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Critics question assumptions at core of California's Low Carbon Fuel Standard

News Feed
Wednesday, March 13, 2024

This is Part 2 of a three-part series examining the controversies and conflicts surrounding the future of the California Air Resources Board’s Low Carbon Fuel Standard. Read Part 1. Michael Wara is worried that a key California climate regulator is about to lock the state into the mistakes of the past. And it’s largely because the agency — the California Air Resources Board — is putting too much faith in its ability to predict the future. Wara, director of Stanford University’s Climate and Energy Policy Program, led a team of climate scientists that in September presented CARB with a proposal to set its beleaguered Low Carbon Fuel Standard program on the right path for the planet. The proposal, developed on behalf of CARB’s Environmental Justice Advisory Committee, aims to curb what have become lavish subsidies for renewable diesel and dairy biogas, combustion fuels that are not up to the task of cleaning up transportation, the state’s largest source of greenhouse gas emissions. The agency has issued decisions in recent years that have made California a global leader in electric vehicle adoption. But it has also allowed the Low Carbon Fuel Standard — a marquee program that raises some $4 billion each year to cut carbon emissions from transportation — to rely heavily on crop- and cow-manure-based biofuels that Wara and other climate scientists say are not only an ineffective way to spend the money but also actively harmful for the planet. Now, as the agency prepares to vote on a plan that rejects the environmental-justice proposal in favor of continuing its support of these biofuels, Wara is concerned that CARB is about to lock in its disastrous policy for another two decades. “Things are changing really fast in the transportation sector, and CARB deserves credit for that,” Wara said, referring to its EV policies. But that rapid pace of change means that ​“the future is highly uncertain in the transportation sector,” he said. ​“The compromises we’re making to get cleaner fuels today may look good today” to CARB analysts, ​“but not look good in 10 years — and I have no idea how they’ll look in 20 years.” Despite this uncertainty, the staff’s core justification for its preferred biofuel-friendly approach is a model it has created to forecast the optimal pathway for decarbonizing the state’s cars, vans, buses, trucks, trains, planes and even off-road vehicles by 2045. And at the core of that long-range, intricate model is, of course, a set of assumptions. These assumptions are hugely consequential, hotly contested — and shrouded in secrecy. The agency has entered into ​“very speculative territory” with this model, Wara said, and it may be relying on assumptions that falsely paint electrified transit options as less appealing than biofuels. Groups including Earthjustice, the Union of Concerned Scientists, Food and Water Watch and Wara’s team have challenged these assumptions, warning that they may not only turn out to be wrong but also create an analytical framework that makes better choices look worse by comparison. And though they have their suspicions that CARB’s model gets some things wrong given its strong prioritization of biofuels, they can’t even say that for sure. That’s because CARB hasn’t yet let them see and evaluate the inputs to its model. Wara said he’s ​“reluctant to say that the modeling is good or bad, or that the alternatives have been fairly considered or not.” Until the data is available to test those assertions, ​“I honestly have no idea.” But as it stands, it’s far from clear that CARB is ready to reform its approach to modeling the impacts of its Low Carbon Fuel Standard policy quickly enough to address the threat that runaway biofuel subsidies pose to transportation-decarbonization goals. That’s why many of CARB’s critics, including Wara and a group of climate scientists, are pushing the CARB board to not only provide transparency into their modeling efforts but also embrace the environmental-justice proposal the staff has spurned — starting with a limit on the amount of crop-derived renewable diesel flooding the program.  Why CARB’s long-range modeling may be discounting the electric future Environmental-justice groups have long argued that CARB is giving renewable diesel and methane captured from cow manure more carbon-cutting and air-pollution-reducing credit than the latest science shows they should receive. Opponents of those fuels have accused the agency of bowing to pressure from powerful oil and agricultural industry interests that are profiting from the existing policies. But one reason CARB puts so much weight on those liquid-fuel-based pathways may be because its analytical and modeling framework simply cannot imagine a low-carbon transportation future without them — at least not with its current assumptions. CARB staff’s December report stated that it rejected the environmental-justice proposal, which was backed by modeling done by Wara’s team, because it would lead to ​“higher volumes of fossil diesel being used than any of the other scenarios evaluated” and thus higher carbon emissions and air pollution. “Even with a 2035 phaseout of new light-duty vehicle sales and aggressive deadlines for a heavy-duty [vehicle] phaseout, millions of fossil-fueled vehicles will remain on California’s roads for several decades,” CARB spokesperson Dave Clegern told Canary Media in a March email. ​“They will require cleaner fuels as we move toward 2045 carbon neutrality.” But that finding relies on assumptions about the amount of liquid fuels that will be needed through 2045, Wara noted. In extremely simplified terms, CARB’s modeling methodology ​“takes as a given how much liquid fuel is required, and then it says, ​‘How are we going to get the liquid fuel we need?’” And if biofuels aren’t available to feed that model, it will presume that fossil fuels are being burned to make up the difference. On the other side of that coin, CARB’s model also ​“takes as a given the amount of electric transport” that will be available 10 and 20 years from now, he said. But given how quickly electric vehicles and batteries to power them are advancing, it’s far from clear that today’s assumptions on that front will hold true — and ​“if you get that wrong, you get every prediction wrong for the model.” California has set a goal of ending sales of new gasoline-fueled passenger vehicles by 2035, but how quickly EVs are actually adopted will depend on factors that now remain in flux, ranging from automaker investments and charging availability to consumer sentiment. There’s even greater uncertainty about how many medium- and heavy-duty vehicles will be able to convert to electric over the next 20 years, as opposed to needing low-carbon liquid fuel alternatives to diesel, Wara said. Previously held beliefs about the cost and range limits of battery-electric heavy-duty trucks are being shattered on an annual basis. These underlying technological and economic developments are happening so fast that models developed just last summer ​“cannot simulate what’s happening now and next year,” he said. Why has CARB withheld important data?  That brings up another problem, Wara said: No one knows exactly what CARB’s modeling inputs are. They only know the outcomes. “The rulemaking is not transparent because CARB has been unwilling to release files that we need to evaluate it,” he said. For its analysis, Wara’s team used the same optimization modeling platform — the California Transportation Supply, or CATS, model — that CARB developed and uses for its own analysis. But CARB staff has refused to share the underlying data input and output files that informed its latest plan, Wara said.

