This week, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese will attend the annual United Nations General Assembly meeting in New York. He will bring something important: Australia’s new 2035 emission cut target of 62–70% on 2005 levels.

UN Secretary General António Guterres has invited global leaders to gather to present their new 2035 targets, known formally as Nationally Determined Contributions, ahead of the COP30 climate talks in Brazil in November.

COP30 is shaping up as the most consequential round of climate commitments since the 2015 Paris Agreement. Even as climate damage intensifies, there are worrying signs of backsliding on climate action in some nations.

The United States is focused on increasing fossil fuel production and hobbling clean energy. Other nations are stepping up. China’s clean energy exports are reshaping electricity markets around the world. The UN is hoping more ambitious 2035 targets will build momentum.

What role will Australia play? Our 2035 goal, announced by Albanese last week, will be important in driving the domestic transition to a clean economy. It will also factor into international climate efforts.

Australia’s target is not ambitious enough to be in line with pathways to hold climate change under 1.5°C, but it offers clarity. It also raises the possibility of achieving net zero earlier than 2050 if underpinned by strong, rapid action.

How does Australia’s target stack up?

Australia’s 62–70% target range has been critiqued from several sides. Climate advocates wanted more ambition. Some business groups wanted a lower figure, while others called for a 75% target.

In reality, this pathway seeks a balance between pragmatism and higher ambition. The planned emission cuts are actually more ambitious than if Australia were to cut emissions at a steady rate between 2030 and 2050 – the year we need to reach net zero.

Over the past decade, Australia’s emissions outside the land-use sector have been falling slowly. Falling emissions from electricity production have been offset by rising emissions in transport and other sectors.

At present, emissions are about 28% lower than 2005 levels, due largely to changes in land use.

The nation’s 2030 goal is a 43% cut before hitting a minimum of 62% by 2035. Our analysis indicates this will require a sharp acceleration in how fast emissions fall between 2030 and 2035.

To make this steep trajectory less challenging, Australia could go faster in the next five years to make the path to 2035 smoother. If Australia maintained this pace, it could have another benefit: increasing the feasibility of Australia reaching net zero at an earlier date.

Global temperatures are tracking upwards

As global momentum builds ahead of COP30, the choices made by major economies such as Australia will influence whether a 1.5°C pathway remains within reach. As one of the world’s largest fossil fuel exporters, Australia’s decisions on energy and climate policy can shift global markets and boost momentum toward a 1.5°C future.

The Paris Agreement commits countries to hold the increase in global temperature well below 2°C and pursue efforts to limit it to 1.5°C.

Some have concluded the 1.5°C goal is already out of reach, but this is premature.

The World Meteorological Organization confirmed 2024 was likely the first year where global average temperatures had risen to 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels. There’s a 70% chance average warming in the five-year period from 2025–29 will be above 1.5°C.

Despite this, the best estimates of long-term average warming are still below 1.5°C, hovering between 1.34°C and 1.44°C between 2015 and 2034.

Can we still limit warming to 1.5°C?

Every fraction of a degree past 1.5°C adds more risks to food and water security, health and ecosystems, as well as costing more in adaptation and raising chances of irreversible impacts such as sea level rise and species extinctions.

The 1.5°C target is also legally significant. In July, the International Court of Justice issued an advisory opinion that states have legal duties under international law to prevent significant harm to the climate, using 1.5°C as a benchmark for responsible action.

The latest figures on the global carbon budget show the remaining volume of carbon dioxide able to be emitted for a 50:50 chance of limiting warming to 1.5°C is now just 130 gigatonnes.

Given the world is still emitting more than 40 gigatonnes a year, this budget will be used up in a little over three years. Global emissions have simply not declined fast enough. They may peak in 2025, but this is still unclear.

As a result, feasible scenarios for limiting end-of-century warming to 1.5°C now involve overshooting this target temporarily while working towards net zero and then bringing it back down. The risk here is that carbon removal techniques and other measures may not be viable on the timelines and scale required.

These 1.5°C scenarios will require strong global action to rapidly phase out fossil fuels, strengthen net zero targets by bringing them forward, and scaling up realistic and sustainable forms of carbon removal.

What are other countries doing?

As of September 2025, 36 countries have submitted new or updated targets for 2030 or 2035, covering around 23% of global emissions.

This includes major emitters such as the US (under the former Biden administration), Japan, Canada and Brazil, while others such as China and India are yet to submit. The European Union has flagged an indicative 2035 target of 66.3–72.5% below 1990 levels.

If all existing national emission reduction goals and net-zero targets are implemented in full, warming is projected to reach 1.7–2.1°C by 2100.

If countries instead continue to emit at levels in line with their 2030 targets, warming will be well over 2°C.

These estimates may change as leaders announce more 2035 targets. If these targets collectively set the world on a straight line towards net zero – backed by strong implementation – it will mark a decisive shift in global efforts to limit warming and avoid the worst consequences of climate change.

Achieving this for the world as a whole means high-income, high-emitting countries such as Australia must be as ambitious as possible in setting targets and taking action. They also have a responsibility to support global efforts to limit warming to 1.5°C to ensure a fairer and more climate-resilient future.

Rebecca Burdon, CEO Climate Resource, and Senior Advisor to Melbourne Climate Futures , The University of Melbourne

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The animal world is incredibly colourful, and behind this colour palette is a constant game of survival.

Most animals use camouflage, covering themselves in stealthy patterns to hide from predators. Others display bright and bold colours to warn potential predators they are not a good meal. This second strategy is known as aposematism or warning colouration. Although less common than camouflage, it has evolved hundreds of times in butterflies, beetles, bugs, sea slugs, poison frogs and even birds.

One long-standing question is why species use one of these strategies over the other. Is one of these strategies usually more successful? Under which specific circumstances does one strategy beat the other? Our new study, published today in Science, helps answer these questions.

Testing multiple theories

Both camouflage and aposematism can co-exist in the same region. In Australia, for example, there are many examples of camouflaged insects such as the spotted predatory katydids and the lichen spiders.

On the other hand, species such as the cotton harlequin bug – a common stink bug found in urban areas – and the handmaiden moth display bright orange and red colours to advertise to predators they are not a pleasant meal. Some animals (but fewer) such as mountain katydids even use both strategies by changing colour, or hiding and revealing colourful patches.

There are dozens of theories about why some species are camouflaged instead of warningly coloured, and it is a challenge to pull these ideas apart.

Small localised studies have independently tried to test the effect of different factors separately. For example, we know light levels are important in the success of camouflage strategies. We also know the success of warning colouration often relies on predators having experienced the prey before, and having learned to avoid warning signals.

But is lighting or predator learning ability more important?

Results from a single place tell us about that place, but we see the same strategies all over the world. Do strategies perform the same way everywhere?

To solve this mystery, our large team of collaborators ran the same experiment in 16 different countries around the world, in different forests with different levels of light, and different prey and predator communities.

15,000 paper moths

Together we deployed more than 15,000 artificial prey – paper moths – with three different colours: a classic warning pattern of orange-and-black, a sneaky brown that blends in, and an uncommon bright blue-and-black. Each paper target was baited with a mealworm, which allowed us to measure the survival of each type of colouration. If the bait was taken, we assumed a predator decided to consume that target.

The typical warning colour represented the widely distributed orange-and-black combination we see in many toxic animals, such as the monarch butterfly and poison frogs. The uncommon warning colour corresponded to a less used warning pattern that is still highly visible, similar to the Ulysses butterfly.

