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The president isn’t trying to cut emissions as fast possible. He’s doing something else.

Here’s the problem with President Joe Biden’s climate policy: From a certain point of view, it makes no sense.
Take his electricity policy. At the top level, Biden has committed to eliminating greenhouse-gas pollution from the power sector by 2035. He wants to accomplish this largely by making clean energy cheaper — that’s the goal of the Inflation Reduction Act, of course — and he has also changed federal rules so it’s slightly easier to build power lines and large-scale renewable projects. He has also added teeth to that goal in the form of new Environmental Protection Agency rules cracking down on coal and natural gas.
Yet at the same time, Biden has seemingly also made it more difficult to decarbonize. Last week, he raised tariffs on cheap solar panels and grid-scale batteries made in China. And he ended the two-year “solar bridge,” a tariff exemption for some Chinese-based solar manufacturers that operated in other countries. That means that as soon as next month, some eye-watering tariffs — possibly as high as 254% — could apply to many U.S. solar imports.
Then there’s Biden’s policy on electric cars. The president wants 50% of all new vehicles sold in the U.S. to be EVs or plug-in hybrids by 2030, and he has overseen billions of dollars of spending aimed at building a national charging network. His climate law discounts the price of many EVs by $7,500 and directly subsidizes virtually every battery and vehicle made in America. Yet he recently put 100% tariffs on EV imports from China, the country that makes some of the world’s cheapest and best electric cars.
This combination is, frankly, a little confusing. And it has confounded critics around the world: It can sometimes seem like the president is cutting the cost of clean energy with one hand while raising it with another. “The Biden effect will be to raise the U.S. domestic price of EVs, solar panels and other green inputs and delay America’s energy transition,” writes Edward Luce of the Financial Times. The Economist, in high dudgeon, lectured Biden for forgetting his David Ricardo.
There is certainly much to criticize about Biden’s climate policy, but reading coverage of it, I’m often struck by how little the commentator seems to understand what the policy is trying to do. There is, as Noah Smith and Matt Yglesias have written, a strong national-security component to the tariffs announced last week. But there’s more to these policies than national security alone. Although the president’s actions can sometimes seem contradictory, there is in fact a logic to what Biden is trying to do on climate change. And without defending the policy, I think it is important to describe it accurately.
Let’s back up. For the past 30 years, climate advocates tried to raise the cost of fossil fuels in America by imposing a carbon price. Taxing carbon pollution is the most elegant and economically efficient way to solve climate change, and — at least in theory — it doesn’t require the kind of fine-tuned economic tampering that the Biden administration is engaged in. Or at least that’s what the economists say — I remain skeptical that a carbon tax alone would have succeeded in decarbonizing the economy without additional policy.
And in any case, the point is moot: Climate advocates never succeeded in passing such a price. Voters were understandably resistant to raising the cost of energy, especially gasoline, and no coalition emerged to persuade politicians that the political costs of a carbon tax would be worth bearing. During many of those years, too, the American economy was so understimulated that passing a revenue-raising tax made little political sense: There was effectively no public constituency for deficit reduction.
By 2020, Democrats had largely given up on this approach. Although many still believe that a carbon tax could be an effective decarbonization tool, they instead adopted a new political economic philosophy. Simplified somewhat, it goes something like:
1. The biggest obstacle to passing American climate policy is the lack of a domestic coalition that supports the deep and continued decarbonization of the domestic economy.
2. Passing climate policy has been so hard historically because a powerful and geographically diverse set of companies, unions, state, and local officials, and political donors — largely but not entirely in the fossil fuel industry — don’t want to see the U.S. move away from oil and natural gas. They’re backed up by status-quo-favoring consumers.
3. The central aim of near-term climate policy, then, should be to create an enduring coalition to support the continued decarbonization of the U.S. economy.
This is the guiding logic of Biden’s climate policy: that American politics must have a powerful, durable, and flexible pro-decarbonization coalition if the U.S. is to succeed in reaching net zero. Achieving this coalition is the underlying aim of the IRA, the EPA rules, and — yes — the recent tariffs.
