How to make the green belt productive - but keep it green

Walkers on Box Hill, in the North Downs. Most green belt doesn't look like this. Image: Getty.

England’s green belts have had, and continue to have, a major impact on town planning. The idea of a ring of countryside surrounding an urban area to prevent sprawl originated in the 1930s, spread to post-war London and was adopted nationally in 1955. Today, about 13% of England is green belt land

But what made sense in the 1950s seems outdated and rather stale now. A one-size-fits-all approach to tackling complex planning issues tends to create more problems than it solves. You don’t need a belt-shaped area of land to check urban sprawl; you don’t need to block all development to promote greener outcomes. Perhaps in the 21st century it is time to admit that green belts are no longer fit for purpose.

In theory, the idea of still has strong protection within the government’s planning framework. That document identifies five strategic functions for the green belt:

  • To check the unrestricted sprawl of large built-up areas;
  • To prevent neighbouring towns merging into one another;
  • To assist in safeguarding the countryside from encroachment;
  • To preserve the setting and special character of historic towns; and
  • To assist in urban regeneration, by encouraging the recycling of derelict and other urban land.

But green belts have been attacked for failing to meet these purposes by a range of vested interests, who've proposed a range of different ideas in response. The head of Persimmon housebuilders, for instance, has called for a relaxation of green belt controls to ease the housing crisis. The chancellor wants more imagination from local planning authorities in where houses are built – including possible incursions into the green belt. Even Natural England, the government body responsible for safeguarding England’s natural environment, has previously called for a major policy rethink

In any case green belt protection is potentially illusory. Greenfield sites, including green belt, are increasingly favoured by developers as they are cheaper to exploit than brownfield sites which have much higher transaction costs. Here economic growth priorities and national planning policy tend to push development pressures onto the urban fringe areas, rather than to more costly brownfield land.

There is clear evidence that while green belts have stopped urban expansion (at least, in some cities), they have resulted in unintended consequences: higher-density development at the urban fringe, including disconnected “edge cities”, and “leapfrogging” development over the green belt to undermine other areas of countryside.

Green belts have a presumption against development, and thus come with little incentive to be positively managed for environmental, community or economic purposes. This leads to degraded landscapes which, while having a valid planning function, produce limited benefit to communities and the environment – unless, of course, you are lucky enough to live in or next to one.

As with natural assets more generally, it's this lack of incentive for active management that is the greatest cause for concern. It's therefore time for a fundamental rethink of the green belt.

Beyond the belt

For one thing, the “belt” metaphor has had its day. We should define bespoke areas that are functional to local geography and the needs of the cities and towns concerned; so wedges, fingers, belts, bananas or whatever shapes may equally apply.

Rather than have green belts used for just major cities we should also create a more inclusive, ubiquitous and positive set of zoning policies, that apply to large towns and major settlements.

Rather than a impose a rigid presumption against development, we should aim for zones that encourage innovative uses that generate investment in environmental and community benefits in keeping with the principles of sustainable development.

Finally, rather than enabling politically convenient incursions into the green belt under the guise of sustainable urban extensions, local planning authorities should define these zones by considering the long-term development needs of their area looking 50 years into the future rather than the present 25 years.

Positive spaces

These principles lead me to propose the idea of “green investment zones”: new positive spaces to invest in. The urban fringe could be rejuvenated by, for example, community food-growing initiatives for health and recreation, or wetland creation for flood protection and biodiversity. A green investment zone would be flexible enough to incorporate whatever new initiative an entrepreneur might propose.

This would require local planning authorities to think strategically, and come up with bolder and longer term visions about the kind of town or city they want to create. The current 25-year planning lifecycle is not long enough.

Developers shouldn’t see these zones as automatic no-go areas. While housing should not normally be allowed in them, they should act as valuable green spaces that can help to protect new and existing housing development from floods and drought. They can provide local food growing areas. and spaces for play and recreation. They also can be used to protect our agriculture and, perhaps more controversially, for energy production (solar, anaerobic digestion or biomass) – neglected planning factors, all.

In this green belt debate we need to move out of the silo thinking. Separating housing, industry, transport, community, landscape and environment needs just leads to disintegrated development.

The green belt may no longer be fit for purpose – but it must not be allowed to become a developers’ charter for nothing more than the short-term pursuit of economic growth. We need to create a more equitable, environmentally-friendly and socially-responsible zoning tool. In that way, we could address current planning shortfalls, and promote a more positive image for planning. The Conversation

Alister Scott is Professor of Environment and Spatial Planning at Birmingham City University.

He has received funding from Research Councils UK, Defra, Scottish and Welsh Governments as part of the Rural Economy and Land Use Programme for work on the urban rural fringe. He has also received funding from Research Councils UK, Defra and the Welsh Government as part of the National Ecosystem Assessment Follow on Programme. The ideas in this article stem from these research projects but are personal views and do not reflect the views of other partners in the research.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

 
 
 
 

Was the decline in Liverpool’s historic population really that unusual?

A view of Liverpool from Birkenhead. Image: Getty.

It is often reported that Liverpool’s population halved after the 1930s. But is this true? Or is it a myth?

Often, it’s simply assumed that it’s true. The end. Indeed, proud Londoner Lord Adonis – a leading proponent of the Liverpool-bypassing High Speed 2 railway, current chair of the National Infrastructure Commission, and generally a very influential person – stood on the stairs in Liverpool Town Hall in 2011 and said:

“The population of Liverpool has nearly halved in the last 50 years.”