Having these two warning colourations allowed us to test whether predators avoid the orange-and-black signal because it is familiar or simply because it is highly visible.

We found there is no single “best” strategy. Instead, the local predators, local prey, and the forest light all contributed to whether camouflage or warning colours were most protective.

The predators present in the community – and how intensely they attacked prey – had the biggest impact on which prey colour was most successful at avoiding attack. We found that in places where there were lots of predator attacks – where competition for food is probably intense – predators are more likely to attack prey that looks dangerous or distasteful. This means camouflage was most protective in areas with lots of predation.

But the camouflaged prey couldn’t hide as well in every environment. For example, in well-lit environments, the benefits of camouflage were lost, while light conditions did not affect how the orange-and-black prey performed.

Familiarity with prey was also important. In places where camouflaged prey is abundant, hiding was less effective, as predators likely learn how to find camouflaged prey.

On the other hand, in places where warning colours were common, predators were better at avoiding the typical warning signal, but not the atypical one. This suggests predators learn to avoid familiar warning signals, which helps to explain why so many animals share similar colour combinations.

Predicting future changes

Our study shows how multiple features of the environment determine which strategy is more protective. It also shows the success of camouflage strategies might be more dependent on ecological context than that of warning signals.

As climate change transforms habitats, conditions that are vital to the success of different antipredator strategies can also change.

For example, camouflage strategies could fare worse in transformed habitats that have little vegetation cover and high levels of light.

Our findings can help better predict the effect these changes might have on animals that use different colour strategies against predators and mitigate against them.

Iliana Medina, Lecturer in Ecology, The University of Melbourne; Alice Exnerova, Associate Professor in Zoology, Charles University; Amanda M Franklin, DECRA Fellow, Department of Ecological, Plant and Animal Sciences, La Trobe University; Kate Umbers, Associate Professor in Zoology, Western Sydney University, and William Allen, Associate Professor in Evolutionary and Sensory Ecology, Swansea University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Australia’s worrying future under climate change was laid bare last week when the first National Climate Risk Assessment was released. It revealed extreme heat, fires, floods, droughts and coastal inundation already threatens lives and livelihoods – and will wreak further havoc in coming decades.

Much media attention focused on the effects in the continent’s south, where most Australians live. But the assessment found Northern Australia will be hardest hit on many fronts, including extreme heat.

This has major implications. Big plans are afoot to turn Northern Australia into Asia’s “food bowl”, as part of broader development for the region. It would involve building large-scale irrigation, dam and water infrastructure to increase agricultural production, create jobs and boost local economies.

But any discussion about transforming Northern Australia must confront the climate hazards threatening the region’s prosperity.

What’s the food bowl idea?

Northern Australia comprises roughly 53% of Australia’s land mass.

Turning the region into a food bowl would involve irrigating savannas and other ecosystems across northern parts of Western Australia, the Northern Territory and Queensland. The concept dates back decades, but gained momentum in 2015 when the Abbott government released a national white paper on developing Northern Australia.

Efforts to bring the plan to fruition are continuing. In 2018 for example, CSIRO released analysis of Northern Australia’s water resources and agricultural potential. And last year, a business case was developed for a major irrigation area in Far North Queensland.

The vision has been criticised due to concerns about river ecosystems, economic feasibility and Indigenous rights.

A decade ago, I challenged the Northern Australia development agenda from a climate change perspective. While proponents pointed to a bright future for the north – with new roads, rail, dams and food production – I argued climate change may eventually make large parts of the region unlivable.

Since then, changes in climate across the north have confirmed many concerns I described.

More frequent and intense extreme weather poses the biggest climate risk for the region. Northern Australia is largely tropical and subtropical, so global heating effects will be more pronounced. This will force natural, social and economic systems into uncharted climate territory.

Research already shows people, food production and nature will be vulnerable to higher-intensity cyclones, more intense heatwaves, floods, droughts, bushfires and other climate harms.

The new climate risk report paints an even more dire future for the region.

Danger in store for the north

As the risk assessment made clear, the world is on track to heat by at least 2.7°C by the 2090s if we don’t change course. In light of this, the report says:

Northern Australia is likely to experience escalating challenges as its proneness to hazards increases as global temperature rise. This will put pressure on health, critical infrastructure, natural species and ecosystems, and primary industries. It will also pose additional challenges to emergency responders.

Extreme weather events, including heatwaves, bushfires, flooding and tropical cyclones, will intensify safety and security risks, potentially resulting in loss of life, destabilisation of community structures, and increased migration away from high-risk areas.

The number of heatwave days is projected to increase across Australia – but particularly in the north.

Global heating is already affecting the production of some tropical tree crops, including mangoes and avocados. These crops need periods of cooler winter weather to flower and bear good fruit.

Livestock grazing is the economic lifeblood for many communities in the north’s tropical savannas. The risk assessment notes changes in temperature and water can worsen pasture for livestock. Increasing thermal stress in northern cattle herds is also a significant threat.

The risk assessment also raises concerns about other primary industries, many of which exist in the north. Changes in practices may buy more time. Much will depend on future carbon emissions.

Supply chains – such as storage, transport and distribution – are crucial for getting agricultural produce to consumers. Extreme weather, such as Cyclone Jasper in 2023, is already disrupting supply chains in the north. This will only worsen.

And an agriculture industry needs people. But the risk assessment says without action, some areas of the north may become unliveable and uninsurable. Floods, tropical cyclones and bushfires can leave communities isolated, and these and other hazards pose serious health risks.

What must happen now

Northern Australia has much to lose if carbon emissions keep rising and global heating continues. Adaptation and innovation may allow human communities and industries to survive for a while. But at some stage, crucial tipping points will be breached.

This will degrade the natural assets underpinning the north’s food, fibre and tourism industries.

Australia, like the rest of the world, must continue the journey to net zero carbon emissions by 2050. This includes meeting Australia’s new pledge to reduce emissions by 62–70% below 2005 levels by 2035.

Unless global warming is dramatically curbed, Northern Australia is unlikely to prosper in the second half of this century – and grandiose plans to turn the region into a food bowl will turn to dust.

Steve Turton, Adjunct Professor of Environmental Geography, CQUniversity Australia

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Waking up to the dawn chorus of birds – one of the natural world’s greatest symphonies – is a joy like no other. It is not surprising that bird-watching has become an increasingly popular hobby.

A simple way to start bird-watching is to buy a feeder, a pair of binoculars and a field guide, and begin watching birds from your window.

However, one of the most rewarding ways to identify birds is to listen to them and learn to recognize their songs.

As an ornithologist and educator, I often introduce students to the intricacies of bird songs, and I have developed some tricks that can make birding by ear less daunting.

Learning to listen

Learning bird songs is the difference between “hearing” and “listening.”

Listening requires full attention and limiting distractions. It means using your ears to pick up different patterns in the sounds that birds make. Every person has the capacity to listen and learn patterns in sound.

If I were to sing “da-da-da-DUM” most people would immediately recognize it as Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. Alternatively, if I were to play the first few notes or beats of your favorite song, I’m certain you would know what it was and who sang it.

The ability to recognize bird songs uses the same part of the brain you use to recognize songs on the radio – the supratemporal, or auditory, cortex, an area just above the ears where your brain processes language and sound.

