by Leonard Green
The Panama Canal is in the news, probably for the wrong reasons. Whatever the geopolitics might be, the real story, as James Fallows has written, is about water. We live in a period of climate transformation: rising temperatures and persistent droughts. If we don’t do more to protect our watersheds, we are in trouble.
To protect international shipping, the Canal needs a functioning ecology. And a functioning ecology needs a forested watershed.
Pictured Above: A deforested landscape in Panama. | Leonard Green photo
Deforestation and Drought
It takes 50 million gallons of water per supertanker to traverse the Panama Canal. A year ago, I wrote that deforestation and drought had cut canal water levels enough to reduce normal shipping traffic to a trickle. The canal watershed provides water for both the canal and Panama City, home to over 2 million Panamanians. Without sufficient water, both international shipping and the life of the capital city are severely threatened.
Yet, between 1974 and 1991, the area lost 43% of its forest cover (World Resource Institute). It’s a familiar problem, perhaps most striking in the Amazon rainforest.
Because forests play an indispensable role in protecting the region’s hydrological health, for more than two decades the Panama Canal Authority has pursued a determined reforestation policy. It’s a complicated story, but over five million trees have been planted, covering over 25,000 acres. (It’s worth considering here, given the current news, that USAID has been an important funding source.)
Looking for a Place to Surf
I arrived in Panama 20 years ago, looking for a quiet place to surf. When I found it, my wife and I bought a corner of an old pasture. We planted trees and built a small house. There were international reforestation efforts in the region, and the ecological trend seemed positive. Groups like the Smithsonian Institute were encouraging ranchers to reforest large swathes of pastureland, creating a bio-corridor across the region and educating the local population about the economic and environmental benefits of reforestation with native trees.
A few years later, the land rush began. A rancher sold most of the coastal land fronting the local bay. “Development” began almost immediately. Mangroves, secondary growth forests, and pastureland disappeared; soil compacted construction sites replaced wetlands; riversides were dammed. The entire ecology was transformed, everything from the sand transport systems that created the bay’s breathtakingly beautiful waves to the aquifer recharge and water filtration services provided by healthy soils changed.
The results have been staggering. Wetlands, mangroves, and coastal forests mitigate flooding. Remove them and suffer the consequences. During the last rainy season, the beachfront development flooded. During dry season, winds drive dust clouds across the deforested plain, the inevitable result of a damaged soil biology. Healthy soil is sponge-like and alive with living organisms. It protects us from flooding, contaminated aquifers, polluted runoff, and lost topsoil. In the U.S., because of farming practices, we have lost over 50 billion tons of Midwest soil in the last 160 years (Smithsonian Magazine).
The unfettered growth continues, as if resources were infinite.The oceanside aquifer is relatively shallow. As development continues, saltwater intrusion becomes more likely, the result of changing hydrological pressure differences between saline and fresh water. And where does all the sewage go? Our own experience on Long Island with nitrogen and other nutrient overload provides a likely answer. We suffer from toxic algal blooms that devastate once productive shellfishing areas and close beaches every summer.
To Destroy or Restore?
The picture isn’t entirely gloomy, though. Yes, development is growing all along the coast and up the coastal hills that provide ocean views. Whole hillsides are carted off to prepare building sites. Lights shine all night, disorienting Olive Ridley turtles who nest on the beach. Nevertheless, groups like the Smithsonian Institute (STIRI) and Pro Eco Azuero are working hard to restore indigenous forests, convincing ranchers and landowners that forested land protects their livelihoods and future. During the 2024 rainy season, Pro Eco Azuero volunteers planted 25,800 trees of 76 species nearby.
This is the driest region of Panama. Forests protect our aquifers during dry seasons that can last up to 5 months a year. They preserve biodiversity, essential for pollination and seed dissemination. They create climate resilience in the face of an increasingly hot and dry future. And they protect us all, including ranchers’ livestock, from the ravages of the tropical heat.
My wife and I have covered our little lot with trees. In the tropics, shade is your friend. At night, Panamanian night monkeys (Aotus zonalis) come down the tree-lined streambed bordering our land, and they eat fruit from our trees. We are grateful.
Perhaps there’s a lesson for Long Island in this tropical story. We live above a sole-source aquifer. We have removed most of the natural systems that protect our water and provide indispensable natural services. Natural resources, however, are not infinite.
Leonard Green grew up on Long Island, spending his summers in the African-American summer community of Azurest, Sag Harbor. He now lives in East Hampton, and is a founding member of the environmental action group, Change Hampton. | www.changehampton.org
Climate Local Now is a partnership between the East End Beacon and two leaders of a grass-roots group inspired by the science of Project Drawdown to advance local climate solutions.
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