; Rockström et al., 2009). The change requires the broad and effective adoption of post-growth thinking, attitudes and their implementation in economic and social practices, which in addition to greener production and massively less consumption of material goods has to include practices of equal and inclusive social work and health-care, and democratisation of decision-making processes and citizen-involvement in governance (Gibson-Graham et al., 2013; Gupta et al., 2024; Kortetmäki et al., 2021; Raworth, 2017).

If we approach cultural production mainly from the perspective of profit making and economic growth, it is most certainly connected – at least indirectly – to such forms of capitalist production that are anti-ecological per se. As the citations at the beginning of this section suggest, two main discursive lines can be distinguished here: the resolution tries to prove again and again (a) how the creative and cultural industries serve the economic growth of nations, and (b) how cultural and economic values (incl. technological and industrial innovations) are intertwined without any challenges. As mentioned, economic determinism and anthropocentrism converge in the resolution: a greater and well-functioning creative economy – and economic growth in general – is assumed to serve the interests of all humans. The ecological and environmental consequences of the creative economy are secondary concerns at best. In addition to being linked to the other aspects, the economy also determines them in the resolution; humans and their relations and subjectivities are valued, signified, and represented within the economic frame.

5.3. Methodological nationalism

While the climate crisis is a quintessentially global issue, cultural policy still relies on and strengthens the idea of nation states at the centre of politics. This is to be expected as the United Nations framework generally doesn’t address the tensions between global challenges and national interests head-on. The resolution reaffirms this state of affairs and, as mentioned above, blends it seamlessly with the capitalist market economisation of culture:

Recommitting to sustaining and supporting developing countries’ economies to transition progressively to higher productivity through high-value-added sectors, by promoting diversification, technological upgrading, research and innovation, including the creation of quality, decent and productive jobs, including through the promotion of cultural and creative industries, sustainable tourism, performing arts and heritage conservation activities, among others […]

Acknowledging that innovation is essential for harnessing the economic potential of each nation and the importance of supporting mass entrepreneurship, creativity and innovation, which create new momentum for economic growth and job creation and expand opportunities for all, including women and youth […]

Stressing the importance of appropriate national policies aimed at promoting the diversity of cultural expression and advancing creativity for sustainable development. (United Nations, 2019, 2–3)

This kind of approach can be called “methodological nationalism”. It means the tendency of actors to assume that “the nation-state is the natural social and political form of the modern world” (Wimmer & Schiller, 2002, emphasis in original). In other words, it is a historically constructed post-Westphalian notion according to which nations and nation states are sovereign actors in solving political challenges and problems. Beck (2016) has criticised the concept in the context of current international politics concerning global problems. He claims that acute “cosmopoliticised” risks such as the climate crisis could give rise to “emancipatory catastrophism” – new normative horizons of common goods and a cosmopolitan outlook – if only we would be politically able to move beyond methodological nationalism. In the 21st century, not only the major challenges but also the “spaces of action” have become cosmopolitised. Beck’s view is that we can tackle these risks only with global political structures and policies, and by rethinking political agency from the level of the state to that of citizen-subjects. Emancipatory catastrophism could at best lead us to a new political approach of “methodological cosmopolitanism”. Latour (2018) makes a similar claim: we need to create political approaches and policies that are not grounded in national or global interests, but instead the earth. We globally need to learn new ways to live on and with the earth, and this is what cosmopolitan politics and agencies must be about.

How, then, does methodological nationalism appear in the resolution? As we can see from the citations at the beginning of this section, nation states are the ones that primarily benefit from the economic growth produced by the CCIs. They not only profit their economies, but also their nations in terms of prosperity, welfare and equality. Moreover, nation states and their national policies are the key actors of the resolution. It depends on them how all the economic and societal improvements generated by the creative economy will take place. The above contextualisation is not problematic only from the perspective of cultural sustainability and its basic values such as cultural diversity, but especially in terms of ecological sustainability, which is not national in its character.

6. Conclusions: towards a new planetary cultural policy

The United Nations promote the idea that the creative economy, through its constituent creative industries, will contribute to the transition towards sustainable development. However, the resolution on the International Year of Creative Economy for Sustainable Development 2021 we have examined as a key exemplar of these efforts fails to convince that the claims it makes will indeed materialise. Though it would not be useful to argue that if only United Nations agencies would change their tune, we’d be able to shift away from the kinds of ideas embedded in this Resolution. Indeed, if the document were more radical and progressive, it would not be representative of dominant international organisations’ and states’ views and interests, and it would likely not gain much traction because it would not align with dominant discourses in these organisations or responsible state ministries – and most importantly, among consultants (De Beukelaer & Vlassis, 2019). However, the “non-progressiveness” and lack of radical views might well exist also because of the politics behind the documents and the power imbalances between the contributing actors, which impact the outcomes of the political negotiations and disputes. As known, some parties – e.g. strong and powerful nation states or international organisations – do have more say than others in the resolution making processes..

While it is necessary to throw everything but the kitchen sink at the climate crisis, it can be counterproductive to make assertions without a shred of evidence. To make matters worse, the resolution makes gratuitous claims that fly in the face of empirical evidence, as we have illustrated above. The resolution stumbles over several pitfalls.

