Science, culture, complexity

Tag: climate change

  • Climate change and the coastline paradox

    A friend recently told me about a tool called climate.you that shows “temperature change, over land and sea”, at all points on the earth’s surface in a bid “to show how warming is already affecting people everywhere”. You can enter the name of your city or town and find out how the local conditions have changed. Based on interactions with some scientists who have written on climate modelling for The Wire and The Hindu, however, I’d also come to be wary of projections for scales smaller than a whole region, especially for a data-poor country like India. But after the chat, I also wondered if my position was outdated — and learnt that it was. So here goes an update.

    Climate change is fundamentally global in its drivers but its effects operate across all scales, from continental changes in rainfall patterns down to local phenomena like coastal erosion. This said, a confusion about the phenomenon’s ability to operate at different scales often arises from the way scientists model it.

    Global climate models collect data on atmospheric and oceanic parameters and simulate them on a grid whose cells are 50-200 km across, maybe more, which is a very coarse spatial resolution. When you render this grid on a screen, there’s a value for every pixel and, given the cell size, that pixel represents a regional average rather than a precise local forecast for the place at that pixel. But this doesn’t mean the model is wrong at that pixel, it just means it’s not designed to predict the consequences at that level.

    (For example, if the RMC Chennai station says it’s 32 C right now, it’s harder to know how much the relative contributions of land-use, radiation from built structures, heat transported by local winds, and regional warming to that figure are. The temperature may also be sensitive to other factors we’ve deemed inconsequential, such as the amount of dust in the air around the station or traffic outside. A common way out of this seeming intractability, beyond quality control measures at the station itself, is to collect data for several years and check which temperature trends hold up and which ones fall away.)

    The scale question is reminiscent of the coastline paradox: no well-defined landmass has a coast of well-defined length, yet the coast exists at all points along the edge of the landmass. This weirdness arises because the length depends on the scale at which you measure it. If you look at the India map zoomed out to 1:10,000,000 — like on Google Maps on your laptop screen — the coast shows some features but smooths over others because your laptop’s screen doesn’t have enough pixels to capture those smaller than a particular size. If you zoomed in further, say to 1:1,000,000, you’d find more features because there are more pixels now for a certain number of features, and smaller variations in the shape of the coast show up. If you zoomed in further, even smaller variations would show up, and so on.

    Credit: Google Maps

    Hat-tip to Sambavi P. for the fillip.


    The climate signals that models are sensitive to are similarly, but partly, a function of the scale at which various instruments record those signals. In both cases, aggregating data from different scales to prepare a region-wide projection actually smooths over complexity rather than capturing it. There’s also no one ‘correct’ resolution and it’s not reasonable to expect a model prepared for one resolution to be equally accurate or certain at another.

    This said, the analogy is only partly apt because it diverges over how geography and climate change behave at ever smaller scales. Specifically, while features on the coast become more numerous, and thus its length ever greater, as you keep zooming in, there are no signals relevant to climate change beyond a particular floor. Which means if climate change manifests as, say, a higher local tide level, for that parameter there’s no ‘zooming in’ beyond that point. Second, as you zoom in, climate signals become less messy whereas geographic signals become messier.

    In fact, scientists have developed a technique called downscaling whereby they use a combination of statistical and dynamical methods to translate a model’s coarser outputs into finer projections. Obviously this isn’t a lossless exercise — you can’t get more information without paying a cost — and downscaling from one scale to the immediately next one ‘below’ adds some uncertainty. Which means a downscaled local projection carries the errors implicit in the global model plus the errors introduced by the downscaling method. Ultimately, the projection for a particular pixel exists: it’s just laden with uncertainty.

    Now, while a model need not have a good projection for a particular pixel, that’s not synonymous with the data collected from that pixel being irrelevant or a non-signal for climate change. Local measurements like tide gauge records, weather station temperatures, regional snow measurements, etc. are all contain climate signals at very fine spatial scales. In other words being sceptical of a hyperlocal projection is reasonable but being sceptical of a local observation demands a higher bar.

    For example, say a modeller feeds data about a city’s population density, road networks, and growth trends into a model of a city and tries to predict the congestion in your neighbourhood in one year. This effort is only going to be as good as the model’s assumptions. Now, say your neighbour leaves for work at 8 am every day for five years and tracks her commute time. This data has its own limitations — perhaps foremost that its patterns can’t be easily generalised — but while the model might excel at predicting how the city as a whole will change, your neighbour’s experience is a better predictor of how your neighbourhood in particular will.

    In effect, it makes sense to be wary of sub-regional climate indicators derived purely from global model outputs without proper downscaling or local validation but to extend that cynicism towards observed data or even properly validated regional models would be to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

  • Onward and spillward

    ‘The Lunacy Of Rebuilding In Disaster-Prone Areas’, Noema, April 25, 2024:

    In the months after Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans proposed a flood control program unlike any other in U.S. history. Developed by the Bring New Orleans Back Commission, a diverse group of stakeholders appointed by the mayor, the resulting plan called for large parts of the city to be converted from longstanding residential zones to floodable parks. Released to the public in the form of a map, large green circles were positioned over neighborhoods where owners would be forced into buyouts. These were some of the most historic districts in a very historic city … and almost exclusively in majority Black and marginalized neighborhoods.

