The Climate in Emergency

A weekly blog on science, news, and ideas related to climate change


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Looking for Marches

I admit I got spoiled.

For a while, there, information about political demonstrations simply came to be on Facebook. Friends posted announcements, as did groups I had signed up for. All I had to do was decide which marches I wanted to go on. Last year sometime, the flow of information stopped. I don’t know why it stopped, and I wasn’t clearly aware that it had stopped at the time. It was like the beginning of a drought, when you slowly, belatedly realize that it’s really been a long time now since it rained.

As I’ve mentioned, I was also badly distracted by a protracted family emergency. I had no emotional energy left over for political engagement, however necessary or noble, let alone for research into how to politically engage. So I took much longer to respond to the situation than I might have–and when I did respond I did so slowly, vaguely, without commitment.

I posted comments to various groups–has anyone heard about any marches or rallies coming up for the next few months? No one responded. Months went by. I asked again. I put off checking back on my messages for months. I saw major demonstrations on the news that I had known nothing about.

I have more energy now. I’m sleeping better. I’m more awake. And it suddenly occurred to me this week that  this is not a case of just vaguely not hearing much news lately. Facebook, as we all probably know by now, is not a passive medium, like some online equivalent of a community cork board. Instead, the service actively prioritizes what we see and what we don’t based on an ever-changing and somewhat mysterious algorithm. When I don’t see messages from one or another friend but my husband does see those messages, or the other way around, I know the algorithm is involved. When a message of mine seems to disappear down a dark well, or, alternatively, suddenly gets attention from everybody, I know the algorithm is likely involved. At long last, the conclusion became inescapable:

Facebook’s algorithm must no longer favor the kind of political information I want to see.

The idea feels creepy, Orwellian, controlling. It isn’t, necessarily. It’s possible Facebook is, in fact, trying to impede the flow of propaganda and trollwork and my marches and petitions are collateral damage. It’s also possible that fewer of my friends have been “liking” these posts, perhaps being tired of politics, so the algorithm isn’t showing them as widely. But regardless of why, it’s time to be more proactive.

So, I spent today looking around online and found a number of interesting events–a Science March later this week, a youth-led climate march in June, and another climate rally in September. I posted them here on my page. I also posted several civil-rights-related events, a tax protest, and an anti-gun violence event. While this site is focused on climate change only, I also post information on other issues that may interest visitors. Among other reasons, if I expect devotees of other issues to show up for my favorite cause, I’d better show up for theirs.

There is a danger, here. I was talking to my friend, Zeke, last night, and he expressed concern, not for the first time, with the political and philosophical bubbles we tend to confine ourselves within. He is familiar with the fact that politically conservative hunters do a lot of environmental conservation work, yet are often socially excluded from the politically liberal environmental movement. That’s bad for the planet because it turns potential allies against each other. The only way to build effective coalitions is to form alliances with people we don’t completely agree with. That gets difficult when the people who do agree with each other spend a lot of their time at political rallies shouting about their common passions and their shared antipathy to everything else.

It’s true that I don’t post events for all issues on my site–I wouldn’t post a clearly racist demonstration for example, although some racists may be conservationists. It’s a line that has to be drawn somewhere, clearly, but where?

I’m not sure frankly.

Finding the information wasn’t easy. My second query to Facebook groups yielded surprisingly little. Visits to the websites of the organizations that often sponsor marches yielded nothing, either. The pages were poorly organized and out of date, a hodge-podge of notices and calls-to-action for events and campaigns over the past three years.

Finally I resorted to internet searches for “climate protest 2018” and “climate demonstration 2018.” I tried “climate march” first, but that tended to yield climate-related events in March. But I got enough that I likely have a full picture, at least for Washington DC.

The way I see it, it’s time to revert to a variation of old-fashioned social networking–I look up the information I want and then share it–individually, by email, PM, or tagging people–with people I think may be interested. Other people do the same. Pass it on.

 

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How Quickly Can We Cool?

I could write about lots of horrible things going on in the news this week. Unfortunately, I suspect there will be plenty of horrible news item to write about next week. This week I want to write about global cooling instead.

I’m working on a book set after the end of the age of fossil fuel, which means I need to understand how the climate responds to a falling carbon dioxide level. Obviously, average temperatures would fall, but how quickly? Warming has a lag time of several decades, because it takes time for heat to build up. Logically, cooling should be much faster. In bed, add an extra blanket and you won’t warm up for a few minutes, but kick your blankets off and you’ll cool down right away. But faster and instant are not the same thing, so how long would global cooling take? Since I need to read up on the issue anyway, I figured I’d share my results with you.

