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On August 9, 2023, the smoke finally cleared in Lahaina.
The scene was shocking. In the course of just a few hours on the afternoon of August 8, winds had fanned a dry grass fire on the northwest coast of Maui into an inferno that trapped fleeing residents and left more than 100 people dead and the city in ashes. “We understand that recovery will take years,” Kaniela Ing, the national director of the Green New Deal Network and a seventh-generation Indigenous Hawaiian, told me when we spoke in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy. “And as that recovery unfolds, we want to make sure that the people, the communities, are actually empowered to rebuild themselves — that we don’t open the door for disaster capitalists.”
Since then, Ing and other community leaders have put in the work. Over the past year, their group, Lahaina Strong, has tried to empower the community and challenge the power structures they say contributed to the confluence of factors that made the fire possible.
“We’re all about the community arm — grassroots power, and coalitions,” he told me this week. “Unfortunately, our groups are the same groups that have had to respond to climate disasters like Hurricanes Maria, Harvey, Sandy, and the Paradise fires. There’s always something, and it’s getting more and more frequent.”
On the anniversary of the fire, I spoke to Ing about how other communities can learn from the Lahaina model, the victories organizers secured to ensure a better future for native Hawaiians and locals, and how to ride the momentum forward into November. Our conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity and brevity.
It’s been almost a year since we last spoke; at that time, you’d just arrived in Maui from your home on Oahu after the fire. What happened after that?
I don’t think there had been a clear model of best practices for how to respond. So when [a climate disaster] happened in my backyard, it was like, “Okay, let’s learn from all the responses and organizing traditions that we’ve studied and been trained on” — from the Civil Rights era to the mutual aid of the Black Panthers and tenant rights and welfare organizers, to the modern efforts of the Alinsky-type ACORN model, to the Sunrise model, which is momentum-based. But how do you draw from everything at once?
That is where Lahaina Strong came from. Because this is where I grew up, we knew which community leaders would be stepping up. But it’s not common for everyone to work together — they can be on different sides of different issues. So we convened all of them — mostly those we call kupuna, the older generation of elders. We started coordinating the responses of our leaders and immigrant churches, the heads of canoe clubs and governmental departments, Indigenous leaders, and pro-surfers, because that’s what the community here looks like. And what came of it was a few younger leaders — Millennials, so young for our community — were given the elders’ blessing and told, “It’s time for y’all to lead.”
There was Pa’ele [Kiakona], who was a server at a restaurant, and Courtney [Lazo] and Jordan [Ruidas], who were expecting mothers, and they’re the ones who really blew it up. I raised some money to get them on a salary and train them, but they were already community leaders in their own right. So the question was, “How do we maximize their power?”
The first thing we did was needs assessments. Everyone lived in a hotel, but many of the more established charities were opening up in malls 13 or 14 miles away. But our team had iPads and lived in the hotels, too, so while more established groups were getting 100 or so folks signed up, we were getting thousands every day because they were neighbors.
Yeah, you have to be there.
Right, and they all knew each other. We were working on a team with Salesforce — Marc Benioff was helping us back then — and we could figure out people’s needs and direct them to services. There are so many services, but people just lost their homes; they don’t know where to go. So that was the job.
The last question was, “Would you want to get involved down the line with the big decisions that the government will have to make about the priorities of the rebuild?” So once the council started holding hearings about the rebuilding and the policies of reopening and tourism, we were able to turn out hundreds of people instantly. We seized the momentum. We won unanimous support from the council for delaying the reopening of Lahaina to tourists, and we did a big petition delivery to the governor. The governor wasn’t supportive of us at the time, though, and we didn’t ultimately win that one.
From there, it was, “What else do we need?” We needed to house people; that was the main thing. There was also a government guy, Kaleo Manuel [who had been on the state Commission on Water Resource Management until a land developer accused him of delaying water resources during the fire], who we demanded to be reinstated, and we won that. We also had a demand for a billion dollars in direct aid; we won that. But the housing thing was a longer-term flight and went through the legislative session this year. We did this thing called Fishing for Housing, which involved the occupation of Kā’anapali Beach.
I saw your video about that!
That occupation was rough because we lived on a really sandy beach. And it was big. A lot of people came out. But the local news covered it pretty much daily, and it raised a lot of sympathy. We were educating tourists and raising money.