When you’re birding by ear, you use the same skills as when you’re recognizing music; listening to sounds, patterns, changes in pitch, in tone and in volume, but in nature rather than in music.

You can do this.

To begin learning to recognize bird songs, select two to three common bird songs that you hear frequently around your neighborhood.

Sometimes there are mnemonics that you can use to help remember the songs. For instance, the tufted titmouse says “peter, peter, peter” over and over. Sometimes it sings it fast, sometimes slow, but always “peter, peter, peter.” Whereas the Carolina wren says, “tea kettle, tea kettle, tea kettle”.

Songbirds aren’t the only birds with helpful mnemonics. Next time you hear a hooting sound, if it sounds like “who cooks for you, who cooks for you all,” that’s a barred owl.

Why and how songbirds sing

Watching the actual bird sing its song is one of the best ways to learn the bird and song together. Find a tufted titmouse and watch it sing “peter, peter, peter,” and you will remember it forever.

Try going out into the woods with your binoculars and following unfamiliar sounds.

Many species make unique sounds as they sing, chirp, hoot, screech or whistle. They vocalize like this for a variety of reasons – to attract a mate, defend a territory, alert other birds to threats, or to locate other individuals to form flocks or groups.

Songbirds, such as the tufted titmouse and northern cardinal, are the group that ornithologists associate most with complex songs. They tend to have multiple notes and patterns that change in pitch and speed, rather than simple one-note or two-note calls.

These birds have a unique voice box called the syrinx, which translates to “double flute” in Greek and allows them to create two sounds at once.

Birds learn their songs in multiple ways.

Songbirds are born with an innate “template,” which tells them the basics for the song to sing. But they also learn from listening to adults. Studies have found regional dialects of birds’ songs and evidence that some birds learn songs from their parents while still in the shell. Sometimes they learn songs from neighbors, who usually end up becoming competitors for territory.

Human activities can affect birdsong

Human behaviors can also affect how birds sing.

Studies have found that, in some instances, background noise can weaken territorial responses in males. And light pollution in suburban areas can prolong singing by up to an hour.

In 1962, scientist and conservationist Rachel Carson wrote the book “Silent Spring” after noticing how quiet the spring had become when the bird migration would normally be underway. The pesticide DDT had weakened egg shells, triggering a sharp decline in many bird populations. Many scholars and historians identify this book as leading to the creation of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency under President Richard M. Nixon in 1970.

Getting started birding by ear

As you start learning bird songs, technology can come in handy. There are now dedicated apps, such as Cornell University’s Merlin, that can help you recognize bird songs as you are listening to them.

However, human abilities still outperform this technology, so use apps as a learning tool, not a crutch.

As humans, we have long depended on our ability to communicate with each other. I think we relate to birds because they are such vocal creatures too.

Learning their songs is a lifelong endeavor. Once you start tuning into the natural world, you’ll realize that there is something new waiting to be discovered.

Chris Lituma, Assistant Professor of Wildlife and Fisheries Resources, West Virginia University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Spring in Australia has arrived like a celebration. Magpies are warbling in the morning, wildflowers are bursting open across bushland, and the air is humming with life as tiny creatures have stirred back into action after the winter: bees darting between flowers, dragonflies skimming across ponds, and swarms of flying ants mating.

But we are largely blind to Australia’s insects, and more specifically, what has happened to them over years and decades. That’s because Australia – despite having some of the richest insect biodiversity on the planet – doesn’t have long-term datasets about insects. And because of this, we don’t have a coordinated way to know whether our native bees, butterflies, or even pest species are stable, declining, or booming.

But we can all help address this knowledge gap, and now is the perfect time of the year to do so.

Huge changes in insect numbers

Depending on where we look, and which insects we look at, we are seeing huge changes in insect populations.

For example, Europe’s long-running insect monitoring programs, such as the Krefeld study in Germany, have revealed dramatic declines in flying insect biomass, with losses of up to 75% over three decades.

The lack of similar monitoring programs and long-term data about insect populations in Australia is already having consequences. Take the bogong moth.

Once so abundant its migrations darkened the skies of eastern Australia, its numbers have plummeted by more than 99% in some areas in recent years. The mountain pygmy possum, an endangered species that depends on these moths for spring feeding, is now struggling to survive without its main food source.

This cascading effect is a stark reminder that when insect populations collapse, everything that depends on them – plants, animals, even people – can feel the impact.

Yet, we only noticed the bogong moth crash after it happened. Without consistent monitoring, we simply don’t have a baseline to detect change early – let alone prevent it.

Why spring matters for data collection

Spring is when insect life explodes into action. It’s when pollinators emerge to feed and breed, when decomposers such as beetles and flies begin their crucial work recycling nutrients, and when countless species begin to build the food webs that sustain ecosystems through the year.

Miss the spring data collection window, and you miss the moment when insect activity is at its peak. It’s like trying to understand traffic flow in a city by observing it at 3am instead of during peak hour.

Without good insect data, we can’t track shifts in emergence times that are changing due to warming temperatures (aphids are emerging up to a month earlier in the United Kingdom), or notice if key species are missing altogether.

That makes it harder to support agriculture, manage ecosystems, or respond to biodiversity loss in a meaningful way.

The need for a national monitoring network

For years Australian entomologists have been calling for a national insect monitoring network, one that collects regular, standardised data across ecosystems and seasons.

Without better baseline data, we simply lack the capacity to detect or respond to significant declines.

While not a fully fledged national network, initiatives such as Butterflies Australia demonstrate the potential of citizen science to contribute to long-term monitoring through standardised protocols and broad public participation.

Beyond conservation and risk detection, a national monitoring network would also play a critical role in discovering new species. Many of Australia’s invertebrates remain undocumented, and ongoing monitoring can lead to significant scientific discoveries.

One recent discovery came from a citizen science project where students helped identify a previously unknown wasp species in suburban Perth. This highlights the potential of a national-scale approach to not only track what we know, but also uncover what we don’t know.

What you can do

While Australia still lacks a national insect monitoring network, you can help fill the data gaps right now. Whether you’re a budding naturalist, a student, or simply curious about the life around you, there are ways to get involved in building the baseline scientists urgently need.

The Christmas Beetle Count runs every summer and involves taking photos of Christmas beetles to help researchers understand if their populations have declined. From this initiative, we have been able to see Christmas beetles that have not been observed in decades.

The Great Southern Bioblitz is a big citizen science project, where users of iNaturalist are encouraged to upload photos of all kinds of nature to the website. Its goal is to increase our knowledge of southern hemisphere nature.

If you’ve got kids and want to observe nature, the app Seek provides a safer environment for children to take photos and contribute to citizen science.

On a more local scale, you can join a local initiative run by some councils and environmental groups, such as Moth Night and the Sutherland Shire Beetle Hunt.

Insects are the unsung heroes of our ecosystems, pollinating crops, recycling nutrients, feeding birds, and much more. By getting involved in citizen science, you’re not just collecting data, you’re laying the groundwork for a national monitoring system Australia urgently needs, and ensuring we notice what’s changing before it’s too late.

Eliza Middleton, Senior Ecologist, University of Sydney and Caitlyn Forster, Associate Lecturer, School of Life and Environmental Sciences, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Species across the planet are on the move. Climate change has already caused more than 12,000 species to shift their homes across land, freshwater and the sea. They move to escape unfavourable conditions or to explore ecosystems that were previously inaccessible.

