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The agenda may change, but ultimately, they’re all about who owes what to whom.
Before it even began, the 29th annual United Nations climate conference, or COP29, was deemed the “Finance COP.” While the name is fitting, it’s also a little absurd.
It’s called the Finance COP because the main item on the agenda at this year’s conference, held in Baku, Azerbaijan, is to set a new annual goal for the amount of money richer countries should deliver to poorer countries to help them fight climate change and respond to its effects. The typically jargon-y name for this task, which the Paris Agreement says must be completed by 2025, is a “New Collective Quantified Goal,” or NCQG for climate finance.
As of this writing, negotiators are still hashing out a final dollar figure, as well as ancillary details like how much of the money should come in the form of grants versus loans versus private investment. It wasn’t until Friday, as the conference was supposed to be wrapping up, that leadership even put a number on the table. That initial number was $250 billion, a fraction of the $1 trillion in public finance that many developing countries have called for. Their reactions were unsurprisingly weary.
“It is incomprehensible that year after year we bring our stories of climate impacts to these meetings and receive only sympathy and no real action from wealthy nations,” Tina Stege, the Marshall Islands Climate Envoy said in a statement. “We are not here to tell stories. We are here to save our communities.”
That “year after year” bit is why it’s somewhat misleading to call this the Finance COP — that is, because every COP is about finance. I don’t mean that in a vague, every-climate-negotiation-is-really-about-money, way. I mean literally, every year, the issue of how much money developed countries should cough up, as well as what the money should be used for and what form it should be in, is intrinsic to the negotiations.
Three years ago in Scotland, at issue was the developed world’s failure to meet an earlier climate finance goal — a promise to deliver $100 billion to developing countries by 2020. It was also that year that developing countries finally got their proposal to create a new “loss and damage” fund to help the most vulnerable countries redress the destruction climate change has already caused, onto the agenda. The next two COPs, in Egypt and the United Arab Emirates, were largely focused on the mechanics of setting up this fund and getting more countries to contribute to it.
The annual gathering is like a carousel delegates clamber onto each November. They go round and round on the same handful of issues, rehashing the same arguments. Are countries’ current pledges ambitious enough? Can they up the ante? Can they get more financial assistance to do so? Can they get any closer to agreeing to stop using fossil fuels? Is there too much emphasis on stopping climate change, and not enough on adapting to it? Should China be held accountable to do more? Permeating all of these questions is the big one: What do countries like the U.S., which have done the most to cause climate change, owe the low-lying nations and emerging economies who have done almost nothing to contribute to the crisis but are most exposed to its effects?
Some years one or another issue is higher up on the agenda. By design, the conference follows a pattern of pledge and review. Countries make pledges one year, on finance or emission reductions or adaptation, review those pledges the following year, and then, ideally, get shamed into ratcheting them up the next year. In practice, this ends up playing out via meticulous fights over semantics, like whether countries “should” or “shall” do more. Though the climate plans have not yet been aggressive enough to cap warming below 2 degrees Celsius, let alone to 1.5 degrees, and the financial commitments have not yet risen to the true scale of the costs, each year the delegates do end up staggering off their horses in the final hour having made bigger, bolder promises.
I don’t point this out to detract from the importance of setting a new target for climate finance. While historically most countries have fallen short on even their inadequate promises, there will at least be a number on paper pushing them in an upward direction. But the idea that finance was more important at this conference than it has been at any other or will be next year is nothing more than a narrative device.
This year’s emphasis on finance is one of many weirdnesses that arise from the militantly procedural nature of these talks. Another example is the main event at last year’s conference, the “Global Stocktake,” a formal assessment of collective progress toward achieving the goals of the Paris Agreement. Did countries really need to perform this exercise to conclude they were lagging, when dozens of scientific reports are published each year on the topic? Was such a stocktake really necessary to get countries to agree that tackling climate change requires “transitioning away from fossil fuels,” a seemingly obvious conclusion the conference only formally acknowledged for the first time last year?