With that, we were able to form a historic partnership. Pa’ele’s uncle is an activist who wants to return water from the hotels to the communities and restore public streams. The unions generally don’t like that kind of stuff in Hawaii, but we were able to bring in ILWU, the hotel union here, and Local 5, another hotel union, which hadn’t partnered with ILWU since 1940. When we came to the legislative session, it was like, “Okay, we have real power now.” The governor came around and committed to passing the bill.
Our theory was that we had to raise a ton of money for direct relief; that was the most important thing, getting direct monetary aid to people. But it was not going to be enough; we weren’t going to raise $10 billion. We could buy one house if we raised a million and a half. Instead, we did this through a [501(c)4 social welfare organization], where you can advocate and contest power where it matters. And we were able to win 50,000 homes instead.
What’s next?
The next steps are on the climate front. The Inflation Reduction Act is a good step; building and electricity, we’re also on track. Agriculture and transportation on a national level are where we need to fill the gaps. Why is Maui growing mono-crops like sugar and coffee for people thousands of miles away? Why can’t we feed our own people? And transportation — when the fires hit, everyone was stuck because of the one-way-in, one-way-out road. Those issues are pertinent not only on the disaster, resiliency, and community infrastructure levels, but also on the mitigation side.
People are also excited about the possibility of microgrids or community-owned energy systems. When we initially had community hubs, members were using Star Link or small solar systems, and locals were like, “Wow, why can’t we do this everywhere?” It’d be way cheaper than fixing the grid at this point.
We have a blank slate to build the future we need. And we’re going to be up against a lot of powerful opponents in the next 10 years.
When we spoke last year, you talked about how rebuilding after the fire was an opportunity to ensure that the people came first and that the forces that contributed to the problem were pushed out of power. Has that effort been successful?
It’s ongoing. Power has many forms: There are the institutional forms, like CEOs and politicians, but there are the shadows — how ideas are organized, industry association gatherings — that are harder to crack. It’s a chess game, and we’re all trying to stay a step ahead.
I think that’s what is critical about our work. If we were to stop, if we could no longer provide our organizers with salaries, they’d have to go back to working two service jobs, and they wouldn’t have the time to compete with full-time lobbyists.
You mentioned other climate disasters early in our conversation. What advice would you give to people in other communities about incorporating mutual aid and holding corporate powers accountable after a catastrophe?
If you come out right away and say, “Hey, this is a climate disaster!” then everyone is like, Oh, an activist. But if you just come out and help and earn people’s trust — that’s what it really takes. Listen to folks.
The thing about climate action and climate solutions is that they have been so polarized over the last few years. I think it’s been moving in our favor. Generally, the population supports us. But those who don’t are much more vocal than they were 10 years ago, and that matters because as soon as they start speaking up, the less political people are just like, “Keep me out of this.” So we have to be careful about how we approach these communities. They’re not thinking about climate; they’re thinking about how to feed their family and how they will get their kids to school or if school is even available. You have to meet them where they are.
Then you go from there. You start to have conversations with them, and they will support getting the polluters out and not being taken advantage of by corporate utilities. You don’t have to talk to them about climate like we always do among advocates; you shouldn’t. If you want to build power in a community, you’ve got to have a different approach. These people, their power is ultimately that they’re survivors, not activists. The public doesn’t perceive them as having an agenda other than just surviving and showing up for their community.
There’s still a lot of work to be done. How do you plan to keep up the forward momentum heading into this fall and the election season?
Visibility and outreach. There’s that old saying that politics is downstream from culture, and our group has been really political, especially during the legislative session. So we’re trying to show up for the community in more direct ways. Today, we paddled with the canoe clubs to honor the first anniversary of the fire. We’re showing up in these more community-based ways so we grow in cultural power, too — not just as an advocacy group, but as a holistic community.
Do you think anything has been missing from the media narrative about Lahaina?
Some of the media that came out today was like, “A year later, people are still without homes.” But if you look at the numbers, the per capita investments from the federal government, and the commitment from FEMA — I mean, it wasn’t great at first, I’ll admit that, but we’ve won quite a bit. We’re winning. The momentum is on our side, and I think it’s important for folks to understand that. They have to feel like it’s worth it and that there’s hope to keep going. I know it’s not the sexiest media narrative and it’s easier to draw criticism, but this is the rise of self-determination. The survivors, to me, are the real story.
And it’s going to take a long time. The fact that it’s like, “Oh, we can’t rebuild a year later.” It was still toxic just a few months ago! There’s debris everywhere. The focus should be less on charity and more on the change and how the power structures have shifted. That’s been really positive.