This is what I wish critics understood about the president’s climate strategy: Biden’s strategy won’t have succeeded if the U.S. makes some headway on emissions but imports all of its decarbonization tech from China. The U.S. actually has to develop its own supply chain and manufacturing base to build the kind of deep economic coalition that can sustain long-term decarbonization. This is why trade restrictions have become so central to the administration’s world view.
I should add that for all that the administration emphasizes “good-paying union jobs” in its messaging around climate policy, jobs alone aren’t necessarily the goal of this strategy. Critics of American industrial policy sometimes point out that, even in China, the labor share of manufacturing is falling; indeed, one of China’s great manufacturing advantages is the extent to which it has automated its assembly lines. But that may not necessarily matter to coalition politics: As the political scientist Nina Kelsey has shown in her research on the Montreal Protocol, companies tend to support environmental policy when doing so will help their large-scale, fixed investments — essentially, their factories — not their labor force.
There are big risks to Biden’s strategy. The next administration — which in this moment looks likely to be helmed by Donald Trump — could repeal the production and installation subsidies for renewables but leave the tariffs in place. That would devastate the finances of domestic solar manufacturers and significantly slow down the decarbonization of America’s grid, and it would mean that Americans who want to import cheap solar panels wouldn’t be able to. That would essentially freeze America’s decarbonization effort while the rest of the world races ahead.
Even if Biden wins, the kind of economic management that he’s trying to do may simply not be possible in the federal system — or, for that matter, with the existing Democratic coalition. There may be too many interest groups to placate or too many obstacles to building. California offers a warning about how well-intentioned liberal policy can prevent enough new infrastructure from getting built.
Still a third risk is that the American solar manufacturing industry meets domestic demand but doesn’t become very competitive, so it doesn’t reduce costs aggressively. A relatively small number of firms actually make solar panels in the United States, and they have to compete for engineering talent with more established industries like software. What has brought down the cost of solar in China isn’t subsidies per se, but an intensely competitive and very large domestic market. It isn’t clear that the American market for solar power will attain such scale or efficiency.
These would, obviously, be lasting setbacks for American decarbonization. But even in critiquing this set of policies, I hope the world notes what a different problem America faces when taking on climate change as compared to the rest of the world. Most countries import more oil than they produce, meaning their fossil-fuel addiction shackles their currencies and economies to a volatile global commodity. They are only too happy to move away from fossil fuels, and especially oil, provided that a cheap and acceptable alternative is available. In the United Kingdom, for instance, cross-partisan support for decarbonization policy has existed since the era of Margaret Thatcher.
In the United States, with our oil-drenched politics, the task is different. Only a sufficiently powerful pro-climate coalition will be able to unseat the fossil fuels enthroned atop our economy. Forging this coalition — even if it slows down decarbonization for a few years — is Biden’s true goal. Whether that’s worth it is another story.
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Senator Martin Heinrich’s new bill, which would make it easier to hook up new power plants in much of the U.S., is an encouraging sign for bipartisan permitting reform.
An important part of a bipartisan permitting reform deal may be falling into place.
Senator Martin Heinrich of New Mexico introduced a bill on Thursday that would make it easier for new power plants to hook up to electricity markets across the country.
The legislation, which applies to all types of generation, would allow new power plants to connect to the grid without waiting for the arduous technical studies — and without paying the exorbitant equipment upgrade fees — now required in much of the country.
Instead, the bill would let power plants opt into a much faster safety study and offer what it cheekily dubs “basic access service for energy-only delivery” — that is, BASED service — to the local electricity market.
A similar approach is already used in Texas, which has added more new generation than any other U.S. power market in recent years. In effect, Heinrich hopes to bring that cheaper, faster, and more laissez-faire method to the rest of the country.
“As electricity demand grows, we need to find better, faster ways to add more affordable, reliable power to the grid,” Heinrich said in a statement. “Right now, unnecessary delays are slowing projects that could help lower energy costs and deliver the low-cost energy we need.”
Outside experts have pushed for wider adoption of Texas’s approach, which is dubbed “connect and manage,” for some time. Although Heinrich’s proposal would apply to all kinds of power plants, Texas has been particularly successful at bringing new solar, battery, and natural gas power plants online in recent years — and it has done so while keeping connection costs lower than other markets.
