Michael Green

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Distance education

In Environment, The Age on March 22, 2008

Food miles has become an eco buzz term, but what does it really mean for consumers and the environment?

Here’s some food for thought: your beef has itchy feet and your white bread has the wanderlust. According to new research by Melbourne environmental organisation CERES, your pantry has seen far more of Australia, and the world, than you have.

On the way to your waistline, a typical Australian food basket pounds the highway for over 21 000 kilometres, the equivalent of nearly twice around our coast. And that’s just road transport. Including travel by sea and air, your dinner covers over 70 000 clicks: almost twice around the globe.

We’re talking about food miles, a concept that has become entrenched in the minds of environmentally conscious consumers in Europe, North America, and increasingly, Australia.

The argument goes like this: if you eat food grown closer to where you live, it needs less transportation and therefore, causes fewer greenhouse gas emissions. The twin threats of climate change and peak oil are looming large on our horizon, but buying low-energy local food can help stave off the disaster. Sounds straight forward, right?

Unfortunately not. Even Sophie Gaballa, the co-author of the CERES research, isn’t sold on the idea. “Food miles is only one part of the full life cycle assessment of food. It isn’t everything; there’s also lot of energy going into production”, she says.

But Gaballa believes that despite this criticism, being aware of the food we buy is an important part of an environmentally friendly lifestyle. “Waste, water and energy issues are pretty well established [in the public mindset] and food miles is linked with all those things. It’s a good next step in looking at sustainability.”

Among the products she surveyed, the worst offender was Danish pork sausages clocking in at over 25 000 kilometres. Chocoholics despair, your guilty pleasure weighs in at a chunky 14 500 kilometres. In the fresh fruit and veggie aisle, lettuces were the best at only 54 kilometres and bananas the worst, notching up 2746 long kilometres in the journey south from North Queensland.

If you’re looking for a low carbon diet, there’s now even a restaurant that can help you shed those excess kilos – kilometres, that is. The 100 Mile Café, in Melbourne Central, sources nine out of ten products from within 100 miles (160 kilometres) of the CBD. Ballarat is in but Ararat is out, Euroa yes but Echuca no.

The café’s ingredients list makes quirky reading: blueberries from Foster, rabbit from Lara, horseradish from Alexandra, eel from Skipton and walnuts from Bannockburn, just to name a few. According to restaurateur Paul Mathis, the closest product they source right now is spinach from Werribee South, just 30 kilometres away.

The ‘Locavores’, four women from San Francisco, coined the 100-mile slogan when they brought food miles issues to the table in 2005. They attracted media coverage in spades by challenging their bay-area neighbours to only eat food from within a 100-mile radius for the whole month of August that year. The movement’s popularity has grown and last year’s challenge, held in September, had thousands of participants from all over the USA.

For the Locavores, eating locally is not just about reducing our impact on the environment; it’s also about “our health, our communities and our tastebuds”. They believe local food tastes better and contains more nutrients. Your local dollar will also help revive the sagging fortunes of smaller farms and stimulate a sense of connectedness with your surroundings.

Across the Atlantic, UK retailers are leading the food miles race. Supermarket chain Tesco has begun work on a product labelling system to inform customers about the carbon footprint of each purchase. In March last year, the department store Marks and Spencer began special labelling for food imported by air. The company has also committed itself to sourcing as much food as possible from within the UK and Ireland.

This is when things start to get a little tricky. Australia is a significant agricultural producer: grain, beef and wine are our top three agricultural exports. In the year ending July 2007, these exports were worth a staggering $12.7 billion – more than triple our international aid contribution. Our farmers and our economy have a lot to lose if the Brits take exclusively to local fare.

Chief executive of the Winemakers’ Federation of Australia, Stephen Strachan, says that although there hasn’t been any impact on Australian wine exports to the UK just yet, “it’s pretty obvious it’s coming”. Strachan says he completely supports people’s desire to purchase eco-friendly products, but he argues that while carbon emissions are important, “so are issues like water use, efficiency and biodiversity…yet food miles doesn’t recognise the initiatives we’ve undertaken in those areas”.

For now, the Australian retailers are not pushing the same barrow as their UK counterparts. Coles spokesman, Jim Cooper, says that the supermarket chain is aware of the debate and also conscious of the “differing views of food miles as an environmental impact measure”. He says that “food labelling issues such as food miles are best addressed at an industry and government level, with representatives from all interested parties”. As it stands, Australian consumers are unlikely to see the miles on our aisles any time soon.

