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A Q&A with Villanova’s Stephen M. Strader on the legacy of Hurricane Andrew, unsustainable development, and why building codes alone aren’t enough.

In around 12 hours, Hurricane Milton is set to make landfall within miles of Tampa Bay, a region that is home to more than 5 million people. Once a sleepy retirement community, the area has seen a major development boom in recent years fueled by Millennials and Gen Zers seeking the perks of coastal living; it was the 11th fastest-growing city of its size in the U.S. as of this spring and has been expected to continue to grow at nearly twice the rate of the rest of the country over the next five years. A third of those residents, including many of the newcomers, live in low-lying neighborhoods now under urgent evacuation notices due to the threat of “unsurvivable” storm surge, which could rise up to 15 feet.
The development boom that has made Tampa Bay so desirable is also why it’s particularly vulnerable. In an analysis of Hurricane Ian — the most expensive storm in Florida’s history, which struck just south of Milton’s projected track in 2022 — the re-insurance company Swiss Re found that if the storm had struck in the 1970s, it would have caused a third to a half as much damage. Simply put: You can’t adapt your way out of a hurricane problem.
If there is anyone to talk to about the vulnerabilities unique to Tampa Bay, it’s Stephen M. Strader, an associate professor and hazard geographer at Villanova University. Our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
You shared an image on Twitter of the explosive growth in the Tampa Bay area between 1940 and 2024. Why does this make the region vulnerable to a storm like Milton? Is it just about there being more people there?
When we think about disasters, we think of the intersection of three components: a violent event, like what we have with Milton; vulnerability, or what types of people could be in the path, which could be related to racial divides, age, and gender norms; and what a lot of my work focuses on, exposure.
Exposure is just the number of people or things that we care about — businesses, schools, and things like that — that are subject to losses if an event occurs. Florida is a great example of rapid urbanization since the 1900s, and it’s rapid development in a very hazard-prone region.
It can be easy for outsiders to sit back and wonder why anyone would buy a house on the water or on a barrier island near Tampa.
There are a lot of factors that come into play when you think about where we develop and why we develop certain locations. One of the biggest pressures that we see is that it’s desirable land: In the short term, people want to live near the water. It’s beautiful! People don’t think necessarily about the risk that comes with it because they’re too focused on their dream, which is to live near the ocean.
The other side of that is, from an economic standpoint, people see it as an opportunity to have businesses and to build condos. Developers see the land and think, “How much could I buy this for and sell it for with homes on it?” This really started back with Carl Fisher, who was famous for building the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. He was a thrill-seeker, but also a businessman and developer, and he loved to go to South Florida — which is now Miami Beach, and then was swamps and mangroves and not developed at all. And he thought, Hmm, this would be a great place for people to visit for vacations and experiences. He slowly started filling in the wetlands with sand. And that’s the history of Florida's development: It continued because this was very valuable land.
There is a lot of socioeconomic pressure to develop in these areas, but we’re also starting to see it change. Those pressures are lessening because you have insurance industries now and events like this year after year.
There is another issue in Southwest Florida, which is that many of the homes were constructed before building codes were updated, right?
I tend to do a lot more work on the manufactured housing side. Before 1974, all manufactured homes were called mobile homes, and there wasn’t really a standard. Then, in 1974, the United States Department of Housing and Urban Development came in and said, “We need to increase the standards,” and they did.
Fast-forward to 1992 and Hurricane Andrew, and they realized these codes were not strong enough. Many people lived in manufactured homes that were destroyed by Andrew, which was a very windy hurricane. We think hurricanes are wind threats because of Andrew, but hurricanes are water threats, and most deaths occur because of that water. Andrew was the opposite.
Between 1992 and 1994, they updated building codes for manufactured housing, and actually, along the coastline, Florida has some of the strongest codes for manufactured homes in the country. A lot of the areas that will be affected by Milton will have those strong standards. But many homes were also grandfathered in if they were built before that time.
That’s just one type of housing. My guess is that when you have a lot of rapid development since the 1990s — well, I have some questions about structural integrity since building codes can be strong but they might not be followed. And we sometimes don’t know until afterwards. A lot of what is being built are condos or McMansions — it’s basically, How fast can you build them, how cheap can you build them, and how high can you sell them? And they look great until their performance is put into question.
Insurance companies are starting to see this and ask, “How do we retrofit structures?” Structure-wise, though, I think Tampa is in a decent spot. The problem is, the water is so powerful that it’s not going to matter.
