In the run-up to Easter, I spent several weeks at Blackpool FC’s Bloomfield Road stadium, watching an appeal hearing unfold into plans to frack two exploratory wells in the Fylde region of Lancashire. On one side of the room sat Cuadrilla, occasionally joined by the North West Lancashire Chambers of Commerce. Lined up opposite were Lancashire County Council, often accompanied by Friends of the Earth and two local grassroots campaigns: Roseacre Awareness Group and Preston New Road Action Group.
In the middle sat the planning inspector, Wendy McKay. At the back stood a well-staffed security team; thankfully not required, though who knows what their presence deterred. And out of shot sat the ultimate decision maker, Greg Clark MP, secretary of state for communities and local government, who will be informed but not bound by McKay’s eventual recommendation.
The inquiry wasn’t about the broader prospects for the fracking industry – its economic value or social acceptability, or its implications for the UK’s climate commitments. Rather, it focused on two specific applications for exploratory drilling, fracking and testing at Roseacre Wood and Preston New Road.
But sitting listening to both sides, it felt like something far bigger was at stake. Lancashire County Council’s earlier rejection of these applications in June 2015 – the decisions under appeal here – were described by Paul Stevens of Chatham House as “the final nail in the coffin of UK fracking.” So upholding those decisions would presumably represent six feet of soil being dumped on top.
On the other hand, overturning the decisions would set a planning precedent and give Cuadrilla permission to frack at high volume in the UK for the first time since it caused two minor earthquakes in Blackpool in 2011. It would provide operators, regulators and the government with a long-sought opportunity to demonstrate that fears over fracking are exaggerated and misplaced.
Multiple factors will shape the prospects of the UK shale industry: energy markets; the geology underneath the Fylde, Ryedale and Bassetlaw; investor confidence; public tolerance; and post-Paris climate science and policy. It’s all the more important then to get the process right in an inquiry like this, where there is a real possibility and responsibility to determine an outcome.
So how will the eventual decision be reached?
The first place to look is policy: most obviously planning policy, though also energy and climate policy. But which policy is most relevant? And is there any flexibility to interpret what policy means in this particular case?
The decision will also be based on expert evidence. An array of visualisations, surveys, audits, assessments and analyses were presented at the inquiry in the form of documents, reports and oral evidence under cross-examination. This blizzard of evidence related to traffic, noise, landscape, waste treatment, public health, economics and climate change, and was based on methodologies and standards that are themselves often disputed. For example, four different noise experts gave evidence to the inquiry and, to varying degrees, all disagreed. This either suggests a poor choice of experts - which seems unlikely - or else the possibility of legitimate disagreement, without anyone’s evidence necessarily being mistaken or untrue.
As this was a public inquiry, a further factor in the decision process is public participation. Most of the proceedings lay in the hands of barristers, experts or professional witnesses. And the ultimate recommendation and decision-making authority rests with the inspector and the Secretary of State. Nonetheless, the public participated in a range of ways. Outside, as protesters, their voices were literally heard on the first morning of proceedings. As “interested parties with a substantive case”, certain groups were able to apply for Rule 6 status at the inquiry. Other “interested persons” were given five minutes to make a point at one of its public sessions. Some have participated so long and hard it’s even made them ill. But whether and how any of this participation translates into influence, and what kind of democratic legitimacy it lends to the eventual decision, remains unclear.
In the Fylde case, it’s hard to argue that policy, evidence and public participation come down unequivocally on one side or the other. The decision will be a choice, relying as much on the experience, judgement and values of the decision maker, as on the evidence. And there are a great many ambiguities, which would justify different judgements. There’s no simple process of adding up the evidence to calculate the right answer.
If policy, evidence and participation can only inform, and not escape, human judgement, then the exercise of power must also play a role. Is this the hidden, yet decisive, ingredient in any decision? Many local objectors fear this very possibility.
To confront the role of power in any decision, we first have to admit it exists. And we need to be more ambitious when it comes to public participation. This means moving beyond participation as public relations, to include the very things that power might conceal: values, visions, politics and uncertainties.
Having sat through five and a half weeks of deliberations, I’m loath to criticise the Fylde inquiry: it was a thorough and impressive examination of the issues in planning policy terms. But evidence, rationality and legal procedures don’t shield decisions like this from power, and they won’t shield their outcomes from resentment. Deeper democracy might.
Laurence Williams is a PhD student at the Science Policy Research Unit, University of Sussex, where his research focuses on science, democracy and decision-making.
