The beaches of Sydney’s Royal National Park have been disrupted by a pungent odour. And its source is drawing in more than just seagulls.

A 25-tonne sperm whale is rotting on the rock platform of Era Beach. This spectacular sight is drawing in curious spectators and hungry predators.

The humans are keen for a photo op. The predators are drawn by the potential meal.

The lifeless whale may look inviting – to some. But it might be more dangerous for us humans to get close than you may suspect.

How often do whales wash up on shore?

This particular cetacean is likely to have died at sea some weeks ago. But unfortunately, many more whales are being stranded on rock platforms and beaches across the globe.

Strandings are not rare in Australia or New Zealand. Southeast Australia alone recorded 639 strandings between 1920 and 2002. The rate of whale strandings globally also seems to be climbing as some whale populations are recovering and there are more people out in nature to spot them.

Australia has also seen some of the largest mass strandings on record (it has the unenviable title of being a global hotspot). These include 470 long-finned pilot whales beached at Tasmania’s Macquarie Harbour in 2020.

However, a single large carcass, like the Era Beach sperm whale, is more typical – and the one people are more likely to see.

It’s quite a spectacle

A decomposing whale is quite the spectacle. It’s a fascinating and morbid sight.

Unsurprisingly, beached whales draw in curious people involved in both citizen science (when the public collects and analyses data about the world around us) and for the prospect of a grisly social media shot.

But frolicking around a huge dead beast has potential dangers. And in this case, the environment where the whale rests is the most significant factor.

The massive whale is decomposing on a rock shelf next to the ocean, with tides, waves, and swells. Standing on a rock ledge inspecting a whale means you’re not paying attention to your surroundings. This is how you can find yourself unintentionally entering the ocean.

The ocean may appear calm and forgiving when you first step onto that ledge to inspect the whale, but conditions can change rapidly.

Then come the sharks

People aren’t the only ones going for a stickybeak at this whale. Bull, tiger and great white sharks are scavengers. To them, a fresh whale carcass is like an enormous buffet. The blobs of fat floating in the water around the whale are, essentially, canapes.

One study used drones to see how the behaviour of 55 white sharks off the coast of New South Wales changed near a stranded whale. They swam faster. Sharks near a stranded whale also tend to be larger on average – possibly because big sharks muscle smaller ones out the way.

These hazards are why many beaches near the stranded whale have been closed as a precaution. NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service warns people not to enter the water due to increased shark activity.

What is that smell?

A gigantic decaying whale, warmed by the midday sun, and kept moist by sea spray, is basically a huge vat of bacteria.

As microbes break down proteins and fats inside the carcass, they release a cocktail of volatile compounds. These include hydrogen sulfide (the smell of rotten eggs), methanethiol (rotting cabbage) and ammonia. Then there’s the aptly named putrescine and cadaverine, the compounds that give corpses their distinctive stink.

So it’s probably best not follow your nose on this occasion. The smell of a rotting whale carcass can be so bad, it can make you vomit. And as waves wash over the carcass or it bloats and ruptures, tiny aerosols are released into the air. These can carry bacteria and pathogens, along with that putrid smell that can drift far beyond the carcass itself.

Marine animals can also carry zoonotic diseases (illnesses that pass from animals to humans). So it’s important not to touch the carcass.

Watch out! It might explode

And who wants to be near when the ticking time bomb goes off? Yes, whale carcasses can explode.

This happens when there’s the natural build-up of gases as the whale decomposes. This is one reason authorities prefer to send the carcass back to sea, if feasible.

So, a selfie that involves climbing onto a whale carcass is a genuinely bad idea.

Samuel Cornell, Honorary Fellow in Public Health, The University of Queensland; UNSW Sydney

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

New research published today in Science Advances reveals that the largest expansion of coral reefs in the past 100 million years happened about 20 to 10 million years ago, between Australia and Southeast Asia.

This vast reef system likely laid the foundations for the extraordinary diversity of marine life we see today.

Coral reefs are among the most diverse ecosystems on Earth. They support about a quarter of all marine species while covering less than 1% of the oceans. Yet scientists have long grappled with the question of how such immense diversity arose in the first place. Where did it begin, and what made it possible?

Our new study uncovers a turning point deep in Earth’s history – a time when reefs didn’t just grow, but expanded on a scale far beyond anything we see today. This expansion may have created the ecological space needed for modern coral reef life to flourish.

An enduring mystery

Biodiversity simply refers to the variety of life in a given place. On coral reefs, this diversity is staggering: thousands of species of fish, corals and other organisms coexist in tightly packed ecosystems.

However, despite decades of research, the origins of this richness have remained an enduring mystery.

Our new study reveals that changes in environmental, biological and tectonic conditions about 20 million years ago promoted the dramatic expansion of coral reefs across a region stretching between Australia and Southeast Asia.

Today, this area is known as the Indo-Australian Archipelago. It’s recognised as a global hotspot of marine biodiversity, especially in an area called the Coral Triangle.

The expansion of reefs in this area coincided with the emergence of many familiar reef organisms, including plating corals and iconic fish groups like parrotfishes.

To uncover this, we combined evidence from geological records, fossils and genetic data. Together, these independent lines of evidence allowed us to pinpoint when and where modern reef biodiversity began to take shape, without relying on any single source alone.

Results suggest reef expansion itself played a crucial role in generating biodiversity. As reefs grew larger, they likely created new habitats and ecological opportunities, allowing species to evolve and diversify.

We have now named this ancient network of reefs the Great Indo-Australian Miocene Reef System. The large reefs in this system were mostly built by corals and crustose coralline algae, an essential group of algae for holding together reef structures. These reefs also provided very important habitat for fish groups that we see on coral reefs today, such as surgeonfishes and butterflyfishes.

Remnants of an epic reef

Surprisingly, the region where this expansion occurred is not where the largest reefs are found today. Instead, reefs off northwestern Australia – including Ashmore Reef, Scott Reef, and the Rowley Shoals – may be remnants of what was once one of the largest reef systems to have ever existed.

Previous geological work has shown this ancient west Australian barrier reef rivalled the extent of the present-day Great Barrier Reef. The new findings go further, suggesting individual reefs within this system may have been far larger than any modern reef.

In fact, the roots of modern marine fish and coral biodiversity may lie in this unexpected place off Australia’s west coast. Over millions of years, biodiversity spread and accumulated elsewhere, particularly across the Indo-Pacific Ocean.

However, there are still uncertainties. Reconstructing ecosystems from millions of years ago requires combining incomplete records. Some aspects of reef size and how these ecosystems connected remain difficult to resolve, as the geological record only contains the remnants of entire reef systems.

But the overall pattern is clear. A massive expansion of reefs about 20 million years ago coincided with the rise of modern marine diversity.

The message is also simple. To understand where biodiversity is today, we need to look deep into the past. The richest ecosystems on Earth may owe their origins to places that no longer appear exceptional – hidden chapters of Earth’s history that continue to shape life in our oceans.

Alexandre Siqueira, ARC DECRA and Vice-Chancellor's Research Fellow, School of Science, Edith Cowan University

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

From brightly coloured birds to the much-loved sugar glider, Australia’s native animals are a sight to behold.

The island continent is home to nearly 600,000 plants, animals and insects, many of which are found nowhere else in the world.

Tragically, though, we’re losing more of these species to habitat destruction and climate change.

Worse still, conservationists are increasingly seeing one native species threaten the survival of another. One example is the critically endangered regent honeyeater, currently being threatened by native possums and gliders.

Our new study shows this trend could mean at-risk bird populations go extinct much earlier than they otherwise would.

Why native birds matter

Australia has more than 800 native bird species – more than almost anywhere else in the world. And they’re a vital part of our unique ecosystems, helping to spread pollen and seeds and ensuring some plants and animals don’t become too numerous.

But many bird species are now at risk from ongoing degradation of our natural environment through land clearing, urbanisation and the introduction of pest species.

Clearing land to make way for farms or houses has hit Australia’s woodlands particularly hard. Woodlands are full of trees and shrubs, like forests, but have have thinner canopies to let more sunlight in.

Since European colonisation, we’ve cleared roughly 80% of many temperate woodlands in Australia. As a result, one in five of our unique native woodland birds are currently in decline.

When one native species threatens another

Native predators and prey are generally able to coexist. If a predator drives its main food source to extinction, it would threaten its own survival. This rarely occurs in nature.

Usually, two native species maintain their coexistence through an evolutionary arms race. If the predator gets faster or smarter, the prey follows suit.

But if prey numbers suddenly drop due to other factors – such as habitat loss and invasive species – even occasional attacks from a native predator could push a species over the edge.