    Christened in the press as the “Green Dot” map, the proposal ranks among the most profoundly unsuccessful plans ever issued by a municipal body and would never be put to a vote in the city council. … The Green Dot map’s remarkably brief tenure can be attributed in part to its proponents’ failure to adhere to the most basic rule of community planning: Never designate the where before building support for the what.

    “Building support”. What a quaint idea. Everyone should be doing it the way India’s doing it: don’t ask anyone. That way “building support” is redundant and “where” starts to really mean “anywhere”.

    ‘Expert committee clears plan to rebuild washed-out Teesta dam in Sikkim’, The Hindu, January 28, 2025:

    Fourteen months after a devastating glacier lake outburst flood in Sikkim washed away the Teesta-3 dam – the state’s biggest hydropower project – and killing at least 100, an expert committee of the environment ministry has recommended that the dam be reconstructed.

    Instead of the older structure that was part rock and part concrete, the new dam will be entirely concrete – reportedly to increase its strength – and its spillway will be capable of managing a peak flow of 19,946 cubic metres a second (cumecs), thrice the capacity of the former dam, which was 7000 cumecs.

    Sounds reasonable, right?

    The new design incorporates a “worst-case scenario” – meaning the maximum possible rain in the upstream glacier lake, modelled by the India Meteorological Department, in the South Lhonak region over the next 100 years influencing further downstream modifications.

    Now all we have to do is wait for the flood that will show up the IMD’s model — a fate models have often had to contend with this century, especially when dealing with rainfall.

    ‘The value of attributing extreme events to climate change’, The Hindu, May 24, 2024:

    It is worth understanding how these ‘rapid extreme event attributions’ are performed. The most important concept is the change in probability: in this case, climate scientists contrasted the conditions in which the heatwaves occurred against a counterfactual world in which climate change did not happen. The conditions that prevail in the counterfactual world depend on the availability of data from our world. When there isn’t enough data, the researchers run models for the planet’s climate without increasing greenhouse gas emissions and other anthropogenic forcing. Where there is sufficient data, they use trends in the data to compare conditions today with a period from the past in which human effects on the planet were relatively minimal.

    [But] the data are hardly ever sufficient, especially for rainfall, and almost never for extreme rainfall events. Climate models are also notoriously bad at properly capturing normal rainfall and worse at extreme ones.

    Thus, the environment ministry keeps the gates open to a new dam with a 59,838-cumec spillway in future.

  • Does science have trouble seeing governments?

    From ‘Energy megaproject in Chile threatens the world’s largest telescopes’, Science, January 10, 2025:

    The AES project would occupy several sites totaling 3000 hectares, and the plants making hydrogen and ammonia with renewable energy would be sited just 5 kilometers from the VLT. Construction of the complex will create dust, a threat to delicate optics, but that would be manageable and temporary, Barcons says. More worrying is the permanent loss of the area’s remarkable dark skies. ESO has been using light pollution models developed by researchers in Canada to estimate the impact of AES’s plans. “Even if [AES] do a perfect job, using perfect lights that probably don’t even exist and perfect shielding, there will be an impact and that will be significant,” Barcons says.

    This story — i.e. this tale involving the VLT, the AES project, Chile, etc. — is a useful reminder that specific places are important resources for some parts of the scientific enterprise. This is something we saw with opposition to the TMT atop Mauna Kea and in a different yet still similar form in the radio astronomy v. Starlink issue as well, but is otherwise something I think we forget, especially when the need arises beyond the bounds of the combined astronomy + geography setting.

    For example, one of the major ways in which the world’s countries are responding to climate change is by trading carbon credits. In the framework of the programme in which these credits are valid, they’re generated by ‘projects’ that establish net carbon sinks. Some countries — almost always economically developing, in the tropics, and with low per capita income — have become hotspots of these projects, by their own initiative or at least by their wilful participation, by protecting old forests and selling the resulting credits to net carbon sources elsewhere.

    I’m not convinced how the idea of allowing climate pollutants to accumulate in one area by offsetting them against carbon sinks in another, and far-flung, area could be legitimate. But setting that side: one way to look at it is that the international carbon-trading mechanism has created a new incentive structure wherein some less-wealthy countries could make the maintenance of mature flora within their borders a profitable enterprise that contributes to the local economy.

    There’s also another way to look at it, especially because the carbon trading mechanism doesn’t have an implicit incentive and/or sanctions structure that discourages emissions over time: the persistence, even flourishing, of net carbon sources in other countries becomes increasingly dependent on the existence of carbon sinks in these other countries and an entitlement arises on the former’s part to the latter maintaining its forests. Would such an expectation be fair?

