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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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In seven years of owning an electric car, I’ve done practically no maintenance. My 2019 Tesla Model 3 has gotten a new set of tires and windshield wipers, but because an EV doesn’t require oil changes or many of the other occasional chores that come with gas cars, that’s about it.
The one thing I have had to fix is the battery, and no, I don’t mean the big one that makes the car go.
Twice in those seven years, I’ve replaced the car’s 12-volt battery. This is the toolbox-sized unit that’s familiar to millions — it’s what the phrase “car battery” used to mean back before electric vehicles. Lots of new or aspiring EV drivers may not even realize their car has a second, smaller battery borrowed from combustion days. But this crucial holdover — the most recycled object on the planet, by the way, at a rate of more than 100 million annually — has already been a source of annoyance for EV engineers and drivers.
The reason behind the weird setup is straightforward. Despite the fact that EVs are effectively giant batteries on wheels, they need a backup source to operate the power windows and doors. If you’re in a car accident that disables the main battery, for instance, you need power to the doors to escape, and also a way to disconnect the high-voltage battery. Thus, the old-fashioned 12-volt battery squirreled away deep inside the car to protect it during collisions.
It’s not just a matter of backup power, either. A large, high-voltage battery would have to step down its electrical output for applications other than pushing a car down the road; it’s simpler to power them with a 12-volt battery and use the big unit to recharge the smaller one. After all, legacy carmakers have decades of experience building this kind of electrical system for gasoline-powered cars. Some EVs also use the 12-volt setup to disconnect the high-voltage power supply when the car is simply parked for a long time.
All this makes solid engineering sense. It also means that a sleek, modern EV is reliant upon the clunky car battery of yesteryear. Some drivers, including those in new Kia EVs, have said they can’t drive their cars even though there’s plenty of juice in the big unit because something went wrong with the 12-volt. As one Reddit commenter wrote: “It seems absurd to design a car that can run out of electrons and not be able to start while it is carrying 70 kWh of energy in a giant battery.” Yet that’s exactly the reality.
There are a few reasons why. As InsideEVs has noted, the rugged old 12-volt keeps getting more and more responsibility. Nowadays, the constant cellular connectivity of modem EVs — as well as features that can be used while the car is parked, such as security systems that tap into the vehicle’s exterior cameras to monitor the surrounding area — can cause a continuous drain on the 12-volt battery. That requires the car’s big battery to “wake up” and recharge the smaller one, which not only bleeds the vehicle’s driving range while it’s sitting still but also causes lots of recharging cycles for the 12-volt, prematurely aging the small battery.
Rivian had notorious problems from this issue for the older R1T and R1S and had to engineer a fix. Hyundais and Kias, meanwhile, have had longstanding issues with their Integrated Charging Control Unit, the system that recharges the 12-volt battery, that have caused a variety of recalls and headaches widely documented in online posts and videos. Chevy and Toyota have endured their own growing pains trying to make a low-voltage electrical system work well inside an EV.
But the car companies are getting smarter. Rather than duplicating what works in gas cars, more of them are building EV-specific systems with this application in mind. For example, the 12-volt in an EV doesn’t need to provide the big single burst needed to start up a gas engine, but it does need to be able to survive being subjected to more recharging cycles. In other words, it’s not that using these batteries in modern EVs is a bad idea — we just need to be smarter about how.
Perhaps EV builders one day will engineer away the old battery. Rivian, for one, has filed a patent for an electrical architecture that would work without a low-voltage battery at all. But those workarounds are a long way out. For now, even the most futuristic-feeling electric cars are stuck with the same kind of battery your dad had to jump-start in the church parking lot that time you left the AC on and the engine wasn’t running. My big, high-voltage battery might keep running forever, even as its capacity continues to diminish. But inevitably, I’ll need another small, dumb battery when this one goes kaput.
GOP lawmakers know climate change is real. But they lack political incentives to do anything about it.
The New York Times recently profiled former Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist and his increasing engagement on climate change. Many of the online comments accused him of hypocrisy. Why, they asked, did he only become concerned about climate change after leaving Congress?
It’s an understandable question.
I have spent the better part of a decade discussing climate change with Republican members of Congress and can see a frequently overlooked part of the answer. During my hundreds of one-on-one conversations with Republican senators and representatives, almost none of them deny that climate change is occurring. Most understand the science well enough, and many acknowledge privately that it presents serious long-term risks.
They don’t lack knowledge. They lack political incentives.
Members of Congress have finite political capital. Every day they must decide which issues deserve their attention. Naturally, they devote their time to the issues that voters, donors, activists, staff, and party leaders tell them matter most.
Politics is a marketplace of incentives. For decades, climate advocates have devoted their efforts to changing Republicans’ minds, but have devoted little effort to changing the incentives for Republicans to act.