What kinds of conversations do you think Floridians should be having about development or potential redevelopment after Milton?
I’m a huge proponent of resisting the urge to build right back — the reason being that’s how you get repetitive losses. The hard part is, with a lot of insurance, if you have it, you only get provisions to build back the way you were. You don’t have the ability to improve. So what I end up telling people is, sometimes these disasters provide an opportunity to assess what we need to do from a planning standpoint. This is unsustainable development, and not just because of hurricanes, but because of rising sea levels and the stress on the environment. And unfortunately, a lot of these developments were built on top of wetlands and marshes and mangroves that used to protect the island areas as natural barriers.
The hard part is that people’s emotions are very strong after disasters, and they immediately want to return to how things were. That’s why you see people picking up the pieces the day after a storm, sometimes even when they’re injured. So we have to resist the urge as a group, and say, maybe this isn’t the time to think about rebuilding here.
Many wetland restoration projects in Florida are doing that very thing: reclaiming the environments that protected people inland. But on the other side you have developers and builders and local economies that rely on people coming to these areas, and that pressures people to come right back. Then you end up with a situation of repetitive losses and that’s why FEMA has been losing money over the years — it’s not so much that we’re putting money toward disasters but that we’re not getting value out of it, because it’s so much more likely for there to be impacts because of that exposure growth. Look at what happened after Helene and what’s going to happen with Milton: We’re splitting resources between the two. But we’re doing the best with the tools we have when there’s pressure on both sides, and considerations both economic and safety.
Is there anything else people should know about the geography of Tampa or the development risk there?
This storm is going to be different than other storms, and that’s because of the direction and intensity of it. The one thing we have to remember is that all that development — and everybody, for the most part, who isn’t 100 years old — has not experienced a hurricane of this magnitude in their life. That means everyone has the cognitive bias to say, “I’ve been through hurricanes before and was fine.” That is probably not going to be the case with this event; no one has been through this before.
What’s worrisome to me is that the trajectory of the hurricane is changing. A subtle shift north or south by 20 miles could mean a big difference for the Tampa region — if you have the right side of the hurricane push water into the Bay, it’s no different than 10 people jumping into a hot tub. The water level goes up and forces all that water into a smaller region, which is going to lead to more storm surge in Tampa Bay, Clearwater, and the St. Pete area. I don’t want to call it a “perfect storm,” but if you push all that water in there, you’re going to flood people in a way that hurricanes they’ve been through before never got close to. And I worry, if it goes south, about Fort Myers and the areas that were hit hard by Hurricane Ian. So it’s multilayered.
The good news that I’ll bring up is that we’re reeling from Helene, which means people have it in their brains about how bad this can be, which is probably causing more people to evacuate than normal. We have a problem with disaster amnesia in places where a hurricane hasn’t happened in a long time so “it’s not going to happen again.” And we forget. I remember Hurricane Katrina and what it did to New Orleans. It still has effects, but the students I’m teaching now weren’t even alive when it hit. These memories are short, and many people in Florida today weren’t there 30 years ago or 20 years ago. The only good thing to come out of Helene is that people are now aware of what can happen.
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A letter from Day 2 of New York Climate Week.
Utilities sit at an uneasy intersection between private company and public service. Typically, it’s quite a profitable place to be: Investor-owned utilities get to be monopolies in order to provide electric service in a particular geography and then charge government-approved rates. But that also places them on the front lines of the consumer and political backlash to rising electricity prices.
Those prices are likely to continue to rise. The energy advocacy group PowerLines estimates that in 2025, electric and gas utilities requested some $31 billion worth of rate hikes. Spending on that scale translates into higher rates for consumers as utilities pass along their development costs to their rate base. S&P Global projects that electric and gas utilities will undertake $1.3 trillion in capital expenditures through 2030.
Utility executives are as much politicians as they are operators, as their entire corporate existence depends on a government relationship. So it was no surprise that Calvin Butler, chief executive of Exelon, the utility holding company with around 11 million customers spanning from the Chicago area to the Atlantic Seaboard, was speaking at an event on the sidelines of the United Nations General Assembly hosted by the foreign policy think tank the Atlantic Council on the same agenda as the foreign ministers of Spain and Romania and the prime minister of Syria.