    Fair to the “greater good” perhaps, but if something exists solely for a “greater good”, there’s a good chance it shouldn’t exist at all. Almost all the economically developing countries of the world have argued at multilateral climate fora for a right to continue to emit more and more carbon dioxide before reaching net-zero so that they’re allowed to pay a similar cost to have their economies grow as the world’s economically developed countries did in the past, without incurring the much greater costs today thanks to the (relatively) technologically immature renewable energy sources, their derivatives and downstream products, and their attendant infrastructure.

    One way for a country to respond to this pressure is by converting more forest land for agriculture, industry, and residences. But as long as a country has a handle on this strategy (e.g. the way India is doing it is wrong), cutting part of its forests down is its prerogative and not something for businesses or even other countries to be able to control. Yet such control impulses have already been on display in the form of international banks restructuring national debts on the basis of promises to protect local biodiversity as well as governments — especially those of the US and the EU — including the waiver of loan repayments in climate financing commitments.

    Now, I’m curious if we can argue the same way about ground-based telescopes. According to the report in Science, the European Southern Observatory (ESO) “chose the summit of Cerro Paranal” in the Atacama Desert, most of which lies in Chile, for its Very Large Telescope (VLT) because the air is almost completely free of moisture (which refracts light) and there’s no stray light, allowing starlight to reach the telescope’s instruments without much distortion. The AES project threatens to disrupt this state of affairs by throwing up more light into the sky and dispelling the valuable darkness.

    … or at least that’s how Science has framed the argument. The problem here is that the interest of the Chilean government — which, by virtue of being democratically elected, represents the interests of the Chilean people — doesn’t find mention in the article until the 11th paragraph (out of 13). The ESO’s issues with the AES project take up most of the narrative; even the AES company’s statement appears before the government’s interests. In fact, the AES statement is (ironically?) the one to reveal the ESO’s ire to be misdirected: “The INNA project will be located in an area that the State of Chile has defined for the development of renewable energies…”.

    Where’s the Chilean government in all this? If it approved the AES project’s location while being fully aware of the ESO telescopes nearby, what does AES have to do with this kerfuffle? By this point, in the ninth paragraph, an astronomer named Francesco Pepe has alleged that AES didn’t have an “open discussion” when ESO tried do and that “they did not take into account other interests”. This may be true — I trust Science’s credentials — but it’s still puzzling. If the Government of Chile approved both the VLT and the AES projects, why is the narrative erecting the AES as a bad-faith actor here by accusing it of refusing an “open discussion” here?

    (The term “open discussion” is also vague. In fact, paint me cynical because I’m familiar with many instances in India where “open discussion” has been a euphemism for the interests of science and/or scientists to be airdropped into a democratic process. Many scientists and their rationalist groupies have often insisted governments adopt scientifically validated solutions to some problem or emergency without considering the tendency of such solutions — in the absence of suitable policy protections — to disenfranchise some social groups and minimise democratic power. See here and here for examples.)

    Governments have special powers by definition. In the current context, the Chilean government wilfully abdicated its ability to wield that power, forgot how, couldn’t make up its mind about how or there’s something more happening here that we don’t know. As Pepe says in the 11th paragraph, “There seems to be some tension within the Chilean government between the ministers of energy and so on, on one side, and the ministers of science on the other side,” i.e. the third possibility. However, another scientists claims in the very last paragraph that AES is “a really, really big company and they have a lot of power”, that “it’s not easy to fight someone that has a lot of power.”

    No shit — yet even this statement brings us back to the same question: where o where is the government? What does it want, and why? There’s no mention in the Science article of the author having attempted to get a statement from the Chilean government.

    Finally, far be it from me to advocate populism. In fact, I’d sooner root for the view that a democratic government should transcend the populism that got it into power and found its decisions on what’s good for the country, in the long-term, and based on consulting a variety of stakeholders — and not simply on the ephemeral interests of the largest mob. (Ironically, I surmise, such thinking and deliberation would serve the interests of astronomy more than those of a clean-energy company since the latter is more likely to have popular support.) But even this sort of articulation is missing from the Science article, which instead leaves readers with an “astronomy above all” narrative.

    Update, 7:27 pm, January 17, 2025: Physics World‘s coverage doesn’t even bother with the word “government”.

    Featured image credit: Majestic Lukas/Unsplash.

  • Tamil Nadu’s lukewarm heatwave policy

    I published this article here by mistake. I’d intended for it to appear in a different forum and I have submitted it there. If and when it’s published there, I will link to it here. My apologies.

  • Did we see the conspiracies coming?

    Tweets like this seem on point…

    … but I’ve started to wonder if we’re missing something in the course of expressing opinions about what we thought climate deniers would say and what they’re actually saying. That is, we expected to be right about what we thought they’d say but we’ve found ourselves wrong. Should we lampoon ourselves as well? Or, to reword the cartoon:

    How we imagined we could react when ‘what we imagined deniers would say when the climate catastrophes came’ came true: “I was so right! And now everyone must pay for their greed and lies! May god have mercy on their soul!”

