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John Boyer grew up on his family’s 131 acres of rolling fields of corn, oats, and wheat in a rural area near the tiny city of East Jordan in northern Michigan. The farm had changed ownership outside the family several times over the decades before Boyer rebought it in 2018. He felt an obligation to repurchase and farm the land to prevent development from encroaching on the area’s community of family farms.

“For any farmer, everything’s personal,” Boyer said. “Every piece of property, every stone you pick up, you spend countless hours out there.”

As millions of farmland acres around the country are expected to change hands in the next few decades, farmers are facing decisions about whether — and if so, how — to preserve farmland amid pressures from rising land values, a shifting climate, and a younger generation that doesn’t want to farm. The number of acres devoted to farming in Michigan has declined in recent decades, as it has in the rest of the country. And ownership of that land is changing. 

In 2022, an estimated 9.5 million acres, or about a quarter of the state, were devoted to farming, a roughly 3 percent dip from 2017, according to the most recent federal farm census. Farmland in Michigan where the majority of operations were family-owned decreased nearly 470,000 acres in those same five years. Conversely, land leased or rented for farming operations increased by nearly 30,000 acres.  

Despite shifts in farm ownership and acreage dedicated to agriculture, the number of farmland acres in Michigan protected by conservation programs has increased in recent years, reflecting a national trend. The state saw an additional 22,000 acres protected in easements between 2017 and 2022, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

“It’s a matter of trying to figure out what exactly is going to be the best fit for everybody’s situation. And there’s a lot of pressure. There’s a lot of money,” said Jon LaPorte, a farm business management educator for Michigan State University Extension.

According to the USDA, Michigan farmland was valued at about $6,800 per acre last year, up 7.8 percent from 2024 and outpacing the national average of 4.3 percent.

The pressure to preserve farmland could be especially strong in northern Michigan. Farmers there are already confronting the effects of climate change, including more extreme precipitation, crop disease, and temperature swings, but some local farmers said those impacts are relatively easier to deal with than elsewhere in the country.

“As the world climate changes, this area could become more and more important for food production and food security,” said Dave Skornia, a farmer in Boyne City, Michigan. “So, you got to have land.”

John Boyer on his farm outside East Jordan, Michigan.
Vivian La / Grist

For Boyer, the best way to protect his farmland was to restrict future development on it by entering into what’s called a conservation easement. He still owns the property, but he sold the future development rights of his 131 acres to the Little Traverse Conservancy, a nonprofit that acquires and protects land. The organization holds those rights even if Boyer transfers land to his kids or decides to sell to another owner down the line.

An easement can be a hard decision for farmers because land is typically their greatest asset, something that can pay for retirement or a college fund, said Joe Graham, chief financial and operating officer for the Little Traverse Conservancy.

“We’re offering them another alternative,” Graham said. “We’re offering a way to capture some of the equity and the value they have in that land without having to sell it and see it leave their ownership.”

Of the conservancy’s 30,000 acres protected in easements across five counties in northern Michigan and its Upper Peninsula, about 6,000 acres are farmland. Graham has seen interest in conservation easements growing among small farming communities.

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But easements still have their challenges, he said. Conservancies pay landowners for a portion of the overall land value, and selling the development rights earns the landowner less revenue than outright selling the land. As land values rise in rural northern Michigan, the conservancy doesn’t see many farmers purely motivated by financial return entering into such agreements. 

“There can be a question of timing: ‘Is this the right thing to do? What might we be foregoing later?’” Graham said.

Boyer wants to prevent his land from being divided up down the line and sold in smaller parcels “to make a quick buck.” Once an acre is converted for built developments like houses or commercial buildings, it typically doesn’t return to farmland.

“Then suddenly a productive farm field or ground is gone, and it’s gone for generations,” Boyer said. “It’s gone forever.”

Rebecca Carlson, a cherry and apple grower who runs Overlook Orchards in Northport, a village at the tip of Michigan’s Leelanau Peninsula on Lake Michigan, also sees land division as a future threat to the farmland in her county. Aging farmers might split up land among multiple kids, leaving a patchwork of ownership that “breaks up multigenerational farms,” Carlson said, especially as younger people in the area choose not to go into the business.

She’s a fourth-generation farmer who married into another multigenerational farming family. She and her husband have grown the original farm from about 200 acres to 1,300 acres over eight years. To expand, the couple bought nearby land, but they also lease some parcels, mostly from family farmers who don’t have a younger generation to take over. 

“In order to be successful in farming, in some cases, it’s one of those, ‘Go big or go home,’ with the climate of farming today,” Carlson said. 

In Michigan, about 39 percent of agricultural land is leased, according to the 2022 USDA census, a number that mirrors the national average.

Leases keep farmland in production for the duration of the contract — most of Carlson’s leases are for 30 years. She pays annual fees that vary based on factors like location or crop productivity. Those fees can be significantly cheaper than owning farmland outright, because Carlson isn’t responsible for property taxes or other costs like insurance for infrastructure.

“It’s a great way to maintain your … farm and grow your farm,” she said. “They don’t make land anymore.”

Leasing does have some limitations. A 2026 MSU survey of Michigan farmers found high lease rates and locating land that matches their needs were the top concerns for those looking to lease. Farmers either have a “crop in mind but no ground, or they had the ground, but in some cases they weren’t sure what they could raise on it,” LaPorte with MSU Extension said.

It’s not just about land, either. LaPorte said the relationship between landowner and farmer is just as important. 

“You might have a great relationship where you never worry a single day about whether or not you’re going to have the property a year from now,” LaPorte said. “Other cases, there’s some differences in terms of what each party’s goals are that kind of create that sense of anxiety about, ‘Is this going to last long-term?’”

Sheep graze among solar panels on the Turkey Creek Solar Ranch in Lancaster, Kentucky. The solar operator pays a local farmer to graze his sheep to keep grass and weeds at manageable levels, and to improve the soil while also producing pasture-raised meat.
Universal Images Group / Getty Images

In the Midwest, farmland values are holding steady or even increasing, even as farm incomes are down nationally. That’s because demand from industrial and residential development in the region is high, said Howard Halderman, president and CEO of Halderman Companies, a farm real estate and management agency working primarily in Indiana, Michigan, and Ohio.

Halderman said high farmland values come from tax-deferred exchanges, which allow landowners to defer capital gains taxes when they sell highly appreciated land and use those proceeds to buy other property.

“That’s where a lot of your farmland value gets support. Are there other buyers out there that keep a floor under it?” he said. “If you’re looking to buy farmland, that might be frustrating. However, if you’re a farmer that owns a lot of farmland and you like to keep your asset values on your balance sheet higher, it’s a good thing.”

As the state pushes for a cleaner grid to combat the effects of climate change, favorable policies are also attracting renewable energy developers to farming communities, where they’re eyeing land for wind turbines, battery storage facilities, and solar panels.

“From a landowner’s perspective, they’ve got bills to pay the same as a farmer, and they’re looking at situations of, ‘Where can I get the most value?’” LaPorte said. “And if they struggle to find an interested farm, they might be willing to go into some of these long-term agreements that you see into wind turbines, solar.”

In Michigan, solar takes up a small share — 0.09 percent — of USDA prime farmland. Like in the rest of the U.S., it’s less than the acreage that’s been converted to suburban development or recreational uses like golf courses, according to the trade group Solar Energy Industries Association. 

Still, local opposition remains fierce. Earlier this year in Wexford County, on the northern end of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula, early plans from a renewable energy developer to build solar panels on nearly 1,500 acres of farmland sparked concerns about encroaching development on productive fields and the long-term impact on the ground.

Michigan researchers are hoping to address those concerns by looking at ways that solar panels and farming can coexist, a practice known as agrivoltaics. Solar panels can shade livestock or crops, and leases with renewable energy developers can be a way for farmers to offset declining farm incomes, said Charles Gould, a bioenergy educator with MSU Extension.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be a choice between producing power or food, he said.

“If we can do both on the same acre of land, why wouldn’t we?” Gould said. “We want to preserve the family farm. This is a very powerful tool.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline As family farms decline and the climate heats up, farmers weigh what to do with their land on Sep 4, 2026.

A very fishy business Channel News brendan 4th September 2026 Teaser Media

About a decade ago, I traveled through the Rasuwa region of Nepal as a conservation and environmental protection worker. I remember looking at the Himalayas with a kind of pride that is difficult to explain to someone who has never stood beneath them. The mountains seemed eternal. The glaciers looked like frozen rivers from another age. The valleys seemed impossibly deep, the rivers impossibly powerful. I felt proud that these mountains were part of my country. I felt proud that Nepal, a small and economically poor nation, held a landscape so important to the world.

Today, when I look at the photos and videos coming out of Rasuwa after the region’s devastating and deadly floods, that pride is mixed with grief. The mountains I once saw as a symbol of Nepal’s strength are becoming a symbol of our vulnerability. People have died. Homes and livelihoods have been destroyed. Roads and bridges have disappeared. Communities have been cut off. Families are searching for loved ones.

And behind the immediate tragedy are questions that I cannot escape:

Did the people of Nepal do something to deserve this? Did a Nepali farmer cause the glaciers to melt? Did a Nepali child cause the atmosphere to warm? Did a family living in a remote Himalayan village build the coal-fired power plants that have powered the industrial world for generations? Did the people now mourning their dead choose the fossil-fuel economy that has transformed the planet?

If not, why are they being asked to pay the price?

This is where the story of Rasuwa becomes larger than Nepal. It becomes a story about climate justice. The Himalayas are warming rapidly. Glaciers are retreating. Snow and ice are changing. Permafrost and mountain slopes are becoming increasingly unstable. Warmer air can hold more moisture, while a warming cryosphere can create new hazards and amplify existing ones. Climate change is altering the conditions under which Himalayan disasters occur.

But that scientific reality should not result in political blindness. The immediate cause of the disaster must be investigated carefully. Scientists must determine the precise sequence of geological, hydrological, and climatic events that produced the destructive flood.  At the same time climate change should not be used to overlook other factors such as unchecked development or poor planning that may have contributed to this disaster.

The question, then, is not whether climate change alone caused Rasuwa. The more important question is this: What kind of world have we created when people who contributed least to climate change are increasingly exposed to its most dangerous consequences?

Nepal is one of the clearest examples of this injustice. Its contribution to global carbon dioxide emissions is tiny. Its per-person emissions are among the lowest in the world. Yet its geography places it directly in the path of a warming climate. Nepal has glaciers that are retreating, mountains that are becoming increasingly unstable, rivers that can turn violently destructive, and communities with limited financial resources forced to prepare for what is coming.

The average American produces more than 20 times as much carbon dioxide than the average Nepali. China’s per-capita emissions are many times higher than Nepal’s. India’s are also substantially higher. China is now the world’s largest annual emitter, while the United States remains one of the world’s largest emitters and carries an enormous share of historical responsibility for the carbon accumulated in the atmosphere since industrialization. Yet the atmosphere does not send the bill back to the country that emitted the carbon. It sends the bill everywhere. And in places like Nepal, the bill can arrive as a flood.

This is the great moral failure at the heart of the climate crisis.

The people who benefited most from fossil-fuel-driven economic growth generally have the greatest financial and technological capacity to protect themselves from climate impacts. Those who contributed little often have the least capacity to adapt. That is not merely an unfortunate coincidence. It is an injustice.

For decades, the global economy treated the atmosphere as if it were an unlimited dumping ground. Coal could be burned. Oil could be extracted. Gas could be consumed. Factories could grow. Cars could multiply. Cities could expand. The benefits were measured in economic growth. The costs were pushed into the future.

That future has arrived in the Himalayas. It has arrived in the Pacific islands. In drought-stricken Africa. In South Asian floodplains. And it is arriving in the homes of people who never had a meaningful share in creating the problem.

The Himalayas deserve particular attention because what happens there will not remain there.

The mountains are often described as the roof of the world. They are also one of Asia’s great water towers. Their glaciers, snow and rivers support hundreds of millions of people across Nepal, India, China, Bhutan and Bangladesh. They feed agriculture, drinking-water systems and hydropower. They sustain forests, wetlands, wildlife and entire human cultures.

When the Himalayas become unstable, the consequences travel downstream. A mountain disaster can become a water crisis. A glacier crisis can become an energy crisis. A flood can become an economic crisis. And repeated climate disasters can eventually become a migration and security crisis.

The world should therefore stop treating Himalayan climate risk as a remote Nepalese problem. It is a global problem with a Himalayan address.

This is also why China and India cannot be left out of the conversation. China is the world’s largest current annual emitter, but it is also a country that has lifted hundreds of millions of people from poverty and is investing heavily in renewable energy. India faces a different but equally difficult dilemma: It must expand energy access and economic opportunity for a huge population while trying to avoid locking itself into decades of high-carbon development.

The answer cannot be to tell developing countries that they are forbidden from pursuing the prosperity that wealthy countries achieved through fossil fuels. That would be hypocritical. But neither can the developing world repeat the same carbon-intensive development pathway and expect the poorest and most vulnerable countries to absorb the consequences.

Every country has a responsibility. But every country does not have the same responsibility.

That distinction is at the heart of climate justice. The United States, Europe and other historically high-emitting economies have an enormous obligation to reduce emissions rapidly and provide financial and technological support to vulnerable countries. China has a responsibility commensurate with its present influence on the climate system. India and other rapidly growing economies have a responsibility to pursue development without reproducing the most destructive elements of the old fossil-fuel model.

And Nepal has a responsibility too. We must protect our forests. We must build safer infrastructure. We must stop treating fragile mountain slopes as empty spaces for roads and construction. We must strengthen disaster preparedness. We must invest in science. We must listen to local communities. But Nepal cannot adapt its way out of a crisis created by a warming planet.

There is a limit to what a small country can do when the atmosphere continues to heat because of decisions made elsewhere. That is why climate finance must stop being treated as charity.

Nepal does not need pity. Nepal needs justice.

It needs predictable resources to monitor glaciers and glacial lakes. It needs early-warning systems capable of reaching remote communities before floodwaters arrive. It needs high-altitude scientific research. It needs resilient roads, bridges and hydropower systems. It needs access to satellite data and international scientific networks. It needs effective mechanisms for loss and damage when climate-driven disasters destroy lives and development gains.

Justice also includes recognition that the people standing beneath melting glaciers are not merely victims waiting for international assistance. They are citizens of a world whose climate system is shared by everyone. The international community should establish stronger Himalayan climate cooperation involving Nepal, India and China. Glaciers do not recognize political boundaries. Rivers do not stop at checkpoints. Atmospheric warming does not respect national sovereignty.

The countries that share the Himalayas therefore have a common interest in monitoring its transformation and protecting the people downstream. But this responsibility must extend beyond Asia. The countries that have historically emitted the most carbon cannot simply send condolences after every disaster. They must help prevent the next one. Every country should have measurable climate obligations. Every government should be accountable for meeting them. Every major emitter should be required to do more, not less. And the countries with the greatest historical responsibility should contribute proportionately.

Climate agreements should not become annual rituals in which leaders make promises, take photographs and return home to business as usual. The world needs climate protocols with consequences. It needs transparency. It needs accountability. It needs finance that actually reaches vulnerable communities.

Most of all, it needs recognition that climate responsibility is not simply about tons of carbon. It is about people. It is about the child in Rasuwa who no longer has a home. It is about the mother searching for a missing family member. It is about the farmer whose land disappeared in a flood. It is about the community whose road to the outside world vanished overnight. It is about the people who did almost nothing to heat the planet but are now being forced to live with a climate they did not choose.

When I think back to that journey through Rasuwa more than a decade ago, I remember how proud I felt standing beneath the Himalayas. I still feel that pride. But now it is accompanied by other emotions. Fear. Not only fear for the mountains, but fear for the people who live among them. And anger. Not anger at one country or one government, but at a global system that has allowed responsibility and vulnerability to become so badly separated.

The question I asked myself after seeing the destruction in Rasuwa was painfully simple: Why should Nepal pay for a crisis it did not create?

I do not think Nepal is asking the world to answer with sympathy. I think Nepal is asking the world to answer with responsibility. The Himalayas belong to Nepal, but they are not only Nepal’s. The water they store sustains Asia. The climate they are experiencing is the product of a global atmosphere. And the consequences of their destabilization will eventually cross every border that politics has drawn across the mountains.

For years, the world has described Nepal as a vulnerable country. Perhaps that language needs to change.

Nepal is not simply vulnerable. Nepal is exposed. Exposed to a crisis created by a global system in which it had almost no voice.

The people of Rasuwa did not choose the carbon economy. They did not burn the coal. They did not fill the atmosphere with greenhouse gases. They did not decide how fast the planet should warm. Yet they are the ones standing in the floodwater. That should trouble every government on Earth.

Because if climate justice means anything, it must mean this: No country should be left to bear alone the consequences of a crisis it did little to create. And if the world continues to ignore that principle, the Himalayas will not be the last place to send us the bill. They may simply be one of the first places where the bill has become impossible to ignore.

Republish this article for free! Read our reprint policy. Previously in The Revelator:

The Last Breath of the Himalayas: Can We Stop the Collapse?

 

The post The Himalayas Didn’t Cause the Climate Crisis. Why Are Nepalis Paying the Price? appeared first on The Revelator.

As efforts to expand energy access across Africa grow, experts and policymakers have called this week for greater coordination and investment to power food production with renewables, arguing the sector has been treated separately from energy policy and therefore faces barriers in going green.

Hailemariam Desalegn, former prime minister of Ethiopia, said energy is critical across the food value chain – from irrigation and processing to cold storage and transport – and should therefore be considered a key pillar of strengthening food systems for the future.

“Energy is not separate from the nutrition challenge. Irrigation needs energy. Cold storage, transport, processing, as well as markets – all need reliable energy,” Desalegn told a panel at the 20th session of the Africa Food Systems Forum in Kigali. He said investments in sustainable energy systems could help reduce post-harvest losses and make nutritious food more accessible and affordable.

Africa loses up to 30% of its food before it reaches markets annually, largely due to poor roads, weak storage and inadequate cold chains, according to a 2025 report by the Alliance for a Green Revolution in Africa (AGRA).

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Akinyi Walender, Africa director at development charity Practical Action, said poor energy supply in rural communities – where much of Africa’s food is produced – is also limiting productivity. Across the continent, about 600 million people currently live without access to electricity.

“The lack of energy access goes well beyond the inconvenience of not having lighting at home,” Walender said, adding that renewable energy has the potential to power local economies. “When people can access this sort of energy, it can raise rural incomes, improve food security, improve resilience, empower women and stimulate enterprise while creating jobs,” she added. 

Breaking down silos

Unlocking the potential of energy across food systems requires greater coordination, Walender argued, pointing to institutional fragmentation and isolated pilot projects as major barriers. 

“Organisations working on agriculture and energy often operate according to different modalities and the interdependence between agricultural and energy markets is often overlooked,” Walender said, adding that finance institutions also tend to work in silos.

High level dialogue on climate resilience at the Africa Food Systems Forum in Kigali, September, 2026.(Photo: AFS Forum)

Dana Rysankova, global lead for energy access at the World Bank, told a separate event at the forum that the bank is working to break down those barriers through its newly established Productive Use of Energy (PUE) Centre of Excellence based in Nairobi, which has a mandate to foster collaboration and help develop and design programmes across different sectors.

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In June, the World Bank Group and the African Development Bank Group said that over 50 million people had been connected to electricity across 40 African countries under their Mission 300 initiative, which aims to provide electricity access to 300 million Africans by 2030.

Rysankova said the programme has shown that energy access is just the foundation for linking with other sectors to deliver real economic transformation by boosting productivity and local incomes. 

Mission 300 also aims to electrify schools and healthcare services, as well as bringing power to farmers so that they can use it for irrigation, cold storage and other agricultural activities, she added. 

Bridging the finance and infrastructure gap 

Experts said bigger investments are needed in infrastructure and finance to turn energy access into increased productivity and economic value. 

AGRA’s 2026 foresight report, launched at the forum, puts the annual agrifood financing gap at $180 billion, while estimating that closing Africa’s yearly $67 billion-$108 billion shortfall in infrastructure finance could halve post-harvest losses and increase farmer incomes by up to 40%.

However, the cost of transitioning to clean energy is still a major barrier for farmers and agribusinesses.

Delegates at the Africa Food Systems Forum, September, 2026 (Photo: AFS Forum) Delegates at the Africa Food Systems Forum, September, 2026 (Photo: AFS Forum)

Atinuke Lebile, CEO of Nigerian food processing company Cato Foods, told Climate Home News she would like to switch to using renewables but has been held back by the upfront cost of setting up the systems the firm needs.

Rwandan farmer Gezel also said she would like to invest in a solar irrigation pump, but “it is so expensive”.

Practical Action’s Walender said the challenge is no longer whether solutions exist, but how financial support can reach the communities and businesses where it could have the greatest impact.

“Customers are dispersed and have low incomes. Markets are fragmented, and there are high upfront costs for much energy equipment,” Walender said, adding that financial institutions also often perceive agriculture as a high-risk sector.

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For food processing, the business case for using cleaner energy more efficiently is particularly strong, said Vivian Maduekeh of Partners in Food Solutions, which has worked with more than 2,000 companies across Africa.

Maduekeh said food processing firms account for between 42 and 70% of energy use across food systems, while energy represents 15-22% of their total production costs. African food businesses also use roughly twice as much energy per kilogramme of product as their global competitors, putting them at a competitive disadvantage.

The problems they face in shifting to clean energy are “risk, perception of risk and the cost”, she explained, adding that financial mechanisms are needed to help businesses overcome those issues.

Maduekeh encouraged policymakers to consider measures like tax rebates on imported equipment and spending more on research and development to bring down the cost of productive-use technologies.

Making a range of affordable equipment available – such as smaller irrigation pumps – could also help make the transition more accessible, she said. The evidence in favour “is very clear”, she added. “We just need to package it and communicate it to the priorities of investors.”

The post More support needed to power Africa’s food systems with renewables, experts say appeared first on Climate Home News.

Miközben a fejlett mesterséges intelligencia-technológiák kifejlesztéséért folyó technokratikus-autoriter verseny teljes gőzzel folytatódik, a Szilícium-völgy szabályozási napirendekre gyakorolt befolyása már vetekszik – sőt, akár meg is haladja – számos államét. A globális szuperhatalmak és a MI-óriások ambíciói között azonban Európának lehetősége nyílik arra, hogy valami jobbat keressen. Interjú a díjnyertes újságírónővel és írónővel, Karen Haoval.

Alessio Giussani: Számos metaforát hoztak fel a mesterséges intelligencia fejlesztésének jelenlegi modelljének leírására – például egy papagáj vagy egy tükör. Miért választotta éppen a birodalom metaforáját?