The regent honeyeater is a prime example. Less than a century ago, these striking black-and-yellow birds once filled the forests and skies of southeastern Australia in flocks of hundreds. However, they’re now on the brink of extinction due to the effects of habitat loss and increased competition. Today, there are fewer than 300 regent honeyeaters left in the wild.

In our new study, we looked at how predation by possums and gliders – which sometimes eat bird eggs and nestlings – may affect the survival of regent honeyeaters.

We found even occasional predation by these two species increased the regent honeyeater’s chance of going extinct in the next 20 years by 35%. This is significant because infrequent predation by a native species doesn’t typically threaten the survival of native prey.

This matters more because regent honeyeater numbers are so low. If there were 1,000 of these birds alive – the same number there were in the 1990s – our research shows predation by possums and gliders wouldn’t have the same impact.

An ethical dilemma

The case of regent honeyeaters, possums and gliders is an example of a “conservation conflict”. These conflicts arise when protecting one native species may come at the cost of another. For example, squirrel gliders predate on regent honeyeaters, but they are also threatened in multiple Australian states. So efforts to protect regent honeyeaters from predation by possums and gliders may interfere with squirrel glider conservation.

Conservationists have limited options when it comes to stopping predators eating threatened bird species. At present, the only widely used method is killing predators.

Culling invasive predators may be necessary for conservation in certain situations. For example, in Australia we routinely cull feral cat and fox populations to protect native species and livestock.

But it’s much more contentious to kill one native species to protect another, especially when the predator species isn’t the main cause of decline.

Yet if we do nothing, we might lose endangered species – such as the regent honeyeater – forever.

So, what can we do?

To protect possums, gliders and regent honeyeaters, it’s vital to bring back woodlands. Governments and conservation organisations are already working to restore habitat for regent honeyeaters.

Even so, it can take years to fully restore these areas. And while endangered bird populations remain low, predation by other native species will remain a problem.

That’s why researchers are investigating ways to protect threatened species without killing predators. One approach is spreading certain bird smells to deceive predators. Another is using tree collars to protect nests.

These methods are promising, but won’t work everywhere. Our research shows possums don’t use bird odour to find nests, so spreading smells around is unlikely to affect them. Gliders also move easily through tree canopies, so tree collars likely won’t stop them accessing nests.

As we lose more of our native animals, these conservation conflicts will only become more common. But to save the regent honeyeater, we must explore new non-lethal ways of managing predation by possums and gliders. Hopefully, these will help us protect other endangered species too.

Bianca McBryde, PhD Candidate, Behavioural Ecology and Conservation, University of Sydney; Catherine Price, Discovery Early Career Research Fellow, University of Sydney, and Peter Banks, Professor of Conservation Biology, 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.

Recycled polyester activewear and swimwear are now everywhere. Major global brands sell leggings, swimsuits and puffer jackets with labels that claim they’re “made from recycled plastic bottles”. Millions of people buy these products believing they’re making a more sustainable choice.

The logic seems straightforward. Turning existing plastic waste into clothing is better than landfill.

However, the story is more complicated. What looks like circular recycling is often a one-way trip to landfill, revealing how recycled fabrics can mask environmental problems rather than solve them.

Where the plastic really comes from

Despite images of ocean clean-ups in glossy marketing, most recycled polyester used in fashion doesn’t come from marine waste or even old clothing. Instead, it comes from PET (polyethylene terephthalate) drink bottles.

The most recent Materials Market Report shows that about 98% of recycled polyester comes from plastic bottles. Textile-to-textile recycling accounts for less than 1% of the supply. And activewear is the single largest apparel use of recycled polyester in fashion supply chains.

Consequently, many garments marketed as “sustainable” rely on plastic taken from an effective recycling system, rather than addressing fashion’s own textile waste.

How PET bottle recycling works

PET, the plastic used to make drink bottles, is one of the most successfully recycled plastics. Decades of investment in collection, sorting and reprocessing have made bottle-to-bottle recycling possible in many countries.

This works because PET bottles are uniform and collected in large volumes. There is also strong demand for recycled, food-grade material. Research shows PET can be recycled many times without losing quality, as long as it stays within the bottle system.

When PET stays a bottle, it remains a high-value material.

What happens when bottles become clothes

That recycling loop breaks when PET becomes textile fibre. To make clothing, bottles are shredded and melted into polyester yarn, then dyed, blended and sewn into garments. Fibre blends, especially polyester mixed with elastane, make textile-to-textile recycling difficult.

Most textile recycling systems are mechanical and limited in scale. They struggle with blended fabrics. As a result, most polyester clothing can’t be recycled and ends up in landfill or incineration.

In circular economy terms, bottle-to-garment recycling is downcycling. Material quality drops, and future use is limited.

There’s also another environmental cost consumers rarely hear about. Mechanical recycling shortens polymer chains, resulting in more fragile, “hairy” fibres that snap easily during domestic washing. Studies show synthetic clothing sheds microplastic fibres, making it a major source of marine pollution.

Research suggests recycled polyester may shed more microfibres than virgin polyester (made new from fossil fuels rather than recycled from plastic).

Testing by Çukurova University in Turkey found recycled polyester shed 55% more microfibres than virgin polyester. These fibres were smaller and more brittle, increasing the likelihood they travel further in aquatic environments and enter our food chain.

Are there any benefits to recycled polyester?

Compared with virgin polyester, recycled polyester usually uses less energy and produces fewer greenhouse gas emissions during manufacturing. This is why initiatives like the 2025 Recycled Polyester Challenge have pushed brands to commit to sourcing 45% to 100% of their polyester from recycled sources.

However, these schemes have hit a major roadblock: the lack of technology to recycle old clothes. Because the infrastructure for textile-to-textile recycling doesn’t yet exist at scale, brands have been forced to “borrow” bottles to meet their targets.

This highlights the tension between immediate technical needs and genuine sustainability. The next step is building the actual technology for circularity, so brands can move past the trap of greenwashing.

A recycling ‘dead end’

When bottles become garments, they leave one of the few recycling systems that works well and enter another that can’t yet recycle most clothing. This shift is becoming a major legal flashpoint. The European Union’s 2030 Vision for Textiles mandates that by 2030, all textile products on the market must be durable, repairable, and made largely of recycled fibres.

As brands scramble to meet these targets, a global supply crunch is emerging. With new EU packaging regulations coming into effect from August 12 2026, companies will be required to make packaging recyclable and prepare for future recycled content requirements.

As a result, the beverage industry is fighting to keep its own plastic. They argue fashion is “leaking” high-quality recycled PET out of a closed loop to mask its own lack of infrastructure.

This highlights the core problem: recycling should reduce waste overall, not simply move it between industries.

Recycled polyester only works when clothes become new clothes. While investment is growing, the fashion industry’s reliance on bottles is a distraction. Until the fashion industry solves its own waste crisis rather than borrowing from the beverage sector, turning bottles into clothing remains a one-way path to waste.

Currently, the most sustainable outcome for a plastic bottle is to remain a bottle.

Caroline Swee Lin Tan, Associate Professor in Fashion Entrepreneurship, RMIT University and Saniyat Islam, Associate Professor, Fashion and Textiles, RMIT University

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

Have you ever paid more for a product because a brand told you it was good for you and the planet? Many activewear shoppers do exactly this, trusting that the “healthy” image on the label matches what is actually in the fabric. That trust is now being questioned.

The Texas Attorney General’s office has launched a formal investigation into the activewear brand Lululemon. The question: does its activewear contain PFAS, a group of toxic “forever chemicals”?

This sits uncomfortably with a brand built on wellness. Lululemon has denied the claims. It says it phased out PFAS in 2023 and that these chemicals had only ever been used in a small number of water-repellent items. No wrongdoing has been found.

But the case highlights a wider problem: a gap between what fashion brands promise and what is actually in their products.

An industry-wide habit

PFAS (per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances) are synthetic chemicals used to make fabrics resistant to water, stains and sweat. They have also been used in nonstick cookware and some food packaging.

They earned the name “forever chemicals” because they do not break down easily in the environment or our bodies. Instead, they accumulate over time.

This is not a single-brand issue; it is a widespread one. Their use runs across much of the fashion industry.

The issue first came to wide attention in 2011, when Greenpeace’s “Dirty Laundry” investigation named several global giants for links to dumping perfluorinated chemicals (PFCs), now broadly classified as PFAS, into Chinese waterways.

The health risks of PFAS exposure

While most major brands promised to phase out PFAS by 2020, follow-up testing shows they still appear in leggings and sports bras across the sector. The transition has been slow because finding safer alternatives that perform just as well is both expensive and technically complex.

This matters because of how we wear activewear. Scientists have found that sweat can increase how much of these chemicals are absorbed through the skin during intense exercise.

Exposure has been linked to serious health risks, including kidney and testicular cancers, hormonal disruption, and immune system damage.