In the ocean, some tropical fish are “packing their bags” and moving into temperate reefs to seek cooler waters. These migrations are already happening along the east coast of Australia, which is considered one of the fastest-warming marine regions on Earth. New coral and fish species are regularly arriving in Sydney’s oceans, and this is expected to increase with future climate change.

These newcomers are traditionally monitored through visual surveys by researchers or citizen scientists. But many of these early arrivals are small, rare, nocturnal or live in caves, which means they can be easily missed. As a result, we may be underestimating the true rate of species on the move.

That is where our new research, published in Diversity and Distributions, comes in. We took off our marine ecologist hats and became forensic scientists, searching the water for clues about species on the move. By analysing fragments of DNA drifting in the ocean, we set out to discover the hidden shifts in fish communities that traditional visual surveys can overlook.

Genetic fingerprints floating in the ocean

Every organism leaves behind traces of itself in the environment. Fish shed mucus, scales and waste – all of which contain DNA. By collecting and filtering samples of seawater, we can extract this environmental DNA – or eDNA, as it’s more commonly known – and identify the species that are there.

The technique works much like forensic science. Just as detectives solve crimes by analysing fingerprints or hair left at a scene, ecologists can build a picture of marine life from the genetic fingerprints floating invisibly in the ocean.

The idea of eDNA began in the 1980s when scientists discovered they could collect DNA directly from soil or water samples. At first it was used to study microbes. But by the early 2000s researchers realised it could also reveal larger animals and plants.

Today, eDNA is being used everywhere – from soil to rivers and oceans – to discover hidden or threatened species, track biodiversity, and even study ancient ecosystems preserved in sediments.

Surveying 2,000km of coastline

To test how well eDNA can reveal species on the move, we surveyed fish communities along 2,000 kilometres of Australia’s east coast. Our sites ranged from the tropical reefs of the Great Barrier Reef, through to subtropical waters, and down to the temperate kelp forests of New South Wales.

At each site, we conducted traditional visual surveys, swimming along defined rectangular areas known as transect belts and recording every fish we saw. These surveys remain the standard for monitoring marine biodiversity and have built decades of valuable data.

Alongside these surveys, we collected bottles of seawater for DNA analysis. A few litres of water might not look like much, but it holds invisible genetic fingerprints of hundreds of species.

Back in the lab, we filtered the samples to capture the DNA, then sequenced them to reveal a snapshot of which species were in the area.

Detecting tropical species in temperate ecosystems

When we compared traditional visual surveys with eDNA water samples, the results were interesting. Each method revealed a somewhat different fish community, but together they gave us a far more complete picture than either method could on its own.

The eDNA detected tropical species in temperate ecosystems that had never been recorded there before. These included herbivores such as the lined surgeonfish (Acanthurus lineatus), the striated surgeonfish (Ctenochaetus striatus), and the common parrotfish (Scarus psittacus), and cryptic species such as the black-blotched porcupinefish (Diodon liturosus), the silver sweeper (Pempheris schwenkii), and the speckled squirrelfish (Sargocentron punctatissimum) that hide in caves or only emerge at night.

These are exactly the kinds of fish divers are most likely to miss.

For temperate species, this pattern flipped. Divers were often better at detecting them than eDNA was. This showed us eDNA is not a replacement for traditional visual surveys, but a powerful complement. By combining the two, we can better track species on the move, giving us the clearest view yet of how climate change is reshaping our reefs.

These migrations are not unique to Australia. Around the world, species are shifting their ranges as climate change alters temperatures, ocean currents and habitats. While some species may thrive in their new homes, others may struggle to adapt, or be pushed out.

Tracking these shifts is crucial for understanding how climate change is transforming our oceans, and it means we need better ways to detect which species are on the move.

Chloe Hayes, Postdoctoral Researcher in Marine Ecology, University of Adelaide; Angus Mitchell, Postdoctoral Researcher in Marine Ecology, University of Adelaide; David Booth, Professor of Marine Ecology, University of Technology Sydney, and Ivan Nagelkerken, Professor, Marine Biology, University of Adelaide

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

“Get a job!” shouted yet another driver going past me in the sweeping rain outside Preston New Road fracking site, on another bitingly cold winters day. Recipients of these outbursts were mostly retirees like the Nanas of Lancashire (a group of women from the northern shire of England who had become prominent anti-fracking activists).

My mum often joined me and other protesters to oppose the exploratory drilling that throughout 2018 and 2019 caused earthquakes. Local people were worried about the damage this could do to their homes, the water they rely on and the area’s nature and wildlife.

When it got too cold and I could see mum was starting to get the shivers, we would go back to my family home for a nice cup of tea, leaving the die hards to keep guard 24/7, continuing the fight until we could rejoin them next time.

“It’ll never make any difference,” Dad would comment as we put the kettle on. As a reader of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring – the 1962 book which exposed the destruction of wildlife through the widespread use of pesticides – and a school teacher all his life, he knew all too well the threats of the climate and ecological emergency. Especially once I joined the environmental protest movement.

But activism was not for him. “What was the point?” he’d wonder.

I can see why many people might feel like that. Especially when the decision by Lancashire County Council to reject fracking at Preston New Road was overruled by the Conservative government of the time, and the magnitude of permitted earthquakes was raised.

Frontline activism is certainly not for everyone. Especially when some journalists and politicians would have people believe these “eco-zealots” are the “enemies of society”, due to the disruption that can be caused by increasingly desperate and urgent protests and actions.

Stereotypes remain strong in public opinion and news sources often get basic climate change facts wrong. A quick google image search for “environmental activists” shows people with banners blocking roads, shouting into megaphones and looking angry. Perhaps even throwing soup at a painting or gluing themselves to the front of an office building if you scroll down a bit.

The radical flank frontline

More radical groups know that more disruptive actions lead to greater likelihood of coverage. This can lead to a “radical flank effect”, referring to the comparative outcome that occurs when more radical factions of a social movement like climate activism operate in the same arena as more moderate or less confrontational sections of that movement. The radical flank creates space behind it for others to move into and opportunities for social change can appear.

A vital role it would seem. But this doesn’t tell the whole story of what an activist is.

In a recent research study, I interviewed activists across a range of different ages, circumstances and ideological positions, from Just Stop Oil and Greenpeace to local wildlife trusts and community garden projects. All share concern for the future of life on this planet, trying to do what they can, where they can, to help shape a society we all deserve to live in.

Many express frustration and anger, alongside recognition, that the status quo and current economics are given more importance in political discourse and action than the large‐scale changes required to live sustainably within the natural world. One middle-aged woman who volunteers at the local climate hub (a public space for people involved in climate action) expressed “very little faith in governments. Just massive disappointment.”

The recent changes to protest laws which further vilify environmental activists and mean harsher sentences for attending zoom calls or holding a placard are seen as terrifyingly authoritarian. Yet a young employee of the group Surfers Against Sewage noted they are effective in that they “turn away the people who were kind of on the fence a little bit about it. But … it will also inspire others who are just like, dead against the injustice of it.”

My team’s research indicates a sense of despair due to this political inaction and pushback against those who speak out. Some on the radical flanks are seen by more conservative activists as too radical, and some on the flanks see those more conservative as too “soft” to generate the required changes.

Yet there is recognition of the vital roles everyone can play. A long-term Extinction Rebellion activist who now resides in Calderdale in West Yorkshire, recognised there needed to be “people fighting in different ways on so many different fronts, and I think there’s strength in supporting each other, if we can”.