Karen Hao: Úgy gondolom, ezek a metaforák mind rendkívül hasznosak. A „birodalomra” összpontosítok, mert nem csupán magát a technikai eszközt és azt vizsgálom, mi történik, amikor azt a társadalomban alkalmazzák, hanem a technológia előállítását is, valamint azokat a szereplőket, akik rendkívüli mértékű gazdasági és politikai hatalmat halmoznak fel annak előállításához.

Négy fő okból nevezem ezt a rendszert birodalomnak. Először is, ezek a vállalatok olyan erőforrásokra tartanak igényt, amelyek nem az övék: az egyének adataira, valamint az írók és alkotók munkájára. Másodszor, rendkívüli mértékben kizsákmányolják a munkaerőt, és ez vonatkozik mind azokra a munkavállalókra, akiket a gyártási folyamatban és a technológiák ellátási láncában kizsákmányolnak, mind pedig azokra, akiknek a munkajogait a technológia bevezetése során csorbítják.

A harmadik szempont az információellenőrzés. A birodalmak terjeszkedésének egyik fő jellemzője az a képesség, hogy minden tudástermelést és információt a birodalmi céljaik szűrőjén keresztül szűrjenek, és pontosan ezt teszik a mesterséges intelligencia vállalatok is. Ők ellenőrzik és cenzúrázzák a tudományt azáltal, hogy a legtöbb mesterséges intelligencia-kutató munkáját pénzügyileg támogatják, és olyan információs technológiát építenek ki, amelyet a központi portállá kívánnak tenni, amelyen keresztül mindenki más kapcsolódik a világhoz, beleértve az oktatást is.

Végül mindezt egy civilizációs küldetésbe burkolják. Azt állítják, hogy azért foglalkoznak ezzel a munkával, mert végső soron olyan technológiát akarnak az emberiség rendelkezésére bocsátani, amely egy utópikus állapotba emel minket, és ha a „rosszfiúk” – ami általában Kínát jelenti – előttünk fejlesztik ki, akkor inkább egy disztópikus állapotba süllyedünk. Ez egyfajta vallási narratíva, amely a régi birodalmak körében is gyakori volt.

Az MI-birodalom, ahogyan Ön leírja, nem korlátozódik egy vállalatra; ez egy rendszer, egy logika. Mi áll az OpenAI-ra és annak vezérigazgatója, Sam Altman személyére irányuló figyelme mögött?

Az egyik válasz az, hogy az embereknek szükségük van történetekre, amelyek segítenek konkrét formába önteni azt, ami egyébként elvont ötlet maradna. De az OpenAI azért is különösen érdekes, mert minden olyan fontos döntést hozott, amely megváltoztatta az iparági normákat, és a birodalomépítés irányába terelte azt. Az OpenAI volt az, amelyik úgy döntött, hogy minden áron bővül, nagy nyelvi modellekkel dolgozik, és chatbot-szerű felületet hoz létre számukra. Szinte minden, amit a közvélemény ma a mesterséges intelligenciával társít, először az OpenAI falai között dőlt el.

Ha elmeséljük ezt a történetet, sokkal nyilvánvalóbbá válik, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia nem elkerülhetetlen, mert rájövünk, hogy valódi emberek hozták meg azokat a döntéseket az értékeik, világnézetük, személyes bosszúvágyuk alapján – bármi is volt az, ami valójában meghatározta a mesterséges intelligencia fejlődésének pályáját. Sam Altman ideológiái nem csupán elvont értelemben áthatják a modellt. Gyakran hallani azt a közhelyet, hogy a modellek tükrözik alkotóikat, de én azt akartam megmutatni, hogy ez valójában hogyan történik. A vállalatokról, az emberekről, valamint a gazdasági és ideológiai környezetről van szó, amelynek részesei.

Ahogy ezek a technológiák egyre hatékonyabbá válnak, az alkalmazásuk feletti ellenőrzés megszerzése egzisztenciális kérdéssé válik. Láttuk, hogy a Big Tech meghajolt Trump előtt a második beiktatásán, de azt is látjuk, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia területén működő vállalatok vezérigazgatói egyre inkább szembefordulnak a kormánnyal. Kié lesz végül a végső szó – az államé vagy a magánvállalatoké?

Folyamatban van a harc arról, ki fogja a döntéseket hozni. A Washington és a Szilícium-völgy közötti kapcsolatot kényelmi szövetségnek tekintem, de egy nagyon feszültnek. Két különböző birodalmi modellt képviselnek, mindkettő a saját birodalmi terveivel. Mindkettő terjeszkedni próbál, és szó szerint több területet akar átvenni más országoktól, de a Trump-kormányzat az MI-vállalatokat az állam birodalmi törekvéseinek eszközeiként tekinti. Eközben a Szilícium-völgy a Trump-kormányzatot saját birodalmi törekvéseinek eszközeként tekinti, de valójában nem járnak egy hullámhosszon, mert mindkettő azt akarja, hogy ő legyen a legfőbb hatóság, amely a csúcsra kerül.

Voltak olyan pillanatok, amikor az amerikai kormány bebizonyította, hogy még mindig ő az úr – amikor Trump és Musk összetűztek, Muskot kirúgták. Amikor azonban a Hadügyminisztérium összetűzésbe került az Anthropic-kal, a vállalat bebizonyította, hogy ebben az esetben ő az erősebb fél: Pete Hegseth védelmi miniszter a „nukleáris opciót” vetette fel, azzal fenyegetve, hogy a vállalatot ellátási lánc-kockázatnak nyilvánítja – mint végső eszközt, amellyel az Anthropic-ot engedelmeskedésre kényszerítheti –, de a vállalat még így sem hajlott engedésre. Elég kínos módon a Háborús Minisztérium mélyen függővé vált egy olyan magánszereplőtől, amely nem hajlandó a kormány feltételei szerint együttműködni, és a kormány semmit sem tehet ellene.

Mindkét birodalmi szereplőnek elszámoltathatónak kell lennie, és ez az elszámoltathatóság egyiküktől sem fog származni; a néptől kell származnia. Alulról felfelé építkező, alulról jövő szerveződésből, amelynek virágzását kezdjük látni szerte a világon, beleértve az Egyesült Államokat is. Bármennyire is áthatolhatatlannak tűnik ez a kényelmi szövetség, valójában rendkívül törékeny, és vannak lehetőségek arra, hogy felgyorsítsuk bukását azáltal, hogy nagyobb nyomást gyakorlunk a gyenge pontjaira.

Ahelyett, hogy a mesterséges intelligenciát a jók és a rosszak közötti globális versenynek tekintenénk, inkább azon kellene gondolkodnunk, hogy milyen jövőképünk van a társadalomról.

A mesterséges intelligencia fejlesztésének jelenlegi állása úgy tűnik, mint egy versengő verseny a mélypont felé a rivális vállalatok és a globális szuperhatalmak között. Milyen szerepet játszott a Kínával folytatott geopolitikai verseny abban, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia a jelenlegi nehéz helyzetbe került?

Kína egy olyan kártya, amelyet a Szilícium-völgy már egy évtizede kijátszik, gyakorlatilag azóta, hogy kiutasították Kínából. Ha azonban megvizsgáljuk ennek az érvelésnek a korábbi eredményeit, láthatjuk, hogy a valóságban mindig pont az történt, ami a Szilícium-völgy előrejelzéseivel ellentétes volt.

Azt állították, hogy a szilícium-völgyi vállalatok szabályozásának elmaradása – és Kína exportkorlátozásokon keresztüli szabályozása – révén az amerikai technológia világszerte dominálni fog. Mégis a TikTok a legnépszerűbb közösségi médiaplatform, és a kínai nyílt forráskódú mesterséges intelligencia-modellek egyre népszerűbbek világszerte, az Egyesült Államokban is. Azt is megígérték, hogy a Szilícium-völgy dominanciája liberalizáló hatással lesz a világra, de ez sem valósult meg; hatásuk éppen ellenkezőleg, mélyen illiberalizáló volt. A demokratikus intézmények rendkívüli mértékű eróziója és a demokrácia visszaesésének gyors felgyorsulása volt tapasztalható, amit a Szilícium-völgyi platformok és a mesterséges intelligencia-technológiák is elősegítettek.

Ahelyett, hogy a mesterséges intelligenciát a jók és a rosszak közötti globális versenynek tekintenénk, inkább azon kellene gondolkodnunk, hogy milyen jövőképünk van a társadalomról, milyen mesterséges intelligencia-technológiák támogatnák ezt a jövőképet, és milyen erőforrásokra van szükségünk annak megvalósításához. Nem a Szilícium-völgy által meghatározott versenyben kellene versenyeznünk, hanem azokban az elképzelésekben és értékekben, amelyeket fenn akarunk tartani. És úgy gondolom, Európának itt lehetősége nyílik arra, hogy a világnak egy harmadik utat mutasson, amely eltér az Egyesült Államokétól és Kínáétól, és amely új szabályokat állít fel.

Az Európai Bizottság nemrég elfogadott egy technológiai szuverenitási csomagot, amely része annak az erőfeszítésnek, hogy Európa saját technológiai útját járja. Hogyan fogalmazzuk meg ezt a jövőképet úgy, hogy ne egy megfigyelésen alapuló, oligarchikus üzleti modell európai változatát kapjuk?

Az a vezetőcsillag, amelyet Európának követnie kell, nem a szuverenitás a szuverenitás kedvéért, hanem az a cél, hogy ezt a szuverenitást elérjük. Európa – vagy legalábbis nagy része – a demokrácia egyik utolsó bástyája a világon. Támogatja az emberi jogokat és szabadságokat, és szüksége van a technológiai szuverenitásra, hogy előmozdítsa ezeket az értékeket. Amíg rendkívül függő marad az olyan rendszerektől, amelyeket nagyon autoriter módon fejlesztenek ki, és amelyek az európai társadalmak aláásására törekednek, addig nem tudja fenntartani értékeit.

A szuverenitás mint fogalom hajlamos elmosódni, ha pusztán öncélként kezdjük el értelmezni. Ennek egy cél eléréséhez vezető eszköznek kell lennie.

Milyen koalíciókból, érdekcsoportokból vagy konfliktusok színtereiből kellene kiindulnunk annak érdekében, hogy felépítsük ezt az alternatív jövőképet?

Először is, az MI-irányítást tágabb értelemben kell felfognunk. Például a munkavállalói jogok megerősítése és a civil társadalom védelme is az MI-irányítás részét képezi. A diákoknak, a tanároknak és az egészségügyi dolgozóknak is ott kell ülniük az asztalnál, hogy segítsenek alakítani és megkérdőjelezni, hogyan fejlesztik és alkalmazzák a mesterséges intelligenciát a társadalomban. Az oktatás kulcsfontosságú, mind szektorként és olyan koalícióként, amelyet be kell vonnunk, mind pedig a mesterséges intelligenciával kapcsolatos társadalmi felvilágosítás szempontjából.

Egy másik fontos szempont a mesterséges intelligencia kutatóinak és vállalkozóinak finanszírozása, hogy kiderítsék a fejlesztésük technikai részleteit és az alkalmazás módját. De nem adhatunk nekik egyszerűen pénzt anélkül, hogy a társadalom többi részének is szót adnánk; ellenkező esetben csak megismételjük azokat a problémákat, amelyekkel az Egyesült Államokban szembesülünk, ahol lényegében a technokraták vagy a technokonzervatívok hoznak döntéseket.

Nem a nulláról indulunk. Már rengeteg munkát végeztek annak érdekében, hogy meghatározzák azokat a közös célokat, amelyek felé a társadalomnak törekednie kell. Például a fenntartható fejlődési célokra gondolok. Ez kiindulópont lehet annak kitalálásához, hogyan finanszírozzuk a mesterséges intelligencia terén történő innovációt.

A jelenlegi mesterséges intelligencia-technológiákkal kapcsolatos narratívák rendkívül polarizáltak. Az egyik oldalon vannak azok, akik szerint ezekben a technológiákban nincs semmi különösebben új, és hogy a buborék hamarosan kipukkad. A másik oldalon pedig azok állnak, akik úgy vélik, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia átalakítja az életünket, forradalmasítja az ellátási láncokat, és mindannyiunkat feleslegessé tesz. Mit gondol ezekről a különböző álláspontokról?

Igaz, sokan hajlamosak túlzottan felnagyítani az előnyöket anélkül, hogy figyelembe vennék a technológiák költségeit, vagy éppen a költségeket emelik ki túlzottan, anélkül, hogy látnák az előnyöket. De szerintem elég nagy azok aránya, akik egyetértenek abban, hogy szeretnénk élvezni a mesterséges intelligencia előnyeit, de nem a méltóságteljes életvitelünk árán – amelyhez hozzátartozik a jó egészségügyi ellátás, a gazdasági lehetőségek, az egészséges környezet és a virágzó bolygó. Ez a legkiegyensúlyozottabb megközelítés.

A mesterséges intelligencia (MI) sokféle technológia gyűjtőneve, ezért alaposan át kell gondolnunk, melyekbe fektessünk be, és mely új technológiákat szeretnénk kifejleszteni, mert mindegyik más-más kompromisszumokkal jár; ezek közül néhány összhangban áll azzal a jövővel, amelyet építeni szeretnénk, mások viszont nem. Bölcsen kell választanunk.

A mesterséges intelligencia (MI) számos különböző technológiát jelöl, ezért alaposan át kell gondolnunk, melyekbe fektetünk be, és mely új technológiákat szeretnénk kifejleszteni.

Milyen a saját viszonya a meglévő MI-eszközökhöz?

Három fő okból nem használom őket. Először is az etikai álláspontom miatt. Másodszor a magánélet védelmével kapcsolatos álláspontom miatt: ezeket a vállalatokat vizsgálom, és ezek végső soron a valaha feltalált leghatékonyabb megfigyelési technológiák. Harmadszor, ezek az eszközök nem igazán hasznosak ahhoz a speciális készségkészlethez, amelyre a munkám elvégzéséhez szükségem van.

Nem azt mondom, hogy mindenkinek ugyanezt kellene tennie. Sok emberrel beszéltem, akik egyértelműen profitálnak ezekből az eszközökből, vagy akiknek a szakmai szerepük részeként kötelező azok használata. Inkább az a megoldás a jelenlegi problémára, ha ugyanazt tesszük, amit a múltban más iparágakkal, például a divatiparral is tettünk. Amikor rájöttünk, hogy ruháink nagy részét valóban szörnyű körülmények között gyártják, nem egyszerűen csak megszabadultunk a ruháktól. Számos fogyasztói és munkavállalói szerveződés, kormányzati szabályozás és általános közvélemény-visszhang kellett ahhoz, hogy az iparágot kordába szorítsák. Természetesen a divatipar még mindig messze nem tökéletes, de legalább ma már vannak alternatívák, és a fogyasztók a pénztárcájukkal szavazhatnak arról, hogy milyen ellátási láncot és vállalati gyakorlatokat támogatnak.

Ugyanezt kell tennünk a mesterséges intelligenciával is. Jelenleg nincs elég alternatíva a felhasználók számára, és ahhoz, hogy ez megváltozzon, több munkavállalói szerveződésre és nagyobb nyilvános ellenállásra van szükség. Akik tudnak tartózkodni ezeknek a technológiáknak a használatától, azoknak feltétlenül bojkottálniuk kell őket, a kormányoknak pedig be kell avatkozniuk, hogy segítsenek új piacokat teremteni az alternatívák számára.

A fogyasztóknak fontos befolyásuk van, de ez nem az egyetlen. Emberként, egyénként munkavállalói, oktatói és polgári szerepet is betöltünk, és el kell gondolkodnunk azon, hogyan használhatjuk fel ezeket a szerepeket a mesterséges intelligencia fejlesztésével kapcsolatban annak javítása érdekében.

Enquanto iniciativas democráticas lideradas por cidadãos, as comunidades de energia desempenham um papel importante nos esforços em acelerar a transição da Europa para as energias renováveis. No entanto, por detrás da sua imagem progressista, persistem desigualdades familiares: as mulheres e as FLINTA continuam amplamente ausentes da adesão e da tomada de decisões. Se estes projetos populares de base têm como objetivo reformular não só a forma como a energia é produzida, mas também quem detém o poder, a questão do género não pode ser tratada como secundária.

As comunidades de energia são frequentemente consideradas um dos desenvolvimentos mais promissores ligados à transição energética — e por boas razões. A REScoop.eu, a federação europeia de comunidades de energia, descreve-as como uma «forma de organizar cidadãos que pretendem cooperar juntos numa atividade relacionada com o setor energético, baseada numa participação e governança abertas e democráticas, de modo a que a atividade possa prestar serviços ou outros benefícios aos membros ou à comunidade local». Isto abrange uma vasta gama de organizações e iniciativas, com dimensões e formas de produzir energia muito diferentes, desde a solar e hídrica à eólica ou biomassa. Em comum têm a produção de energia descentralizada e autogerida, a aposta nas renováveis e — infelizmente — uma persistente sub-representação das mulheres. Estudos mostram que mais de 70 por cento dos membros de comunidades de energia elétrica e mais de 83 por cento dos seus conselhos de administração são do sexo masculino.

Pode parecer picuinhas discutir a dinâmica de género no contexto da transição energética em geral, e ainda mais no microcosmos das comunidades de energia, que estão ainda a estabelecer-se na maioria dos Estados-membros da UE. No entanto, o género continua a ser uma lente útil para descrever a experiência de mais de metade da população e para analisar fenómenos políticos, incluindo a política energética.

Nas comunidades de energia, há uma persistente sub-representação das mulheres. Estudos mostram que mais de 70% dos membros e mais de 83% dos conselhos de administração são do sexo masculino.

Além disso, as comunidades de energia são laboratórios interessantes, pois abordam a transição energética a partir das bases, em proximidade com a vida quotidiana das pessoas. As estruturas e dinâmicas presentes nestes contextos podem simultaneamente refletir e moldar a direção da mudança.

Uma transição política
Os nossos sistemas energéticos atuais têm um impacto mais negativo nas mulheres do que nos homens. Isso começa com a extração de combustíveis fósseis, que coloca as mulheres indígenas e as pessoas two-spirit num risco acrescido de violência (incluindo sexual). Estes grupos também sofrem mais com os efeitos imediatos do consumo de combustíveis fósseis, como na poluição derivada de cozinhar. Os efeitos a longo prazo das alterações climáticas também mostram ter um viés de género: as mulheres enfrentam mais riscos para a saúde, estão em maior risco durante as catástrofes climáticas, e por aí fora.

O setor energético emprega menos mulheres e paga-lhes menos, agravando também a sua pobreza (energética). Do mesmo modo, a governança energética tem sido dominada por homens no passado, tanto a nível nacional como europeu. No fundo, os sistemas energéticos atuais não funcionam para as mulheres em imensos aspetos e as comunidades de energia ainda não se libertaram desta dinâmica. Por isso, o género precisa de ser tido em conta para a justiça energética, a par das experiências interseccionais de desigualdade e opressão, que incluem também a classe, a sexualidade, a etnia e a idade. No entanto, como demonstrou a investigadora Barbara Nicoloso, a vertente política da transição energética não tem recebido a devida atenção.

Os sistemas energéticos atuais não funcionam para as mulheres em imensos aspetos e as comunidades de energia ainda não se libertaram desta dinâmica.

A política energética é sensível à política em geral e aos interesses políticos instalados. A reação contra o Pacto Ecológico Europeu (o Green Deal) visa abrandar a transição energética — mesmo quando os estudos refutam, uma e outra vez, a ideia de que os eleitores se opõem às medidas climáticas. Ao mesmo tempo, os riscos geopolíticos ligados à dependência dos combustíveis fósseis ficaram bem visíveis desde a invasão da Ucrânia, com os elevados preços da energia a agravar a pobreza energética na Europa. Nos anos que se seguiram à invasão, a UE conseguiu diversificar o seu fornecimento de energia (ainda que por vezes com contrapartidas dolorosas), mas as renováveis estão a ser difamadas pela extrema-direita. Na Alemanha, por exemplo, a Alternativa para a Alemanha (AfD) tem criticado frequentemente a energia eólica e defendido a retoma das importações baratas de combustíveis fósseis vindas da Rússia.

A política energética reflete as estruturas e as prioridades das sociedades em que é criada. Isto significa que a sub-representação das mulheres num nicho de prosumidores de energia ativos não é uma coincidência, mas um produto da política. É um sinal de alerta de que a transição energética, se for tratada como forma de sair de um sistema e entrar num novo, mesmo por defensores das renováveis, vai arrastar consigo pontos cegos contraproducentes e injustos.

Equilibrar o terreno

As comunidades de energia representam um microcosmos das questões mais amplas com que progressistas e Verdes se debatem em toda a Europa. Pode a transição energética ser verdadeiramente participativa? Como pode ser acelerada e o seu alcance alargado? As dinâmicas sociais e políticas são, pelo menos, tão importantes quanto as considerações técnicas.

A sub-representação das mulheres num nicho das comunidades de energia não é uma coincidência. É um produto da política.

Dado que as comunidades de energia são, na maioria das vezes, fundadas e mantidas vivas apenas por voluntários, ter mais membros significa maior envolvimento, mais recursos e, em última análise, mais dinamismo. Embora as comunidades de energia tenham surgido de um movimento ambicioso para a transição energética, atualmente, ficam tantas vezes limitadas a um grupo homogéneo de homens altamente qualificados e com rendimentos elevados.

Se as comunidades de energia conseguirem aumentar o número de mulheres entre os seus membros, a transição energética descentralizada ganha velocidade. O que pode ser feito para criar um ciclo positivo entre a participação das mulheres nas comunidades de energia, a igualdade de género e a transição energética?

O caso das comunidades de energia alemãs é particularmente interessante porque a Alemanha é o país com mais comunidades de energia na UE e tem uma longa história de ativismo de base e turbulência política relacionados com a transição energética.

Segundo Lara Track, gestora de projetos na Netzwerk Energiewende Jetzt e.V., uma organização de apoio às comunidades de energia, é impossível ignorar a ligação entre a luta pela igualdade de género e a transição energética, mesmo que esta tenha sido negligenciada durante demasiado tempo.

Se as comunidades de energia conseguirem aumentar o número de mulheres entre os seus membros, a transição energética descentralizada ganha velocidade.

As mulheres, lésbicas, pessoas intersexo, não-binárias, trans e agénero (por vezes designadas em alemão pelo acrónimo FLINTA) estão muito menos representadas nas comunidades de energia, mas também na transição energética como um todo. Lara Track, que trabalhou extensivamente sobre o papel das FLINTA na transição energética, afirma que é essencial aumentar a sua Teilhabe, o seu «ter um papel», que é mais do que apenas participação (Teilnahme).

