Initial analysis of satellite imagery and reports from the Nepalese government indicate that the flooding was likely triggered by a landslide caused after a piece of a glacier fell hundreds of feet.

As the region warms, its ice is becoming increasingly unstable, raising the risk of catastrophic flooding.

“The glaciers over there are definitely in retreat,” said Joseph Shea, an associate professor of geography at the University of Northern British Columbia. “There’s a lot of glacier mass up there, but we’re seeing thinning, we’re seeing retreating.”

Since 2000, the world’s glaciers have lost 5 percent of their ice, with much more drastic impacts in certain regions. Nepal’s glaciers lost nearly a quarter of their area between 1970 and 2010. More than 160 smaller glaciers in the country, research has found, have vanished entirely.

Read Next

Scientists race to decode data from Europe’s vanishing glaciers

Matt Simon

A recent study finds that 40 percent of the world’s glacial ice could disappear if the world does not keep warming under 1.5 degrees Celsius.

The impacts of warming on glaciers in Nepal can cause cascading effects. Shea pointed out that retreating glaciers can help trigger landslides as they get smaller and can no longer hold back sediment. As these glaciers retreat, many are leaving large, dammed lakes at higher elevations. “If you have a landslide suddenly into a lake, you get an overtopping of the dam, and then the whole thing can collapse catastrophically,” Shea said. Known as glacial lake outburst floods, two of these events hit Nepal last year, and research shows millions are living in harms way around the world.

Wednesday’s disaster was more likely due to a glacial collapse that fell into the valley below. Daniel Shugar, a geologist at the University of Calgary in Canada, told The New York Times that satellite imagery suggested that a 2,000-foot-wide piece of ice may have fallen almost 4,000 feet, “[pulverizing] the ice into water” with the force of its fall. And while Shugar emphasized that it was still too early to make conclusive statements about the cause of the floods, he noted to Reuters that snow that was present on the glacier earlier in the week may have melted due to warm temperatures.

The collapse and debris flow were so large and forceful, they registered as a magnitude 5.2 seismic event, according the U.S. Geological Survey.

Glaciers elsewhere have broken apart with destructive results. That includes the collapse of a Swiss glacier last year that buried a town while on a smaller scale, a glacier collapse in Italy in 2022 killed 11 mountaineers. Both were linked with rising temperatures.

There’s a lot of factors in a warming world, Shea said, that can play on each other to destabilize glaciers.

“It’s summertime,” he said. “There’s lots of warming, lots of melt happening, lots of water around. There’s also things like alpine permafrost thaws: the ground temperatures warm up, and big blocks and chunks that would have been frozen in place are now suddenly becoming mobile.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How rising temperatures likely contributed to Nepal’s deadly flood on Aug 29, 2026.

When the federal government’s new management plan for the river was announced earlier this month, most observers thought Arizona, which stands to take the largest immediate cuts, would launch the first lawsuit over the plan’s implications for its water supplies. So it came as a surprise to many Colorado River experts when Nevada became the first to sue the federal government over the plan this week.

“I expected that there would be litigation, but it was surprising to me that Nevada fired the first shot,” said Anne Castle, former chair of the Upper Colorado River Commission,

Nevada’s lawsuit comes after more than two years of negotiations among the seven Colorado River states and the federal government over how to reduce water use on the declining river. The states failed to reach a long-term agreement before the river’s current management procedures expire in October, leaving the Interior Department to impose its own plan. The federal government’s plan largely relies on cuts to water use among the Lower Basin states — Arizona, Nevada, and California — to prop up water levels in the river’s largest reservoirs. Those reservoirs have been draining so quickly that the dwindling water depth could threaten hydropower and dam operations within months without intervention. 

Nevada argues that the federal government’s plan illegally forces it to take too much of those cuts. In a worst-case scenario, the plan could allow for a 71 percent cut to the Las Vegas area’s water supply, the state argued, calling it an unacceptable risk to the state’s largest population center and economic hub. Nevada believes this outcome results from a misreading of the law and also claims the government didn’t consider important alternatives to such drastic cuts.

This worst-case scenario, which experts say is an interpretation of the plan’s implications by Nevada, would become possible if reservoir levels continue to drop and if Nevada couldn’t reach an agreement with Arizona and California to help it absorb more of those cuts. Those three states already have such an agreement, which is incorporated into the federal plan and meant to last through 2028, at which point the plan allows the states to update the operations with a new agreement. Without an agreement, the federal government will implement cuts based on preexisting water rights and agreements, cutting the most from Arizona and leaning increasingly on Nevada and California as potential shortages increase. The plan was created through a decision-making process required under the National Environmental Policy Act, or NEPA, which mandates that federal agencies gather public input and consider environmental and socioeconomic impacts of major decisions.

Read Next

The Colorado River is vanishing — and the fixes are getting weird

Jake Bittle

At first glance, the lawsuit seems like a departure from Nevada’s long-standing posture as the river’s conciliator, advocating consensus among the river basin’s seven states and 30 tribes, which hold vast water rights but are not formal members of interstate negotiations. John Entsminger, the state’s negotiator on the river, has repeatedly portrayed compromise as the state’s preferred path, telling a Las Vegas water conference just a week before the lawsuit that negotiation and cooperation were the state’s “first, second, and third choice.” 

But Nevada has consistently paired its call for consensus with a warning that it would defend its water if negotiations failed, and the state’s case seems less surprising in light of the drastic cuts it claims are possible under the federal plan. Unlike other states, Nevada sends its Colorado River water almost entirely to urban areas. That means cuts fall directly on the Las Vegas area, while other states can cushion the blow by fallowing agricultural fields.

“There is an absurdity to a plan that would require Las Vegas to cut 71 percent. That’s existential. Of course Nevada sued,” wrote John Fleck, water expert and author in residence at the University of New Mexico’s Utton Center, in a recent blog post. 

The lawsuit can also be read as a continuation of Nevada’s advocacy for consensus among the basin states and tribes. With the states unable to reach a long-term agreement and the federal government moving ahead with its own plan, Nevada is now using a different tool to make the same basic argument: that a federal decision without full buy-in from all the states can’t accommodate all their needs and find the innovative solution needed to manage the river.

Nevada argues in its suit that the legally required decision-making process that led to the federal plan failed to account for economic consequences to the Las Vegas area or consider creative alternatives to such drastic water cuts, such as changes to the structure of Glen Canyon Dam. Nevadans argue the process was too narrow and failed to consider solutions that would have avoided such massive theoretical water shortages in a major metropolitan area.

“Nobody can deny that the federal government did a ton of modeling and scenario analyses, but in terms of where the rubber meets the road, what were all the inputs, and what were some of the other analyses that could have been done?” said Kyle Roerink, former director of the Great Basin Water Network, an advocacy group for rural Nevada water resources.

How a court will see that issue has become complicated in the wake of a series of Supreme Court cases that reshaped the federal government’s responsibilities when conducting reviews under NEPA, especially with decisions that involve large, multifaceted infrastructure systems.

The suit, experts say, isn’t the cannonball-splash Colorado River experts have feared for years. That case, in which Arizona challenges the Upper Basin states — Colorado, New Mexico, Utah, and Wyoming — on whether they have met their obligations under the 1922 Colorado River Compact, may still materialize. Such a case could force judges to determine fundamental questions about who bears responsibility for the river’s decline. The resulting court battle could last years and remove states’ control over the fate of the river. Castle describes this scenario as where the “really big risks are.” 

Still, Nevada’s lawsuit has cast uncertainty over the river’s near-term operations. Nevada hasn’t yet asked for an immediate restraining order against the federal government, which would request that a judge immediately vacate the plan. But if the state convinces a court to rule against the federal plan, it could throw a wrench in the initial two-year arrangement that was expected to keep Lower Basin states afloat in the near future. 

“We are disappointed to see Nevada filing suit here, and are concerned about what the ramifications will be for the operations plans in 2027 and potentially 2028,” said Jay Weiner in an interview, speaking in his capacity as counsel for the Fort Yuma Quechan Indian Tribe, a senior water rights holder along the Colorado River in Arizona and California.

But experts agree this move, and even a theoretical Arizona suit, don’t strike a death knell for collaboration and negotiation on the river. States in the lower part of the basin may still negotiate regular arrangements to share shortages while litigation proceeds, while the possibility of a full seven-state agreement remains possible if negotiations resume.

Speaking at the Paris Las Vegas casino during the Colorado River Water Users’ Association conference in 2024, Navajo Nation Chief Counsel Bidtah Becker reminded the audience that water litigation and negotiation are not mutually exclusive: “You can get along and argue at the same time, and you develop long-term relationships through that.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Nevada preached peace on the Colorado River. Now it’s suing to protect its water. on Aug 28, 2026.

Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro recently announced a moratorium on “any AI data center that does not bring, develop, and pay for their own power,” citing electricity costs in a post announcing the move on Instagram. Texas Governor Greg Abbott blocked new data centers from connecting to the state’s power grid. A drumbeat of calls for data centers to make their own power has been sounding for months among regulators, consumer advocates, and other stakeholders. Proponents of this approach argue it will shield utility ratepayers from data center costs. And it might.

But new guidance from the Environmental Protection Agency about “islanded” power plants — those built to serve a single facility rather than the electricity grid — shows there aren’t as many reliable safeguards against the environmental and climate impacts. The EPA published guidance last month clarifying that the Clean Air Act’s Acid Rain Program “does not apply to power generation facilities that are not connected in any way to the larger electricity grid.” It’s part of a broader effort, experts said, to loosen regulations for data centers and the power plants built to serve them.

The Acid Rain Program is just one component of the complex federal air pollution law, which can require one facility to obtain numerous Clean Air Act permits, according to Mindy Goldstein, director of Emory Law School’s environmental law program. Exempting islanded power plants from the acid rain provisions means one fewer permit that independent power plants built for data centers need to obtain, though the EPA’s guidance and several experts contend such plants were never covered by the program.

In 1990, the Acid Rain Program was added to the Clean Air Act to address the emissions of sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxide from large power plants. From the beginning, the program applied only to utility power plants, or those producing electricity for sale primarily for use by the public. It largely captured coal plants that were old enough to have avoided other Clean Air Act regulations, according to University of Texas energy law and politics professor David Spence. Newer gas plants that were already subject to the rest of the Clean Air Act joined later.

Compliance with the Acid Rain Program requires power plants to continuously monitor their emissions and report that data — something, Goldstein said, that states can’t mandate outside of the Acid Rain Program or another program that applies in fewer states. The monitoring inherent to the program has worked; sulfur dioxide and nitrogen oxide emissions from power generation have dropped significantly since the ’90s. 

Read Next

Trump just killed the EPA’s ability to fight climate change. It may backfire.

Jake Bittle

“The anchor of the Clean Air Act is a set of programs that are, in the end, the responsibility of states and counties to implement targeting that local pollution,” said Joe Goffman, a former EPA official who’s now with the Environmental Protection Network. “Local regulators will have to decide, and communities will have to ultimately demand, some kind of system that reveals what the emissions profile of these things are.”

Now, following the EPA’s guidance, state agencies have lost one of their most reliable tools to gauge the impact of these data center power plants.

The dedicated data center power plants now being proposed and built come as the entire electric utility sector races to adjust to a new reality. After years of fairly steady demand, the advent of generative artificial intelligence and the hyperscale data centers that run it presented the electricity industry with massive projected load growth for the first time in decades. It’s shifted the trajectory of an industry that was trending away from fossil fuels.

“For a long time, we just didn’t have anybody building gas plants at all because wind and solar are cheaper,” Spence said. “Then along came data centers with their incredibly large demands for power that has to be 24-7 and a lot of money to spend on these things.”

OpenAI has announced a 9.2-gigawatt natural gas plant, to be built by the U.S. Energy Department, at the site of a data center in Ohio. In Texas, Amazon is planning a 7.65-gigawatt gas plant and Nexus has proposed a 6-gigawatt plant. These projects would be some of the largest power plants of any type in the country, but smaller plants are cropping up, too. The EPA’s guidance on islanded power plants cites a 500-megawatt natural gas plant being proposed for an unspecified data center. Microgrid developer VoltaGrid has applied for a permit to build a 90-megawatt facility in Georgia to power a Serverfarm data center.

It will be up to state environmental agencies to issue permits for these projects. Though Goldstein stressed that EPA’s guidance is only that — it’s not a binding rule. State regulators can still do more than the minimum that federal rules demand.

In a statement, the EPA said the Acid Rain Program guidance “expands opportunities for companies to develop and operate islanded power generation facilities for data centers. This will give developers greater flexibility in where and how quickly they can build new facilities while helping to protect the environment and reducing burdens on communities’ electric grid.”

EPA has also proposed a more formal rule change that would further streamline the permitting process for data centers and power plants alike. Under that proposal, new pollution sources classified as “minor” would no longer require public notice and comment before permits are issued.

“The proposal also does not demand that states make particular revisions to their programs and does not alter emission standards or weaken environmental protections,” the agency said in a statement. “This approach is intended to reduce administrative burden and responsibly speed up permitting, supporting American economic development and energy dominance.”

That change, if implemented, would apply to any new power plant classified as “minor” rather than only islanded ones. But the overall trend of federal policy adds up, Goldstein said.

“This is a piecemeal approach to trying to clear the way for data center siting and for the siting of corresponding electric generating units,” she said. “It seems like a continuous knockdown of dominoes to clear the way for these data centers, and they’re leaving states and communities to hold it back.”

Some plants being built to serve data centers, meanwhile, are trying to skirt even local permitting. 

VoltaGrid and Serverfarm applied for state permits for their proposed power plant and backup generators in Georgia, but the Georgia Environmental Protection Division recently issued violation notices to both companies for beginning construction before getting those permits. A lawsuit by the NAACP alleges that xAI did not even apply for permits before building a 495-megawatt power plant in Mississippi to power a data center in Memphis, Tennessee. 