Brands that promote a “wellness” identity make the gap between marketing and chemistry hard to ignore.

The language of greenwashing

Walk into any sports store and you will see labels such as “clean”, “conscious” or “responsible”.

These words are reassuring, but they lack any legal definition under Australian law, meaning brands can use them without meeting a specific standard. That said, Australia’s consumer watchdog, the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission, is increasingly scrutinising such claims and has the power to take action against businesses that mislead consumers.

Research shows many companies use “green” language to build a positive image without making real environmental changes.

Evidence submitted to a 2023 Australian Senate inquiry into greenwashing highlighted that new buzzwords can be invented on social media in real time with zero oversight. This makes it almost impossible for shoppers to tell the difference between genuine sustainability and clever marketing.

Around 60% of green claims by European fashion giants have been found to be misleading, yet consumers still struggle to identify deceptive sustainability claims.

This is not the shopper’s fault. When a brand charges a premium for “wellness”, it is reasonable to expect those words to mean something concrete.

As the Texas Attorney General noted, companies should not

sell harmful, toxic materials to consumers at a premium price under the guise of wellness and sustainability.

The failure of voluntary standards

The real problem is the fashion system runs on self-regulation. Most sustainability standards in Australia are voluntary, a stark contrast to the European Union, where mandatory regulations are already coming into force.

There are more than 100 voluntary certifications globally in the textile industry alone, yet they lack consistent definitions and independent oversight. Brands choose whether to follow them and report their own results, facing no real consequences if they fall short.

Regulators are finally starting to act. In 2022, the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission found 57% of businesses reviewed made questionable environmental claims, with clothing and footwear among the worst-performing sectors.

While guidelines released in December 2023 now require green claims to be backed by evidence, it is still easier for a brand to say it is “sustainable” than to prove it.

The Lululemon investigation is not a reason to panic, but it is a reason to ask harder questions. When a brand uses a “clean” label, who checked it? What standards did they use? Right now, the industry does not have good answers.

Until we move from a system of voluntary promises to one of legal requirements, “sustainable” will remain a marketing choice rather than a guarantee.

Caroline Swee Lin Tan, Associate Professor in Fashion Entrepreneurship, RMIT University and Saniyat Islam, Associate Professor, Fashion and Textiles, RMIT University

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

Got a mouse in your house? That thought alone may terrify you.

Now imagine if mice were scampering through your house, rummaging in your pantry or even running across your face at night.

That sounds like the stuff of nightmares, but it’s what many Australians have experienced when living through a mouse plague.

Mouse plagues can be economically and psychologically devastating, particularly for rural communities. This is because mice destroy crops, spread disease and damage the natural environment.

Currently, farmers across two Australian states are battling a potential mouse plague. And it’s an unsettling reminder of the mouse plagues of 2020 and 2021 that ravaged farms and rural communities across Australia’s east coast.

So what’s causing this latest plague? And how are farmers coping?

When mice take over

Mice have been a part of the Australian environment ever since they arrived with the First Fleet in 1788. Since then, they’ve rapidly bred and spread all around the country.

In some areas, mice populations can reach plague proportions. This means there are at least 800 mice per hectare of land. The first documented mouse plague happened in 1872 in the South Australian town of Saddleworth.

Mouse plagues often occur as a result of cyclones, floods or other weather events that increase rainfall and soil moisture. Good rains help native plants grow, but they also fuel bumper harvests in key grain-growing regions. These are perfect places for mice to breed because they have warmer climates and plentiful food sources, such as grain. In such conditions, mice can prolong their breeding season by several months and even produce several litters each season.

Yet another plague

Just this week, farmers in Western Australia and South Australia have been inundated with mice. In parts of WA, some farmers have found 3,000-4,000 burrows in just one hectare of land. And SA mouse numbers are at their highest levels in at least four years.

Unfortunately, the timing could not be worse. That’s because many farmers are about to start seeding – the process of putting seeds into the soil to grow crops – after recent rains. These farmers are now at risk of losing their crops before they even have the chance to germinate.

This all suggests this latest mouse plague could be as bad as the plagues of 2020 and 2021 that affected communities across SA, western Victoria, New South Wales and southern Queensland. Over an 11-month period, millions of mice devoured spring crops and destroyed farm machinery.

This series of plagues cost the agricultural sector an estimated A$1 billion, with many farmers and local businesses struggling to make ends meet. And this economic uncertainty took an immense psychological toll. This plague event also exposed rural communities to rodent-related disease, leaving some residents highly anxious or fearful.

What can farmers do?

Farmers in WA and SA are turning to mouse control methods as a way to curb mice numbers. The main method is laying mouse bait which, when ingested in the right dosage, is fatal for mice.

Zinc phosphide is widely used by farmers with large cropping operations. Recent studies suggest using higher doses of zinc phosphide – which currently requires farmers to get a special permit – can reduce mouse numbers by up to 90%. However, Australia’s pesticide regulator has disputed this research and has refused to make more concentrated baits available. One reason is these baits, if used incorrectly, may cause harm to non-target species especially seed-eating birds such as Crested pigeons, galahs and Corellas.

Some mouse baits pose a direct risk to native wildlife. Our research team has studied the impacts of a type of toxic bait, known as second-generation anticoagulant rodenticides. The most widely-used are brodifacoum and bromadiolone. Scientists have found lethally high levels of both rodenticides in populations of native owls, reptiles and even threatened quolls.

However, the federal pesticides regulator recently banned the sale of these products to retail consumers. As a result, many people will be understandably looking for alternatives and should consider using first generation or alternative baits and other approaches.

Farmers are also exploring other mouse control strategies. Experts recommend investing in mouse-proof grain storage and plugging gaps at home. One farmer has even developed a home-made mouse-proof fence that has helped manage mouse numbers. Unfortunately other methods such as snap traps – devices designed to capture and kill mice – are unlikely to significantly curb mouse numbers during a plague event.

Anyone who’s lived through a mouse plague knows how destructive, both economically and emotionally, they can be. So let’s hope this latest plague event comes to a swift end. That way rural communities across WA and SA can get back on their feet.

Robert Davis, Associate Professor in Wildlife Conservation, Edith Cowan University

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

For more than a decade, Australia’s emissions reductions have been driven not by the federal government but by the states and territories, often in relative obscurity.

State governments took the lead in driving rapid uptake of renewable energy, driving emissions down even as the federal “climate wars” raged.

But the heavy-lifting era of the states may be coming to an end. Reaching the goal of cutting emissions by 62–70% (relative to 2005 levels) in less than a decade will require much stronger leadership at a federal level.

States drove the first renewable surge

From 2013 to 2022, Australia endured a “lost decade” on climate policy, as successive federal Coalition governments struggled to build durable national climate policy.

But emissions fell regardless. From September 2013 – when Coalition leader Tony Abbott became prime minister – until September 2019, national emissions fell by almost 12%. Emissions then fell sharply as COVID restrictions began in 2020, before a slight bounce, but overall emissions fell almost 20% during 2013–22.

Since then, however, our emissions haven’t changed much at all. Between September 2024 and September 2025, they fell just 1.8%.

What happened during the supposedly lost decade? States took the lead through initiatives such as large-scale renewable energy rollouts in South Australia and Victoria, market-shaping reforms in New South Wales, and a more recent renewables surge in Queensland.

Aided by the federal Clean Energy Finance Corporation, these efforts reshaped the electricity sector. National emissions cuts were delivered to Canberra on a silver platter, making it easier to meet national targets without substantial federal effort.

When the Albanese government came to power, it set a legal target to cut emissions 43% (from 2005 levels) by 2030. But this measure was made possible largely by state action.

State efforts also underpinned the new 2035 targets as well. Modelling last year by Climateworks suggested existing state and territory policies could – by themselves – deliver national emissions reduction of 66–71% by 2035.

But just six months later, these assumptions look shaky. While some state governments have hit sectoral speed bumps, others have shifted to outright backsliding.

What’s happening with the states?

In Western Australia and the Northern Territory, previously debated 2030 targets now lie abandoned.

In Queensland, signs of climate backsliding are clear in the new government’s Energy Roadmap, laying out plans to keep coal power until mid-century. The government has cancelled large renewable projects and wants new gas-fired power stations to fill the gap. The state will likely still reach its 2030 emissions targets, but the 2035 goal now seems close to impossible.

South Australia has long been a leader on renewables. In 2007, renewables supplied just 1% of the state’s power. This year, renewables are forecast to supply 85%. But its efforts to build a green hydrogen industry as a way to create new exports and cut industrial emissions have hit a very rocky patch.

The SA government has disbanded its Office of Hydrogen Power and signed a ten-year contract to power the Whyalla Steelworks with gas. State Treasurer Tom Koutsantonis has acknowledged there are no government-led plans to develop green hydrogen left.

