Nature, Thou Art My Goddess: A River's Sacred Oath Amidst Pollution's Plight

In the heart of East London, where the River Roding meanders through concrete and steel, a most peculiar scene unfolded at Snaresbrook Crown Court. Paul Powlesland, a 38-year-old barrister and environmental crusader, stood before the bench, not as counsel, but as a prospective juror. In his hand, he clutched not a leather-covered holy book, but a vial of water from his beloved Roding. "Nature, thou art my goddess", he declared, echoing the words of Edmund in Shakespeare's King Lear. The court usher, mystified by this unorthodox oath, insisted on a sip test to ensure the liquid wasn't a noxious brew! One can almost imagine the Bard himself chuckling at the scene, penning a soliloquy about the peculiarities of modern justice. Powlesland's devotion to his river, he explained to the equally intrigued judge, was akin to a religion. His faith manifests in planting trees along its banks, removing the detritus of human carelessness, and campaigning against the insidious pollution that threatens to choke the life from these arteries of the earth. The judge, in a moment of judicial wisdom worthy of Portia in The Merchant of Venice, allowed the oath alongside a traditional affirmation.

This Shakespearean drama playing out in a modern courtroom serves as a poignant metaphor for our complex relationship with the natural world. Like the troubled waters of the Roding, it is a relationship that runs deep but is increasingly turbulent. The state of Britain's rivers is, to borrow from the Bard once more, "something rotten in the state of Denmark". Recent data from the Environment Agency paints a picture as bleak as any Shakespearean tragedy. As of 2023, a mere 14% of England's rivers meet the criteria for 'good ecological status'. This statistic alone should be enough to make us weep like King Lear beholding the hung Cordelia.

The villains in this modern-day tragedy are manifold, but none so dastardly as the water companies themselves [see A Song of Sewage and Leaks: The Epic Saga of UK Water Pollution]. In 2022, these corporate Iagos released raw sewage into England's rivers and seas over 300,000 times, totalling more than 1.75 million hours of continuous discharge. The Thames, once the lifeblood of London, now bears the ignominy of being one of the most polluted rivers in the country.

But it is not just aesthetic beauty that we are losing. The pollution carries with it a more insidious threat, one that would make even Macbeth's witches recoil in horror. Recent studies have found alarming levels of antibiotic-resistant bacteria in our waterways. A 2022 study by the University of Exeter discovered that the River Sowe in Warwickshire and the River Teme in Worcestershire contained concentrations of antibiotic-resistant E. coli that were between 30 and 300 times higher than those found in treated wastewater. As for the state of the River Thames, E. coli contamination and antimicrobial resistance (AMR) refer to A Song of Sewage and Leaks: The Epic Saga of UK Water Pollution. The presence of these superbugs in our rivers is not merely an environmental concern, but a looming public health crisis. Silently, like the poison that Hamlet's uncle poured into the ear of the old king, these resistant bacteria could undermine our ability to fight infections, leading to a future where even minor ailments could prove fatal.

Yet, all is not lost. Just as Shakespeare's comedies often end with hope and reconciliation, so too can our river's tale have a happier ending. Across the country, modern-day Rosalinds and Orlandos are fighting to restore our waterways. The River Roding Trust, founded by Powlesland himself, is but one example of grassroots organisations working tirelessly to clean and preserve our rivers. On the other side of the rivers, across the country, humble heroes are the citizen scientists, environmentalists, and biotech engineers, whose innovative biosensors act as vigilant sentinels, detecting contaminants with the precision of Hamlet's keen observation. Like Prospero's magic in "The Tempest", their technology wields the power of science to unveil the unseen threats lurking in our waters, paving the way for cleaner, healthier rivers. Their efforts are bearing fruit. The River Thames, once declared biologically dead in the 1950s, now supports over 125 species of fish and hundreds of seals. In a heartening development, a dolphin was recently spotted in the Thames (yes, you read that right, a dolphin), a sign of improving water quality. The return of otters to many of Britain's rivers is also a testament to improved water quality and habitat restoration. These success stories remind us that, with dedication and effort, we can rewrite the script of our environmental tragedy.

With that being said, the battle is far from won. Despite the latest figures from the Environment Agency showing that sewage dumping by water companies in England decreased slightly from 2.6 million hours in 2021 to 1.75 million hours in 2022, the figures remain staggering—enough to make even the most hardened of Shakespeare's villains blush. The government has pledged to tackle this issue, with plans to impose unlimited fines on water companies that pollute. Yet, many environmentalists argue that these measures do not go far enough. They call for stricter regulations, increased investment in infrastructure and water monitoring, and a fundamental reimagining of our relationship with water and the natural world.

It is this reimagining that brings us back to Paul Powlesland and his vial of river water in the courtroom. His act, both poetic and provocative, forces us to confront our own relationship with nature. Do we see our rivers as mere resources to be exploited, or as living entities worthy of respect and protection? Let us, then, take inspiration from Powlesland's devotion. Let us see in every river, stream, and brook a goddess worthy of our reverence. Let us work to ensure that future generations can stand on the banks of the Roding, the Thames, or any of Britain's waterways and declare, without irony or sadness, "Nature, thou art my goddess".

For in the end, the health of our rivers is inextricably linked to our own. As Shakespeare reminds us in As You Like It, "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." In protecting our rivers, we protect ourselves, our future, and the very essence of what it means to be human in a world of wondrous natural beauty.

August 2024