Within the broader context of the utility sector’s race to meet data center demand with fossil fuels, the rash of non-grid gas plants that fall outside some of the regulatory and environmental controls in place for grid-connected plants may raise some eyebrows — though Spence believes it’s unlikely to do more than that in the current political climate.

“If AI had been invented in 1975, all of this growth would have been regulated because politics of regulation was starkly different then than it is now,” he said. “The partisan environment in Congress is not conducive to regulating this explosive growth.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline The rush to power data centers is weakening the Clean Air Act on Aug 28, 2026.

Dear Leslie,

I have been working in sustainability for over 24 years. I’m tired, demoralized, feeling pretty beaten. I try to live by the motto that you only fail when you stop — but with a heavy heart I feel I’m nearly at the point of giving up. Do I give up, and say I tried? Or how do I continue trying in a world that I have little influence or control over?

 —An Exhausted Specialist

I’m 31, and I know more about climate change than anyone I work with. Twice now I’ve driven to a neighborhood canvassing event and left without getting out of the car. The only way I can explain it is that I’ve started to believe that nothing I do could make the slightest dent in the immensity of the planetary crisis. It sounds true when I say it out loud, but I can’t tell if it’s clarity or just fear dressed up as reasoning.

—Frozen Activist

Dear Exhausted Specialist and Frozen Activist,

You’re arriving at the same boulder from opposite directions: One of you has been pushing against it for 24 years with shaking arms, and the other has backed off because you’ve decided that you can’t possibly budge it. And I get it. It’s painful to track worsening climate impacts knowing that they were coming, and to then assume the burden of failure.

What I see in common with your struggles is a belief that you need to be equal to the scale of the crisis. What I would offer you instead is the reality is that none of us can do it alone, and when we try, we’re on the road to burnout. 

Ask a Climate Therapist tackles your questions about how to navigate the emotional side of climate change, with leading climate-aware therapist Leslie Davenport. Have a question? Ask it here!

Cultural shifts happen through collective efforts that don’t always arrive in a straight line, and can be hard to see from our limited individual vantage points. Slow progress in your corner of the work isn’t a fair measure of what’s being done throughout the system; that requires a group mindset, not an individual one. 

Think about what it takes to restore a wetland, pass a new policy, retire a coal plant — these things can take years of unseen groundwork before anything tangible changes. 

But when we put the blame on ourselves as individuals for society’s slow pace of progress, we feel overwhelmed, and then our brains start working overtime to prevent that. That’s what leads to reactions like freezing (Frozen), or walking away (Exhausted), or even intellectualizing until the bad feelings fade.

Your part in this transformation was never about matching the magnitude of the problem: It’s about finding a way to stay in it that’s personally sustainable. Your effort matters, even though it’s never going to be enough on its own — and you can carry that tension without letting it flatten you. Learning to live with the not-knowing, the incompleteness, the years without a clean resolution, is an essential part of the work, too.

There’s a practice I like to use that helps you hold that tension without asking one feeling to cancel out the other. It’s called “Even As.” Make a statement naming the harder truth first, then follow it with one that’s also true, like in the examples below. 

“I’m exhausted by 24 years of pushing, even as I still feel needed in this work.”
“I’m afraid to start participating, even as I feel pulled to take a first step.”
“I’m frustrated by the limits of my capacity, even as I recognize that I’m not alone in this work.”

Try writing a few “Even As” statements of your own. Take a moment to notice what feeling is most present for you right now, and start the sentence that way. Then consider what else may be true. You don’t have to try to reconcile the conflicting feelings.

Burnout often feels like you’re pinned between two polarized choices — push harder or give up. Naming both truths with “Even As” eases that pressure. It can also help you look up from the pain points you’re feeling as an individual and reconnect with the broader mission that you are one part of. 

Take the third example above. It opens up a larger view that includes collective effort, so you’re not carrying the exhausting weight alone. What if your focus was less on the boulder and more on the flow of the river wearing away the stones? A river is a mighty force made up of many drops of water, and it ebbs and flows. Try taking a friend canvassing with you; let a colleague join something you’ve been spearheading; sit in on a new climate group’s meeting and listen to what’s being built. Before you know it, your doubts just may be overpowered by your satisfaction in doing your part in the great work that lies ahead of us — and you may discover pockets of progress you couldn’t see before. 

In this with you,
Leslie

P.S. If the “Even As” exercise resonates with you, find it and more in my new book Transforming Climate Anxiety.

I’m Leslie Davenport, a licensed therapist, educator, speaker, consultant, and internationally recognized voice on the emotional and psychological dimensions of climate change. If you’ve got a question about climate and mental health, please consider submitting it for a future column.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline How to deal with burnout on a burning planet on Aug 28, 2026.

In just a few days, strong winds carried the flames of the Hawk Fire more than 23 miles, placing some 90,000 people on evacuation notice as dense smoke and orange skies blanketed the city. By Wednesday, dozens of houses had been destroyed. Two weeks earlier, the Bug Fire burned 150 square miles just north of the same area.

It’s the latest in an era of worsening wildfires in the United States, where more than 7.9 million acres have burned this year. A similar story is playing out in Canada, where First Nations and residents of Ontario have borne the brunt of more than 5,100 fires across the country. Scientists say climate change has made these fires, along with others in Europe, significantly more likely to happen. This year’s blazes in the Western U.S. were exacerbated by record-low winter snowfall, depriving the landscape of the moisture that typically seeps from snowpack throughout the summer, and by extreme and long-lasting heat waves that baked the landscape. 

And the fires have highlighted another, deadly piece of the puzzle: suburban sprawl. 

“What’s happened over the last decades is we’ve had explosive population growth in naturally fire-prone areas,” said Tim Brown, director of the Western Regional Climate Center at the Desert Research Institute in Nevada. “People are moving in to where fire happens.”

The wildland-urban interface, which researchers often call the WUI, is the phrase given to places where housing is sandwiched between paved city centers and forests or grasslands. Researchers have been raising the alarm about the fire risk posed to homes in these areas since the 1980s. As humans burn more fossil fuels and warm the planet, longer and more severe droughts will likely make that risk worse. Reno is the fastest warming city in the United States, according to the nonprofit Climate Central.

These half-wild, half-suburban neighborhoods remain one of the most rapidly growing types of land in the country, although development has slowed compared to the surge between the 1990s and 2010s. In some places, housing scarcity in cities has pushed home buyers to the outskirts of towns, where building is generally cheaper and faces fewer permitting or zoning requirements.

People are also attracted to living with more space, near outdoor recreation areas with beautiful scenery. More than a third of all homes in the continental U.S. are now considered to be in the wildland-urban interface.

The consequences of all that growth are now on display. A recent study in Natural Hazards, a Nature journal, found that the expansion of this kind of housing in tandem with climate change quadrupled the risk of destructive wildfire in California. In January 2025, the Eaton and Palisades fires broke out in the shrubby sprawl surrounding Los Angeles, forcing more than 200,000 people to evacuate and burning down thousands of structures. Earlier this month, three large wildfires struck suburban areas of Spokane, Washington, the state’s second-biggest city. 

“Maybe we need to stop calling it the WUI and call it what it is: fire-prone,” Brown said. 

The Hawk Fire in Reno followed a familiar pattern. After the blaze started on Saturday morning in Somersett, gusty winds and dry, quick-to-light grasses helped it balloon by thousands of acres and quickly spread to other areas. The fire eventually shut down U.S. Route 395, a major thoroughfare that hugs part of the border between Nevada and California.

Chris Buckley, a public information officer with the U.S. Forest Service, said that the chances of a fire increase as more people move into one of these areas. In just the last 15 years, Reno’s population has grown by 26 percent to more than 283,000 people. 

“It’s a very beautiful place to make your home,” Buckley said. “But during this type of weather in this part of the country, anything that can cause a spark is just so dangerous.” Like the vast majority of wildfires, she said, the Hawk Fire was human-caused. 

Evacuating from neighborhoods in these fire-prone areas can be especially fraught. Roads are often narrow and connected by a single road with only one way out. During the recent wildfires in Spokane, the rush of fleeing traffic caused hourslong jams, leaving families sitting in their cars as the flames closed in. Similar scenes of gridlock unfolded during the 2018 Camp Fire in Paradise, California, and drives that normally took 25 minutes took hours.

“Our roads are not built for all people to leave all at once,” said Brett Taylor, who helps prepare these kinds of communities for wildfires with the Truckee Meadows Fire Protection District near Reno. Evacuating early, before mandatory orders, can help avoid gridlock and free up resources, he said. “We really lose our effectiveness if all we’re worrying about is evacuating people and not fighting the fire.”

The flames are just the start of the danger. As the planet warms, researchers estimate that wildfire smoke is on track to kill 70,000 Americans each year by 2050. When fires break out in cities like Reno or Spokane, the burning of cars and plastic objects, rather than just trees and grasses, can create smoke that is especially toxic. Studies estimate that the Los Angeles fires exposed millions of people to high concentrations of chromium-6, a cancer-causing toxic metal. “You can smell the difference in the smoke,” Taylor said.

Recently, California and other states have tightened wildfire-safety rules requiring homeowners in fire-prone areas to clear vegetation around their houses. Removing these plants can boost the chances that a house will survive a wildfire. The odds are even better for homes built with materials or techniques that prevent embers from getting in. “Many homes burn from the inside out,” Brown said.

In dry and hot places like Reno and Truckee, wildfire outbreaks are practically inevitable, Taylor said. He visits homes in the region to advise homeowners what changes they can make to better protect their property. His district is also spending millions of dollars from various state, federal, and other sources to thin or cut down trees and grasses — measures that can slow or block fires from spreading. “We’re making a dent,” he said. “But it’s a tiny fraction of what needs to be done.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline In the American West, wildfire comes for the suburbs on Aug 28, 2026.

The research builds on previous studies tracking a number of goals, including some established a decade ago by United Nations member countries, like eliminating hunger and poverty. The deadline to reach these targets, known as Sustainable Development Goals, or SDGs, is 2030. The paper also considers net-zero emissions goals set by the Paris Agreement. For the majority of these goals, researchers involved in this study say it is now virtually impossible to reach the 2030 deadline. 

The report, led by the Food Systems Countdown Initiative, differs from the group’s earlier work by measuring progress at both the global and regional level. Alongside their paper, which was published in Nature Food earlier this month, the authors launched an interactive dashboard that showcases how nearly every country in the world is advancing (or not) on about 50 metrics. These include things like the cost of a healthy diet, fruit and vegetable availability, agricultural yields, greenhouse gas emissions from growing food, and more. 

For certain environmental and climate-related metrics, this food systems report card feels especially dire. 

For example, the authors looked at how much greenhouse gas emissions from agri-food systems have gone up or down in recent years. In order to do this, the team calculated gross emissions from agri-food systems as a percentage of each country’s average historical emissions. They found that globally, change in agri-food emissions is trending in an undesirable direction — that is, up. Emissions from agricultural production present a significant challenge on the road to reducing global warming, as they make up about a third of manmade greenhouse gas emissions, according to the U.N. Food and Agricultural Organization. 

According to the paper, in order to reach net-zero agri-food emissions by 2030, every region in the world would have to increase its progress by about 70 percent every year over the next four years.

That kind of movement “is absolutely not going to happen,” said Bianca Carducci, an independent nutrition scientist and lead author of the paper. “Most countries probably shift about 5 percent per year on some indicators.”

While potentially unflattering or discouraging, this data point should be viewed within a wider context, said Carducci. The 70 percent figure represents the movement that every region of the world (i.e., the Americas, Oceania) would have to undertake. At the country level, there may be some that are actually doing well and decreasing greenhouse gas emissions from agricultural production. 

Regardless of whether you look at the regional or country level, progress must be viewed holistically, Carducci added. There could be one country that is very close to reaching a certain target, but also stagnating in its efforts. 

This wrinkle in the paper’s analysis reveals something tricky about the nature of measuring progress in the first place. “It’s not a binary,” said Michael Puma, a professor at Columbia University’s Climate School who was not involved in the report. “It’s not as simple as success or failure by 2030.”

Read Next

The world is getting too hot to feed itself

Ayurella Horn-Muller

One  feature of the report that could help illuminate what success would entail is a web of interactions between all metrics surveyed. (The researchers are planning a webinar next month to help the public better understand all its datasets.) Changes in greenhouse gas emissions, for example, are influenced by cropland change, yields, agricultural water withdrawals, fisheries, and more. It’s also affected by civil society participation, the researchers found. These can all be effective entry points to reducing emissions from our food systems, said Carducci. 

In some ways, deadlines like the ambitious ones associated with SDGs can obfuscate opportunities for improvement. When the authors looked at 2050 as an alternate deadline for achieving SDGs, they found that regions across the world are more on track to meet a majority of their nutrition and environmental goals. 

This shouldn’t be a reason to slow down, though, Carducci said. Regional and global leaders “shouldn’t just throw in the towel and say, ‘OK, we’re not going to make it [by 2030] so we don’t really need to do anything for the next four years.’” 

Using deadlines at all to spur action can be tricky, argued Puma. Overly ambitious cutoffs can incentivize quick fixes that don’t hold up in the long run. He cautioned that the focus should be less on the date by which progress should be completed and more on how we get there. 

“It’s really about designing realistic pathways,” he said — as well as building in accountability measures. 

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline New research shows the world isn’t doing nearly enough to fix its food problem on Aug 28, 2026.