Fracking was stopped in Lancashire. It was stopped by the Nanas, my mum and the many others on the radical flank frontline. But also by all of those working behind the scenes who put in time to lobby or protest in their own way. It was all these pieces of the puzzle working together that led to victory in Lancashire.

Our research shows you don’t have to be waving a placard shouting into a megaphone, although there is an important place for that too. Crucially, there are many roles for us all and ways we can work towards that future we all deserve to live in.

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Bob Walley, Researcher in Climate Change Engagement and Communication, University of Lancashire

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A century ago, half a million rhinos roamed Africa and Asia. Today, just 27,000 remain.

The latest annual State Of The Rhino report, released this week by the International Rhino Foundation, shows no dramatic declines in population numbers in the past year. On the surface, this might seem like good news: after decades of poaching, habitat loss and trafficking, rhino numbers are holding steady.

But that stability masks something darker. We may be falling victim to what conservation scientists call “shifting baseline syndrome”, where our expectations deteriorate over time as conditions get worse. Accepting 27,000 as a new normal – something to be celebrated, even – could spell disaster for the long-term future of the rhino.

The report tracks population estimates, threats and conservation progress for all five rhino species:

In Africa, black rhinos numbers have risen slightly to 6,788 (from 6,195), a welcome recovery from the 1990s when they plummeted to just 2,300. But as recently as 1960 there were more than 100,000. White rhinos, the most numerous species, fell to 15,752 (from 17,464). This continues a long-term decline, despite continued efforts to reduce poaching.

In Asia, greater one-horned rhino edged up to 4,075 (from 4,014), but the number of Sumataran rhinos remains perilously low at between 34 and 47, while Javan rhinos have crashed to 50 down from 76 due to illegal hunting.

The report also highlights concerns that rhinos in South Africa – home to most of the world’s rhinos – face long-term genetic risks from inbreeding and will struggle to adapt to change. South Africa’s rhino now survive only in fenced reserves, unable to roam naturally, and therefore live mostly in isolated small populations.

Radioactive rhino horn

The lack of encouraging increases in rhino populations is concerning, as governments and conservationists have made serious efforts to tackle poaching. In South Africa in particular, rhino have been translocated (sometimes by helicopter) to somewhere safer, they’ve had their horns removed, or laced with poison, and/or microchipped, or fitted with GPS trackers. Some are even under guard from dedicated military-grade anti-poaching teams.

Arguably, these actions have had some effect in stemming the loss of African rhino to poachers. But rhino horn is worth so much on the illegal market (between about US$11,000 and US$22,000, or £8,000 to £16,000, per kilogram) that the illegal killing continues.

So, what next? The latest application of tech is injecting harmless radioactive isotopes into rhino horn to help customs officials detect trafficked horns at borders. This won’t stop poachers killing rhino. But it should make life more difficult for illegal trafficking syndicates.

The case of John Hume

The report is published amid a fresh scandal in South Africa, the epicentre of both rhino conservation and rhino crime.

John Hume, a South African businessman, was the world’s largest private rhino owner with 2,000 animals. He was controversial, as he publicly advocated for an end to the national and international bans on the sale of rhino horn.

Financial difficulties led to Hume selling his herd to NGO African Parks in 2023. Now, he and other alleged syndicate members face charges of fraud and theft over the illegal trafficking of nearly 1,000 rhino horns. Cases like this highlight the scale of the alleged organised crime networks driving the trade – and why it is so hard to police across borders.

What next for rhino?

To save the rhino, we’ll need to disrupt all parts of the illegal rhino horn chain, prevent and catch poachers and traffickers, and put the kingpins behind transnational syndicates out of commission. However, the most impactful long-term action remains comparatively under-resourced: reducing demand.

Large-scale, long-term, well-backed “demand reduction” campaigns to deter ownership and use of rhino horn are needed, especially in Asia where demand is highest. It may take years to shift attitudes. But demand reduction is much safer. Rangers, anti-poaching team members and poachers themselves have all been killed in the protection and pursuit of rhino in the African savanna.

Most importantly, we must not give up. Recovery is possible. For instance, white rhinos bounced back from under 200 animals to over 20,000 before a poaching resurgence this century. With enough resources and effort, rhinos could thrive again.

For the sake of the rhino, their ecosystems and us, we need to reverse habitat loss, bring rhino together into larger healthier populations, and undermine poaching and trafficking of rhino horn. Ultimately, the goal is to bring rhino back from the brink of extinction and toward historical baseline population sizes.

If we accept today’s numbers as “normal”, we risk condemning rhinos to at best permanent near-extinction, with populations only ever a bad government or anarchic war, or a poaching spike or natural disaster, away from being wiped out. And if we can’t save such a huge, charismatic and ecologically important animal, what hope for other species?

Jason Gilchrist, Lecturer in the School of Applied Sciences, Edinburgh Napier University

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The Albanese government this week released Australia’s first comprehensive National Climate Risk Assessment.

This report details a shocking picture of the impact of climate change from now out to the 2090s, revealing heat-related deaths would soar, flooding would increase dramatically and rising sea levels would devastate some coastal areas. However, the report has had a mixed reception, with some of the assessment’s economic forecasts criticised as overly negative.

The government is also about to announce its 2035 target for emissions reduction, with various stakeholders arguing strongly for different levels of ambition.

The Grattan Institute’s senior fellow for energy and climate change, Tony Wood, joined us on the podcast to discuss that climate report and the 2035 emissions target, as well as internal Opposition arguments over its commitment to cutting emissions to net zero by 2050.

Wood said rather than taking the new assessment as a precise forecast of what Australia will be like in coming decades, it’s more useful to see it as “a warning of what could happen”.

[…] This is the first comprehensive economy-wide report we’ve seen. I was involved in the Garnaut Climate Change Review in 2008, and it did a similar sort of thing. But this is the first time it’s all been brought together […] It gives you a benchmark against which to measure progress.

[…] We need to be prepared. We need to be adapting and we need to make sure that things don’t turn out to be as bad as this analysis shows they could be.

Ahead of the government announcing its 2035 emissions target, Wood said Australia is currently only on track to cut emissions by around 50% below 2005 levels by then – “so we’re going to have to step up the pace” in this next decade.

Even though we’ve made good progress […] the hard yards are still ahead. So that’s why even [a 60% reduction], whilst it may not be considered enough by the environmental groups in this debate, is certainly not going to be lacking in ambition in terms of achieveability.

[…] But if it’s less than 60% […] it’ll be hard to see how that’s got environmental credibility. And, if it’s more than 75%, hard to see it’s got economic credibility. So they’re the two bookends for this debate.

Wood said partisan “climate wars” over the past two decades have slowed down Australia’s progress on climate change:

The politics have trumped policy all the way through, and that is not a very nice place to be if you’re trying to make progress on something like this.

But he said that’s a global challenge, as some countries like the United States pull away from renewable energy and other climate projects, while others, including China, do more.

I think the Australian position very much mirrors the global position in terms of, for many people, climate change becoming less of an issue. And getting that back onto the agenda has got to be important. And unfortunately, I hope it’s not another season of big bushfires or terrible floods and so forth. That would be not the way to bring this back onto to the agenda.

Michelle Grattan, Professorial Fellow, University of Canberra

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

For more than a century, global geopolitics has revolved around oil and gas. Countries with big fossil fuel reserves, such as Saudi Arabia and Russia, have amassed significant wealth and foreign influence, helping shape the world order.

