Water is scarce. So why is it underpriced?

A drinking fountain in Rome. Image: Getty.

In the summer of 2017, for the first time in 2,000 years, Rome shut off its public water fountains. 

Since the first aqueduct transported water to public fountains at the ancient city’s cattle market, there has always been water to supply Rome’s fountains. Through centuries of wars, conflicts, revolutions and other human and natural catastrophes, the tradition of free fountain water in Rome has continued uninterrupted, until the devastating 2017 drought.  With farmers in the surrounding countryside facing over one million euros in agricultural damages, city authorities decided to stop the flow of water to Rome’s 2,800 public fountains.

The tradeoff that Rome faced – water for its fountains versus averting a catastrophic drought for farmers – is likely to occur again, as agricultural, municipal and industrial uses of water arise and climate change makes dwindling supplies even more variable. 

But this dilemma isn’t limited to Rome. For the entire globe, the era of plentiful water appears to be over.

Every year, water shortages affect more than one-third of the world’s population – around 2.5 billion people.  By 2030, water scarcity may displace as many as 700 million people worldwide. By 2050, more than half of the global population – and about half of global grain production – will be at risk due to water stress.

If water is valuable and scarce, why is it so poorly managed?

The problem is that our policies and institutions for managing water were developed when the resource was abundant, not scarce.  We continue to exploit freshwater as if it were limitless.

To find a way beyond this impasse, we must put an end to policies that underprice water and allow it to be used as if it was a plentiful resource. There are two approaches that could make a significant difference.


First we must allow markets for trading water to flourish.  Throughout the world, the predominant use of water is for irrigated agriculture, around 80% of all water withdrawals.  Yet, the fastest growing demands for water are for urban residential, commercial and industrial use. Because people in cities have less water, they are willing to pay much more for it than what it costs farmers to water their crops or pastures.

Through water markets, farmers could sell any excess water to other users, allowing both parties to gain. Urban users are able to pay lower prices and increase consumption. Farmers would have another revenue source, and because their water is now more valuable, they will squander less and conserve more.

Already, many regions and localities are experimenting with various water trading schemes.  In some places, farmers sell all or part of their water rights; in others, they lease their water over one or multiple years. 

One promising development is water “banks”.  Like regular banks, farmers deposit their excess water, including “savings” from conservation, and can subsequently draw down these deposits during future droughts.  Alternatively, farmers can sell or lease some or all of their water deposits to other users. Environmental and recreational groups also pay to keep the deposits in rivers, lakes and streams, thus preserving valuable habitats.

Second, we must stop subsidizing water and sanitation services for residential, commercial and industrial users. Current prices charged rarely cover the full costs of these services.  Governments typically pay for most if not all of the investment costs, and often subsidize the operating costs.  Any environmental damages are usually settled through costly litigation.

Ending the underpricing of water and sanitation services could improve cost recovery and lead to greater conservation by users.  A fixed service charge could pay for the costs of operating and maintaining the water system.  A two-tier block rate charge for households would increase water conservation while protecting low-households from the burden of water pricing. 

Since poorer households use less water, typically less than 20 cubic meters of water per month, the price for this first “block” of water could be kept very low.  However, for monthly water use that exceeds 20 cubic meters, the price would be set much higher.

Finally, some of the revenues earned by local utilities and governments could finance the adoption of water-saving technologies and domestic appliances by households through discounts and rebates.  Additional programs could be targeted to low-income families, who would otherwise find it difficult to pay for new appliances or repair faulty plumbing.

Creating water markets and ending the underpricing of services are just two of many ways in which we can manage the rising scarcity of water to meet new and growing demands.  Otherwise, we may find tradeoffs like that in Rome an increasingly frequent occurrence.

Edward Barbier is a professor in the Department of Economics, Colorado State University, and the author of The Water Paradox, out now from Yale Books.

 
 
 
 

Wild boar are moving back to Genoa, and not everyone is pleased

A wild boar, c1933. Image: Getty.