Centrar apenas na participação como veículo para a igualdade de género e a representação tem-se revelado vulnerável ao tokenismo e à simplificação excessiva. Em contrapartida, ter um papel (através da liderança de um projeto, fazendo parte de uma administração ou simplesmente integrando uma comunidade) significa ter voz e, em última análise, poder. Este tipo de participação mais forte costuma ser mais acessível para pessoas abastadas, proprietários de habitação e homens cisgénero, pois têm mais oportunidades de participar, explica Track. Quem quiser colocar o género nas comunidades de energia tem de nadar contra a maré na sua luta por representação, inclusão e poder. Segundo Track, embora o género seja um tema importante, as comunidades de energia podem acabar por dar prioridade a outras áreas e não conseguir criar estruturas de participação.

Ter um papel significa ter voz e, em última análise, poder.

Kiara Groneweg, que trabalha na área da energia na Women Engage for a Common Future (uma rede sem fins lucrativos dedicada à ligação género-clima), concorda com Track que uma participação e representação meramente simbólicas arriscam reforçar o status quo em vez de trazerem uma mudança transformadora e maior igualdade.

A título de exemplo, Groneweg menciona Katherina Reiche, atual ministra da energia alemã e ex-CEO de uma subsidiária do gigante energético E.ON, como exemplo de mulheres que usam as suas posições de poder para impedir mudanças estruturais. Reiche propôs restrições à expansão das renováveis, como exigir que estas suportem os custos de extensão da rede e limitar a compensação pela injeção de eletricidade na rede. O ex-secretário de Estado Verde Sven Giegold criticou estas propostas como uma tentativa de travar a produção renovável descentralizada.

Quem quiser colocar o género nas comunidades de energia tem de nadar contra a maré na sua luta por representação, inclusão e poder.

Ainda assim, Groneweg reconhece que, no que diz respeito à representação nas comunidades de energia, «as mulheres atraem mulheres e as FLINTA atraem FLINTA». E acrescenta: «Se tivermos um conselho de administração masculino com um tempo de palavra muito elevado, algumas FLINTA simplesmente não vão querer entrar e participar nas discussões, porque a estrutura não se adequa logo à partida.» A atração que acompanha o aumento da representação é crucial para abrir as estruturas dominadas por homens. Como refere Track, «as pessoas gostam de trabalhar com pessoas com quem conseguem sentir uma ligação com relativa facilidade.»

No entanto, as desigualdades socioeconómicas constituem um obstáculo ao aumento da representação, afirma Groneweg. Para ela, o debate sobre uma transição energética socialmente justa precisa também de ser lúcido quanto ao acesso desigual ao capital, à habitação e à propriedade. Este acesso é limitado na Alemanha, onde mais de metade da população vive em habitações arrendadas e uma em cada cinco pessoas está em risco de pobreza ou exclusão social — valor que duplica nos agregados familiares monoparentais.

Estes números têm uma forte dimensão de género. As mulheres representam a grande maioria (85 por cento) dos agregados monoparentais, ganham 16 por cento menos e têm pensões em média muito mais baixas do que os homens.

Com 75 por cento do parque habitacional europeu classificado como energeticamente ineficiente, a transição no aquecimento é o ponto mais vulnerável da transição energética. Groneweg sublinhou que, no aquecimento, as soluções individuais são praticamente insuficientes, sobretudo para os 53 por cento de pessoas na Alemanha que alugam habitação. Uma vez que as renovações e a adaptação com bombas de calor têm sido politicamente inflamadas na Alemanha, estas grandes soluções estruturais ficam por resolver, deixando as populações a compensar sozinhas os elevados custos de energia.

Uma mentalidade competitiva

Quando Marina Braun — engenheira, fundadora e membro do conselho de administração de várias comunidades de energia — decidiu envolver-se no setor, pensou no facto de ser a primeira mulher a aderir a uma comunidade de energia inteiramente masculina. Conhecia até alguns dos homens na administração, o que facilitou. No entanto, acabou por dedicar os seus esforços a uma comunidade de energia mais jovem e diversa.

«Apercebi-me de que a motivação era, de alguma forma, completamente diferente», recorda. «Havia mulheres envolvidas também. Tive um pressentimento de que me sentiria mais confortável do que na outra comunidade de energia porque estavam ativamente à procura de mulheres. Pensei que talvez não houvesse aquela ‘mentalidade de cotoveladas’ — e bem, isso foi um fator decisivo para mim.»

A representação não é uma cura milagrosa para a igualdade de género.

Kerstin Lopau, engenheira e cofundadora da SoLocal Energy, teve uma experiência negativa em comunidades de energia dominadas por homens, onde se deparou com uma falta de generosidade conversacional e uma mentalidade competitiva — a tal mentalidade de cotoveladas também mencionada por Braun. Na sua experiência, uma cultura de comunicação mais agradável conduz também a uma maior produtividade e a uma abordagem cooperativa na resolução de problemas.

Tal como Track e Groneweg, Lopau acredita que a representação não é uma cura milagrosa para a igualdade de género. Por exemplo, fazer parte do conselho de administração de uma empresa — uma estrutura tantas vezes muito hierárquica e conformista — pode levar as mulheres a seguir ideais masculinos e a perder solidariedade com outras mulheres. Nas comunidades de energia, porém, o panorama é um pouco diferente, segundo Lopau: as direções tendem a ser mais democráticas, com vários mecanismos para garantir o controlo e a transparência, o que evita o afastamento e a perda de solidariedade.

Cultivar o terreno
As comunidades de energia alemãs são frequentemente Genossenschaften (cooperativas) que englobam uma ética, um estatuto jurídico e uma estrutura específicos. Estas organizações visam ajudar os seus membros a prosseguir os seus próprios objetivos económicos, sociais ou culturais através de operações conjuntas. Seguem tradicionalmente os princípios de entreajuda, autorresponsabilidade e autogestão.

No seu trabalho, Track observou que as comunidades de energia podem desencadear conversas em torno de novas formas sustentáveis de criar e reter valor. As comunidades de energia são alavancas para as pessoas beneficiarem localmente da transição energética, em especial as que não beneficiam atualmente, observa. No setor da energia, isto é crucial. Demonstrou-se que os projetos de energia comunitária geram entre duas a oito vezes mais receitas locais do que se o projeto fosse realizado por um agente externo. Na Alemanha, onde grande parte da eletricidade produzida no leste do país flui para oeste, agravando os desequilíbrios existentes, este aspeto local tem um potencial imenso.

O debate sobre uma transição energética socialmente justa precisa também de ser lúcido quanto ao acesso desigual ao capital, à habitação e à propriedade.

Track diz que é surpreendente que mais municípios não recorram às comunidades de energia para combater o fenómeno «not in my backyard» (NIMBY) e construir uma democracia energética local. Segundo Groneweg, porém, dado o tempo e o esforço voluntário necessários para criar comunidades de energia (sobretudo num país como a Alemanha, sobrecarregado por enormes obstáculos burocráticos), as comunidades de energia não devem ser as únicas responsáveis por eliminar barreiras estruturais e resolver problemas políticos mais amplos como a pobreza energética.

Em vez disso, o movimento das comunidades de energia poderia unir forças com outros movimentos sociais, como as comunidades feministas e climáticas. «Espero um movimento energético feminista que lute para crescer os sistemas de energia descentralizados. Teríamos então mais pessoas a envolver-se. Isso significaria que, numa comunidade de energia que talvez tenha agora cerca de 20 voluntários, de repente 200 estão envolvidos, e cresce de cidade em cidade, ou de aldeia em aldeia», diz Groneweg.

As comunidades de energia são alavancas para as pessoas beneficiarem localmente da transição energética, em especial as que não beneficiam atualmente.

Para Lopau, é um desenvolvimento positivo que os painéis solares se tenham tornado um produto de massa, retirando a geração de energia do domínio dos geeks da tecnologia e trazendo-a para o mundo familiar do supermercado local. Os pequenos módulos fotovoltaicos tornam muito acessível para os inquilinos criar o seu próprio sistema solar nas varandas. Para quem consome pouco ou está em situação de pobreza energética, as poupanças geradas por um módulo solar numa varanda são relativamente maiores do que para quem consome muito.

As renováveis permitem a produção local de energia e são a forma mais democrática e acessível de fornecer energia até à data. No entanto, estas fontes de energia ainda são fortemente influenciadas pelos sistemas energéticos anteriores e pelas suas dinâmicas de género, observa Lopau. Ela vê as renováveis como um terreno fértil que agora precisa de cultivo para alcançar o seu potencial, nomeadamente através da inclusão de pessoas FLINTA nas comunidades de energia. No entanto, persistem pequenos e grandes obstáculos que as comunidades de energia têm de superar para equilibrar a sua participação.

«As comunidades de energia não existem num vazio»

Os primeiros obstáculos que os potenciais novos membros de uma comunidade de energia enfrentam são os custos iniciais e recorrentes associados à adesão. As comunidades de energia podem antecipar-se a isso oferecendo modelos de preços solidários.

O movimento das comunidades de energia pode unir forças com outros movimentos sociais, como as comunidades feministas e climáticas.

Lopau, que tem estado ativa na democratização dos sistemas solares de varanda, reconhece que as renováveis muitas vezes não são uma prioridade para quem enfrenta a pobreza (energética) e o peso mental e o stress a ela associados. Afirma que as comunidades de energia devem depender menos das motivações internas das pessoas com consciência ambiental. Para que isto se torne uma realidade, os potenciais utilizadores devem ser procurados de forma proativa e apoiados.

Mas as barreiras financeiras não são o único obstáculo à participação. Uma vez que as comunidades de energia dependem da eficácia individual e coletiva, as pessoas que não tenham autoconfiança ou experiência na sociedade civil ou em iniciativas coletivas locais, como associações desportivas, podem enfrentar barreiras mentais e subestimar-se a si próprias e às suas capacidades. Para Braun, é importante lembrar às pessoas que as comunidades de energia são uma iniciativa coletiva. Os membros trabalharão sempre com outros; ninguém ficará para trás, e seguem sempre um princípio de trabalho a 4 ou 6 mãos, afirma.

Para antecipar os obstáculos financeiros à adesão, as comunidades de energia podem oferecer modelos de preços solidários.

Os estereótipos de género também contribuem para a sub-representação das mulheres. Braun, que estudou engenharia, sugere que a disparidade de género nas áreas STEM também tem que ver com os nomes dos programas de licenciatura e a ênfase nos aspetos técnicos. Termos como tecnologia energética ou tecnologia renovável tendem a colocar em primeiro plano os elementos técnicos tradicionalmente associados à masculinidade, ocultando as questões jurídicas, organizacionais e sociais ligadas às renováveis.

Braun sublinha que os estereótipos de género podem ser desafiados. «Este é um tema que qualquer pessoa pode aprender e compreender. Basta dedicar-lhe tempo, tal como é preciso tempo para aprender a tricotar, a pintar e qualquer outra competência que se queira desenvolver.»

A disparidade de género nas áreas STEM também tem que ver com os nomes dos programas de licenciatura e a ênfase nos aspetos técnicos.

No entanto, a escassez de tempo também afeta desproporcionalmente as mulheres. Na Alemanha, as mulheres passam 44,3 por cento mais tempo em trabalho de cuidados do que os homens, constituindo um segundo turno não remunerado de 30 horas por semana. Estima-se que este trabalho equivale a 826 mil milhões de euros por ano não remunerados, sendo a condição prévia de todo o trabalho remunerado. Sem dar e receber cuidados, como ensinar as crianças a falar, a resolver conflitos ou a construir relações sociais, outras atividades económicas simplesmente não seriam possíveis. Quando os governos pressionam para o alargamento da semana de trabalho a fim de aumentar a produção económica, arriscam reforçar a disparidade de cuidados entre géneros. Reduzem também o tempo disponível para o envolvimento e a participação democráticos.

Estas são questões mais amplas que inevitavelmente afetam as comunidades de energia, que dependem maioritariamente do trabalho voluntário. Como refere Track: «As comunidades de energia não existem num vazio. E tudo o que fazemos estruturalmente para promover a igualdade de género vai beneficiar a igualdade de género dentro das comunidades de energia.»

As competências que importam

Uma das estratégias que os organizadores das comunidades de energia seguem para atrair pessoas FLINTA é destacar que são necessárias competências diversas. As competências em comunicação, administração, direito ou finanças são essenciais para construir a organização antes de qualquer ventoinha eólica ou campo de painéis solares ser aprovado.

Braun explica que, especialmente no início, é essencial ter pessoas a bordo que saibam como construir uma organização — de forma prática e social. «As mulheres são simplesmente muito boas a construir organizações estruturalmente, em gestão de projetos, são muito ponderadas, muito empáticas — e é isso que é essencial para uma comunidade de energia.» Chegar às pessoas, convencê-las e integrá-las está ligado a um conjunto de competências emocionais e sociais (que são, de facto, competências, e não qualidades inatas) que as mulheres e as pessoas FLINTA frequentemente têm.

As competências em comunicação, administração, direito ou finanças são essenciais para construir a organização antes de qualquer ventoinha eólica ou campo de painéis solares ser aprovado.

Os investigadores demonstraram provas sólidas dos benefícios de trabalhar em equipas mais diversas. Um exemplo, mencionado por Braun, é a maior aversão ao risco. Na sua experiência, enquanto os homens tendem a assumir mais riscos e a adiar a abordagem de cenários pessimistas, uma maior interação entre géneros nas discussões equilibra estas tendências, conduzindo, por exemplo, a uma avaliação de risco mais sólida sobre no que investir.

Para Lopau, procurar ativamente uma adesão mais diversa pode também ter efeitos dominó importantes, como abrir novas perspetivas e oportunidades para fazer crescer a comunidade, e tornar o espaço mais acolhedor para todos — incluindo potenciais novos membros.

Track menciona o exemplo de uma comunidade de energia liderada por mulheres com que trabalhou: «Acho interessante que, quando há duas presidentes, se pense em programas de apoio à infância.» E acrescenta: «Não são as únicas, mas nem toda a gente o faz.»

Com vista à transição energética, que por vezes luta para ter o apoio das comunidades e fazer face ao fenómeno NIMBY, torna-se evidente que as competências sociais e organizacionais — tradicionalmente associadas a género e desvalorizadas — são as que determinam o impacto de uma comunidade de energia. Embora do exterior possa parecer que a falta de competências tecnológicas torna a participação nas comunidades de energia sem sentido, na verdade, são as competências sociais e organizacionais que podem fazer crescer e escalar o movimento.

«Não ouças os homens»

Kerstin Lopau quer combater a sub-representação das mulheres nas comunidades de energia pela raiz e fazer as coisas de forma radicalmente diferente. Em anos anteriores, organizou uma escola de verão para jovens aprenderem a instalar painéis solares. Depois de receber feedback de que algumas pessoas FLINTA não se inscreveram porque não se sentiam seguras, Lopau pôs mãos à obra. Desde então, ela e os seus colegas da SoLocal Energy têm organizado campos solares concebidos especificamente para FLINTA. A sua abordagem é estar atenta às lacunas, «tentar sempre olhar atentamente para o que as pessoas precisam. Sabemos pela nossa própria experiência no terreno o que parece estranho, por isso tentamos perceber o que poderia ser melhor.»

Estes campos solares pretendem também ser uma rampa de lançamento para o emprego futuro daqueles que gostariam de seguir este caminho profissionalmente. Lopau tem sido estratégica na construção de relações com o setor local de mão-de-obra especializada no Norte de Hesse. Contou com a sua experiência e conhecimento, mesmo quando tal não era estritamente necessário. Estas colaborações levaram a alguns contactos muito úteis. Ela recorda que os profissionais «viram no local, ‘ok, elas sabem mesmo o que estão a fazer, e são competentes — e não são tão más como pensávamos. Talvez possamos recrutar alguns estagiários e trabalhadores aqui.’ Por isso foi uma situação em que todos saíram a ganhar.»

Um pilar central deste campo de verão é o networking, já que a construção de relações entre estes futuros profissionais de energia durante o campo tem sido valiosa. Desenvolve a literacia energética e a confiança das participantes, permitindo-lhes aparecer de forma diferente, mais empoderada, nas suas comunidades de energia ou em futuros empregos. Lopau partilha que uma antiga participante do campo de verão lhe enviou um e-mail com uma questão técnica. «Disse que era assim que se tinha de fazer, mas os homens aqui dizem que não é preciso fazê-lo assim», escreveu a participante. Lopau respondeu: «Não, não ouças os homens. Lembraste-te corretamente.»

Este artigo foi inspirado pelo trabalho de Barbara Nicoloso, cujo ensaio “Gender Power: The energy transition through a gender lens” e o policy brief “Gender at the Heart of the EU Energy Transition: Key learnings from the French case” foram anteriormente publicados pela Green European Foundation.

O que distingue os humanos da inteligência artificial? A autora alemã Nina George vê a resposta na capacidade de criar aquilo que até então não existia. No entanto, à medida que o alcance da IA se expande para cantos cada vez mais distantes das nossas vidas – desde o conteúdo que consumimos até à forma como falamos –, arriscamo-nos a perder a nossa liberdade e criatividade.

Mais de três anos após o seu lançamento no mercado, em novembro de 2022, o ChatGPT, a robótica geradora de texto criada pela OpenAI na sagrada Silicon Valley, continua a ser adorado como se fosse o «Pancriador» (como o autor e filósofo da tecnologia Stanisław Lem chamou o «construtor racional do mundo» na sua obra de 1964, Summa Technologiae).

Segundo um estudo da própria OpenAI, 800 milhões de utilizadores, predominantemente jovens entre os 18 e os 25 anos, submetem uma média de 18 mil milhões de pedidos por semana ao seu chatbot. Recorrem ao ChatGPT para trabalhos de casa, candidaturas a emprego, slogans de marketing, e-mails, newsletters, excertos de propaganda para bots das redes sociais, para produtos que se assemelham a livros, críticas ou traduções; para cartas de amor à la Cyrano de Bergerac versão ciborgue, respostas automáticas ao cliente, resumos; e conselhos de relacionamento ou de vida. Claro que o ChatGPT é apenas um entre muitos chatbots – existem muito mais de 1000 grandes modelos de linguagem, e as suas aplicações estão disponíveis em todo o mundo.

O número de pedidos oscila no início e no fim do semestre e das férias escolares. Segundo um inquérito da HEPI e da Kortext no Reino Unido, a proporção de estudantes que usam ferramentas de IA generativa como o ChatGPT para trabalhos avaliados saltou de 53 por cento em 2024 para 88 por cento em 2025. Tal como a escrita, também a leitura está em declínio. Docentes universitários na Europa e do outro lado do Atlântico relatam que um número crescente de estudantes não está habituado a ler e considera mental, emocional e fisicamente exaustivo ler textos mais longos do que um poema.

Embora fosse fácil culpar estes desenvolvimentos na OpenAI, Meta, Anthropic e os restantes suspeitos do costume do colonialismo digital norte-americano, a IA apenas acelerou uma tendência que já era visível, inclusive na Europa. O poder computacional e a estatística baseada em dados, frequentemente apresentados como «inteligência artificial», são um espelho amplificador de condições pré-existentes desoladoras.

Tal como a escrita, também a leitura está em declínio. Docentes universitários na Europa e do outro lado do Atlântico relatam que um número crescente de estudantes não está habituado a ler e considera mental, emocional e fisicamente exaustivo ler textos mais longos do que um poema.

Um admirável mundo velho

As tentativas, desde os anos 1960, de replicar as vias neuronais do cérebro humano através de estatística baseada em dados produziram aquilo a que chamamos «IA fraca». A IA fraca só consegue concentrar-se numa única tarefa – ao contrário dos humanos, que conseguem processar 11 milhões de impressões sensoriais por segundo e filtrar as 40 mais importantes para reações imediatas. Ao conduzir um automóvel, nós pensamos, mudamos de mudança, viramos o volante, reagimos aos sinais vermelhos e mantemos o olhar na criança no banco de trás que está a enfiar um chocalho no nariz.

O ChatGPT, o Gemini, o LlaMA, o Microsoft Copilot e semelhantes só conseguem conduzir sempre em frente ou reconhecer o sinal vermelho. Além disso, não compreendem nem o significado nem o contexto daquilo que misturam, porque todas as letras, palavras, frases, contextos e informações são convertidos em fórmulas algorítmicas. A linguagem humana é convertida em matemática de máquina, e a matemática é cuspida de volta como comunicação simulada.

Numa era de policrises complexas, da ascensão da extrema-direita e de uma inundação de bots de propaganda nas redes sociais, a comunicação automatizada funciona como acelerador de futuras ditaduras linguísticas.

No entanto, este resultado é rigorosamente pré-censurado: os chatbots de IA estão programados para evitar uma lista crescente de termos proibidos e temas sensíveis, através de um «controlo de conteúdo» definido de fábrica. Esta lista inclui palavrões e termos sexualmente explícitos, mas também adjetivos incomuns e assuntos politicamente sensíveis (e, com o atual governo dos EUA, a lista é cada vez mais longa). O resultado é, na melhor das hipóteses, uma linguagem medíocre e conservadora, desprovida do elemento humano.

Os chatbots de IA estão programados para evitar uma lista crescente de termos proibidos e temas sensíveis, através de um «controlo de conteúdo» definido de fábrica. O resultado é, na melhor das hipóteses, uma linguagem medíocre e conservadora, desprovida do elemento humano.

Esta linguagem está a mudar não só a comunicação humana escrita, mas também a oral. Investigadores do Instituto Max Planck para o Desenvolvimento Humano analisaram mais de 770.000 podcasts e vídeos e concluíram que estamos a começar a falar no estilo do ChatGPT. Esta erosão da diversidade linguística e cultural aumenta consideravelmente o perigo de manipulação de opinião. Numa era de policrises complexas, da ascensão da extrema-direita e de uma inundação de bots de propaganda nas redes sociais, a comunicação automatizada funciona como acelerador de futuras ditaduras (linguísticas).

Uma análise a mais de 770.000 podcasts e vídeos conclui que estamos a começar a falar no estilo do ChatGPT. Esta erosão da diversidade linguística e cultural aumenta o perigo de manipulação de opinião.

Exploradores do tempo, da cultura e do conhecimento
Mas este não é o único problema com o entusiasmo em torno da IA. A base textual sobre a qual, por exemplo, o GPT-3 foi desenvolvido, consiste em 45 terabytes de material que a OpenAI muito provavelmente pilhou ilegalmente ao longo dos anos. Trezentos milhões de páginas de texto extraídas de sites privados, arquivos de meios de comunicação, fóruns do Reddit, avaliações da Amazon, redes sociais, entradas da Wikipédia. E também sete milhões de livros protegidos por direitos de autor e 81 milhões de textos científicos.

Equipas de investigação como a holandesa AI Safety Camp ou a dinamarquesa Rights Alliance provaram que as bases para grandes modelos de linguagem, como o Llama da Meta, foram construídas a partir de livros e coleções como a Books3, armazenadas ilegalmente em bibliotecas paralelas como a Library Genesis (LibGen), a Z-Library (Bok), a Sci-Hub e a Bibliotik – sites de pirataria.

