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Climate protestors clash with police outside Tesla’s German gigafactory

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Climate protestors in Germany broke through police barricades on Friday, amid clashes between activists and law enforcement. The protestors either made it onto (according to protestors) or near (according to local police) the grounds of a Tesla gigafactory in Grünheide, Germany, near Berlin. It’s part of a planned five-day demonstration ahead of a local government vote next week to determine whether Tesla’s plant can expand.

Wired flagged social media videos showing activists, many of whom have been camping out in treehouses in nearby forest encampments, running toward a Tesla building on the site. In addition, the German newspaper Welt said at least one person participating was injured. Police reportedly police used pepper spray and batons to try to thwart the crowd, and there were at least some arrests.

A spokesperson for one of the groups participating in the protests told Wired that they broke the police barriers and stormed the Tesla grounds. “Eight hundred people have entered the premises of the gigafactory,” Lucia Mende of Disrupt Tesla said. However, local police posted on X (Musk’s social media platform) that the activists only reached a field facing the site. “We have been able to prevent them from entering so far,” they posted.

GRUENHEIDE, GERMANY - MAY 10: Police confront environmental activists in a forest near the Tesla Gigafactory electric car factory on May 10, 2024 near Gruenheide, Germany. Activists have come from across Germany to demand a stop to plans by Tesla to expand the factory, which would involve cutting down at least 50 hectares of trees. Some locals also support the protest, citing stress to local groundwater reserves from the factory. (Photo by Axel Schmidt/Getty Images)GRUENHEIDE, GERMANY - MAY 10: Police confront environmental activists in a forest near the Tesla Gigafactory electric car factory on May 10, 2024 near Gruenheide, Germany. Activists have come from across Germany to demand a stop to plans by Tesla to expand the factory, which would involve cutting down at least 50 hectares of trees. Some locals also support the protest, citing stress to local groundwater reserves from the factory. (Photo by Axel Schmidt/Getty Images)

Axel Schmidt via Getty Images

At least at first glance, it’s easy to wonder why activists are pouring so much energy into fighting Tesla. After all, despite Musk’s increasingly unhinged right-wing conspiracy-mongering and Nazi-catering on X, other automakers pushing gas-guzzling cars seem like more appropriate targets (not to mention the fossil fuel companies spending big bucks on anti-climate-reform disinformation). However, several factors make the issues at the heart of the protests less simplistic.

A (nonbinding) vote in February showed Grünheide residents opposed the expansion by almost a two-to-one ratio. If for no other reason, the local government having a chance to brush aside the overwhelming will of the voters in the name of capitalism is enough to raise the eyebrows of anyone who balks at minority rule.

Wired notes the area is also one of the most water-scarce in Germany, and residents worry the gigafactory will drain the resource, leaving much less for the humans who live there. The plant could also pollute local water supplies.

Those fears appear to have merit: The plant is licensed to use 1.4 million cubic meters of water annually, and a separate Wired report from Tuesday noted that’s enough to supply for a large town. As for the contamination fears, Tesla was fined in 2019 by the EPA for several hazardous waste violations at a California factory. The company paid a grand total of $31,000 to settle. (Tesla had a market cap of almost $76 billion in 2019.)

But some of the groups protesting have concerns that go much farther than those more immediate issues affecting the locals, instead taking issue with the entire electric vehicle movement. “Companies like Tesla are there to save the car industry, they’re not there to save the climate,” Esther Kamm, spokesperson for Turn Off the Tap on Tesla told Wired.

Another activist, who only gave Wired the name Mara, described the factory as the result of “green capitalism.” She views the EV movement as little more than a theatrical performance in the name of profit. “This has been completely thought up by such companies to have more growth, even in times of an environmental crisis,” she said.

I wouldn’t exactly say flipping the bird to the EV movement is a “workable” solution to the very real and pressing climate crisis. Regardless of your thoughts on the matter, the world needs to move quickly to fend off climate change’s most ravaging effects, and the scientific consensus is that the planned shift to EVs will need to play a central role.

Tesla reportedly told its employees at the factory to work from home on Friday, shutting down the plants for the planned protests. As for Friday’s protests, Welt reports that the situation had calmed by afternoon — at least for now.