This is Part 2 of a three-part series examining the controversies and conflicts surrounding the future of the California Air Resources Board's Low Carbon Fuel Standard. Read Part 1 . Michael Wara is worried that a key California climate regulator is about to lock the state into the mistakes of the past. And it’s…

This is Part 2 of a three-part series examining the controversies and conflicts surrounding the future of the California Air Resources Board’s Low Carbon Fuel Standard. Read Part 1.

Michael Wara is worried that a key California climate regulator is about to lock the state into the mistakes of the past. And it’s largely because the agency — the California Air Resources Board — is putting too much faith in its ability to predict the future.

Wara, director of Stanford University’s Climate and Energy Policy Program, led a team of climate scientists that in September presented CARB with a proposal to set its beleaguered Low Carbon Fuel Standard program on the right path for the planet. The proposal, developed on behalf of CARB’s Environmental Justice Advisory Committee, aims to curb what have become lavish subsidies for renewable diesel and dairy biogas, combustion fuels that are not up to the task of cleaning up transportation, the state’s largest source of greenhouse gas emissions.

The agency has issued decisions in recent years that have made California a global leader in electric vehicle adoption. But it has also allowed the Low Carbon Fuel Standard — a marquee program that raises some $4 billion each year to cut carbon emissions from transportation — to rely heavily on crop- and cow-manure-based biofuels that Wara and other climate scientists say are not only an ineffective way to spend the money but also actively harmful for the planet.

Now, as the agency prepares to vote on a plan that rejects the environmental-justice proposal in favor of continuing its support of these biofuels, Wara is concerned that CARB is about to lock in its disastrous policy for another two decades.

Things are changing really fast in the transportation sector, and CARB deserves credit for that,” Wara said, referring to its EV policies. But that rapid pace of change means that the future is highly uncertain in the transportation sector,” he said. The compromises we’re making to get cleaner fuels today may look good today” to CARB analysts, but not look good in 10 years — and I have no idea how they’ll look in 20 years.”

Despite this uncertainty, the staff’s core justification for its preferred biofuel-friendly approach is a model it has created to forecast the optimal pathway for decarbonizing the state’s cars, vans, buses, trucks, trains, planes and even off-road vehicles by 2045. And at the core of that long-range, intricate model is, of course, a set of assumptions. These assumptions are hugely consequential, hotly contested — and shrouded in secrecy.

The agency has entered into very speculative territory” with this model, Wara said, and it may be relying on assumptions that falsely paint electrified transit options as less appealing than biofuels.

Groups including Earthjustice, the Union of Concerned Scientists, Food and Water Watch and Wara’s team have challenged these assumptions, warning that they may not only turn out to be wrong but also create an analytical framework that makes better choices look worse by comparison.

And though they have their suspicions that CARB’s model gets some things wrong given its strong prioritization of biofuels, they can’t even say that for sure. That’s because CARB hasn’t yet let them see and evaluate the inputs to its model.

Wara said he’s reluctant to say that the modeling is good or bad, or that the alternatives have been fairly considered or not.” Until the data is available to test those assertions, I honestly have no idea.”

But as it stands, it’s far from clear that CARB is ready to reform its approach to modeling the impacts of its Low Carbon Fuel Standard policy quickly enough to address the threat that runaway biofuel subsidies pose to transportation-decarbonization goals. That’s why many of CARB’s critics, including Wara and a group of climate scientists, are pushing the CARB board to not only provide transparency into their modeling efforts but also embrace the environmental-justice proposal the staff has spurned — starting with a limit on the amount of crop-derived renewable diesel flooding the program. 

Why CARB’s long-range modeling may be discounting the electric future

Environmental-justice groups have long argued that CARB is giving renewable diesel and methane captured from cow manure more carbon-cutting and air-pollution-reducing credit than the latest science shows they should receive. Opponents of those fuels have accused the agency of bowing to pressure from powerful oil and agricultural industry interests that are profiting from the existing policies.

But one reason CARB puts so much weight on those liquid-fuel-based pathways may be because its analytical and modeling framework simply cannot imagine a low-carbon transportation future without them — at least not with its current assumptions.

CARB staff’s December report stated that it rejected the environmental-justice proposal, which was backed by modeling done by Wara’s team, because it would lead to higher volumes of fossil diesel being used than any of the other scenarios evaluated” and thus higher carbon emissions and air pollution.

Even with a 2035 phaseout of new light-duty vehicle sales and aggressive deadlines for a heavy-duty [vehicle] phaseout, millions of fossil-fueled vehicles will remain on California’s roads for several decades,” CARB spokesperson Dave Clegern told Canary Media in a March email. They will require cleaner fuels as we move toward 2045 carbon neutrality.”

But that finding relies on assumptions about the amount of liquid fuels that will be needed through 2045, Wara noted. In extremely simplified terms, CARB’s modeling methodology takes as a given how much liquid fuel is required, and then it says, How are we going to get the liquid fuel we need?’”