O número de processos judiciais contra empresas de IA pela violação massiva de direitos de autor cresce todas as semanas nos EUA. Na Europa, as ações coletivas são difíceis de mover e financeiramente inviáveis para autores individuais.

O número de processos judiciais contra esta violação massiva de direitos de autor cresce todas as semanas. Em novembro de 2025, havia 75 processos contra a OpenAI, a Microsoft, a Meta e a Alphabet (empresa-mãe da Google). Os mais conhecidos são o do The New York Times contra a OpenAI e a Microsoft, e a ação coletiva movida pela Guilda dos Autores dos EUA (a maior organização profissional de escritores nos EUA) e 18 autores individuais (incluindo George R.R. Martin, Jonathan Franzen e John Grisham) contra a OpenAI. Outro processo, movido por três autores individuais, o caso Bartz v. Anthropic, resultou num acordo de 1,5 mil milhões de dólares. Na Europa, as ações coletivas são difíceis de mover e financeiramente inviáveis para autores individuais. Mesmo que os juízes norte-americanos decidam contra a pilhagem feita pela IA, isso não fará justiça aos autores europeus.

Danos de mercado pelo resultado da IA

O linguista Noam Chomsky chamou ao ChatGPT um «plagiador de alta tecnologia» que copia de livros amostrados ilegalmente para produzir texto que reflete o estilo dos autores originais. Apesar deste roubo, os resultados são considerados «domínio público» e podem ser reutilizados por qualquer pessoa. Mas isto é um problema colateral – o dano real é que produtos de IA semelhantes prejudiquem os mercados precisamente das pessoas cujas obras foram roubadas.

Noam Chomsky chamou ao ChatGPT um «plagiador de alta tecnologia» que copia de livros amostrados ilegalmente para produzir texto que reflete o estilo dos autores originais.

A Amazon, que sempre aplicou software de controlo de conteúdo em todos os e-books para filtrar pornografia infantil, discurso de ódio e negacionismo do Holocausto, adicionou um detetor de IA. No entanto, continua a permitir o carregamento de livros gerados por IA na plataforma (máximo de três por dia por utilizador), sem etiquetas ou avisos visíveis para os clientes. Entre 10.000 e 40.000 «fraudes literárias» produzidas por IA inundam a plataforma todos os meses, enganando os consumidores e chegando mesmo a colocá-los em perigo (por exemplo, quando «guias» não verificados prescrevem tratamentos sem sentido, conselhos de vida fatais, ou declaram que cogumelos venenosos são comestíveis).

Ao mesmo tempo, os livros reais de autores humanos tornam-se menos visíveis, e as receitas da autopublicação estão a encolher. Por exemplo, a remuneração dos escritores através do modelo de partilha de receitas da Kindle Direct Publishing está a diminuir, à medida que mestres de bots e outros utilizadores sem escrúpulos embolsam uma grande parte do dinheiro. Os livros gerados por IA são frequentemente feitos para se assemelharem aos verdadeiros lançamentos de autores conhecidos (ou são apresentados como «resumos» e «material secundário»). Biografias de pessoas famosas, lançadas quase instantaneamente após a sua morte, são também uma forma fácil de ganhar dinheiro com IA.

Um fenómeno semelhante pode observar-se no setor da música: segundo um estudo da aplicação de streaming Deezer, 34 por cento das canções carregadas diariamente na plataforma são geradas por IA, o que, por sua vez, reduz a remuneração de compositores e músicos humanos através do modelo de receita partilhada das plataformas.

Tradutores, ilustradores e narradores de audiolivros são os grandes perdedores neste jogo. As aplicações geradoras de texto são amplamente usadas em todo o mundo, incluindo dentro do setor editorial. A Amazon acabou de lançar o seu «serviço de tradução» por IA para autopublicadores. No Reino Unido, um terço dos tradutores relatou ter perdido trabalho devido à IA, e 37 por cento dos ilustradores viram o seu rendimento diminuir pela mesma razão. Os tradutores estão a começar a mudar de profissão ou a trabalhar como pós-editores mal pagos, reparando textos e traduções gerados por máquina. Entretanto, vários narradores de audiolivros disseram-me, em confidencialidade, que se veem perante a escolha entre aceitar que as suas vozes sejam clonadas, ou serem «colocados na lista negra» pela indústria.

No Reino Unido, um terço dos tradutores relatou ter perdido trabalho devido à IA, e 37 por cento dos ilustradores viram o seu rendimento diminuir pela mesma razão. Os tradutores estão a começar a mudar de profissão ou a trabalhar como pós-editores mal pagos, reparando textos e traduções gerados por máquina.

Pagar aos escritores pela utilização passada ou futura do seu trabalho iria, segundo as gigantes tecnólogicas, prejudicar o desenvolvimento da IA. A administração Trump está do lado dos oligarcas tecnológicos: em maio, despediu Shira Perlmutter, chefe do Gabinete de Direitos de Autor dos EUA, depois de o seu gabinete ter divulgado um relatório que concluía que os usos não autorizados de obras protegidas por direitos de autor para treinar sistemas de inteligência artificial generativa poderiam ser ilegais. (O Supremo Tribunal suspendeu, por agora, a demissão de Perlmutter.)

A linha de defesa da Google é a de que as máquinas não são assim tão diferentes de um humano a ler um livro. No entanto, os humanos não conseguem memorizar livros inteiros, nem copiam o seu conteúdo como modelo de negócio. Nenhum autor que queira construir ou manter uma reputação se apropria do estilo de outro; em vez disso, dedica milhares de horas de trabalho a encontrar a sua voz única e original. O truque de equiparar máquinas a humanos e atribuir direitos humanos às máquinas é popular entre as GAFAM (Google, Amazon, Facebook, Apple, Microsoft; a OpenAI deveria ser acrescentada a esta lista) para evitar pagar aos autores.

Isto não é surpreendente no setor cultural. As empresas tecnológicas têm uma longa tradição de pilhar ideias de escritores e poetas. Ciborgues, máquinas humanoides, a internet, as redes sociais, máquinas de escrever automáticas omniscientes, videochamadas, carros autónomos e robôs domésticos existiram todos na literatura muito antes de aparecerem no mundo real. Os verdadeiros inovadores não são Mark Zuckerberg, Sam Altman e Bill Gates, mas Stanisław Lem, E. M. Forster, Neal Stephenson, George Orwell, Mary Shelley, Karel Čapek e Isaac Asimov, entre outros. Termos como avatar, robô, mundos virtuais ou metaverso também têm origem nas mentes de autores.

Os humanos não conseguem memorizar livros inteiros, nem copiam o seu conteúdo como modelo de negócio. Nenhum autor que queira construir ou manter uma reputação se apropria do estilo de outro; em vez disso, dedica milhares de horas de trabalho a encontrar a sua voz única e original.

Deveríamos nós, escritores, deixar de conceber tais ideias, sabendo que muito provavelmente se tornarão realidade?

Perder a própria voz

Não devíamos. O poder dos seres humanos de imaginar utopias ou distopias nunca antes concebidas é o que os distingue das máquinas. Se as máquinas viessem a apoderar-se da narrativa da humanidade, a evolução primeiro estagnaria e depois regrediria. O óbvio desenraizaria por completo o extraordinário – nenhuma ideia nova, nenhuma nova proposta de coexistência, nenhum novo conceito para dar sentido a policrises em constante evolução.

Prevê-se que, até 2030, a infraestrutura física que alimenta as aplicações de IA venha a exceder as necessidades energéticas de toda a força de trabalho humana.

Os direitos de autor e os direitos morais, o direito à integridade e a não ser censurado, o direito dos autores de decidir como e por quem as suas obras e o seu trabalho são usados – estes não são direitos exclusivos de profissionais culturais e artistas. São o resultado de uma mudança de paradigma na autoperceção da humanidade: o reconhecimento da criatividade humana, do livre arbítrio, da individualidade, da autonomia e da capacidade de decisão. E também da responsabilidade individual: todo o autor, seja profissional ou amador, blogger ou comentador no Facebook, é responsável por aquilo que exprime; e, ao mesmo tempo, tem permissão para o fazer. Os direitos de autor dizem respeito à liberdade.

Escrever ou dedicar-se a atividades artísticas tem também um efeito multifacetado na identidade humana: quem consegue pensar consegue decidir; quem consegue decidir consegue agir. Quem consegue ler, compreender e escrever é menos suscetível à propaganda, à desinformação e à manipulação, venha ela das «promoções» da Black Friday ou de forças políticas antidemocráticas. Podem ser participantes ativos na democracia, em vez de meros consumidores ou eleitores. Em contrapartida, quem depende da linguagem automatizada já não consegue falar por si próprio; perde a sua voz.

Quem consegue pensar consegue decidir; quem consegue decidir consegue agir. Quem consegue ler, compreender e escrever é menos suscetível à propaganda, à desinformação e à manipulação, venha ela das «promoções» da Black Friday ou de forças políticas antidemocráticas.

Ter voz própria e saber usá-la é ainda mais necessário face às crises democráticas, sociais e ecológicas que enfrentamos. Do ponto de vista ecológico, a IA deveria ser encarada com a mesma atitude crítica que outrora se dirigiu aos clorofluorocarbonetos ou à poluição por partículas. Prevê-se que, até 2030, a infraestrutura física que alimenta as aplicações de IA venha a exceder as necessidades energéticas de toda a força de trabalho humana. É provável que numerosos empregos desapareçam, não só no setor cultural, aumentando o fardo sobre Estados que já se debatem com o desemprego e o envelhecimento das populações. Se isto acontecer, um punhado de monopólios de comunicação terá cimentado o seu domínio, determinando também a orientação política da Europa. Este seria o desfecho final da globalização digital, um sistema em que poucos decidem o destino de muitos – a menos que os muitos decidam usar a sua voz.

Quem depende da linguagem automatizada já não consegue falar por si próprio; perde a sua voz.

Adeus à liberdade?

O autor individual, enquanto ator liberal e responsável, está a ser apagado pela simulação de comunicação automatizada. A IA generativa é, na verdade, degenerativa: perturba as capacidades de quem a usa regularmente, e fá-lo à custa dos trabalhadores da palavra.

O anseio por uma máquina superior aos humanos, um golem, um deus ex machina, é o eterno defeito humano. É um desejo de criar uma entidade maior, mais permanente, melhor do que a humanidade, e de mergulhar com deleite numa passividade infinita e reconfortante, enquanto o piloto automático assume o controlo. Finalmente livre! Livre da responsabilidade e da necessidade de tomar decisões. Livre do fardo desta vida hedionda e confusa, com as suas muitas crises e humilhações.

Talvez essa seja a consequência mais lamentável da atual religião das máquinas: aqueles que não escrevem nem falam, mas deixam que as máquinas escrevam e falem por si, abraçam a supressão da sua própria liberdade de expressão.

Fueled by climate change and a strengthening El Niño, record-setting marine heat waves are gripping oceans worldwide and playing havoc with sea life. Mounting evidence from recent events suggests the damage could be severe and long-lasting, both onshore and off.

Read more on E360 →

The summer we love is slipping away From the Southwest to the Jersey shore, climate change is altering the traditions and norms that have defined summer for generations.

By Beth Gardiner

Sep 6, 2026

Topic

Climate + Regulation

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There was a time when summer felt easy to recognize. In childhood, summer was a time of freedom and adventure. Even into adulthood, it is a time many of us feel most free to enjoy each other and the natural world — from lazy afternoons at the beach to camping trips and swimming holes, from family cookouts and neighborhood block parties to the simple pleasure of biting into peaches and tomatoes so ripe the juice runs down your wrist. It’s when our time of dreaming through the cold comes to fruition. The time when the vegetables and fruits we planted in the spring are harvested, the time when we finally spend our precious accrued vacation time and hard-earned cash, when we treat our children to the best of what life has to offer.

But summer is changing. Over the past half-century, annual hot-season temperatures in parts of the United States have warmed by as much as 4 or 5 degrees Fahrenheit, driving heat waves, droughts, and downpours. This past July was the hottest month ever recorded for the contiguous U.S., according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. We are witnessing the slow erosion of our old summer normal. As climate change makes the season more extreme, our habits, traditions, and pastimes are also evolving, in ways both subtle and truly seismic. 

The swarm of flickering fireflies at dusk in Georgia, the cool afternoon monsoon rains in Arizona, and the mild mountain summers in the Rockies — none of these are as reliable as they once were. As the planet warms, our relationships with the places we love are evolving, and the summer we once knew is becoming harder to find. Here are some of the changes Grist staff have witnessed in the places they love most.

Southwest Rachel Glickhouse / Grist Arizona

In the Sonoran Desert, rain is a cause for celebration — especially the summer monsoons.

On stormy days, you’ll often see massive curtains of rain in the distance, and rainbows arching against pitch-black clouds in one direction as the sun beams brightly in the other. When a downpour starts, I run to tell my husband and usually head outside to the patio to watch. When it rains as infrequently as it does here in Arizona, it’s easy to revel in the sight of raindrops and inhale the heady scent of petrichor and the herby smell of creosote. I’ll often text my friends or family across town to see if it’s raining there, too, since the storms here are incredibly localized. In other places, the weather may be a source of small talk; in the desert, it is a legitimate conversation topic. 

If it rains a decent amount, I’ll go to a state or national park in search of running water, natural pools, or waterfalls. When there’s a lot of water in those ephemeral streams and pools, I’ll often encounter families with chairs and coolers, and see kids playing in the water like they’re at the beach. When I recently went out of town and my area got a huge downpour, I felt a pang of grief to have missed it.

Summer storms weren’t always such a novelty, though.

In Tucson, annual precipitation has declined by nearly 3 inches since 1970, according to the research nonprofit Climate Central. That’s a lot considering the average annual rainfall is roughly 11 inches. Most of it comes in the summer.

People who have lived here for more than a decade all say the same thing: The monsoon has become more erratic and unpredictable, which sometimes means less rain than normal. During the summer months, the monsoon used to arrive like clockwork nearly every afternoon. Now, it often feels like a happy surprise, and people often post photos and videos of the storms in local social media groups. Even in the five years I’ve been in Arizona, each year has been different: One year, the monsoon brought so much rain that it carved temporary rivers in our nearby state park and flooded the entry road; another year, the rains barely reached our house. 

But it’s not just less predictable precipitation; we’re getting more days of triple-digit temperatures, too. On those rainless, oppressive days, all one can do is stare longingly at the empty sky from the safety of air-conditioning.

— Rachel Glickhouse, director of partnerships

Frida Garza / Grist Texas

I live in New York City, but I grew up in Texas and Mexico, so I brag a lot about being from a warm place. When my peers threaten to wither like grapes on the vine as temperatures reach 88 degrees Fahrenheit, I like to say, Keep it coming. Dry heat, wet heat, I like it best when it’s 90 degrees or higher. I wait all year for the summer heat: I feel most myself with the sun on my bare arms and legs, or when I am reapplying sunscreen (do NOT sleep on sunscreen) and powerful bug spray to said bare arms and legs. These are smells I’ve grown deeply fond of, because they signal that something good could happen any moment now. That was how I felt about summer, at least, until this year. 

For me, trips back home to visit family in El Paso usually involve playing basketball with my brother, swimming in my parents’ backyard pool, counting down the days until my relatives come over for a night of grilling, and telling stories outside late into the night. This year, there was none of that. Even though summers in El Paso are hot (did you get that already?), and in that arid desert climate, triple-digit days are not uncommon, this year’s heat was particularly unrelenting. So far this summer, there have been 45 days where the temperature has been 100 degrees or higher — or roughly half of each month. 

This uptick of very hot days — which this year is expected to last into September — has been driven by climate change. Global warming pushes summer temperatures up, making heat waves in West Texas both more frequent and more intense. On top of the heat, poor air quality disrupted my El Paso summer plans. Dust is an ordinary part of living in the desert, but pollution from vehicle emissions, along with contamination from a local petroleum refinery around the time of my visit, exacerbated the poor air quality. Not wanting to admit the pesky air quality bothered my throat, I ventured into the backyard during my August visit to spend the afternoon with a good book. When my parents asked what I was doing, I remained steadfast: I was going to enjoy being outside! But despite my initial determination, I couldn’t hack it and soon retreated inside. The whole experiment only lasted about 10 minutes. 

I am not much of a hiker, but it is sad to think of how my advice for friends visiting El Paso has changed over the years. The city is home to stunning mountains and ancient caves that are perfect for hiking, and I always recommend them to out-of-towners. But now I caveat that recommendation with statements like, “It’s beautiful, just stay safe! Go early to beat the sun! Bring lots of water!” 

The city I call home is being remade in other ways, too. When my brother and I recently visited downtown, usually a bustling strip of shops, restaurants, and bars, I noticed much less foot traffic than usual — a sign he chalked up to increased fears of apprehensions by immigration officials. El Paso is an international city, bordered by the Franklin Mountains to the north and the U.S.-Mexico border to the south. One of the main strips downtown leads right to a port of entry to Ciudad Juarez, but it was mostly empty that day. A key feature of the city, its binational culture, seems at risk of being dampened by both extreme weather and a national mass deportation agenda, making people practice extreme caution in their day-to-day lives. We spotted very few other people on our walk, mostly office workers heading to or from lunch — as I saw them, I too longed for air-conditioning. 

— Frida Garza, staff writer

The Rockies Austin Corona / Grist Colorado

Every summer, thousands of Texans make an uphill journey to the Rockies, drawn by the mild mountain weather. Though you won’t find them in any botany books, Lone Star state license plates seem to bloom like an alpine wildflower from June to August.

Many Coloradans complain about the southerly visitors, but they also quietly acknowledge their importance to local economies. The high country’s biggest summer export is its cool, dry days; and Texans, along with fellow travelers from other sweaty states, are willing to pay big for it.

But drought, wildfire, and heat have whittled down the luxuries of high-mountain summers. Weather stations above 9,000 feet are recording near-90-degree days at an unprecedented rate. The peaks regularly lose their white winter veils earlier, and then shed their ragged definition entirely as oceans of wildfire smoke obscure the mountain air. Swimming in creeks and rivers often really means squatting on uneven stones beneath the water’s sinking surface. When the rivers are full to brimming, it usually means a federally managed reservoir has released emergency flows to quench the fields of desperate downstream farmers. Servers in mountain resort restaurants overhear harrumphing from tables of Texans: “And to think, we came here to get away from the heat!”

As temperatures climb, one would expect tourist numbers to fall. But even as Colorado saw its second hottest July on record in 2026, resort lodging occupancy at mountain towns is up from the previous summer. Perhaps even a hot, smoky alpine summer is still preferable to an infernal Texas one. Shrunken streams are still full of squatting bathers, and baking streets are still full of lily-white Texas license plates. The trend has left mountain summers feeling less blissful, and more crowded, than ever.

— Austin Corona, energy reporter

Ellis Juhlin / Grist Montana

In Montana, there are several peak events that define summer. For some with seasonal depression, it may be the solstice when we hit almost 16 hours of daylight. For anglers and tourists eager to enjoy blue ribbon trout streams, it’s the salmonfly hatch: Bugs the length of your finger swarm the skies as the trout feast indiscriminately on insects — and their foam replicas at the end of a fishing line. 

And just as the bugs seem to know how to emerge into the world during the right time of the summer, so too do the tubers. As the days grow longer and warmer, flotillas of inner tubes dot the surface of any moving river, along with hordes of paddleboards, inflatable rafts, and even the occasional blow-up shark. It’s a phenomenon known by many as the tube hatch.

But climate change means Montana is warming quickly. Snowpack averages have declined steadily since the 1980s, and snowmelt is happening earlier than ever before. That means rivers run lower, and levels start dropping well before peak floating season — sometimes, before the heat even fully hits. With more summer days over 90 degrees than ever before, traffic on the river is increasing as larger crowds seek a way to cool off while still enjoying the outdoors. Tubers, anglers, and wildlife reliant upon shady shorelines are competing for space across an ever smaller stretch of river. 

Montana isn’t a place that’s always been hot, which means when the heat hits, we’re a lot less prepared for it. We have one of the lowest average number of homes with air-conditioning out of any state in the country. Rivers and lakes can be one of the only effective ways to cool off when the mercury rises. 

That can make for a much less pleasant floating experience. Take this year, when for my birthday in mid-July I decided on a river float. My friends and I loaded up the cooler with ice and beer, blew up tubes ’til it felt like our cheeks would pop, and buckled my dog Zayda into her purple life jacket. We clipped our tubes together with an elaborate rigging of paracord and carabiners, while Zayda and I opted to ride on a paddleboard. 

The first few minutes as the cold water washed over us were a relief, until we rounded the corner to find possibly every other resident of Missoula County floating along, too. I let my pup jump off the boat and swim ashore, her favorite activity. But when it was time to hop back on before the next wave train, she couldn’t figure out which flotilla was ours. I watched in horror as my timid, anxious rescue dog panic-swam between clusters of floaters and for the first time wondered if there really was enough river for us all.

— Ellis Juhlin, regional reporter, Montana

The West Coast Teresa Chin / Grist California

California is big — a region unto itself, one might say — and summer can mean a lot of things to those lucky enough to call it home. In sun-baked SoCal, it might be playing in suburban sprinklers during the day and heading to the beach for sunset. Inland, there are county fairs and harvest festivals (don’t miss out on Gilroy’s garlic ice cream). Along the Central Coast, Highway 1 beckons road trippers with panoramic views of gnarled Monterey cypress and thrashing ocean waves. Farther north, summer is the upside-down of seasons, where cool temperatures can prompt locals to don parkas and unprepared tourists scramble for overpriced “I left my heart in San Francisco” sweatshirts.

But climate change is altering many of these quintessential experiences. Where I live in the Bay Area, cool (nay, cold) summers are part of our DNA. Mark Twain may not actually have said that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco, but that doesn’t make it feel any less true. The combination of cold ocean and hot inland creates an enhanced marine layer, or as many here like to call it: Karl the Fog. Yes, our fog is so iconic, he has a name and a social media following. 

But climate change is making Karl less predictable due to factors like warming ocean temperatures. One study found that coastal California’s summertime fog hours declined by 33 percent over the last century. That’s bad news for both locals and coastal redwood trees, which rely on fog as a critical source of water. Even though I grew up in sun-loving Southern California — where summer mornings were so warm that I would often eat my breakfast while lying on a towel in my parents’ backyard — I’ve become attached to the cold and moody mornings here. There’s something so peaceful about watching the mist roll in over the hills with a steaming hot cup of coffee in hand.

Across the state, hotter, drier conditions are increasing wildfire risk. Emergency go-packs now live in closets alongside beach bags, and road trippers need to check for route closures and evacuation orders. While most of California is not currently in a drought, water shortages are expected to worsen over time, which in the past has led local regulators to restrict lawn watering and pool use. For kids on break from school (and harried parents trying to keep them engaged), those conditions can mean sprinklers and splash time often have to give way to screens. That’s a real loss, especially considering that the gorgeous California outdoors is how many of us justify living in such an expensive state.