This raises two questions. Firstly, did the population of the City of Liverpool really nearly halve in the 50 year period to 2011? That’s easy to check using this University of Portsmouth website – so I did just that (even though I knew he was wrong anyway). In 2011, the population of the City of Liverpool was 466,415. Fifty years earlier, in 1961, it was 737,637, which equates to a 37 per cent drop. Oops!

In fact, the City of Liverpool’s peak population was recorded in the 1931 Census as 846,302. Its lowest subsequent figure was recorded in the 2001 Census as 439,428 – which represents a 48 per cent decline from the peak population, over a 70 year period.

Compare this to the population figures for the similarly sized City of Manchester. Its peak population also recorded in the 1931 Census as 748,729, and its lowest subsequent figure was also recorded in the 2001 Census, as 392,830. This also represents a 48 per cent decline from the peak population, over the same 70 year period.

So, as can be seen here, Liverpool is not a special case at all. Which makes me wonder why it is often singled out or portrayed as exceptional in this regard, in the media and, indeed, by some badly briefed politicians. Even London has a similar story to tell, and it is told rather well in this recent article by a Londoner, for the Museum of London. (Editor’s note: It’s one of mine.)

This leads me onto the second question: where have all those people gone: London? The Moon? Mars?

Well, it turns out that the answer is bit boring and obvious actually: after World War 2, lots of people moved to the suburbs. You know: cars, commuter trains, slum clearance, the Blitz, all that stuff. In other words, Liverpool is just like many other places: after the war, this country experienced a depopulation bonanza.


So what form did this movement to the suburbs take, as far as Liverpool was concerned? Well, people moved and were moved to the suburbs of Greater Liverpool, in what are now the outer boroughs of the city region: Halton, Knowsley, St Helens, Sefton, Wirral. Others moved further, to Cheshire West & Chester, West Lancashire, Warrington, even nearby North Wales, as previously discussed here.

In common with many cities, indeed, Liverpool City Council actually built and owned large several ‘New Town’ council estates, to which they moved tens of thousands of people to from Liverpool’s inner districts: Winsford in Cheshire West (where comedian John Bishop grew up), Runcorn in Halton (where comedian John Bishop also grew up), Skelmersdale in West Lancashire, Kirkby in Knowsley. There is nothing unique or sinister here about Liverpool (apart from comedian John Bishop). This was common practice across the country – Indeed, it was central government policy – and resulted in about 160,000 people being ‘removed’ from the Liverpool local authority area.

Many other people also moved to the nearby suburbs of Greater Liverpool to private housing – another trend reflected across the country. It’s worth acknowledging, however, that cities across the world are subject to a level of ‘churn’ in population, whereby many people move out and many people move in, over time, too.

So how did those prominent images of derelict streets in the inner-city part of the City of Liverpool local authority area come about? For that, you have to blame the last Labour government’s over-zealous ‘Housing Market Renewal Initiative’ (HMRI) disaster – and the over enthusiastic participation of the then-Lib Dem controlled city council. On the promise of ‘free’ money from central government, the latter removed hundreds of people from their homes with a view to demolishing the Victorian terraces, and building new replacements. Many of these houses, in truth, were already fully modernised, owner-occupied houses within viable and longstanding communities, as can be seen here in Voelas Street, one of the famous Welsh Streets of Liverpool:

Voelas Street before HMRI implementation. Image: WelshStreets.co.uk.

The same picture after HMRI implementation Image: WelshStreets.co.uk. 

Nonetheless: the council bought the houses and ‘tinned them up’ ready for demolition. Then the coalition Conservative/Lib Dem government, elected in 2010, pulled the plug on the scheme. 

Fast forward to 2017 and many of the condemned houses have been renovated, in a process which is still ongoing. These are over-subscribed when they come to market, suggesting that the idea was never appropriate for Liverpool on that scale. 

At any rate, it turns out that the Liverpool metropolitan population is pretty much the same as it was at its peak in 1931 (depending where the local borough boundaries are arbitrarily drawn). It just begs the question: why are well educated and supposedly clever people misrepresenting the Liverpool metropolis, in particular, in this way so often? Surely they aren’t stupid are they?


And why are some people so determined to always isolate the City of Liverpool from its hinterland, while London is always described in terms of its whole urban area? It just confuses and undermines what would otherwise often be worthwhile comparisons and discussions. Or, to put it another way: “never, ever, compare apples with larger urban zones”.

In a recent Channel 4 documentary, for example, the well-known and respected journalist Michael Burke directly compared the forecast population growths, by 2039, of the City of Liverpool single local authority area against that of the combined 33 local authority areas of Greater London: 42,722 versus 2.187,708. I mean, what bizarre point is such an inappropriate comparison even trying to make? It is like comparing the projected growth of a normal sized-person’s head with the projected growth of the whole of an obese person, over a protracted period.

Having said all that, there is an important sensible conversation to be had as to why the populations of the Greater Liverpool metropolis and others haven’t grown as fast as maybe should have been the case, whilst, in recent times, the Greater London population has been burgeoning. But constantly pitching it as some sort of rare local apocalypse helps no one.

Dave Mail has declared himself CityMetric’s Liverpool City Region correspondent. He will be updating us on the brave new world of Liverpool City Region, mostly monthly, in ‘E-mail from Liverpool City Region’ and he is on twitter @davemail2017.