Illegal waste dumping in the UK is no longer a marginal nuisance. It is increasingly operating at an industrial scale, with serious consequences.

The reported dumping of around 30,000 tonnes of waste at a protected site of special scientific interest in Leicestershire is one recent example of how severe the problem has become. Similar concerns have emerged recently at the large illegal waste site near Kidlington, Oxfordshire, where shredded mixed waste was deposited close to waterways. These are signs of a broader waste-crime economy that is damaging land, water and communities while shifting the bill onto the public.

The House of Lords environment and climate change committee estimated that waste crime costs the UK economy about £1 billion a year.

Part of the problem is that by the time large fly-tipping sites are discovered, it can be difficult to identify the original source.

This is where digital technology and geospatial intelligence are becoming increasingly important.

My ongoing research focuses on exactly this problem: mapping and characterising uncontrolled waste disposal sites worldwide, and using satellite data, geospatial intelligence and AI to identify where they are, how large they are and what risks they pose to nearby people and ecosystems. The principle is simple: you cannot manage what you cannot measure. If waste crime is going to be tackled properly, the sites have to be found first.

Satellite imagery and remote sensing now allow researchers and regulators to monitor land-use change, detect unusual waste accumulations, and identify environmental risks at scales impossible through traditional inspections alone, as demonstrated by recent work using satellite imagery and AI to identify dumpsites in 28 cities.

How would it work?

Drones can provide high-resolution imagery of suspect sites, while AI systems can analyse patterns and flag high-risk activity quickly. To do this, they will build on advances in waste-site detection from aerial and satellite imagery.

Thermal imaging and technologies to detect methane can also identify emissions from decomposing waste that would otherwise remain invisible. Recent studies show the growing capability of satellite-based methane monitoring to identify major emission sources and help create more effective waste-sector policies.

These tools are especially valuable because most large illegal waste sites do not appear overnight. They grow gradually over months or years, so earlier detection creates an opportunity to get on top of the problem before environmental damage escalates.

While these technologies are not usually sufficient on their own to identify individual offenders, they can provide evidence of when and where illegal dumping occurs, help authorities monitor sites over time, and support targeted investigations and enforcement actions. Their value is often in enabling earlier intervention.

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Read more: Dirty gold: the fly-tipping gangs costing councils millions – and how you can help

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The UK government is due to launch a digital waste tracking service in October 2026, replacing outdated paper-based systems with real-time digital reporting.

Official waste operators will then have to create records of receipt of waste, or face fines. If implemented effectively, the system could improve traceability across the waste chain and make it far harder for waste to disappear into illegal sites unnoticed. The government is already starting to use drones to help track down waste dumpers.

How big is the problem?

Local authorities in England dealt with 1.26 million fly-tipping incidents in 2024-25, a 9% increase from the previous year. However, the total number of court fines decreased by 9% over the same period.

Analysis reported by the Guardian suggested the UK may now have around 8,000 illegal waste sites and those that dumped the waste have avoided about £1.63 billion in landfill tax.

Globally, a report from the UN Environmental Programme estimated the hidden costs of uncontrolled waste disposal reached US$243.3 billion (£181 billion) worldwide in 2020.

The environmental damage depends on quantity, composition, location and how long waste remains in place. Illegal sites often contain mixed household rubbish, plastics, construction debris, shredded material, and sometimes hazardous waste. As this material degrades, it can cause damage to water, soil, air and possibly human health, preliminary research suggests.

Without impermeable barriers or drainage, polluted leachate (contaminated liquid generated by waste) can move into soils, rivers and groundwater. There’s considerable risk in floodplains and other sensitive areas, where heavy rain can carry pollution further and faster.

What are the problems caused by dumps?

Illegal dumps can also attract pests and other disease carriers, creating public health concerns, disturbing habitats and harming wildlife. Animals may ingest plastics and other harmful materials, while the wind can spread shredded waste across nearby land.

In some cases, waste can catch fire, releasing smoke and fine particulates into the air. In addition, when organic waste decomposes in the absence of oxygen, it produces methane, a potent greenhouse gas.

The economic cost is equally severe. Cleaning up major illegal dumpsites is technically difficult and extraordinarily expensive. Authorities must map the site, assess contamination risks, identify hazardous materials, secure the area, and safely remove and process the waste.

In sensitive locations such as river corridors or floodplains, sorting out the problem becomes even more complex. The Environment Agency has warned that clearing the Oxfordshire site could cost over £7 million.

The obvious question is why this keeps happening. Part of the answer is economic. Proper waste disposal is expensive, while illegal dumping can generate large profits for individuals by illegally avoiding landfill taxes and compliance costs.

Waste also moves through fragmented supply chains involving brokers, subcontractors, carriers and temporary operators, making accountability difficult. Historically, waste tracking in the UK has relied heavily on paper documentation, creating opportunities for fraud, falsified records and waste simply “disappearing” from the system.

What next?

Technology alone, however, is not enough. Better monitoring must be combined with stronger enforcement, improved coordination between agencies, clearer accountability across supply chains, and meaningful penalties that outweigh the financial incentives of illegal dumping.

Illegal waste is not simply a waste-management issue. It is an environmental, economic and public-health issue. Allowing industrial-scale dumping to become normalised would shift enormous long-term costs onto society, ecosystems, and future generations.

Prevention, transparency and early detection are ultimately far cheaper and far less damaging than attempting to clean up after the damage has already been done.

Amani Maalouf receives funding from the UK Research and Innovation (UKRI) Digital Research Infrastructure programme, administered by the Natural Environment Research Council (NERC) on behalf of UKRI.