And if biofuels aren’t available to feed that model, it will presume that fossil fuels are being burned to make up the difference.

On the other side of that coin, CARB’s model also takes as a given the amount of electric transport” that will be available 10 and 20 years from now, he said. But given how quickly electric vehicles and batteries to power them are advancing, it’s far from clear that today’s assumptions on that front will hold true — and if you get that wrong, you get every prediction wrong for the model.”

California has set a goal of ending sales of new gasoline-fueled passenger vehicles by 2035, but how quickly EVs are actually adopted will depend on factors that now remain in flux, ranging from automaker investments and charging availability to consumer sentiment.

There’s even greater uncertainty about how many medium- and heavy-duty vehicles will be able to convert to electric over the next 20 years, as opposed to needing low-carbon liquid fuel alternatives to diesel, Wara said. Previously held beliefs about the cost and range limits of battery-electric heavy-duty trucks are being shattered on an annual basis.

These underlying technological and economic developments are happening so fast that models developed just last summer cannot simulate what’s happening now and next year,” he said.

Why has CARB withheld important data? 

That brings up another problem, Wara said: No one knows exactly what CARB’s modeling inputs are. They only know the outcomes.

The rulemaking is not transparent because CARB has been unwilling to release files that we need to evaluate it,” he said.

For its analysis, Wara’s team used the same optimization modeling platform — the California Transportation Supply, or CATS, model — that CARB developed and uses for its own analysis. But CARB staff has refused to share the underlying data input and output files that informed its latest plan, Wara said.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

Google is betting on carbon capture tech to lower data center emissions. Here’s how it works

As AI data centers spring up across the country, their energy demand and resulting greenhouse gas emissions are raising concerns. With servers and energy-intensive cooling systems constantly running, these buildings can use anywhere from a few megawatts of power for a small data center to more than 100 megawatts for a hyperscale data center. To put that in perspective, the average large natural gas power plant built in the U.S. generates less than 1,000 megawatts. When the power for these data centers comes from fossil fuels, they can become major sources of climate-warming emissions in the atmosphere—unless the power plants capture their greenhouse gases first and then lock them away. Google recently entered into a unique corporate power purchase agreement to support the construction of a natural gas power plant in Illinois designed to do exactly that through carbon capture and storage. So how does carbon capture and storage, or CCS, work for a project like this? I am an engineer who wrote a 2024 book about various types of carbon storage. Here’s the short version of what you need to know. How CCS works When fossil fuels are burned to generate electricity, they release carbon dioxide, a powerful greenhouse gas that remains in the atmosphere for centuries. As these gases accumulate in the atmosphere, they act like a blanket, holding heat close to the Earth’s surface. Too high of a concentration heats up the Earth too much, setting off climate changes, including worsening heat waves, rising sea levels, and intensifying storms. Carbon capture and storage involves capturing carbon dioxide from power plants, industrial processes, or even directly from the air and then transporting it, often through pipelines, to sites where it can be safely injected underground for permanent storage. The carbon dioxide might be transported as a supercritical gas—which is right at the phase change from liquid to gas and has the properties of both—or dissolved in a liquid. Once injected deep underground, the carbon dioxide can become permanently trapped in the geologic structure, dissolve in brine, or become mineralized, turning it to rock. The goal of carbon storage is to ensure that carbon dioxide can be kept out of the atmosphere for a long time. Types of underground carbon storage There are several options for storing carbon dioxide underground. Depleted oil and natural gas reservoirs have plentiful storage space and the added benefit that most are already mapped and their limits understood. They already held hydrocarbons in place for millions of years. Carbon dioxide can also be injected into working oil or gas reservoirs to push out more of those fossil fuels while leaving most of the carbon dioxide behind. This method, known as enhanced oil and gas recovery, is the most common one used by carbon capture and storage projects in the U.S. today, and one reason CCS draws complaints from environmental groups. Volcanic basalt rock and carbonate formations are considered good candidates for safe and long-term geological storage because they contain calcium and magnesium ions that interact with carbon dioxide, turning it into minerals. Iceland pioneered this method using its bedrock of volcanic basalt for carbon storage. Basalt also covers most of the oceanic crust, and scientists have been exploring the potential for sub-seafloor storage reservoirs. How Iceland uses basalt to turn captured carbon dioxide into solid minerals. In the U.S., a fourth option likely has the most potential for industrial carbon dioxide storage—deep saline aquifers, which is what Google plans to use. These widely distributed aquifers are porous and permeable sediment formations consisting of sandstone, limestone, or dolostone. They’re filled with highly mineralized groundwater that cannot be used directly for drinking water but is very suitable for storing CO2. Deep saline aquifers also have large storage capacities, ranging from about 1,000 to 20,000 gigatons. In comparison, the nation’s total carbon emissions from fossil fuels in 2024 were about 4.9 gigatons. As of fall 2025, 21 industrial facilities across the U.S. used carbon capture and storage, including industries producing natural gas, fertilizer, and biofuels, according to the Global CCS Institute’s 2025 report. Five of those use deep saline aquifers, and the rest involve enhanced oil or gas recovery. Eight more industrial carbon capture facilities were under construction. Google’s plan is unique because it involves a power purchase agreement that makes building the power plant with carbon capture and storage possible. Google’s deep saline aquifer storage plan Google’s 400-megawatt natural gas power plant, to be built with Broadwing Energy, is designed to capture about 90% of the plant’s carbon dioxide emissions and pipe them underground for permanent storage in a deep saline aquifer in the nearby Mount Simon sandstone formation. The Mount Simon sandstone formation is a huge saline aquifer that lies underneath most of Illinois, southwestern Indiana, southern Ohio, and western Kentucky. It has a layer of highly porous and permeable sandstone that makes it an ideal candidate for carbon dioxide injection. To keep the carbon dioxide in a supercritical state, that layer needs to be at least half a mile (800 meters) deep. A thick layer of Eau Claire shale sits above the Mount Simon formation, serving as the caprock that helps prevent stored carbon dioxide from escaping. Except for some small regions near the Mississippi River, Eau Claire shale is considerably thick—more than 300 feet (90 meters)—throughout most of the Illinois basin. The estimated storage capacity of the Mount Simon formation ranges from 27 gigatons to 109 gigatons of carbon dioxide. The Google project plans to use an existing injection well site that was part of the first large-scale carbon storage demonstration in the Mount Simon formation. Food producer Archer Daniels Midland began injecting carbon dioxide there from nearby corn processing plants in 2012. Carbon capture and storage has had challenges as the technology developed over the years, including a pipeline rupture in 2020 that forced evacuations in Satartia, Mississippi, and caused several people to lose consciousness. After a recent leak deep underground at the Archer Daniels Midland site in Illinois, the Environmental Protection Agency in 2025 required the company to improve its monitoring. Stored carbon dioxide had migrated into an unapproved area, but no threat to water supplies was reported. Why does CCS matter? Data centers are expanding quickly, and utilities will have to build more power capacity to keep up. The artificial intelligence company OpenAI is urging the U.S. to build 100 gigawatts of new capacity every year—doubling its current rate. Many energy experts, including the International Energy Agency, believe carbon capture and storage will be necessary to slow climate change and keep global temperatures from reaching dangerous levels as energy demand rises. Ramesh Agarwal is a professor of engineering at Washington University in St. Louis. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

