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Trade is unprepared for the world’s waterways running dry.
Here’s an image that feels too heavy-handed to be true, like a film student’s blundering attempt at metaphor. In the height of last summer, Europe shimmering under 104 degree heat, a coal barge carried fuel down the arid Rhine river, but it was only a quarter full. That was the most it could haul without scraping the bottom of the barely-flowing trickle the river had become. The coal was headed for recently fired-up, old power stations.
If you’re able to think past the thickly suffocating heat-haze of late last summer you might remember there was a string of articles about fantastic things emerging from river beds. Amazing old statues and carved rocks, all of them dire warnings that “if you see me, then weep” because they indicated deadly levels of drought.
In China huge areas of Sichuan were shut down, factories forcibly closed to conserve power. The Yangtze ran dry, revealing its own ancient statues and calling a halt to cargo shipments. The Mississippi took until February 2023 to recover its water level from the 2022 summer drought.
This wasn't happening in any specific part of the world, unless you count “the northern hemisphere” as very specific. And it wasn’t just a hot summer or a dry spell. It was a vision of what’s likely to get even worse over the next 10 years. Economies, much less ecosystems, are unprepared for the world’s rivers drying up.
Let’s start with the science. What keeps freshwater rivers flowing are mostly mountain glaciers. They can basically be considered natural water towers, storing ice and snow in the winter that melt and feed rivers in the summer. As climate change makes winters milder and summers hotter, glacier shrinkage has been increasing, with repercussions for Earth’s waterways that are quickly felt by humans.
Rapid glacier melt first poses a higher risk of flooding, but then there’s the more extended threat of not enough water flowing down from the mountains. The Alps, Hindu Kush, Pamir, and Himalayas are particularly badly affected, according to the most extensive study that’s been done into the situation, put together by ETH Zurich and the University of Toulouse. The Himalayas are particularly worrying, per the research, because without glacier meltwater, it’s possible the entire region will run arid (at temperatures MIT researchers warn will be unlivable for humans in the near future). In the Alps, there’s a less immediate threat of reaching a heat level that will cook your organs, but the problem is still going to bludgeon Europe with its bluntly obvious warning that we should have done something sooner.
This is where Earth’s near-groan-worthy metaphors come back into play. In 2022, the Alpine-meltwater-fed Rhine reached water levels measured as low as 2.4 inches in parts of Germany. That’s not navigable by ships, even only laden at a quarter of their normal load, which meant that Germany’s recently fired-up coal power stations (responding to a lack of natural gas after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine) were starved of the fuel that would otherwise be shipped up the then-dehydrated river.
That might sound like a way for nature to strike back. We cook the planet, she takes our fuel for doing it away. But an unpredicted and pretty immediate consequence of our complacency in the face of climate change might not be the dramatic wildfires and extreme climate events as much as everything just slowly, sweatily stopping. For months on end.
River transport isn’t talked about all that much unless you’re particularly interested in logistics and you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s something out of industrial history. Coal barges don’t really fit with the image of modern Germany but that’s how fuel, including oil, gets moved around, massively more efficiently than by road. In Germany, the Rhine accounts for 86 percent of inland shipping and is a vital route for coal and oil, as long as they’re still used. (Except when the river is dry, of course.)Twelve million tonnes shipped along it in the first five months of 2022,
To put it into perspective, it’s not dissimilar to how the U.S. nearly hit disaster last year with a planned railway strike that would have completely throttled goods movement, from crops to cars, across the country. But while you can argue with industrial action (and god knows the railroads tried), there’s no negotiating with a dry riverbed.
But back to Europe. At the same time as Germany was puzzling out the movement of coal, France was throttling its electricity network, running on low power after its system of relatively clean nuclear power stations had to be partially shut down.
Squabbling over the same dry Rhine, plants didn’t have enough water to cool reactors running at full pelt. The plant in Fessenheim, France’s oldest, had to be shut down in August over fears the river water it used to cool itself would be so super-heated it would result in mass die-offs of fish when it had been cycled through the reactor. By September the energy shortage was so severe France simply changed the law to let that happen. Nature takes away our rivers? We’ll screw them even harder.