But the global shift toward renewable energy is challenging these power structures. As the world transitions away from oil and gas, renewable energy resources promise to become the new basis for geopolitical influence.

Nations with a bounty of sun and wind, and the capacity to export that energy, have much to gain. So too do nations endowed with critical minerals, and the means to produce the technology required in a low-carbon world.

Say goodbye to the “petrostates” of old, and welcome the rise of the “electrostate”. China is heading the charge – and Australia, if it plays its cards right, could be at its heels.

A shift is underway

Petrostates are nations rich in oil, gas and coal, and which are heavily dependent on revenue from extracting and exporting these commodities.

Australia is a major exporter of gas and coal. But it lacks the core features of a petrostate – centralised state control of production, the ability to order export cuts, and heavy fiscal reliance on oil and gas rents. Instead, publicly owned resources are developed by private firms under regulation, which gives the government regulatory influence rather than coercive “petro-power.”

World economies have traditionally needed fossil fuels to operate. So, petrostates have used their control of these resources to gain leverage in diplomatic talks, influence global energy prices and create alliances with other nations.

For example, the security partnership between Saudi Arabia and the United States is underpinned by the US’ need for Saudi oil. And moves by Russia to cut gas supply to Europe in 2022 was widely seen as a retaliation for sanctions imposed on Russia following its invasion of Ukraine.

But these fortunes are changing. The Middle East, Russia and the United States gained power in the age of oil. Now, in the age of renewables, a new cohort of electrostates is emerging.

What is an electrostate?

The term “electrostate” describes a nation that dominates the energy transition. Instead of oil wells or gas fields, its influence comes from commanding positions in supply chains that underpin electrification. These include:

• critical minerals (such as lithium, cobalt, nickel, rare earths)

• battery production and recycling

• semiconductors and digital infrastructure

• clean energy technologies (such as solar, wind and electric vehicles).

China leads the way in clean energy innovation and development.

It processes about 60% of the world’s lithium and cobalt. It also refines more than 90% of rare earth elements used in electric vehicles, wind turbines and “smart” electricity grids.

Chinese firms CATL and BYD produce more than half of the global supply of lithium-ion batteries – and this capacity is expanding rapidly. What’s more, BYD recently overtook Tesla as the world’s largest EV manufacturer, supported by a vast domestic market.

China produces about 80% of the world’s solar panels, and dominates wind turbine supply chains. And through its Belt and Road Initiative, China has secured access to overseas mines, ports and energy projects.

None of this happened by chance. It’s the result of a deliberate, state-backed strategy executed over two decades.

Beijing combined industrial policy, subsidies and long-term investment with a willingness to absorb early losses for strategic gain. The result? China is now the indispensable player in the global energy transition.

This matters for the world

The rise of electrostates reshuffles the global energy map.

Just as the European Union once worried about maintaining supplies of Russian gas, now it worries about over-dependence on Chinese batteries, critical minerals and fuel cells.

The US, EU, Japan, India and others are racing to reduce reliance on China. Initiatives such as the US Inflation Reduction Act, the EU Critical Raw Materials Act and the Quad’s supply chain cooperation are all responses to China’s dominance.

China has already used its control of the renewables supply chain to exert global influence. For example, earlier this year it restricted exports of seven rare earth elements needed to produce technologies such as electric vehicles. The move was considered a retaliation to tariffs imposed by US President Donald Trump.

Australia’s opportunity

Australia, too, has big electrostate potential. The continent holds some of the world’s largest reserves of lithium, nickel and rare earths. We already supply more than half of global lithium.

But much work is needed to seize this opportunity.

First, rather than just exporting raw minerals, Australia must invest in domestic refining, battery manufacturing and recycling. This would keep more jobs and income in Australia and reduce our reliance on overseas suppliers.

Strategic partnerships are crucial. Australia needs to broaden and deepen cooperation with nations in Asia, Europe, the Middle East and Africa. This would enable us to supply different parts of the world and build domestic manufacturing and processing capacity.

Governments and the private sector must also invest in innovation. That means supporting research in next-generation batteries, hydrogen and electricity grids to maintain technological leadership.

Throughout the expansion, companies extracting critical minerals and producing clean energy should meet high environmental and social standards. This will maintain public trust and international credibility.

All this requires smart policy and international collaboration. Decisions taken in Canberra over the next decade will determine whether Australia depends on electrostates – or becomes one.

Niusha Shafiabady, Associate Professor in Computational Intelligence, Australian Catholic University and Xiaoying Qi, Associate Professor, School of Arts and Humanities, Australian Catholic University

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Fifteen pine martens were relocated from Scotland to Dartmoor, Devon, late last year in the first phase of a reintroduction to south-west England. This autumn, more of these domestic cat-sized mammals will be released into Exmoor as part of a long-term recovery strategy to restore pine marten populations.

Pine martens live primarily in woodland habitats, feeding on fruits, small mammals and birds. They were once found throughout Britain, until habitat loss from woodland clearance and increased predator control led to population collapse. It is thought pine martens lived in south-west England until the late 19th century.

In 2023, before plans for this release had been agreed, my colleague Kirsty Frith and I were commissioned by the Two Moors Pine Marten Project – a conglomeration of seven organisations, including the county’s environmental charity Devon Wildlife Trust and Dartmoor National Park Authority – to independently capture perspectives of local people and interest groups on the proposals. This “social feasibility” assessment used an approach similar to one used previously for a release in Wales to determine how a pine marten reintroduction would be received in this area.

Our new study, published in Human Dimensions of Wildlife, outlines how we used a technique called Q-methodology. This method identifies shared perspectives and enables a rich understanding of subjectivity.

For participants, this involves a sorting exercise with discussion, placing written statements into a configuration to illustrate their levels of agreement with each. Once completed, their sorting arrangements are statistically compared and interpreted to identify perspectives which participants associate with.

Pining for martens?

Three main perspectives were identified. The anonymised participants included farmers, land managers, shooting representatives, conservationists and local residents.

Two of these perspectives supported pine martens and their reintroduction. Although similar, they exhibited some differences. The first viewpoint was more favourable to pine martens and reintroduction as a point of principle, with fewer reservations about introducing wild animals into the countryside. As one environmental farm advisor commented, “living around more nature and wildlife is a good thing”.

Although the second viewpoint still agreed strongly with reintroduction in this region, emphasis was on the motivation to restore the native population of pine martens and natural habitats. Some people expressed concerns about whether there might be negative effects on threatened native wildlife, for example, bats or dormice.

Participants wanted further evidence about the effects pine marten would have on habitats and more information about future plans for monitoring them and dealing with any issues. One participant, an environmental professional and public official, held this viewpoint and agreed with the reintroduction of pine martens “if it is done well and it is well planned”.

The third perspective was opposed to pine martens and their reintroduction. These participants were worried about introducing a predator like pine martens because they perceived them to be a threat to native wildlife, poultry and gamebirds.

They were also concerned about the availability of management support if there were negative effects from the reintroduction of pine martens. As one gamekeeper and conservationist viewed it, “they would add to the taking of wildlife when we have already lost more than 50%”.

What next?

Our new paper and previous research highlight two key challenges for any pine marten reintroduction project. By addressing those, the ability to coexist with pine martens can be improved.