As AI data centers spring up across the country, their energy demand and resulting greenhouse gas emissions are raising concerns. With servers and energy-intensive cooling systems constantly running, these buildings can use anywhere from a few megawatts of power for a small data center to more than 100 megawatts for a hyperscale data center. To put that in perspective, the average large natural gas power plant built in the U.S. generates less than 1,000 megawatts. When the power for these data centers comes from fossil fuels, they can become major sources of climate-warming emissions in the atmosphere—unless the power plants capture their greenhouse gases first and then lock them away. Google recently entered into a unique corporate power purchase agreement to support the construction of a natural gas power plant in Illinois designed to do exactly that through carbon capture and storage. So how does carbon capture and storage, or CCS, work for a project like this? I am an engineer who wrote a 2024 book about various types of carbon storage. Here’s the short version of what you need to know. How CCS works When fossil fuels are burned to generate electricity, they release carbon dioxide, a powerful greenhouse gas that remains in the atmosphere for centuries. As these gases accumulate in the atmosphere, they act like a blanket, holding heat close to the Earth’s surface. Too high of a concentration heats up the Earth too much, setting off climate changes, including worsening heat waves, rising sea levels, and intensifying storms. Carbon capture and storage involves capturing carbon dioxide from power plants, industrial processes, or even directly from the air and then transporting it, often through pipelines, to sites where it can be safely injected underground for permanent storage. The carbon dioxide might be transported as a supercritical gas—which is right at the phase change from liquid to gas and has the properties of both—or dissolved in a liquid. Once injected deep underground, the carbon dioxide can become permanently trapped in the geologic structure, dissolve in brine, or become mineralized, turning it to rock. The goal of carbon storage is to ensure that carbon dioxide can be kept out of the atmosphere for a long time. Types of underground carbon storage There are several options for storing carbon dioxide underground. Depleted oil and natural gas reservoirs have plentiful storage space and the added benefit that most are already mapped and their limits understood. They already held hydrocarbons in place for millions of years. Carbon dioxide can also be injected into working oil or gas reservoirs to push out more of those fossil fuels while leaving most of the carbon dioxide behind. This method, known as enhanced oil and gas recovery, is the most common one used by carbon capture and storage projects in the U.S. today, and one reason CCS draws complaints from environmental groups. Volcanic basalt rock and carbonate formations are considered good candidates for safe and long-term geological storage because they contain calcium and magnesium ions that interact with carbon dioxide, turning it into minerals. Iceland pioneered this method using its bedrock of volcanic basalt for carbon storage. Basalt also covers most of the oceanic crust, and scientists have been exploring the potential for sub-seafloor storage reservoirs. How Iceland uses basalt to turn captured carbon dioxide into solid minerals. In the U.S., a fourth option likely has the most potential for industrial carbon dioxide storage—deep saline aquifers, which is what Google plans to use. These widely distributed aquifers are porous and permeable sediment formations consisting of sandstone, limestone, or dolostone. They’re filled with highly mineralized groundwater that cannot be used directly for drinking water but is very suitable for storing CO2. Deep saline aquifers also have large storage capacities, ranging from about 1,000 to 20,000 gigatons. In comparison, the nation’s total carbon emissions from fossil fuels in 2024 were about 4.9 gigatons. As of fall 2025, 21 industrial facilities across the U.S. used carbon capture and storage, including industries producing natural gas, fertilizer, and biofuels, according to the Global CCS Institute’s 2025 report. Five of those use deep saline aquifers, and the rest involve enhanced oil or gas recovery. Eight more industrial carbon capture facilities were under construction. Google’s plan is unique because it involves a power purchase agreement that makes building the power plant with carbon capture and storage possible. Google’s deep saline aquifer storage plan Google’s 400-megawatt natural gas power plant, to be built with Broadwing Energy, is designed to capture about 90% of the plant’s carbon dioxide emissions and pipe them underground for permanent storage in a deep saline aquifer in the nearby Mount Simon sandstone formation. The Mount Simon sandstone formation is a huge saline aquifer that lies underneath most of Illinois, southwestern Indiana, southern Ohio, and western Kentucky. It has a layer of highly porous and permeable sandstone that makes it an ideal candidate for carbon dioxide injection. To keep the carbon dioxide in a supercritical state, that layer needs to be at least half a mile (800 meters) deep. A thick layer of Eau Claire shale sits above the Mount Simon formation, serving as the caprock that helps prevent stored carbon dioxide from escaping. Except for some small regions near the Mississippi River, Eau Claire shale is considerably thick—more than 300 feet (90 meters)—throughout most of the Illinois basin. The estimated storage capacity of the Mount Simon formation ranges from 27 gigatons to 109 gigatons of carbon dioxide. The Google project plans to use an existing injection well site that was part of the first large-scale carbon storage demonstration in the Mount Simon formation. Food producer Archer Daniels Midland began injecting carbon dioxide there from nearby corn processing plants in 2012. Carbon capture and storage has had challenges as the technology developed over the years, including a pipeline rupture in 2020 that forced evacuations in Satartia, Mississippi, and caused several people to lose consciousness. After a recent leak deep underground at the Archer Daniels Midland site in Illinois, the Environmental Protection Agency in 2025 required the company to improve its monitoring. Stored carbon dioxide had migrated into an unapproved area, but no threat to water supplies was reported. Why does CCS matter? Data centers are expanding quickly, and utilities will have to build more power capacity to keep up. The artificial intelligence company OpenAI is urging the U.S. to build 100 gigawatts of new capacity every year—doubling its current rate. Many energy experts, including the International Energy Agency, believe carbon capture and storage will be necessary to slow climate change and keep global temperatures from reaching dangerous levels as energy demand rises. Ramesh Agarwal is a professor of engineering at Washington University in St. Louis. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Barracuda, grouper, tuna – and seaweed: Madagascar’s fishers forced to find new ways to survive