— Teresa Chin, executive editor of data & design

Kate Yoder; Matthew Craft / Grist Pacific Northwest

According to an old adage, summer in the Pacific Northwest doesn’t actually start until after the 4th of July. The cool, temperate month before is instead known as “Juneuary.” Growing up, I remember donning a specific summer outfit suited to the weather: a light hoodie or fleece on top (for the typical 50-degree mornings) and shorts on the bottom (for the afternoons in the high 60s or low 70s). Few people had air-conditioning, because a breeze from open windows and fans were more than enough to stay comfortable. 

But in the last decade, these idyllic summer days have become rare. Today, Northwest summers are hotter, and the heat starts earlier in the year. This was best exemplified by the infamous heat dome in June 2021, when temperatures in Seattle reached a record-breaking 108 degrees Fahrenheit — roughly 38 degrees hotter than the typical Juneuary highs. According to an attribution study of that event, climate change made the heat dome 150 times more likely compared to preindustrial conditions. 

Climate change is also reducing snowpack across the Pacific Northwest, and the dry, hot conditions have turned the region into a potential tinderbox. Wildfire smoke has become a regular feature of our summers. Checking the air quality index, or AQI, in August has become as routine as checking the weather, and many locals factor smoke levels into their summer activity plans. 

The combination of heat and smoke has made it harder to stay cool the old-fashioned way, with open windows and fans alone. During long periods of smoke, windows might stay shut all week, causing homes to heat up like greenhouses. As a result, Northwesterners are increasingly installing air-conditioning — so much so that Seattle recently lost its rank as the nation’s least air-conditioned big city. 

After enduring months of gray drizzle — known locally as the “big dark” — the promise of an extremely pleasant summer day always felt like the ultimate payoff. While extreme heat and smoke pollution are alarming and dangerous on their own, for many Northwesterners, losing our beloved summer weather is an additional sting.

— Jesse Nichols, senior visual producer

Midwest Juanpablo Ramirez-Franco; Mia Torres / Grist Illinois 

When I first moved to Chicago about a decade ago, it was in the middle of a still-warm September. My timing was terrible, I was told. I’d missed it — the completely singular experience of a Chicago summer. The golden season, they explained, is a hard-earned reward for a city under siege by long, bitter winters. The parties are outrageous, the beer cheap, and the big, blue lake free. 

At the time, I thought they were laying it on thick. But now I can attest to its truth. It’s hard to say exactly what makes a Chicago summer special — and why people here are convinced we have the best version of the season. My sense is that everyone who lives here knows you need to make it count: to be outside, to swim in the lake, to eat ice cream and hotdogs too, to stay up late, to dance, to kiss strangers, to go to the farmers market, to see your friends, to move in with your boyfriend, to wash away the failures and sorrows of the last year and start all over again. Whatever you want, Chicago summers can deliver. 

A lot of people talk like that around here; it’s a kind of boosterism that runs against my own sensibilities and can make us look desperate on the internet. But come to the Windy City in the summer, and you might find yourself drinking the same Malört-laced Kool-Aid. (Don’t actually mix those.) I don’t know if we’re all collectively redirecting 15 one-sided rivalries with other major American cities, but our summer really is something else. 

Which is why it was such a disappointment when this summer played out differently. For one, it was wetter than usual; the city’s emergency 11-billion-gallon reservoir and tunnel system very nearly hit capacity. Canadian wildfire smoke pushed local air quality readings to the unhealthiest levels the city has ever seen. More than 200 tornadoes made landfall in Illinois this year, a record-breaking figure for the state that’s very close to topping the national record. The same powerful winds also caused a terrible power outage in Gary, Indiana, just south of Chicago, where tens of thousands of people were without power for over two weeks. 

A less smoky, less humid, less rainy, less tornado-y do-over would be nice. But that’s not in the cards. Summer temperatures in Chicago are projected to keep climbing and are forecasted to coincide with increased variability between heavy rain and drought. 

The meteorologists tell us summer is technically over, but I’m wondering how much longer our summer will actually last.

— Juanpablo Ramirez-Franco, regional reporter, Illinois

Southeast Katie Myers / Grist Tennessee

Small farms and lush backyard gardens are a way of life in the Mountain South.  The growing season is long. But farmers and gardeners are faced with difficult decisions as the region’s humid summer extremes have grown more chaotic and intense.

This was a lesson that really hit home for me the last time I tried farmwork: a brutally hot summer day in 2020 in East Tennessee. I was working in a hundred-plus-degree greenhouse, up to my neck in spiny tomato plants as I strung them up and suckered them, itching, head pounding, blinded with sweat. Later, in the field, as I planted a bed of onions, the landscape seemed to undulate in front of me, and I dashed off to a nearby tree and vomited discreetly behind it. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. 

As I drove home, I thought, the $8 an hour just isn’t worth it.

In 2023, the U.S. Department of Agriculture updated its plant-hardiness zones, which guide gardeners and farmers based on the annual lowest temperature in their location. Much of the mid-South moved half a zone up — from 7a to 7b, or 7b to 8a — toward the humid subtropics. The USDA cautioned against understanding it as directly linked to climate change but acknowledged that the zones for most plants will shift northward as the planet warms. That’s in addition to the cyclical temperature swings gardeners deal with year to year.

Increasingly ferocious summer storms and flash flooding, interspersed with more extreme flash droughts, have also made growing food even more tenuous. Kelsey, a friend of mine who works as a flower farmer in nearby southeastern Kentucky, told me she had to switch to what she called an Andalusian daily schedule, getting up early and breaking for most of midday, sometimes only returning to the field with a headlamp after dusk. When the financial margins are thin, little costs like replanting, fungicides, and even electrolyte drinks add up. 

Even more than the heat, the uncertainty wears on people. Aside from the financial unpredictability, farmers and gardeners are also feeling the loss of tradition and ritual, like the old-timer’s practice of planting by moon phases and zodiac signs.

As the planet warms, many are focusing on the cool periods of seasonal transition, investing in plants that return annually, experimenting with tropical varieties like amaranth and malabar spinach, or trying to grow crops in the shade to keep them from withering. Kelsey is pinning her hope in seed saving, the ancient art of paying close attention to the plants that seem to survive most easily and preserving their genetics, in hopes of creating hardier varieties that can withstand the summers to come.

— Katie Myers, regional reporter, Appalachia

Jaime Buerger; Lyndsey Gilpin / Grist Kentucky

Going outside on a Kentucky summer day has always felt a bit like stepping into a rainforest. And if you live in mountainous eastern Kentucky, you actually are — the southern Appalachians are a lush temperate rainforest. It’s hot and sticky and beautiful. There are a thousand shades of green. The migratory tanagers and perulas chatter all day; the cicadas scream all night. Deep yellow goldenrod, coral honeysuckle, and purple coneflowers bloom. 

But the temperature and humidity are becoming unbearable: Multiple times a summer over the last three years, Kentucky has had prolonged extreme heat waves with heat index values up to 108 degrees, resulting in air quality alerts and heat advisories. These extreme temperatures usually break with huge thunderstorms that bring heavy rain and violent wind and sometimes lead to tornadoes and flash floods. 

Evenings aren’t the respite from the heat they once were. Last year, for instance, Waterfront Wednesday, Louisville’s free evening summer concert series, fell on heat advisory days two months in a row. It was still 94 degrees when a band took the stage at 7 p.m. (the crowd was large, regardless).

Kentucky’s summer average temperatures have risen by 2 degrees Fahrenheit since 1970. Louisville has seen temperatures rise by over 4 degrees; according to a 2016 study, the city had one of the fastest-growing urban heat islands in the country, and new research shows the problem has grown in the years since. Louisville is working on efforts to address the urban heat, but for the most part, event hours, amenities, and locations remain unchanged. As parents of young children, my friends and I find ourselves skipping out or cutting our day short unless there’s a water source — a playground splash pad, a pool, a decently clean creek — to cool off the kids in. 

In any city in the state in the summer, you’ll find festivals, church picnics, county fairs, and flea markets. But most are still taking place in the middle of the day, often on hot concrete, without fans or mist or free water or enough cooling centers. Of course, the bourbon is still flowing — but even with ice, it doesn’t go down quite as smoothly in 100-degree weather.

— Lyndsey Gilpin, senior manager of community engagement 

Anila Yoganathan / Grist Georgia

Summers have always been hot in Georgia. There’s the dread of getting in your car and burning yourself on the seats while smelling the acrid fumes from the pleather melting. The slick feeling of perpetual moisture on your skin as the humidity surrounds you most days. And there’s the knowledge that, when the sun is at its peak, you should only be outside for the minute it takes to go from your air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned building.

Having been raised in metro Atlanta, it’s something I grew up planning life around, like scheduling outings on days when the heat was tolerable or making plans after sunset. My favorite pastime during the season used to be sitting outside at twilight: the sky a burst of bright colors, the heat receded to the edge of pleasant, and the humidity just enough to feel a little cool moisture on your skin like dew. In those peaceful moments just before it got dark, I would quietly watch the fireflies create a magical scene in my parents’ yard. Now? The conditions of a Georgia summer just feel more intense.

For one thing, the heat from the day doesn’t drop as much as it used to at night. From June through July this year, the minimum temperature in Georgia was 2.5 degrees Fahrenheit above the average from 1901 to 2000.

If I’m not tired of the heat and can tolerate the humidity, I still have to prepare to be eaten alive. Rising nighttime temperatures can “enhance mosquito growth” during the summer, according to the University of Georgia. So I don’t go outside at dusk as often as I did growing up.

Things have also changed inside the house. In the summertime, my dad and brother often argue over the thermostat. My brother wants cooler temperatures so he can sleep better, and my dad worries about the rising electric bills, an issue that other Georgians are also grappling with. My parents’ late-1960s house, while beautiful, is energy-inefficient. The old attic fan that used to keep us pretty cool years ago kept breaking down, and we no longer use it. While we’ve debated upgrades, the costs are still high. So the inter-generational thermostat war continues.

These days when I visit Georgia, I still try to venture outside at dusk to see my favorite lightning bugs. And while I may see a few, I’m all too aware that they face growing threats from light pollution, pesticides, development, and yard management, which can impact larvae. Without them, summer in Georgia feels just a little less magical.

— Anila Yoganathan, regional reporter, Nebraska

Sachi Mulkey / Grist Florida

The pleasures of a summer in Florida were once simple: the sensation of hot concrete pushing through the soles of your recently air-conditioned feet. A cold gas station Slurpee in one hand and a bag of boiled peanuts in the other. The steam from an afternoon rainstorm, rising from the sun-baked roads. A frozen custard from Rita’s Italian Ice truck by the beach, where you spent the afternoon collecting sand dollars and bouncing in waves with your family.

But Florida’s subtropical climate, low elevation, and exposure to warm ocean waters on three sides leave it with little buffer against the changing climate. Scores of tourists are now passing out amid 100-degree heat at Disney World. In many neighborhoods, sidewalks become hot plates after 10 a.m., scalding dogs’ paws into pink blisters. It may not rain at all, for weeks at a time. And when it does, scientists say it’s raining harder. You can feel it — gripping your steering wheel during a sudden deluge that whiteouts the road and floods sidewalks. At night, the air is muggy and laden with mosquitoes while, somehow, still unbearably hot.

So if your family is like mine, you might hop in the car and head to the beach in the hopes of trading the pavement for sand, and reconnecting with the magic of summer.

But if that beach is near Miami or the Florida Keys, you might find yourself facing thousands of tons of sargassum, brown seaweed that can clog shorelines and prevent sea turtles from nesting. In recent years, the kelp has been growing relentlessly thanks to the right conditions: bathwater-like ocean temperatures and shifting climate patterns that boost ocean nutrients. The result is a rotting mass that releases hydrogen sulfide as it decomposes, making beachgoers’ eyes and lungs burn with noxious fumes.

Or if you drive toward Tampa, you might encounter a monthslong surge of red tide, shorthand for toxic algae blooms, also caused by warm waters and similar nutrient patterns. From Sarasota to Clearwater, locals know to stay away when piles of dead fish (and sometimes manatees, dolphins, or sea turtles) litter the beaches. In smaller beach towns like Sanibel and Cedar Key, rising sea levels and hurricane damage have crumpled the economy and closed the vintage shops I once loved to peruse. Whether your refuge is cooled by AC or whirring ceiling fans, summer in the Sunshine State has increasingly become a time to stay indoors.

— Sachi Mulkey, reporter

Northeast Katherine Bagley / Grist New Hampshire

After harsh winter temperatures and muddy spring months, summer in New England feels like a well-earned prize. The peaks and lakes of the Appalachian Mountain range, rocky coastlines, and cool waters of the Atlantic Ocean are a venerable playground after months of being largely stuck inside. There’s hiking and boating, lobster rolls and ice cream, and blueberry fields ripe for picking. We New Englanders don’t let a single moment during the precious months between Memorial Day and Labor Day go to waste.

But a warming planet has changed the conditions in which we are engaging in these activities. The region is heating up faster than any other place in the contiguous United States. The weather whiplashes between intense rain and flash droughts. And then there are the ticks. So. Many. Ticks.

Growing up in the 1980s and ‘90s, these blood-sucking insects were not a thing I worried much about. Their populations were isolated to small patches of coastal regions and stands of long grass. My friends and I played outside all day before crawling into our beds when the streetlights came on. Parents didn’t conduct nightly tick checks or spray their yards with pesticides. People didn’t keep tick-removal devices on their keychains or lint rollers in their cars to swipe down bodies after being in the woods. They didn’t capture embedded ticks in clear tape, waiting to submit them to a doctor if a bull’s-eye rash appeared at the bite site. 

Now, I do all these things. The ticks are everywhere. My son was just a year old when I found his first one on him, embedded in his upper thigh. We were at a lake where I spent my summers, and where I had never once gotten bitten growing up.

New Englanders still cherish their summers — our iconic stubbornness ensures that never goes away — but these months are a little less carefree, and the woods and lakes and coastlines a little less safe.

— Katherine Bagley, editor-in-chief

Jake Bittle / Grist New York

I’ve always thought of New York City as a summer town. There are a lot of people who disagree with me, as evidenced by the clogged outbound highways heading upstate and out to the Hamptons, but to me the best times to live here are when you can stroll a hot street with a Mister Softee cone and take the subway out to Rockaway Beach. The city has been getting hotter and muggier for some time now. The panel of scientists who ran the National Climate Assessment reclassified the city in 2020 from “humid continental” to “humid subtropical,” meaning it now has more in common with the lowlands of the Southeast than it does with the crisp pine forests of New England. 

I’m originally from Florida, so humidity and sudden afternoon thunderstorms don’t bother me. What does get to me, and the millions of other New Yorkers, is the smoke. This past summer, a curtain of smoke from wildfires in Ontario blanketed the city for days, elevating the air quality index so high that it was unsafe to step outside. I made the mistake of trying to attend a party in Lower Manhattan on what should have been a sultry Thursday night and found myself returning home through empty streets with a headache. I had planned to go to the beach the next day and the day following, but I canceled my plans. (A few weeks later, when I tried to go to the beach again, my friend Chris and I got caught in an apocalyptic thunderstorm.)

This year was nowhere near as bad as the smoke drift from Canada in 2023, which blocked out the sun and raised air quality to levels exceeding that of polluted cities like Mumbai, causing a jump in emergency room asthma visits. That time I went days without stepping outside, until I got a cold from prolonged exposure to my window AC unit. When I did go outside, I had to wear an N95 mask, as did the construction workers and delivery bikers who were still laboring for hours at a time in air that was toxic enough to make one faint. In both cases, scientists have found that climate change made the wildfires in Canada at least twice as likely.

Most of the Midwest and Northeast experienced at least some smoke this summer, but it felt acute in New York, where the line between inside and outside is always a little blurry in the summer. Most New Yorkers have at least one window air-conditioning unit, but around 1 in 5 residents of the poorest neighborhoods don’t. Even in homes that do have window units, they don’t cool down whole apartments, and many people leave other windows open to air out other rooms and save on power bills. When we leave the house, most of us can’t get anywhere without walking for 10 or 20 minutes to the subway. The whole premise of life here is freedom, the freedom to go wherever you want, to go nonstop day and night. In two different summers now, I’ve seen the impossible — climate change brought the city that never sleeps to a standstill.

— Jake Bittle, staff writer

Samantha Swinsburg New Jersey

The Jersey Shore is famous for a reason. It’s the quintessential summer destination for New Jersey and its neighboring states. The long series of barrier islands shielding the mainland boasts wide, white-sand beaches that have attracted summer visitors since the 18th century. Easy access from the nearby population centers of Philadelphia, North Jersey, and New York has guaranteed hordes of tourists enjoying the beaches and boardwalks from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day for more than a century.

But for the people who actually live here, the day after Labor Day is the best of summer.

As if the atmosphere can read the calendar, the weather shifts from the brutal heat and humidity of August to the more temperate warmth of September. The ocean, cold enough to be uncomfortable throughout most of the summer, finally accumulates enough heat to be the perfect swimming temperature. Most of the crowds depart, leaving the usually-packed beaches open for those who live close enough to steal one more day of summer before the school year begins.

It’s a day for getting to the beach late because there’s no need to stake out territory, and staying until the sun sets because there’s no reason to leave. A day for long, lazy floats in the Atlantic, for finishing the last dregs of ice cream left in the freezer, for sneaking the dog onto the deserted beach even though dogs are technically still banned for a few more weeks.

At least it was. Now the warming air and water have made that crisp turn-of-the-page fuzzier. The warm September water is arriving sooner: In the third week of August this year, sea surface temperatures were already hitting the upper 70s, according to satellite data compiled by Rutgers. In the air, August’s dog days are bleeding into fall. Average temperatures from September through November in Atlantic City have already increased 3.4 degrees Fahrenheit since 1970, according to the research group Climate Central, with 14 more days of above-normal temperatures annually.

Or as my mom — a lifelong denizen of the shore — put it, “October is the new September.”

But October can’t be that first Tuesday in September, not with school in session and island businesses closed for the season. And the more summer temperatures bleed beyond their former season, the more that perfect, final, magic day of summer becomes just … another hot day at the beach.

— Emily Jones, regional reporter, Georgia

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline The summer we love is slipping away on Sep 3, 2026.

One of the hottest, most fascinating new fields in science doesn’t sound particularly exciting: distributed acoustic sensing, aka DAS. It involves using fiber optic cables to spy on the environment, and is proving to be enormously powerful. By analyzing the way that vibrations scatter light through the wires, scientists can detect volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and even footsteps above. Last year, researchers laid a cable on the seafloor near a Greenland glacier, providing unprecedented insight into how the ice is rapidly deteriorating.

Now a team working in the mountains of Switzerland has used DAS to expose another troubling trend in ice, known as hydrofracturing, in which meltwater seeps deep down and creates pressure. By studying the phenomenon, scientists can get a better idea of how ice the world over will decline, and therefore better predict consequent problems like sea level rise. 

“It’s hypothesized to be a mechanism that can cause mass disintegration of ice shelves and ice sheets in the Antarctic, Greenland, et cetera,” said Thomas Hudson, a seismologist at ETH­ Zurich in Switzerland and lead author of a recent paper describing the work. “But no one’s really observed the mechanism in any detail.”

For all its simplicity, DAS provides incredible amounts of data. On a Swiss alpine glacier, Hudson and his colleagues laid out fiber optic cables in a grid pattern. Then, using a device called an interrogator, they fired laser pulses through the cable. Even the tiniest of disturbances along the cable sent the tiniest bits of light back to the device, where they were logged. 

A zoomed-in view of the grid of fiber optic cables (right) and its positioning on the glacier. Courtesy of Thomas Hudson

Using calculations based on the speed of light, the researchers could pinpoint an “icequake” — a fracture that generates seismic activity, similar to an earthquake — at different distances along the cable, since farther ones take ever so slightly longer to travel back. With an extensive grid pattern of cable, they detected vibrations in extreme detail. Compare this to a traditional seismometer, which detects shaking at a single point. “We can break that fiber optic cable into thousands of strain sensors,” Hudson said. “So, effectively equivalent to thousands of seismometers.”

In addition, fiber optic cables are relatively cheap, so if something catastrophic happened to the glacier, the researchers wouldn’t take as big of a financial hit. With all these crevasses around, glaciers can be extremely dangerous places for scientists to work. With DAS, though, they can lay the cable, leave the site, and get a constant stream of real-time data beamed from the interrogator. 

“Whereas streaming data back from seismometers is not trivial, and then you have to process all the data back in your lab,” Hudson said. “DAS is actually more promising as a monitoring method, just purely from a data logistics point of view.”

Indeed, using DAS, the team found that this alpine glacier isn’t just threatened with melting from rising air temperatures. Because liquid water is denser than solid water, it flows deep down into cracks and forces the ice apart, creating crevasses that compromise the overall structural integrity. “How deep these cracks go, and how many cracks there are, really matter for the stability of the glacier,” Hudson said. “These glaciers overhang critical infrastructure like train lines or villages, and so it’s really important in the future to potentially apply this technology.” 

Theoretically, a long-term DAS deployment could provide early warning of changes in stability. In just a week of this fieldwork, Hudson and his team detected more than a thousand icequakes. Furthermore, the resulting fractures allow meltwater to get deep into the glacier, which likely holds true for others beyond Switzerland.

One goal would be to develop DAS into an early-warning system for the kinds of catastrophic glacial collapses like what recently happened in Nepal. “I would be 99.999 percent certain that there were signals that you could pick up,” Hudson said of the disaster, though there would still be several steps to getting that information out in a way that would help protect people. “It’s still challenging, right? Our research still doesn’t address the question of how you turn the signals into an accurate early-warning system.”

DAS could also help monitor the ice in Greenland and Antarctica that is already collapsing into the world’s oceans. The issue isn’t so simple as the sun beating down on these ice sheets. In Antarctica especially, warming waters are eating at the undersides of ice shelves (the bits that float on the ocean), as underwater “storms” add more destructive turbulence. That other recent DAS study in Greenland found another dynamic: As ice violently calves, it stirs the water and breaks up an insulating layer of cold water resting against the ice, leading to still more melting — a sort of self-perpetuating cycle.

With DAS, scientists get an unprecedented look inside the ice, as seismic waves propagate and betray the destabilizing cracks. “If we can use this technology to understand how deep those cracks go,” Hudson said, “and how many cracks there are in the subsurface, then we will get a better idea of how stable those bigger glaciers are. And obviously that has implications for how fast these glaciers might break up and cause sea level rise.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Fiber optic cables reveal ‘icequakes’ in endangered glaciers on Sep 3, 2026.

Euan Ritchie is a senior research associate in the Europe programme at the Center for Global Development.

Andy Burnham, the UK’s latest prime minister, has suggested reducing the amount the British government gives as climate finance grants and providing some of its climate finance through loans instead, in a move it anticipates will save £400 million. 