According to Steve Dowrick, Head of Economics at the Australian National University, our economy and the environment are not the only things to consider. “The other issue, which I think this type of debate seems to forget about, is what the impact would be on the producers of foodstuffs in developing countries,” he says.

“I’m concerned about carbon emissions, but I’m also concerned about the hundreds of millions of people in the world living in absolute abject poverty and with very low life expectancy and very high rates of illness and infant mortality”.  Dowrick says that while trade isn’t a panacea for global poverty, it is a key part of the solution.  “To cut down trade with the people who are already in hopelessly miserable poverty would make them even worse off”, he argues.

Dowrick is not saying it is wrong to buy local food, but suggests that if you are concerned about poverty as well as the environment you should consider the impact of not buying products from the third world. “People have to make their own minds up”, he says. “We would like them to have adequate information so they can come to the right judgement about what is most important to them.”

With such complex and conflicting priorities, finding the right information is a hard road to hoe. So what’s an eco-friendly consumer to do?

Tim Grant is working on the answers. He’s the manager of life cycle assessment at RMIT University’s Centre for Design. His team looks at the environmental impact of products all the way from the paddock to the plate. They don’t just assess transport emissions, but also the effects of production, processing and packaging.

Grant doesn’t think consumers should ignore the food miles debate altogether. “Food miles are a great way to begin a conversation,” he says. “We find out transport is maybe five or ten percent of the environmental impact. Then what’s all the other stuff? In food, it’s the use of land and fertilizer. Well, what are those things connected to? How can we reduce those?” he asks.

Grant says we need to compare the energy used to transport fresh produce against the energy eaten up by packaged goods and products grown products locally in unsuitable climates. His advice is that “your first priority would be to eat seasonal foods and then to work down from there. It’s a really ripe area for some research, excuse the pun.”

Gaballa also has some tips for the consumer who wants to make a difference. “Perhaps try to buy local food, eat in season or grow food in your own backyard if can. You could look at joining a food-co-op or visiting farmers markets. If there are organic options available and it’s affordable then that is ideal.”

Community education is a major goal at CERES; every year, over 60 000 students visit its site on the Merri Creek in East Brunswick. Gaballa has now added food miles issues to its education programmes. She hopes that her research will prompt people to consider where their food is coming from. “How is it grown? Is it something you want to know more about?” she says.

“I was teaching about organic farming and a student was looking at our carrot beds quite intently and said ‘How long before you start to see the carrots hanging off the branches?’ And it just hit me that we don’t know what food looks like when it grows”, Gaballa says. “But how would you know how a carrot grows? Because as far as the kids are concerned, carrots come from the supermarket.”

Seasonal fruit and veggies in Melbourne

Spring: asparagus, broad beans, chives, broccoli, parsnip, rhubarb, shallots, strawberries.

Summer: apricots, beans, beetroot, capsicum, cherries, chives, chillies, corn, cucumbers, eggplants, garlic, grapes, leeks, melons, peaches, plums, potatoes, raspberries, rhubarbs, shallots, squash, strawberries, tomatoes, zucchinis, basil.

Autumn: beetroot, cauliflower, grapes, garlic, leeks, parsnip, peas, pears, potato, pumpkin, spinach, sweet potato, chestnuts, walnuts.

Winter: broccoli, brussel sprouts, cabbages, cauliflower, leeks, mandarins, oranges, parsnip, peas, spinach, chestnuts.

All year round: apples, carrots celery, grapefruit, lemons, lettuce, spring onion, onion, radish, silver beet, parsley.

Globe trotter

In Environment, The Age on November 17, 2007

A Melbourne inventor’s illuminating idea could dramatically reduce lighting energy use all over the world. But he wasn’t even trying.

“The prospects are bright,” Graeme Huon says, and the pun is intended. The 58-year-old Mt Waverley man is the inventor of an energy efficient light globe that promises to revolutionise the way we light, well, pretty much everything. “This could be the next generation of lighting,” he says.

The technology, which he calls ‘controlled plasma’, will be a godsend for the environment. “Not only is it lower energy consumption, but it’s a much longer life product,” Huon says. His globes use one tenth of the energy of a standard 50-watt downlight and with a life of 15,000 hours, they last about ten times longer than the next best offering.

Huon rattles off features with pride. The globes are very small and will come in a range of colours, including the warm white of standard bulbs. They can be individually dimmed, are fully compatible with existing wiring, and over their lifetime will cost about half what we are used to paying.

And there’s more. The lights have in-built sensors that can be set to follow you around the house and can regulate their output according to the level of natural light at any given time.