Seaweed has become a key cash crop as climate change and industrial trawling test the resilient culture of the semi-nomadic Vezo peopleAlong Madagascar’s south-west coast, the Vezo people, who have fished the Mozambique Channel for countless generations, are defined by a way of life sustained by the sea. Yet climate change and industrial exploitation are pushing this ocean-based culture to its limits.Coastal villages around Toliara, a city in southern Madagascar, host tens of thousands of the semi-nomadic Vezo people, who make a living from small-scale fishing on the ocean. For centuries, they have launched pirogues, small boats carved from single tree trunks, every day into the turquoise shallows to catch tuna, barracuda and grouper.A boat near lines of seaweed, which has become a main source of income for Ambatomilo village as warmer seas, bleached reefs and erratic weather accelerate the decline of local fish populations Continue reading...

Along Madagascar’s south-west coast, the Vezo people, who have fished the Mozambique Channel for countless generations, are defined by a way of life sustained by the sea. Yet climate change and industrial exploitation are pushing this ocean-based culture to its limits.Coastal villages around Toliara, a city in southern Madagascar, host tens of thousands of the semi-nomadic Vezo people, who make a living from small-scale fishing on the ocean. For centuries, they have launched pirogues, small boats carved from single tree trunks, every day into the turquoise shallows to catch tuna, barracuda and grouper.“We rely solely on the ocean,” says Soa Nomeny, a woman from a small island off the south-west coast called Nosy Ve. “Whatever we catch today, we eat today. If we catch nothing, we don’t eat.”That dependence is becoming precarious for the 600 or so residents of Nosy Ve. Michel “Goff” Strogoff, a former shark hunter turned conservationist from the Vezo hamlet of Andavadoaka, says fish populations began collapsing in the 1990s and have declined sharply over the past decade.Rising sea temperatures, coral bleaching and reef degradation have destroyed breeding grounds, while erratic weather linked to warming oceans has shortened fishing seasons. “There’s no abundance near shore any more,” he says. “We’re forced to paddle farther.” Soa Nomeny, wearing traditional sunblock, prepares the family’s main meal of rice and fish or octopus. The Vezo only eat that day’s catch, ensuring their meals are connected to the sea’s bounty In Nosy Ve, fish are often cooked with tomato, onion and garlic; salted sardines are laid out to dry before being sold in Andavadoaka; Soa Nomeny applies tabake, traditional sunblock made from ground taolo, a fragrant bark; and the catch is taken to market from Bevohitse village by zebu-drawn cart, the main form of transport in remote areas We still depend on fish for daily needs, but the seaweed helps us plan aheadLocal fishers echo the same concern. “There are simply too many nets out there,” says Hosoanay Natana, who now travels hours beyond traditional grounds to make a viable catch for him and his fellow fishermen.Industrial trawlers – Malagasy and foreign – often enter near-shore waters despite a national ban on the ships coming within two nautical miles (3.7km) of the coast. Weak enforcement means violations are common, leaving small-scale fishers with dwindling returns.The environmental group Blue Ventures, which has worked in the region for two decades, reports that reef fish biomass across south-west Madagascar has fallen by more than half since the 1990s. The organisation supports locally managed marine areas (LMMAs) that help communities set their own fishing rules, restore reefs and look for alternative ways to make a living.Some of the most promising of these include imposing temporary closures, which have allowed octopus stocks to rebound, and the new practice of seaweed farming, which acts as a commercial buffer against overfishing and climate shocks. Hosoanay Natana tightening the net around a school of barracuda. Divers direct boats to form a circle with the net. Once the fish are trapped, the divers retrieve them and bring them to the boat, ensuring more sustainable fishing Farther down the coast, the village of Ambatomilo, known locally as Seaweed Village, has embraced this shift. Overseen by its LMMA committee, it is among several communities cultivating seaweed as a supplementary income for fishers whose traditional grounds are overexploited. Families lay freshly harvested seaweed out to dry before selling it to local cooperatives.Fabricé and his wife, Olive, who began farming five years ago, harvest every couple of weeks. “The market pays around 1,500 ariary [25p] per kilo,” says Olive, spreading red seaweed across bamboo racks. Depending on the season, families can produce up to a tonne a month, offering significant extra income that helps cushion households’ living standards when fishing falters.