The political ecosystem for Democrats could not be more different. Democrats are surrounded by organizations that continually reinforce the importance of climate policy. Environmental groups, philanthropies, labor organizations, advocacy organizations, academics, campaign donors, think tanks, and congressional staff all create an environment in which climate engagement is expected and rewarded.
Republicans experience almost none of that.
When I was quoted in the New York Times article, I described the “eco right” as “a lonely place.” I meant it literally. There are remarkably few conservative organizations whose primary mission is helping Republican elected officials develop serious climate policy. Few donors make climate engagement a condition of support. Few advocacy groups reward constructive leadership. Few congressional staff have access to a deep bench of conservative climate experts. Climate is far more often presented as a political liability than a leadership opportunity.
In that environment, addressing climate change is rarely a priority. This largely explains what puzzles many observers — that Republican leaders often become noticeably more outspoken about addressing climate change after leaving office. The science has not changed. Their incentives have.
Freed from primary elections, fundraising pressures, and the constant competition for legislative attention, they’re able to think about problems whose consequences unfold over decades instead of election cycles.
That observation leads to an uncomfortable conclusion for those of us who want stronger climate policy: Persuading Republicans that climate change is real is not just unnecessary, it’s unproductive. They know it’s real. The more important task is building the institutions that make climate engagement a priority. That means investing in conservative policy organizations, developing Republican congressional staff expertise, supporting Republican governors and state legislators, encouraging business leaders to engage, creating donor networks that reward constructive center-right leadership, and giving Republican members credible partners they can trust.
In other words, we need to make the eco-right a much less lonely place.
Building institutions requires capital, both political and financial. Today, the overwhelming majority of climate-related political spending — whether by advocacy organizations, political action committees, or philanthropically supported campaigns — flows to Democratic candidates and causes. It’s understandable. Democrats have generally been more supportive of climate action, and donors naturally want to reward those who stand with them.
But rewarding allies isn’t the same as expanding the number of them.
If the objective is durable climate policy rather than simply electing more Democrats, then the current allocation of political spending deserves reconsideration. Congress writes laws, and lasting legislation almost always requires bipartisan support. A movement that invests overwhelmingly in one party shouldn’t be surprised when the other party lacks champions, expertise, and political incentives.
Climate philanthropists, advocacy organizations, and political action committees should explicitly seek to create Republican allies by committing a more significant portion of their electoral spending to Republican candidates. This support would send a powerful signal throughout Republican politics that constructive engagement on climate change will be rewarded. More Republican candidates would respond to those incentives, and the universe of viable partners would expand.
For Republicans, the greatest opportunity lies in primary elections. While general elections determine which party governs, primaries determine what kind of Republicans and Democrats will govern. Donors should identify Republican candidates who are willing to engage on a variety of climate-related topics — from adaptation and resilience to market-based policies that reduce emissions to energy innovation — and help them succeed. The objective isn’t ideological purity. It’s to demonstrate that constructive climate leadership is politically viable within today’s Republican Party, and to give those candidates the confidence that they aren’t alone.
Over time, this approach would accomplish something today’s funding model cannot. Rather than simply rewarding an existing coalition, it would create a larger one. It would produce more Republican members who see climate engagement as compatible with conservative principles. Climate change would still be a scientific and economic challenge, but politics would no longer preclude addressing it.
Rather than increasingly evident climate change adding to political division, it could drive both parties to act. America’s biggest policy achievements have generally occurred when a president elevated an issue as a national priority and Congress responded. Tax reform, welfare reform, civil rights, and other major agreements all required presidential leadership before they produced durable bipartisan legislation.
Climate policy has not yet reached that level. While voters increasingly care about it, it does not determine presidential elections or dominate governing agendas.
The closest climate change has come to being a top-tier issue was when President George H.W. Bush signed the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change in 1992, but that was before addressing climate change became so partisan. More recently, President Joe Biden included clean energy tax credits in the Inflation Reduction Act. That modest success is noteworthy in part because it rode upon legislation to address inflation, a top-tier voter issue — and because the provisions were largely repealed less than three years later. Until climate change becomes a presidential-level issue — one that candidates in both parties believe they must address — Congress is unlikely to devote sustained attention to it.
That day will come. And when that moment arrives, the quality of the legislation will depend on the work being done now. If we want bipartisan climate policy tomorrow, we need to build bipartisan political capacity today.
The climate movement has spent decades rewarding allies. The next several decades should be spent adding more. Politics follows incentives more than information. If we want Republicans to lead on addressing climate change or at least become those allies, we must stop just trying to persuade them and start investing in the institutions, incentives, and people that make it possible.
Current conditions: Tropical Depression Two is set to strengthen into Tropical Storm Bertha as the system widens over the Gulf Coast from Texas to Tampa Bay, Florida • Temperatures will top 112 degrees Fahrenheit in Khartoum, the capital of war-ravaged Sudan • Canadian wildfire smoke may have largely cleared in the Northeastern United States, but nearly 900 blazes are still burning, and Chicago is still under an air quality warning.