The government plans to use the savings to fund a cap on bus fares in the UK, triggering accusations from the development sector that Burnham’s proposal “throws Global South countries under the bus”. One likely destination for these new loans is the Tropical Forest Forever Facility (TFFF). 

Will new UK PM’s green measures at home cause climate finance pain overseas?

The TFFF is a new initiative designed to provide payments to countries that protect their rainforests by raising money from governments and private investors, channeling that money into riskier and therefore higher return assets, and using the returns it earns to fund forest protection. But there is a catch. 

The UK has committed to provide around £6 billion in climate finance funded through aid (or official development assistance, ODA) over the next three years. If switching from grants to a loan to the TFFF reduces government spending, it will likely reduce the amount that counts as ODA as well. 

In other words, the government can make the £400 million saving, or meet its £6 billion aid budget-funded climate finance commitment, but it probably cannot do both. The UK cannot have its cake and eat it.

How will it score as ODA?

Whether any loan to the TFFF scores as ODA depends on the OECD’s Development Assistance Committee (DAC) which is currently deliberating on this topic. 

A plain reading of the DAC’s current reporting rules suggests that the TFFF would count as a multilateral organisation: the independent investment arm, the Tropical Forest Investment Fund, would ultimately be a global, official entity (with sovereign governments appointing the board and being sole equity holders), which pools capital from sponsor governments. This would mean that to count as ODA, any loan to it would have to charge less than 5% interest. 

Tropical forest protection fund at risk after UK stalls on pledge

The current concept note suggests a return for sponsor capital equivalent to US borrowing costs of a similar duration: currently around 5.2%, which would make any such loans ineligible. The UK could choose to charge less, but if the UK charges less than it borrows (also above 5%), the difference will add to the deficit in future years. And ODA accounting is not binary: if the UK charges just under 5%, only a small fraction of the loan would count.

At the same time, the risk profile of TFFF is not the same as your average multilateral, and there is speculation that the DAC could allow higher interest loans to TFFF to partially count (by changing the ‘discount rate’ used to measure how concessional the loan is). The TFFF’s own modelling suggests that the risk of the UK losing money on the loan would be fairly limited: roughly a 1% chance of some capital impairment in the riskiest scenario. But some analysts doubt the accuracy of this model and view the risk as much greater.

Launch event of the Tropical Forest Forever Facility (TFFF) fund in Belem during COP30. (Photo: Alex Ferro/COP 30) Launch event of the Tropical Forest Forever Facility (TFFF) fund in Belem during COP30. (Photo: Alex Ferro/COP 30) Would it really save money?

If the risk really is higher, then it might justify counting more ODA on a loan to the TFFF, but it also undermines the arguments that this would create savings for the government. Loans generally don’t count towards the deficit because they create an asset. But that only works if the loan is expected to be fully repaid. If there is a material risk of losing money, then at least some of the transaction will also count towards the deficit. 

One possibility is that the loan will be ‘partitioned’ into a financial asset (the part which is expected to be repaid and wouldn’t count towards the deficit) and a ‘capital transfer’ (the part not expected to be repaid). The greater the risk, the larger that second component, and the bigger the impact on the deficit.

This would be the ODA and public accounting rules working as intended. ODA is a measure of ‘donor effort’, usually taken to mean fiscal impact. If it counts as ODA, it should have an impact on the deficit. And the fiscal treatment itself is governed by numerous international accounting standards, a key purpose of which is preventing politically motivated obfuscation of how governments spend their money. If it costs money, there should be an impact on the deficit even if it is a loan. If it doesn’t, it shouldn’t count as ODA (even if there have been exceptions in the past).

UK halves Green Climate Fund contribution, as it spends more on security

Base funding on need, not accounting

We still know too little about the details to be sure how a loan to the TFFF (or a more exotic transaction) would count towards either ODA or the UK’s headline measures of debt and deficit. The key parameter for each is risk: the lower risk, the more likely it is that the transaction will save money, but the greater the chance that the government would have to spend more ODA elsewhere to meet its climate finance target. 

If the UK believes in the TFFF business model and wants to preserve tropical forests, then it should invest. But this decision should not be driven by optimistic accounting tricks. The government cannot expect to reduce the real value of climate finance to partner countries by giving less in grant money, without this having an impact on commitments to spend that money.

The post UK’s budget juggling trick with rainforest loan for bus-fare cap needs transparency appeared first on Climate Home News.

Kids demand natural history lessons Channel News brendan 3rd September 2026 Teaser Media

O lítio pode estar no coração da transição verde, mas a extração deste elemento metálico também causa danos aos ambientes naturais. Em Portugal, país rico em lítio, comunidades rurais modestas juntam-se à indignação nacional contra acordos governamentais que ignoram as economias locais e ameaçam meios de subsistência.

À primeira vista, Covas do Barroso, aninhada entre montanhas verdes no norte de Portugal, não é mais do que um punhado de casas de pedra reunidas junto ao cruzamento de duas estradas. A aldeia, com cerca de 150 habitantes, tem as tradições da pecuária e da agricultura como base da sua economia local. Mas as terras de Covas do Barroso são também valiosas por outra razão: são ricas em reservas de lítio. E, desde 2016, a Savannah Resources, uma empresa britânica que tem apenas o Barroso na sua carteira, tem vindo a desenvolver planos para uma mina a céu aberto na área. A empresa estima que a mina poderia ser explorada durante 12 anos, empregaria até 250 trabalhadores e forneceria lítio suficiente para 500 mil baterias de carros elétricos por ano.

Uma vista geral de Covas do Barroso. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli Um acordo controverso

Portugal é conhecido como o maior e, com efeito, o único local significativo de produção de lítio na União Europeia. Até agora, o lítio do país só foi extraído em combinação com o feldspato para abastecer a indústria cerâmica. Mas o crescimento da produção global de lítio, ligado ao fabrico de baterias, especialmente para veículos elétricos, tem impulsionado o desenvolvimento de uma cadeia de produção específica na UE. No âmbito da sua Lei das Matérias-Primas Críticas, a Comissão Europeia estipulou que, até 2030, pelo menos 10 por cento da procura europeia de matérias-primas críticas como o lítio deve ser satisfeita a partir de fontes internas. Em Portugal, as empresas mineiras receberam aprovação para novos projetos em áreas como o Barroso, Romano, Alvarrões e Argemela. E há pedidos de exploração pendentes em muitas outras áreas do país.

Portugal é conhecido como o maior e, com efeito, o único local significativo de produção de lítio na União Europeia. A Comissão Europeia estipula que, até 2030, pelo menos 10% da procura europeia de matérias-primas críticas como o lítio deve ser satisfeita a partir de fontes internas.

A Agência Portuguesa do Ambiente deu a sua aprovação preliminar à avaliação de impacto ambiental do projeto do Barroso no final de maio de 2023, e a construção estava prevista para começar em 2024. Mas muitos residentes acham que a mina da Savannah Resources não deveria ser construída. Desde o início, os habitantes locais opostos ao projeto fundaram a Unidos em Defesa de Covas do Barroso (UDCB), uma associação local que organiza manifestações, assembleias, acampamentos de protesto e ações legais.

Uma pequena pedreira de pedra na zona perto do Romainho, na área de Covas do Barroso. A área é historicamente uma zona de extração para a construção de casas de pedra. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

O plano de mineração é também altamente controverso junto da população mais alargada da região. E, em Portugal, a mineração é mais do que uma questão local: as concessões de exploração em Barroso e Montalegre estiveram no centro de uma investigação de corrupção que levou a buscas em gabinetes parlamentares em novembro de 2023 e que resultou na demissão do então primeiro-ministro António Costa. A faixa que dá as boas-vindas aos visitantes de Covas do Barroso diz-nos que «Não às Minas, Sim à Vida», e coloca questões incontornáveis ao modelo global de transição verde.

Algumas faixas no centro de Covas do Barroso contra a abertura da mina. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli Em defesa do Barroso

Vila Real, nordeste de Portugal, 24 de outubro de 2023. A sala B.02 da Universidade de Trás-os-Montes e Alto Douro está cheia. Toda a atenção está voltada para o primeiro orador de um debate público organizado pelo Centro de Estudos Transdisciplinares para o Desenvolvimento (CETRAD): «Chamo-me Nelson Gomes e vivo em Covas do Barroso.» Como presidente da UDCB, Nelson explica que as minas iriam perturbar completamente o ambiente do vale e a vida dos seus habitantes. «Acusam-nos de não estarmos dispostos a sacrificar-nos pelo planeta,» diz Nelson, «mas nós já nos sacrificamos com o nosso modo de vida e a nossa agricultura.»

A audiência é composta por estudantes, professores, investigadores, pessoas interessadas. «É uma falsificação falar de uma transição verde justa,» diz Mariana Riquito, investigadora da Universidade de Coimbra. «Não pode ser justa se não respeitar a autonomia das populações locais. Não pode ser uma transição se, para a implementar, se intensifica o consumo de combustíveis fósseis. Não pode ser verde se apenas considerar o problema das emissões e não as consequências da indústria mineira e extrativa.»

«É uma falsificação falar de uma transição verde justa,» diz Mariana Riquito, investigadora da Universidade de Coimbra. «Não pode ser justa se não respeitar a autonomia das populações locais.»

À esquerda, Mariana Riquito, investigadora universitária portuguesa, e Nelson Gomes, presidente da associação «Unidos em defesa de Covas do Barroso», durante uma conferência organizada pela UTAD – Universidade de Trás-os-Montes e Alto Douro, em Vila Real. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Um espectador pergunta se o projeto da mina poderá, ainda assim, representar uma oportunidade de desenvolvimento para a área. Nelson responde calmamente que «Covas do Barroso é Património Agrícola Mundial pela FAO [Organização das Nações Unidas para Alimentação e Agricultura] desde 2018. A mina é incompatível com o desenvolvimento da área. Falam-nos de compensação, minimização, recuperação da paisagem. Mas a relação com a natureza é a única razão para viver num lugar tão isolado. Que desenvolvimento é possível para uma área onde ninguém quereria viver?»

Segundo Nelson, o projeto de mineração tem implicações vastas: «Precisamos de questionar a transição energética como um modelo centrado no extrativismo.» As alternativas, diz Nelson, incluiriam o desenvolvimento de transportes públicos, também nas zonas rurais, em vez de simplesmente substituir os carros privados a combustíveis fósseis por elétricos. «Tenham em mente», avisa Nelson, «que uma imposição destas pode um dia acontecer também a vocês, onde vivem.»

«Falam-nos de compensação, minimização, recuperação da paisagem. Mas a relação com a natureza é a única razão para viver num lugar tão isolado. Que desenvolvimento é possível para uma área onde ninguém quereria viver?», pergunta Nelson Gomes, presidente da Unidos em Defesa de Covas do Barroso.

Impactos locais

Uma ribeira, mais cheia depois das chuvas, corre sobre a estrada que leva à aldeia de Alijó. «Venho até aqui porque posso usar alguns dos pastos para o gado,» diz Paulo, um pastor com 170 ovelhas. O seu negócio, tal como o de outros pastores e agricultores de Covas do Barroso, está ameaçado pela mineração de lítio. «Parte das minhas terras corre o risco de ser incluída na área da mina. Onde vou então levar as ovelhas a pastar?»

Paulo teme que as fontes de água do vale sejam comprometidas: «Com as perfurações, alguns agricultores já se queixam da falta de água nos poços. O que vai acontecer aos bebedouros e às ribeiras?»

Paulo Pires, pastor de Covas do Barroso, a levar o seu rebanho de ovelhas a pastar perto de Alijó, uma aldeia a 4 km de Covas do Barroso. Paulo é um dos residentes locais que se opõem à construção da mina de lítio da Savannah. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Embora reconheça a necessidade de uma transição energética, Paulo considera importante alargar a visão: «Claro que é preciso lítio para as baterias. Mas devíamos perguntar-nos para que usamos esta energia. Será que o lítio vai tornar o consumismo sustentável? E de que transição verde estamos a falar se destruímos espaços verdes? Olhe», exclama a rir, «aqui está tudo verde!»

Precisamos de questionar a transição energética como um modelo centrado no extrativismo.

«Opusemo-nos à mina de lítio desde o início,» diz o [à data original deste artigo] presidente da Câmara de Boticas, Fernando Queiroga, sentado à sua secretária na sede municipal responsável por Covas do Barroso, a quase 20 km da aldeia. «É um tipo de atividade mineira diferente das que já existiam na área,» explica. «Pode afetar as condições de vida e a saúde dos membros da nossa comunidade.» Na linha de Paulo, considera que o abastecimento de água doce da área, nomeadamente as fontes subterrâneas, são uma preocupação chave: «Estamos muito alarmados porque há o risco de a mineração comprometer o nível freático.»

Fernando Queiroga, presidente da Câmara Municipal de Boticas em 2024. O presidente é uma voz crítica contra a construção da mina de lítio de Covas. Nesta fotografia, é visto no seu gabinete em Boticas. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

«Dizem que uma área tão pouco povoada só pode beneficiar com um projeto destes,» diz Queiroga com um sorriso sarcástico, «mas se olharmos para a cadeia de valor do lítio, além da mineração – produção de baterias, fabrico de carros elétricos e, por fim, reciclagem de baterias – todas essas atividades industriais serão tratadas noutro lugar. Nada vai ficar aqui.» Sobre as perspetivas futuras da região, usa palavras diretas: «No que estiver ao nosso alcance, não daremos autorizações. Se o governo decidir avançar, arrisca-se a enfrentar uma revolta popular.»

«Quando abri, há mais de vinte anos, a aldeia era animada,» diz o idoso dono do único café de Covas. «Agora há cada vez menos habitantes. Até a escola fechou há muito tempo.» Perante a inexorável despovoação, o dono do bar talvez espere que o projeto de mineração traga desenvolvimento e novos clientes, e mostra-se menos crítico do que a maioria dos outros habitantes locais. «O meu bar é para todos, não toma partido na questão do lítio!»

O único café aberto na pequena aldeia de Covas do Barroso, no norte de Portugal. Nesta área, designada pela FAO como património agrícola mundial, a empresa britânica Savannah quer construir a maior mina de lítio da Europa. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Mas, junto à porta, um cliente com uma bebida na mão exprime uma opinião diferente: «Claro que alguns venderam as suas terras [ao projeto da mina]. Mas como é que se pode abandonar tudo? Com esse tipo de dinheiro, não é possível mudar-se e mudar de vida», diz.

A resistência

«Agora está bem!» Mariana, que acabou de limpar a entrada da antiga escola primária de Covas do Barroso com a sua amiga Paloma, parece satisfeita com o trabalho de ambas. Fechado durante muitos anos, o edifício renasceu como A Sachola, graças à iniciativa de jovens que, como elas, se mudaram para aqui para apoiar a luta contra a mineração. A faixa à entrada diz Encontro Solidário Anti-Extrativista. «Temos de acabar de preparar o espaço», explica Mariana, apontando para a grande sala interior. «Daqui a uma semana, vamos ter uma sessão de cinema. Queremos que este espaço seja um ponto de encontro e de convívio para os habitantes da aldeia mas, ao mesmo tempo, um ponto de encontro entre a comunidade local e quem vem de fora.»

Aida Fernandes, presidente da associação de terras de Covas do Barroso, Baldios, está empenhada em proteger as áreas comunitárias de terra mais ameaçadas pelos projetos de mineração. «A Savannah comprou alguns terrenos, mas está a decorrer muita perfuração nos baldios, sobretudo nas florestas», explica Aida. «Queremos travar as obras, reivindicando o uso dessas terras para a comunidade.»

Aida Fernandes, residente de Covas do Barroso e criadora de gado. É presidente dos «Baldios – terra comunitária, terra de uso cívico», e é contra a construção da mina de lítio. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Nos últimos anos, muitas pessoas vieram a Covas do Barroso para conhecer a luta dos seus habitantes. Aida conta como as situações de intercâmbio são muitas vezes recíprocas: «Em outubro [de 2023], participámos num encontro internacional contra a mineração em Espanha, porque é importante estarmos unidos face a um adversário tão poderoso.»

Ganhar a guerra

Os projetos de exploração massiva das reservas de lítio provocaram protestos entre os habitantes de muitas áreas rurais de Portugal. Tal como no Barroso, também se formaram comissões e movimentos na Serra da Estrela, em Argemela e em Penalva, só para citar alguns. Uma pluralidade de vozes uniu-se em várias ocasiões: em manifestações conjuntas em Lisboa, em assembleias em Coimbra e noutros locais, num acampamento de protesto anti-mineração que se realiza anualmente em Covas do Barroso.

Do Miradouro do Olhar do Guerreiro, é possível ver todo o vale. As áreas de perfuração, parcialmente cobertas por vegetação, veem-se por todo o lado. Aida aponta para um ponto a sudeste da aldeia, uma extensão de pinheiros numa encosta. «Ali é a área onde eles estão mesmo a concentrar-se. Parece ser a mais rica [em lítio],» diz. «Pensem só, aquela área toda vai tornar-se numa mina a céu aberto. Vai ser escavada até 150 metros de profundidade, com um diâmetro de 500 metros. 80 por cento do material será resíduo. Os restantes 20 por cento terão de ser lavados, inclusive quimicamente, para extrair o lítio ali contido.»

A área em torno de Covas do Barroso, designada pela FAO como Património Agrícola Mundial. No centro, entre a vegetação, a primeira escavação da Savannah, a empresa britânica que tem planos para construir uma mina de lítio na área. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Recentemente, a luta contra a extração de lítio em Covas do Barroso tem recebido amplo apoio de diversos setores da sociedade. «Isto não é sobre atrasar as obras e obter pequenos resultados», diz Aida com determinação. «Não basta vencer batalhas. É preciso ganhar a guerra!»

A sede (ponto de informação) da Savannah em Covas do Barroso, no norte de Portugal. A Savannah é a empresa britânica que quer construir a maior mina de lítio da Europa na área do Barroso. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Com o sol a pôr-se, um agricultor atravessa a praça central da aldeia, levando as suas vacas para o estábulo com uma enxada ao ombro. De um lado fica o campo desportivo, onde se realizou o acampamento de protesto contra a mineração de lítio; inúmeras faixas coloridas estão penduradas na vedação. Clamam contra a mineração, pela vida da aldeia, pela água e pela natureza. Mesmo em frente, do outro lado da praça, fica o pequeno escritório da Savannah, escondido atrás de uma porta escura, vigiado por câmaras.

After last week’s catastrophic flash flooding caused hundreds of deaths and an estimated $5 billion of destruction in Nepal, some board members of the UN’s new loss and damage fund board have called for an extraordinary meeting to allocate money to help the Himalayan country.

Following a direct appeal for funding from Nepal’s government on Monday, developing-country board members gathered online and eight signed a letter, seen by Climate Home News, asking the fund’s board to hold a meeting to respond to the request.

The letter, signed by eight African, Asian and Least Developed Country board members, said the debris-laden torrent – which scientists believe was unleashed by a glacial slope collapsing after unusually hot weather – constitutes “precisely the kind of climate-related extreme weather events the fund was established to address”.

“The scale of loss of life, displacement, and destruction of energy, transport, and economic infrastructure warrants the board’s urgent consideration of how the fund’s existing instruments should be mobilised to support Nepal’s government and affected communities,” the letter said.

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The rules of the fund’s initial phase, which it is now in, allow for it to support “rapid response”, the letter noted. The fund’s governing instrument says it can provide funds “complementary to humanitarian actions taken immediately after an extreme weather event” as well as funds for “immediate or long-term, reconstruction or rehabilitation”, the letter added.

Governments agreed at UN climate talks to set up the fund in 2022 and it launched its first call for proposals at the end of last year. It received 180 submissions, mainly for long-term projects to help countries reduce the risks from climate threats, like improving water infrastructure in Jamaica or flood response in Bangladesh.

After delaying decisions at its last board meeting as it continued to work out processes, it has yet to approve any funding requests. Despite being set up on the back of the 2022 floods in Pakistan, the board has not yet given out any money in response to climate disasters nor expressed a clear willingness to do so.

The secretariat of the Fund for Responding to Loss and Damage (FRLD) had not responded to a request for comment at the time of publication. A few days ago, it expressed solidarity for those affected by the disaster in a social media post.

Rapid response precedent

The board members signing the letter on Nepal want to set a precedent, with the letter saying the board should consider “any procedural lessons” the response to the flooding “offer for strengthening the Fund’s rapid-response modalities and operational protocols for sudden-onset extreme weather events”.

Harjeet Singh, global convenor of the Fill the Fund campaign, told Climate Home News civil society has pushed “really hard” for the FRLD to be a rapid response fund rather than just inviting requests for project funding and reviewing them at regular board meetings as other UN climate funds do.

“Climate disasters like the one unfolding in Nepal cannot wait for scheduled committee cycles,” he said. “The Loss and Damage Fund was built for moments exactly like this.”

Harjeet Singh speaks at a press conference at climate talks on June 6, 2024 in Bonn, Germany (Credit Image: © Bianca Otero/ZUMA Press Wire)

Nepal has received multi-million dollar humanitarian pledges from several governments already and the United Nations’ Central Emergency Response Fund is designed to rapidly disburse aid cash for disasters.

But Singh – also founding director of India’s Satat Sampada Climate Foundation – said that, with disasters becoming more frequent and severe, the humanitarian system cannot support all countries in their recovery efforts and the fund should bridge the gap.

“The Board Co-Chairs must heed the call of developing nations, convene an emergency session immediately, and prove that this Fund is ready to deliver real support when frontline communities need it most,” he told Climate Home News.

While the FRLD’s response to Nepal’s recent disaster could set an important precedent, it is only likely to be of limited practical help. The fund’s rules mean it can only give out a maximum of $20 million to each project in its current initial phase. With only $820 million pledged by rich countries and not all of that yet delivered, it has allocated a total of $350 million to spend so far and without further contributions could run of money next year.

Nepalese climate negotiator Manjeet Dhakal, who visited the affected area just days before the flood, told The Nation magazine that while $20 million “may only be a symbolic gesture”, it “could set an important precedent for how the fund responds when such disasters strike vulnerable countries in the future”.

The government’s preliminary estimate of the damage is $5 billion, with many homes and critical infrastructure destroyed, as well as over 1,000 people dead.

A letter to the FRLD board from Nepal’s finance and environment ministers said that Nepal had only contributed “negligibly to global greenhouse gas emissions yet continues to bear disproportionate and escalating climate impacts”.

Requesting the fund’s board take a special decision to allocate funding to Nepal, the ministers emphasised that “time is of the essence”. “A prompt response would help protect affected populations, restore essential services, prevent further suffering and demonstrate that the fund can translate international solidarity into timely support for vulnerable countries and communities when it is most urgently needed,” they wrote.