But that’s not all, “Now for the steak knives,” Huon says. Each socket has a unique code, which means that if you want, you can control any light in the house from one switch – without any rewiring. “When I show people this, they just go ahh! and suddenly they say ‘But that means I can control the front when the visitors are coming’,” he says, smiling.

How is all this possible? Right now, our standard incandescent globes, halogen downlights and fluorescent tubes all need filaments and generate heat as well as light. Even low energy compact fluorescent globes need mini-heaters in the base to make them work.

In contrast, Huon’s globe is a “totally cold operating light”. The technology is a combination of three existing lights that don’t use filaments – neon, cold cathode and high intensity discharge – along with a new controller to regulate the way it works. “You can grab hold of it and not burn yourself and that indicates that it’s very efficient,” Huon says.

In time, the technology could be used in the whole range of lighting applications, from reading lamps to night-lights on sporting fields. But for the moment, Huon and his team have fashioned his invention into a product that will directly replace the current halogen downlights. They’re the little globes that sit flush with your ceiling and usually appear in rows, especially in newer houses or renovations.

“The halogen light is one of the worst wasters of energy. It has a short life and it gets extremely hot, which means you have to use expensive materials instead of plastic fittings,” Huon says. “In countries where it’s hot, you need air conditioning just to extract the heat generated by the lights. And yet they are ubiquitous.”

Getting rid of these greenhouse guzzlers could make a significant dent in our national energy use. “If we were to replace 75% of lights in homes with these globes in the next five years, we could save building one new power station,” Huon says.

Ever since Edison saw the light, new ideas have been shown as a glowing overhead bulb. But Huon, a world-leading inventor in acoustic technology, didn’t even set out to develop an efficient light. “We weren’t in lighting, we came at it from doing a lighting package for home cinema. I just said, well we need to make a better light. And we did and somebody told Canberra and all hell broke loose.”

That’s no surprise, because this technology may be a key to Australia phasing out inefficient bulbs by 2009-10 under targets announced earlier this year by Environment Minister Malcolm Turnbull.

Huon first developed the technology three years ago and now, his business CP Envirotech is moving quickly towards full commercialisation. “We began production in January this year and we’ll be shipping to customers in April,” Huon says. “They’re coming to a lounge room near you.” And after your house, next stop the world.

With his controlled plasma globes lighting the way, Huon is upbeat about our capacity to overcome just about any hurdle. “If you clearly identify what the problem is and then have no preconceptions about what the solution is, I reckon you can solve it every time.”

Kicking the footy habit

In The Age on September 11, 2007

First published in The Age

THERE’S a culture of abuse in AFL football. OK, so some players have white-line fever on and off the field, but that’s not what I mean. My problem’s different.

I’m a Sherrin addict. That’s it. I’ve finally said it. I just can’t stop watching my team boot that ball.

In a writing class earlier this year, our lecturer began a weekly segment in which two students would interview each other, in front of the class, on a subject of their choice. The topic, he said, should be a hobby or interest of ours. Something we were passionate about.

That was when I first realised I had the habit. It finally twigged, much to my dismay, that I have no hobbies and know nothing about anything in particular. Nothing, that is, other than the Richmond Football Club.

My fellow students are mature-age writers in an esteemed creative writing course. I couldn’t very well admit such lowbrow tastes.

Football, after all, is the very antithesis of intellect. Through an ever-expanding winter, we are subjected to pages of print and hours of meaningless monosyllabic footy banter. Commentators ceaselessly construct mountains from molehills.

Now, at the end of the regular season, the September king tide of football-fuelled folly is upon us. Waves of cross-dressing misogynistic ex-players will soon flood our screens. This is the month when our addiction really takes its toll and, with Victorian teams in the hunt for the flag, there may be no other news to report.

Imagine, for a moment, that the national football wisdom, with all its detail, nuance and historical perspective, was instead turned to art. Or better yet, to science. Imagine all the fervent debates on tactics and all the hours spent watching game upon game were turned instead to the betterment of humanity. To a cure for cancer perhaps, or the development of renewable energies. Such a civilisation we would be.

Yet every home game in this dismal black and yellow season I walked to the ground with the ceremonial beat of culture in my chest. I felt connected to the others striding through the park today and to those from years and decades gone by. I walked with the hope for a close game, or at least a flash of brilliance from a new young player.

I stood in the same place and I knew that my Tiger friends would be there. We don’t need to plan. We just front up and launch into debate about the team for the week. When the game starts we growl and gesticulate in time with the play. This season, lose, lose or lose, I walked home with my earpiece while ignorant talkback callers bagged Richo.

