Tina Zhang
Land Competition
Environmental Degradation
Climate Change
One day, a Zen Buddhist student named Linji asked his master, Huangbo, "What is the essence of the Buddha's teaching?" Before he could even finish his question, Huangbo picked up his stick and struck him. Linji, feeling confused, asked again -- another blow. After the third strike, Linji was enlightened.
Now, imagine you’re an engineering designer for energy infrastructures. You turn to your manager and ask,
“What is the essence of an energy system?”
Before you can finish, he picks up his notebook and strikes you. After three hits, what would you come away with? Would you also be enlightened?
In the famous Zen Buddhist case, the student Linji certainly expected something other than a strike from the stick, something more conceptual: a lecture on Buddha’s teaching, references to literature and theories, and something conveyed through words. However, Huangbo shattered Linji’s habitual thinking that enlightenment is achieved through pursuing established texts and concepts by connecting him to the present moment. The strike compelled Linji to think differently.
So, what about the question of energy systems? Most of us would respond without hesitation: the purpose of energy infrastructure is to produce and deliver power—fueling homes, industries, and economies while generating profits for the company that produces the energy. It may seem obvious, but whether sourced from coal, oil, nuclear, solar, or wind, the purpose of energy infrastructure is to provide energy. But what happens when we cling too tightly to this fixed, clearly defined mental picture of energy systems?
On April 20, 2010, the Deepwater Horizon oil rig, operated by BP, exploded during the final phases of drilling in the Gulf of Mexico. The explosion resulted in the deaths of 11 workers, the spill of 10 million gallons of crude oil, massive die-offs of birds, fishes, and marine mammals, and long-term contamination of marshes and estuaries.
Contemporary energy systems are fraught with challenges that span environmental, social, and spatial dimensions. While active energy infrastructures carry ongoing risks, the remnants of traditional energy systems, such as abandoned and polluted coal mines and oil fields, leave lasting scars on the landscape. At the same time, so-called "clean" energy alternatives are not without environmental costs. For instance, hydropower dams disrupt aquatic ecosystems by impeding fish migration routes and imposing selection pressure on specific traits of fishes, wind farms pose threats to avian species, and solar panels face significant recycling challenges at the end of their lifecycle.
Furthermore, as global energy demand continues to rise, the infrastructure required for energy production occupies increasingly large tracts of land, often creating competition for valuable resources. For instance, a UK study highlights that both the short-term goals of the UK Bioenergy Strategy and the long-term bioenergy projections in the Carbon Plan are likely to lead to substantial land-use conflicts with agriculture, housing, conservation, etc.
However, landscape degradation, biodiversity loss, public health hazards, and threats to society are merely symptoms of our inability to transcend a narrow perception of energy systems: they are isolated, linearly operated, limited to a single purpose, and centered solely on human needs. Like Linji before he was struck by the stick, we expect the essence to reside within established structures and familiar logic, blind to the possibility that energy systems—like Zen teachings—can embody something far more fluid, integrated, and transformative.
There are already cases that begin to transcend traditional boundaries. In Huainan, Anhui Province, China, a depleted coal mine experienced ground subsidence -- gradual or sudden sinking of the Earth's surface due to the collapse of underground voids left behind after coal extraction-- and rising groundwater level. This led to the formation of a lake which flooded the mining site, as well as nearby villages and farmlands. Depleted and flooded coal mines are common across China and the world, and they are often left ignored or, at best, minimally rehabilitated with surface vegetation and topsoil. The land is treated as spent, a byproduct of linear, single-use infrastructure thinking.
However, in Huainan, the detrimental event became a trigger for innovation: the energy company built a floating solar farm on top of the lake, readapting a depleted energy site into a renewable energy hub, covering approximately 1,300 acres and generating 200,000 kilowatts of clean electricity. A cycle began to form as a former energy site returned to producing clean and future-facing energy .
Yet, more can be done. How can the readapted Huainan coalfields continue to challenge the habitual boundary of energy infrastructures? The label of "energy infrastructure" often constrains our thinking, limiting us to designs that focus solely on energy production, but the floating solar farm also has the possibility to be multifunctional. For instance, given that the floating solar panels are situated on a lake, why not integrate fish farming beneath them? This approach would not only maximize the efficient use of space but also create an additional revenue stream for the company. In fact, there are already successful examples of combining solar farms with aquaculture, demonstrating that energy infrastructure can serve more than one purpose.
The floating solar farm can also actively contribute to ecological restoration. Imagine integrating wetlands around these solar panel sites could mitigate flooding, buffer extreme weather events driven by climate change, and protect nearby communities. The energy generated by the floating solar farm could power sensors and monitoring equipment essential for managing and sustaining the wetland ecosystem. Traditionally, energy systems are built with a dualist mindset—energy over here, nature over there. This separation is precisely why they so often disrupt ecosystems and harm wildlife. Integrating energy infrastructure into its surrounding environment requires more than just technical innovation; it calls for the cultivation of a more integrated way of thinking—one that sees energy and ecology as mutually supportive and deeply interconnected.
In the Huainan coalfields’ case, the flooding event is like a master's strike, prompting us to think beyond the boundaries. When environmental crises strike, they often bring pain—sometimes a necessary spark for deeper understanding. But when these awakening events become life-threatening, we must question whether the insights they provide justify their destructive cost.
Consider climate change: how severe must a catalyzing disaster be before human society recognizes the true urgency and takes meaningful action? What happens when the awakening moment isn't just a flooded coal mine but an entirely submerged city or vanished coastline? Relying on catastrophes to motivate ecological restoration creates a dangerous pattern—we wait for destruction before responding.
The real challenge lies not in waiting for disasters to force our hand, but in developing the foresight and adaptability to shift our perspective and act preemptively. The most sustainable path forward requires us to recognize warning signs early and respond before the teaching moment becomes a tragedy.
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