Over in China, 8.2 billion tons of goods are moved around each year by river. Even during the lockdown-struck 2020, the Yangtze moved 2.9 billion tons alone. But in 2022, authorities in Sichuan had to resort to using gigantic drones and rockets to seed clouds and force rainfall, in order to get the power back on to factories dependent on hydroelectric dams. The economic impacts of extended shutdown in China’s sixth biggest economic region forced the desperate move, but it’s not one that can be pulled off regularly or as a long-term solution to a problem that’s going to keep happening.
In the U.S., parts of the Mississippi hit record lows in the summer and fall of 2022 due to extreme drought. Barges got stuck in the mud, freight traffic got backed up for days along the vital waterway, and cargo prices spiked. The river that 92% of American agricultural exports travel down was responsible for a $64 billion cost to on trade. It took $20 billion just to close marinas up and down the river. A bill to try to protect waterways, amongst other natural infrastructure, has been passed around Congress but is yet to pass.
The world runs on energy, as a physical process as much as a phone battery percentage, and the situation with rivers is going to keep cutting the world off from it. And it’s happening quickly. Back in 2019 the IPCC released a report into the effects of climate change on the Earth’s water systems that reassured us that despite falling river levels there was, as yet, only "limited evidence" that hydropower production would be affected. You can scratch that one out and put in a dead certainty, just three years later. No one writing the report would have suspected that coal would be the other energy casualty of droughts with the world supposed to be transitioning rapidly away from dirty energy production.
Switching from trucking to river freight is an environmental priority, too. Due to CO2 emissions and the catastrophe that is tire particulate pollution, the waterways are a much better way to carry heavy loads. The EU’s green plan is to switch a "substantial amount" of the 75 percent of freight currently carried on roads to waterways by 2027, which is unfortunately going to be literally scuppered by boats being unable to navigate waterways. And the more we don’t switch, the worse we make the problem that's causing this dry-up in the first place.
There isn’t going to be a quick answer. The impacts of glacial retreat are, according to the latest (and last, until 2030) IPCC report, "approaching irreversibility" for some ecosystems and even clever drones and cloud seeding can't actually control the weather in the long term. Rivers have been systems of security since ancient civilizations but we might not be able to rely on them going forwards.
It’s been another warm winter, with not much to thaw for this summer. The dire warning the dry rivers are giving us is very much from this century, with record lows set to be seen again.
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Current conditions: Bosnia’s capital of Sarajevo is blanketed in a layer of toxic smog • Temperatures in Perth, in Western Australia, could hit 106 degrees Fahrenheit this weekend • It is cloudy in Washington, D.C., where lawmakers are scrambling to prevent a government shutdown.
The weather has gotten so weird that the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration is holding internal talks about how to adjust its models to produce more accurate forecasts, the Financial Timesreported. Current models are based on temperature swings observed over one part of the Pacific Ocean that have for years correlated consistently with specific weather phenomena across the globe, but climate change seems to be disrupting that cause and effect pattern, making it harder to predict things like La Niña and El Niño. Many forecasters had expected La Niña to appear by now and help cool things down, but that has yet to happen. “It’s concerning when this region we’ve studied and written all these papers on is not related to all the impacts you’d see with [La Niña],” NOAA’s Michelle L’Heureux told the FT. “That’s when you start going ‘uh-oh’ there may be an issue here we need to resolve.”
There is quite a lot of news coming out of the Department of Energy as the year (and the Biden administration) comes to an end. A few recent updates:
Walmart, the world’s largest retailer, does not expect to meet its 2025 or 2030 emissions targets, and is putting the blame on policy, infrastructure, and technology limitations. The company previously pledged to cut its emissions by 35% by next year, and 65% by the end of the decade. Emissions in 2023 were up 4% year-over-year.