Perhaps. This year, a group of countries led by Saudi Arabia are trying to take back those essential five words, refusing to allow them to be reiterated in the conference’s final text. The outcome of each COP is always more a negotiation of political will than an honest, science-based compromise, and it may be useful for the conferences to cling to procedure and formality in an effort to rise above the ever-shifting geopolitical landscape.
Still, some think the procedures are ripe for change. A group of prominent global leaders and climate researchers published an open letter last week calling for reforms to the conference, arguing that the current structure “simply cannot deliver the change at exponential speed and scale, which is essential to ensure a safe climate landing for humanity.” They suggested prohibiting countries that do not agree with the need to move away from fossil fuels from holding the COP presidency, shifting from annual negotiations with big proclamations to more regular meetings focused on concrete actions, and creating a formal scientific advisory body to “amplify the voice of authoritative science.”
As my colleague Robinson Meyer wrote last year, the annual conference is “a pseudo-event, a spectacle that exists partially to be covered in the press.” The Paris Agreement does not govern by fiat but by an iterative process of “naming and shaming,” which, as Meyer wrote, “implies a press to name and a public sphere where the shaming can happen.”
But the banal, Groundhog Day nature of the annual climate talks make it difficult to keep the devastating stakes, which are ever rising, in the foreground. It is the leaders representing those most at risk, such as Cedric Schuster, minister of the Alliance of Small Island States, who repeatedly, desperately, try to keep those stakes in sight.
“After this COP29 ends, we cannot just sail off into the sunset,” Schuster said in a statement on Saturday, as the negotiations became increasingly tense. “We are literally sinking. Understand this — I am not exaggerating when I say our islands are sinking! How can you expect us to go back to the women, men, and children of our countries with a poor deal which will surely plunge them into further peril?”
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Though it might not be as comprehensive or as permanent as renewables advocates have feared, it’s also “just the beginning,” the congressman said.
President-elect Donald Trump’s team is drafting an executive order to “halt offshore wind turbine activities” along the East Coast, working with the office of Republican Rep. Jeff Van Drew of New Jersey, the congressman said in a press release from his office Monday afternoon.
“This executive order is just the beginning,” Van Drew said in a statement. “We will fight tooth and nail to prevent this offshore wind catastrophe from wreaking havoc on the hardworking people who call our coastal towns home.”
The announcement indicates that some in the anti-wind space are leaving open the possibility that Trump’s much-hyped offshore wind ban may be less sweeping than initially suggested.
In its press release, Van Drew’s office said the executive order would “lay the groundwork for permanent measures against the projects,” leaving the door open to only a temporary pause on permitting new projects. The congressman had recently told New Jersey reporters that he anticipates only a six-month moratorium on offshore wind.
The release also stated that the “proposed order” is “expected to be finalized within the first few months of the administration,” which is a far cry from Trump’s promise to stop projects on Day 1. If enacted, a pause would essentially halt all U.S. offshore wind development because the sought-after stretches of national coastline are entirely within federal waters.
Whether this is just caution from Van Drew’s people or a true moderation of Trump’s ambition we’ll soon find out. Inauguration Day is in less than a week.
Imagine for a moment that you’re an aerial firefighter pilot. You have one of the most dangerous jobs in the country, and now you’ve been called in to fight the devastating fires burning in Los Angeles County’s famously tricky, hilly terrain. You’re working long hours — not as long as your colleagues on the ground due to flight time limitations, but the maximum scheduling allows — not to mention the added external pressures you’re also facing. Even the incoming president recently wondered aloud why the fires aren’t under control yet and insinuated that it’s your and your colleagues’ fault.
You’re on a sortie, getting ready for a particularly white-knuckle drop at a low altitude in poor visibility conditions when an object catches your eye outside the cockpit window: an authorized drone dangerously close to your wing.
Aerial firefighters don’t have to imagine this terrifying scenario; they’ve lived it. Last week, a drone punched a hole in the wing of a Québécois “Super Scooper” plane that had traveled down from Canada to fight the fires, grounding Palisades firefighting operations for an agonizing half-hour. Thirty minutes might not seem like much, but it is precious time lost when the Santa Ana winds have already curtailed aerial operations.