“We still depend on fish for daily needs,” she says, “but the seaweed helps us plan ahead.”Seaweed farming is now one of Madagascar’s fastest-growing coastal industries. The crop is exported mainly for carrageenan – a gelling agent used in food, cosmetics and pharmaceuticals – but also serves locally as fertiliser and livestock feed. Fabricé gathers in the seaweed harvest. Depending on the season, they can harvest up to a tonne a month. With his wife, Olive, he carries the seaweed to prepare it for market. It is also eaten or used as seasoning, and serves as fertiliser or animal feed when dried. Soa Nomeny with an octopus she has speared to supplement the fish catch Environmental studies have shown that seaweed farms also help stabilise coastlines by reducing wave energy and absorbing carbon dioxide, contributing to erosion control and carbon sequestration.The Vezo people’s adaptability, once a source of pride, has become a condition of survival. Outside the cyclone season, some families still undertake long fishing migrations, camping on sandbanks and uninhabited islets as they follow fish along the coast. “Extended migrations are always an option,” says Natana. “Whether we embark or not depends on the fish stocks nearby.”Such journeys can last weeks or months, depending on catches and resources. The lure of high-value commodities – such as shark fins or sea cucumbers bound for Chinese markets – draws some to more distant waters up to 1,000 miles (1,600km) away.“Some even venture all the way to the Seychelles,” says Strogoff, a nod to the Vezo people’s enduring nomadic spirit: always chasing the next opportunity to make a living. Villagers gathered for the Tromba ritual, performed to invoke blessings, honour ancestors and seek protection, good health and plenty. People are possessed by spirits, a goat or even a zebu is sacrificed, and other offerings made, such as rice, bread or rum. The ritual is also performed at times of crisis, before a journey, or for marriages Cultural traditions remain central to community life. On Nosy Ve, families still gather for annual blessing rituals, seeking protection and prosperity. During one such ceremony, elders invoke ancestral spirits in a Tromba possession rite while villagers sacrifice a goat or make other offerings to ensure safety at sea.Life on the island reflects both endurance and fragility. Homes built from pounded seashells and palm fronds line the beach; nights are lit by torches instead of electricity.After a day at sea, the fish catches are shared equally among crews, with the surplus sold or traded for rice or solar batteries. Meals rarely change: rice, beans and grilled fish.For now, the Vezo people continue to depend on the ocean that shaped them. Yet each year, the distance they must travel grows and the risks mount.As industrial fleets expand and reefs decline, an ancient seafaring culture faces an uncertain horizon. Their struggle reflects a wider challenge across coastal Africa: how small communities can endure when the sea that sustains them is changing so fast.

Sinkholes in Turkey's Agricultural Heartland Fuel Farmers' Concerns

By Ali KucukgocmenKONYA, Turkey, Dec 23 (Reuters) - Hundreds of ‌sinkholes ​have emerged in Turkey's central ‌agricultural region due to dwindling...

KONYA, Turkey, Dec 23 (Reuters) - Hundreds of ‌sinkholes ​have emerged in Turkey's central ‌agricultural region due to dwindling rainfall and receding groundwaters, causing concern ​among farmers and environmental experts who see it as a worrying sign of climate change.Gaping sinkholes ‍pockmark farmland producing maize, wheat ​and sugar beet in Karapinar in Konya province, with more than 10 packed into ​a field ⁠in places. In mountainous areas, vast, ancient sinkholes previously filled with water have now mostly dried up.The pace at which sinkholes are forming in the Konya basin has accelerated in recent years, with the total now nearing 700, according to Fetullah Arik, a geology ‌professor studying sinkholes at Konya Technical University."The main reason for the increase in numbers ​is ‌climate change and drought, which ‍have affected ⁠the whole world since the 2000s," Arik said. "As a result of this drought, the groundwater level is dropping slightly every year."He said the pace of receding groundwater levels has reached 4 to 5 metres per year, compared to half a metre per year in the 2000s, adding to concerns in Turkey's major agricultural sector.Drought and receding groundwater lead local farmers to dig more wells, ​many unlicensed, further depleting the groundwater and exacerbating the problem."There is also an extremely high demand for water in this (Konya) basin," Arik said, adding that there are around 120,000 unlicensed wells, compared to some 40,000 licensed ones.While the new sinkholes have not caused any casualties so far, their unpredictable nature risks the lives and belongings of locals, he said.Two sinkholes opened up in the farmland belonging to Mustafa Sik, a farmer in Karapinar, in the past two years. His brother was only a short distance away, working on the farm in August ​2024 when the second sinkhole formed with an "extremely loud, terrifying rumbling sound," Sik said.A survey by geologists in Sik's land found two more areas where sinkholes could form – although it is not possible to predict when it will happen."Are ​we worried? Of course, we are very worried," he said.(Reporting by Ali Kucukgocmen; Editing by Daren Butler, Alexandra Hudson)Copyright 2025 Thomson Reuters.Photos You Should See – December 2025

This Netflix holiday rom-com is secretly an environmentalist fantasy

Don't watch "A Merry Little Ex-Mas" for the cheesy romance. Watch it for the sustainability messages, which shine as bright as LED Christmas lights.