These ideas might sound far-fetched, but they are real proposals from Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, and start-ups in the space industry. As private industry drives the new “space race,” now launching more rockets than countries do, even the cosmos is starting to feel a bit crowded. A growing amount of so-called “space junk” has led to concerns that all the metal could collide, creating a destructive layer of debris that anything launching into orbit would have to contend with. Earlier this month, part of a discarded SpaceX rocket unintentionally slammed into the moon at 5,400 miles per hour, blasting a new crater.

As Musk’s SpaceX, Bezos’ Blue Origin, and other companies expand into space, they risk causing more problems for Earth in the process: air pollution, climate effects, and light pollution. The practice of downplaying these negative consequences while trumpeting the message that space operations can make life better on Earth has a new name: “starwashing,” a term the space researcher Melissa E. Yingling helped popularize in an article published in The Conversation earlier this month. 

It’s a play on the term “greenwashing,” used to critique companies that highlight small sustainable investments to divert attention from the pollution their businesses cause. Space companies are appealing to a sense of “cosmic wonder” and making promises to benefit humankind, along with promoting their environmental bona fides, Yingling wrote.

For example, Blue Origin says its mission is “to restore and sustain Earth” as it sends rockets and lunar landers up into space, touting reusable rockets, cleaner-burning fuel, and the development of carbon-neutral technologies. Reflect Orbital, the California start-up behind the plan to send 50,000 space mirrors into orbit to provide sunlight on demand, promises “abundant energy” and “a healthier planet.”

All the emphasis these companies place on technological progress is a distraction from dealing with the climate crisis, said Gregers Andersen, a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Southern Denmark who has written a forthcoming book about Silicon Valley overpromising tech solutions to climate change. “The problem is, of course, that it takes attention away from actually solving the problems that are here on Earth,” he said. “And I think that’s also what’s meant by the term of ‘starwashing.’”

Whether or not the term catches on, experts say that companies’ optimistic marketing does obscure real environmental risks. Magali Delmas, a professor of management at UCLA’s Institute of the Environment and Sustainability, thinks of the “new frontier” of space as something akin to the Gold Rush. “They were only seeing the positive — they were not seeing the negative impact on the environment of mining,” she said. “This optimism [about space] is really downplaying some of the challenges.”

The growing space industry could wind up polluting the layers of atmosphere in ways that scientists are just beginning to understand, altering Earth’s climate. Rocket engines release soot into the stratosphere, where it can damage the ozone layer that protects us from ultraviolet radiation. They also release water vapor, which absorbs heat radiated from Earth and amplifies the warming caused by greenhouse gases. Research has found that as satellites disintegrate, they could alter the chemistry of the upper atmosphere, releasing aluminum oxide dust that can lead to warming, the scattering of sunlight, and changes in atmospheric circulation.

Beyond changes to the atmosphere, space expansion has other environmental effects, including the loss of dark sky as satellites reflect sunlight and damage to wildlife habitats around launch sites. That’s not to mention the enormous greenhouse gas emissions involved in building and launching satellites.

Delmas said that some of the companies’ promises are worth considering, and can’t be easily dismissed as greenwashing or starwashing: “Some of it’s actually true — there are these new technologies that are developed that can be just amazing.” There have been some environmental benefits from going up into space: Methane-detecting satellites have uncovered leaks from oil and gas operations in recent years that dramatically exceeded what had been reported, important information for reining in emissions of the powerful greenhouse gas. Astronauts have been shocked by how fragile and delicate Earth’s atmosphere looks from space, and this so-called “overview effect” has turned a surprising number of them into climate advocates.

Read Next

Data centers gobble Earth’s resources. What if we took them to space instead?

Sophie Hurwitz

Andersen, however, warned against falling for tech moguls’ narratives of “progress.” He thinks they’re trying to manipulate the public into being optimistic about the future, even as scientists show we’re headed toward an even hotter, more disaster-ridden world. He has a different vision of what should be considered “progress” — not establishing colonies in space, where people would live limited lives, but ensuring that humans can thrive on Earth long-term. 

“I think the common human project should be to create a sustainable civilization within the planetary boundaries,” Andersen said. “And I think the narratives that they are presenting are just basically derailing us from that mission.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline ‘Starwashing’: The new space race has an environmental problem on Aug 27, 2026.

Earlier this summer, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers granted Plaquemines LNG fast-tracked permitting under a “national energy emergency” that President Donald Trump declared last year. The agency cut the public comment period from the typical 30 days to 10, and is expected to move quickly to approve the expansion, a step that would allow the terminal to more than double in size, growing from nearly 590 acres along the Mississippi River to about 1,220. 

That would make the facility the largest LNG export terminal in North America, according to its owner, Virginia-based Venture Global. 

Environmentalists warn that the expedited review will mean less scrutiny of dredging, in-water construction, and the filling of marshlands in a region rapidly losing land. By the Army Corps’ estimates, Venture Global’s $18-billion expansion could damage up to 470 acres of wetlands and river bottoms in central Plaquemines Parish, about 25 miles south of New Orleans.   

“Louisiana is already dealing with a coastal crisis,” said Matt Rota, a senior policy director with Healthy Gulf, a New Orleans-based environmental group. “Destroying 400 more acres in Plaquemines Parish is ridiculous. I don’t know how many acres they have left, but it’s not that much.”

Plaquemines Parish has lost more than 250 square miles of land over the past 60 years to subsidence, sea level rise, and erosion. The state’s Coastal Protection and Restoration Authority projects another 300 square miles — about half the parish’s remaining land — could disappear over the next 50 years. Much of Louisiana’s coast faces a similar threat. Since the early 1900s, nearly 2,000 square miles of the state have vanished, an area roughly the size of Delaware.

Hundreds of other projects could receive expedited permitting under the emergency declaration, which Trump said was necessary to maintain a “reliable, diversified, and affordable supply of energy” for the U.S. military and economy. Last year, the Army Corps identified more than 600 pipelines, power plants, LNG terminals, and others that could speed through the normal review process required by the Clean Water Act.

Fast-tracking permits will likely accelerate the growth of an already booming LNG industry. More than 30 LNG export terminals are under construction or proposed in the United States. Plaquemines LNG is the newest of four terminals in Louisiana, including Sabine Pass, Cameron LNG, and Calcasieu Pass LNG, which is also owned by Venture Global. (The Army Corps and Venture Global did not respond to requests for comment.) 

LNG is natural gas chilled into a liquid for easier shipment overseas, where demand has surged as countries seek alternatives to coal and Russian gas. The industry’s critics say shipping natural gas abroad conflicts with Trump’s stated rationale for declaring an energy emergency: increasing what he described as the “nation’s inadequate energy supply.”

“It’s hard to see how expanding an LNG export terminal is going to help domestic energy independence and reliability,” said Griffin Bird, a research analyst with the Environmental Integrity Project. 

Of the 833 billion cubic feet of gas exported from Plaquemines LNG last year, most went to Europe, with Germany receiving the largest share, at 19 percent, according to the U.S. Energy Information Administration. The terminal is one of Louisiana’s largest industrial facilities, with 1.3 miles of river frontage, three ship berths, two gas-fired power plants, and nearly 30 miles of natural gas pipeline. 

It’s also one of the state’s biggest polluters. Plaquemines LNG is permitted to release about 8.1 million tons of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases per year, according to company records. That’s equivalent to the annual greenhouse gas emissions of 1.7 million gas-powered vehicles.

The only industrial facility in Louisiana that emits more than Plaquemines LNG is an ammonia plant owned by CF Industries that released about 10.4 million tons of greenhouse gases in 2023, the latest year available in the Environmental Protection Agency’s greenhouse gas emissions inventory. 

Those emissions, along with the carbon dioxide released when natural gas is burned for energy overseas, contribute to climate change, which is accelerating sea level rise and intensifying the storms that drive land loss in Plaquemines. “Burning more natural gas means we lose Plaquemines Parish even faster,” Rota said. 

The terminal’s expansion would increase its production capacity from about 1.4 trillion cubic feet of gas per year to around 2.3 trillion. It’s unclear how the expansion will affect emissions, but federal filings indicate the larger facility could produce at least 9 million tons of greenhouse gases per year. Venture says it plans to use carbon capture and sequestration technology to inject a portion of the terminal’s carbon dioxide emissions underground. 

Some Louisiana leaders welcome the expansion, saying it will spur economic activity and create jobs. 

In April, U.S. House Majority Leader Steve Scalise, a Republican from Jefferson Parish, celebrated the rapid development of the Plaquemines site. “This was a cow pasture four or five years ago,” he told reporters during a tour of the facility and the area planned for expansion. “Now it’s the most modern, the most efficient, the largest LNG export facility in the world.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline On Louisiana’s disappearing coast, a natural gas terminal is poised to become the largest in the US on Aug 27, 2026.

According to analyses by a coalition of environmental groups called the Last Chance Alliance, oil and gas companies spent more than $17 million on California lobbying during the first half of 2026. That includes $10.3 million during the first quarter — a new record for the sector — and another $6.8 million during Q2.

Much of the spending was directed against legislation proposing new costs and liabilities for the fossil fuel industry, like a state bill that would make companies pay for rebuilding following climate-intensified natural disasters. But other bills targeted were more milquetoast, seeking to clarify existing workplace-safety laws and ensure more thorough reporting of cleanup costs when oil companies want to decommission projects.

Faraz Rizvi, campaign and policy director for the nonprofit Asian Pacific Environmental Network — a member of the Last Chance Alliance — criticized companies for “aggressively lobbying” against straightforward measures to protect communities and boost transparency. “They’re not actors that have consumers’ or communities’ interests at heart,” he told Grist.

Last Chance Alliance pulled the data from mandatory reporting to the California secretary of state. The top spenders in the oil-and-gas lobbying category included the Western States Petroleum Association, which spent $4.3 million over the first half of the year; Chevron, whose spending amounted to $3.7 million; and Phillips 66, an oil refiner that spent just over half a million dollars. Much of the money went to consultants and alleged “front groups” that present themselves as grassroots operations but are funded by the fossil fuel industry, like Californians for Energy Independence.

One big target of the sector’s lobbying was California’s cap-and-invest program, which requires companies to pay for a finite — and declining — number of emissions permits each year. The program covers roughly 80 percent of California’s economy and is considered critical to achieving the state’s climate targets, including carbon neutrality by 2045. Earlier this year, oil and gas interests successfully lobbied regulators to green-light a mechanism that could make a vast pool of free pollution permits available to fossil fuel companies. If finalized, the plan could deprive the state of billions in funding that would have otherwise gone toward public transit and housing. The change is currently facing a legal challenge from environmental groups and objections from some Democratic lawmakers.

The sector also fought a bill, currently awaiting passage by the state Senate, to extend California’s Displaced Oil and Gas Workers Fund. Established under a 2022 law, the $30 million fund distributes grants to help oil and gas industry workers transition to new careers. According to one estimate, the fund has already helped 600 people find new lines of work, and supporters have been discussing the potential for new forms of support, including wage replacement during transition periods and financial support during apprenticeships. 

Other pending bills that oil companies lobbied against propose creating a task force on safe staffing guidelines for oil refineries; preventing fossil fuel companies from abandoning methane-leaking oil wells; and adding new safety and public comment requirements for offshore oil pipelines. One bill would force companies to submit formal retirement plans before they shutter their oil refineries. The bill follows the closure of a Phillips 66 refinery in L.A. County that environmental groups claim was poorly handled. 

A number of the targeted bills have been defeated, giving the oil and gas industry a series of wins. These include SB 1245, which sought to stabilize California’s gas supply, and SB 982, which addressed California’s home insurance crisis. The latter bill would have allowed the state attorney general to sue fossil fuel companies for damages following climate-related disasters like wildfires. It was meant to help pay for skyrocketing property insurance, disaster mitigation, and other expenses that are currently straining the state’s insurer of last resort. Oil and gas lobbying also helped to defeat a bill that would have made it harder for fossil fuel companies to abandon methane-leaking oil wells. There are more than 100,000 of these wells in California, and companies are often able to evade responsibility for plugging them.

Read Next

As climate lawsuits advance, the oil industry enters ‘panic mode’

Kate Yoder

Hollin Kretzmann, deputy political director at the Center for Biological Diversity Action Fund, said it’s been a generally disappointing year for Golden State climate policy. “This legislative session was just a huge missed opportunity for California. We didn’t get to show what the world’s fourth-largest economy could accomplish when it comes to protecting our economy, protecting our health.”

The lobbying is a particularly bad look, he added, given the oil and gas industry’s recent earnings. Late last month, Chevron reported $12 billion in net profits during the second quarter, nearly five times as much as it earned during the same period in 2025. Exxon Mobil made $14.5 billion, more than double its second-quarter earnings from last year. These profits have been driven by oil supply disruptions linked to the U.S.-Israel war against Iran, particularly the monthslong closure of the Strait of Hormuz. Supply shortages and higher oil prices have benefited oil producers that don’t depend on the strait to export products, as well as companies with oil refineries in the West.

Still, Chevron CEO Mike Wirth has said threats to oil supplies are straining his company. “Every day that goes by, the situation gets more difficult,” he told CNBC in late July. His company has also blamed California energy policies for high gasoline prices, deflecting accusations of price gouging. Chevron, Phillips 66, and Californians for Energy Independence did not respond to Grist’s requests for comment. A spokesperson for the Western States Petroleum Association declined to comment.

Ryan Schleeter, communications director for the nonprofit The Climate Center, said curtailing Big Oil’s influence over the California Legislature should be a priority moving forward. He suggested starting with the reduction of public subsidies — including from the cap-and-invest program’s free allocations, but also from tax loopholes that allow companies to report only a fraction of their global earnings to the state. “We’re essentially subsidizing their profit margins,” he told Grist. 