“I am shocked by what happened in Los Angeles with the drone,” Anna Lau, a forestry communication coordinator with the Montana Department of Natural Resources and Conservation, told me. The Montana DNRC has also had to contend with unauthorized drones grounding its firefighting planes. “We’re following what’s going on very closely, and it’s shocking to us,” Lau went on. Leaving the skies clear so that firefighters can get on with their work “just seems like a no-brainer, especially when people are actively trying to tackle the situation at hand and fighting to save homes, property, and lives.”
Courtesy of U.S. Forest Service
Although the Super Scooper collision was by far the most egregious case, according to authorities there have been at least 40 “incidents involving drones” in the airspace around L.A. since the fires started. (Notably, the Federal Aviation Administration has not granted any waivers for the air space around Palisades, meaning any drone images you see of the region, including on the news, were “probably shot illegally,” Intelligencer reports.) So far, law enforcement has arrested three people connected to drones flying near the L.A. fires, and the FBI is seeking information regarding the Super Scooper collision.
Such a problem is hardly isolated to these fires, though. The Forest Service reports that drones led to the suspension of or interfered with at least 172 fire responses between 2015 and 2020. Some people, including Mike Fraietta, an FAA-certified drone pilot and the founder of the drone-detection company Gargoyle Systems, believe the true number of interferences is much higher — closer to 400.
Law enforcement likes to say that unauthorized drone use falls into three buckets — clueless, criminal, or careless — and Fraietta was inclined to believe that it’s mostly the former in L.A. Hobbyists and other casual drone operators “don’t know the regulations or that this is a danger,” he said. “There’s a lot of ignorance.” To raise awareness, he suggested law enforcement and the media highlight the steep penalties for flying drones in wildfire no-fly zones, which is punishable by up to 12 months in prison or a fine of $75,000.
“What we’re seeing, particularly in California, is TikTok and Instagram influencers trying to get a shot and get likes,” Fraietta conjectured. In the case of the drone that hit the Super Scooper, it “might have been a case of citizen journalism, like, Well, I have the ability to get this shot and share what’s going on.”
Emergency management teams are waking up, too. Many technologies are on the horizon for drone detection, identification, and deflection, including Wi-Fi jamming, which was used to ground climate activists’ drones at Heathrow Airport in 2019. Jamming is less practical in an emergency situation like the one in L.A., though, where lives could be at stake if people can’t communicate.
Still, the fact of the matter is that firefighters waste precious time dealing with drones when there are far more pressing issues that need their attention. Lau, in Montana, described how even just a 12-minute interruption to firefighting efforts can put a community at risk. “The biggest public awareness message we put out is, ‘If you fly, we can’t,’” she said.
Fraietta, though, noted that drone technology could be used positively in the future, including on wildfire detection and monitoring, prescribed burns, and communicating with firefighters or victims on the ground.
“We don’t want to see this turn into the FAA saying, ‘Hey everyone, no more drones in the United States because of this incident,’” Fraietta said. “You don’t shut down I-95 because a few people are running drugs up and down it, right? Drones are going to be super beneficial to the country long term.”
But critically, in the case of a wildfire, such tools belong in the right hands — not the hands of your neighbor who got a DJI Mini 3 for Christmas. “Their one shot isn’t worth it,” Lau said.
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to reflect that the Québécois firefighting planes are called Super Scoopers, not super soakers.
Plus 3 more outstanding questions about this ongoing emergency.
As Los Angeles continued to battle multiple big blazes ripping through some of the most beloved (and expensive) areas of the city on Friday, a question lingered in the background: What caused the fires in the first place?
Though fires are less common in California during this time of the year, they aren’t unheard of. In early December 2017, power lines sparked the Thomas Fire near Ventura, California, which burned through to mid-January. At the time it was the largest fire in the state since at least the 1930s. Now it’s the ninth-largest. Although that fire was in a more rural area, it ignited for some of the same reasons we’re seeing fires this week.
Read on for everything we know so far about how the fires started.