“We’re seeing the success of the free market in Texas,” Sarah Toth Kotwiss, an electricity researcher at the energy and climate think tank RMI, told me, noting the state has added far more generation in recent years than much bigger and more populous U.S. grid zones. “They’re leading the way, and replicating that free market attitude could go a long way in the rest of the U.S.”
More broadly, the proposal is the kind of legislation that would slot into the bipartisan permitting package expected later this year — and as soon as next month. Heinrich’s proposal may be a sign that the senator, the ranking Democratic member of the natural resources committee, takes the prospect of reaching a deal seriously.
Across much of the country, a new power plant can only connect to the power grid after the local grid operator completes what’s called an “interconnection study” — an intensive technical account of how that new plant will affect the overall system.
These studies examine a slew of worst-case scenarios, simulating how the plant would behave at full capacity under extremely congested grid conditions, such as during a heat wave. The new plant’s developer is then required to pay for the grid and transmission line upgrades that would allow their project to run at full blast at those moments of maximum stress.
In theory, that approach maximizes the amount of money a developer can make on a new power plant. But because the grid is a big, interconnected system, that method can cause long delays and rippling costs in practice. In one case, a new 300-megawatt plant in North Dakota near the Canadian border could not start operating until it paid nearly $3 million to upgrade power lines and transformers in Missouri — more than 1,000 miles away.
And because interconnection studies try to model a proposed power plant’s influence on the power grid for years into the future, a single cancellation can have a cascading effect. When a power plant pulls out of the interconnection queue, every project in line behind it sometimes needs to be studied again, causing delays and costs to spiral even further.
In one famous example, a solar and battery plant in Maryland was initially told that it needed to pay for $1.25 million to connect to the local grid. But after a series of cancellations and new rounds of study, that figure was revised — to nearly $72 million. The solar project got shelved.
While interconnection queues used to be relatively quick, the process of hooking up a new power plant to the grid can now regularly take eight years, Kotwiss said.
As I discussed with the electricity researchers Tyler Norris and Claire Waymer on Heatmap’s podcast Shift Key in 2024, these lengthening wait times have changed how power plant developers behave. Many developers now “spam the queue,” filing study requests for any project that they could ever conceivably want to build. That has led delays to spiral even further.
The end result of all this spamming is that the total capacity of power plants asking to connect to the grid now exceeds the size of the U.S. grid itself. At the end of 2025, more than 2,000 gigawatts of new generation or storage projects were waiting in interconnection queues, according to the Lawrence Berkeley National Lab. The country’s operating power plant fleet is only about 1,400 gigawatts.
To be clear, most of those proposed projects will never be built — they are hypothetical queries submitted by developers who are trying to claim a place in line. Yet even switching on a small set of plants could transform the power grid.
These long wait times aren’t the norm in Texas. In the Lone Star state, it takes less than four years to bring a new plant online.
That’s because new power plants in Texas can hook up to the grid — and start generating power — as soon as the local grid operator completes a more rudimentary engineering and safety study. Then during moments of peak grid congestion, power plants must curtail their own generation, reducing their electricity production to the level that the overall grid can support. While this means that a given solar farm or natural gas plant might not run at full bore all the time, the overall approach gets that plant up and running much sooner, allowing it to sell energy into the grid during most of the year.
Heinrich’s law would order electricity markets and grid operators to make this faster option available to new power plants across the country. It would let power plants opt into receiving a much simpler and faster study, one that checks only that adding the new power plant will be safe for the immediate grid.
A power plant that opts into the new BASED service would still have the option of entering the traditional interconnection queue. Doing so would let it eventually increase its operation over time, paying for grid upgrades so that it can participate in capacity markets and other auctions.
Expanding Texas’s approach to other states could help cut costs for electricity consumers by bringing more energy onto the market faster, Kotwiss said. Even in complicated power markets that include additional auctions — for capacity, for instance, or reliability — energy still makes up most wholesale costs.
It could also help ease the strains on the grid — especially in congested regions like the Mid-Atlantic — caused by artificial intelligence data centers and new factories.
The Texas-inspired technique could help the solar and battery industries, because it keeps a given project’s upfront expenses low and allows those technologies’ low costs to dominate their economics. Solar has boomed in Texas in recent years, and the state now has more utility-scale solar installed than California does.