Do you feel optimistic about the Harris-Walz ticket heading into this fall?
I do. Many reporters have asked me, “Why Harris and not Biden?” Politics is all about coalitions; our movement did a lot of work to become part of the Biden coalition, which was great. But Big Oil was also a part of the coalition he needed to win, so there was always that tension, from my perspective, during his presidency. But with Harris, we’ll have the opportunity to build a dual coalition — perhaps with us and labor, and not Big Oil.
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Director Josh Fox on his latest film, The Welcome Table, plus Shakespearean comedy and the New York Knicks.
After images of oil-slicked waterfowl and marching protesters, there is perhaps no visual more representative of the fossil fuel crisis than the flaming faucet in Josh Fox’s 2010 documentary GasLand. The film, which investigated how the fracking boom pollutes local communities, memorably included a scene of a man lighting his kitchen tap water on fire as methane spewed out through the contaminated water line. As one reporter wrote several years after its initial release, GasLand was the film that made “fracking” a household word in the United States.
Over 16 years and about a quarter of a million more American oil and gas wells later, the climate crisis caused by human use of fossil fuels has grown ever more acute. The emissions from burning those hydrocarbons have made the weather more extreme and unpredictable, of course, but they’re also reshaping the human landscape. In 2021, a team of international scientists published a report warning that a third of the world’s population, some 3.5 billion people, may be forced to leave their homes over the next 50 years due to the increasingly hot and unstable climate.
Even as it’s become more critical to make room for these new climate refugees, anti-immigrant politics have gone mainstream around the world. Studies have shown that both Republicans and Democrats become more xenophobic after learning about climate migration, while the annual refugee admission cap is now just 7,500 in the U.S., down 85% from its peak of 50,000 during the first Trump administration.
This week, Fox returns with a new documentary, The Welcome Table. In the film, which will be released on HBO, he travels around the globe, visiting communities in decline — places where the physical catastrophes and political climates have converged to make it impossible to continue living. But as he and I discussed in our conversation below, this story is not a tragedy; rather, Fox aims to answer how we can set the table and embrace neighbors who’ve lost their homes. And here’s the good news: It involves a lot of fun.
Our conversation has been lightly edited and condensed.
Reportage on climate migration almost always focuses on the people who are migrating. What struck me about your documentary was its emphasis on the other subject in this relationship — the people and communities who either receive or exclude the refugees. Can you tell me how you arrived at that starting point?
Well, I’ll tell you a funny story. I first started working on this in 2019 because I was so outraged at the policy of child separation. I went down to El Paso — which you see in part of the movie — to investigate issues of the border. I originally thought of the movie as The Border Table, where we were going to put a table on the border for people to come to from both sides, and we were looking for a section of the border that didn’t have a wall.
I quickly realized that the issues around the border were not my wheelhouse — it is its own subject — and I wanted to focus more broadly on the climate. I was doing an event for Bernie Sanders’ 2020 campaign where I was called to go to Columbia, South Carolina, with Nina Turner, Dr. Cornel West, and Bernie to talk about water issues. My flight came in, then Dr. West’s, and it was like 10 at night. We got in a rental car with Heather Gautney, who’s also an amazing activist. There was no place to eat — everything was closed — so we’re sitting in the back of a rental car, myself and Dr. West, and eating McDonald’s, and he’s like, “What are you working on?” And I said, “Well, we’re working on this film called The Border Table.” He goes, “Oh, well, you know, James Baldwin’s last book was called The Welcome Table, but nobody’s ever read it. He never finished it.” And I thought: The Welcome Table, The Welcome Table… That’s interesting, it’s a better title.
Then I was down in New Orleans, and I went to one of my favorite clubs and saw John Boutté. John and I immediately hit it off. He knew my work. He signed one of his records, and lo and behold, I look on the record, and there’s the song: “The Welcome Table.” Immediately I thought, Well, this movie has to start with John Boutté. From the moment I met him, I felt that there was this weird destiny that was happening.
I said, “John, I want you to sing this song to an empty table on the top of the levee, and at the end of the movie, you’re going to sing the song with 1,000 people at a 1,000-foot-long table, and we’re going to show the Welcome Table as this symbol of togetherness and generosity.” Because my question was, What’s the opposite of a wall? What’s stronger than this xenophobia, this racism, this hate, this militarization? Is there anything stronger than that fascist ideology? And I realized that a wall on its side can be a table. The wall is just a metaphor.