My fictional scenario is that a pandemic triggers the end of civilization, the total end of fossil fuel use, and a 90% reduction of the human population. It’s a complex and complicated scenario, because while most carbon dioxide emissions end, some types of methane emissions, such as leaking well-heads or outgassing landfills, would continue or even increase–and methane is a more powerful greenhouse gas than CO2 is. Would a net increase or decrease in climate-forcing power result? A smaller human population would allow widespread reforestation, but the warming that has already occurred would continue to cause forest dieback in some areas. Would there be a net increase or decrease in forest biomass?

Also, the planet would continue adjusting to the greenhouse gas and the heat that is already present. If greenhouse gas levels stabilized where they are now, temperatures would continue to rise for several decades. And even if the planetary temperature stabilized where it is now anyway, glaciers and permafrost would continue to melt. Melting permafrost, remember, releases methane, so the greenhouse gas concentration might continue to rise. Potential feedback loops abound.

I would love to stick all these variables into some giant computer and run a full simulation, but I don’t have that option. The best I can reasonably hope for is a definitive answer to just one question; assuming the greenhouse gas levels do fall, how long until temperatures start falling also?

Unfortunately, since the chance of my scenario occurring any time soon is very small, nobody seems to be studying what a falling greenhouse gas level would look like.

Fortunately, a version of my scenario did happen about five hundred years ago, when diseases killed off 90% of the population of the Americas, allowing widespread reforestation and causing the second, deeper phase of the Little Ice Age. So, how fast did that happen?

According to one estimate, the reforestation of the Americas could have removed anywhere from two to 17 billion tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. That’s somewhere between 10 and 50% of the CO2 reduction recorded in ice core samples from Antarctica, so something else was going on also. There are various possibilities. But carbon dioxide levels do tend to track known European and Asian pandemics, which also allowed reforestation. The first, less severe phase of the Little Ice Age, may have been, in part, related to reforestation after the Black Death.

So, let’s look at the timeline–since researchers at Stanford University must think the timing of the second phase of the cold period is consistent with it being influenced by the American reforestation. Does the timeline suggest a lag exists?

The second phase of the Little Ice Age began around 1600 and lasted until around 1800. The drop in carbon dioxide, as recorded by Antarctic ice cores, that includes the result of American reforestation began in 1525 and lasted until the 1600s. The first smallpox pandemic in what is now Mexico began in 1519. I can’t confirm that was the first of the American contact pandemics, but Europeans handn’t set foot on the mainland much before that, so it must be close to the beginning.

So,

1519: people in the Americas start dying of exotic diseases to which they have no natural immunity.

1525: global carbon dioxide levels dropped by six to 10 parts per million and stayed that way for over 75 years.

1600: temperatures drop globally, though the drop may be most severe in the northern hemisphere and stays that way for two hundred years.

There is a lot about the Little Ice Age that is debatable–why is started, why it stopped, how severe it was, all of that. That significant reforestation could follow the beginning of the pandemic by only six years itself seems questionable. However, regardless of why the carbon dioxide drop occurred, it was followed by a drop in temperature 75 years later. Carbon dioxide levels rose again shortly thereafter. Temperatures rose again about 100 years after carbon dioxide levels–that delay on warming is consistent with the principle of atmospheric lag.

Richard Nevle and his colleagues at Stanford believe that a 75 year delay in cooling is not too much for a causal relationship to exist. So there is a significant lag on cooling also.

In our modern situation, carbon re-sequestration is unlikely to be rapid–even in the best case scenario, reforestation cannot absorb more than a fraction of what burning fossil fuel released. The rest must be accomplished by peat accumulation and slow absorption by ocean water. And whatever drop in carbon levels occurs, whenever it occurs, a human lifetime could pass before the temperature follows.

We’ve got to get started.

 


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For Our Lives

Many years ago, I was on a crew doing fuels reduction cutting in the urban-wilderness interface. In plain English, that means there were about ten of us who would go to neighborhoods that butted up against forests, and we’d thin out the trees using chainsaws and also cut away dead branches near the ground. This was in Arizona, in an area that was once grassy, with few, well-spaced trees, but over-grazing and then fire suppression allowed trees to grow more densely than they had previously. As a result, that part of Arizona, which used to have frequent, low-intensity grass fires, now has rare but very dangerous and damaging forest fires. The idea is that by thinning out the trees and then doing controlled burns, the more dangerous fires can be prevented. It seems to work, and of course they prioritize tracts of land near houses and such.