My weekly football ritual, like family, gives me my place. It binds me to this town, to this year and last year, and to the hope of the year to come.

In a time where the same junk food is found in every big city and where media is merging the western world into one, footy is something distinctly Australian. Like us, the game was born of the meeting of cultures, from the indigenous game Marn Grook and from Gaelic football too.

Despite the futile expansionist policy of the AFL, Aussie Rules isn’t going anywhere. The Japanese and South Africans just aren’t interested. It’s our sporting oddity, stranger even than cricket, and that’s no easy beat.

Don’t get me wrong. Following the game isn’t a citizenship test, nor a call to dreaded nationalism. No one has to like it and it’s a good thing that not everyone does.

As the finals begin, we junkies should reflect on the possibility that the advance of civilisation might be hampered by our collective Sherrin addiction. Then we’ll head off to the game, thump our bellies and revel in the eccentric passion all of our own.

The writer’s triumphant endnote: A few months into semester I came clean to one classmate about my weekly habit. My bold move paid off: he was a diehard Demon fan and the very next week the Tigers flogged them. The first win of the season.

Resource Boom

In Social justice, The Age on June 18, 2007

A Melbourne refuge for asylum seekers is a thriving concern. But its founder Kon Karapanagiotidis wishes it weren’t so.

KON Karapanagiotidis has a lot on his mind. He rubs his round face and grey-flecked hair, shakes his head and the words pour out. “I very much like to prove people wrong,” says the founder and chief executive of Melbourne’s Asylum Seekers Resource Centre.

Karapanagiotidis, 34, is a pin-up for kindness and compassion, but he is not soft. You wouldn’t bank on breaking his will.

But after another long day recently, the sheer relentlessness of his work almost did.

”I had one of those nights last Wednesday, where I didn’t finish work until 11.30 at night and I’m walking home with my sister and feeling really worn out and going this is … soul-crushing because there’s this endless need and suffering,” he recalls.

”We hail a cab because we need a drink and the guy who picks me up had been an asylum seeker that I’d helped four years earlier. And as I was having this momentary crisis, he’s sitting there going . . . without your help I don’t know where me and my family would have been . . . We can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for us.”

When they got to the pub, the cabbie refused to accept any money. It’s moments like that that keep Karapanagiotidis going.

When we meet it’s at the resource centre’s new offices in West Melbourne. The walls are brightly coloured, the passages well worn. Karapanagiotidis takes the lead to a nook between a bookshelf and a filing cabinet. He says it’s the only place he won’t be disturbed, but as he speaks he is intercepted by a volunteer and bustles off to help for a minute.

The resource centre is a charity set up to help asylum seekers – people who come to Australia claiming to be refugees. It’s a large operation offering more than 20 services, including a food bank, legal assistance, health care and English classes. “We have 700 volunteers and 21 (paid) staff,” Karapanagiotidis says.

The centre gets 94 per cent of its funding from donations and last year provided $14.27 million-worth of help to people seeking asylum. Six years ago, it started as little more than a challenge to a bunch of welfare studies students.

In 2001, Karapanagiotidis, a lawyer and social worker, was teaching diploma students. “I said to my students, what do you think about setting up a food bank as a class project, for people seeking asylum? Eight weeks from the day I proposed it to them, the ASRC was born.”

For the first nine months, Karapanagiotidis was teaching four days a week and working unpaid at the centre on “the spare day and the weekend and every night of the week”. It took its toll on more than his time. “I ended up getting the sack for starting up the centre. The management of the university was very displeased that I would involve the university in such a politically controversial issue,” he says.

He grins as he explains that it wasn’t the first time he has lost a job. “Every time I get sacked it’s always an issue of principle and I have no regrets.”

The son of Greek immigrants, Karapanagiotidis’ experience of exclusion and racism as a child built a steely desire to help people at the margins of society. “I grew up in a little country town . . . in a poor working-class family.” As one of only two Greek families in Mount Beauty, he remembers they “copped a lot of racism”.

When he was 12, the family moved to Thornbury, but not much changed. “By the time I reached 18, I had within me a very strong sense of who I was . . . of being an outsider, always having an allegiance and empathy with people who don’t fit in. My parents sacrificed everything, their entire happiness, so that my sister and I could have a better life. And for me part of it is just honouring that sacrifice, let me count for something.”

Maybe that sense of purpose is why Karapanagiotidis has such contempt for apathy. “There’s a lot of lovely young people who come to this centre, but if I was to say who’s been the backbone of the organisation, it’s not the kids. You know, they’re the most cynical and disillusioned.”