The state’s success in cutting emissions from electricity means transport and farming are now the largest emissions sources. Emissions from these sectors will be much harder for the state to bring down alone.

New South Wales faces a different challenge: whether it can reach its legislated state targets in time. It has to roughly double its current rate of emissions reductions to do so, and questions remain over how fast it can roll out renewables – as well as whether it can cut emissions from coal mining.

The state’s huge Eraring coal station was slated to close in August last year, but this has been pushed back twice and it is now meant to close in 2029. The owners of Vales Point Power coal station similarly hope to extend its life.

Victoria’s nation-leading efforts to move away from gas have reduced fossil fuel emissions 22% since 2005. But the state’s overall emissions have been increasing since 2021. While offshore wind farms may offer new opportunities in the longer term, local and interstate transmission lines, transport and agriculture emissions will remain critical challenges.

Time for federal leadership

The 2035 emissions target is just six months old. But the federal government already faces a real challenge of its convictions.

On May 12, Treasurer Jim Chalmers will hand down his budget. Given the fuel crisis, increases in military spending and cuts to the NDIS, it’s unlikely we’ll see a big boost to renewables.

This would be a missed opportunity, given renewables produce energy locally, boost energy security and act against inflation.

The next test for the government will be the Safeguard Mechanism review in July. This scheme has led to some emission cuts from big industrial facilities, though most cuts come from closures and operational shifts rather than direct reduction on site.

The mechanism could do much more. If the review leads to targeted sectoral reforms, a focus on onsite emissions intensity reductions and long-term signals providing clear investment horizons for onsite mitigation, it may just shift the needle towards real industrial transitions.

States can’t do it all

Australia is at a tricky stage. Federal climate progress has long been underwritten by a free dividend of emissions reductions delivered by state governments.

Going forward, the federal government will likely need to shoulder much more of the heavy lifting and become more willing to intervene – especially as some states baulk at the challenge.

Chris Wright, PhD Candidate in Environmental Policy, Macquarie University

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

The Coalition’s new leadership is undertaking a consequential shift to the right. This is bad news for climate policy.

Nationals leader Matt Canavan has long opposed climate action. Most notably, he led the charge last year to remove the aspirational target of net zero by 2050 from the Nationals’ platform. The Liberals swiftly followed suit.

The Coalition’s latest objectives seem to be curbing immigration, promoting so-called “Australian values” and celebrating the ongoing extraction of fossil fuels.

The pull of populism

Populism is a type of political speech that divides society into two main groups: the ordinary, often “forgotten people” and the “corrupt” or “untrustworthy elites”. When combined with right-wing nationalism, the concepts of the “people” and “nation” merge in ways that support restrictions on matters such as immigration and international climate action.

The new leaders of the Liberal and National parties are increasingly leaning into this nationalist populist rhetoric.

Since taking the helm of the Liberal ship in February, Angus Taylor has promised the Coalition will “boot out” visa applicants who do not abide by “Australian values”. And he’s taken aim at so-called “migrants of subversive intent” who appear to reject the Australian way of life.

In April, less than a month after becoming leader of the Nationals, Canavan unveiled his “Patriot’s Agenda for our National Economic Revival”. He called for the creation of a “Hyper Australia”, pushing for full-throttle resource extraction and more Australian industry with the help of tariffs. And shortly before the 2025 federal election, Canavan accused Australia’s first parliamentary inquiry into misinformation and disinformation on climate and energy of bullying critics into silence.

It might be tempting to explain the Coalition’s rightward shift as a strategic response to One Nation’s surging popularity. But our recent research suggests the Coalition has developed its own brand of increasingly exclusionary nationalistic populism, with worrying implications for climate action.

What we studied

In our study, we analysed Pauline Hanson’s main parliamentary speeches on climate and energy between 2015 and 2022. We then compared them to speeches made by a sample of six politicians from the Coalition’s climate sceptic faction over the same period. This included three Nationals – one being Canavan – and three Liberals.

Our analysis sifted through these speeches to identify statements and claims that opposed climate policy. We then examined whether the speeches made nationalist and/or populist claims to reinforce their hardline stance on climate. We also noted how various social groups were characterised – and pitted against each other – in these speeches.

Overall, we found significant overlap in how Hanson and the Coalition sceptics used nationalist and populist claims in their speeches. And they did so primarily to oppose decarbonisation, which they all agreed was a sure path to Australia’s economic ruin.

All seven politicians dismissed Australia’s obligations under the Paris Agreement. Under Article 4(2) of the agreement, developed countries such as Australia should take the lead in mitigating climate change.

In his speeches, however, Canavan mocked the treaty and argued it was foolish for Australia to move ahead of other countries and to trust China to fulfill its climate commitments.

Instead, these politicians were defiantly nationalistic in their calls to continue exploiting fossil fuels which, unlike renewable energy sources, they view as central to Australia’s past and future economic prosperity.

The speeches also linked their nationalist arguments to “good Australians” who build the nation. This includes the “hardworking” regional Australians – particularly those working in the mining industry – whose work should not be sacrificed for any globalist agenda.

They also criticised “outsiders” and Australians deemed to be betraying the national interest. These included countries such as China and activists such as Greta Thunberg, as well as “dodgy” carbon traders, the Labor party and the Greens.

The speeches also used the simplifying rhetoric of populism to create a division between the “forgotten people” of regional Australia and the “out-of-touch elites” in Canberra and inner-urban areas.

All seven politicians used populist rhetoric to pitch working-class “battlers” against the well-to-do. And they wielded it to reject the expertise of “untrustworthy” climate scientists and policy elites, in favour of the common sense and practical experience of regional Australians.

Finally, we found the six Coalition politicians in our study were already embracing nationalist populist rhetoric in 2015, a year before Hanson re-entered Parliament.

This suggests their rhetorical similarities arise from their existing ideological commitments, rather than Hanson’s political influence. This is further supported by the fact half our sample – including Craig Kelly, George Christiansen and most recently Barnaby Joyce – eventually defected to One Nation.

Where to next?

Last year’s election saw a dramatic reversal in the political fortunes of One Nation and the Coalition. And they will soon be in direct competition in the upcoming Farrar by-election in New South Wales.

We may see these two parties play up their political differences, possibly over whose brand of populist nationalism – both of which are shored up via preferencing – is best. Regardless of how they approach this, it’s unlikely either will make any shifts on climate or immigration policy.

Our findings are consistent with a broader global trend, which has seen the line between conservative centre-right and radical-right parties become increasingly blurred. And this blurring does not bode well for national or international climate efforts, including the implementation of the Paris Agreement.

Robyn Eckersley, Redmond Barry Professor of Political Science, School of Social and Political Sciences, The University of Melbourne

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

A rare dataset collected by instruments at the point where Antarctica’s largest ice shelf begins to float reveals ocean processes that drive melting at this critical part of the continent.

During a 2019 expedition to the Kamb Ice Stream, a river of ice which feeds the Ross Ice Shelf, we were able to deploy a string of hydrographic instruments into a thin wedge of ocean beneath the shelf where it begins to lift off at a latitude of nearly 83 degrees South.

The instruments collected data on changing currents, temperature and salinity for nine months before they started to succumb to the extreme conditions.

Our initial analysis suggests the ocean cavity under the ice remains stratified into two layers. The lower layer consists of ocean water, but the upper layer is a mix of ocean and melt water.

Our new research shows the ocean deep beneath the Ross Ice Shelf is cool but much more variable than originally thought – responding to tidal flows as well as the shape of the seabed and the underside of the ice.

New data show warmer water appearing at the periphery of the ice shelf and in some isolated parts of the cavity. How this warm water could make its way into these southernmost limits of the ice shelf cavity is an important question for how Antarctica might respond to a changing climate.

Antarctica’s many kinds of ice

The massive ice sheets that blanket most of Antarctica lock water away from the ocean. This water is gradually returned to the ocean through the persistent flow of ice streams and glaciers.

As the ice slides northwards, it begins to float and in doing so evolves into ice shelves. This liftoff happens at what we call the grounding zone, which essentially marks Antarctica’s true coastline, often hidden under hundreds of metres of ice.

Despite being buried under so much ice, we know where grounding zones are from surface measurements and satellite data. But we know far less about what the ocean is doing right in this thin wedge.

Because they are floating, ice shelves expose the whole ice sheet system to the changing ocean. Their undersides are vulnerable to changes in melting driven from below.

The oceanic setting around and beneath Antarctica’s ice is perhaps the least typical of anywhere on the planet. The low temperature, the melting and freezing, the isolation from the wind and sun and the strong effect of Earth’s rotation collectively make for remarkable oceanography.