Anyway, one of the men on my crew–I forget his name, now–was beautiful. I don’t mean I was especially attracted to him (though I can see how others might be), I mean that he looked good in a way more common among women, although he was not at all feminine in affect. He had a very thin build and long, thick, black hair. And one day he returned to headquarters with a story.

He had been busy cutting, when a woman came out of her nearby house, saw him, and shouted “GIRL POWER!!!”

Obviously, from a distance, and while wearing several layers of protective equipment, he had looked to her like a woman running a chainsaw. She was delighted and impressed. Of course, there WERE several women running chainsaws in the vicinity, but none were in her field of vision, only him.

Unable to have a real conversation under the circumstances, the man simply pumped his fist. Yes, girl power, women on chainsaws! Yee-haw!

“I didn’t want to disagree,” he later explained.

Watching teenagers taking to the streets for gun control, I have a very similar reaction. As with that man busy running a noisy and dangerous chainsaw, I find my response largely limited by circumstance to a binary choice between approval and disapproval. And I don’t want to disagree–schools should be safe places, and young people should be supported in political involvement. And yet these people are missing something.

As I’ve covered elsewhere in this blog, climate change is a greater threat to these kids’ future than school shootings are, and the fossil fuel industry is a greater threat to American democracy than the gun lobby is, so why aren’t we taking to the streets to do something about it? Why is the youth movement rising in one place but not the other?

Both could happen at once, of course, it’s just that they aren’t, and the more I see the power of the gun safety movement, the more mystified I am that environmentalists seem to be twiddling their thumbs. Massive protest can still accomplish something, so what is the hold-up? I am, in fact, beginning to wonder if social media is being used deliberately to interfere with action on climate change.

Of course, it may just be that climate change, with its complex patterns of varying risk, just doesn’t seem as real, as important, as a spray of bullets.

Fortunately, the party of the NRA happens to also be the party of climate deniers, so if the March for Our Lives sweeps gun advocates out of office, they could switch the balance of power on climate, too. Unfortunately, that’s not a forgone conclusion.

As I’ve explained here before, a majority of Americans understand climate change is real and want something done about it, but few consider silence on the issue a deal-breaker for  candidate. But for the minority of climate skeptics and deniers, climate action is a deal-breaker.  The political calculus is clear; ignore climate change, take a stand on a couple of other liberal issues, and win. That is why we’ve been treading water on the issue for a generation while the world begins to burn.

Getting committed climate deniers out of office is not necessarily the same thing as getting climate activists in. We need candidates who are committed to climate action for its own sake, not for political reasons. How do we find them, especially given that they might not campaign on the issue?

Perhaps getting behind the rising young people is one half of a winning strategy for climate–and the other half is getting behind candidates of color. White Americans lag behind other groups in taking climate seriously, so, statistically speaking, black and brown lawmakers are more likely to be climate sane than white lawmakers who campaign on similar platforms. And there are all sorts of reasons to support candidates of color anyway.

If environmentalists will not take to the streets, perhaps we can make some progress by getting behind those who will.

 


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Last

The world’s last male northern white rhinoceros is dead.

His name was Sudan. He liked people, and was liked by them, and spent most of his 45 years in captivity. He was very old, very ill, and, recently, in a lot of pain. He was euthanized yesterday by a team of veterinarians who loved him.

He leaves behind just two other members of his subspecies, both female relatives of his, both unable to reproduce. His death doesn’t actually change the picture for his kind; recovery is not quite impossible–some of his sperm remains in storage, and one of the females, though unable to gestate, can produce eggs, which could be harvested–but it is an extreme long shot, and it was equally a long shot yesterday before he died. The death of the last member of a species or subspecies is a technicality.

The northern white rhino is part of the same species as the southern white rhino, which is not in quite such dire straights, but the distinction between the two matters. The northern white rhino may have been capable of ecological relationships that its southern counterpart can’t replace. Anyway, things are bad for rhinos in general, these days. We can’t take any subspecies’ survival for granted.

Periodically, someone questions whether we really need all these species and subspecies, whether the heroics enacted for the likes of Sudan are really worth the effort. Such questions ignore the fact that we almost certainly don’t know what we’re losing when a species dies. We don’t know how far the web of its relationships in the world went.