    Followed by:

    How we expect we’ll react when we find out ‘what they actually are saying’: “I was so wrong! And now everyone must pay for my myopia and echo chambers! May god have mercy on my soul!”

    And finally:

    How we actually are reacting: “We’re just using these disasters as an excuse to talk about climate change! Like we did with COVID! And 9/11! And the real moon landings! Screw you and your federal rescue money! You need to take your electric vegan soy beans now!”

    People (myself included) in general aren’t entirely effective at changing others’ attitudes so it may not seem fair to say there’s a mistake in us not having anticipated how the deniers would react, that we erred by stopping short of understanding really why climate denialism exists and addressing its root cause. But surely the latter sounds reasonable in hindsight? ‘Us versus them’ narratives like the one in the cartoon describe apparent facts very well but they also reveal a tendency, either on the part of ‘us’ or of ‘them’ but often of both, to sustain this divide instead of narrowing it.

    I’m not ignorant of the refusal of some people to change their mind under any circumstances. But even if we couldn’t have prevented their cynical attitudes on social issues — and consensus on climate change is one — maybe we can do better to anticipate them.

  • A tale of two myopias, climate change and the present participle

    The Assam floods are going on. One day, they will stop. The water will subside in many parts of the state but the things that caused the floods will continue to work, ceaselessly, and will cause them to occur again next year, and the year after and so on for the foreseeable future.

    Journalists, politicians and even civil society members have become adept at seeing the floods in space. Every year, as if on cue, there have been reports on the cusp of summer of floodwaters inundating many districts in the state, including those containing and surrounding the Kaziranga national park; displacing lakhs of people and killing hundreds; destroying home, crop, cattle and soil; encouraging the spread of diseases; eroding banks and shores; and prompting political leaders to promise all the help that they can muster for the affected people. But the usefulness of the spatial cognition of the Assam floods has run its course.

    Instead, now, we need to inculcate a temporal cognition, whether this alone or a spatio-temporal one. The reason is that more than the floods themselves, we are currently submerged by the effects of two myopias, like two rocks tied around our necks that are dragging us to the bottom. The first one is sustained by the members of our political class, such as Assam CM Himanta Biswa Sarma and Union home minister Amit Shah, when they say that they will avail all the support and restitution to displaced people and the relatives of those killed directly or indirectly by the floods.

    The floods are not the product of climate change but of mindless infrastructure ‘development’, the construction of dikes and embankments, encroachment of wetlands and plains, destruction of forests and the over-extraction resources and its consequences. A flood happens when the water levels rise, but destruction is the result of objects of human value being in the waters’ way. More and more human property is being located in places where the water used to go, and more and more human property is being rendered vulnerable to being washed away.

    When political leaders offer support to the people after every flood (which is the norm), it is akin to saying, “I will shoot you with a gun and then I will pay for your care.” Offering people support is not helpful, at least not when it stops there, followed by silence. Everyone – from parliamentary committees to civil society members – should follow the utterances of Shah, Sarma & co. (both BJP and non-BJP leaders, including those of the Congress, CPI(M), DMK, TMC, etc.) through time, acknowledge the seasonality of their proclamations, and bring them to book for failing to prevent the floods from occurring every year, instead of giving them brownie points for providing support on each occasion post facto.

    The second myopia exists on the part of many journalists, especially in the Indian mainstream press, and their attitude towards cyclones, which can be easily and faithfully extrapolated to floods as well. Every year for the last two decades at least, there has been a cyclone or two that ravaged two states in particular: Andhra Pradesh and West Bengal (the list included Odisha but it has done well to mitigate the consequences). And on every occasion plus some time, reports have appeared in newspapers and magazines of fisherpeople in dire straits with their boats broken, nets torn and stomachs empty; of coastal properties laid to waste; and, soon after, of fuel and power subsidies, loan waivers and – if you wait long enough – sobering stories of younger fishers migrating to other parts of the country looking for other jobs.

    These stories are all important and necessary – but they are not sufficient. We also need stories about something new – stories that are mindful of the passage of time, of people growing old, the rupee becoming less valuable, the land becoming more recalcitrant, and of the world itself passing them all by. We need the present participle.

    This is not a plea for media houses to commoditise tragedy and trade in interestingness but a plea to consider that these stories miss something: the first myopia, the one that our political leaders espouse. By keeping the focus on problem X, we also keep the focus on the solutions for X. Now ask yourself what X might be if all the stories appearing in the mainstream press are about post-disaster events, and thus which solutions – or, indeed, points of accountability – we tend to focus on to the exclusion of others. We also need stories – ranging in type from staff reports to reported features, from hyperlocal dispatches to literary essays – of everything that has happened in the aftermath of a cyclone making landfall near, say, Nellore or North 24 Parganas, whether things have got better or worse with time, whether politicians have kept their promises to ameliorate the conditions of the people there (especially those not living inside concrete structures and/or whose livelihoods depends directly on natural resources); and whether by restricting ourselves to supporting a people after a storm or a flood has wreaked havoc, we are actually dooming them.