A hidden shoreline

Much like coastlines anywhere on the planet, there’s no such thing as a typical grounding zone. There are regions with under-ice rivers, places with stronger or weaker tides and seafloor regions with deep grooves excavated by past glacier scouring.

Our new study argues for a more oceanic view of the grounding zone.

The region can be many hundreds of kilometres from the open ocean, bound by the seafloor and the ice shelf itself. But while it is isolated from Southern Ocean storms, it is not immune to the push and pull of the tides.

The grounding zone is vertically very thin, even in coastal terms. For example, where we drilled, the water column between the ice and seafloor is only 30 metres deep.

Tidal effects

The new data reveal that tidal effects are a big influence on how heat is transported in this hidden ocean. While this wasn’t a surprise as such, we did not expect the multiple effects tides appear to have on the system.

The data show the spring-neap and daily tidal cycles vary the energy available for melting of the underside of the ice shelf. This in turn affects the upper mixed layer of the ocean cavity.

We also weren’t expecting tides to be driving internal waves – essentially “underwater” waves occurring at the interface between the upper meltwater layer and the deeper ocean layer. Our results suggest these waves break and help mix warmer water up closer to the ice and thus enhance ice melting.

We think the water closer to the seabed is coming directly from the open ocean. Despite this, it showed relatively fast changes in temperature and salinity over a week or so.

Why this should be the case, when the water has been on a journey of somewhere between 500 and 1000 kilometres from the open ocean, remains an open question.

If the warming ocean acts to pump more thermal energy into the cavity, understanding the pathway this heat takes will have big ramifications for how melting of the ice underside will evolve.

Climate and Antarctica’s ocean cavities

There has been a view that these far-south giant and cold ocean cavities are immune to warming further north. A consequence has been a focus on warmer, faster changing ice shelves and glaciers.

However, as we learn more about these hidden oceans from a combination of on-ice expeditions, ocean voyages, robots, satellite and model results, we are discovering that small changes to large systems can have far-reaching effects.

Changes to the ocean north of the ice shelf, around the edge on the continental shelf, might see more warm water arriving at the grounding zone, heating up the ice shelf’s vulnerable underbelly.

The climate emergency is amplifying the need for greater understanding of Earth systems. Our glimpse into the southernmost part of the ocean shows how heat could rapidly find its way under the ice.

Craig Stevens, Professor in Ocean Physics, University of Auckland, Waipapa Taumata Rau; Earth Sciences New Zealand; Christina Hulbe, Professor in Glaciology, University of Otago, and Craig Stewart, Marine Physicist, Earth Sciences New Zealand

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

Electric vehicle purchases in Australia have surged amid the ongoing war in Iran, as drivers worry about rising fuel costs.

The big drawcard: much cheaper running costs. As of 22 April, A$1 of electricity takes an EV 45 kilometres, while $1 of diesel gets you 5.4 km.

Driving an EV is fairly similar to a combustion engine car. The biggest difference is charging instead of refuelling.

In our research, we interviewed renters and people who live in apartments to understand how they made the switch – and what practical advice they would give others.

Driving experience

EVs generally offer a smoother ride with punchier acceleration compared to combustion engine cars.

One thing to watch for is speed. Because EVs have much more torque, they can accelerate much faster – and do so quietly. It can be easy to speed without meaning to. Using cruise control on freeways is a good idea.

Almost all EVs have regenerative braking, meaning the brakes recharge the battery.

Many EVs allow drivers to use just one pedal to accelerate and brake. To brake gently, you can take your foot off the accelerator and let the car slow itself down. But there’s still a traditional brake pedal.

Refuelling vs charging

Refuelling a combustion engine car is quick, but requires going to a service station. Charging an EV can be done at home, at work, in shopping centres and public charging stations.

Charging time varies depending on the speed of the charger, from slow Level 1 trickle chargers, Level 2 chargers and Level 3 fast or ultrafast public chargers. The cost varies by location, time and operator.

The cheapest and easiest method is to plug in at home and charge overnight at off-peak electricity rates or using solar during the day. Charging overnight at off-peak rates is cheap, while running off solar is effectively free. EVs and solar pair well.

Drivers who regularly do longer distances can install a faster wallbox charger at home.

For the millions of Australians who live in apartments, it may not be possible to charge at home. Public charging plays a vital role here.

Range anxiety is fading

Early EV adopters often experienced range anxiety – the fear of running out of charge mid-trip.

This concern is fading, as the average range of new EVs is now over 400 km. Research shows this anxiety fades away as drivers become comfortable with their vehicles, learn the distances they usually travel and use apps and maps to plan where they will charge during road trips.

As one EV owner told us:

charging’s not something I really think about. Like, as soon as I get home and park, I just plug my car in and it charges automatically at 12 o'clock at night for 6 hours

Home charging offers the biggest comfort. Most EV owners (93%) in Australia can charge at home, and most of them say home charging meets their travel needs.

Over time, EV owners learn the locations of more public chargers, which also reduces anxiety.

Public charging is the biggest challenge

It took decades to build Australia’s network of more than 6,600 service stations.

The public charging network has had much less time to develop. The network is significantly bigger than it was five years ago, but some issues remain.

The main challenge then shifts from range anxiety to charging anxiety. This is the fear of arriving at a public charging station only to find the chargers don’t work, have an incompatible plug, deliver slower-than-advertised speeds or have long queues, especially at peak times.

EV drivers have told us the solution is to check on public chargers before driving there. Real-time data about chargers is easy to come by.

Charging apps let you check charger reliability easily. If you can see a charger has been successfully used recently, it’s a good sign. Charger ratings and reviews help you decide.

Choosing chargers used by drivers with similar EVs is an easy way to ensure the charger has the right plug.

Much of this information is held in charging apps such as Evie, Chargefox or Tesla.

Apps such as PlugShare, Google Maps and the Electric Vehicle Council’s Charge@Large have data on chargers from many different networks.

Planning roadtrips

Longer distance trips require a little bit of planning.

• Use route planners such as A Better Route Planner to see where you will need to charge, find good charger options and identify backups

• Pack an EV travel kit with a charger cable and extension lead

• Allow time for charging, queues and possible detours, especially during busy periods. Aim to charge before the battery drops below 20%.

Some new EV owners may find public charging a hassle compared to a quick refuel stop. But there are perks.

Many regional charging stations are located in the centre of a town. As one EV owner told us:

just plug it in there, stroll up the street, have a coffee, grab a muffin or something. By the time you come back, the car’s charged.

Drivers are quick to adapt

As with any new technology, switching to an EV has a learning curve.

The good news is the curve is not steep, despite some critical media reports.

Drivers adapt quickly. As they gain experience, EV owners develop charging habits and smart trip planning which become second nature. Range and charging anxiety dissipate.

Worldwide, over 90% of EV owners plan to make their next car an EV too.

Isrrah Malabanan, PhD Candidate in Transport Engineering, The University of Melbourne and Patricia Sauri Lavieri, Senior Lecturer in Transport Engineering, The University of Melbourne

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

Australians are installing home batteries at a record rate.

Since July 2025, more than 260,000 households, businesses and organisations have installed home batteries under the federal government’s Cheaper Home Batteries Program.

The program offers a discount of about 30% on the upfront cost of installing eligible small-scale battery systems, which help cut power costs while taking pressure off the main electricity grid.

But from May 1, the government is changing how it calculates this discount. This is to keep the rebate sustainable as battery costs fall, while also discouraging people from installing oversized systems.

For a typical household battery with a storage capacity of about 10–13 kilowatt-hours (kWh), the May 1 rebate change will likely reduce upfront costs by between A$600 and $800.

That’s not a major saving. So it’s not worth rushing to buy a battery, especially if it doesn’t suit your needs.

Boosting batteries

Home batteries allow households to store solar energy for when they need it most – at night, for example – while cutting power costs. Batteries also help reduce our collective reliance on the energy grid, and fossil fuels more broadly.

Australians have installed 260,000 solar batteries to date, capable of storing 7.7 gigawatt-hours (GWh) of energy. That’s enough to power about half a million average homes for a day.

The government now wants up to two million households to have a battery within four years. That’s nearly eight times the current number.

So, what’s changing?

Currently, the federal government offers incentives called small-scale technology certificates, or STCs. These are created when eligible small-scale renewable energy systems are installed, such as rooftop solar panels, solar batteries and heat pump hot water systems. Installers can claim these certificates, and then pass it onto customers as an immediate discount.

From May 1, the government will adjust how this upfront discount is applied, in two main ways.

First, the discount will step down every six months, and at a higher rate as time goes on. This means the rebate will generally be worth less the longer households wait to buy and install a battery.

Second, the discount will be tied to battery size. This means smaller batteries receive the full discount rate, while larger batteries receive a lower rate on their additional storage capacity.