So The Welcome Table is essentially a movie about a song. It’s a movie about imagining a future where we can sing and not get tired, where we’re in a beautiful city and have a place at the table.
In a 2023 interview, you described The Welcome Table as a Shakespearian comedy. I’m curious if you still feel that way and can explain it?
All climate movies are tragedies. They’re about the tragic flaw of this civilization, how we’re all doing ourselves in. A comedy is where everybody gets married at the end. That’s what happens at the end of As You Like It, Twelfth Night, The Two Gentlemen of Verona. At the end of Hamlet, there’s just bodies all over the floor.
To me, that table with 1,000 New Orleanians celebrating, waving handkerchiefs, second lining, having the band — it is a sort of marriage, right? I mean, at every wedding in New Orleans, you have one of those bands. To me, it’s a marriage of true minds; it’s a marriage of our communities; and it’s a question of finding our solidarity and our togetherness. The idea is that we have to be bound to each other.
It’s also a hell of a lot more fun.
You note that climate migration would be the greatest mass migration in human history, with a third of the world projected to move in the next 50 years. But the Welcome Table is already pretty crowded at the end of the movie. How do you navigate that tension in climate storytelling — saying both “this is urgent and happening now” but also “it will also get worse”?
My last film on HBO was How to Let Go of the World and Love All the Things Climate Can’t Change [in 2016], in which we trace the path to 2 degrees Celsius and how dangerously close we were at that time. Now things have gotten worse. We include a climate science update midway through The Welcome Table, which is very dire.
But I think this is probably one of the first movies to deal with climate change as it’s happening now. It’s not saying, in the future this will happen, like An Inconvenient Truth. No, this is a fire right now. We’ve never had conditions that are this hot or this dry. This is a giant mega-storm, back-to-back Category 5s flattening the Virgin Islands. This is a famine that’s been going on for seven years because it hasn’t rained in northern Kenya. This is landslides where you have a whole year’s worth of rain drop in 12 hours and the mud buries whole neighborhoods alive.
This is climate change happening to us right now. It’s not predicting a dire future; it’s showing the one that we predicted 10 years ago.
A recurring pattern in the film is that climate migration doesn’t necessarily mean leaving one’s country, but could mean moving a town or neighborhood or two over. Can you talk a little more about how this was still a traumatic upheaval for your subjects, and why you include those stories alongside the more traditional images of refugees on boats or at the southern border?
If you think about New Orleans after Katrina, they lost half their population to elsewhere. And there is no place like New Orleans anywhere on earth. So you are losing something really fundamental to who you are. And, you know, it’s not as if when Paradise, California, burns down, they’re like, “You can set up your place in Chico! We have tons of empty houses and buildings and money and love for you!” No, it’s: Go [expletive] live in your car. So the idea that you’re a climate refugee doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ve had to cross borders. It just means you’ve lost everything.
I wanted to make the point that the Convention on Refugees defines refugees as people who are oppressed because of politics or because of identity or economic hardship or political violence, but it doesn’t include climate change. And it really should. Climate change should be a reason you can declare asylum, because climate change also makes all of those problems way worse.
I was extremely moved by the fact that many of the people extending their hands to refugees in this movie have faced their own forms of rejection and exile, like the members of the queer mutual aid network that comes together organically in Brazil. But how do we get through to the people who are comfortable in their lives? Yes, there are many empathetic, good people, but I also worry there are many scared, small-minded people, too.
I don’t know how to answer that question in general, but I do know from experience that when we were working on fracking issues, it was the moms who were terrified that their children were going to be poisoned by the chemicals in the water and in the air. Those moms were the backbone of our organizing and our audience, and they were fierce in defending their children’s futures. I think what has to be gotten across is that same generational obligation.
One of the things that we cut out of the film, for time, that I’m sad about is: In Paradise, California, and in Boulder, Colorado, where we covered those fires, the rent goes up 300% after the fire. So your $800 apartment is now a $2,400 apartment. But also, nobody should move to those places. They’re going to be contaminated for decades. Everything you have in your house is basically toxic because of the oil industry, and it becomes 10 times more so if you light it on fire, then pour fire retardant sprays on top of it, which are also carcinogens. Then it rains, and all that’s in the water table. There will be cancer clusters in those fire neighborhoods if people move back into them. It’s so serious that I won’t go to one of those places for more than a couple of hours, and I’m wearing a respirator mask.