Kretzmann said more measures are needed to limit both the number of lobbyists visiting Sacramento and the amount of money they’re allowed to spend; otherwise, legislators and environmental advocates will keep running into the same problem year after year. “It gets to the heart of why our policies in California don’t reflect the will of the people,” he said. “I don’t have an easy solution, but we need our legislators to listen to the public … rather than oil industry lobbyists.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline The fossil fuel industry is spending record amounts to keep California from regulating it on Aug 27, 2026.

We were less than a week into a Great American Road trip — one that would take us 9,000 miles from coast to coast and border to border. Today’s agenda was to relocate from Moab, the gateway city for Arches and Canyonlands national parks, to our hotel near Bryce Canyon. But there was a problem:

Utah was on fire. 

To the west of us, the Cottonwood Fire had burned through 94,000 acres of forest and mountain towns, making it the largest conflagration in the United States. To the east, the Jones Fire had just erupted near the ghost town Cisco, its smoke plume looming on the flat horizon, visible from our hotel room. In total, more than a dozen wildfires were burning across the state, closing roads and turning the skies an ominous orange. We had to find a safe way through.

“If we take Route 89, it takes us straight into the middle of the Cottonwood Fire,” said my childhood friend Jessie, who had joined us with her husband for the Utah leg of our trip.

“There’s Route 72 through Loa, but that isn’t much farther away,” my husband said.

We switched apps from Google Maps to Watch Duty, a real-time wildfire tracker, waiting for it to load our precise location. My kids shifted their attention from their stacks of chocolate chip pancakes to the screen, which was covered in fire symbols. My 12-year-old son looked at me, worried.

“The edge of the Cottonwood Fire is creeping toward Route 72, too,” I noted. We had to make a decision and get going. 

We landed on a route that stuck to smaller state highways, even though it would add significant time to our driving. Anything to avoid the rapidly shifting edges of fire.

“You guys go get your bags and check out,” Jessie said. “I’ll go to the pharmacy and grab us some N-95 masks.”

Crisscrossing the United States by car has attained an almost rite-of-passage status in American society over the decades, its allure solidified in everything from On the Road to Thelma & Louise to the #TakeTheScenicRoute Instagram reels of today. It was that craving for wild landscapes and new cultures that had drawn my family out onto the road. My husband had just finished a year of cancer treatments, the kids were on summer break, and I was eligible for a sabbatical from my job as a climate journalist. So despite never having done anything like this before, we packed our hybrid Honda with duffle bags and camping gear and set out with a plan to visit 14 national parks.

I had expected to walk away with a better understanding of our public lands, a renewed sense of awe and adventure, and the opportunity to travel as a family in a way I never got to growing up — and the trip did give us those things in spades. What I hadn’t expected, however, was to also get a stark glimpse into how climate change is rapidly altering our nation. 

As a climate journalist, and scientist by training, I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised. For 20 years, I have documented the ever-growing impacts of a warming planet — and summer coincides with the annual period during which these impacts are on full display. A drumbeat of floods, fires, drought, and scorching heat put nearly every U.S. state in a vise from May to October. The season has become so synonymous with extreme weather that the nonprofit Union of Concerned Scientists launched a campaign in 2022 to dub it “danger season.”  

But even knowing that, the scale of devastation underway outside our car windows was alarming. As the miles ticked by, disaster after disaster strung together in an alarming pattern of chaos. Freshly charred landscapes and orange skies in Utah. Bathtub rings on drought-stricken reservoirs in Arizona. Stands of dead trees killed by bark beetles in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Toxic dust blowing off the Great Salt Lake. Emergency alerts for flooding and evacuations in Glacier National Park. Extreme heat warnings in Grand Teton.

It felt like a near-constant assault, one disaster stacked on top of another. Travel a few miles, a few hours, and we’d encounter another mark climate change had made — or was actively making — on the American landscape.

It’s too early to say whether climate change was a factor in every brush fire, heat wave, storm, or flood we encountered. But there is compelling evidence that it’s making many forms of extreme weather more severe or frequent. From 1980 to 1989, the number of billion-dollar weather disasters in the United States averaged just 3.3 per year. In the decade between 2015 and 2024, that number had more than quintupled, averaging 19 billion-dollar disasters per year. Twenty-three billion-dollar disasters hit American communities in 2025, according to the research group Climate Central. By the time we hit the road in June 2026, 12 events from this year had already met that threshold.

As we left Moab toward Bryce Canyon, heavy-duty particulate masks stashed in the glove box, we got an alert from the National Park Service. It was closing a portion of Canyonlands National Park, where less than 24 hours prior we had peered out over the park’s plummeting red sandstone cliffs into the hollowed landscape where the Colorado and Green rivers converge. Intense wind gusts had blown the hats from our heads and sand into our eyes. 

Overnight, those gusts gave the Babylon Fire power to grow from 300 acres to 16,000 acres. The landscape we had just admired was under siege.

Over the next week on the road, my husband and I became experts at spotting the characteristic plumes of distant wildfires, locating the blazes on the Watch Duty app, and adjusting our driving route. In my travel journal, I jotted down notes: An ominous plume of smoke from the Pocket Fire seen on our way to the Grand Canyon. Feelings of gratitude after days where we encountered clear skies. We kept moving, even as I learned of flood evacuations in campgrounds further down our itinerary. 

“Will our trip be derailed?” I wrote.

After stopping in Las Vegas for July Fourth, we headed farther west, through Bakersfield, California, en route to the Sierra Nevada mountains. We passed the scars of prescribed burns on ranchland, wind turbines, rows and rows of fruit trees, and a seemingly endless stream of oil pumpjacks, their arms turning rhythmically up and down, up and down.

“What are they doing to the ground?” my 9-year-old daughter asked from the backseat.

“Those help to pull oil from underneath our feet to power things like cars and lights,” I replied, staring out at the edges of the Kern River Oil Field.

My kids already had a basic sense of climate change and its causes before we left on this trip. On our way west, we had stopped at a wind turbine-themed rest stop in Iowa celebrating the state’s commitment to renewable energy. We awed at the presence of electric vehicle chargers at the “world’s largest truck stop,” Iowa 80. And we cheered with every solar farm we saw. They were signs of progress, regardless of politics or climate beliefs or geography.

That was the lens my kids had on climate change: It was bad, but there were ways to fix it. Then came the fires, and the smoke, and the flooding, and the heat warnings, and the drought. And now, here in Bakersfield, they were seeing for the first time what extracting fossil fuels looks like in practice, what it does to a landscape.

“I can’t believe they’re still working,” my son said quietly. “This place is littered with them.”

We rode the next few hours without speaking to each other, listening to Harry Potter audio books and staring out the windows, hoping to see another wind farm.

We stopped overnight in Three Rivers, California, before heading into Sequoia and Kings Canyon national parks. The road rose from the valley floor, switchbacking and climbing 5,000 feet in just 16 miles. The higher we went, the taller the trees got, towering above us. We opened our sunroof and windows, letting the cool mountain air rush over our outstretched arms. After weeks in the desert, the forest felt like a homecoming for us New Englanders.

We parked at the General Sherman tree, the world’s largest by volume, and set out on foot through what is known as the Giant Forest. Trunks stretched upward for what seemed an impossibly long time, disappearing into rings of thick branches. But despite the scale, the forest felt cozy. Dappled sunlight filtered through the scalelike needles, casting a shadowy, warm glow. As we walked along the Congress Trail, weaving between thousand-year-old sequoias, my kids hugged every tree they could. The red, spongy bark tickled their skin as they stretched their arms and legs around the trunks.

Along the trail, we came to a cross section of a felled sequoia. More than 2,200 years of growth rings radiated from its center, each a marker of the history the tree had lived through. The rings showed evidence of at least 80 fires strong enough to permanently mark the tree’s bark over its lifetime — averaging one fire every 28 years. 

Even when they leave marks, fires don’t always spell disaster for these giants: Low-intensity blazes can clear the forest of underbrush, scorching the bottom of a tree but leaving its branches untouched, ultimately rejuvenating the forest’s nutrients. But these stands of ancient sequoias have experienced an unprecedented number of wildfires recently, including six large fires in six years. Scattered throughout the parks were large patches of burned-out trees, their blackened trunks like used matchsticks, stripped of all greenery.

According to the National Park Service, “More than 85 percent of all giant sequoia grove acreage across the Sierra Nevada has burned in wildfires between 2015 and 2021, compared to only one quarter in the preceding century.” The fires were so intense that they killed thousands of “large sequoias,” those measuring 4 feet or more in diameter. The KNP Complex and Windy fires in 2021 killed upward of 2,380 large sequoias alone. 

Blazes in the Sierra Nevadas are often the result of lightning strikes, untamped camp fires, or power line sparks, among other causes, but their intensity and scale are fueled by the dry conditions and pest infestations brought on by climate change.

As we drove down out of the sequoias, pointing out each new giant, we saw logging trucks and excavators parked on the side of the road. Dead branches sat in piles ready for controlled burns, part of a partnership between scientists, park managers, and environmental groups to reduce the severity of the next wildfire to rip through the region. 

When it does, not if.

After visiting the sequoias and Yosemite, my family and I turned back east. Our days whiplashed between grandeur and crisis. 

We passed the Great Salt Lake at sunset, reds and pinks mirrored in its vast, still waters. But as we drove, we could also see stretches of dry, cracked shoreline — the lake has lost an estimated 73 percent of its water and 60 percent of its surface area due to agricultural diversions and worsening drought. A decade ago, I visited Antelope Island with friends to see its iconic free-ranging bison, but the lake’s shrinking shores mean the landmass is no longer an island, but a peninsula.

In Salt Lake City, we visited the Natural History Museum of Utah. One of the first exhibits was an interactive Sim City-esque game where you have to make planning decisions — install solar panels, build an urban farm, tear down a coal plant — to try and stave off the worst impacts of climate change. My kids played it three times. Little did they know that across the museum’s parking lot stood a hillside charred by the Bonneville Fire just two weeks earlier.

We traveled north into Wyoming, greeted by road signs warning of extreme heat. Jackson Hole, outside of Grand Teton National Park, hit 94 degrees Fahrenheit on July 12, 13 degrees warmer than the average daily high for the month. The town of Worland, in central Wyoming, hit 110 degrees F. We drove to String Lake to cool off in its snow-fed waters and watched as a bald eagle dove to catch fish.  

We took a boat ride on Jackson Lake to see the park’s iconic jagged peaks from a different perspective, and learned that the tour operator was shutting down operations weeks earlier than usual. Low water levels caused by the region’s dismally low snowpack were making it hard to navigate wide swaths of the reservoir. Our guide pulled up a photo on his phone from six years ago. “The peaks were covered, just covered, in snow at this time,” he said. “What we’re seeing right now in July, that’s what we would typically see in late August.”

Up near Yellowstone, we took the kids whitewater rafting in the town of Gardiner. They shouted with delight as we crested the rapids and dunked in the spray. But in moments of quiet on the river, our guide pointed to pipes, wires, and decks sticking out from eroded riverbank, all that remained of the houses swept away by a historic flood in 2022.

Iconic scenes from Yellowstone National Park. Katherine Bagley

Park after park, the kids’ junior ranger books wove climate change and its impacts into their pages. Staff told us about the plight of the pikas, adorable mouselike mammals that are moving farther up mountains in search of cooler climes. We watched videos and read placards about how warming temperatures are making more areas suitable for white pine bark rust and destructive beetles. 

I listened as my kids took their junior ranger pledge in every park we went to. Each oath differed slightly — some adding silly rhymes, others more serious — but they all included some variation of, “I promise to appreciate, respect, and protect all national park places.”

After taking their junior ranger oath in Glacier National Park, my kids walked through the exhibits at the St. Mary Visitor Center on the east side of the park, bordering the Blackfeet Indian Reservation. In the center was a 3D rendering of the park. They hit a button and watched as tiny bulbs lit up the mountaintops, signifying the location of the 150 glaciers that existed back in 1850.

As the timeline moved from 1900 to 1950 to 1980 to 2000, the lights disappeared faster and faster. Today, the park is home to only 26 ice bodies. My children pressed the buttons over and over, as if trying to restore the glaciers, remembered only by the carved-out hillsides they left behind.

A national Gallup poll recently found that nearly 4 in 10 Americans say their community was damaged by extreme weather within the past year, but that they “feel powerless to shape their own future.” The impacts of climate change can feel overwhelming, but my family’s road trip made clear this is an issue that affects us all. Climate change is no longer a collection of isolated disasters, separated by headlines or distances. It touches everything, its imprints lasting and deep and inescapable.

After more than a month on the road, it was time to go home.

I wondered whether my kids will ever be able to take this same trip with their own families. If so, their experiences will likely be drastically different. Will they be able to explore the arches and sandstone cliffs of Utah? Will they be able to walk through the towering sequoias? Will they be able to see the ice? 

I hoped so. There is so much to cherish, so much beauty, and still so much to fight for. We just need to rally to face a new foe. 

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline The great American road trip is in peril on Aug 26, 2026.

It’s very hard to raise money for this kind of moon shot technology, which can take years or even decades to scale up large enough to generate a profit. A huge number of emergent technologies never attract the funding to cross this “valley of death” between experiment and big business. The purpose of the Department of Energy’s ARPA-E, which was modeled on a similar program run by the U.S. military, was to help energy inventors span this gap and develop the climate technologies of the future.

A landmark report from the National Academies of Science, requested by Congress and released last week, has found that this high-risk, high-reward program is working: ARPA-E’s $4 billion investment has led to more than $20 billion in additional funding and more than 1,400 patents. Projects that received ARPA-E money were much more likely to get patents and additional investment than projects that were denied. The report also found that around 40 percent of ARPA-E grants led to a “crowding in” effect: After a startup proves that a new technology is feasible, other companies jump in and try to replicate it. 