Glaciers ‘melt like butter’

Despite initial reports of an earthquake, the US Geological Survey has said the floods were caused by a glacier collapsing and the resulting landslide hitting the bottom of the valley causing “subsequent catastrophic impacts downstream”.

Alton Byers, a scientist at the University of Colorado Boulder’s Institute of Arctic and Alpine Research, told journalists this week that global warming has seen glaciers recede, glacial lakes forming and glacial lake outburst floods increasing.

Scientists ride their snowmobiles near Kronebreen glacier through the arctic landscape near Ny-Alesund, Svalbard, Norway, April 10, 2023. REUTERS/Lisi Niesner

He said that a heating glacier is like butter taken out of the refrigerator. “It becomes mushy. It no longer has the ability to hold together. What that means is that masses of rock and glaciers no longer are as resistant to gravity as they once were,” he explained. “Add to that melting water at altitude, which lubricates the interface between the rock and the glacier and you get an increased likelihood of slippage.”

He added that a trigger – like gravity or an earth tremor – can then set off the sudden release of masses of bedrock and glacial ice, “which is what happened last week”.

As well as reducing emissions to rein in climate change, Byers said that authorities can adapt to climate change by not building in flood plains. Many of the destroyed buildings in Nepal were located in places that have flooded before, he noted.

Flood deaths in West African cities raise fraught issue of slum evictions

The disaster took place on the Himalayan border of Nepal and Tibet, which is governed by China. Chinese state media are reporting at least 16 people dead and hundreds missing. China’s government has made no appeal to the loss and damage fund and the board’s letter does not mention China or Tibet.

The FRLD board’s co-chairs are now expected to respond to the letter, with any extraordinary board meeting likely to be held online, so that members from around the world can attend at short notice.

The post Loss and damage fund urged to hold crisis meeting on Nepal appeared first on Climate Home News.

Enquanto os movimentos de extrema-direita apertam o seu domínio sobre a política europeia e procuram capturar a cultura – comprando meios de comunicação, instalando figuras partidárias nas instituições culturais e deslocando as fronteiras do discurso público –, um contraciclo está a emergir. Por todo o continente, «artivistas» estão a reconquistar a cultura como um espaço de resistência democrática e a usar a arte para promover solidariedade e inclusão. Conseguirão reavivar a imaginação política da Europa e remobilizar os cidadãos?

É uma noite chuvosa de sábado em setembro, num antigo terreno ferroviário desativado no sudeste de Paris, agora transformado num local temporário para eventos que celebram a inovação social e cultural. Apesar do dilúvio nesta segunda noite do Festival Fluctuations, o público – uma mistura animada de homens e mulheres com idades ali entre os 20 e os 45 anos – dança com força e canta em voz alta. No palco, quatro membros do coletivo francês Planète Boum Boum montaram uma atuação enérgica.

A multidão grita em uníssono: La vraie menace n’arrive pas en bateau, elle est ici, c’est les fachos! («A verdadeira ameaça não chega de barco, já está aqui: são os fascistas!»)

Enquanto batidas frenéticas de techno trespassam a multidão, os quatro intérpretes gritam os seus slogans ao microfone com convicção. Envolvem-se em coreografias simples mas eficazes que o público consegue facilmente reproduzir. Manter o tom não interessa muito; no palco e fora dele, todos estão a passar um belo momento politicamente consciente.

Por toda a Europa, coletivos, organizações sem fins lucrativos e indivíduos estão a organizar-se para reacender a chama do envolvimento democrático. Algumas das iniciativas mais bem-sucedidas têm mobilizado ferramentas que vão além do manual tradicional do ativismo político: as artes.

E no entanto, para lá do recinto do concerto, o ambiente político é radicalmente diferente. O primeiro abalo veio em 2002, quando Jean-Marie Le Pen, fundador da Frente Nacional e veterano do exército acusado de torturar combatentes independentistas argelinos nos anos 1960, chegou à segunda volta das eleições presidenciais. Dezasseis anos depois, no entanto, o partido reinventou-se como Reagrupamento Nacional (RN, Rassemblement National) e goza agora de um apoio sem precedentes: o RN tem o maior número de representantes no Parlamento Europeu e é o maior partido na Assembleia Nacional.

Também pela Europa, o panorama político está a assumir um tom de azul cada vez mais escuro. Os partidos de extrema-direita estão no governo em mais de um quarto dos Estados-membros da UE. Mesmo nos países onde não governam, exercem uma influência considerável sobre o discurso político e público. Isto é também visível ao nível da UE, onde o Partido Popular Europeu – o maior grupo político no Parlamento Europeu – se tem alinhado cada vez mais com a extrema-direita.

Estes acontecimentos tornam cruciais os espaços de resistência – como aquele no sudeste de Paris. Por toda a Europa, coletivos, organizações sem fins lucrativos e indivíduos estão a organizar-se para reacender a chama do envolvimento democrático. Algumas das iniciativas mais bem-sucedidas têm mobilizado ferramentas que vão além do manual tradicional do ativismo político: as artes. O termo artivista é cada vez mais usado para descrever pessoas que participam em protestos através da arte.

A resistência cultural, redescoberta

Uma junção de art (arte) e activist (ativista), este termo surgiu pela primeira vez em 1997 para descrever a união de artistas Chicano nos Estados Unidos e o movimento zapatista no México. Captava um momento em que a expressão artística e o ativismo de base se fundiram para desafiar as desigualdades sociais e políticas em ambos os países. Hoje, à medida que governos de direita em países como Itália, Alemanha, Hungria e França retiram financiamento às práticas artísticas independentes ou instalam figuras politicamente alinhadas à frente de instituições culturais fundamentais, o (re)surgimento desta abordagem politicamente motivada da arte parece especialmente significativo.

«Não inventámos nada de novo», diz Marie Cohuet, membro do coletivo Planète Boum Boum. «Quando olhamos para a história das lutas em todo o lado, houve sempre pessoas a fazer música, a cantar, a montar espetáculos e a fazer coisas que, de uma forma ou de outra, ajudam a manter a luta viva a longo prazo, a criar um sentido de coesão.»

A abordagem dos Planète Boum Boum combina a natureza histórica das raves com as teorias do filósofo francês Florian Gaité, especialista em free parties. Gaité defende uma visão radical do clubbing e da dança, na qual o esgotamento inútil, fútil e improdutivo do corpo é um ato de resistência anticapitalista.

O Planète Boum Boum, um coletivo de nove ativistas que se conheceram através da organização Action Justice Climat, diz que o seu objetivo é «trazer a festa aos protestos e o protesto às festas». Dão energia a marchas ou encontros políticos e são agora também frequentemente convidados para fazer sets de DJ em clubes e eventos «apolíticos».

Apenas um membro do grupo tem formação musical formal, já que a maioria só começou a cantar quando o coletivo foi formado. Quando estes ativistas notaram que a música e a dança eram alavancas eficazes, decidiram incorporá-las no seu trabalho. A sua abordagem – que descrevem como techno-ativismo – combina a natureza histórica das raves, feitas para unir pessoas, com as teorias do filósofo francês Florian Gaité, especialista em free parties. Gaité defende uma visão radical do clubbing e da dança, na qual o esgotamento inútil, fútil e improdutivo do corpo é um ato de resistência anticapitalista.

Créditos: ©Planète Boum Boum

A ascensão em popularidade dos Planète Boum Boum começou em 2023, quando um vídeo se tornou viral mostrando alguns dos seus membros a liderar uma marcha contra as impopulares mexidas nas pensões, através da dança. Desde então, o seu perfil no Spotify acumula centenas de milhares de reproduções.

«Vivemos tempos difíceis. O nosso contexto político está a deteriorar-se. Os ataques racistas estão a explodir, e temos desigualdades profundas. À escala global, é aterrador», diz Cohuet. «Penso que há uma verdadeira necessidade de nos unirmos e sentirmos que temos um certo poder e força quando nos unimos. A música cria mesmo isso. É isso que funciona bem com o Planète Boum Boum: usamos muita caricatura, sátira e humor. É importante sentir que não estamos condenados, que temos a capacidade de mudar as coisas.»

Graças às redes sociais, a visibilidade dos «artivistas» tem crescido, sustentando organizações sociais, ambientais e antifascistas.

O coletivo aborda uma grande variedade de temas. Planète Boum Boum aborda a justiça social e climática a partir de diferentes ângulos: apela à preservação dos serviços públicos, critica as reformas injustas das pensões em plena crise climática, denuncia a incompatibilidade entre as ideologias de extrema-direita e a ação ambiental. Isto acontece num momento crucial para a Europa: apesar da crescente consciência ecológica, os partidos Verdes e a regulação ambiental têm sofrido um revés à medida que o continente lida com o elevado custo de vida e uma guerra em solo europeu. Ao mesmo tempo, os partidos de extrema-direita têm capitalizado sobre estas crises, tanto para alimentar como para responder ao sentimento de insegurança dos cidadãos. Ainda assim, graças às redes sociais, a visibilidade dos artivistas tem crescido, sustentando organizações sociais, ambientais e antifascistas.

Penso que há uma verdadeira necessidade de nos unirmos.», diz Marie Cohuet, dos Planète Boum Boum. «A música cria mesmo isso. Usamos muita caricatura, sátira e humor. É importante sentir que não estamos condenados, que temos a capacidade de mudar as coisas.

«Colaboramos regularmente com sindicatos, meios de comunicação socialmente empenhados e coletivos ligados a causas. O objetivo é tentar dar destaque aos seus esforços e dar-lhes força, seja mobilizando pessoas que normalmente não ouviriam falar destas questões, seja encaminhando-as para uma ação específica, como comparecer a uma manifestação numa determinada data, assinar uma petição, ou juntar-se a um coletivo», explica Cohuet. «Conseguimos chamar atenção para causas em momentos-chave, como a votação contra a inclusão de PFAS em produtos do dia a dia, a privatização do transporte ferroviário de mercadorias pelo governo ou as questões em torno da lei Duplomb.»

Estas histórias de sucesso tiveram uma forte repercussão na sociedade francesa. Em fevereiro de 2025, os legisladores votaram a proibição dos PFAS (conhecidos como químicos eternos) em cosméticos, roupa, calçado e ceras de esqui, a partir de 2026. Em pleno verão de 2025, mais de 2,1 milhões de cidadãos assinaram uma petição alojada na plataforma oficial da Assembleia Nacional para exigir a revogação da lei Duplomb, que incluía uma cláusula que teria permitido a reintrodução de acetamiprida, um pesticida altamente cancerígeno. Sob pressão pública, o tribunal constitucional francês anulou a disposição controversa.

A música impulsiona a mudança na Grécia

Entretanto, outras organizações artivistas optaram por atuar a uma escala mais local. Por exemplo, a El Sistema Greece usa a educação musical para reforçar a inclusão social. Oferece aulas de música gratuitas em campos de refugiados e abrigos para menores não acompanhados, bem como para a população local em centros urbanos em Atenas e Corinto.

«Trabalhamos em três níveis: os nossos alunos, as suas famílias e depois a sociedade», explica Angeliki Georgokosta, diretora-geral da El Sistema Greece. «Trabalhamos com os nossos alunos para aumentar a sua autoestima. Tentamos criar um ambiente que encoraje e motive as crianças a tornarem-se cidadãos ativos. Quando temos as nossas aulas, os nossos concertos, temos pessoas de diferentes etnias, línguas e religiões. Todas se juntam apenas pela música.» Acrescenta que o objetivo da organização é tornar a sociedade grega mais aberta à diversidade e superar o medo do recém-chegado que vemos crescer no país.

Tentamos criar um ambiente que encoraje e motive as crianças a tornarem-se cidadãos ativos. Quando temos os nossos concertos, temos pessoas de diferentes etnias, línguas e religiões. Todas se juntam apenas pela música.

– Angeliki Georgokosta, diretora-geral da El Sistema Greece.

Desde 2016, mais de 3.500 pessoas participaram nas aulas da El Sistema Greece. Só no ano letivo de 2024-2025, quase 16.000 pessoas assistiram às suas atuações.

Alunos da El Sistema Greece numa aula. Créditos: ©Ilias Stefanidis

«Fazemos concertos não só nos nossos espaços comunitários, mas também nos maiores teatros de Atenas, como o Centro Cultural da Fundação Stavros Niarchos e o Athens Concert Hall. Tentamos estar na cultura mainstream. Desta forma, pessoas que não estão diretamente ligadas aos alunos também veem esta orquestra a alcançar um bom resultado a partir de indivíduos de 40 nacionalidades diferentes e de contextos tão distintos. Queremos espalhar a semente de que isto também pode ser a nossa sociedade», diz Georgokosta. «Usamos frequentemente repertório que não é clássico nem grego. Já usámos repertório dos países de cada um dos nossos alunos. Queremos celebrar todas as pessoas que existem dentro da nossa comunidade.»

A Grécia tem vindo a reforçar os controlos de imigração desde 2019, chegando ao ponto de emitir uma suspensão de três meses dos pedidos de asilo em julho de 2025, em violação do direito internacional. O seu governo também foi acusado de corrupção. Pelo menos 325.000 manifestantes reuniram-se em Atenas e em Salónica em fevereiro de 2025 para exigir justiça pelas 57 pessoas que morreram no acidente de Tempi em 2023, entre um comboio de passageiros e um comboio de mercadorias. Este acidente ferroviário, o maior da história do país, deu origem a um escândalo político contínuo. Relatórios oficiais afirmam que o acidente se deveu a erro humano e a uma rede ferroviária com falhas de manutenção, mas as famílias das vítimas alegam que os detalhes do acidente estão a ser encobertos. Um relatório pericial que encomendaram mostra que o comboio de mercadorias transportava químicos que provocaram a explosão e a asfixia de passageiros anteriormente ilesos pela colisão.

Mas o artivismo da El Sistema Greece cria pontes em comunidades fraturadas por um discurso político polarizado e os seus alunos recorrem à organização para navegar o clima politicamente aceso da Grécia. «Estamos a ver que [estes desenvolvimentos políticos] são difíceis de processar para toda a gente, mesmo para a nossa equipa. Por isso, estamos a reunir-nos com universidades e pessoas que trabalham há muitos anos nas ciências sociais para que possam liderar discussões sobre estes temas com todos os nossos alunos. Vemos como isso é crucial. Já não podemos evitá-lo.»

Este envolvimento vai expandir aquilo que a organização já tinha iniciado com o seu programa Young Leaders, um grupo de 15 alunos que se reuniu uma vez por mês para workshops sobre como poderiam usar a música, a El Sistema Greece e a sua comunidade para tomar decisões e falar sobre temas que lhes interessam. Um dos principais objetivos do programa foi ensinar os participantes sobre os direitos das crianças e os direitos humanos, para que pudessem compreender e defender os seus direitos e os dos outros.

A El Sistema Greece realizou o concerto Echoes of the World em 2025. Créditos: ©Ilias Stefanidis

«Estamos a tornar-nos num programa mais holístico, que não é só sobre música, mas sobre como esta pode ser usada como uma ferramenta poderosa para falar sobre as questões sociais mais prementes do nosso tempo. Trata-se também de criar espaço para que as crianças falem por si próprias, se expressem e digam como deve ser o seu futuro, para que tenham voz.»

Reencantar a política

O que está em jogo para os artivistas, seja à escala nacional ou local, é a mudança de narrativa: tanto quanto a quem conta a história e encarna novos futuros, como quanto ao imaginário coletivo que está a ser promovido.

«A arte e a cultura são os últimos escudos que temos para defender a democracia, a liberdade, a nossa capacidade de compreender, respeitar e descobrir uns aos outros, e de ir além daquilo que nos torna diferentes. Também treina a nossa criatividade», diz Paula Forteza, fundadora da galeria parisiense Artivistas, que promove artivistas latino-americanos residentes em França e na América do Sul.

A equipa da Artivistas, com Paula Forteza ao centro, em Paris, na simbólica Place de la République. Créditos: ©Anne Le Breton

Forteza é copresidente da organização sem fins lucrativos Démocratie ouverte e foi deputada em França entre 2017 e 2022. Voltou-se para o artivismo como forma de explorar novos caminhos para a participação democrática, depois de perceber que a via política convencional não seria a mais eficaz para ela, dada a desconfiança institucional por parte dos cidadãos.

«O que senti na política é que faltava mesmo criatividade. Penso que os políticos fariam bem em fazer aulas ou workshops de arte para renovar as suas ideias», diz Forteza. «Penso que precisamos mesmo de desenvolver práticas artísticas. São antídotos aos valores da extrema-direita e ao que os seus porta-vozes tentam implementar: intolerância, desdém, agressão, violência e polarização.»

O que senti na política é que faltava mesmo criatividade. Penso que os políticos fariam bem em fazer aulas ou workshops de arte para renovar as suas ideias» – Paula Forteza, fundadora da galeria Artivistas.

Esta batalha cultural está a tornar-se cada vez mais complexa, à medida que a extrema-direita também tem investido fortemente na esfera cultural para amplificar as suas mensagens e deslocar a janela de Overton, de forma a espalhar um discurso alimentado pelo ódio – através da aquisição de meios de comunicação e editoras, bem como pelo financiamento de produtos culturais que perpetuam narrativas históricas ultrapassadas de hegemonia branca.

Obras de Cristian Laime e VicOh, representadas pela galeria Artivistas na feira Spera Art Fair em Montrouge, em 2025. Créditos: ©Artivistas Spera art fair

À medida que as pessoas se afastam dos meios de comunicação e da política tradicionais, os artivistas desempenham um papel fundamental na manutenção viva da luta contra a injustiça. Guiadas pela criatividade, alegria e resistência não-violenta, as suas ações podem ajudar a construir uma sociedade solidária e participativa.

Precisamos mesmo de desenvolver práticas artísticas. São antídotos aos valores da extrema-direita e ao que os seus porta-vozes tentam implementar: intolerância, desdém, agressão, violência e polarização.

«Quando estudava na Argentina, escrevi uma tese em que cruzava períodos de crise económica com a atividade cultural e a produção artística. Através dos dados, tornou-se muito claro que, em tempos de crise, a atividade cultural explodia», recorda Forteza.

«O artivismo pode certamente reencantar a política – no sentido nobre da palavra – e as batalhas em torno dos valores. Penso que fala a um público mais alargado. Tem esse tipo de sinceridade inerente à expressão artística, que vem do coração.»

The sound of rubber sandals crunching on dry bamboo leaves echoes in the fading light of Sumur Bendung. Maia Ruda, a 58-year-old mother, walks down a steep, tricky path toward a narrow riverbed in Gunung Batur village, Cilegon, carrying an empty 15-liter (4-gallon) plastic jug on her back. The path gets slipperier and more dangerous as it winds down the valley, where it cuts through mossy stone and damp earth.

Photo: Garry Lotulung

As the sun sets, other women with their own 15-liter jugs are already waiting, talking in Javanese as they gather around small drips of water coming from the rocks. The villagers use hollow bamboo stalks and large antap (Sterculia oblongata) leaves to guide the trickle into their containers. Filling a 15-liter jug takes a difficult 30 minutes.

Photo: Garry Lotulung

For Maia and her neighbors, waiting for water at dusk is now part of daily life. Since there are no wells nearby, they rely completely on this underground water and spend hours in the gorge to collect enough water for their families.

“We’ve been living like this for the past four months,” Maia tells me in early August, resting briefly while her container fills. “We have to walk a kilometer from our village down a steep, slippery path to reach this riverbed source. And as we enter August, the water is dripping slower and slower.”

She explains that they use old mineral water containers because they’re light, strong, and can be carried home in cloth without breaking on the sharp rocks. By nightfall she will carry eight heavy jugs back up the cliff, enough to last her family almost a week.

As things get harder, the community has had to ration water strictly. At the local Al-Ma’ruf prayer house, a schedule called the sif system controls water collection. Groups of 15 households take turns in 12-hour shifts, from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn. Each week a family might get just two turns, one in the morning and one at night, approved by the neighborhood chief.

But the situation is getting worse every day. Four months ago a family could collect 20 gallons each turn. Now the water flow is so low that they get barely eight. “By September we don’t know what we’ll do if the water stops dripping altogether,” says Ali Asmudin, another resident.

Villagers get a small government relief package of two gallons per week, but this is far from enough for their daily needs. A permanent pipeline is still just a dream for a community that has faced droughts for many years.

The Rings of Fire and a Looming Super El Niño

While places like Gunung Batur are rationing every drop, meteorologists warn that this local hardship is just a sign of a much bigger climate problem.

Across Indonesia worsening water shortages are expected to deepen significantly in the coming months. The stakes this year extend far beyond crippled agricultural yields. As the drought intensifies, it threatens water supplies, compromises hydropower generation, and drastically increases the risk of widespread forest and land fires.

According to the Meteorology, Climatology, and Geophysics Agency, the country is bracing for a drier-than-normal season, with 437 seasonal zones — nearly half of Indonesia’s total land area — predicted to endure an unusually long and severe drought.

In June the World Meteorological Organization officially announced the start of El Niño, a major climate phenomenon where tropical Pacific waters warm significantly, disrupting weather worldwide. Current measurements show ocean temperatures are running far above average, officially placing this El Niño in the “strong” category with the potential to trigger severe droughts, heat, and extreme weather in the coming months. The announcement warned countries everywhere to prepare for record heatwaves, severe droughts, and more extreme weather.

 

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Teuku Faisal Fathani, head of Indonesia’s Meteorology, Climatology, and Geophysical Agency, points to alarming macro-indicators. “Based on our monitoring, current El Niño conditions have reached a strong category, driven by sea surface temperature anomalies.”

Adding to these worries, climate researchers from China’s State Key Laboratory of Satellite Ocean Environment Dynamics and Indonesia’s National Research and Innovation Agency have found a new weather pattern. Warming is happening at the same time in three Pacific regions — near Indonesia, Central America, and South America — creating a large “warm ring” that covers areas usually kept cool by ocean currents.

“We have not observed a pattern this intense in the past 40 years,” says Dr. Widodo Setiyo Nugroho, a senior climate researcher at BRIN.

Ghosts of the Past Re-emerge From the Depths

About 99 kilometers (61 miles) from the capital of Jakarta, the disappearing water reveals strange reminders of past projects. As reservoirs shrink across Banten Province, pieces of human history are reemerging from the bottom of the lakes.

At the Somang pier in Lebak Regency, boatman Hussein waits for passengers who want to see what remains of the past. Since June falling water levels at the large Karian Dam have uncovered the remains of villages.

Photo: Garry Lotulung

Built between 2015 and 2024, the Karian Dam project flooded 11 villages in four sub-districts: Sajira, Cimarga, Maja, and Rangkasbitung. People were moved to make way for a 1,773-hectare (7-square-mile) artificial lake meant to supply water to Jakarta and its suburbs. Now, as water levels drop by one to three meters (up to 10 feet), the roofs and yards of these submerged villages are starting to appear again.