Six major fires started during the Santa Ana wind event last week:
Officials are investigating the cause of the fires and have not made any public statements yet. Early eyewitness accounts suggest that the Eaton Fire may have started at the base of a transmission tower owned by Southern California Edison. So far, the company has maintained that an analysis of its equipment showed “no interruptions or electrical or operational anomalies until more than one hour after the reported start time of the fire.” A Washington Post investigation found that the Palisades Fire could have risen from the remnants of a fire that burned on New Year’s Eve and reignited.
On Thursday morning, Edward Nordskog, a retired fire investigator from the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department, told me it was unlikely they had even begun looking into the root of the biggest and most destructive of the fires in the Pacific Palisades. “They don't start an investigation until it's safe to go into the area where the fire started, and it just hasn't been safe until probably today,” he said.
It can take years to determine the cause of a fire. Investigators did not pinpoint the cause of the Thomas Fire until March 2019, more than two years after it started.
But Nordskog doesn’t think it will take very long this time. It’s easier to narrow down the possibilities for an urban fire because there are typically both witnesses and surveillance footage, he told me. He said the most common causes of wildfires in Los Angeles are power lines and those started by unhoused people. They can also be caused by sparks from vehicles or equipment.
At more than 40,000 acres burned total, these fires are unlikely to make the charts for the largest in California history. But because they are burning in urban, densely populated, and expensive areas, they could be some of the most devastating. With an estimated 9,000 structures damaged as of Friday morning, the Eaton and Palisades fires are likely to make the list for most destructive wildfire events in the state.
And they will certainly be at the top for costliest. The Palisades Fire has already been declared a likely contender for the most expensive wildfire in U.S. history. It has destroyed more than 5,000 structures in some of the most expensive zip codes in the country. Between that and the Eaton Fire, Accuweather estimates the damages could reach $57 billion.
While we don’t know the root causes of the ignitions, several factors came together to create perfect fire conditions in Southern California this week.
First, there’s the Santa Ana winds, an annual phenomenon in Southern California, when very dry, high-pressure air gets trapped in the Great Basin and begins escaping westward through mountain passes to lower-pressure areas along the coast. Most of the time, the wind in Los Angeles blows eastward from the ocean, but during a Santa Ana event, it changes direction, picking up speed as it rushes toward the sea.
Jon Keeley, a research scientist with the US Geological Survey and an adjunct professor at the University of California, Los Angeles told me that Santa Ana winds typically blow at maybe 30 to 40 miles per hour, while the winds this week hit upwards of 60 to 70 miles per hour. “More severe than is normal, but not unique,” he said. “We had similar severe winds in 2017 with the Thomas Fire.”
Second, Southern California is currently in the midst of extreme drought. Winter is typically a rainier season, but Los Angeles has seen less than half an inch of rain since July. That means that all the shrubland vegetation in the area is bone-dry. Again, Keeley said, this was not usual, but not unique. Some years are drier than others.
These fires were also not a question of fuel management, Keeley told me. “The fuels are not really the issue in these big fires. It's the extreme winds,” he said. “You can do prescription burning in chaparral and have essentially no impact on Santa Ana wind-driven fires.” As far as he can tell, based on information from CalFire, the Eaton Fire started on an urban street.
While it’s likely that climate change played a role in amplifying the drought, it’s hard to say how big a factor it was. Patrick Brown, a climate scientist at the Breakthrough Institute and adjunct professor at Johns Hopkins University, published a long post on X outlining the factors contributing to the fires, including a chart of historic rainfall during the winter in Los Angeles that shows oscillations between wet and dry years over the past eight decades.
But climate change is expected to make dry years drier and wet years wetter, creating a “hydroclimate whiplash,” as Daniel Swain, a pre-eminent expert on climate change and weather in California puts it. In a thread on Bluesky, Swain wrote that “in 2024, Southern California experienced an exceptional episode of wet-to-dry hydroclimate whiplash.” Last year’s rainy winter fostered abundant plant growth, and the proceeding dryness primed the vegetation for fire.
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Editor’s note: This story was last update on Monday, January 13, at 10:00 a.m. ET.