The effective collapse of the Future Combat Air System (FCAS) fighter jet programme is a major setback for European defence cooperation.

France, Germany and Spain have spent nearly a decade trying to develop what was intended to become Europe’s premier next-generation combat aircraft, only for the programme to succumb to disputes over leadership, the distribution of work and intellectual property.

Yet Europeans shouldn’t be surprised. The history of European combat aviation is littered with programmes that struggled under the weight of competing national ambitions. In this respect, FCAS looks less like an extraordinary failure than the latest chapter in a recurring story.

The more important question is not why FCAS has run into trouble, but rather what its collapse reveals about Europe’s ability to generate and sustain the military capabilities it will need in a more dangerous world.

Adversaries are now investing heavily in integrated and layered air defences encompassing long-range missiles, electronic warfare capabilities and increasingly sophisticated sensors. Maintaining the ability to penetrate defended airspace in future conflicts will require a step change in capability.

FCAS was conceived as a “sixth-generation” combat system – the latest leap in fighter jet technology – to overcome this contested air environment. At its centre would sit a new combat aircraft, supported by autonomous drones, advanced sensors, electronic warfare systems and a digital network linking everything together from the 2040s.

The challenge is that such programmes are becoming extraordinarily expensive to develop. By sharing costs, expertise and industrial capacity, European governments hope to achieve capabilities that would otherwise be beyond their reach.

Reality check

Despite the perceived commonalities, the FCAS nations – France and Germany in particular – had very different objectives.

For France, the project was never simply about replacing its Rafale fighter jet. Any successor aircraft would eventually have to support the airborne component of France’s nuclear deterrent, operate from its aircraft carrier, and preserve sovereign industrial capabilities – specifically the ability to independently design and build advanced combat aircraft. The insistence by France on design leadership for FCAS therefore reflected concerns about national autonomy, even if portrayed as industrial obstinacy.

Meanwhile Germany, represented by the aerospace giant Airbus, had little interest in financing a programme that was likely to concentrate Europe’s most valuable expertise, intellectual property and design authority in Dassault, the French aerospace company, for decades to come.

These tensions are hardly new. In the 1960s, Britain and France attempted to build the Anglo-French Variable Geometry aircraft. But France’s withdrawal in 1967, for similar reasons to FCAS, led to the project’s collapse.

Other joint European projects have succeeded. For instance, the Panavia Tornado. And in the 1980s, the Eurofighter consortium was developed. This time, despite France withdrawing (to produce the Rafale), the UK, Germany and Italy proceeded (with Spain later joining) with what would become the Eurofighter Typhoon.

Reliance on America

For decades, therefore, European collaborative programmes have been expected to do several things at once: deliver military capability and sustain national industries while strengthening diplomatic relationships or at least not upsetting them.

That may have been a manageable compromise when Europe’s security was underwritten by the United States and the threat from Russian appeared contained. It is far harder to justify when European governments are warning that the continent must rearm.

The challenge is compounded by the changing relationship between governments and industry. Unlike Airbus, which remains partly state-owned, Dassault is controlled by the family that bears its name.

This reflects a broader trend of European governments often exercising less influence over major defence firms than they did during the cold war, when state ownership and greater industrial competition gave them more leverage. This is to say nothing of the tech firms increasingly fundamental to military capability.

That matters because armed forces are built over decades, not electoral cycles. If European governments struggle to mobilise industry to meet their defence requirements, they may find themselves confronting capability gaps at precisely the moment they are trying to deter aggression.

Germany’s defence minister, Boris Pistorious, has already outlined three alternatives to FCAS. The first and simplest is to buy more F-35s from the US. But this would fall short of Germany’s requirements while also deepening dependence on the US – something European nations are keen to avoid.

The second option is to join another collaboration, most likely the UK-Italian-Japanese effort to build a sixth-generation fighter, called the Global Combat Air Programme (GCAP). Germany’s growing defence budget could provide the project with additional funding and a larger order book. But it would also raise questions about influence.

If Berlin rejected a subordinate role within FCAS, it is unlikely to accept one within GCAP. Existing partners may therefore conclude that the benefits of expansion are outweighed by the risks of delay to a programme targeting entry into service by 2035.

The third option is a German-led effort, being discussed through the proposed Team Gen 6 industrial grouping – an Airbus-led alliance of eight defence firms. This would solve industry concerns, preserve German design ambitions and might allow Berlin to build a coalition with other partners, such as Spain and Sweden.

But it could be prohibitively expensive, risky, and by further fragmenting Europe’s already crowded combat aircraft landscape, reduce the viability of all the existing programmes. France faces similarly difficult choices. It can pursue a national successor to Rafale, preserving control over industrial, nuclear and carrier requirements but accepting substantial costs. Or it could seek a revised collaborative framework.

In the meantime, both French president Emmanuel Macron and Germany’s chancellor Friedrich Merz have made clear that other opportunities for collaboration exist, such as the drones intended to support the FCAS fighter jet, or the main aircraft’s engine.

The experience of FCAS is not that Europe cannot cooperate. History shows otherwise, and GCAP may yet again demonstrate that a pragmatic coalition can succeed where a more politically ambitious partnership failed.

What FCAS does reveal, however, is a growing mismatch between Europe’s security environment, the way it continues to procure defence equipment and the costs involved. The recent resignation of Britain’s defence secretary, John Healey, amid disputes over defence funding, points to the same problem.

European governments increasingly agree on the threats they face, but remain “unwilling” to make the financial and political compromises required to address them. That should concern us all.

Arun Dawson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.