But the BASED approach would likely help natural gas plants and other forms of newer, cheaper generation, too, because it strengthens new entrants as compared to incumbents. Jacob Mays, a Cornell engineering professor, has studied how slow and wonky interconnection queues can prevent electricity markets from functioning well. The existing interconnection approach used in most of the country “amounts to a significant barrier on new entry to new generation,” he told me, and it has “some anticompetitive impacts.”
Heinrich has said that he plans on introducing more electricity system reforms soon, including a bill to push utilities to adopt technologies that get more capacity out of their existing equipment.
I think it’s an encouraging sign for permitting reform advocates that ranking Senate Democrats are advancing these kinds of technology-neutral power market bills. An eventual deal will likely ultimately rest on Democrats’ willingness to support policy like this — and whether they can strike a deal with Republicans to rewrite parts of long-standing environmental or permitting laws, including the National Historic Preservation Act and Clean Water Act.
But just as importantly, it will depend on Republicans — and the White House — reining in President Trump’s powers to kill energy projects by fiat. With this bill, Democrats are suggesting they’re willing to be, well, a little BASED. Whether the president will join them remains to be seen.
Your mileage may vary — but you’ll probably want to keep the outdoor runs to a minimum.
I became a runner in the spring of 2020. My run streak was my sourdough starter. Those were the Wild West days of respiratory spray warnings, when I’d get dirty looks from strangers even if I passed them while wearing my Under Armour running mask. But I wasn’t about to let a deadly pandemic — much less the wildfire smoke that descended on New York that fall — get in the way of logging my miles.
These days, I am at least a little bit older and wiser. I’ve also learned a lot about wildfire smoke in the interim — how it kills more than 20,000 people in the U.S. every year, how there’s a lot of freaky stuff in it that you don’t want in your body, and how there’s no safe threshold for exposure. But while it’s clearly a bad idea to go for a run right now if you live in Milwaukee, where the air is literally yellow due to the fires in Minnesota and Ontario, it’s maybe less clear if you’re somewhere where the AQI is still only moderate or “unhealthy for sensitive groups.” Do you really, actually need to skip your run in those conditions? Can you just go to the gym instead?
At the end of the day, everyone should make decisions based on their own risk tolerance. But John C. Quindry — a professor of integrative physiology and athletic training at the University of Montana, who described his team as “first to the party” when it comes to understanding the risks of exercising in the smoke — said his research shows that not only is exercising in the smoke hazardous to otherwise healthy individuals, there’s also a class of people for whom it might be extra dangerous, and they might not even know it.
Our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Why is exercising in the smoke worse than, say, commuting in the smoke?
If you exercise, you take more breaths per minute, and you take deeper breaths, so the total volume of air you breathe at a given time is greater.
Inhaling wildfire smoke is sometimes compared to smoking cigarettes. Some back-of-the-envelope math puts a run in Chicago this morning at the equivalent of smoking a couple of cigarettes, which sounds pretty minimal. Why take this seriously?
We don’t know for sure that when you exercise outside, it’s equivalent to, in this case, smoking a couple of cigarettes or a pack. We’ve been working for years trying to actually figure out how bad it is, and we just don’t know.
One of the things that complicates this is that not all smoke is created equal. Wildfire smoke in the West is different from wildfire smoke east of the Mississippi, where there are many different types of vegetation. And separately, if a wildfire consumes a house and all the plastics, organic solvents, and things in the roof, that’s certainly worse than just biomass burning — and that is all separate from cigarette smoke. So the chemicals that you inhale are part of it; it’s not just the particulate.
I don’t think it’s inappropriate to say we know how much particulate a filtered cigarette is going to deliver on a puff-by-puff basis and try to equate it to inhaling wood smoke or being downwind of a fire event. Those back-of-the-envelope calculations can make it one-to-one. But what is the impact on health? We don’t know.
Going back to something you said, is smoke in the West or East worse? Why?
We don’t really know, and one reason is that smoke that starts in the West goes east. There are some really good studies that look at the rates of emergency room visits and deaths downwind of fires. You can apply some pretty fancy math, and it’s clearly demonstrated by multiple research groups that whatever the source of the smoke is, there are people who are extra sensitive to it, and they show up in the emergency room more frequently. Tragically, to a smaller degree, they also occasionally die more frequently.
