It's time to reset our relationship with nature and each other

I choose to visit a local park. At first, I get stuck on how to pronoun a squirrel. I give up. “Hello friend,” I say and this comes easily enough. I need to branch out. “Hello friend,” I say to the rain. “Thank you for dropping by.”

As a stretch, Crawley encourages us to ask permission – silently, thoughtfully – before harvesting, pulling plants or digging. This enriches the conversation: “Hello friend, may I prune your branches? May I transplant you into this larger pot?”

I should feel ridiculous, but after a week of greeting spiders and talking to house plants, it feels good to hang with nature.  

Growing up in the 1980s, I was taught that fish had no feelings, just nerves. That nature was so big you could never meaningfully pollute it. That the supply of fresh water was endless and circular. That you had to hit a dog to make it understand. It was considered sentimental, egocentric and anthropomorphic to believe that animals had feelings.

It was only in university, when a friend’s dog was prescribed Prozac and therapy to overcome trauma after a car accident, that a vet explained to me how mammal brains are very similar. It turns out that fish have feelings too. They’ve even passed the self-recognition test. Given a mirror, fish turned their bodies to view a mark drawn on their throats, then tried to rub it off. Humans only do this around the age of two.

What is it that I feel when I call nature my friend? I believe it’s a relief. To be in relationship with the land is not to be responsible for it. It’s a small but powerful shift, from dominion to mutual respect. “Hello river, sorry about the pollution,” I say. The implication of the exercise is obvious: I wouldn’t pump sewage into a friend. Heck, I wouldn’t pump sewage into my enemy.

In the UK, a nation of animal lovers, the notion of mammals as friends comes easily. It’s long been reported that people in the UK are more likely to give a charitable donation towards animal welfare over causes such as children or medical research. Put a critter on a wine bottle, and it’s twice as likely to sell.

Our collective relationship to rivers, lakes and the sea is passionate too. The outrage over water pollution manifests that. While we may not count rivers among our friends, we do stick up for them. 

Grief over the felling of the Sycamore Gap Tree and urban trees in Plymouth and Sheffield shows the depth of feeling for these silent friends too. There are many committed Lorax among us, speaking for the trees.

As for soil, we are nowhere near that level of conscious connection. We have reason to be, as Dan Matthews, Civic Earth, writes in a recent article: “Soil harbours 58 per cent of the planet’s biodiversity – a teaspoon of soil contains more living organisms than there are people on earth.”

What if we treated the soil as a friend? It would at least be considered as part of the Biodiversity Net Gain (BNG) calculation.

That brings us to the building site. While this friendship is a touch bureaucratic and box-ticky, BNG and its Preliminary Ecological Appraisal feel like a meaningful first date between the land and the property industry. We name the trees, make a note of all friends and relations on site and consider the state of their habitats, rating them as good, moderate or poor, with a view to helping them out. 

Finally, what about people? I don’t think it can be said that we routinely treat residents, their neighbours or indeed Nimbys as friends or loved ones. At Grenfell, it was clear that tenants were not treated by the council, consultants or manufacturers with empathy and respect. Friends don’t let friends live in flammable buildings. 

Friends also don’t let friends live in overcrowded, damp homes or indeed places at risk of severe flooding. Friends don’t let friends’ houses fall into the sea. Friends don’t let friends go hungry. Perhaps our greatest challenge is not our relationship to the land, but to each other.

Flood defences and public spaces seem particularly good at delivering on multiple fronts: reducing flood risk, enhancing biodiversity, improving water and air quality, mitigating the urban heat island effect and bringing people together. Other projects prove more challenging. How can we protect all our friends and relations from climate breakdown, be they plant, animal, friend or even Not In My Back Yard.  

A new question then: How might we design, engage or develop differently if the housing we built was inhabited by a loved one? Would we engage any differently if a relative lived next door? In community consultation, do we treat participants as friends?

Our social fabric is woven from what is considered acceptable behaviour. There is power in shifting perspective. 

Christine Murray is founding editor-in-chief of The Developer and founding director of the Festival of Place. Murray has been granted honorary fellowships from the RIBA and The Royal Incorporation of Architects in Scotland for her contribution to architecture through criticism, journalism and equality campaigns. In 2024, she received an award from the International Building Press for her Outstanding Contribution to the Profession in the field of built environment journalism.