At first glance, A Merry Little Ex-Mas looks like yet another holiday rom-com — a comforting, predictable love story done up in a tidy bow. Only in this case, that festive wrapper is made of green ribbon. Any environmentally-minded viewers will quickly clock Ex-Mas as not just a corny yuletide romp, but a PSA for sustainable living.  That’s why, on the Friday afternoon before Christmas, a few Grist staffers cozied up on their couches to watch a Netflix film our editor-in-chief assured us was actually a climate movie “disguised in holiday romance sappiness.” Alicia Silverstone (of Clueless fame, and a sustainability advocate in real life) plays an environmentalist named Kate, an architect turned handy-mom. Her passion for the planet — which manifests in familiar hippie tropes like composting, shopping secondhand, and making ornaments out of “recycled and found objects” — borders on obsession, in the eyes of family and friends tortured by such sins as handmade gifts and a carbon-sequestering live Christmas tree.  She’s been separated for months from her husband, a small-town doctor named Everett, who once upon a time whisked her away to his idyllic hometown of Winterlight, forcing her to leave her professional dreams behind in Boston. But enough about him. He barely matters. (Plus, he has about as much personality as recycled cardboard — perhaps why Kate likes him so much.) This movie isn’t about their reconciliation so much as it’s a hot cup of cocoa for the souls of neglected, crunchy, 40-something women who yearn to curl up with a movie that whispers, You are right. You are valued. You were smart to install all those solar panels.  As we started a running commentary on the movie in Slack, it didn’t take long for each of us to see something of ourselves in the protagonist. She shares her first name with senior staff writer Kate Yoder, along with a fondness for long words (like “thermodynamic”), and similar life experiences with associate editor Claire Elise Thompson, who also followed her doctor husband across the country. Teresa Chin, Grist’s executive editor, couldn’t help but identify with the antimaterialist mom who champions homemade and secondhand goods. Anyone who has given climate change more than a passing thought will probably find something in Kate to relate to.  All of the movie’s other characters are little more than props or foils for Kate, but there were two who caught our attention. One was Chet, Kate’s brief fling, a delightful himbo who appears to appreciate her interests more than anyone else in her life. Chet is to Winterlight what Kirk is to Stars Hollow, seemingly holding every job possible — including, we learn at the end, driving a snow plow as an emergency response volunteer. (Their love story would have made for a better movie, if we’re being honest.) The other was Kate’s house, nicknamed “the Mothership,” a picturesque Victorian that had us all cooing in the group chat because of its resemblance to the storied house from the movie Practical Magic. Spoiler alert: It’s the Mothership that truly saves the day in the end. Netflix Though the movie never mentions climate change explicitly, it’s sprinkled with environmental mentions. There are more references to sustainability than there are cheesy romance scenes. They go beyond the low-hanging fruit of eco-friendly lifestyle stuff like worm bins. Kate recommends a neighbor install a heat pump when her furnace breaks down. One of her fathers-in-law (yes, the family has two gay grandpas) asks her about geothermal energy. Her husband even calls her by the nickname “Al,” a reference to Al Gore — evidently the only environmentalist he’s heard of, apart from Kate.  Kate’s friends and family make fun of her environmentally-minded quirks. And she may deserve it a little — for much of the movie, she leans into the fun-killing environmentalist trope (at one point, in response to seeing Everett’s new house bedecked with energy-guzzling Christmas lights and inflatable lawn decorations, Kate exclaims, “I can hear the polar ice caps melting!”) But over the course of the movie, it becomes clear how much her loved ones admire her and share her values, if not in exactly the same way. Her kids, for instance, admit that her passion inspires them to pursue their own dreams.  And Kate’s preparedness comes to fruition when a windstorm knocks out the town’s power, leaving her solar-panel-and-battery-laden home the only one in Winterlight with lights (and, for that matter, heat). The neighbors flock to the Mothership like it’s a climate resilience hub. Inspired by the warmth of her community, Kate decides not to return to Boston to take up her old green architect job, but to stay in Winterlight with Everett and start her own sustainability company, which she describes as “making a difference in my community and changing the world, one person at a time.” It’s a model of “think global, act local.” As Teresa put it in our group chat about the film: “I mean, let’s call this movie what it was — a fantasy where everyone in your life eventually realizes that they were wrong, you are right, and you also get to live in the Practical Magic house during Christmastime.”  A Merry Little Ex-Mas may not be the rom-com of the century — maybe we’ll get the Kate-and-Chet chemistry that we deserve in a sequel — but as cozy wish fulfillment for people who care about the planet, it’s a 10 out of 10. This story was originally published by Grist with the headline This Netflix holiday rom-com is secretly an environmentalist fantasy on Dec 23, 2025.

The Push to Make U.S. College Students Climate Literate

Students and professors at universities across the country are pushing for general education requirements to equip students to combat climate change.