Climate change did not kill Sudan, not directly. But species loss is another symptom of the collapse that is causing climate change. As long as our species insists on using more resources than our planet actually has–something that is only possible with the use of fossil fuel–progressive biosphere collapse is inevitable. Climate change did not kill Sudan, but it’s possible that climate sanity could have saved him. What might climate sanity now still save?

Talk about climate change. Talk to your friends, your neighbors, your co-workers, your Congresspeople. Don’t let the issue be ignored.


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Childhood

Here I am, visiting my mother, who still lives in the house we moved to when I was two, spending time with my sister’s kids, and I am about to go watch A Wrinkle in Time, a movie made from the first real chapter book I ever read entirely by myself. I was nine years old. I have not stopped reading since.

It’s easy to think about children and climate change and be terrified. I don’t know what my sister’s kids are going to have to deal with, but it’s likely to include a lot of things that aren’t good. But at the moment I’d rather approach the subject from the angle of memory. It’s my own childhood I’m thinking of today.

I was born in 1977, meaning that my first winter included the famous Blizzard of ’78. Later, when I noticed winters getting less snowy, my parents pointed out that I’d been biased by an unusually snowy first experience. They may have been right. Climate change does not necessarily mean less snow–often, it means more of the white stuff, actually, as long as winter temps stay below the freezing point. Climate change brings floods, and some floods happen to be white and fluffy, is all. But yes, I was thinking about the issue. I knew.

I remember the moment I learned about climate change. I don’t know why I remember–I learned about a lot of things as a child, without remembering the actual lesson, but that one stuck out. My Dad and I were standing outside, on the edge of our parking lot, near where the grass began and the yard went back and back. Being a scholarly sort, my Dad was always reading things and passing on the ideas that interested him. A group of scientists had made a chicken embryo grow teeth by turning on the latent dinosaur DNA still in the bird genome. Bird feathers contain no blue pigment; feathers that appear blue have microscopic structures that bend light. Ginkgos are the only trees that make sperm that swim. And, on that one day, he said the planet is getting warmer because of pollution, and in about ten years, the difference is going to start getting noticeable. If it gets warm enough, the ice at the poles will melt and the sea level will rise. If ALL of it melted,our house would be under water and we’d have to come visit it in a boat, with SCUBA gear. He seemed to like that idea, visiting the house in a boat. I guess the vividness of the example appealed to him as a writer.

I understood the boat thing would not likely happen–melting would take time, more time than individual human beings have. But I also understood that the world that I knew would change and that I would watch some of the changes. “When I grow up,” I remember thinking, “I’m going to move to the North Pole, so I can still have winter.”

I was six, I think. Somewhere in there. That would make it around 1984.

Growing up, I noticed that winter seemed to be getting warmer, a kind of “bottoming out,” where fall and spring would seem normal, but the cold stretch in the middle wasn’t reliable anymore. I have no idea if that was even a real local pattern, not my imagination, and it probably wasn’t related to climate change because signal can’t be separated from noise with as few data as my experience gave me. But I thought I was seeing it, and it scared me. I interpreted the heat waves of 1998 as climate change, too, but there I’m on somewhat firmer ground, as that was a particularly fierce El Niño, and no one yet knows the connection between El Niños and climate change. There could be a connection. But while I wasn’t really able to see the signs myself, the global climate was changing.

The last May whose temperature fell below the 20th-century average occurred before I was born, but I lived through the last time we had any month below average–it was a February, and I was seven. I don’t expect to ever have another. The sea level rose globally, a subtle thing, but enough to make a difference in coastal floods–it adds up to just over two and a half inches since my birth. Precipitation in the Northeast, my region, has increased by 8% since 1991, relative to the first half of the 20th century, though it’s hard to say how much of that is climate change-related. I wonder how much that has to do with the local increase in mold and mildew. When I was a kid, summers were humid, yes, but in the last ten years or so, my mother has had to use a dehumidifier, not simply for personal comfort, but to prevent the walls from molding. That was never necessary before.

Personal observation is suspect, relative to trends–that why we invented statistics, because human beings naturally look for trends, but most of the ones we find unaided are imaginary. I know climate change is happening, not because I’ve seen it, but because researchers whose methods I trust, and to some extent understand, have measured it. But I’ve lived it. I’m forty years old. Climatologists look for changes over large blocks of time, and the minimum-sized block is 30 years. That I live in a different climate than I did that day my Dad and I spoke can now be confirmed by science.