Melbourne author Arnold Zable speaks highly of Karapanagiotidis’ ability to motivate. “I think he’s a person that draws people to him.”

The two have often spoken together at refugee events and fund-raisers and Zable admires the work of the resource centre. “He knows how to fulfil the practical needs of asylum seekers as well as their emotional and spiritual needs,” he says.

Karapanagiotidis swears regularly. It jars at first, seemingly at odds with his appearance. He doesn’t hold back when it comes to the Government, racism, injustice and apathy. “You go through endless examples of what people are suffering. You sit there and go this is f—ing unconscionable, this is intolerable.”

Perversely though, the Howard Government’s stringent policy on asylum seekers is what brought about the exponential growth of the centre. “The worse our Government becomes and the more hardline it becomes, the more and more the donations, the volunteers, the support.”

The centre’s campaign co-ordinator, Pamela Curr, says Karapanagiotidis is very strategic. “He can be confrontational when it needs it and this issue frequently does,” she says. “He also faces people in the rawest of their emotional states and he has an enormous capacity to comfort and reach out to someone in need.”

In a perfect world, Karapanagiotidis says the organisation would not exist. “The ultimate dream is to close our doors, that we’re not needed here.”

In the early days, when he was getting it off the ground, Karapanagiotidis worked close to 80 or 90 hours a week. Finally the realisation struck, “I was so emotionally exhausted . . . My work is my entire life, it’s not making me happy.”

Green paint flecks his hands and forearms, the legacy of a weekend spent painting the offices (they moved from another site in West Melbourne, but it all started in Footscray), but Karapanagiotidis says he is not working so much these days.

“I have a really good balance, I actually do. This work does take a personal toll . . . but I have a really good friends network and I do lots of stuff myself. I do massage, I cook, I started yoga, I’m about to do acting, I paint, I’m doing salsa at the moment, a sculpture course.”

While his social life is more balanced, work at the centre can still be intense. “Any given week it is full-on. Somebody’s on a hunger strike in detention, somebody’s trying to kill themselves, somebody’s turned up homeless, a family’s going hungry, someone’s turning up who’s 70 years old with cancer who’s got no Medicare.”

While the likes of the cab incident provide solace, Karapanagiotidis never feels content. “If other people’s suffering doesn’t affect you . . . then something’s seriously wrong. It doesn’t mean you won’t find happiness and enjoy your life, but you can’t find peace in this world. You can’t, you don’t, you’re not meant to.”

The interview ends as it started, with a volunteer coming in looking for help. Karapanagiotidis heads off to solve the latest problem.

“I’m just doing what anyone should do really, which is give a shit about other people and do something about it,” he says.

‘Australia is my shelter now’

Tesfalem Kidane was 31 when he arrived in Melbourne from Ethiopia. This is his story.

I AM from Ethiopia. I arrived here in 2003. We were invited here to perform music and after I came some things changed with my life over there and I am not secure if I go back.

People showed me the Asylum Seekers Resource Centre and I told them everything and they started to help me immediately. That was really, really helpful because it is hard when you don’t have anybody and you are not at home and don’t speak the language.

Still, even with their help, I had some difficulties, a lot of depression, a lot of stress. Men, we don’t cry usually, you know, but I cried a lot. Kon, he used to just take me into his office and he said, “All right, just don’t give up.” I absolutely forgot everything when I was with him.

Now just last year in August I was granted permanent residency, but before that I used to be in limbo. After I was granted, everyone was really happy. We had a big party in Footscray, at one of the African restaurants, to thank them all for helping me.

I play keyboard and sing as well. I play Ethiopian music and I’ve got a lot of plans now just to mix it up with the Western style. I hope to go to university to study music.

I used to drive a taxi so it helped me to improve my English. Still I’ve got some friends from the taxi, from passengers who became my friends. I am looking for a courier job, but unfortunately I have been unlucky. I’ve got the knowledge, which is I know the town now very well. I will keep trying.

Everyone is just really friendly, especially in Melbourne. I love living here (in Kensington with another asylum seeker) because it is very multicultural. I’m starting to understand footy. I am a Richmond supporter; I’ve got my Tiger scarf.

Home is home, where you were born. I’ve got family over there and one day I am wishing to be back home to see them. People, if they don’t have problems, they won’t leave their home at all, that is my belief.

A human being needs a shelter. Australia is my shelter now, just to protect myself from my fear. I am really, really happy, except I can’t get a job.

My name is two words: “tesfa” means hope and “alem” means the world. So I am not going to give up. I have always got hope, even just in my name.

First published in The Age

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