But if we put those data aside and say, “What does the smoke look like from Western biomass versus Eastern biomass?” We know the Western biomass, at least this time of year, is much drier. And when it’s dry, it tends to burn a little “cleaner,” which is to say, if you were to take a certain number of grams of pine wood — which burns fairly cleanly — how much PM 2.5 do you get? You’re going to get a higher PM 2.5 from wet wood. That’s the effect when you start to move to the middle or eastern part of the country. Deciduous trees, even when they’re dry, put out more PM 2.5 unit by unit.
Now, is that worse for the body in the short or long term? We really don’t know. Once you breathe in the smoke, it’s pretty easy to measure what’s in the blood: You just take a blood sample before and after the exposure. You can try to gauge how bad the smoke is by looking at what appears in the blood. Do you get oxidative stress? Do you get inflammation? Is there something else there? Has it changed metabolism?
We also look at exhaled breath condensate. It’s the immune cells, which are the first line of defense when you’re exposed to particulates, that are really sounding the alarm. In some people, that alarm gets sounded more than in others. So we’ve been trying to figure out what are these subtle but important biochemical and physiologic signals? How do they go together? They tell us how bad the smoke is, but it’s taken us years to unfold this story.
I saw in your 2025 study that half of your participants had a heightened response to physiological stress, and that you selected them for that reason. I was hoping you could tell me what a “heightened response to physiological stress” means and why it was important to include those candidates.
This is critical. Let me give you the backstory. When we would do these studies, we would put participants in the lab and burn Western locally sourced pine dried out to 15% humidity. We’d burn it carefully, measure the dose of PM 2.5, and have people breathe it in. We’d conduct studies before and after exercise, whether on a bike or a treadmill, and we varied the intensity and duration. And we didn’t find very much when we looked at the blood and exhaled breath condensate for how well the blood vessels constrict or how reactive the body’s autonomic nervous system was in controlling cardiovascular function. We’d find subtle changes, but statistically speaking, we could never really draw firm conclusions.
But we would notice that, on a person-by-person basis, there would be notable spikes in what we were looking at. We’d see, “Oh, these three or four people really seem to have this notable response, and everybody else really didn’t.” We’d publish our studies and essentially say, “Yeah, we didn’t find much.” It was honest data, and people believe it when you publish negative data that says, “We went through that much trouble, we spent $100,000, and we found nothing.” But we found these people who were a little bit different than the others.
So we’d sit around and spitball. These were normal people, by the way; we were not taking asthmatics or people with [chronic obstructive pulmonary disease]. They were not diabetic. There are people we know full well will have an exaggerated response, and we didn’t look at any of them. We looked at what are called “apparently healthy people” — the people who go to the physician and are told nothing’s wrong with them.
My doctorate was not in exercise science; it was in biomedical science, from a medical school environment. Somewhere along the line, I was exposed to something called the cold pressor test. It has been around longer than both of us. Physicians 80 years ago would have somebody come into their lab or clinic, and they’d say, “Hey, we’re going to put your hand in a bucket of ice water for two minutes and see what that does to your blood pressure.” It almost sounds like a fourth-grade sleepover prank for the first kid to fall asleep.
But we started doing the test, and we took a pretty conservative approach, meaning that if we put someone’s hand in the ice water and their systolic blood pressure — that’s the top number, 120 over 80 is sort of the high end for good blood pressure — and if their systolic number went to at least 20 millimeters of mercury, then we call them cold pressure test positive, or CPT positive.
None of these were people who were hypertensive. They had normal blood pressure. Nothing was wrong with them as far as their medical team could observe. But how many of these [CPT positive] people are sitting around? If you take the average population, 10% to 15% will be cold pressor test positive. We don’t necessarily know if this is a bad thing. It may be contextual, but these are people we can verifiably measure with something as simple as a blood pressure cuff and a bucket of ice water. You can verify their physiology is more reactive within a couple of minutes than someone else’s.
We suspected that if we took these people and then exercised them in the smoke, they would have an exaggerated response compared with people who weren’t CPT positive. And so that’s what we did, and that’s what we found.