People can have very different, polarised views. To minimise any conflict, reintroduction projects need to support inclusive dialogue around pine martens and how they can be monitored and managed. Unanimous support may be unlikely, but more collaborative relationships can be developed when people are involved in making plans for reintroduction.

It also really matters that people have contrasting understandings of predation. While supporters of reintroduction believed pine martens would contribute towards a functioning ecosystem, people who were less supportive were concerned that pine martens could kill threatened wildlife. Giving space for sensitive, nuanced conversations helps build trust and mutual understanding.

Our findings highlight the importance of assessing social feasibility before wildlife reintroductions take place. To ensure future success, that dynamic is just as crucial as ecological feasibility.

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Roger Auster, Lecturer in Environmental Social Science, Centre for Resilience in Environment, Water and Waste, University of Exeter

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Once a haven for flamingos, sturgeon and thousands of seals, fast-receding waters are turning the northern coast of the Caspian Sea into barren stretches of dry sand. In some places, the sea has retreated more than 50km. Wetlands are becoming deserts, fishing ports are being left high and dry, and oil companies are dredging ever-longer channels to reach their offshore installations.

Climate change is driving this dramatic decline in the world’s largest landlocked sea. Found at the boundary between Europe and central Asia, the Caspian Sea is surrounded by Azerbaijan, Iran, Kazakhstan, Russia, and Turkmenistan, and sustains around 15 million people.

The Caspian is a hub for fishing, shipping, and oil and gas production, and is of rising geopolitical importance as it sits where the interests of global superpowers meet. As the sea shallows, governments face the critical challenge of maintaining industries and livelihoods, while also protecting the unique ecosystems that sustains them.

I’ve been visiting the Caspian for more than 20 years, working with local researchers to study the unique and endangered Caspian seal, and support its conservation. Back in the 2000s, the far north-eastern corner of the sea was a mosaic of reed beds, mudflats and shallow channels that teemed with life, providing habitats for spawning fish, migrating birds, and tens of thousands of seals that gathered there to moult in the spring.

Now these remote wild places we visited to catch seals for satellite tracking studies are dry land, transitioning to desert as the sea retreats, and the same story is playing out for other wetlands around the sea. This experience parallels that of coastal communities, who year by year are seeing the water recede away from their towns, fishing wharves and ports, leaving infrastructure stranded on newly-dry land, and the people fearful for the future.

A sea in retreat

The level of Caspian Sea has always fluctuated, but the scale of recent change is unprecedented. Since the turn of the current century, water levels have declined by around 6cm per year, with drops of up to 30cm per year since 2020. In July 2025, Russian scientists announced the sea had dropped below the previous minimum level recorded during the era of instrumental measurements.

During the 20th century, variations were due to a combination of natural factors and humans diverting water to use for agriculture and industry, but now global warming is the main driver of decline. It might seem inconceivable that a body of water as large as the Caspian could be at risk, but in the hotter climate the rate of water entering the sea from rivers and rainfall is reducing, and is now being outstripped by increased evaporation from the sea surface.

Even if global warming is limited to the Paris agreement target of 2°C, water levels are predicted to fall up to ten metres compared to the 2010 coastline. With the current global trajectory of greenhouse gas emissions, the decline could reach 18 metres, which is about the height of a six-storey building.

Because the northern Caspian is shallow – much of it only around five metres deep – small decreases in depth mean huge losses of area. In recent research, colleagues and I showed that even an optimistic ten-metre decline would uncover 112,000 square kilometres of seabed – an area larger than Iceland.

What’s at stake

The ecological consequences would be dramatic. Four out of ten ecosystem types unique to the Caspian Sea would disappear completely. The endangered Caspian seal could lose up to 81% of its current breeding habitat, and Caspian sturgeon would lose access to critical spawning habitat.

As in the Aral Sea disaster, where another massive lake in central Asia almost entirely disappeared, toxic dust from exposed seabed would be released, with serious health risks.

Millions of people are at risk of displacement as the sea recedes, or face highly degraded living conditions. The sea’s only link to the global shipping network is through the delta of the Volga River (which flows into the Caspian) and then via an upstream canal to the Don River for connections to the Black Sea, Mediterranean and other river systems. But the Volga is already struggling with reduced water depth.

Ports like Aktau in Kazakhstan and Baku in Azerbaijan need dredging just to keep operating. Similarly oil and gas companies are having to dredge long channels to their offshore facilities in the north Caspian.

Already the costs of protecting human interests are in the billions of dollars and are only set to grow further. The Caspian is central to the “middle corridor”, a trade route linking China to Europe. As water levels fall, shipping loads must be reduced, costs rise, and settlements and infrastructure risk being stranded tens or even hundreds of kilometres from the sea.

A race against time

Countries around the Caspian are having to adapt, relocating ports, and dredging new shipping lanes. But these measures risk conflicting with conservation goals.

For instance, there are plans to dredge a major new shipping channel across the “Ural saddle” of the north Caspian. But this is an important area for seal breeding, migration and feeding, and will be a vital area for the adaptation of ecosystems as the sea recedes.

Since the rate of change is so rapid, traditional fixed boundary protected areas risk becoming obsolete. What’s needed is an integrated, forward-looking approach to planning across the whole region. If the areas ecosystems will need to adapt to climate change are mapped and protected now, planners and policy makers will be better able to ensure future infrastructure projects avoid or minimise further damage.

To do this Caspian countries will have to invest in biodiversity monitoring and planning expertise, all while coordinating action across five different countries with different priorities.

Caspian countries are already recognising the existential risks, and have begun to form intergovernmental agreements to address the crisis. But the rate of decline may outstrip the pace of political cooperation.

The ecological, climatic and geopolitical importance of the Caspian Sea means its fate ultimately matters far beyond its receding shores. It provides a key case study in how climate change is transforming major inland water bodies across the world, from Lake Titicaca to Lake Chad. The question is whether governments can act fast enough to protect both the people and nature of this rapidly changing sea.

Simon Goodman, Lecturer in Evolutionary Biology, University of Leeds

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The Middle East is experiencing a period of intense political and economic turbulence, with several countries in the region embroiled in conflict. These conflicts are taking place against the backdrop of an escalating climate crisis.

In 2023, global thinktank the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace concluded that Middle Eastern countries “are among the world’s most exposed states to the accelerating impacts of human-caused climate change – including soaring heatwaves, declining precipitation, extended droughts, more intense sandstorms and floods, and rising sea levels”.

The capacity of a society to receive, process and act upon climate-related information is at the heart of an effective climate change response. Media plays an important role: it is central to advancing public understanding of climate change and its connection to individual, communal and national security.

Yet over the past two decades or so, media coverage of climate change in the Middle East has been among the lowest in the world. According to the University of Colorado Boulder’s Media and Climate Change Observatory, media organisations in the Middle East each produced an average of around one article about climate change in August 2025 – compared with 66 articles for North American media in the same month.

Wars and climate change are inextricably linked. Climate change can increase the likelihood of violent conflict by intensifying resource scarcity and displacement, while conflict itself accelerates environmental damage. This article is part of a series, War on climate, which explores the relationship between climate issues and global conflicts.

The lack of climate coverage in the Middle East is because media outlets there face a number of structural problems. How does one talk about climate change when armed conflicts are spiralling out of control, or when public discourse is monopolised by what are perceived to be more pressing issues?

Jordan presents a useful example to help us understand these challenges and how to overcome them.