As all this was going on, the White House and Congress appeared to be in the end stages (or at least the beginning of the end stages) of hashing out a deal on permitting reform. While the investor-owned utility trade group the Edison Electric Institute has been publicly supportive of a permitting deal since last year, several industry and policy insiders tracking the deal have told me this week that utilities’ relative political weakness is one reason why a deal might pass.
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That’s because an effective reform to transmission and permitting — especially to interregional transmission planning — could threaten utilities’ spending on serving their own individual territories.
“They are gonna get smoked in the Senate permitting deal,” one energy industry figure following the negotiations told me. When I asked why utilities aren’t opposing a deal, the insider told me, “They need too much from [the Department of Energy] the next few years. They can’t oppose this.”
(I sent a request for comment to EEI, which didn’t respond by press time.)
Butler didn’t weigh in permitting reform — I submitted a question at the event, but alas, it went ignored — but he was straightforward about the importance of maintaining good community and political relationships in the face of rising prices.
“We have to be connected to talk about siting of transmission, distribution lines, or substations. It’s what we do. I always say this: All politics is local,” Butler said. When it comes to local politics, Butler said that Exelon is at the “forefront of advocating responsible growth, responsible build-out, and community benefits agreements that benefit those communities.”
Butler also assigned some blame for the electricity price backlash to data centers and the technology industry, pointing to “people’s concern with AI, people’s concern that they’re going to lose jobs.” The tech industry, he said, “lost the narrative up front, and it’s tough to get it back.”
In the minds of the public and local government figures, however, utilities are very much a part of that story. Several governors or utility regulators in territories served by Exelon have opposed their rate increase requests, especially Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro, who demanded that Exelon subsidiary PECO withdraw a rate case, in a move he claimed saved ratepayers $510 million. North Carolina regulators also rejected a more than $500 million gas project proposed by Duke Energy, calling its price “staggering.”
When it came to how utilities affect everyone in their territory through the prices they charge, Butler was more direct and less cheery than his talk about community benefits. When asked if Exelon could “strengthen the grid” without raising prices, Butler plainly said, “No, you can’t.”
“We’re investing $41.7 billion,” he added. “I’m a part of that increase.”
An investor argues that climate tech should learn to stop worrying and love the robots.
For three years the entire conversation about artificial intelligence in the climate tech and clean energy communities has been about demand. This, of course, is reasonable. The scale of what the world is building right now has no precedent. Amazon, Google, Meta, and Microsoft together spent more than $420 billion on data center infrastructure in 2025, a number dwarfed by the $745 billion they’re expected to spend in 2026. The McKinsey Global Institute puts the global data center buildout through 2030 at $7 trillion — more than the New Deal, the Marshall Plan, and the Apollo program combined.
About 15% to 20% of that unfathomable spending is going exclusively to power the data center scale-up. By 2030, data centers will consume between 3% and 5% of all electricity generated on Earth.
The carbon cost is worse than the financial cost. Google's total greenhouse gas emissions rose by more than 50% in 2024 compared to five years earlier, even as the company worked harder than any of its peers to source clean power. In Armstrong County, Texas, the company is working with developer Crusoe Energy on a nearly gigawatt-scale natural gas plant to power its Goodnight data center campus.
But here is something else to consider: In 2024, Google ran a 17-week trial on 2,400 transatlantic American Airlines flights using a system designed to predict and avoid the formation of contrails. Contrails are the ice crystal trails left by jet engines that account for roughly a third of aviation's total warming impact — more than the impact of the fuel burning. The AI model rerouted flights slightly to avoid the atmospheric conditions that produce persistent contrails, and in doing so, cut contrail formation by 62% without any meaningful increase in fuel burn.
Around the same time, Microsoft used its Azure Quantum Elements platform to sift through 32 million possible chemical candidates for new battery chemistries, and in 80 hours narrowed the field to a handful of promising compounds that could reduce the amount of lithium required by as much as 70%. Meta, working with Georgia Tech, built one of the largest open-source datasets for discovering better sorbent materials for direct air capture, the process of pulling carbon dioxide directly from the atmosphere. Researchers ran nearly 40 million quantum mechanics calculations across 8,400 candidate materials, looking for those that could grab CO2 efficiently without also absorbing water from the air.
All of these things happened in the past two years. They were largely invisible to consumers. Yet they produced meaningful, even transformative climate benefits. Crucially, they cost almost nothing compared to the AI infrastructure buildout. They were side projects, pursued by teams whose quarterly numbers did not depend on their product’s success.