The majority of people in the United States want the government to do more to address climate change, according to a 2020 study by the Pew Research Center, yet few of them can be counted as “climate literate”—which the North American Association for Environmental Education defines through metrics such as being able to understand essential climate principles, assess the credibility of climate information, and make “informed and responsible decisions” where their actions may impact the climate. The purpose of being climate literate is not just to gain scientific knowledge, but to uncover climate perspectives and solutions that can inspire action. In 2023, Allianz surveyed Americans to see how climate literate they were, asking scientific questions like “What is the impact of the rise in temperature?” as well as political ones like “What is COP?”, referring to the annual Conference of the Parties meetings that broadly discuss climate action among U.N. member nations. Researchers found only five percent of Americans had a high level of climate literacy.  To close this gap in climate literacy, a burgeoning movement of students and professors is pushing for climate literacy to be integrated in general education. Some efforts have already succeeded, such as at the University of California, San Diego, which in 2024 became one of the first universities to require that all undergraduates complete a general education course related to climate change. The push to implement this requirement was the result of a student-faculty alliance that has been organizing toward “climate education for all” since 2021. Arizona State University also revamped its general education requirements in 2024, making a three-credit sustainability course mandatory for incoming students. The University of Massachusetts Amherst has a robust climate literacy program, though the university has not yet included this in its required coursework.  UC San Diego’s victory recently inspired a group of thirteen professors at the University of California, Davis, to propose a Climate Crisis General Education requirement for undergraduate students. Former UC Davis undergraduate students Chely Saens, Meghan Van Note, and Trisha Trilokekar wrote that since “climate issues affect all fields of study, the new study requirement would ensure that every student, regardless of their major, gains a broad understanding of climate science, justice, and solutions.” The proposal has collected at least 530 endorsements from various student and staff groups across campus. Should they succeed in implementing it, a graduating class in the near future would be required to learn about sanitation, clean energy, sustainable communities, and responsible consumption and production. Most of the proposed courses for the climate change requirement would overlap with existing general education requirements. Mark Huising, who teaches neurobiology and physiology at UC Davis’s College of Biological Sciences, was part of the group pushing for this general education requirement. “It’s part of our core mission as faculty—especially of higher learning—to make sure that the teachings that we do are broadly applicable and useful to the students that we teach,” he tells The Progressive.  Huising says he saw the stakes of integrating climate education into undergraduate studies in 2018, when a student in the front row of one of his courses raised their hand and to be excused, having just found out their home had burned down in the Camp Fire. It pushed Huising to think more deeply about how to teach at a time when many students (and faculty members) are impacted by climate disasters. He continuously sees students dealing with environmental issues that interfere with their education. “Air quality concerns are front of mind,” Huising says. “More regularly we have people in our community who are facing extreme heat in combination with housing instability.” He says the group who worked on the general education proposal wanted to make sure the required course didn’t just focus on the scientific elements of climate change, but also “the human connection,” including perspectives on climate justice and solutions that intertwine with coursework in urban planning, public policy, renewable energy, public health, law, ecology, politics, sociology, and journalism. This, he says, instills a “sense of urgency” and agency in creating a graduated workforce “ who knows how to navigate this information landscape around climate change.”  But the proposal is currently a standstill. ​​ Earlier this fall, the Academic Senate at UC Davis, the faculty governance system, declined to implement the proposal, citing logistical issues such as concerns about the school’s capacity to implement a new general education curriculum on a campus with more than 30,000 undergraduates. “ We can’t create a requirement for students and then set them up to not be able to take classes that they need, or increase their time to [earn their] degree,” Huising says. Still, he says, the proposal’s proponents believe they can address these concerns with a carefully planned curriculum rollout, and are currently working to address the concerns and bring the amended proposal back to the Academic Senate.  Huising and his colleagues have brainstormed ways to broaden the range of courses that could fulfill the requirement by enriching courses in the current curriculum with climate-focused lessons. For him, this means teaching his physiology students about the impacts of extreme heat on the human body. Similarly, one of his colleagues in the Department of Entomology and Nematology is incorporating lessons on how Indigenous land use and water management practices can control insect populations in wetlands in the Central Valley. The English department, meanwhile, is adding literature courses focused on climate issues to its course catalog. At Harvey Mudd College, a private liberal arts school in Southern California focused on science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM), chemistry and climate professor Leila Hawkins hopes to create a permanent climate-focused general education course. A current class called “STEM & Social Impact” is temporarily focused on climate change until next spring. “The question is, do we keep it on climate or do we do something else like [artificial intelligence] or other big sticky problems?” Hawkins says. The course is currently taught by an interdisciplinary group of seven professors, including Hawkins, who teaches basic earth science principles for the class. Three of the course teachers are humanities, social sciences, or arts faculty, while other four are STEM faculty. Hawkins says it’s important for the climate change requirement to have a permanent place in curriculum, given the implications of global climate change for her students’ futures, “and the fact that we have to vote for people who are going to weigh in on policy choices related to climate and energy and resilience and planning and adaptation.” If students are not adequately informed about what climate change is and what can be done about it, she says, “they’re going to be much less able to be productive participants in a functioning society that’s going to tackle this.” An established requirement should have some basic earth science content, Hawkins says, but also an equal measure of historical context around climate policies. “You cannot avoid the partisan climate conversation,” she says. “I think having a really open, productive conversation about how it has become such a divided issue is really important.”  Similar to UC Davis’s proposal, Hawkins says a focus on climate solutions is essential in these courses, because without it, “it’s depressing to some students to the point of being immobilizing or debilitating.” Solutions-focused learning gives a vast array of students an opportunity to understand how they could play a role in the solution space given their own strengths and abilities. “They might want to be an artist or an engineer or a computer scientist or a historian or a tradesman—or whatever they want to be,” Hawkins says, “but there’s going to be a way that they can work on a solution for climate if they want to with those skills and interests.” At the end of the day, Huising says there is “not a large ideological opposition to doing this, but people are very comfortable not making a change in how we do stuff . . . . And very importantly, when we survey our students and when we talk to our student leadership on campus, there’s widespread support for this,” Huising notes. Jill Webb is a Brooklyn-based award-winning journalist and audio producer who mainly covers mental health, the environment, and labor issues. Her work can be found at www.jillmwebb.com. Read more by Jill Webb December 22, 2025 5:04 PM

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