The aim is to keep the overall discount at around 30%, while adjusting for falling battery costs over time. This also allows the government to prevent cost blowouts.

Overall, these changes are a positive step. They will ensure households won’t just buy the biggest battery, but one that matches their energy usage, charging needs and existing infrastructure.

However, the May 1 deadline may see people make rushed purchases, buying batteries based on confusing quotes and optimistic savings claims.

Authorities are aware of these risks. The Australian Competition and Consumer Commission has warned consumers to avoid racing to buy anything. It is also scrutinising the sales practices of battery and solar suppliers, as well as electricity retailers.

The Clean Energy Regulator is similarly monitoring retailers and installers around the May 1 deadline.

So, how can I choose the right battery?

If you’re still keen to buy a home battery, don’t rush in. Instead, take your time and consider these three points.

1. Storage isn’t the same as power

Retailers often market home batteries in terms of kilowatt-hours (kWh), a measure of how much energy a battery can store.

By contrast, a battery’s kilowatts (kW) tells you how much power it can deliver at any given time, as well as how quickly it can charge or discharge.

Battery retailers often emphasise storage because it sounds more appealing. But it’s often not as important as how much power a battery can deliver.

For instance, you may splurge on a battery with a large capacity but low power output. It may store a lot of energy, but fail to run several large appliances at once. Also, some households may not generate enough surplus solar to regularly charge a large battery, and may have a system that can’t charge from the grid.

Governments don’t usually regulate whether a battery is the right size for a particular home. However, the Australian Competition and Consumer Commission can act against misleading claims made by battery retailers and suppliers.

2. Safety is key

You should also check how your battery is installed. More than 60% of batteries inspected by the Clean Energy Regulator were found to be substandard and 1.2% were actually unsafe.

Substandard doesn’t mean the battery is faulty. It means the installer didn’t follow all the installation rules. These usually aren’t too serious – the most common issue is missing or incorrect warning labels – but at their worst can pose a safety risk.

Households in low-income or regional areas may have less protection against poor sales advice or substandard installation, particularly if they have fewer retailers and installers to choose from.

To prevent this, government should fund trusted local quote-check services to ensure households can properly compare offers. It must also strengthen compliance by making battery installer accreditation more stringent.

3. Upfront costs may still be high

Even with government subsidies, some households may still struggle to afford a home battery. However, the government could help cover the remaining upfront cost by pairing the current discount with low-cost or zero-interest finance.

Don’t rush

Yes, the May 1 deadline is fast approaching. But the subsidies aren’t ending – they’re changing. So it’s worth taking the time to find a system that actually meets your needs.

Trevor Brown, Emeritus Professor of Chemistry, School of Science and Technology, University of New England

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

Each animal species has an optimal temperature at which it can metabolise food and its immune system can best fight off pathogens.

As our recent research shows, temperature directly affects the immune systems of vertebrates – regardless of how they moderate their own body temperatures. At first, slightly hotter temperatures actually give many animal immune systems a boost. But when temperatures get still hotter, conditions favour pathogens – organisms which cause disease.

This is a real problem, given many pathogens found in warmer areas are likely to expand their range as the climate changes.

The good news: learning more about how temperatures affect animal immune systems gives us new options, such as using “frog saunas” to help frogs fight off the lethal chytrid fungus.

How do animals maintain body temperatures?

Different types of vertebrates have very different ways of maintaining an optimal body temperature.

Mammals and birds are endotherms. In cold conditions, they can keep their body temperature close to optimal by burning energy stored as fat. Animals such as reindeer are able to live in temperatures as low as -40°C while keeping their core body temperature at 38-40°C.

At the other extreme are snakes, lizards and other poikilotherms – so-called “cold blooded” animals who rely on the environment to modify their temperature. If they’re too cold, they seek the sun. If too hot, they seek the shade.

Regardless of the method, the goal is the same: keep body temperature as close to optimal as possible.

Pathogens have temperature preferences too

Pathogens are very diverse. Some prefer hotter conditions and others cooler. For some, high temperatures can stop them replicating. But for others, heat is great. The lethal Ebola virus replicates best at 41°C.

The rhinoviruses which cause the common cold prefer the slightly cooler temperatures (33°C) found in human airways.

In birds, outbreaks of lethal H5N1 avian influenza have been shown to come shortly after a large sudden drop in temperatures.

The fungus causing devastating white-nose syndrome in bats likes colder temperatures of 12-16°C. When bats hibernate, their body temperatures drop and their immune response isn’t as strong. This is when the fungus can invade.

Most fish species are poikilotherms. If they move into water colder than their optimal, their immune defences are lowered and they’re more susceptible to pathogens such as viral haemorrhagic septicaemia virus or the bacteria Flavobacterium psychrophilum causing coldwater disease.

Frogs and other amphibians are now declining globally. A major cause is the disease chytridiomycosis caused by the chytrid fungus. The disease is implicated in at least 90 extinctions. This fungus lives in water or damp soil and prefers the cold. As the world heats up, the fungus will likely gain access to new water bodies – and amphibian hosts.

Researchers found leopard frogs (Rana yavapaiensis) living in warmer water were infected less than those in colder water. Australian researchers are now building “frog saunas” which let infected frogs kill off the infection.

How does temperature affect animal immune systems?

When an animal’s body temperature is lower than optimal, it can’t mount as strong an immune defence against specific pathogens. Interestingly, we found this effect only seems to impair specific defences, while the animal’s innate defences aren’t affected.

Ground squirrels and many other species can go into short hibernation periods known as torpor. In this state, their metabolism slows down, body temperature drops and reduces numbers of cells and molecules responsible for specific immune defences circulating. In most cases, the lower body temperature also stops pathogens from replicating. Once an animal leaves the torpor state and its body warms up, its specific immune responses bounce back.

How does this work? When temperatures fall, changes take place in the physical structure of the molecules necessary to mount a specific defence against a pathogen, making an immune response impossible. For instance, the major histocompatibility complex, a key immune molecule found in almost all vertebrates, loses the ability to bind to other immune system molecules in the cold.

Heat acts differently. Humans and all other endotherms can induce a fever, which means the immune system raises the body temperature to stop an invading bacterium, virus or other pathogen from replicating. Fevers put most pathogens at a disadvantage and triggers specific immune responses. But too much heat is a problem, as it can stress the body or even kill. Luckily, special molecules called heat shock proteins can buffer cells against heat and help restore the proteins needed to induce a specific immune response.

Lizards, fish and other poikilotherms can’t increase their own body temperature. Instead, when they get an infection, they employ “behavioural fever” – moving to warmer environments to boost their immune response.

Can we use this to protect species?

Knowledge of how temperature affects animal immune systems lets us plan new ways of protecting threatened species.

We can use heat or cold to change body temperatures and trigger immune responses, or to stop pathogens replicating.

But as climate change intensifies, rapid temperature changes will bring many unwelcome changes for animals. Heat-loving pathogens such as malaria will expand their range, as will cold-hating parasites such as ticks. Milder winters in Canada and the United States, for instance, are letting winter ticks survive the cold. These blood-sucking parasites are now killing many young moose.

The more we understand about how temperatures and animal immune systems intersect, the better we are placed to help animals whatever is to come.

Julie Old, Associate Professor in Biology, Zoology and Animal Science, Western Sydney University and Brian Dixon, Professor of Biology, University of Waterloo

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

Is Australia giving away its gas resources, virtually for free?

That question is at the centre of this week’s parliamentary inquiry into the taxation of gas resources.

Over the last decade, Australia has become one of the world’s largest exporters of liquefied natural gas.

But while the gas is extracted from beneath Australian soils, the profits go almost entirely to large multinational companies. Research suggests gas companies have made roughly $A149 billion from exports in just four years. Only a small percentage of this profit has been taxed.

That’s why some politicians, think tanks and environmental groups are pushing for a 25% tax on gas exports.

Modelling by the Australia Institute suggests this tax could raise up to $17 billion a year and potentially lower domestic fuel prices by incentivising producers to sell more gas into the Australian market.

How is gas currently taxed?

Currently, Australia’s main tax on gas exports is the Petroleum Resource Rent Tax.

Profits made by companies running oil and gas projects are taxed at up to 40%. At present, this tax mainly applies to offshore producers.

While this sounds good, the tax is less effective in practice. Energy companies have access to generous tax deductions as well as “uplifts”, which allow companies to use the losses from one year to offset the amount of tax they pay the next year. The rationale for allowing uplifts was to incentivise companies to invest in Australian oil and gas projects by letting them recover costs.

The problem is this system allows oil and gas companies to pay little, if any, tax on their profits. As a result, economists and policy analysts have argued this tax is no longer fit for purpose, particularly given how much gas we export.

Onshore liquefied natural gas producers in Queensland are exempt, but are still required to pay the standard 30% company tax rate.