“We’re trying to enable very talented people who could be doing other things to spend their lives trying to do incredibly risky things that, probabilistically speaking, will not deliver a profit in time to benefit them,” said Chris Bataille, a fellow at the Columbia University Center on Global Energy Policy and an expert on the development of clean energy technology who was not involved in the report.

The report committee, which consisted of more than a dozen scientists and energy experts, recommended that Congress significantly expand ARPA-E’s funding. It also found that the program should shift its focus from renewables and electric vehicles toward a harder set of energy problems — a shift for which the Trump administration has signaled its partial support.

ARPA-E began in 2009, and many of its early grants focused on improving solar panels and lithium-ion batteries, which weren’t yet ready to compete with traditional energy sources on a large scale. (A different Department of Energy program offered early support to Tesla.) The technologies have since gotten hundreds of times cheaper thanks to China’s massive investment in manufacturing overcapacity. Among the report’s most notable findings is that ARPA-E doesn’t need to focus on this renewable tech anymore. This finding echoes some climate experts’ claim that solar no longer needs tax subsidies like those in the Inflation Reduction Act passed during Joe Biden’s presidency. 

But solar and wind only work when the sun is shining and the wind is blowing, and most of the country’s grid still relies on coal and gas plants that can run at all hours of the day. This is especially true for factories and data centers, which need large and constant infusions of electricity in order to stay online. It’s here that ARPA-E’s investments are really starting to bear fruit.

Many of the program’s more recent grantees have been companies trying to solve the problem of “clean firm” power available around the clock. The most notable is Fervo, a company that uses super-deep wells to convert the ambient geothermal heat of the Earth into electricity. The company received ARPA-E support as early as 2019 and went public this year on the heels of a few successful demonstration projects. It’s now inking deals with Google to power data centers in Nevada. Other success stories include Form Energy, which develops iron-air batteries that can store large amounts of clean energy for multiple days at a time, and X-energy, which builds small-scale nuclear reactors.

Read Next

China’s solar industry is losing money. The country is doubling down anyway.

Austin Corona

Given this success, the report authors argue that ARPA-E should now shift its investment to the hardest climate problems, the ones where solutions could still be decades away. Potential opportunity areas include nuclear fusion, which in theory would provide almost limitless clean energy if it ever panned out. There’s also “seasonal energy storage,” or batteries that could store solar and wind energy for long winter months when those resources aren’t as available in a given location. Perhaps most significant for the climate would be carbon-free methods for producing steel and cement, which each account for around 8 percent of global emissions.

“You need this sort of constant innovation to move us off the fossil fuel pathway, right? Because we’re very firmly entrenched on it,” said Bataille. “We’re talking about projects that will likely be profitable, but they’re just not valued unless the government values them. There’s probably one-one-hundredth of the necessary money going into those.”  

President Donald Trump tried to defund ARPA-E in his first term by withholding funds appropriated by Congress. So far, during his second term, the administration has attempted to wipe billions of dollars in Biden-era climate grants. Trump’s budget request to Congress this year called for shrinking ARPA-E by almost 50 percent, but the Department of Energy is still handing out new grants for experimental tech like long-duration energy storage, fusion reactors, and mining for critical minerals like lithium.

In a statement to Grist, the department said that ARPA-E is “advancing President Trump’s agenda to restore American energy dominance” by “backing breakthrough, high-risk technologies.” The proposed funding cut, on the other hand, “demonstrates fiscal discipline and a commitment to an efficient and effective federal government.”

Even though Trump hasn’t destroyed the program itself, his policies have hindered the growth of the clean tech field that ARPA-E helped to advance. A case in point is Natron Energy, a company that received ARPA-E grant funding to develop experimental sodium-ion batteries. The company announced in 2024 that it would build a $1.4 billion plant in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, but Trump’s reelection dampened private sector interest in electric vehicles, and the company failed to secure investors for its factory. The company shut down last year.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline US companies are on the cusp of big climate solutions. Thank the government. on Aug 25, 2026.

Offshore wind offered a unique opportunity to meet those challenges, experts say, but the industry is barely surviving under economic headwinds and an openly hostile federal government. Offshore wind isn’t dead, but advocates agree that the technology is fading just when the region needs it most.

Offshore wind developers, who had already struggled with high construction costs, hit a minefield when the Trump administration took office in 2025. The administration has subjected offshore wind projects to questionable Pentagon reviews, permit revocations, and stop-work orders, some of which survived only briefly before being blocked by courts. The administration’s most consequential move may have been its decision to pay developers to surrender their rights to develop in federally managed waters. By mid-August, it had committed to roughly $4 billion in payouts, wiping an estimated 21 gigawatts of potential wind power capacity off U.S. coasts, or enough energy to power over 15 million average-sized U.S. homes. Experts say more deals could follow.

As they wait for conditions to improve, the industry must push through what offshore wind experts describe as an irked malaise. 

“Companies are trying to be upbeat, but I think if you kind of peel back the layers a bit, there’s a number of emotions out there; anger, sadness,” said Mark Repsher, an energy and sustainability expert at PA Consulting. “These people like what they do … sometimes it’s been their whole career, and it’s been put on pause now.”

At least nine companies are still holding onto their offshore wind development rights, most of them European energy giants like Shell, and at least some appear unlikely to strike a deal. Denmark-based Orsted, the world’s largest developer of offshore wind energy, and the Spanish company Avangrid are the largest remaining leaseholders, with five and six undeveloped leases, respectively.

The projects are dropping at a time when the three major interstate grids in the Northeast and mid-Atlantic are all facing growing demand from data centers, electrification, and new manufacturing, while some of the region’s cleanest power is generated far from its biggest cities. New York is a case in point. Half of the state’s electricity demand is concentrated around New York City and Long Island, but much of its renewable power is generated upstate, where aging transmission lines are already a bottleneck. Meanwhile, for PJM, the grid operator covering most of the mid-Atlantic, power demand is projected to grow 7.8 gigawatts higher than available supply by 2033.

“If you had additional wind, it could be filling those gaps, reducing any of those challenges at a time the grid really, really needs that,” said Hillary Bright, executive director of Turn Forward, a nonprofit supporting offshore wind.

Offshore wind can send clean power straight to demand centers and ease grid pressure. The Empire Wind project, expected to enter operation in 2027, will send power directly to New York City through undersea cables, while the Coastal Virginia Offshore Wind project already delivers power to the data center cluster in northern Virginia that has become one of PJM’s fastest-growing energy consumers. 

Read Next

Trump destroyed offshore wind. The Northeast can’t live without it.

Jake Bittle

Former President Joe Biden saw offshore wind as a central pillar of his federal climate strategy, largely because of its geographic strengths. His administration permitted the first commercial-scale U.S. offshore wind project, Vineyard Wind, in 2021, then leased 1.9 million acres of coastal waters to developers — more than had been awarded during the previous three presidential terms combined.

States built the technology into their climate plans accordingly. Massachusetts has called offshore wind a “cornerstone” of its clean energy strategy; New York called it “critical”; and Maryland described it as its “greatest opportunity” to reach its emissions goals. 

Without offshore wind, Eastern states don’t have a clear alternative for abundant, clean energy, experts say. Some solar power might help, but the East’s tightly packed geography just isn’t well-suited for the kind of land-based renewables deployments that have revolutionized grids in California and Texas.

“The wind resource, and even the solar resource, in the Eastern U.S. is not nearly as good as it is in the West,” Repsher said. Miles from his office in Denver, he said, eastern Colorado’s wide open, sparsely populated prairie lands have bloomed with a profusion of rotating white blades and glossy black panels. 

Most Eastern states have yet to adjust their climate plans for less offshore wind. New York extended its emissions goal deadlines and loosened greenhouse gas accounting regulations in March, but offshore wind remains a large part of its plan. Meanwhile, in New Jersey, local officials have given up trying to build substations that would receive power from planned offshore wind projects after those projects were canceled or delayed beyond expected connection timelines, even as the technology remains integral to its emissions plans. In both states, planned projects have been frozen or canceled from a mix of pre-Trump economic pressures and current Trump policy pressures, including lease buyouts.

It’s questionable, Repsher said, whether there are any realistic changes states could make if they wanted to: “If you have these fairly aggressive carbon reduction targets within these states, it’s borderline impossible to meet them without having offshore wind.”

Still, some wind advocates say there are reasons for optimism: Electricity prices have risen, improving the economics of new wind projects, and the Trump administration has only two and a half years left in its term. 

Kris Ohleth, executive director of Special Initiative on Offshore Wind, a pro-offshore wind nonprofit research group, said some advocates have already started planning for a post-Trump world by compiling what they’ve dubbed “Project 2029” — a policy roadmap that a future administration could adopt to support offshore wind. 

“Offshore wind is still such an exciting opportunity. It’s such a cool technology,” Ohleth said. “There’s something on the horizon, and that gives me hope.”

Correction: An earlier version of this story misstated Empire Wind’s operational status.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Offshore wind power projects are flailing, just when the East Coast needs them most on Aug 25, 2026.

Last year, national nuclear supplier BWX Technologies purchased the factory in Jonesborough, Tennessee, and announced plans for a significant expansion. The new facility will convert depleted uranium oxide supplied by the Department of Energy into high-purity depleted uranium. The 10-year, $1.6-billion contract will supply the Y-12 National Security Complex in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, with the material needed to maintain the nation’s nuclear weapons arsenal. Despite the company’s promise to bring 175 permanent jobs to the area, Miller and many neighbors were left irate. 

“They’re going to turn over the most beautiful parts of Tennessee into a nuclear waste area,” Miller said. 

But for others, the promise of jobs is what makes a nuclear “renaissance” centered around the nearby city of Oak Ridge in East Tennessee so promising. BWXT’s planned buildout is part of what state officials hope will be an economic revival driven by a renewal of the Manhattan Project’s legacy. Billions of dollars are already flowing into a region whose experience and expertise in nuclear energy and weapons development make it especially attractive to the industry. 

Now Tennessee is among five finalists for a Department of Energy “nuclear lifecycle innovation campus” that could make it the centerpiece of a federal plan to finally deal with what’s left behind after splitting atoms to generate electricity. But the history that makes the Volunteer State so attractive a contender is marked by contamination, illnesses, and accidents, leaving some wary of what a renaissance might bring.

Nuclear waste is a logistical and public relations nightmare. Spent fuel, which remains radioactive for millennia, eventually finds its way into secure concrete containers. It remains there indefinitely because there is nowhere else to put it. The federal government has long wanted to build a permanent repository deep underground, but the only serious candidate, Yucca Mountain in Nevada, stalled amid political and public opposition. With the Trump administration hoping to quadruple nuclear energy output, solving this problem is increasingly urgent given that the nation’s 85 interim storage sites already hold more than 86,000 tons of radioactive waste, or just about enough to fill a football field nearly 10 yards deep.

The nuclear lifecycle innovation campuses are the latest attempt to address that problem. Rather than foist a site on an unwilling community, the Department of Energy invited states to volunteer as potential hosts. These industrial centers would support far more than waste storage. They would include uranium enrichment and fuel fabrication, reprocessing and recycling of spent fuel, and even energy generation. But federal officials said waste management would anchor the project. In July, Tennessee joined Utah, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and Idaho as the five states selected to continue discussions with DOE.

Tennessee’s advantage in that competition dates back more than 80 years to the end of World War II and the dawn of the nuclear age. The federal government chose Oak Ridge, at the time a remote southern Appalachian farming community, as a key site for the Manhattan Project. The town grew to encompass an array of separate sites related to the nuclear weapons development program, including a nuclear reactor.

BWXT president of operations Ronald Daily said that the company, and others like it, is building on the region’s history of contributing to national energy security and defense. “Appalachia was key to the U.S. developing a defense power in a time frame like no other because of the industrious nature of the people of Appalachia,” he said. 

Oak Ridge’s rural feel has given way to a concrete sprawl hosting a mismatched array of museums, highway-exit chains, and top-secret facilities. Today, the federally managed Y-12 Security Complex and the laboratory, now a federally funded research institution, remain, sitting alongside private companies of all kinds hoping to get a little shine from the area’s legion of talented engineers. All of it is dotted by verdant public lands.

For those at Oak Ridge National Laboratory, this moment is a chance to leverage its expertise for the continued local and national public good.

“Part of Oak Ridge’s role is that we have expertise in all parts of that fuel cycle,” said Joe Hoagland, a physical chemist and associate laboratory director of the laboratory’s Fusion and Fission Energy and Science Directorate. “We know how to enrich it. We know how to use it. We know how to store it. We know how to transport it, and we understand the chemistries around how to recycle it.”

For many years, Hoagland said, East Tennessee was home to a handful of legacy companies like GE and Westinghouse, which created technologies for traditional utilities. But these days, it looks a lot more like startup culture, he said, because growing demand for electricity “creates an opportunity for others to get in the energy game.” 

Hopes for local benefit are lofty. In the past 10 years, the Tennessee Department of Economic and Community Development has secured $10 billion in investment to recruit new companies and bring the region 3,000 new jobs, said the agency’s nuclear advisor, Braden Stover. They include companies like BWXT, Orano, and Centrus, which are involved in various aspects of the processes that enrich uranium.  

Officials said this growing sector could bring tens of thousands of jobs in everything from construction and manufacturing to engineering and research. They also envision an educational pipeline that prepares local residents for many of those positions. “The second graders of today are going to be the ones that actually are coming in to work at these facilities,” Stover said. “We need to get to them and just let them know, Hey, here is what is coming.”

But the region’s long industrial and nuclear history has left another legacy, and opposition to the coming nuclear revival is rooted in memories of the harm already done to the people and the landscape of East Tennessee. 