Walmart
“While we continue to work toward our aspirational target of zero operational emissions by 2040, progress will not be linear … and depends not only on our own initiatives but also on factors beyond our control,” Walmart’s statement said. “These factors include energy policy and infrastructure in Walmart markets around the world, availability of more cost-effective low-GWP refrigeration and HVAC solutions, and timely emergence of cost-effective technologies for low-carbon heavy tractor transportation (which does not appear likely until the 2030s).”
BlackRock yesterday said it is writing down the value of its Global Renewable Power Fund III following the failure of Northvolt and SolarZero, two companies the fund had invested in. Its net internal rate of return was -0.3% at the end of the third quarter, way down from 11.5% in the second quarter, according toBloomberg. Sectors like EV charging, transmission, and renewable energy generation and storage have been “particularly challenged,” executives said, and some other renewables companies in the portfolio have yet to get in the black, meaning their valuations may be “more subjective and sensitive to evolving dynamics in the industry.”
Flies may be more vulnerable to climate change than bees are, according to a new study published in the Journal of Melittology. The fly haters among us might shrug at the finding, but the researchers insist flies are essential pollinators that help bolster ecosystem biodiversity and agriculture. “It’s time we gave flies some more recognition for their role as pollinators,” said lead author Margarita López-Uribe, who is the Lorenzo Langstroth Early Career Associate Professor of Entomology at Penn State. The study found bees can tolerate higher temperatures than flies, so flies are at greater risk of decline as global temperatures rise. “In alpine and subarctic environments, flies are the primary pollinator,” López-Uribe said. “This study shows us that we have entire regions that could lose their primary pollinator as the climate warms, which could be catastrophic for those ecosystems.”
“No one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded.” –Heatmap’s Jeva Lange writes about the challenges facing climate cinema, and why 2024 might be the year the climate movie grew up.
Whether you agree probably depends on how you define “climate movie” to begin with.
Climate change is the greatest story of our time — but our time doesn’t seem to invent many great stories about climate change. Maybe it’s due to the enormity and urgency of the subject matter: Climate is “important,” and therefore conscripted to the humorless realms of journalism and documentary. Or maybe it’s because of a misunderstanding on the part of producers and storytellers, rooted in an outdated belief that climate change still needs to be explained to an audience, when in reality they don’t need convincing. Maybe there’s just not a great way to have a character mention climate change and not have it feel super cringe.
Whatever the reason, between 2016 and 2020, less than 3% of film and TV scripts used climate-related keywords during their runtime, according to an analysis by media researchers at the University of Southern California. (The situation isn’t as bad in literature, where cli-fi has been going strong since at least 2013.) At least on the surface, this on-screen avoidance of climate change continued in 2024. One of the biggest movies of the summer, Twisters, had an extreme weather angle sitting right there, but its director, Lee Isaac Chung, went out of his way to ensure the film didn’t have a climate change “message.”
I have a slightly different take on the situation, though — that 2024 was actuallyfull of climate movies, and, I’d argue, that they’re getting much closer to the kinds of stories a climate-concerned individual should want on screen.
That’s because for the most part, when movies and TV shows have tackled the topic of climate change in the past, it’s been with the sort of “simplistic anger-stoking and pathos-wringing” that The New Yorker’s Richard Brody identified in 2022’s Don’t Look Up, the Adam McKay satire that became the primary touchpoint for scripted climate stories. At least it was kind of funny: More overt climate stories like last year’s Foe, starring Saoirse Ronan and Paul Mescal, and Extrapolations, the Apple TV+ show in which Meryl Streep voices a whale, are so self-righteous as to be unwatchable (not to mention, no fun).
But what if we widened our lens and weren’t so prescriptive? Then maybe Furiosa, this spring’s Mad Max prequel, becomes a climate change movie. The film is set during a “near future” ecological collapse, and it certainly makes you think about water scarcity and our overreliance on a finite extracted resource — but it also makes you think about how badass the Octoboss’ kite is. The same goes for Dune: Part Two, which made over $82 million in its opening weekend and is also a recognizable environmental allegory featuring some cool worms. Even Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire, a flop that most people have already memory-holed, revisitedThe Day After Tomorrow’s question of, “What if New York City got really, really, really cold?”