    We need timewise data and we need timewise first-hand accounts. To adapt the wisdom of Philip Warren Anderson, we may know how a shrinking wetland may exacerbate the intensity of the next flood, but we cannot ever derive from this relationship knowledge of the specific ways in which people, and then the country, suffer, diminish and fade away.

    The persistence of these two myopias also feeds the bane of incrementalism. By definition, incremental events occur orders of magnitude more often than significant events (so to speak), so it is more efficient to evolve to monitor and record the former. This applies as much to our memories as it does to the economics of newsrooms. We tend to get caught up in the day-to-day and are capable within weeks of forgetting something that happened last year; unscrupulous politicians play to this gallery by lying through their teeth about something happening when it didn’t (or vice versa), offending the memories of all those who have died because of a storm or a flood and yet others who survive but on the brink of tragedy. On the other hand, newsrooms are staffed with more journalists attuned to the small details but not implicitly able to piece all of them together into the politically and economically inconvenient big picture (there are exceptions, of course).

    I am not sure when we entered the crisis period of climate change but in mid-2022, it is a trivial fact that we are in the thick of it – the thick of a beast that assails us both in space and through time. In response, we must change the way we cognise disasters. The Assam floods are ongoing – and so are the Kosithe Sabarmati and the Cauvery floods. We just haven’t seen the waters go wild yet.

  • Some comments on India’s heat

    On May 5, a couple people from BBC World reached out to me, presumably after reading my piece last week on the heatwave in North India and the wet-bulb temperature, for a few comments on a story they were producing on the topic. They had five questions between them; I’m reproducing my answers roughly verbatim (since I spoke to them on phone) below.

    Are these high temperatures usual?

    A: Yes and no. Yes because while these numbers are high, we’ve been hearing about them for a decade or so now – and reading about them in news reports and hearing anecdotal reports. This isn’t the first such heatwave to hit India. A few years ago, peak summer temperature in Delhi touched 47º C or so and there were photos in the media of the asphalt on the road having melted. That was worse – that hasn’t happened this time, yet. That’s the ‘yes’ part. The ‘no’ part has to do with the fact that India is a large country and some parts of the country that are becoming hotter are probably also reaching these temperatures for the first time. E.g. Bangalore, where I live, is currently daily highs of around 35º C. This is par for the course in Chennai and Delhi but it’s quite hot for Bangalore. This said, the high heat is starting sooner, on this occasion from mid-March or so itself, and lasting for longer. That has changed our experience of the heat and our exposure. Of course, my answers are limited to urban India, especially to major cities. I don’t know off the top of my head what the situation in other parts is like.

    The government has said India has a national heat plan and some cities have adopted heat action plans. Are they effective?

    Hard to say. Only two score or so cities have adopted functional heat action plans plus they’re cities, which is not where most of India lives. Sure, the heat is probably worse in the urban centres because of the heat island effect, but things are quite poor in rural areas as well, especially in the north. The heat also isn’t just heat – people experience its effects more keenly if they don’t have continuous power supply or access to running water, which is often the case in many parts of rural India. The benefits of these action plans accrue to those who are better off, typically those who are upper class and upper caste, which is hardly the point. When North India’s heatwave was underway last week, NDTV interviewed shopkeepers and small scale traders, vendors, etc. about whether they could take time off. All of them without exception said ‘no’. Come rain or shine, they need to work. I remember there being vicious cyclones in Chennai and waking up in the morning to find the roads flooded, trees fallen down and loose electric wires – and the local mobile vegetable vendor doing his rounds. Also, in urban areas, do the heat action plans account for the plights of homeless people and beggars, and people living in slums, where – even if they’re indoors – they have poor circulation and often erratic water and power supply?

    What should the government do?

    That’s a very broad question. Simply speaking, the government should give people who can’t afford to shut their businesses or take time off from work the money they’d lose if they did, and rations. This is going to be very difficult but this is what should be done. But this won’t happen. Even during the COVID-19 pandemic, the Indian government didn’t plan for the tens of thousands of migrant labourers and daily-wage earners in cities, who, once the lockdown came into effect, slowly migrated back to their home towns and villagers in search of livelihoods. This sector remains invisible to the government.

    [I also wanted to say but didn’t have the time:] the experience of heat is also mediated by gender, geography and caste forces, so state interventions should also be mediated by them. For example, women in particular, in rural India and especially in Central and North India (where literacy is relatively lower) operate in settings where they have few rights and little if any financial and social independence. They can seldom buy or own land and go out to work, and often labour indoors, performing domestic tasks in poorly ventilated residential spaces, venture out to fetch water from often distant sources – a task performed almost exclusively by women and girls –, often have to defecate in the open but do so early in the day or late in the evening to avoid harrassment and shame, which then means they may not drink water to avoid peeing during the day but which would render them vulnerable to heat stress, etc. If state interventions don’t bend around these realities, they will be useless.