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changing Arctic fjord hints at our climate future

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Far north of the Arctic Circle lies a fjord on the front lines of climate change. Geir Wing Gabrielsen has been visiting this inlet, located on the northwest side of the Norwegian archipelago Svalbard, since 1981, when he first came to study the behaviour of Arctic birds. It used to be that each year when the ecotoxicologist would arrive in May or June — springtime in Svalbard — he could count on one thing: that the fjord would still be locked in ice.

But all of that has changed.

The Arctic is warming four times as fast as the rest of the world owing to climate change. And because of a quirk of ocean currents, the fjord, called Kongsfjorden, is warming even faster (see ‘Current situation’). So much so that, since 2006, it no longer freezes over — even when the Sun sets during the winter months, between October and February.

Current situation: Location of Kongsfjorden in Svalbard, Norway and the currents from Atlantic and Arctic coastal waters.

Source: Buchholz, F., Buchholz, C. M. & Weslawski, J. M. Polar Biol. 33. 101–113 (2009).

This has completely reshaped the fjord’s ecosystem, according to a study in Polish Polar Research published in January1. Arctic mammals such as beluga whales (Delphinapterus leucas) and ringed seals (Phoca hispida) that once called the fjord home have left. Meanwhile, more southerly animals including Atlantic puffins (Fratercula arctica) and Atlantic mackerels (Scomber scombrus) have moved in. And new habitats have popped up along the shoreline where sea ice once suffocated plant growth.

For researchers such as Gabrielsen, at the University Centre in Svalbard, these changes are met with a sense of loss. But they are also viewed as an opportunity. The fjord “will provide information about how the Arctic will be in the future”, Gabrielsen says. And it could help to answer the big questions of which species will survive the shifting climate in the Arctic, and how.

“It’s incredible that I — in my time — have been able to see such dramatic changes,” he says.

Safe instruction of students from the University Centre in Svalbard (UNIS) standing Kongsfjorden sea-ice in April 2005.

As shown in this photo from April 2005, Kongsfjorden used to freeze over enough during springtime for students and researchers to safely walk on it.Credit: Kim Holmén

Vanishing Ice

Kongsfjorden, meaning ‘king’s fjord’, is arguably the best-studied Arctic fjord in the world. Norway established its first Arctic research station there in the 1960s in what was then the mining community of Ny-Ålesund. Since then, 11 other nations, including Germany, China and India, have set up camp there.

The density of research activity in the fjord has made it possible to track its environmental changes in detail. The eastern reach of Svalbard is pummeled by an Arctic current that keeps its frigid temperatures stable. Meanwhile, the western reach — where Kongsfjorden sits — is exposed to an offshoot of the Atlantic Gulf Stream. As a result, the fjord’s winter water temperature rose from 0.3 ºC in 2004 to 4 ºC in 2017. The most obvious effect of the warmer water hitting Kongsfjorden is the rapid retreat of its glaciers, says Kai Bischof, a marine biologist at the University of Bremen in Germany.

An aerial view of the town of Ny-Alesund near Kongsfjord, Svalbard, Norway, April 6, 2023, with snow and a fjord in the background.

A view of Ny-Ålesund from April 2023 showing the fjord free of sea ice.Credit: Lisi Niesner/Reuters

“If you go there, like me, every other year, you can really see the changes,” Bischof adds. He remembers how, in the 1990s, a retreating glacier revealed a surprise: a piece of land once covered in ice and marked on maps as a peninsula turned out to be an island. Scientists can now comfortably motor around it in boats. “The rate of change is accelerating,” Bischof says.

Out with the old, in with the new

Kongsfjorden has become something of a pilgrimage for politicians seeking to understand global warming. Both former UN secretary general Ban Ki-Moon and former US secretary of state John Kerry have toured the fjord. The rapidly changing landscape makes it “a place where you can really experience the changing climate through your eyes”, says Bischof.

The fjord has already taught researchers that the Arctic is susceptible to tipping points. When it failed to ice over in 2006, it “was a great wake-up call”, Gabrielsen says.

But determining how exactly climate change will scramble the fjord’s ecosystem is a bit more difficult.

Researchers have so far recorded the effects on some species. For instance, ringed seals have mostly left the fjord because, without any sea ice in which to build their dens during the spring, their pups were exposed to predatory birds. In 2023, scientists recording the living symphony of the fjord also noted that the frequency of whale songs had diminished, compared with Svalbard’s northeast coast2.