Two 2024 animated films with climate themes could even compete against each other at the Academy Awards next year. Dreamworks Animation’s The Wild Robot, one of the centerpiece films at this fall’s inaugural Climate Film Festival, is set in a world where sea levels have risen to submerge the Golden Gate Bridge, and it impresses on its audience the importance of protecting the natural world. And in Gints Zilbalodis’ Flow, one of my favorite films of the year, a cat must band together with other animals to survive a flood.
Flow also raises the question of whether a project can unintentionally be a climate movie. Zilbalodis told me that making a point about environmental catastrophe wasn’t his intention — “I can’t really start with the message, I have to start with the character,” he said — and to him, the water is a visual metaphor in an allegory about overcoming your fears.
But watching the movie in a year when more than a thousand people worldwide have died in floods, and with images of inundated towns in North Carolina still fresh in mind, it’s actually climate change itself that makes one watch Flow as a movie about climate change. (I’m not the only one with this interpretation, either: Zilbalodis told me he’d been asked by one young audience member if the flood depicted in his film is “the future.”)
Perhaps this is how we should also consider Chung’s comments about Twisters. While nobody in the film says the words “climate change” or “global warming,” the characters note that storms are becoming exceptional — “we've never seen tornadoes like this before,” one says. Despite the director’s stated intention not to make the movie “about” climate change, it becomes a climate movie by virtue of what its audiences have experienced in their own lives.
Still, there’s that niggling question: Do movies like these, which approach climate themes slant-wise, really count? To help me decide, I turned to Sam Read, the executive director of the Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, an advocacy consortium that encourages environmental awareness both on set and on screen. He told me that to qualify something as a “climate” movie or TV show, some research groups look to see if climate change exists in the world of the story or whether the characters acknowledge it. Other groups consider climate in tiers, such as whether a project has a climate premise, theme, or simply a moment.
The Sustainable Entertainment Alliance, however, has no hard rules. “We want to make sure that we support creatives in integrating these stories in whatever way works for them,” Read told me.
Read also confirmed my belief that there seemed to be an uptick in movies this year that were “not about climate change but still deal with things that feel very climate-related, like resource extraction.” There was even more progress on this front in television, he pointed out: True Detective: Night Country wove in themes of environmentalism, pollution, mining, and Indigenous stewardship; the Max comedy Hacks featured an episode about climate change this season; and Industry involved a storyline about taking a clean energy company public, with some of the characters even attending COP. Even Doctor Odyssey, a cruise ship medical drama that airs on USA, worked climate change into its script, albeit in ridiculous ways. (Also worth mentioning: The Netflix dating show Love is Blind cast Taylor Krause, who works on decarbonizing heavy industry at RMI.)
We can certainly do more. As many critics before me have written, it’s still important to draw a connection between things like environmental catastrophes and the real-world human causes of global warming. But the difference between something being “a climate movie” and propaganda — however true its message, or however well-intentioned — is thin. Besides, no one goes to the movies because they want to be scolded; we want to be moved and distracted and entertained.
I’ve done my fair share of complaining over the past few years about how climate storytelling needs to grow up. But lately I’ve been coming around to the idea that it’s not the words “climate change” appearing in a script that we need to be so focused on. As 2024’s slate of films has proven to me — or, perhaps, as this year’s extreme weather events have thrown into relief — there are climate movies everywhere.
Keep ‘em coming.
They might not be worried now, but Democrats made the same mistake earlier this year.
Permitting reform is dead in the 118th Congress.
It died earlier this week, although you could be forgiven for missing it. On Tuesday, bipartisan talks among lawmakers fell apart over a bid to rewrite parts of the National Environmental Policy Act. The changes — pushed for by Representative Bruce Westerman, chairman of the House Natural Resources Committee — would have made it harder for outside groups to sue to block energy projects under NEPA, a 1970 law that governs the country’s process for environmental decisionmaking.
