Fifty years ago, Rachel Carson published Silent Spring, a stunning revelation of the death of swaths of birds and insects that had been poisoned by pesticides in farmers' fields. Half a century on, a fast-growing group of scientists, politicians and campaigners fear a second, more subtle silent spring is killing the bees and other insects that pollinate one-third of everything we eat.
On Wednesday, executives from the agrochemical giants that make insecticides face a public grilling from MPs over accusations of secrecy and out-of-date rules that are failing to protect nature. They are certain to fight back, saying that the crop protection offered by the multibillion dollar industry is vital in producing cheap, plentiful food and that the science remains uncertain. Both sides accuse the other of scaremongering, but with the European authorities accepting that current "simplistic" regulations contain "major weaknesses" and the UK government being forced to accelerate its deliberations, the debate has reached a crucial point.








The scrubby desert outside Port Augusta, three hours from Adelaide, is not the kind of countryside you see in Australian tourist brochures. The backdrop to an area of coal-fired power stations, lead smelting and mining, the coastal landscape is spiked with saltbush that can live on a trickle of brackish seawater seeping up through the arid soil. Poisonous king brown snakes, redback spiders, the odd kangaroo and emu are seen occasionally, flies constantly. When the local landowners who graze a few sheep here get a chance to sell some of this crummy real estate they jump at it, even for bottom dollar, because the only real natural resource in these parts is sunshine.
As US cornfields withered in drought conditions last summer, Brazil's once empty Cerrado region produced a bumper crop of the grain, helping feed livestock on US farms and ease a drought-related spike in prices.
Canada's multimillion dollar proposal to cull grey seals will not bring back the ravaged stocks of Atlantic cod it is intended to help, scientists have said.
The laughter coming from diners in a corner of Kenji Suzuki's restaurant is flowing as effortlessly as the beer. The chatter cuts through the steam drifting from a nabe, or hotpot, in the centre of the table. There is talk of work, and praise for the chicken, vegetables and tofu being transferred to bowls from the bubbling stock.