But oil and gas companies are often able to reduce how much they pay here too, using various deductions and accounting practices. This is because the money they spend on construction, drilling and infrastructure is immediately deductible.

The governments of states where onshore gas companies are active can also impose royalties. These are payments which mining companies must make to the owner of the natural resources – the state government in most cases – for the right to extract them.

Royalties are different from taxes in that they are payments for the right to exploit a public resource. The royalty rate is based on the raw value of the oil and gas produced, rather than profit. Companies must pay royalties even if a project is losing money. In Queensland, gas producers pay between 5% and 10% of their revenue in tax. This can generate significant income, but nowhere near as much as a profit-based tax designed with fewer loopholes. That’s because royalties do not scale with profitability.

Australia’s gas export industry has long been under-regulated, particularly on the east coast. For many years producers have simply exported as much gas as possible.

But this is gradually changing. In 2023, the government introduced a mandatory gas code requiring producers to first offer gas domestically on fair, transparent terms. From 2027, the government will require producers to reserve some gas for the domestic market.

Looking overseas

Nations such as Norway tax their natural resource exports much more robustly.

The Norwegian government applies two taxes to petroleum profits – a 22% company tax and a 56% special petroleum tax – which mean companies are taxed on roughly 78% of their profits. Its taxation rules are stricter and more standardised, meaning companies have less scope to carry forward large deductions. The funds raised go to the Government Pension Fund Global, previously known as the Petroleum Fund of Norway, now worth more than $3 trillion. The fund was established in 1990 to shield the economy from oil industry volatility.

Gas giant Qatar also has a high-taxation system giving it a large share of oil and gas profits. Qatar uses these funds to subsidise health care, education and public infrastructure.

Even countries with limited domestic energy resources use these taxes. In 1978, Japan introduced a tax on oil and gas imports. This tax generates significant revenue, raising roughly $8 billion in 2025 alone.

In March, a proposal to introduce a 25% gas tax was defeated in the Australian Senate. But advocates aren’t giving up. They point to high public support amid soaring energy prices.

Why tax gas exports?

A 25% tax on gas exports would be applied as a flat tax on the value of gas exports, rather than the profits gas companies make from those exports. It’s similar to a royalty, but instead would be calculated as a percentage of the exported product.

This approach would simplify the tax system and could not be minimised in the same way as the Petroleum Resource Rent Tax and company tax.

An exports tax would also raise significant public revenue, estimated at $17 billion annually. That’s enough to provide free childcare or tertiary education for Australians. The revenue could also help reduce government debt, which reached a record $1.6 trillion in 2025.

Backers argue the tax would boost domestic gas supply, as it would encourage producers to avoid the tax by selling more gas locally. This could help lower domestic energy prices, an urgent concern for many businesses and households.

What are the downsides?

Critics argue the tax would discourage companies from investing in new gas projects, which could reduce gas availability and affect regional jobs.

Opponents also claim the tax would undermine Australia’s reputation as a stable and predictable country to invest in.

Another concern is a 25% tax could make Australia less competitive in global energy markets, particularly compared to lower-cost producers such as Qatar. It may also cause legal issues if applied to existing export agreements.

The bottom line

For decades, we’ve allowed foreign companies to earn billions of dollars from our gas sector, and to be taxed very little.

So despite concerns it may affect gas industry employment and investment, introducing a 25% gas exports tax would ensure all Australians benefit from these public, state-owned resources.

Samantha Hepburn, Professor of Law, Deakin University

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

There is a troubling contradiction at the heart of the global transition to a cleaner, greener, tech-driven future: Modern technologies – everything from AI to wind turbines, as well as cellphones, electric vehicles and defense systems – depend on critical minerals. But many of the communities where those minerals are mined end up with polluted water and poorer health because of the mining.

Lithium powers batteries. Cobalt stabilizes them. Copper carries electricity. Rare earth elements make wind turbines and digital devices efficient and durable. Each of these are essential to the technologies of the fourth industrial revolution, but they are also toxic and require enormous amounts of water to extract.

As researchers at the United Nations University Institute for Water, Environment and Health, we have been studying the impacts of critical mineral mining on communities around the world. Our new report shows why mining will end up worsening the lives of some of the world’s poorest people if critical mineral supply chains are not monitored and regulated.

One of us is from the Middle East, a region still suffering from the long-term consequences of supplying the fuel consumed for the remarkable economic developments of the 20th century. And one of us comes from Africa, the continent that is now serving as a major supplier of the critical minerals that fuel technological advancements in the 21st century.

Based on our experiences and our research, we believe that if there aren’t major changes in how countries, corporations and communities manage critical minerals, humanity risks reproducing the injustices of the oil extraction era, this time with the technological advancements meant to address the problems fossil fuels created.

Mining contributes to growing water bankruptcy

One of the most significant impacts of critical minerals extraction is its effect on water.

In 2024 alone, global lithium production required an estimated 456 billion liters of water. That is equivalent to the annual domestic water needs of roughly 62 million people in sub‑Saharan Africa. At the same time, much of the world is facing water bankruptcy, meaning people and industries are using more fresh water than nature can replenish, leading to irrecoverable ecosystem damages.

In arid regions such as Chile’s Salar de Atacama, mining activities account for up to 65% of total regional water use, competing with agriculture and ecosystems. Groundwater levels have dropped, salt lagoons have shrunk, and freshwater aquifers are increasingly at risk of being depleted and contaminated.

Water pollution compounds problems like this. Mining generates large quantities of toxic waste and wastewater containing heavy metals, acids and radioactive residues.

Rare earth mineral production, for example, generates up to 2,000 metric tons of waste for every metric ton of usable material. Rare earth minerals are often extracted by creating leaching ponds and adding chemicals to separate the metals. When the effluent isn’t treated or is improperly stored, the chemicals can seep into groundwater and waterways, contaminating aquifers and rivers.

In some parts of the world, rivers near cobalt and copper mines have become so acidic that communities can no longer drink water from them. Fish stocks have collapsed, and farmlands have been poisoned. Water insecurity is no longer a side effect of mining; it is a systemic cost.

Health crises hidden in supply chains

Communities living near these extraction sites report people suffering from skin diseases, gastrointestinal illnesses, reproductive health problems and chronic health conditions associated with long‑term exposure to heavy metals in polluted water and soil.

Evidence from mining regions in the Democratic Republic of the Congo is particularly stark.

Studies document high rates of miscarriages, congenital malformations and infant mortality among populations exposed to environments contaminated with cobalt and other metals. Maternity wards in southern Democratic Republic of the Congo that are close to mining operations report significantly more birth defects than those farther away.

In communities near mining operations, residents talk about how women and girls living near cobalt and copper mining sites have been experiencing gynecological health problems, including infections, menstrual irregularities, miscarriages and infertility. These risks are linked to prolonged contact with contaminated water, compounded by limited access to sanitation and healthcare.

In Chile’s Antofagasta region, cancer mortality is the highest in the country. Lung cancer rates there are nearly three times the national average. Physicians in the region also report rising cases of neurological and developmental disorders, which they link to early exposure to contaminated water and air.

Thousands of children are estimated to be employed in artisanal cobalt mines in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. In the informal mines, they may be exposed to cobalt dust and other hazardous materials without protective gear.

These health risks are heightened by weak systems for water, sanitation and healthcare. As of 2024, only about one-third of people in the Democratic Republic of the Congo had at least basic drinking water services.

Food costs of the energy transition

The water problems caused by critical minerals extraction also pose a major threat to local food systems. In Peru, zinc mining has contaminated the Cunas watershed. Runoff pollutes water used to irrigate crops and provide water for livestock.

In Bolivia’s Uyuni region, lithium mining has led to persistent water shortages that are making it increasingly difficult to grow quinoa, a staple crop central to local diets and economies. Across the wider “lithium triangle” of Argentina, Chile and Bolivia, mining has reduced water availability for crops and farm animals.

Similar patterns are evident in parts of the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Zambia. In both countries, polluted rivers have contributed to declining fish stocks and livestock illnesses, harming households that are already struggling to feed themselves.

Ways to protect mining communities

Innovation and technological advances have the potential to do good. But we believe a fair and sustainable energy and digital transition requires deliberate actions to avoid creating “sacrifice zones,” places where human and ecological well-being are traded away for technological breakthroughs.

One option is to create stronger international governance. Moving beyond voluntary guidelines toward binding international rules, such as treaties, enforceable supply chain due-diligence laws, mandatory environmental and human rights standards for mining operations, and potentially establishing a global mineral trust that would manage critical minerals as shared planetary assets, could improve water protection, pollution control and human rights across mineral supply chains.

Companies can also invest in less water-intensive mining technologies. Countries can tighten their wastewater controls and expand independent environmental monitoring and reporting.