That’s fascinating. So the practical takeaway is, unless you’ve done this test yourself, you don’t know if you’re one of these people who’s particularly reactive to wildfire smoke?
You have to always be careful that you don’t make big, broad, blanket applications from one study. We would need to confirm or refute it with additional studies, and that’s a matter of getting grant money and conducting those next-generation investigations.
But here’s something we can glean: We know that people who have an exaggerated response to a cold pressor test are more likely to have hypertension. And they’re more likely to have it earlier — instead of getting high blood pressure at 50, 60, or 70, they’re going to get it at 30 or 40. We know they’re more likely to eventually suffer from heart failure; it seems to develop more in people who have this sort of reactive response. While the cold pressor test response is not predictive in and of itself of anything — future diabetes, heart failure, heart attacks, hypertension, none of that — people with all of those conditions are more likely to be cold pressor test positive.
The way I would take it is, if you are somebody who is not in great health, isn’t fit, or if you have creeping blood pressure or a family history of heart disease, blood pressure, or metabolic derangement like diabetes, you are the kind of person who needs to be a little bit more careful [in the smoke].
Is there an air quality level at which you would tell a young, healthy person “Don’t go for your morning run?”
An educated guess is the best we can do right now. Every study is a brick in the bigger metaphorical wall of understanding this. What we can say is: If you are young and apparently healthy, the threshold would be maybe even up into the “unhealthy for sensitive groups” number. They’re probably okay. But then again, how hard are they working? How long are they outside? If you’re working very hard, your ventilatory rate is much, much higher. And how long are you staying out? What is the long-term impact year after year?
There are epidemiologic studies that can demonstrate that if you’ve lived downwind from major wildfire events for decades, it’s going to impact your health. That’s not debated. But what is the short-term impact? We don’t know.
Indoor air pollution is a major issue during these events, too. Would you advise someone to skip the gym on a particularly smoky day?
When it’s smoky outside, it makes sense to say, “Let’s just stay indoors.” But then the question is, is some of that smoke getting indoors? Sure enough, it is. Then the question is, how much? And the answer is, it depends on the air handling systems in the building; how many people are coming in and out; whether the windows open; how many doors are there; are they left open; what are they using to heat and cool the place; do they have high-volume HEPA filtration; and are they changing that filtration?
But let’s dial back. We have two ends of a spectrum. You have a leaky building. Doors are open. Windows are open. Lots of people are coming in and out. In that scenario, the air inside is only about 20% or 30% better than the air outside. And that’s not very good.
But then let’s go to the other end of the spectrum, to a building that is being kept shut. They’re controlling who can come in and out, and there are two sets of doors to help buffer that. Which is better in a smoky situation? The places with the HEPA filtration, high-volume air turnover, and where they change the filters. But in that case, you’re still going to have 25% of that particulate matter inside, even if you can’t perceive that it’s there. That’s not good news.
What are the health risks? How can I protect myself? And will my plants be okay?
If you live anywhere near the Great Lakes or Mid-Atlantic (or certain parts of the Mountain West), odds are it’s smoky where you live. Wildfires raging in western Ontario are sending smoke cascading south and east across the U.S., prompting widespread air quality alerts affecting millions of Americans.
The good and — very bad — news is that we’ve been here before. Here’s a look back at some of Heatmap’s coverage from the summer of 2023, when smoke produced by forest fires in Quebec blanketed 128 million people in a murky haze and turned the New York City skyline an ominous shade of orange.
One day — even just one hour — of smoke inhalation can exacerbate pre-existing health conditions and increase an individual’s chance of premature death by 12%. To stay safe, Jeva Lange recommends avoiding prolonged outdoor exposure and masking up when you go outside.
Wildfire smoke is full of tiny pollutants that can leak into your apartment even when the windows and doors are sealed tight. That’s where air purifiers come in, Matthew Zeitlin writes.
Tinted skies are now a rare, remarkable event. But decades ago, before targeted policy interventions, this was everyday life for New Yorkers. Here’s Jeva with more on the legacy of the Clean Air Act.
Before you step out for a run, read Emily Pontecorvo’s guide to what the Air Quality Index is and isn’t telling you.
People should not inhale smoke because of its dangerous health effects. But plants, interestingly, may actually thrive. Allow Jeva to explain.