For some, that harm started with the eviction of 3,000 farmers to make way for the Manhattan Project. Wariness has only grown in the years since as the risks of living alongside the facility and those that support it emerged.

Past studies have linked patterns of neurological conditions, cancers, and fatal respiratory ailments to workplace exposures at the now-shuttered K-25 plant that enriched uranium from 1943 until 1985. The federal government continues cleaning up contamination left by decades of nuclear weapons production in Oak Ridge. Nuclear Fuel Services, a uranium processing plant in Erwin and subsidiary of BWXT, has a record of leaks, potentially toxic dust, and groundwater contamination.  

The mistrust also arises from incidents beyond the nuclear industry. In 2008, 1.1 billion gallons of coal ash spilled at the Kingston Fossil Plant, originally built to power the Oak Ridge war complex. Coal ash cleanup workers were not informed of the hazards they faced or provided with protective equipment. Over the past decade, many workers exposed to the toxic waste have fallen ill, and some have died of rare cancers.

Those histories have contributed to skepticism and fear as the Trump administration has streamlined and overhauled radioactive waste storage and siting requirements. Valerie Thomas, who studies nuclear engineering and environmental impacts at the Georgia Institute of Technology, called those changes concerning.

“There are two reasons we want nuclear regulations to be very strong. One is, no, you don’t want to have errors,” Thomas said. “The second is if people think the regulations aren’t very strong, they’re not going to want nuclear power and nuclear facilities.”

That distrust has already shaped fights over the nuclear industry’s expansion in East Tennessee. In early March, hundreds of residents in Claiborne County packed a town hall to oppose a proposed nuclear graphite facility. Their efforts stopped the proposal in its tracks.

This history wasn’t far from the minds of many in Jonesborough, where residents expressed concerns about waste storage and uranium dust. Many filled local county commission meetings to oppose BWXT’s proposal and fought zoning rules that would clear its path. BWXT responded to community questions about the plant’s waste storage plans, but the answers weren’t satisfactory for many local residents. A late March meeting at the Washington County courthouse left many residents angry and hurt. Will Manning, a 42-year-old knifemaker and father, had spent the winter knocking on doors in Jonesborough, urging neighbors to turn out to oppose final zoning approval for the facility. Ultimately, however, the measure passed, clearing a path for the plant. 

“I honestly don’t know what was more disgusting, disappointing, depressing: the outcome of the vote or the dog-and pony show they put on and blatant disregard for the strong voice of this community,”  Manning later told Grist. 

Jonesborough residents remain active in a Facebook group created to organize opposition to BWXT, monitoring any news about the nuclear industry’s moves in Tennessee. Some participants have followed local elections closely, vowing to vote out officials who supported the zoning change.

As for the DOE’s nuclear lifecycle innovation campus, most of it would likely be located in Oak Ridge, but waste disposal might happen elsewhere, and that location remains undecided. Federal officials familiar with the process told Grist the selection process will include extensive discussions with the communities that might be considered, although they did not say what those conversations might look like. They also said any waste storage decisions would be preceded by years of environmental analysis to rule out locations with fatal flaws like streams, aquifers, or geologic instability. The initial Tennessee project application sought letters of support from officials in adjoining counties, and suggests that campus funding could support infrastructural improvements locally.

Sunny Miller concedes East Tennessee needs the jobs a nuclear revival would bring. Many residents are poor, he said, and employers would offer good pay. What troubles him is being asked to weigh those benefits against risks he doesn’t feel he fully understands.

“You can’t live on car washes and chicken places alone, that’s a real feeling,” Miller said. “But let me make this decision based on facts.” 

This piece has been updated to clarify the role and origin of Oak Ridge National Laboratory and Y-12 Security Complex.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Tennessee helped usher in the nuclear age. It wants to lead the way again. on Aug 24, 2026.

“We have to adapt because it’s like desertification is attacking our identity,” Msami told Grist. “If you lose your identity, it means you have lost everything.”

The Maasai are pastoralists, a term that describes the roughly 500 million people around the world who tend herds of livestock like cattle, goats, and sheep. They often move with the animals as they seek grass and water. Because they live and work in places with arid conditions and extreme temperatures, they are particularly vulnerable to climate change. 

Around the world, drought and land degradation threaten rangelands, which make up roughly half of the planet’s landmass, and the pastoralists from Tanzania and Sudan to Nepal and Mongolia that rely on them. Desertification is occurring at 30 to 35 times the historical average, threatening even the most resilient communities. That’s on top of an influx of invasive species, extractive industries, tourists, and other threats. 

To address these overlapping crises, Msami and hundreds of other pastoralists are in Mongolia this week for the United Nations Convention to Combat Desertification, or UNCCD. They are calling for stronger protections for Indigenous pastoral traditions, greater access to funding and resources to combat the crisis, and official recognition that the experience of generations living on increasingly marginal lands offers lessons for adapting to a hotter, drier world.

“We want to give the world a message that it’s not only the land that you will have to really look at,” said Msami, who is the program lead for the Pastoralists Indigenous Non-Governmental Organizations Forum, or PINGOs Forum, which is a network representing over 50 pastoralist organizations in Tanzania. “But you look at the people in that land, and maybe their lives should not be disturbed or sacrificed for the development of the world.” 

That message must first overcome a global environmental movement that has not always prioritized rangelands and the peoples who steward them. 

In 1992, world leaders gathered at the historic United Nations Earth Summit in Brazil, where they identified three great environmental challenges: climate change, biodiversity loss, and desertification. Global conferences were established for each, creating a forum where the world would develop plans to tackle them. In the decades since, trillions of dollars have flowed toward the first two, while desertification has largely been relegated to a problem for the developing world to address.

“But now the history is catching them because when you look at Spain, France, even Sweden, all those countries, they have a bigger drought ever since the last two years,” said Hindou Oumarou Ibrahim, who is Mbororo from Chad and the first chair of the Indigenous peoples caucus at UNCCD. “So it is becoming a developed countries issue, and now they start paying more attention, but still it does not get the same attention on the level of political will or finance.”

Although this is the 17th meeting of the convention, Ibrahim described this year’s event as “unique, historic, and particular.” That is because it is the first with a formal caucus specifically for Indigenous peoples, something not found at the climate and biodiversity conferences. Because of that, Ibrahim and others consider this gathering a unique opportunity for Indigenous pastoralists to advocate for their rights and advance their goals on the international stage. 

Read Next

Indigenous cultural practices are a climate solution, report finds

Joseph Lee

The gathering also comes during the United Nations’ International Year of Rangelands and Pastoralists, which Ibrahim said has had a positive impact on raising awareness of the challenges communities like his face and the contributions they are making to climate resilience.

Despite those signs of progress, attendees in Mongolia said that the Indigenous caucus has faced resistance. In the first week of the conference, Ibrahim led a protest to demand full participation for the caucus and for its official functions to be established.

As the world increasingly works to address drought, Ibrahim and others are concerned that, after decades of being overlooked, a global focus could sideline them even further. About a third of Mongolia’s population practice pastoral lifestyles, for example, but often have no role in global climate discussions.

Some countries have responded to drought and land degradation by restricting pastoralist herd sizes and restricting movement. That comes despite scientific evidence that pastoralism boosts biodiversity and supports climate resilient landscapes, among other benefits. 

But Ibrahim said that the rate of desertification has accelerated beyond the point where traditional knowledge alone is enough. She said that in Chad the desert is advancing 2 kilometers, or 1.2 miles, each year. “We have the land degradation very, very fast, and of course we use our knowledge to try to restore the land,” she said. “We try to fix it, but it is still there.” 

That’s why a call for greater legal protections and resources for their livelihoods is central to this year’s conference. “Securing land and mobility rights is not separate from climate adaptation,” said Solange Bandiaky-Badji, who is coordinator and president of the Rights and Resources Initiative, a global coalition of over 200 organizations focused on land rights. “It is a fundamental part of building resilience.”

Bandiaky-Badji said the rest of the world should learn about climate adaptation and resilience from pastoralists. But, she said, none of their expertise and experiences matter unless countries protect rights to land and mobility. The right to free, prior, and informed consent, which requires that Indigenous peoples have a say in what occurs on their lands and in their waters, is one that Bandiaky-Badji said needs greater enforcement. Because pastoralists are mobile, their land rights are not always recognized, and pastoralist leaders often do not receive an invitation to negotiate agreements and solutions.

Both Ibrahim and Bandiaky-Badji said global climate change and biodiversity conferences should follow the UNCCD’s focus on active inclusion of Indigenous voices. 

But beyond that, Bandiaky-Badji said desertification and rangelands can no longer be treated as secondary issues. “There is a link between climate resilience, protecting biodiversity, and restoring landscapes,” she said. “They’re all interrelated. And until we start seeing them as interrelated, we might have these different COPs, but it will not really solve the systemic problem that we have been dealing with. And the climate crisis is a systemic problem that we need to deal with.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Living with drought has taught pastoralists lessons the world needs on Aug 24, 2026.

So far, 207 cyclones and counting have touched down in the Prairie State, some of which have flipped homes, toppled power lines, and even torn through solar arrays. That figure may rise as officials continue working through the remaining post-storm assessments, according to the National Weather Service. The season has yet to wrap, but it has already handily topped the previous record of 142 funnel clouds set just two years ago, according to Trent Ford, the Illinois state climatologist. This is the third year in a row that Illinois has experienced a triple-digit tornado season; the state’s historical average is closer to 50. 

“It’s just anything beyond what we would expect,” Ford said. 

The dramatic surge in Illinois and throughout the Corn Belt contrasts with a decreasing trend of twisters in the Great Plains, the region traditionally billed as Tornado Alley. Experts are still working through the data, trying to understand whether it has been inching eastward, and if so whether climate change has anything to do with it. 

Regardless of the answer to that question, Illinois is today the epicenter of tornadoes in the U.S. A recent analysis by Steve Nesbitt, a meteorologist and professor of atmospheric sciences at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, found that the region is getting a historic hammering. Illinois and Indiana have already recorded the highest level of tornado activity since the National Weather Service started keeping track in 1950. He added that nearby states including Iowa, Missouri, Michigan, and Ohio are in the top 10. A pair of tornadoes even touched down in New York City and Long Island. 

That said, overall it has been a slow year. “It has been below average nationally, with the southern Plains and Southeast less active than normal,” Nesbit said.

Even with the unusual flurry of tornadoes, the Land of Lincoln remains well short of the all-time record. That belongs to Texas, which experienced 255 in 2015. Some experts argue it’s not a fair comparison because Texas is about 4.7 times larger than Illinois. However, Nesbit said that in terms of tornado density, or concentration of tornadoes touching down in 80-kilometer (50 mile) squares, Illinois is on top. He added that as of mid-August no region of the country has had a higher reported density of tornadoes than parts of central Illinois. 

Tornadoes are the result of atmospheric contrasts and chaos. They develop when moist air near the ground lies beneath drier, hotter air aloft, creating a sandwich of sorts. In this unstable atmosphere, differences in wind speed and direction at different heights create rotation and thunderclouds. “So just a difference between air masses,” said Shel Winkley, chief meteorologist at the research group Climate Central. “That’s also going to provide some spin in the atmosphere.” 

Scientists measure this as “convective available potential energy,” or CAPE, which describes the available fuel for thunderstorm development. Look inside these towering thunderclouds and you’ll find warm air rising but cool air falling, which creates spinning currents that can spawn a tornado. One trend scientists can parse, Winkley said, is the increase in the number of potential thunderstorm days. “That doesn’t necessarily mean a tornado will form,” Winkley added, “but we have these higher values of CAPE over the East and the Southeast during the spring than we used to have.”

The other component is that moisture. An abundantly clear climate signal is playing out in the Gulf of Mexico, which has been exceptionally warm of late. Since humans began pumping greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, the oceans have absorbed more than 90 percent of the additional heat. The hotter the Gulf gets, the more moisture it can pump into the atmosphere, and the more fuel it can provide for thunderstorms and tornadoes. (This is also how climate change is supercharging hurricanes, as those storms also love moisture.)

Even given all that, it doesn’t seem that climate change is in and of itself resulting in more tornadoes. However, on the days when we get the biggest tornado outbreaks, more twisters are touching down, Winkley said. Tornado Alley also seems to be shifting east, putting new communities in danger.  “At least the science that we have right now, we don’t see a connection between more tornadoes occurring because of climate change,” Winkley said. “It’s more about where they’re occurring, when they’re occurring, and then again the number that they’re happening on specific days versus others.”

Another wrinkle: It has never been easier to spot a tornado. 

“Our radar data has increased in resolution multiple times over compared to even when I started at this office 20 years ago,” said Ginno Izzi, a senior meteorologist at the National Weather Service office covering Chicago. He adds that advancement in radar resolution, satellite data, and remote sensing has made it possible to count smaller tornadoes that might not have been previously detected. 

If that seems unsatisfyingly inconclusive, it’s not for lack of trying. Tornadoes are hyperlocal weather events, so they’re difficult to simulate in climate models. Massive hurricanes, on the other hand, are easier to model. So scientists are still working to figure out how much the change in tornado activity is due to natural variability — what you’d expect if humans hadn’t warmed the planet — versus what’s the consequence of runaway greenhouse gas emissions. “That’s still one of those things that we just need faster computers and stronger computers in order to be able to do that sort of modeling with it,” Winkley said, “and we’re just not quite there yet.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Even meteorologists are baffled by the Midwestern tornado season on Aug 24, 2026.

For years, if water did flow out of Black households’ faucets in Jackson at all, it was often brown. It left elders and babies with rashes and caused a slew of health problems across the city.