First, we have shown that the resolution fails to define a clear and realistic target (i.e., what should be “sustainable”). This may seem self-evident, but the term has become such a catch-all for anything from the grossest forms of corporate greenwashing to the most genuinely committed actions. For the term to have any meaning, it needs to be defined unambiguously. This should include an articulation of whether it means environmental, social and cultural sustainability – or merely one of them – and a clear dissociation from the hegemonic growth-oriented economist view. The definition also needs to be pragmatic in the sense that it recognizes existing and outlines new broader political projects and their tools to challenge the current capitalist and anthropocentric political order of culture. One solution would be to start seriously thinking about culture and sustainability in relation to the post-growth “safe operating space” and “doughnut economy” (Raworth, 2017; cf. Jackson, 2009), in that they offer more practical narratives and are clearer on what is needed and what can’t be exceeded.

Second, the resolution’s objectives and methods remain entirely captured within the doxa of “green growth”. This is not the, but merely a blueprint for climate action – and perhaps not the most credible one at that (Hickel & Kallis, 2019). As “green growth” remains the dominant framework for policies, explicitly recognising it as one among many competing visions of the future is all-important when working at the intersection between art, culture and creativity in relation to climate futures.

Third, both UNCTAD and UNESCO remain fixed on their respective raisons d’être, without addressing the systemic challenge we face. This results in an impoverished articulation of what the future should be, which remains tone-deaf to the real challenge that underpins the climate crisis: how to ensure life in dignity and prosperity without wrecking the planet. In sum, the resolution we have studied is fundamentally incompatible with ecological sustainability and the “organismal needs” (i.e. basic need that must be satisfied for an organism [human, animal, plant etc.] to realise its typical and special way and characteristics of life) of planetary well-being (Kortetmäki et al., 2021).

Notwithstanding our above criticisms of the resolution, the potential of art, culture and creativity to help confront the climate crisis is real. Its strength lies in a commitment to global environmental citizenship, which puts the planet before economic and anthropocentric or narrowly defined national, ethnic or religious group interests (Duxbury et al., 2017).1 It should help to address global issues with a cosmopolitan sensibility (De Beukelaer, 2019b). What we propose thus inherently challenges the normative foundations and horizons of public policy. Beyond shifting the normative ground on which policymaking builds, we would argue that it also requires a new political economy of creative work, which focuses on degrowth, revaluing craft and setting up a universal basic income. This should help lay the groundwork for a post-consumer society, in which the dignity and well-being of people and the planet take precedence over shareholder value.

Our suggestions might sound like wishful thinking. Which they are. Though so are the expected outcomes of the approaches suggested in the Resolution text. Policy texts inherently are wishful thinking. Contrary to this consensus-document, we believe that our suggested approach, “our” wishful thinking if you will, is more constructive. Which kind of “wishful thinking” one entertains is not just a mirage; it is helpful in offering both a semblance of a way out of this mess and a positive story that can garner public and political support. We are now at a point where the creative economy, as characterised in the Resolution, does neither.

In sum, our key argument is that the relation of culture and environment should be radically re-evaluated and re-defined when speaking and acting about sustainability and culture. Simply repackaging the creative industry policies of the past two decades as “sustainable” does little but further delay the much-needed rethinking of the future we want. To do that, we need a new kind of “planetary cultural policy” in which decision-making on culture always takes into account the environment, ecological sustainability and planetary boundaries per se. In addition, it must ideologically and conceptually understand culture as part of nature and vice versa. Finally, cultural policies should acknowledge that everything that human beings as cultural actors do has serious and true ecological implications, which also makes it a question of citizenship, identity and subjectivity. This would definitely confuse the already blurred boundaries of cultural policy as an administrative sector even more, but we think that it is an “obligatory passage point” (Callon, 1986) – i.e., the point of access to the irreversibly new understanding of relation between culture and sustainability that all key actors have to recognize and “go through”, if they want to participate in the process – if we really want to see culture as an important factor in sustainability policies and practices.

CRediT authorship contribution statement

Miikka Pyykkönen: Writing – original draft. Christiaan De Beukelaer: Writing – original draft.

Declaration of competing interest

The authors declare that they have no known competing financial interests or personal relationships that could have appeared to influence the work reported in this paper.

References

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Dr. Miikka Pyykkönen is a Professor on Cultural Policy in the Department of Social Sciences and Philosophy, University of Jyväskylä, Finland. He teaches bachelor and master students in the study programme Cultures, Communities and Change, and doctoral students in Cultural Policy doctoral studies. He is also a docent in Sociology at the University of Helsinki. His current research areas are cultural policy, international cultural policy, culture and sustainability, economization of culture, entrepreneurship and history of ethnopolitics.

Dr. Christiaan De Beukelaer is a Senior Lecturer in Culture & Climate at the University of Melbourne and a Global Horizons Senior Fellow at the Swedish Collegium for Advanced Study. He was previously a Marie Skłodowska-Curie – FIAS-FP COFUND Fellow in Necessary Utopias at Iméra, the Institute for Advanced Study at Aix-Marseille Université. His primary research project is Shipping in the Oceanic Commons: Regulation and Prefiguration (ClimateWorks Foundation). His most recent book Trade Winds: A Voyage to a Sustainable Future for Shipping, published by Manchester University Press, is also available in French translation as Cargo à Voile: Une Aventure Militante pour un Transport Maritime Durable, published by Éditions Apogée. He is a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society.1

We do recognise that citizenship is always grounded in the lives of people, which are spatially and temporally bound. This offers up a further challenge of finding a space that connects the “planetary” and the individual, through multiple levels of social entanglement and political engagement.

© 2025 The Author(s). Published by Elsevier B.V.