Governance arrangements that give local and Indigenous communities a stronger voice, a fair share in the benefits and genuine co-governance of resources could further rebalance who has power and who bears risk.

On the consumption side, extending product lifespans, expanding recycling and encouraging less reliance on newly mined minerals would ease pressure on water‑stressed regions.

For the people who use these technologies, the social and environmental costs embedded in critical minerals supply chains are often out of sight and out of mind. Making these impacts visible can enable consumers to make informed choices and engage in greater scrutiny of corporate practices.

Critical minerals are essential to advancing sustainability. But if cleaner technologies are built in ways that result in polluted rivers, sick children and dispossessed communities, the transition will fall short of its promise.

Abraham Nunbogu, Researcher, Institute for Water, Environment and Health (UNU-INWEH), United Nations University and Kaveh Madani, Director of the Institute for Water, Environment and Health (UNU-INWEH), United Nations University

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

To mark International Dawn Chorus day we’ve asked wildlife experts to make their case for why their favourite songbird deserves your vote. Cast your vote in the poll at the end of the article and let us know why in the comments. We hope their words will inspire you to step outside and soak up some birdsong this spring.

Song thrush

Championed by Cannelle Tassin de Montaigu, Research Fellow in Ecology and Evolution, University of Sussex

When people talk about the UK’s best bird songs they often go straight for the big names – loud, dramatic performers that grab your attention. But quietly in the background is the song thrush, a bird whose song is far more impressive than it first appears.

What sets the song thrush apart is not volume or flair, but structure. Its song is built from short, clear phrases, each repeated two or three times before moving on. It’s as if the bird is politely checking that its audience is paying attention. In a dawn chorus that often feels a bit chaotic, there’s something refreshingly organised about it. It’s a bird that’s actually thought things through.

It might not have the dramatic flair of the common nightingale, and it’s less showy than some of the usual favourites. There are no soaring crescendos or dramatic flourishes. But that’s part of its charm. The song is neat, rhythmic and surprisingly memorable once you start listening for it.

In the early morning soundscape, where many birds seem determined to out-sing one another, the song thrush isn’t trying to steal the spotlight. It just quietly does its thing, and does it very well. Underrated? Definitely. Worth your vote? I’d say so.

Robin

Championed by Judith Lock, Principal Teaching Fellow in Ecology and Evolution University of Southampton

The European robin is a delightfully common sight in gardens. You will very likely have heard the characteristic “tic”, followed by a tuneful verse lasting a few seconds. In noisy urban environments they sing louder, less complex songs, in order to be heard.

The male robins use their spring song (January to June) to signal their quality to females, then forming breeding pairs, and to signal competitive ability to other males. The spring song lasts one to three seconds, composed of four to six short motifs. They have an impressive repertoire of about 1,300 motifs, indicating that song is the particularly important for robins, in comparison to birds that rely more on colourful plumage or behavioural displays to communicate with each other.

Most birds sing mainly in the morning but robins sing all day. People often mistake their lovely evening song for a nightingale’s. Constant territory defence from non-migrating robins means that the robin song is a year-round soundtrack too. From July to December, both males and females sing the autumn song, of higher-pitched long, descending notes, with interspersed warbles. This song is to defend their individual winter territories. This indicates that song first evolved first in songbirds to ensure survival, before it became a signal used by males for reproduction. Each robin’s song is dynamic, constantly changing in response to the condition and age of the bird, and their rival.

Great tit

Championed by Josh Firth, Associate Professor of Behavioural Ecology, University of Leeds

Its song may not be as flashy as the nightingale or as poetically melancholy as the blackbird. But scientists have been taught so much by the great tit’s song, heard across British habitats from ancient woodlands to urban gardens. This spring marks 80 continuous years of UK-based scientists studying great tits at Wytham Woods, Oxford, the world’s longest-running study of individually-marked animals.

The unique dataset includes a family tree totaling over 100,000 great tits, with some birds’ lineages traceable back 37 generations. Early research on Wytham’s great tits during 1970s-1980s resulted in some the first studies to inform the scientific world about how bird song can help males find mates and defend territories, how larger song repertoires can bring more reproductive success, and how young birds learn these repertoires from neighbours (not just their fathers).

And a pioneering study published in 1987 taught us how male great tit song even tracks female fertility, increasing their singing efforts as their female partner’s egg-laying period approaches, and then quietening after she starts laying. Modern technological advances are allowing insight into the hidden meaning embedded in great tits’ songs. In-depth processing of 109,000 recordings of great tit songs has revealed how each bird’s melody tells the story of their own identity as well as that of their local culture and social circles.

A great tit’s age also affects their song: older males keep singing rarer, fading song types while younger birds adopt newer ones. So, Britain’s greatest song belongs to the great tit’s “teacher-teacher” call, for all it has taught us, and for all we have left to learn.

Chaffinch

Championed by Joey Baxter, PhD Candidate in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, University of Sheffield

Why change a winning formula? As far as I’m concerned, the chaffinch sings the biggest banger that UK birds have to offer. While the blackcap attempts to impress with ostentatious bells and whistles, the chaffinch keeps things simple with a catchy riff. Where the starling goes for quantity and novelty, with a frankly plagiaristic repertoire of mimicry, the chaffinch goes for quality, singing proudly in the knowledge that it is delivering a true earworm.

Bubbling trills accelerate before tumbling downwards, slowing to rich watery chirps and finishing with the final flourish. This jaunty lick, the real hook of the song, is often punctuated by an upward inflection at its end, the rising intonation giving it the air of an unanswered question. The chaffinch’s song has rhythm, it has melody, and it’s instantly recognisable. It possesses the wisdom that sometimes it is better not to do everything, but to do one thing well.

Joey Baxter, PhD Candidate in Biosciences, University of Sheffield; Cannelle Tassin de Montaigu, Research Fellow, Ecology & Evolution, University of Sussex; Josh Firth, Associate Professor of Behavioural Ecology, University of Leeds; University of Oxford, and Judith Lock, Principal Teaching Fellow in Ecology and Evolution, University of Southampton

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

Every evening, as they move from place to place through the forest, chimpanzees stop to build a nest – most often in a tree – to sleep in. Using a selection of branches, leaves and twigs, they create comfortable and safe spaces to get some shuteye.

Like human beds, these are places to rest – but they also help chimps stay warm or cool and protect themselves against the weather. As you might expect, how and where chimpanzees build their nests depends on things like temperature, humidity, wind and rainfall.

But how do they make these choices? Previous research has shown the construction is related to the conditions at the time when the creatures are building the nest.

In new research, published today in Current Biology, my colleagues and I show that chimps are a little bit cleverer than you might expect: they seem to build their nests in ways that anticipate what the overnight weather will be.

A year in Rwanda

We conducted a field study on eastern chimpanzees in Nyungwe National Park, Rwanda, a cool and humid mountain forest. Over a 12-month period, we collected detailed data on the structure of nests, the characteristics of their chosen sites, and the kinds of trees the chimps chose.

We also measured how well different kinds of nests insulate against cold and heat. At the same time, we made detailed records of weather conditions when the nests were being built and throughout the night.

This let us test whether chimpanzees respond primarily to immediate environmental conditions, or whether their nesting decisions are better explained by the conditions they experience later during the night.

Chimpanzees are always adjusting their behaviour

Our results show chimpanzees consistently adjust their nesting behaviour in relation to environmental conditions. They preferred to build nests in places that were warmer, more humid and less exposed to wind than surrounding areas.

Nest structure and insulation varied systematically with environmental conditions. In cooler and wetter conditions, nests were thicker and deeper – indicating the chimpanzees put more effort into insulation when conditions are tougher.

We also found that factors such as the width and depth of the nest influenced its insulating ability.

The chimpanzees tended to build more insulating nests when weather was colder and when it was more humid, both during nest-building and overnight.

In cooler and wetter conditions, the chimps also built their nests higher, in taller trees with denser leaf cover. This makes sense: it would be a more stable microclimate with more shelter from rain.

Are chimps thinking ahead?

Importantly, nesting decisions aligned more closely with overnight environmental conditions than with those at the time of construction. When we took overnight weather into account, we found we could explain the variation in nesting behaviour much better than if we used only the current conditions.

One possible explanation is that chimpanzees use environmental cues, such as shifts in temperature, humidity or atmospheric pressure, that are linked to upcoming weather.

These cues may allow them to adjust nest-building behaviour in advance. Does this mean they predict or forecast future weather? Not quite.

But it does show their behaviour is consistent with reacting to environmental signals that are associated with later conditions. Either way, the chimps display a remarkable sensitivity to their environment – and a grasp of how to live in it.

Hassan Al Razi, PhD Student, School of Human Sciences, The University of Western Australia

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