Hussein steers his small wooden boat past brick foundations that stick out of the water. “I’ve lived here since I was a child,” he says quietly, watching a motorboat take visitors to see what remains of Somang. “Four years ago, we had to leave when our homes were flooded. For the past two years, I’ve worked as a ferryman, charging people five to ten thousand rupiahs to see what’s left of our old lives.”

Photo: Garry Lotulung

Where families once farmed and children played, people now use the shrinking edges of the reservoir to wash clothes because their wells have dried up. Below the water, only brick foundations are left. Wooden doors, windows, and roof tiles were removed before the valley was flooded.

A Bleak Horizon

The problems seen in Cilegon and Lebak are expected to get much worse. Erma Yulihastin, a climate researcher from the National Research and Innovation Agency, says that models predict a Super El Niño from late 2026 to early 2027, which will supercharge global weather systems and trigger severe storms, droughts, and wildfires. Forecasts from the European Center for Medium-Range Weather Forecasts show the peak will come in December 2026, with sea surface temperatures rising more than 4 degrees Celsius.

“Even February 2027 will still classify as super,” Yulihastin warns. If these predictions come true, Indonesia could face a long seven-month struggle with poor crop yields, serious food shortages, and high wildfire risks.

For people like Maia Ruda in Gunung Batur and Hussein, who watches his old village reappear in Somang, that future is already here, seen in every drop of water that grows scarcer.

Republish this article for free! Read our reprint policy. Previously in The Revelator:

Photo Essay: Climate Change and Deforestation Collide in Indonesia’s Deadly Floods

The post Photo Essay: As a Super El Niño Looms, Indonesia’s Crippling Drought Deepens appeared first on The Revelator.

Across the U.S., tech companies have courted backlash for using polluting gas generators to power massive new data centers. But energy industry data shows that in addition to building out natural gas, firms are adding huge amounts of battery storage.

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Could a new mechanism to help countries transition to a cleaner, safer and fairer world be one of the main deliverables from the COP31 climate summit in Türkiye this November? Civil society groups – which played a key role in winning last year’s agreement in Brazil to set up a mechanism – want to see it come to life in Antalya and take shape in 2027.

The concept of a “just transition” has gained momentum and widespread support in recent years. It recognises that countries have varying levels of responsibility for planet-heating emissions and unequal resources to adapt to the impacts of global warming and move away from fossil fuels.

In July, UN Secretary General António Guterres told the High-Level Political Forum in New York: “We need to support the countries, communities and workers that depend on fossil fuels throughout the transition.” While few would dispute that need, governments at the UN climate talks are still working out how to respond to it with concrete action.

With discussions set to produce a decision making the mechanism a reality at COP31, observers want to ensure the new mechanism is more than just a talking shop. 

Here’s what’s at stake in the just transition negotiations before and at COP31:

What has been agreed on the mechanism so far?

At the mid-year climate negotiations in Bonn, just transition was one of the few key issues on which governments reached a consensus, including on how to review the progress of the Just Transition Work Programme (JTWP) – a process that led to agreement on a mechanism last year at COP30 in Belém, Brazil.

Set up in 2022 and launched a year later, the aim of the JTWP is to discuss how to achieve a green economic and social shift that is fair, from the global down to the local level. Its accompanying mechanism will be tasked with strengthening international cooperation, technical support, capacity-building and knowledge-sharing to enable societies to become low-carbon and climate-resilient in a way that does not harm people and shares the benefits.

To phase out fossil fuels, developing countries need exit route from “debt trap”

Anabella Rosemberg, senior advisor on just transition with Climate Action Network (CAN) International, told Climate Home News that the most important outcome in Bonn was an informal document laying out various options for establishing the new mechanism. 

However, this leaves a lot still to be worked out and the preliminary discussions at Bonn were not enough on their own to ensure the operationalisation of the mechanism at COP31, as planned. 

“In the months ahead of COP31, this issue should be a priority for the COP31 presidencies – both Türkiye and Australia,” said Camila Mercure, climate policy coordinator at the Environment and Natural Resources Foundation (FARN), an Argentinian NGO, adding this would help secure more space for debate in the lead-up to and during the annual summit.

So far, an informal workshop for governments and NGOs to exchange views on the JTWP and the mechanism, and to push things forward has been organised from September 30 to October 2 in Sydney. 

How will the review of the Just Transition Work Programme affect the mechanism?  

One task for COP31 is to review the efficiency and effectiveness of the JTWP so far and to decide whether and how it will continue. 

For Laura Restrepo Alameda, advocacy officer at Climate Action Network Latin America (CANLA), the main positive aspect is that it will include a mapping of instruments, initiatives and processes relevant to just transitions under the UN climate convention, the Paris Agreement and among other UN entities. “It’s a resource that will enable us to assess the complementarity and coherence of the various tools available to support the implementation of a [just transition] mechanism,” she told Climate Home News. 

Not everyone wants the JTWP review and the work to launch a mechanism to feed into one another. Russia, Arab nations and a group of large emerging nations pushed for them to be separate – which they believe would make it easier to limit the scope of the mechanism – while the African Group defended joint work between the two processes.

According to Anthony Dane of Southern Transitions, a South Africa-based “think and do-tank”, governments also have varying concerns around the mapping exercise, which is being carried out by the UN climate change secretariat.

He noted in a recent webinar that some want to use it as a basis to argue that a lot is already being done on just transition and so the new mechanism does not need to offer much more, while others are preparing to argue the opposite, highlighting a lack of international cooperation and support. 

How Belém launched the Just Transition mechanism

For Dane, the mapping exercise also raises the bigger question of how to define the scope of “just transition” within the UN climate talks. 

So far, richer countries have favoured a narrower view that focuses on phasing out fossil fuels, while developing countries have pushed for a broader “whole of economy, whole of society” approach that encompasses issues like green industrialisation and sustainable development.

Russia and some other high-emitting nations do not want the JTWP or its mechanism to become a tool for imposing new green trade restrictions, while the European Union has rejected attempts to use it as a forum to dispute its new carbon levy on imports. These debates are set to rumble on.

What will the mechanism do and when will it start?

In Bonn, countries discussed the design features of the mechanism – that is, the elements, governance arrangements, structures and functions it should have. The outcome was an informal preliminary note compiling a range of views and possible options. 

While most country negotiating groups welcomed the document as a basis for further talks, Arab countries said it did not reflect their priorities, with Saudi Arabia insisting it had no formal status. 

“The mechanism must contribute to international cooperation between countries, serve as a guide, support countries so that they can develop just transition strategies, and act as a channel for accessing funding to implement projects within their territories,” said Mercure of FARN. 

But exactly what the mechanism should cover, and what it should not, remain a contentious subject for governments.

A just agricultural transition takes root in Brazil

For example, the Like-Minded Developing Countries – a bloc of more than 20 low- and middle-income nations including China and India – and the Arab Group appear keen to avoid any targets, requirements or conditionalities being imposed on them with regard to transitioning away from fossil fuels (TAFF). 

That contrasts with some Latin American and small island states that would like to see the mechanism used as a way of furthering global commitments already made in 2023 on TAFF and tripling renewable energy by 2030.   

Developed countries, for their part, do not want the mechanism to put too much responsibility on them to provide finance and other forms of cooperation. 

Some experts Climate Home News spoke to, meanwhile, called for the mechanism to lay out actions for different sectors – not just energy but also others like agriculture and heavy industries.

Sandeep Pai, senior lead for international energy transitions at Duke University, said the mechanism should focus on at least eight to ten high-emitting sectors, addressing how to support workers through the transition to cleaner ways of operating. But, he noted “talking about sectors was always an issue at the negotiations”.

Another issue important to civil society groups is that justice should be embedded in the process to operationalise what they have informally dubbed the BAM (short for the Belém Action Mechanism or, more recently, the Belém Antalya Mechanism). 

A banner calling for the establishment of a Belem-Antalya Just Transition Mechanism at the Bonn climate talks, on June 15, 2026 (Photo: IISD/ENB – Kiara Worth) A banner calling for the establishment of a Belem-Antalya Just Transition Mechanism at the Bonn climate talks, on June 15, 2026 (Photo: IISD/ENB – Kiara Worth)

“The key milestone between now and COP31 must be to define a structure for the BAM with clear governance, coordination and the inclusion of civil society,” said CANLA’s Restrepo Alameda. The network, which represents hundreds of NGOs, is calling for groups that are likely to be hit hard by the transition, such as workers and Indigenous peoples, to have a seat at the table.

Given the short time-frame until a decision to operationalise the mechanism is due to be agreed and adopted at COP31, experts say all these thorny issues are unlikely to be ironed out by then and further discussions may be needed to refine the form and functions of the new body.

CAN’s Rosemberg told Climate Home News that “an ambitious outcome” at COP31 would be to establish the mechanism with its key functions and modalities in Antalya, while setting up a transitional committee to speed up technical work and ensure the BAM is fully operational by COP32 in Ethiopia in 2027.

What is needed on the ground for a just transition?

The top-down nature of decisions taken at COPs generally do not reflect the specific situations of individual countries and communities on the ground – and this is particularly so when it comes to just transition.

Pai of Duke University contrasted India – where much of the transition will be about moving away from coal mining and coal-fired power stations – with countries that use relatively few fossil fuels like Costa Rica and will need to implement a very different set of changes.

He added that each country must define what a “just transition” means to them, according to their contexts and needs: is it about using less oil and gas, promoting green steel-making and lower-emitting buildings, or transforming some other high-carbon activity? The next step is to establish government bodies and policies to plan and drive the transition. 

COP30: Spain’s unions say just transition means renewing communities beyond jobs

“Global and broad declarations on a [just transition] mechanism are a good signal,” said Pai. “But we would be fooling ourselves if we think that just because something is getting declared, it will be implemented.”

When it comes to tackling dependence on coal, for example, Pai noted the difficulty of shutting down coal mines and replacing their role in local economies that tend to be heavily reliant on the industry for both jobs and revenues. According to the International Energy Agency, 3.1 million of the 7.8 million people working in coal-related activities in 2022 were employed in coal mining.

Workers load coal on a truck near an open-cast mine, on the outskirts of Dhanbad. (Amarjeet Kumar Singh / SOPA Image via Reuters Connect) Workers load coal on a truck near an open-cast mine, on the outskirts of Dhanbad. (Amarjeet Kumar Singh / SOPA Image via Reuters Connect) Why is finance the elephant in the room?

Finance – and finding more of it for climate action – has always been a bone of contention between developed and developing countries in the UN climate process, cropping up time and time again across negotiating streams, whether it’s the new goal for tripling resources for adaptation or filling the loss and damage fund.

In the corridors at Bonn, observers told Climate Home News that, for just transition, the discussions on the topic did not centre on setting up a new dedicated fund, but rather touched on how the mechanism could better connect available financial resources with just transition initiatives in countries.

The informal note on the new mechanism includes mobilising and facilitating “grant-based and non-debt-inducing finance” and channelling finance through North-South and other multilateral partnerships. It is unclear whether finance will be included in the final COP31 decision on the BAM. CAN’s Rosemberg has suggested a resource mobilisation taskforce could be set up to start identifying sources of funding.

An analysis by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) shows that, during the first year after mass layoffs, workers losing their jobs in energy-intensive industries – such as power supply, heavy manufacturing and transport – lose an average of 58% of their income, compared with 52% experienced in other sectors.

Pai flagged two challenges when it comes to funding just transitions: many large financial institutions don’t want to invest in low and middle-income countries because of their high-risk profile; and developing countries often lack a well-prepared pipeline of investable projects.

The Just Energy Transition Partnerships (JETPs) launched earlier this decade were an effort to overcome these barriers. The donor-backed initiatives, outside the UN climate process, mobilised billions of dollars from the public and private sectors to help several emerging economies, including South Africa and Indonesia, finance the transition to clean energy in an economically and socially fair manner. 

But the JETPs have run up against some difficulties, such as Jakarta abandoning its plan to shut down a major coal plant early, which was a key part of the original deal. 

Indonesia’s failing Just Energy Transition Partnership is a cautionary tale

With UN climate negotiations on finance seeing positions harden between developed and developing nations as donor governments struggle to meet existing targets, some observers believe talks on funding for just transition are unlikely to produce quick results in the form of hard dollars any time soon.

“Many of those who are asking for money don’t know what they’re asking for, and those who have the money don’t want to give. You can write a paragraph about finance [in the negotiations] but this fundamental reality will not change,” said Pai.

The post From Belém to Antalya – gains, gaps and challenges for a new Just Transition Mechanism  appeared first on Climate Home News.

Laurence Tubiana is CEO of the European Climate Foundation and was formerly France’s Climate Change Ambassador and Special Representative for COP21 in Paris.

The UN has released a report this week confirming what many people have feared: the world is going to pass 1.5C of warming.

At current emissions, the remaining carbon budget will be exhausted within roughly three years. We are heading into “exceedance” of the 1.5C threshold: a sustained breach of the Paris Agreement’s primary temperature goal before any possible return below it.

1.5C is the line we should not have crossed – and, once we cross it, the line we must quickly get back below, on what the UN Environment Programme calls an “overshoot, peak and decline pathway”.

• Sep 2, 2026 News UN sets out narrow path back to 1.5C warming after inevitable overshoot Leading scientists say warming must peak at 1.8C to be able to reverse course this century, but current government climate policies are way off track Read more
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Of course, climate risk is a spectrum: 1.4C is not safe, and 1.5C is not a sudden cliff edge. But the further the world moves beyond that level, the harder it becomes for communities and economies to adapt, and the greater the risk of more abrupt or systemic changes.

The importance of 1.5C

Some will argue that exceeding 1.5C means the Paris Agreement has failed, and that it is no longer a useful threshold. I disagree.

Before Paris, the world was heading for roughly 3.5C to 4C of warming. The UN now estimates that warming will reach a lower level of around 2.6C by 2100, due to policies implemented since Paris. That is still far too dangerous, but it is not the same world we were facing in 2015.

When we negotiated the Paris Agreement, 1.5C was not an arbitrary number. It was fought for by small island states and other climate-vulnerable countries because it represented a red line for their survival. Since then, we have witnessed the stark impacts of global temperature rises even in countries that did not consider themselves vulnerable, as seen with the devastating heatwaves in Europe this summer.

WHO issues new guidance on heat-health action plans, as El Niño sets in

The International Court of Justice underlined this in an advisory opinion, endorsed overwhelmingly by the UN General Assembly earlier this year, recognising 1.5C as the primary temperature threshold under the Paris Agreement and affirming that states must align their commitments with it. Overshoot does not move the goalposts. 1.5C remains the benchmark we must work to return to.

Lasting consequences of overshoot

But even as we fight to get back below 1.5C as quickly as possible, we now have to reckon honestly with what overshoot means. We are entering a period for which our societies, economies and institutions are not prepared. Even if overshoot itself is temporary, many of its consequences will not be. The longer it lasts, and the higher temperatures rise, the greater the lasting damage. We therefore need to limit its duration and magnitude.

The longer warming remains above 1.5C, the greater the risk of crossing tipping points in major Earth systems such as ice sheets, the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation, permafrost and tropical forests. Crossing them can trigger self-reinforcing changes that may prove irreversible even if temperatures later fall. We need to understand and monitor these systems more than ever. That requires sustained investment in climate science – just as funding is being cut in many places.

An overshoot pathway will also strain human systems. When a flood destroys a home, the damage is not undone because global temperatures later fall. Crop failures, missed schooling, debt and displacement can have lasting effects. Farms, cities, healthcare systems and insurance markets will all have to cope with risks they were not designed for, and risk facing “tipping points” of their own, such as financial panic when markets suddenly reprice risks they had underestimated. Infrastructure built today will stand for decades, so we need to design and plan for the climate risks it will actually face.  

From firefighting to future-proofing: Preventing wildfires must be the priority

Our priority must be to transition away from fossil fuels and rapidly cut emissions, including short-lived climate pollutants like methane. It traps around 80 times more heat than carbon dioxide over a 20-year period, and cutting it sharply can act as an emergency brake on near-term warming. Much of the methane from fossil fuel operations can be cut with existing technologies.

We will also need sustainable carbon dioxide removal, although its role will be limited: trying to use it as a substitute for emissions cuts would be prohibitively expensive at scale.

The radical options

The major risks of overshoot have led to proposals to explore active intervention in the climate system itself. Solar radiation modification (SRM) is the best-known example: reflecting a small share of sunlight back into space to reduce warming. Other proposals would target different parts of the climate and Earth systems, such as trying to stabilise glaciers.

These responses would bring us into further uncharted territory across Earth systems and nature, diplomacy and governance, technology and societies.

Such ideas are born of genuine concern about the major risks facing vulnerable countries and communities as temperatures rise. But even under the most favourable assumptions, these are tactics for managing some of the symptoms of overshoot, not a strategy for addressing its causes. Greenhouse gases would keep accumulating, oceans would keep acidifying, and many of the social and economic impacts of overshoot would remain.

EU warns on solar geoengineering but research debate grinds on

The more we learn about the complexity of the climate and Earth systems we are disrupting and how much uncertainty there already is, the clearer it becomes that full control is likely an illusion, and new interventions bring new complex risks. SRM, for example, could change regional climates, such as rainfall patterns or agricultural production, in ways that benefit some regions and harm others, with knock-on geopolitical risks.

Governance and research needed

None of this is an argument against research into these technologies. On the contrary, the risks they’re responding to are so extreme that we must explore all the options we might have. But we need to understand the potential effects and capabilities much better and from many more angles, including the political and social implications. Serious global governance is particularly urgent, alongside transparent research that is open to scrutiny.

But the fundamental elements of a strategy to navigate overshoot are already understood. The priority is still to rapidly cut greenhouse gas emissions to limit peak warming, protect people against the warming already locked in, and ensure technological innovation aligns with the public interest.

Overshoot is not just an engineering challenge. We need a full-scale response across societies, economies and political systems to prepare to navigate a more uncertain climate.

The post Keeping to 1.5C of warming is no longer possible – but we must still limit the overshoot appeared first on Climate Home News.

Even if you’re not wearing polyester now, it’s probably sitting somewhere in your closet — after all, it is the most ubiquitous fabric for textiles on Earth. Is that bad? 

Judging by social media, the answer is solidly “yes.” Influencers want you to know it’s a form of plastic, fashioned from melted crude oil or PET bottles and extruded into threads. That disgust factor (“ugh, I’m wearing plastic?”) might help explain why “polyester” is now trending as an insult on TikTok.

“Polyester lifestyle,” says the top comment on a viral video in which an 18-year-old imagines his oddly specific dream life — wearing blue-light glasses in a coffee shop while a Claude agent does half his job during lunch break; getting a call that he has to pack for a sudden business trip to Europe while watching the sunset from the tennis court — as a 1987 composite sketch of the Unabomber gradually fades into view.

There’s just one problem with the story that “polyester” is, as Mashable put it last month, “Gen Z’s new way to call you fake”: The term has already been used this way for about half a century. The Oxford English Dictionary gives examples from 1979 (“A gleaming brazen polyester clown”) and 1987 (“Clifton wears polyester suits and a polyester smile”). 

“TikTokkers just seem to be leaning into the ‘inauthentic’ and ‘low-quality’ edge of that meaning,” said Kory Stamper, a lexicographer and author.

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While it may be hard to imagine now, polyester was once sold as “miracle” fabric. Wrinkle-free, quick-drying polyester promised housewives liberation from the drudgery of ironing. The 1950s and ’60s were the era of “plastic fantastic,” when chemical companies promoted plastic and synthetic materials as convenient and durable. As polyester became less expensive, chemical companies ramped up its production, outpacing cotton starting in the ’60s.

As cheap polyester flooded the market, the novelty wore off, and it turned from “treasure to trash,” as the anthropologist Jane Schneider once wrote. The environmental movement was born on Earth Day in 1970, and awareness of pollution spread alongside a suspicion of artificial fibers. As hippie culture took off, people longed for a more authentic, “back to nature” kind of life. (It’s not a coincidence that people started using “plastic” as an adjective meaning superficial or insincere, too.)

As the ’70s came to an end, the shiny, synthetic men’s suits that once seemed modern now felt cheap and tasteless. In 1981, a John Waters film called Polyester played on the fabric’s tacky associations, starring a father in a polyester-clad suit who owns an adult movie theater. “Polyester and pornography — the fabric could hardly sink lower,” wrote Anneke Smelik, an emeritus professor of culture and history at Radboud University in the Netherlands, in a study detailing the cultural history of polyester.

That same anti-synthetic sentiment is back in force today. The vitriol isn’t exactly subtle: One TikTok influencer with a clothing brand said that polyester makes you “sweat like a dog and smell like f***ing shit.” (Those qualities were true of the polyester suits of the ’70s, but textile manufacturers worked to improve the sweat problem and polyester is widely used in athletic wear today, partly because it can be designed to wick sweat away from your skin.) Wellness influencers on both the right and the left warn about the microplastics shed by synthetic clothing; scientists are concerned about the health effects of exposure to PFAS and other toxic chemicals that are used to treat the fabric during production, in order to help it repel water and resist stains.

But the line between “synthetic” fabrics and “natural” ones like wool, silk, bamboo, and cotton is blurrier than you’d think, Smelik said. It’s not like rolls of cotton grow off the plant: The raw materials all undergo intense chemical processes in order to become the soft, huggable fabric we enjoy putting next to our skin.

There isn’t even an obvious winner from an environmental standpoint, she said. Growing natural fabrics requires resources like land and water: It can take more than 700 gallons of water to produce a single cotton shirt. The cotton industry was a major driver in drying up the Aral Sea in Central Asia, turning what was once the world’s fourth-largest lake into its largest dry lakebed. Polyester is less resource-intensive to make, but, as it’s fashioned from oil, it does generate more greenhouse gas emissions. A new report from the Apparel Impact Institute found that the global fashion industry’s emissions rose 7.5 percent in 2023 and 6.3 percent in 2024, in part because of the increased production of fiber, particularly polyester. The fabric’s durability also becomes a curse when you throw it away: Polyester breaks down very slowly, fragmenting into microplastics that persist in ecosystems for generations.

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There’s also consumer behavior to keep in mind: The perception that cotton is natural and better for the environment allows people to buy more clothes and not feel bad about it, because hey, at least I’m not buying polyester. The truth is that the most environmentally friendly solution is simply buying less and wearing the clothes you already have as long as you can. “Fast fashion remains fast fashion, and that is a huge problem,” Smelik said.

As good as the new generation of polyester insults are — including “Polyester Prince,” the new nickname for one prominent influencer who sells polyester clothes, and “polyester jester” to mock anyone wearing synthetic fast-fashion outfits — Smelik sees the current social media discussion around polyester as a regression to the 1970s. “It is so uninformed, and it leaves out all complexity,” she said. “You know, it becomes very polarized — like, ‘natural is good, and artificial is not.’”

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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Gen Z is using ‘polyester’ as an insult. It’s actually a throwback. on Sep 2, 2026.