    The moment you mention data or figures that you say you obtained from this government, the first thought that comes to mind is that it’s probably inaccurate, and likely an underestimate. Even now, the Indian government has an ongoing dispute with the WHO over the number of people who died during the pandemic in India: India is saying half a million but the WHO as well as many independent experts have said it’s probably 3-5 million. For example, if the government is collecting data of heat-related illnesses at the institutional level (from hospitals, clinics, etc.) you immediately have a bias in terms of which people are able to or intend to access healthcare when they develop a heat-related illness. Daily-wagers don’t go to hospitals unless their conditions are acute – because they’d lose a day’s earnings, because their out of pocket expenses have increased or both.

    Do you think parts of India will become unliveable in your lifetime?

    This is a good question. I’d say that ‘unliveable’ is a subjective thing. I have a friend in Seattle who recently bought a house in what she said was a nice part of the city, with lots of greenery, opportunities to go hiking and trekking on the weekend, with clear skies, clean air and large water bodies nearby. Liveability to her is different from, say, liveability to someone living in New Delhi, where the air is already quite foul, summers are very hot and winters are likely to become colder in future. Liveability means different things to people living in Delhi, London and Seattle. Many parts of India have been unliveable for a long time now, we just put up with it – and many people do because they don’t have any other option – and our bar just keeps slipping lower.

  • Climate change, like quantum physics, will strain language

    One of the defining features of quantum mechanics is that it shows up human language, and thought supported by that language, to be insufficient and limited. Many of the most popular languages of the world, including Tamil, Hindi and English, are linear. Their script reads in a line from one end of the page to the other, and their spoken words compile meaning based on a linear sequence and order of words. It is possible to construe these meanings in turn only after word after another, through the passage of time. If time stops, so does language.

    Such linearity is incompatible with the possibilities in quantum mechanics for simultaneity, in both space and time. Quantum superposition is not exactly a system in two states at once but in a linear combination of states, but without the specialised knowledge, language can only offer a slew of metaphors, each of which hews asymptotically closer to the actual thing but never captures it in its entirety. Quantum entanglement, similarly, causes one particle to affect another instantaneously, over hundreds of kilometres, defying both the universal information speed limit and the ability of human minds that remain constrained by that limit, as well as a human language that has no place for, and therefore can’t identify, simultaneity. All we have something after another, effect after cause, the first step and then the second, and never both at once.

    Indeed, the notion of causality – that cause will always precede effect – is one of the load-bearing pillars of reality as we strive to understand it.

    But while quantum mechanics is so kooky, it is also excusably so, considering it represents a paradigm shift of sorts from the truths of classical physics (it plays by different rules, that is). It is almost simply natural that our languages do not encompass the possibilities afforded by a phenomenon we didn’t encounter until the 20th century, and still don’t except through specialised apparatuses and controlled experimental conditions.

    However, there is another system of things that plays largely by the rules of classical physics – our interactions with and formalisation of which paralleled the evolution of our languages – and yet increasingly defies the ability of our languages to describe it faithfully: climate change.

    True, weather and climate patterns include aspects of chaos theory, which explains how minute differences in initial conditions can lead to vastly different outcomes. But chaos theory still only takes recourse to non-linear effects, which, while harder to conceive of than their linear counterparts, are easier than to grapple with non-locality and non-causality. Of course, climate change doesn’t violate any of these or other similarly foundational principles, yet it complicates interactions in the global weather system and intensifies the interactions between the elements and human culture, technology and biology – both to such a degree that they have consequences both different and new.

    For example, to quote from an article The Wire Science published this morning:

    Climate change will further exacerbate marine heatwave risks in the [Indian subcontinent] region, according to [Ming] Feng. This could suppress coastal upwelling – the process by which strong winds move surface water in the ocean, permitting water from below to surface – and reduce the amount of oxygen in the water. This in turn could have a “great impact” on fisheries.

    A big part of climate change’s (extant as well as impending) devastation is in the form of surprise – that is, of the emergent phenomena that it makes possible. Expounded most famously by the brilliant physicist Philip W. Anderson, especially in his 1972 essay ‘More Is Different’, emergence is the idea that we cannot fully describe a large system only by studying its smallest components. Put another way, larger systems have emergent properties and behaviour that are more than the sum of the ways in which systems’ most fundamental parts interact. Studying climate change is important because the additional complexity it imbues to existing weather systems are ripe with emergent effects, each with new consequences and perhaps more effects of their own.

    At the same time, the bulk of these effects, taken together, anticipate such a large volume of possibilities that even though they certainly won’t defy reality’s, and human languages’, assumption that causality is true, they will push it to extreme limits. Two events are still at liberty to happen at the same time, each with a distinct and preceding cause, but even as the ways we communicate wait for cause before composing effect, climate change will confront us with a tsunami of changes – each one reinforcing, screening or ignoring the other, rapidly branching out into a larger, denser forest of changes, until the cause is only relevant as an historical artefact in our grammar of the natural universe.