I’m also old enough that my generation is fast becoming another generation that didn’t do anything about climate change. The future is becoming the past. It’s time to treat this as the emergency it is and act with the urgency of a person whose hair is on fire.


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Nor’easters

Last week, I spent three days huddled inside because of high winds rattling the house and ripping dead branches off of swaying trees–and I live in Maryland, where the storm (“Winter Storm Riley,” officially) was relatively minor. What we saw was nothing, compared to what the people in coastal Massachusetts experienced.

Now we’re preparing for another one (“Quinn”). And some meteorologists expect another storm after that.

What Are Nor’easters?

This week’s storms are nor’easters. They’re not unusual, although the recent one was an extreme example. Like hurricanes, they are very large low pressure systems that bring wind and rain (or snow) and last for several days. Unlike hurricanes, they draw their power, not from warm water (there wasn’t any under Riley) but from the interaction between warm and cold air masses. They generally form in winter. In the case of Riley, a storm system moved east across the US, then drove the rapid development of a very intense low pressure area just off the coast, which then moved north and gradually east. On satellite images, the thing looks like a hurricane, a massive pinwheel of swirling cloud off the coast. While too far out in the Atlantic now to influence my weather directly, Riley still exists. It’s busy causing damaging surf on Puerto Rico from thousands of miles away.

Nor’easters seldom approach hurricane force winds. Typically, these storms are gusty, not windy, a serious inconvenience, but not a danger, unless you have bad luck (such as an unusually weak tree limb right above your car). Rily was the most intense I’ve seen, and around here it was only in the high tropical storm-force range.

The lesser winds do not make these storms mild.

For one thing, nor’easters have much larger peak wind fields than hurricanes do. While a hurricane might have sustained winds of 90 miles an hour near its center, most of the area the storm passes over will get much weaker winds, say 50 or 60 miles per hour. A strong nor’easter will blast the same 50 or 60 miles per hour over the same large area, it just lacks the 90 mph core.

Second, wind is not the most destructive aspect of a hurricane, it’s just the easiest way to compare storms to each other. The size of the wind field, the speed the storm travels (and hence how long it spends in any one place), the size of its storm surge, and how much it rains are all much more important in terms of its destructive power–and above all, there is the question of what it hits. A low-lying, heavily populated area where the people lack both money and political power is where the disaster happens. And nor’easters have large wind-fields, heavy precipitation, sometimes heavy coastal flooding, and can persist for days.

And, as with hurricanes, when we get a bad one (or several) people start asking about climate change.

Nor’easters and Climate Change

Meteorologists can be quick to point out that individual storms can’t be linked to climate change, which both is and is not true. One recently referred to efforts to draw the link as “witch-craft.” That’s at best disingenuous.

We can absolutely prove that climate change is making nor’easters worse, for the same reason that climate change is making hurricanes worse. First, the single most dangerous aspect of either storm is coastal flooding, which is unquestionably worse now that the sea level is several inches higher than it was when most existing infrastructure was built and when the data used to define flood zones for insurance purposes were gathered. The apparent sea-level rise varies from place to place, because geological forces are also in play making the ground rise in some places and fall in others, but climate change can claim about eight inches of it world wide, due to a combination of thermal expansion (things, including oceans, expand when they heat up) and glacier melt. That means every coastal flood event, including all hurricanes and all nor’easters, are  eight inches worse than they would otherwise have been.

Eight inches doesn’t sound like much, until you imagine them inside your living room.

Also, a warmer planet means more humid air, which means wetter storms. In the winter, as long as the air temperature is below freezing (which isn’t really very cold), that means more snow–more closed roads, more fallen trees and snapped power lines, more collapsed roofs, more car accidents, more missed days of school. All of this should sound very familiar to some readers right about now. All that white stuff? Yup, it’s a symptom of climate change, not a negation of it. In warmer weather, wet storms means rain which means flooding. That’s ruined houses, damaged roads, washed-out bridges, soaked earth–leading to toppled trees and snapped power lines–and drownings.

We’ve been through this already with hurricanes; climate change does not have to cause individual storms, or even make a certain type of storm more likely or more intense, in order to directly cause more storm damage.

But can climate change cause nor’easters? Yeah, it kind of looks like they can.

Connecting the Dots

To tell this story, we have to cover a bit of atmospheric anatomy.

Remember the polar vortex? It was all over the news a few years ago, but I haven’t heard of it of late. It still exists, though. Actually, there’s two of them. Or sometimes three.