And we’re not being upfront about that. Get parents involved and understanding that the legacy of their children means that they have to stop using fossil fuels, and we have to dismantle this system of fascism to do it. They are interrelated. Oil is the blood of climate change, but it’s also the blood of this extractive capitalist system.
Do you have any final thoughts you want to leave with our readers?
I would like to see this 1,000-foot-long Welcome Table brought to cities across America and around the world. It’s not just a scene for the movie; it’s a template for our activism. We’ve got to get really good at welcoming people, because either we’re going to be on the move ourselves because we’ve lost our homes due to climate, or we’ll be welcoming those who’ve lost their homes. One way to do this is to practice singing together, hanging out together, and having a good time.
If there’s anything this week in New York City, and my beloved New York Knicks, have gone to show, it’s that collective joy is possible. We don’t need to win a basketball game to have that, though, and that’s what The Welcome Table shows: Collective joy for the sake of collective joy. Coming together to celebrate migration, to celebrate the crisis, to celebrate how, as human beings, we have this ability to sing, dance, and move — boy, that’s a fun time. Our side is more fun. A wall on its side can be a table, and it’s time to envision a different future.
On Michael Bloomberg’s big climate gift, SMRs in Ohio, and the consequences of a “Super El Niño”
Current conditions: Temperatures in the United Kingdom should break 100 degrees Fahrenheit this week • Heavy rain and thunderstorms are forecast to hit the East Coast later today, potentially affecting World Cup matches in Philadelphia and New Jersey • Thousands were left without power after storms in Oklahoma.
In the early hours of Monday morning in Switzerland, mediators from Pakistan and Qatar announced that talks between the United States and Iran had ended after making “encouraging progress.” Now, a “High Level Committee” will attempt to iron out the specifics of a deal over the next 60 days, covering tense issues such as nuclear enrichment, sanctions, and Israeli military actions in southern Lebanon. The statement also said that a “communication line” had been set up “to avoid incidents and miscommunication with the aim of safe passage for commercial vessels through the Strait of Hormuz.”
The agreement followed several days of confusion over the state of the waterway. While Iran declared the strait closed over the weekend in protest over Israeli actions in Lebanon, a U.S. military spokesman told The New York Times, “Iran does not control the Strait of Hormuz. Traffic continues to flow, and U.S. forces are monitoring the situation to ensure this remains the case.” Meanwhile, Iranian officials have said their own exports are receiving waivers from sanctions, and that a U.S. blockade is no longer in effect. “Oil and petrochem exports are waived, blockade lifted, some frozen assets released, and major reconstruction & development plan launched for Iran,” Iran’s foreign minister Seyed Abbas Araghchi posted on X Sunday evening.
Initial results in Colombia’s presidential election showed Abelardo de la Espriella, the right-wing candidate allied with Donald Trump, winning office against his leftist opponent, Ivan Cepeda, an ally of outgoing President Gustavo Petro. While the campaign largely revolved around issues related to drugs and crime, de la Espriella has also pledged to support the country’s fossil fuel industry, including support for fracking and expanding overall oil and gas production. Petro, by contrast, “sought to wean the Andean nation off fossil fuels by halting new drilling licenses and seeking to ban fracking,” Bloomberg reported. Petro’s environmentalist bent chilled outside investment in the oil and gas sector, which is still Colombia’s No. 1 exporting industry.
China’s Commerce Ministry targeted two favored U.S. rare earth companies with export controls on Monday, Bloomberg reported, adding American mineral producers MP Materials and USA Rare Earth to its export control list. The two companies were among 10 added to the list, Chinese state news agency Xinhua reported. “Organizations and individuals from any country or region are prohibited from transferring or providing dual-use items originating in China to the above-mentioned entities. Relevant ongoing export activities shall be immediately halted, according to the statement,” Xinhua said. Earlier this month, the Pentagon added several Chinese companies to its own list of companies known to support the Chinese military. These included tech giants Baidu and Alibaba, as well as the electric vehicle company BYD. This designation comes with restrictions on the companies’ commercial relationships with the Department of Defense.