Andy Burnham, the new leader of the British Labour Party and the likely next prime minister of the United Kingdom, has vowed to uphold a contentious ban on exploration licenses for oil and gas drilling in the North Sea. While deputy party leader Lucy Powell told the BBC on Sunday that fossil fuels from the North Sea would remain part of Britain's energy mix, the so-called “king of the north,” who previously led the industrial metropolis of Manchester as its mayor, has instead stuck by the party’s original plan. “If they don’t reverse the ban on new exploration then the industry will be very unhappy indeed,” one industry source told the Financial Times. The decision comes after rumors had swirled that Burnham may support increasing domestic fossil fuel production in a bid to bring down energy prices. In a post on his Truth Social network, Trump wrote: “The People of Aberdeen, in Scotland, are dancing in the streets because the new Prime Minister, Andy Burnham, has stated that he will be opening up, all the way, the invaluable North Sea Oil!”
Scotland is, on the other hand, getting more of Trump’s least favorite energy source. The American president’s antipathy toward offshore turbines, so goes the lore, began with an unsuccessful bid to block a project he considered unsightly off the coast of his golf course there. Last week, Renewables Now reported that offshore wind developer Ocean Winds secured the Scottish government’s approval for a 2-gigawatt offshore wind farm called Caledonia, the name Romans gave the area of Britain that ultimately became Scotland and its frontier with England. Located 25 miles off Moray Firth, the project is poised to begin construction in 2030.
In the U.S., the Trump administration has limited plans for carbon removal facilities. In Canada, as Emily has written, Prime Minister Mark Carney has opened the door to direct air capture companies looking for a new home base. But in the European Union, Brussels is already weaving carbon removal into the bloc's carbon-trading market. The EU’s highest governing body, the European Commission, proposed allowing carbon removal into its EU Emissions Trading System for the first time. “Under the current rules, companies cannot use carbon credits of any kind to comply with the regulations,” Emily wrote last week in a piece previewing the proposal. “But as 2040 grows closer, the EU plans to rely on carbon removal to offset some of the residual emissions from industries that are the most difficult to decarbonize.” For now, the scheme will be limited to direct air capture and bioenergy with carbon capture and sequestration.
Last month, New York Attorney General Letitia James headed a group of Democratic-led states in a lawsuit challenging the Trump administration’s deals to kill offshore wind projects, as my colleague Emily Pontecorvo has written. Now many of those same blue states are seeking to join private developers’ litigation seeking to thaw President Donald Trump’s freeze on approving wind projects. Last week, the states filed a motion to intervene on behalf of wind companies that accuse the administration of unfairly targeting their businesses. The states argue, according to Bloomberg Law, that the halt to federal permitting “pushes up electricity costs” and “hurts their attempts to curb fossil fuel emissions.”
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Claude-maker Anthropic is set to lease computing power for its artificial intelligence data centers from Meta, making what The New York Times described as “a potential step toward a new AI for the social networking company.” Under the deal, Anthropic would pay the Facebook parent company $10 billion over two years, in monthly increments. The agreement is roughly a third the size of the deal that the AI giant signed with Elon Musk’s xAI in May for $45 billion of computing power over three years. That deal has drawn blowback given the vast arrays of gas turbines that power xAI’s biggest data center, Colossus, which is the subject of an air pollution lawsuit filed by the NAACP. As for Meta, insiders Heatmap talked to at the end of last year put it in the bottom of hyperscalers based on its decarbonization efforts. One social scientist told us, “Google is the best, Meta is the worst. Evil corporation.”
Russia’s state-owned nuclear company has at least 18 new nuclear projects underway at home, Rosatom announced. The Kremlin-owned company said the projects are in “various stages of implementation” throughout Russia, and don’t count the more than two dozen under construction overseas in places such as Bangladesh, India, and Turkey. In a speech published in the company’s in-house magazine and shared with World Nuclear News, Rosatom Director General Alexei Likhachev said the firm aims to increase revenues to $51.3 billion by 2028 — a nearly 18% increase from this year. Improving profits, however, means reducing costs by 5% that same year.
Meanwhile, the Kremlin’s nuclear regulator, Rostekhnadzor, has issued licenses for the first two proposed units of the new Kola nuclear station in northwest Russia, near Finland. The plant is expected to begin construction next year, NucNet reported, and ultimately include four VVER-S medium-capacity pressurized water reactors.
Tesla has a fierce new competitor in the European market. The Chinese automaker Xpeng just released its compact L03 crossover. The starting price in the German market, $40,700, undercuts the Tesla Model Y’s $44,480. The vehicle, per InsideEVs, is the first Chinese car to be fully integrated with Google Maps.