The polar vortex is not a type of storm, but rather either of two long-term atmospheric features–this sounds a little different than the last time I explained it, because the two features tend to get mixed up in public discussion, and I only recently learned that they are distinct.

Originally, “polar vortex” meant a circular pattern of winds that forms in the stratosphere around the pole in winter. It’s also called the polar night jet, because the sun does not rise in the winter at its latitude. The winds blow from west to east and divide cold polar air from warmer air at lower latitudes–the stratosphere is a layer that begins several miles up, above where weather happens. But in recent years, the term has also been applied to the jet stream, a circular pattern of winds in the troposphere–a much lower layer–also at a boundary between warm and cold air, but much farther south. The jet stream meanders, across the latitudes covered by the United States and southern Canada. The jet stream exists winter or summer, and its shape and location help determine whether any given area gets warm, tropical air or cold, arctic air this particular week.

Ok, so, definitions taken care of, what does either polar vortex have to do with climate change or Winter Storm Riley?

A lot of the strange weather we’ve had in recent years has been caused by extreme waviness in the jet stream. Because the jet marks the boundary between warm air and cold air, an extreme meander means that warm air flows much farther north than normal over here, while cold air flows much farther south than normal over there. At the same time, weather systems tend to persist longer and move slower than normal. Rainy weather becomes catastrophic floods. Dry, hot weather becomes killer heat waves and droughts. The extra waviness is likely caused by global warming, especially the loss of Arctic sea ice. As the planet warms, the polar regions warm faster than the rest of the planet, decreasing the contrast between the warm and cold regions and weakening the jet stream that lies at their boundary. Weak jets are slow and wavy.

So climate change doesn’t cause snowstorms in Florida by some magical method of “global weirding,” but instead through a fairly straight-forward form of atmospheric messiness, a weakened and wobbly boundary between warm and cold caused directly by the warming Arctic.

The next bit is less certain, as in not all scientists agree, but a weak and waving jet stream could be one of the mechanisms able to put pressure on the polar vortex and cause it to temporarily break down and allow warm air in over the pole. Such an event is, sensibly enough, called a Sudden Stratospheric Warming, or SSW. Although the stratosphere itself doesn’t have weather in the normal sense of the word, it can influence the weather of the troposphere, resulting in odd weather several weeks later–such as cold snaps, warm periods, or violent storms. SSWs appear to be natural (we have only been measuring stratospheric temperatures for a few decades, now, so it is hard to be sure), and their frequency has not increased, but some computer models suggest an increase could happen, and the extra-wavy jet stream could make it happen–or could already be making it happen. It takes a while to gather enough data to document a change in events that don’t happen every year.

Riley (and presumably its sibling-storms, to some extent) was triggered by a particularly severe SSW, one which ripped the polar vortex in two and triggered a bizarre winter heat wave in which parts of the Arctic rose above freezing for days on end. There’s no sun up there, remember, yet the ice started melting instead of growing–a bad sign. That triggering is not in doubt. And the SSW could have been triggered by a weak and wavy jet stream, which is itself caused by melting sea ice (notice the ominous cycle implied there?). Melting sea ice is, rather unambiguously, a symptom of global warming.

That “maybe” in the middle of the causal chain remains, but this is very close to a linkage between climate change and a single storm. Anyone who claims differently is going to have to marshal a much better argument than claiming “witchcraft” to convince me otherwise.

 


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A Shot in the Dark

It’s been an interesting week in the news. My nation’s most recent mass shooting incident triggered the beginnings of a promising student protest movement.  The release of the groundbreaking superhero comic, Black Panther, spoke to America’s “original sin” in a way no other movie ever has. Temperatures in the Mid-Atlantic region are predicted to hit thirty degrees above normal, breaking records set…last year. The prediction is similar for the entire Eastern US, including the Lower Hudson Valley and Boston. And some states are making serious attempts to remove climate change from required school curricula.

I am very glad that young people are organizing to protect their lives in school. The issue needs attention, and the political experience they gain now will make them better citizens. I am very glad that there is now a very popular movie about brilliant and powerful black people and all of the other things Black Panther is about. It’s a rare mainstream acknowledgement of some important truths. Plus, I just saw the movie and it’s fantastic.

But where is climate change in all of this? Climate change threatens the lives of school children. Climate change is one of the agents by which the disenfranchised are abused. And I’m not hearing anyone talking about it. For a while there, climate change was getting on people’s radar. Political demonstrations, cultural references, frequent news coverage….It all seems to be backing off.

Is something being  silenced?