Media in Jordan

Jordan has long played a stabilising role in the Middle East. It has accepted large numbers of refugees from neighbouring conflicts and has acted as a mediator and peace broker between Middle Eastern rivals. However, climate change is threatening Jordan’s stability.

Raed Abu Soud, Jordan’s minister of water and irrigation, said in May 2025: “Jordan is grappling with one of the most severe water crises in the world, with per-capita water availability dropping to just 60 cubic metres per year.”

A host of other factors are worsening the situation. Economic underdevelopment in Jordan is leading to persistent unemployment and public unrest, while regional conflicts are undermining social cohesion.

How Jordan responds to the risks presented by climate change, and preserves its stability, is extremely important for the Middle East and beyond. Public understanding of this challenge is going to be pivotal to an effective response. And here enters the role of media.

Our research on climate change in Jordan has involved analysing more than 2,500 news articles in the country’s major print media and carrying out extensive interviews with local people. We have found that, while climate change is becoming a more important topic in the country, there are still many barriers preventing a coherent climate change discussion there.

It is common in Jordan, as in many other countries affected by conflict, for conversations related to climate change to be pushed to the background when other crises emerge. Since 2023, when the war in Gaza began, Jordanian media outlets have understandably been drawn to covering the humanitarian crisis there at the expense of climate change.

This has been exacerbated by the fact there are very few journalists in Jordan who work consistently on climate-related issues and can offer accurate and timely coverage. The shortage of climate journalists is a common problem across the Middle East.

When climate change is covered by Jordanian media, it is often discussed as a secondary consideration relative to geopolitical threats – not as a challenge in its own right. Due to the country’s policy of hosting refugees, Jordanian media outlets have often portrayed their country as a “second victim” of the civil war in Syria and the intractable Israel-Palestine conflict. Refugees are depicted as another strain on scarce resources.

Eroding trust

Climate change discourse in Jordan tends to be heavily influenced by international partners including foreign governments, charities and funding bodies.

There are numerous externally funded educational and vocational courses focused on climate change available in Jordan for various audiences, including media professionals. While this facilitates the advancement of climate change discussions, it can distance climate coverage from the local context and knowledge. This is particularly true if external partners merely “teach” Jordanians what they believe is necessary, without fully understanding the specific challenges Jordan faces.

It can also erode trust between Jordanians and these foreign partners. In some of the cases we studied, journalists in Jordan saw climate change as part of a western-imposed agenda aimed at controlling developing countries.

Jordan is highly important for the Middle East, Europe and beyond. Without effective climate adaptation, it risks losing its role as a refugee haven and regional stabiliser.

Media can play a vital role in advancing climate change discourse in the Middle East, both by holding governments to account and raising awareness of climate issues. Some studies suggest that public concern correlates with the volume of media coverage, and attention can fade when other issues dominate the media space.

Sustained, inclusive coverage is essential to ensure long-term engagement and informed public participation in climate action, even during times of political and economic turbulence.

Marianna Poberezhskaya, Associate Professor in Politics and International Relations, Nottingham Trent University; Imad El-Anis, Associate Professor in International Relations, Nottingham Trent University, and Marwa Mustafa, PhD Candidate at the Centre for Research in Literature, Linguistics and Culture, Nottingham Trent University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Uttarakhand, referred to as the land of gods, is also known as the energy state of India. It is home to several fast-flowing rivers at high altitudes that serve as the perfect backdrop for harnessing energy from water to produce hydroelectric power.

In this state, the Tehri dam, situated in Garhwal, is the highest dam in India. The amalgamation of rivers and high mountains in this area is ideally suited to producing electricity for rural and urban areas through hydropower and other renewable energy sources such as solar and wind.

In the neighbouring state of Ladakh, the Zoji La is one of the highest mountain passes in the world. It’s surrounded by the rugged terrain of Trans-Himalayas, with cold desert slopes, snow-capped peaks and alpine meadows. This biodiverse region is home to snow leopards, Himalayan brown bears, wolves, Pallas cats, yaks and lynx.

Zoji La also serves as a gateway for the movement of Indian military troops, enabling a constant armed force presence at the Indo-Chinese border. The construction of the Zoji La tunnel, poised to become the longest tunnel in Asia, allows India to rapidly deploy troops near the border with China while claiming to promote economic development in rural areas. Existing roads remain blocked by snow for up to six months each year, so without the new tunnel, access is limited.

Its construction, however, uses extensive blasting and carving of the mountain slopes using dynamite, which disrupts fragile geological structures of the already unstable terrain, generating severe noise and air pollution, thereby putting wildlife at risk.

Hydropower harnesses the power of flowing water as it moves from higher to lower elevations. Through a series of turbines and generators, hydroelectric power plants convert the movement of water from rivers and waterfalls into electrical energy. This so-called “kinetic energy” contributes 14.3% of the global renewable energy mix.

However, development of hydropower projects and rapid urbanisation in the Indian Himalayas are actively degrading the environmental and ecological landscape, particularly in the ecologically sensitive, seismically active and fragile regions of Joshimath in Uttarakhand and Zoji La in Ladakh.

The construction of hydropower plants, along with associated railways, all-weather highways and tunnels across the Himalayan mountains, is being undertaken without adequate urban planning, design or implementation.

At an altitude of 1,800m in the Garhwal region, land is subsiding or sinking in the town of Joshimath where more than 850 homes have been deemed as inhabitable due to cracks. Subsidence occurs naturally as a result of flash flooding, for example, but is also being accelerated by human activities, such as the construction of hydropower projects in this fragile, soft-slope area.

Satellite data shows that Joshimath sank by 5.4cm within 12 days between December 27 2022 and January 8 2023. Between April and November 2022, the town experienced a rapid subsidence of 9cm.

One 2024 study analysed land deformation in Joshimath using remote sensing data. The study found significant ground deformation during the year 2022–23, with the maximum subsidence in the north-western part of the town coinciding with the near completion of the Tapovan Vishnugad hydropower project in 2023. Another 2025 study highlights that hydropower projects, particularly the Tapovan Vishnugad plant near Joshimath, play a significant role in destabilising the region.

Dynamite and disaster risk

As part of my PhD research, I’ve been interviewing locals about how this is affecting them. “The subsidence in Joshimath is not solely the result of natural calamities,” said apple farmer Rivya Dimri, who once lived in the town but relocated to Lansdowne due to the inhospitable conditions of her ancestral home. She believes that a significant part of the problem stems from dam construction, frequent tunnelling and blasting, plus the widespread deforestation that has taken place to accommodate infrastructure development.

Farmer Tanzong Le from Leh told me that “the government is prioritising military agendas over the safety and security of local communities and the ecology of Ladakh”. He believes that “the use of dynamite for blasting through mountains not only destabilises the geological foundations of the Trans-Himalayan mountains but also endangers wildlife and the surrounding natural environment, exacerbating vulnerability in these already sensitive mountain regions”.

The twin challenges of haphazard and unplanned infrastructure development in Joshimath and Zoji La represent two sides of the same coin: poorly executed infrastructure projects that prioritise economic, energy, military and geopolitical ambitions over the safeguarding of nature and communities. Hydropower plants, tunnels and highways may bring economic benefits and geopolitical advantages, but without urgent safeguards, India risks undermining the very mountains that protect its people, wildlife, ecosystems and borders.

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Diva Sinha, PhD Candidate, Department of Development Studies, SOAS, University of London

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.