Parry and other community leaders and organizations got some semblance of hope in 2023 with a federal grant. Yet, two years later — before any funds could be distributed — President Donald Trump entered office and terminated a $2.8 billion program meant to help mitigate the harm from climate change and environmental issues in Black, low-income, and disadvantaged communities. 

More than a year later, federal courts stepped in and rebuked the administration’s effort to dismantle climate funding. The case centers on the administration’s effort to roll back climate investments authorized by Congress under the Inflation Reduction Act, President Joe Biden’s cornerstone economic policy.

Read Next

Biden’s climate law is dead. The energy transition might not be.

Jake Bittle

Last month, a South Carolina federal judge ordered the Environmental Protection Agency to resume distributing funds designed to address environmental and health challenges in underserved communities.

The July ruling came just before the Washington, D.C. Circuit Court blocked the EPA from rescinding nearly $20 billion in Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund awards. That program is different from the environmental justice grants promised to Jackson and other overburdened communities. 

That means that over $22 billion meant for climate and environmental projects in disadvantaged communities may soon be distributed. 

Parry did not respond to requests for comment after the ruling, but Matt Sedlar, climate analyst at the Center for Economic and Policy Research, said the outcomes of these lawsuits are “sending a message to the administration that the separation of powers exists and that it must follow the law.”

What the billions could be spent on in Black communities

In 2023, a $20 million federal grant offered a life-saving chance for Jackson’s poorest. The money was for a resilience hub that would offer year-round access to housing where the lights would stay on with clean drinking water in the time of disaster by funding a micro electric grid. It would also include backup generators, an independent water well, showers, and overnight shelter for up to 150 people at a time facing water issues in their home.

The goal was building “a place where people can come, stay overnight, have access to energy, be in healthy conditions,” Parry said last year. Parry founded the recipient group 2C Mississippi, a Ridgeland-based nonprofit focused on climate resilience in Mississippi.

Since February 2025, the billions made available through the Environmental and Climate Justice Block Grant Program have languished as the Trump administration has moved to gut a historic number of environmental rules and protections. The Associated Press estimates that the EPA programs and rules cut were projected to prevent roughly 30,000 deaths per year, particularly in Black and disadvantaged communities. 

The Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund was designed as a $27 billion national clean-energy financing program. Its goal was also to make clean-energy investments like home-energy upgrades, solar installations, and electric vehicles more accessible in low-income and disadvantaged communities that have historically been shut out of affordable green financing.

The Trump administration has already moved to legally appeal the judge’s ruling regarding the environmental and climate justice grant program, claiming that the EPA now lacks the money and staff to implement the program. (The Trump administration has fired 25 percent of EPA workers since 2024, bringing the agency to its lowest staff total ever.) 

Already, some of the programs that received the initial approval for funding in 2024 have ceased to exist, including a solar installation program for formerly incarcerated people in Houston. 

Last year, Leon Dillard, a formerly incarcerated man who was a part of the program before it was cut, said the climate-friendly work gave him a “sense of purpose.” 

“I really just needed to be a part of [the program], be a part of something,” he said. “You have to make a choice to take a chance, or your life will never change. But you need other people with you on that journey.”

It is likely that the administration will attempt to appeal the Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund ruling as well. 

Environmental and Climate Justice Block Grant Program projects include: 

• More than $14 million to install wastewater systems in Alabama’s Blackbelt communities where failing septic systems and untreated sewage have long sickened Black residents.
• A $500,000 micro electric grid project in Gentilly, a historically Black New Orleans neighborhood that has faced chronic flooding, heat, and power-outage risk, particularly during hurricane season.
• A $20 million grant for four connected disaster hubs in Florida’s historically Black areas of Lee County. The hubs would include cooling centers and, during disasters, sites for electricity, communications, water and food distribution, and emergency health support. The project also included money for stormwater treatment, new shade trees, and workforce training.
• $500,000 for solar-workforce training for formerly incarcerated Texans, illegal-dumping cleanup, and environmental education in a Black community in Houston overburdened by pollution. 
• $20 million to weatherize, electrify, repair, and improve air quality in 500 homes in East Alabama and West Georgia. The plan also included 10 solar-and-battery resilience hubs for residents during outages and extreme weather. 

Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund projects include:

• Mississippi Solar for All: Hope Enterprise Corporation received $62 million to expand residential solar access for low-income and disadvantaged Mississippians.
• Arkansas Solar for All: Hope Enterprise Corporation received $94 million for a companion program bringing solar benefits to low-income households across Arkansas.
• Georgia BRIGHT Communities Coalition: Capital Good Fund received $156 million to expand access to clean energy and related jobs in Georgia.
• EnergizeNC: The North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality received $156 million for its statewide low-income solar initiative.
• Industrial Heartland Solar Coalition: Growth Opportunity Partners received $156 million for a multistate solar effort serving Midwestern industrial communities.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Trump ordered to release billions in climate grants meant for Black communities on Aug 23, 2026.

Despite officials’ claims that the firefighting workforce was stronger than ever, the agency has failed to keep pace with escalating conditions and the catastrophic fires fueled by them, according to nine firefighters who spoke to the Guardian anonymously, because they are barred from disclosing the information to the public.

Several people familiar with internal hiring data at the agency said there were also large gaps in important leadership roles, which had caused bottlenecks and operational challenges during a busy and dangerous year.

They described a response system that’s been pushed to the brink, as unsustainable pressure is put on skeleton crews with months to go before the highest fire risks subside. Last year, many firefighters had to work more than 1,000 hours of overtime — the equivalent of cramming an extra five months of work into an already busy season. This year is expected to be even worse.

“We just do not have enough people,” said a federal fire captain who works in the Pacific Northwest, where wildfires recently devastated neighborhoods in Washington state’s second largest city, Spokane. “Every firefighter is engaged at the highest priority we can possibly engage them, but houses are burning. When it’s not Spokane, it’s going to be the next town, and the next town.”

Read Next

Wildfire season is changing. Spokane is showing how.

Sachi Kitajima Mulkey

The USFS, housed under the Department of Agriculture, employs the bulk of the federal government’s fire workforce and manages more than 193 million acres across the country. The agency has struggled with recruitment and retention for years, an issue that’s come to a head as the climate crisis fuels a rise in dangerous fire conditions.

A fire captain put the shortages in context by comparing crews to players in a soccer match, where each team has 11 players allowed on the field but an active roster of 30 in case substitutions have to be made. In the forest service, he said, there were no backup players.

“Showing up to a game with 13 people is insane. Playing a whole season with 13 people is abuse,” he said. “That’s how we fight fire — and nobody gets to take a day off.”

The picture stands in stark contrast to the one painted by Tom Schultz, the USFS chief, who has repeatedly assured lawmakers and the public that the agency’s firefighting workforce is at full capacity.

“Our firefighting workforce is stronger than at any point in recent years,” Schultz said in testimony to a congressional subcommittee in July. “We are fully staffed and equipped to respond aggressively to every unplanned ignition.”

The agency has avoided disclosing breakdowns in its staffing totals, even after repeated requests from journalists and members of Congress. Instead, the USFS points to a hiring goal of 11,300 positions as the benchmark for operational staffing levels — a number that has remained flat for years.

Read Next

Michigan winemakers have a new climate worry: More wildfire smoke

Vivian La

John Winn, a spokesperson for the USFS, declined to answer questions about the staffing challenges or provide clarity on the numbers. He doubled down on Schultz’s claims, saying in an email that the agency was “fully staffed at the level we are funded for, and our posture allows us to respond effectively — just as we have for decades.”

But the minimum “operational” staffing levels are far different from what’s required to have a functioning firefighting force in the current climate, according to several firefighters.

Firefighters who have seen internal staff totals said the actual number of people who were able and available to be deployed when large blazes erupt was probably far smaller than what the USFS had reported to the public.

The disparity between the rhetoric repeated in public and the situation on the ground has added to the burdens borne by exhausted crews.

“Having more firefighters means I have a higher probability of coming home,” a fire captain said. “How are we supposed to feel when our leaders — the same people who get up and speak to the mourning families when firefighters die — are lying about our capacity?”

Gaps in leadership

Firefighters who spoke to the Guardian were most concerned about the widening gap at the management level. Specialized positions needed for running large-scale fire suppression operations, including taskforce leaders, division supervisors, and heavy equipment bosses, require decades of experience. Losses in these on-the-ground leadership roles have become extremely difficult to replace.

Seth McKinney, a fire management officer with the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office, spent 12 years working for the USFS before leaving the agency, but he returned this summer to help because the forest he previously worked for was short on chief officers.

“It shouldn’t really surprise anybody that we’re in the situation that we are in, because we haven’t invested in our federal firefighters,” he said, adding that the workforce had become a shadow of what it once was.

For years, escalating job hazards paired with low pay pushed scores of people with experience to leave the USFS. Even after an overdue bump in pay was finalized in 2025, the damage was already done. The USFS lost nearly half of its permanent employees between 2021 and 2024 alone, leaving the agency scrambling to fill leadership positions during the most active parts of the year.

Read Next

How wildfire smoke is reshaping childhood

Mosabber Hossain, Inside Climate News

The agency lost roughly 20 percent of its workforce during the Trump administration’s mass-firing spree in 2025, according to a recent government report. While the cull wasn’t directed at firefighters, it affected vital support roles that crews are now searching desperately to fill.

“Without experienced middle management you don’t have anything resembling effective coordination,” a firefighter familiar with the shortages said. “It’s no small thing to be short in those areas and it is a significant safety issue.”

These positions oversee thousands of people deployed when big blazes erupt. When there are gaps, it can mean that other parts of the fire-suppression workforce can’t be utilized.

When fires tore across Oregon this summer, private contract resources sat idle, because there weren’t enough qualified managers available to supervise them, state Senator Mike McLane said. He found out about the issue from constituents and then confirmed with the incident management team staff and the Oregon department of forestry.

The problem has been compounded by decades of mismanagement at the agency, according to a firefighter who explained that the losses in positions critical to coordination and supervision left holes that exponentially affected response efforts. “We are now completely unequipped to deal with the sort of fire seasons we will see more and more of.”

A destructive summer adds more pressure

It’s already been a destructive wildfire season. The country has been classified at “preparedness Level 5” — the highest level of resource deployment and an indication that new requests for support may go unanswered — since July 18.

As of Tuesday, more than 49,200 wildfires have erupted and burned more than 7.2 million acres (2.9 million hectares) nationwide since the year began, eclipsing 10-year averages, and the dangers are far from over. In many regions, fire risks will remain high through autumn and could linger into winter.

Inter-agency complex-incident management teams, specialized groups that are crucial for organizing responses to large-scale disasters, have also taken a hit, with fewer experienced leaders to run them. There were 46 teams in 2023. Now there are just 38.

Read Next

Extreme weather is changing how Americans see the world

Jake Bittle

Dave Upthegrove, the commissioner of public lands for Washington, a publicly elected official who manages the state’s roughly 6 million acres (2.4 million hectares) of public lands and directs statewide wildland firefighting efforts, said the USFS has been an important partner. But he raised the alarm early this year about the agency’s diminished capacity.

“There are fewer teams, which was true in 2025 as well,” Upthegrove said. “The difference this year is the extreme weather conditions, dangerously high winds at times, very dry fuels, and a fourth year of drought. All of that has combined to make us highly vulnerable to large and catastrophic fires like we have seen throughout the state, especially in Spokane.”

With resources spread thin, it’s also been increasingly challenging to meet the needs for equipment and manpower when new fires ignite.

More than 600 requests went unfilled during a 72-hour period last week, according to an internal dataset shared with the Guardian, the bulk of them coming from the Pacific Northwest region currently being hammered by fires. Requests for aircraft, crews, and equipment were unable to be filled 265 times over the three-day period. Dozens of requests for experienced managers and supervisors also went unfilled.

Staffing shortages have also affected urgently needed landscape treatment work that helps stop blazes before they spread.

Read Next

Wildfire prevention has always been a challenge in the West. Hotter, drier weather is making it worse.

Leia Larsen

More than half of federal firefighters who responded to a survey, conducted in March by the firefighter advocacy group Grassroots Wildland Firefighters and the National Federation of Federal Employees union, said their unit had to cancel prescribed burning projects due to staffing shortages.

Last year, the USFS treated 35 percent fewer acres than in 2024, according to an analysis from the nonprofit Center for Western Priorities. In Oregon, a state now in the midst of a historic season when more acres have burned than in any other recorded year, treatments fell by 47 percent.

Only a quarter of federal firefighters who responded to the survey said their unit was fully staffed. A fifth reported that unqualified personnel are filling the vacant positions.

This comes amid a major consolidation of the federal firefighting workforce under a new agency, known as the Wildland Fire Service, housed under the Department of the Interior. Officials say the strategy will ensure better coordination and streamline costs.

While many federal firefighters are supportive of a centralized approach, there are also widespread concerns about how this consolidation will be achieved and whether officials will make good on promises to improve working conditions for the crews who bear a severe mental and physical toll trying to protect communities year after year.

After years of raising the alarm about the widening gap between limited capacity and growing catastrophes, federal firefighters are becoming disillusioned with the sacrifices they’re being asked to make.

“What’s the purpose of the fire service? That’s the hard question we’re starting to ask ourselves,” one fire captain said. “Is it actually to manage fire and to do what we’re telling the public we’re intended to do? Or is it simply to sell the public a belief so that they can sleep at night?”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Firefighters sound alarm as US faces critical staffing shortage: ‘We don’t have enough people’ on Aug 22, 2026.

Solar power proved the only major energy source that performed better than normal during Europe’s summer of extremes, experts found. When paired with batteries, it helped supply thousands of AC units during historic hot conditions.