When those talks died, they also killed a separate deal over permitting struck earlier this year between Senator Joe Manchin of West Virginia and Senator John Barrasso of Wyoming. That deal, as I detailed last week, would have loosened some federal rules around oil and gas drilling in exchange for a new, quasi-mandatory scheme to build huge amounts of long-distance transmission.
Rest in peace, I suppose. Even if lawmakers could not agree on NEPA changes, I think Republicans made a mistake by not moving forward with the Manchin-Barrasso deal. (I still believe that the standalone deal could have passed the Senate and the House if put to a vote.) At this point, I do not think we will see another shot at bipartisan permitting reform until at least late 2026, when the federal highway law will need fresh funding.
But it is difficult to get too upset about this failure because larger mistakes have since compounded the initial one. On Wednesday, Republican Speaker Mike Johnson’s bipartisan deal to fund the government — which is, after all, a much more fundamental task of governance than rewriting some federal permitting laws — fell apart, seemingly because Donald Trump and Elon Musk decided they didn’t like it. If I can indulge in the subjunctive for a moment: That breakdown might have likely killed any potential permitting deal, too. So even in a world where lawmakers somehow did strike a deal earlier this week, it might already be dead. (As I write this, the House GOP has reportedly reached a new deal to fund the government through March, which has weakened or removed provisions governing pharmacy benefit managers and limiting American investments in China.)
The facile reading of this situation is that Republicans now hold the advantage. The Trump administration will soon be able to implement some of the fossil fuel provisions in the Manchin-Barrasso deal through the administrative state. Trump will likely expand onshore and offshore drilling, will lease the government’s best acreage to oil and gas companies, and will approve as many liquified natural gas export terminals as possible. His administration will do so, however, without the enhanced legal protection that the deal would have provided — and while those protections are not a must-have, especially with a friendly Supreme Court, their absence will still allow environmental groups to try to run down the clock on some of Trump’s more ambitious initiatives.
Republicans believe that they will be able to get parts of permitting reform done in a partisan reconciliation bill next year. These efforts seem quite likely to run aground, at least as long as something like the current rules governing reconciliation bills hold. I have heard some crazy proposals on this topic — what if skipping a permitting fight somehow became a revenue-raiser for the federal government? — but even they do not touch the deep structure of NEPA in the way a bipartisan compromise could. As Westerman toldPolitico’s Josh Siegel: “We need 60 votes in the Senate to get real permitting reform … People are just going to have to come to an agreement on what permitting reform is.” In any case, Manchin and the Democrats already tried to reform the permitting system via a partisan reconciliation bill and found it essentially impossible.
Even if reconciliation fails, Republicans say, they will still be in a better negotiating position next year than this year because the party will control a few more Senate votes. But will they? The GOP will just have come off a difficult fight over tax reform. Twelve or 24 months from now, demands on the country’s electricity grid are likely to be higher than they are today, and the risk of blackouts will be higher than before. The lack of a robust transmission network will hinder the ability to build a massive new AI infrastructure, as some of Trump’s tech industry backers hope. But 12 or 24 months from now, too, Democrats — furious at Trump — are not going to be in a dealmaking mood, and Republicans have relatively few ways to bring them to the table.
In any case, savvy Republicans should have realized that it is important to get supply-side economic reforms done as early in a president’s four-year term as possible. Such changes take time to filter through the system and turn into real projects and real economic activity; passing the law as early as possible means that the president’s party can enjoy them and campaign on them.
All of it starts to seem more and more familiar. When Manchin and Barrasso unveiled their compromise earlier this year, Democrats didn’t act quickly on it. They felt confident that the window for a deal wouldn’t close — and they looked forward to a potential trifecta, when they would be able to get even more done (and reject some of Manchin’s fossil fuel-friendly compromises).
Democrats, I think, wound up regretting the cavalier attitude that they brought to permitting reform before Trump’s win. But now the GOP is acting the same way: It is rejecting compromises, believing that it will be able to strike a better deal on permitting issues during its forthcoming trifecta. That was a mistake when Democrats did it. I think it will be a mistake for Republicans, too.