  • The Nobel Prize, its men and climate change

    The sciences part of this year’s Nobel Prize announcements have concluded. These are the new laureates:

    • Physics – Syukuro Manabe 🇯🇵 🇺🇸, Klaus Hasselmann 🇩🇪 and Giorgio Parisi 🇮🇹
    • Chemistry – Benjamin List 🇩🇪 and David W.C. MacMillan 🇬🇧
    • Medicine/physiology – David Julius 🇺🇸 and Ardem Patapoutian 🇺🇸

    I have yet to come across a more overt vestment of faith in the notions of prestige and genius whose increasingly unjust nature does little to diminish its value than the science Nobel Prizes. I seem to repeat this like clockwork every year but it bears repeating: few seem to care that the Nobel Prizes overlook the achievements of women (and people of other gender and racial identities) too often for them to be legitimate markers of achievement. Yet they continue to be so. This year, I have one more grouse… of sorts. It is at the least a sad irony at the centre of the 2021 physics and chemistry prizes. The citations for four of their recipients, out of five, connect their work to climate change directly or indirectly: Manabe and Hasselmann (“for the physical modelling of Earth’s climate, quantifying variability and reliably predicting global warming”), and List and MacMillan (“for their development of a precise new tool for molecular construction [that] has had a great impact on pharmaceutical research, and has made chemistry greener”). By awarding its prizes for these citations to no one else, the Nobel Foundation has found one more way to exclude women and others from our narratives of climate change. This may seem like a roundabout concern, if not too tenuous to matter at all, but there is something to be said about justice here – especially what we deem to be steps too inconsequential to achieving it.

    Beating climate change won’t just require us to lower our greenhouse-gas emissions. More fundamentally, it demands that we abandon modes of social and economic development that privilege wealth accumulation and gender stratification, among other things. However, the Nobel Prizes seem determined to gather white men at the centre of our conception of how science works and/or progresses (and thereon to how we can “develop” or “progress” as a nation), to the exclusion of people who, simply put, haven’t caught the prize-giving body’s attention by publishing in high-profile journals, by collaborating with notable researchers and/or at good universities, or simply by slipping past the surfeit of biases at research centres around the world – from who can win grants to whose work is appreciated, from who’s selected for lucrative jobs to who’s rejected on the basis of ‘fertility discrimination’. And when so many people, including most scientists, kneel at the altar of the Nobel Prizes, they help normalise the marginalisation of non-white (and non-trans) men from the public imagination of ‘important’ science and scientific achievements. This point of view obviously banks on the hope, however misguided, that the Nobel Foundation could become interested in wedding its considerable clout to an agenda to improve the fortunes of those who are held back by society’s prejudices – instead of simply continuing to treat scientific contributions to be wholly independent of the people who make them, and the social circumstances in which they do. This irrational division only entrenches science’s myth of objectivity, and supports fallacious claims that leaving out everyone but (non-trans) men doesn’t deprive science, and its application to human betterment, of novel, valuable and more just perspectives.* In fact, the Nobel Prizes must strive towards this agenda, to echo what I recently wrote about the Bhatnagar Prizes in India: that these prizes “will fall by the wayside if they continue to fail to provide society with a way to recognise its members’ achievements without conforming to a view of science that became dated decades ago.”

    But of course, few care. 🙂

    * Aside: The Nobel Prize for chemistry in 1938 comes to mind. The prize-giving committee awarded it to Richard Kuhn in spite of his ardent support for Nazism and his shameful conduct towards his Jewish colleagues two years earlier.

    Featured image: Gösta Florman’s portrait of Alfred Nobel, late 19th century. Credit: Wikimedia Commons, public domain.

  • On the NASEM report on solar geoengineering

    A top scientific body in the US has asked the government to fund solar geoengineering research in a bid to help researchers and policymakers know the fullest extent of their options to help the US deal with climate change.

    Solar geoengineering is a technique in which sunlight-reflecting aerosols are pumped into the air, to subtract the contribution of solar energy to Earth’s rapidly warming surface.

    The technique is controversial because the resulting solar dimming is likely to affect ecosystems in a detrimental way and because, without the right policy safeguards, its use could allow polluting industries to continue polluting.

    The US National Academies of Sciences, Engineering and Medicine (NASEM) released its report on March 25. It describes three solar geoengineering strategies: stratospheric aerosol injection (described above), marine cloud brightening and cirrus cloud thinning.

    “Although scientific agencies in the US and abroad have funded solar-geoengineering research in the past, governments have shied away from launching formal programmes in the controversial field,” Nature News reported. In addition, “Previous recommendations on the subject by elite scientific panels in the US and abroad have gone largely unheeded” – including NASEM’s own 2015 recommendations.

    To offset potential roadblocks, the new report requests the US government to setup a transparent research administration framework, including a code of conduct, an open registry of researchers’ proposals for studies and a fixed process by which the government will grant permits for “outdoor experiments”. And to achieve these goals, it recommends a dedicated allocation of $100-200 million (Rs 728-1,456 crore).