The two companies have been the recipient of billions of investment and largesse from the federal government as the U.S. seeks to build up a rare earths mining and processing industry that’s no longer reliant on China, which dominates the sector. MP Materials has received a combination of direct investment, financing, and purchase commitments for its neodymium-praseodymium production and output. While the Trump administration has shown little interest in catalyzing the wind and electric vehicle sectors (both of which use neodymium-praseodymium oxide in their electric motors), the defense industry is a major customer of MP Materials’ rare earths products. USA Rare Earth has received over $1 billion in federal investment.
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It’s not just the risk of a West Coast hurricane — the return of the El Niño weather system could portend a “mini-Dust bowl” in the Midwest. AccuWeather forecasters warned over the weekend that there’s a 70% chance already-present El Niño conditions in the Pacific Ocean could develop into what’s known as a “Super El Niño,” characterized by ocean surface temperatures 2 degrees Celsius hotter than average. Though El Niño is notorious for sending extreme rain into the southern U.S., it can also cause drier conditions further north. Combined with the extremity of this year’s projected temperature anomaly, that could lead to a multi-year drought in the Midwest. “The stronger the upcoming El Niño conditions get, the longer it takes for weather patterns to return to their historical average,” AccuWeather senior meteorologist Paul Pastelok explained. Already several Plains and Mountain West states are in “extreme drought,” and the El Niño could set the table for even more dry weather to come.
Michael Bloomberg, founder of financial news service Bloomberg LP and a prolific climate philanthropist, announced a $285 million commitment on Sunday “to help clean energy scale fast enough to power the world’s energy systems,” according to a press release from his charitable organization, Bloomberg Philanthropy. The gift is aimed at accelerating wind and solar deployment both in developed and emerging markets, with the goal that the two technologies should “generate more than half” of electricity in countries responsible for 70% of global emissions. The money will support trade groups for the wind and solar industry, data collection and analysis efforts to demonstrate wind and solar’s capabilities and costs, technical assistance to set up electricity markets in a way that encourages wind and solar deployment, and working with investors and financial institutions to “help unlock private capital for clean energy infrastructure.”
The substantial gift toward two mature technologies stands in contrast to other climate and philanthropic investment approaches (like, say, Bill Gates’) that focus on “breakthrough” technologies that are not currently widely deployed, or may not even exist at all. Bloomberg’s gift comes after Gates closed his main climate giving vehicle’s advocacy and policy shops early last year, and later issued a memo outlining a “strategic pivot” to focus more on global public health and extreme poverty.
Developer Elementl says it will build a new 1.5-gigawatt nuclear plant 100 miles outside Columbus, Ohio. The twist: It’ll be powered by small modular reactors. The proposed plant would features several BWRX-300 SMRs made by GE Vernova Hitachi Nuclear Energy, a design that has also been favored by Ontario Power Generation at its first-on-the-continent SMR facility. Elementl said in a press release Friday that it expects to hear back from PJM Interconnection later this year about interconnection, which would set up the facility to be in service by 2034.
Editor’s note: This article has been updated to correct the location of a potential “mini-Dust Bowl.”
An active Pacific cyclone season plus El Niño-warmed waters could produce a first-of-its-kind West Coast storm.
Among hurricane watchers, “I” is the scariest letter in the alphabet. Since 2001, the ninth named storm of the year in the Atlantic Basin — which usually arrives around the mid-September peak of the season — has historically been the worst of the worst. Ida. Irma. Ivan. Isabel.
This year, there might not be enough storms for “I” ever to become a threat. With just eight to 14 named storms expected, the 2026 Atlantic hurricane season could very well conclude with the formation of Tropical Storm Hanna.
The Eastern Pacific season, however, is a different story. Having already ticked off Amanda, Boris, and Cristina since its season started on May 15, the basin could blow past “I” — also its most retired initial — and go as deep as Xavier, the 22nd name on this year’s list. And the more storms there are in the Eastern Pacific, the more chances there are for a “gray swan” event — in this case, the historically unheard-of but scientifically possible impact or even landfall of a hurricane in California.
“We know there’s a chance, but because of the rarity in the historical record, particularly in the recent 100 years, people lack understanding of this type of event,” Laiyin Zhu, a climate scientist at Western Michigan University and the co-author of a new paper in Nature Climate Change about the increasing risk of cyclone-related impacts on southern California, told me.
Blame El Niño for all the fuss this year. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration formally announced its return last week, and though the atmospheric phenomenon has the effect of suppressing hurricane formation in the Atlantic basin by increasing wind shear and knocking would-be hurricanes off-kilter, the case is different on the left coast. Record and near-record warm waters serve as an engine for the cyclones that form in the Eastern Pacific, a pocket that extends as far as the 140th meridian west, an otherwise obscure latitude that cuts south from Alaska’s Yakutat Bay into the open ocean.