Crossing the Ponte Gerolamo Serra in the Italian city of Genoa, I spotted a small crowd clustered by the river wall. I approached, intrigued, and peered over the wall to discover the subject of their delight: a sounder of eight wild boars – the adults sheltering from the heat in the undergrowth, while the juveniles foraged among the foliage that grows in the river bed during the dry summer months.

In any other city, such a sight might have been surprising. But in Italy, and particularly in the region of Liguria, where Genoa is located, the population of wild boars has been increasing at such a rapid rate that these incidents are now common. Across the country, it’s estimated that the population has risen from 600,000 to 1m over the past decade.

But while wild boars may look comically out of place trotting about the city, it’s actually a natural result of the way people have migrated – and the wars they have fought – over the course of recent history.

Making a comeback

A species native to Europe, the wild boar (or “cinghiale”, in Italian) largely disappeared from its historical territories during the 18th and 19th centuries. Their decline was widely attributed to the combined effects of habitat change, competition for space and resources and, of course, hunting.

Wild boars were a prized quarry, revered for their ferocity – and the danger involved in pursuing them. According to local folklore from the region of Liguria, the last truly wild boar was hunted and killed in 1814, in the province of Savona.

After an absence of more than a century, wild boar began to return to Liguria, and to the neighbouring region of Piedmont. A further influx occurred during World War I, when it’s believed that military activities in the south-east of France forced parts of the population back into Italy over the Alps.

Although hunting fraternities were quick to augment this fledgling population with wild boars transported from elsewhere, the return of the species was primarily due to natural causes. From the 1950s onwards, traditional agricultural practices were abandoned as more and more people moved from rural towns into the cities. This meant that large areas of formerly cultivated terraces and pastures were rapidly overgrown, fast becoming dense secondary woodlands.

A city gone wild

This spontaneous “rewilding” has become a controversial issue in the region. Many conservationists and environmental organisations consider the region’s return to a “wild state” a success. But others believe that the encroaching wilderness signals a loss of traditional woodland knowledge and a reduction of biodiversity, associated with the pastures and meadows.


The province of Genoa is among the areas most densely populated by wild boar in Italy, with an estimated 25 boar per 10km². Rewilding processes have brought woodlands to the city limits, blurring the boundary between rural and urban areas. The species has expanded beyond the hinterlands, colonising highly urbanised, densely populated city spaces in Genoa, drawn by the abundance of food waste created by humans.

In 2009, the infamous boar Pierino made his home at Righi, on the outskirts of Genoa, where he was routinely fed with focaccia by enthusiasts. Today, a family of wild boar call the Albergo dei Poveri – a historical hostel for the Genoese poor in the city centre – their home.

But while their antics are often recorded and shared with glee on social media, the threats posed by the presence of wild animals has become a preoccupation for the city’s municipal administration.

Boorish behaviour

Wild boar have been involved in a number of traffic accidents, and have proven to be particularly dangerous when with their young, attacking dogs and even people. The city council in Genoa has put forward many proposals to reduce the number of animals in the city, ranging from forced removals, to sterilisation, increased attention to waste disposal and approved hunts. About 90 wild boar were reportedly culled in 2018.

Needless to say, each of these measures has been hotly debated. Animal advocacy groups staunchly oppose the proposals, and sometimes obstruct the authorities’ attempts to take action, often sending patrols to care for the animals, and even give them names. But other residents are displeased with the animals’ presence in the city, and have consulted with the council on how to address the problems that they cause.

And so Genoa continues to grapple with thorny issues surrounding the presence of wild boar in the city, with the city authorities seeking to resolve a polemical issue that embroils the lives of animals and humans alike. So far, a collective, coherent and communally agreeable strategy has proven evasive; one that considers the need for public safety, hygiene and health with the ethical responsibilities towards to wild boar themselves.

Meanwhile, the animals themselves continue to lounge and forage beneath the Ponte Gerolamo Serra and elsewhere, bringing a little of the wilderness into the city.

The Conversation

Robert Hearn, Assistant Professor in Human Geography, University of Nottingham.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.