    According to experts who spoke to Nature News, Joe Biden being in the Oval Office instead of Donald Trump is crucial: “many scientists say that Biden’s administration has the credibility to advance geoengineering research without rousing fears that doing so will merely displace regulations and other efforts to curb greenhouse gases, and give industry a free pass.”

    This is a significant concern for many reasons – including, notably, countries’ differentiated commitments to ensuring outcomes specified in the Paris Agreement and the fact that climate is a global, not local, phenomenon.

    Data from 1900 to 2017 indicates that US residents had the world’s ninth highest carbon dioxide emissions per capita; Indians were 116th. This disparity, which holds between the group of large developed countries and of large developing countries in general, has given rise to demands by the latter that the former should do more to tackle climate change.

    The global nature of climate is a problem particularly for countries with industries that depend on natural resources like solar energy and seasonal rainfall. One potential outcome of geoengineering is that climatic changes induced in one part of the planet could affect outcomes in a faraway part.

    For example, the US government sowed the first major seeds of its climate research programme in the late 1950s after the erstwhile Soviet Union set off three nuclear explosions underground to divert the flow of a river. American officials were alarmed because they were concerned that changes to the quality and temperature of water entering the Arctic Ocean could affect climate patterns.

    For another, a study published in 2007 found that when Mt Pinatubo in the Philippines erupted in 1991, it spewed 20 million tonnes of sulphur dioxide that cooled the whole planet by 0.5º C. As a result, the amount of rainfall dropped around the world as well.

    In a 2018 article, Rob Bellamy, a Presidential Fellow in Environment at the University of Manchester, had also explained why stratospheric aerosol injection is “a particularly divisive idea”:

    For example, as well as threatening to disrupt regional weather patterns, it, and the related idea of brightening clouds at sea, would require regular “top-ups” to maintain cooling effects. Because of this, both methods would suffer from the risk of a “termination effect”: where any cessation of cooling would result in a sudden rise in global temperature in line with the level of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. If we hadn’t been reducing our greenhouse gas emissions in the background, this could be a very sharp rise indeed.

    A study published in 2018 had sought to quantify the extent of this effect – a likely outcome of, say, projects losing political favour or funding. The researchers created a model in which humans pumped five million tonnes of sulphur dioxide a year into the stratosphere for 50 years, and suddenly stopped. One of the paper’s authors told The Wire Science at the time: “This would lead to a rapid increase in temperature, two- to four-times more rapid than climate change without geoengineering. This increase would be dangerous for biodiversity and ecosystems.”

    Prakash Kashwan, a political scientist at the University of Connecticut and a senior research fellow of the Earth System Governance Project, has also written for The Wire Science about the oft-ignored political and social dimensions of geoengineering.

    He told the New York Times on March 25, “Once these kinds of projects get into the political process, the scientists who are adding all of these qualifiers and all of these cautionary notes” – such as “the steps urged in the report to protect the interests of poorer countries” – “aren’t in control”. In December 2018, Kashwan also advised caution in the face of scientific pronouncements:

    The community of climate engineering scientists tends to frame geoengineering in certain ways over other equally valid alternatives. This includes considering the global average surface temperature as the central climate impact indicator and ignoring vested interests linked to capital-intensive geoengineering infrastructure. This could bias future R&D trajectories in this area. And these priorities, together with the assessments produced by eminent scientific bodies, have contributed to the rise of a de facto form of governance. In other words, some ‘high-level’ scientific pronouncements have assumed stewardship of climate geoengineering in the absence of other agents. Such technocratic modes of governance don’t enjoy broad-based social or political legitimacy.

    For now, the NASEM report “does not in any way advocate deploying the technology, but says research is needed to understand the options if the climate crisis becomes even more serious,” according to Nature News. The report itself concludes thus:

    The recommendations in this report focus on an initial, exploratory phase of a research program. The program might be continued or expand over a longer term, but may also shrink over time, with some or all elements eventually terminated, if early research suggests strong reasons why solar geoengineering should not be pursued. The proposed approaches to transdisciplinary research, research governance, and robust stakeholder engagement are different from typical climate research programs and will be a significant undertaking; but such efforts will enable the research to proceed in an effective, societally responsive manner.

    Matthew Watson, a reader in natural hazards at the University of Bristol, had discussed a similar issue in conversation with Bellamy in 2018, including an appeal to our moral responsibilities the same way ‘geoengineers’ must be expected to look out for transnational and subnational effects:

    Do you remember the film 127 Hours? It tells the (true) story of a young climber who, pinned under a boulder in the middle of nowhere, eventually ends up amputating his arm, without anaesthetic, with a pen knife. In the end, he had little choice. Circumstances dictate decisions. So if you believe climate change is going to be severe, you have no option but to research the options (I am not advocating deployment) as broadly as possible. Because there may well come a point in the future where it would be immoral not to intervene.

    The Wire Science
    March 30, 2021