Scientists are still trying to understand why so many recurring heat waves materialized this summer, but studies have found that individual heat events are more likely and more intense because of climate change. The intensity of the June heat wave that scorched Western Europe was roughly 200 times more likely in today’s fossil fuel-warmed climate than it would have been two decades ago, one study found. As the continent continues to warm and Europeans install more cooling systems to cope — just 23 percent of households currently have access to or use air conditioning — experts say this summer provides lessons for the future.  

Extreme temperatures in late June bumped up Italy’s power demand by 28 percent compared to the previous week, according to the energy think tank Ember. In France, that number was 14 percent. Electricity and natural gas prices spiked in evening hours as demand grew highest and solar generation ended, with some prices hitting their highest levels since the 2022/2023 winter gas crisis following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. 

As demand and prices were climbing, power generation in some areas was falling. In the United Kingdom, five gas plants reduced their output by a combined 2.5 gigawatts in generation because heat reduced their cooling systems’ effectiveness. At the same time, heat-induced low wind speeds halved the country’s typical wind farm generation in June. 

Historic dryness dropped river levels across Europe: England and Wales reported their driest July on record, while water levels in the Danube River in central and Eastern Europe reached record lows, exposing WWII shipwrecks and prehistoric relics. Europe’s hydropower production hit its lowest July level in a decade, and multiple countries curtailed nuclear power generation as warm, low rivers threatened water supplies for cooling. France lost 18 percent of its nuclear capacity to “environmental factors” in mid-July, Ember found, extending a trend of summertime nuclear outages that has plagued the country in recent years. French nuclear plants often use river water as a vital component of their cooling systems, drawing the water in at natural temperatures and then discharging it back into the rivers slightly warmer. Because French law caps the temperature of this discharged water to protect aquatic life, plants must reduce cooling operations and related power generation when the intake water from rivers is already warm because of heat waves or drought. 

But where these sources faltered, solar shone through. European heat waves tend to deliver optimal conditions for solar power: clear, sunny days. Europe’s solar panels produced 17 percent more power during the summer’s heat waves than they normally do, stabilizing the grid as afternoon cooling demand climbed, according to Ember. Battery systems helped deliver this solar power into the evening hours, when heat still lingered and air conditioners cranked to allow households to sleep.

“The next challenge is the evening period. Temperatures often remain high after sunset and AC demand can stay elevated, even as solar production declines,” said Walburga Hemetsberger, CEO of SolarPower Europe, an industry group. “This is why battery storage is becoming such an important part of the energy transition.”

For as much as this summer’s extreme heat strained Europe’s grid, the continent’s cooling demand has a lot of room to grow: About half of households in Italy and Spain have air conditioning, and a quarter in France — compared to 90 percent in the United States. 

“There are places where we just can’t do without it now,” Marine Tondelier, national secretary of the Ecologist Party, said this June, a reversal in the party’s longstanding argument against air conditioning because of its greenhouse gas emissions.

France’s state-owned utility plans to spend over $10 billion to adapt its nuclear and hydropower plants to warmer temperatures and lower water availability over the next 15 years, including investments in equipment that cools the water nuclear plants discharge into rivers so that it complies with environmental standards. But adapting to that new demand could also take new generation and storage, especially as grids simultaneously increase demand from data centers. 

Solar and batteries have already been growing at a breakneck pace across Europe, with 36 gigawatt-hours installed in 2025, a 48 percent increase over new additions the previous year. Battery installations saw their 12th straight year of growth in 2025, according to industry group SolarPower Europe.

“Extreme price spikes during heatwaves are a blaring signal for regulatory changes that increase power system flexibility,” said Beatrice Petrovich, a senior energy analyst covering Europe at Ember. “Treating this summer as a turning point for energy storage would be an opportunity to remove existing barriers.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Solar buoyed Europe’s grid amid record-breaking heat and drought this summer on Aug 21, 2026.

Emerging research shows that a drier world is often a sicker one, too. A new paper, published last week in the journal Trends in Ecology and Evolution, takes stock of nearly 100 scientific studies of diseases found throughout the animal kingdom — from humans to large mammals, fish, amphibians, and insects — to reveal how drought can help deadly infections and parasites spread. 

The majority of human parasites and many pathogens need water to thrive. And while cases of some infectious diseases — like schistosomiasis, a dangerous flatworm infection also known as snail fever, and malaria — sometimes fall dramatically when ponds and lakes dry up, others — like cholera, West Nile virus, and dengue — end up booming. 

This is called the “drought-disease paradox,” said Tara Stewart Merrill, an aquatic disease ecologist at the Cary Institute of Ecosystem Studies and coauthor of the paper. “It’s so counterintuitive,” she said. “We think a water-borne disease should thrive only when there’s plenty of water, but in some cases they thrive when there’s less water.”

She and her collaborator and coauthor, Pieter Johnson, a professor at the University of Colorado Boulder, became interested in how drought would affect these pathogens several years ago while studying parasites in pond ecosystems in California. Suddenly, Stewart Merrill said, more than half of their study sites dried up. 

“Beyond drought screwing up our study, we then started having conversations about how drought might be shaping disease transmission in ecosystems around the planet,” Stewart Merrill said. 

Research on climate change and infectious disease is a relatively young but fast growing field. Until recently, many studies focused on how rising temperatures, but not drought, affect the spread of diseases, Stewart Merrill said. 

Now, their paper shows how scientists are beginning to untangle the complexities of diseases and the water cycle. Understanding how drought affects the spread of certain diseases could also help scientists better predict which diseases will spread and be the most problematic for humans in the future. 

As fossil fuels warm the planet and change the climate, the hotter atmosphere sucks more water from the landscape and holds onto it longer, leading to more intense and prolonged droughts. The world is 77 percent drier than it was three decades ago, according to a United Nations report. 

The consequences for human health have already been felt. Droughts in California throughout the 2000s led to thousands of excess cases of valley fever, and in 2014, a superdrought contributed to the state’s second-highest cases of West Nile virus. In 2017, a drought in Somalia led to nearly 80,000 cases of cholera, which killed more than a thousand people. And in Brazil, where millions are afflicted with dengue each year, researchers have found that the risk of infection can rise a few months after drought.

Tracking disease is fundamentally about the movement of animals that carry it, said Georgia Titcomb, a wildlife disease ecologist and assistant professor at Colorado State University. 

“Throughout history, living things have been moving to get water, and so when there are massive changes to the way water is distributed on the landscape, we’re going to also expect big changes in the ways animals move to access that water,” she said. “That’s going to remove some opportunities for transmission, and introduce new ones too.” 

For example, Titcomb said, picture watering holes in the African savannah, surrounded by animals like zebras, elephants, rhinos, and giraffes. During droughts, some of them dry up. More animals crowd around the remaining pools. These crowded areas are also full of dung from those animals, making it easier for parasites that lay their eggs in feces to spread and thrive, and more likely that the animals will encounter parasites.

Titcomb’s paper, included in the new review, found that after periods with less rainfall, parasites thrived — with more than 100,000 eggs found per each kilogram of dung.

Research in other areas has found similar dynamics: When drought results in fewer bodies of water, birds carrying West Nile virus can come into closer contact with mosquitos, resulting in more mosquitos that carry the disease and can infect humans. Drought can also make bodies of water warmer, creating conditions in which some dangerous mold, algae, and bacteria can thrive.

In other cases, drought can diminish disease. Hotter, saltier, and less oxygenated water can become unsurvivable for certain pathogens, bacteria, fungus, and parasites, the paper found. 

The severity of the drought also matters. Vibrio vulnificus, a bacteria that infects oysters and causes 80,000 cases of food poisoning in the United States each year, initially spreads during a drought but can be eliminated entirely if it goes on long enough. 

And heavy periods of precipitation can also make an outbreak worse when a drought eventually comes, said Samantha Sambado, a biologist and postdoctoral researcher at Stanford University who was not affiliated with the study.  This phenomenon, known as ‘weather whiplash,’ is becoming increasingly common as the planet warms. 

The fungus that causes valley fever, for example, grows during wet winters, and then dries and spreads as wind-borne dust in the summer, she said. “It’s a classic case of, climate change will make this worse,” she said.

The new paper sheds important light on these dynamics, Sambado said. “It’s going to be really foundational for how we teach disease ecology,” she said. 

In the coming years, improvements in satellite monitoring technology could make it easier for scientists to track water as it shifts around the planet, she said. Paying attention to how humans respond to drought and manipulate the movement of Earth’s water will become increasingly important, too: Building dams or using more irrigation on crops can create conditions that spread or foster disease. Increasingly unpredictable weather can make it harder for communities to manage their water with disease prevention in mind.

“Water touches almost every aspect of life,” Sambado said. “How do we manage this resource, knowing the future will be warmer?”

Correction: An earlier version of this article misspelled Samantha Sambado’s name.

Read more about climate change and your health

A deadly bacteria is creeping up the Atlantic Coast. How worried should you be?

Zoya Teirstein

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline In a drier world, some infectious diseases are unexpectedly thriving on Aug 21, 2026.

On the internet, speculation abounded. Could farmworkers be sick themselves? Were they relieving themselves in the field because their working conditions didn’t ensure proper access to bathrooms? Or did this have something to do with farmworkers, often migrant men and women, being deported? Perhaps, all along, they were the ones protecting consumers from foodborne illnesses. Posts about the outbreak, centering farm labor as either the potential source of disease or as stewards of the food supply, began to crop up. 

But these theories are all either incomplete or misguided, say food safety experts. The scale of this summer’s outbreak — the biggest known in U.S. history — suggests widespread contamination of the food supply. For that, they say, we should look closely at irrigation water and other water that’s used in our highly industrialized, global food supply chain. 

For example, in some agricultural regions, sewage water is treated and then reused to irrigate crops. This practice is common in areas experiencing drought or water stress, and it is legal in nearly half of U.S. states. When water in such a system is not treated to the highest standards, complications can occur. Whether contaminated water contributed to the ongoing cyclosporiasis outbreak this year is unknown. Public health authorities are still investigating to understand the source of the current outbreak; so far, one company, Taylor Farms, has been associated with the outbreak in multiple states. Last week, the FDA announced it had begun an on-site inspection at a Taylor Farms facility in central Mexico. 

Meanwhile, the increase in scrutiny on farmworkers only compounds the other stresses that the population is facing, said Amy Liebman, chief program officer at the Migrant Clinicians Network, an organization connecting farm laborers to health care. In the following conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity, Liebman discusses the risks of further stigmatizing this vulnerable workforce at a time of mass deportation, public health breakdowns, and climate change. 

Q. It feels like there are potential risks of further stigmatizing immigrant farmworkers based on how we talk about this infectious disease. What are the things the public should know about this issue, and what are the most accurate, responsible ways to talk about it?

A. Basically, I think we have a disconnect between what we expect and demand in terms of a safe food supply and how we actually do that. I am concerned that farmworkers are actually more vulnerable to getting the disease than they are likely to be the source of the outbreak. 

Whenever there’s any infectious disease outbreak, we’re concerned about people living in close quarters. So recognizing that the living and working conditions are often one and the same for farmworkers, that’s really important. There’s other issues that might come up with farmworkers, such as the number of bathrooms or where their well water comes from. 

There’s a lot of unknowns — it’s very hard to understand the source because of the amount of time that it takes to trace infections. But it does seem more likely that this involved some kind of contamination from water. So it’s important to understand the overall environment in which our food is grown and processed — from the harvesting to the processing and the selling and finally to being put on our tables. And understand that there’s all kinds of room for contamination in that process.

Q. What are things your organization has been hearing from clinicians in the field? When migrant farmworkers get sick with cyclosporiasis, are they seeking care?

A. So there’s multiple things going on. We have the dismantling of our public health system. We really depended on our frontline folks at health departments trying to figure this out without huge direction or support, at least initially, from the CDC. That piece impacts everybody. Everyone is impacted by a weaker public health system where the frontline personnel are working tirelessly with limited resources. Then you have a real change in our approach to immigration policy. We now have this draconian approach to immigration enforcement. All of that has really pushed our farmworker population further into the shadows. There is a lot of fear in our farmworker community. 

Read Next

4 things to know about cyclospora and climate change 

Frida Garza

So now, if we have someone that might be sick, what does that mean? That means they need to have access to health care. They need to have transportation or somehow the geographic isolation of their situation needs to be addressed. You might have language differences between farmworkers and health care providers. All of these traditional barriers that make it difficult for farmworkers to access help are now also layered on top of these scenarios that we know are going to further disenfranchise and further marginalize our farmworker community.

Q. There seems to also be an added layer of challenge, in terms of how we address extreme heat and worker safety in the U.S. For instance, Congress recently advanced a bill that would prevent OSHA, the federal workplace regulator, from passing a federal standard for protecting workers from heat injury and illness. 

A. I think that sort of exemplifies some of the conversation that I’m having with you. That’s just like another layer on top of everything that we’ve talked about. We have an infectious disease outbreak and we know that our farmworkers are going to be more vulnerable because of the work that they do, their access to health care, and our immigration enforcement. And then what’s happening in terms of the changes of our weather patterns and our climate, I think is really important to talk about. 

I started off this conversation saying there’s this disconnect between our expectations of food safety and what that means for the worker that’s putting the food on our table. The interesting thing about the proposed heat rule is that there’s documentation that when workers are provided with water, rest, and shade during high heat days, we actually are seeing an increase in productivity. So it really seems very short-sighted, to say the least, in terms of the productivity standpoint, to be passing a law that is so prohibitive in terms of protecting workers.

The bottom line with both of these issues is that worker health and safety is public health. Whether we’re looking at infectious diseases or exposures to weather related issues like the heat, when we think about the worker and think about making sure the worker is protected — that benefits our broader community.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Who’s most at risk in the cyclospora outbreak? The farmworkers on the front lines. on Aug 20, 2026.