I argued two years ago in an interview with Heatmap that the steep financial and carbon costs of the AI buildout are worth it, and that if we stick with it, the power of AI will quickly yield innovative solutions to address climate change. But the opposition to data centers and AI deployment has created a frustrating paradox. A sector that has spent years describing a technology primarily as a threat — to the grid, to society, to humanity itself — will not, at the end of that time, be in a strong position to invest in what that technology can build. The sector wrote itself into the role of the regulator and critic at precisely the moment it should have been adopting the role of the main customer.
In the first half of 2026 alone, investors put $407 billion into AI startups, Pitchbook calculated. Climate tech, over the same stretch, did fine: $26.1 billion, according to CTVC’s insights report, up 55% year-over-year, the strongest first-half investment numbers since 2022. But low-carbon data centers alone took 34% of it, and two of the sector’s biggest deals were both for data center infrastructure. We essentially took an historic year of climate tech investment and used it to become AI's electricity supplier.
This is definitely a net positive, and critical to a clean hyperscale movement. But there’s more to be done.
Roughly one climate venture dollar in five went to something AI-enabled in 2025, which is a real increase from previous years. But out of $40 billion total climate tech investment last year, that amounts to only about $8 billion. Set that against the $242 billion that went into AI startups in a single quarter — the world's entire annual investment in AI for climate is roughly what AI startups raised every three days at the start of this year.
The three breakthroughs I mentioned at the beginning of this article are just the beginning of what AI can do for the climate — in many cases they’re the easy breakthroughs. They’re prediction, search, and optimization problems where the AI is essentially a faster pair of eyes.
The larger prize is what my colleagues at Obvious Ventures and I have come to call “generative science.” These are models trained in chemistry, physics, and biology that can propose genuinely novel arrangements of atoms rather than merely sorting through existing ones. This is where we unlock nuclear fusion, carbon-free cement and steel, and grid systems that balance themselves. We can make cancer vaccines and drugs optimized with a single patient’s DNA. If we ever make it to another planet, it will be because of AI. The same is true if we ever learn to sustainably feed 10 billion people.
This is not a speculative category anymore. A series of startups are making meaningful breakthroughs in these kinds of technologies. In Cambridge, England, a materials science company called CuspAI is building foundation models for chemistry to find materials for direct air capture of carbon dioxide. In California, Periodic Labs, founded by the researcher who led materials and chemistry at Google DeepMind, raised a $300 million seed round at a $1 billion valuation to run autonomous synthesis labs hunting for superconductors that work at higher temperatures (its valuation has since risen dramatically). And Zanskar, a company Obvious Ventures has backed, trained its models on subsurface data and a century of drilling and satellite records to find geothermal resources the industry had already written off. Last year, it identified a blind site in western Nevada with no geysers or surface expression that has the potential to generate over 100 megawatts.
Zanskar, however, is an exception. None of these other technologies were backed by climate funders. CuspAI and Periodic Labs have received financing from sovereign wealth funds, chipmakers, generalist growth firms, and individual investors who made their fortunes in software.
I’ll be the first to acknowledge that building a climate tech company isn’t easy. Investors often have to make two bets at once: that the science will work and that, if it does, there will be a viable business on the other side. Unlike chatbots from the frontier AI labs that have grown to $1 trillion valuations in less than five years, meaningful climate tech breakthroughs take longer to deploy, and even longer for their impact to put a meaningful dent in climate change.
But companies like CuspAI, Periodic, and Zanskar are proof of what’s possible when we point AI and climate tech in the same direction.
There are three main things we can do differently to continue that progress, and we can start each of them today.
As with any economic shift, aligning the incentives gets us much further than any fleeting policy commitment. When alignment happens, it creates a flywheel where AI powers research in climate tech, whose breakthroughs get fed back into AI to run models more cleanly and efficiently.
Jakob Uszkoreit, the former Google engineer who co-authored the transformer architecture that powers today’s leading large language models, described to me the paradox this way: AI needs carbon to get off the ground, but once airborne, it becomes the mechanism that solves the carbon problem. The question is whether we achieve liftoff before the end of the runway.
New research finds that Europe’s 2025 heat wave was made measurably worse by greenhouse gas emissions since the Paris Agreement.
Europe’s record-breaking heat wave in 2025 would have been a third of a degree Celsius cooler if not for emissions released just since the Paris Climate Agreement was signed in 2015, researchers found in a new study published Tuesday by the American Geophysical Union’s Geophysical Research Letters.