And there is no relief in sight: “With global warming in the next several decades, we are expecting a strong increase of sea surface temperature with the magnitude of about 2.7 degrees Celsius, and this will provide a lot of energy to the tropical cyclones on the East Pacific side of the state,” Zhu said.
Though about as many hurricanes form on average in the Eastern Pacific as in the Atlantic, trade winds push storms in the latter basin westward toward the Caribbean nations, Latin America, and the southeast and eastern United States, sparking excitement, attention, and the odd scandal when they threaten population centers. Storms in the Eastern Pacific follow the same westward trajectory, sometimes bumping into coastal Mexico, though just as often drifting harmlessly out to sea. In rare cases, a steering pattern sends a storm due north toward San Diego or Los Angeles. Each time that’s happened, cold waters off Southern California have starved the cyclone of its warm-water fuel before it can make landfall at full hurricane strength.
In an above-average Eastern Pacific hurricane season such as this one, however, there are more opportunities for a storm to follow that rare track toward California. Additionally, during an El Niño year, Southern California’s protective cold-water barrier becomes slightly warmer, meaning the continent has less protection against tropical storms that take the road less traveled by. To wit: The closest a hurricane has ever come to making landfall on the state was in 1852, an El Niño year. Hurricane Hilary, which prompted the National Hurricane Center to issue its first-ever tropical storm warning for Southern California in 2023, also formed during an El Niño. Though that storm weakened to below the tropical storm threshold before making landfall, its remains dropped more than half a year’s average rain on many parts of the region, killed one person, and racked up some $900 million in flood- and mudslide-related damage.
This year, Southern California will be all the more vulnerable due to the 60% chance of a “super” El Niño forming. “This, on top of the gradually increasing [sea surface temperature] from the climate background, is going to increase the probability of tropical cyclones making landfall, potentially with this rainfall and landslide impact over California,” Zhu said.
Realistically, the danger to California isn’t a Category 5 hurricane making landfall; if a tropical storm were to reach the shores of the western U.S., it’d very likely be weak and unstable. Rather, as Zhu and his colleagues’ research has found, the threat in a high-emissions warming scenario is that the warming Eastern Pacific shortens the return period of a “Hurricane-Hilary-magnitude rainfall” by 50%, from 110 years to 54 years.
While more rain for the drought-plagued Southwest might sound like a good thing, “we are talking about a so-called whiplash event,” Zhu told me. “If we have severe drought followed by a severe rain event, it is going to create big disasters like landslides because the dry soil is not going to absorb the rainfall in a short time efficiently.” The researchers found that all Southern California counties “exhibit growth in areas exposed to landslides from 2000 to 2050,” though the risk is disproportionate; for households earning less than $50,000, landslide risk could triple by the middle of the century compared to wealthy households, where it will increase by less than half. (Wildfires in the region have also made the landscape particularly prone to mudslides since the loss of vegetation disrupts normal water absorption by the soil and makes slopes more unstable after rain.)
There might be a spot of good news, though. Jin-Yi Yu, a professor of earth system science at the University of California, Irvine, told me that while he had not read the Nature Climate Change article, he thinks California might at least be spared a winter deluge of the likes of the 1997-1998 El Niño, which ran the state some $850 million in storm-related damage.
Often a skeptic of “super El Niño” hype, Yu acknowledged that this year appears headed toward the superlative. But as his research has shown, using the historical record to predict El Niño has become increasingly unreliable since the 20th century due to its shifting center and marine heatwaves. So far, the patterns in 2026 look more similar to the 2015-2016 El Niño, which was the strongest on record, but also developed a warm-water pocket near the International Date Line that disrupted the system to the point that winter rainfall in California was actually below average.
But if California dodges both a hurricane and a record-wet winter this year, that makes the state lucky, not invincible. Californians “are not like people from Florida, who are always getting hit by hurricanes and who know how to evacuate and how to build their houses to a certain standard,” Zhu said. Californians are particularly vulnerable to tropical cyclones because they’re so unlikely. Policymakers should be thinking now about zoning changes in landslide-prone areas and home-hardening measures in anticipation of when the “grey swan” event finally arrives.
“I hope this doesn’t happen this year, or for many years, in California,” Zhu said. “But we need to be aware of it.”