The research marks a step forward for attribution science, which has traditionally worked to tie extreme events such as heat waves and floods to climate change writ large. Now, using artificial intelligence trained on climate models, researchers have managed to link extreme weather to a specific subset of emissions.
“Not only does every little bit of emissions count, but the amount of emissions released since 2015 significantly increased the temperature of [the 2025 European] heat wave,” Jared Trok, the study’s lead author and a PhD student at the Stanford Doerr School of Sustainability, told me. “Before this paper” — which found 99-in-100 odds that human-caused emissions since 2015 increased the severity of the 2025 heat wave — “we couldn’t really make a claim to that extent.”
Though the record-breaking 2026 heat wave fell outside the scope of the study, the 2025 heat wave was no joke either — temperatures crested 115 degrees Fahrenheit in Spain and Portugal, and more than 16,000 died across the continent. Trok’s findings about a relationship between the past decade of emissions and intensified heat also held true for Europe’s hottest week in every year since at least 2021.
While a third of a degree Celsius might not sound like a lot — “it’s smaller than our ability to actually sense,” Trok acknowledged — there’s a growing body of scientific literature that suggests even incremental increases in temperature can be deadly. “It’s nonlinear,” Trok added. “For every additional increment of temperature, the impacts on heat-related mortality are even larger than the previous increment.” Though Trok and his colleagues did not look at mortality specifically, the reasoning indicates dozens if not hundreds of people could have died due to that fraction of a degree.
The study highlights the advances in the specificity and speed of attribution science, which a quarter of a century ago struggled to distinguish the influence of all historical emissions on any individual event. But it also suggests something grim: The past decade also overlaps with the biggest global efforts toward decarbonization. “Even if the decarbonization goals are achieved, these results as well as others suggest near certainty that the extremes, particularly extreme heat, will continue to intensify,” Noah Suresh Diffenbaugh, a Stanford climate scientist and the paper’s senior author, told me.
Paired with a separate commentary also published today by the U.S. Climate Collection, a joint project of AGU and the American Meteorological Society, the research adds an urgent underline to the need for research like Trok’s to be incorporated into state and local policymaking. Many of the institutions that existed to do so in the U.S., however, have collapsed or been actively dismantled by the second Trump administration.
The Climate Collection formed in the void that followed the forced breakup of the sixth National Climate Assessment (and is made up of many of its authors), and argues that the NCA did more than just good rigorous science — it also helped translate that research into a reliable springboard for policymakers.
The U.S. Climate Collection aims to compile an open-access collection of research papers that “lays the groundwork for future national and subnational assessments of climate risks and solutions in the United States.”
The group’s first paper serves as “a call to our colleagues to meet that need and the charge that has been given to us by society to produce the science” necessary for policymakers and other groups to “make better decisions,” Melissa Kenney, one of the commentary’s lead authors and director of research and knowledge initiatives at the University of Minnesota’s Institute on the Environment, told me.
In the past, the formal NCAs have helped inform everything from New Hampshire flood risk management plans to city- and state-level climate policies, the Climate Collection writes in their commentary. (They also set expectations: The last NCA required the involvement of 500 authors, 250 technical contributors, and synthesized more than 8,200 studies, meaning the Collective likely couldn’t replicate the rigor and scope even if it wanted to.) The Climate Collection specifically singles out attribution as an area of priority.
“Compounding extremes and cascading climate risks are increasingly overwhelming our legacy policies and infrastructure,” Kenney said, adding that “being able to understand the impact of these compounding extremes is really critical in a number of communities to be able to make smart, multi-decadal decisions like infrastructure choices.”
But as Trok’s research shows, even assumptions about the climate of 2015 are out of date. Investments in adaptation are a small fraction of the total dollars spent addressing climate change, and as Diffenbaugh stressed, the new paper is just the latest “of a number of studies that highlight that we can expect further acceleration of impacts from extreme events.”
The U.S. Climate Collection doesn’t intend to fill the gap left by the collapse of NCA6 (nor could it, its authors point out, given that it’s a self-organized volunteer group). But its call for synthesis papers of smaller scopes could give policymakers grounds to make decisions pulled from rigorous, peer-reviewed research as the world changes all around us. “These types of assessment reports are one of our greatest professional obligations as scientists,” Kenney said. “Most people will not go and read hundreds of scientific papers to be able to understand what we know and what we still need to know.”
“But,” she added, “there’s a real need for us to be able to provide the information” — before it becomes old news, too.