Kittiwakes feeding in front of the glacier near Kongsfjorden, Svalbard.

Black-legged kittiwakes feed in Kongsfjorden.Credit: Geir Wing Gabrielsen

Meanwhile, some opportunistic species have moved onto the scene. Atlantic mackerels were first spotted in September 2013. The Atlantic puffin, spotted occasionally in the 1980s, is now thriving in Kongsfjorden. And a 19-year survey3 of the stomach contents of black-legged kittiwakes (Rissa tridactyla) in the fjord — a type of seabird in the gull family — suggests that, since around 2006, they have started to feast on a wide array of Atlantic fish that seem to have relocated, including Atlantic herring (Clupea harengus), capelin (Mallotus villosus) and Atlantic cod (Gadus morhua).

The presence of these southern migrants seems to support the hypothesis that the Arctic will become more and more similar to the North Atlantic Ocean, a process aptly called Atlantification.

Arctic adapters

Some newcomers to Kongsfjorden present a challenge for researchers. Luisa Düsedau, a molecular biologist at the Alfred Wegner Institute in Bremerhaven, Germany, says that she and her colleagues now need to keep a watch out for polar bears (Ursus maritimus) as they walk the shoreline to collect specimens such as algae and kelp.

A polar bear eats common eider eggs near Kongsfjorden, Svalbard.

Polar bears now come into the fjord to eat the eggs of eiders along the shoreline.Credit: Geir Wing Gabrielsen

Once upon a time, these massive marine mammals would rarely come into the fjord. But with there being less and less sea ice — which polar bears rely on to hunt — the animals have started shifting tactics. Last summer, according to Gabrielsen, an unprecedented 20 polar bears and cubs travelled to the fjord to eat the eggs of common eiders (Somateria mollissima) and barnacle geese (Branta leucopsis) nesting along the shore.

Polar bears aren’t the only new thing on the shoreline. Scientists used to have a hard time studying anything growing along the tide line because of the sea ice covering it for a large chunk of the year. They also assumed that the ice would prevent most plants from growing there, because it would scrape away anything that tried to take root. Today, thick strands of kelp and algae — some species entirely new to science, according to Düsedau — are flourishing.

Luisa Dusedau working in the intertidal zone of Hansneset in Kongsfjorden in June 2021.

Molecular biologist Luisa Düsedau works along the tide line of Kongsfjorden, where you can now see kelp and algae, in 2021.Credit: Nele Schimpf

“It’s like a tiny forest” that forms a home for crabs, worms, snails and many other creatures that used to live on the sea floor, says Düsedau. “It’s blooming.”

The growth is a reminder that nature can adapt, she says. But she also emphasizes that it used to be difficult to know what was actually under the sea ice, especially during the harsh conditions of winter.

With the shifting environment, that is changing. Researchers are trying to establish a baseline for what typically lives in the fjord so that they can systematically bear witness as the ecosystem continues to evolve.

Two years ago, for instance, polar ecologist Charlotte Havermans, also at the Alfred Wegner Institute, travelled with a team to Kongsfjorden to learn whether jellyfish stayed active during the polar winter. The researchers didn’t know whether they would succeed. But upon shining their headlamps into the dark, now-uncovered water, “we saw so many jellyfish”, she says, “it was incredible”. She adds: “There were so many more species in the winter than we thought.” Not only that, but the team found jellyfish DNA in the stomachs of amphipods — tiny crustaceans — also spending the winter in the fjord. It was the first time scientists had spotted Arctic amphipods naturally feeding on jellyfish, and suggested that the jellies play a much bigger part in the winter food chain that previously thought4.

(L-R): Annkathrin Dischereit, Charlotte Havermans and Ayla Murray, researchers at the Alfred Wegener Institute, observe a jellyfish caught in the harbor of Ny-Ålesund, Svalbard.

Polar ecologist Charlotte Havermans (centre) and team sample amphipods in the water of Kongsfjorden during winter 2022.Credit: Alfred-Wegener-Institut/Esther Horvath

Kongsfjorden is powerful because it serves as a visual reminder of the power that climate change has to reshape the world, says Gabrielsen. Some 40 years ago, “I was so fascinated” by the fjord’s beauty, he says. Now, “I have grandchildren, and I wonder if they will be able to see what I have seen”.

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NATO is boosting AI and climate research as scientific diplomacy remains on ice

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Pilot whales surface near the NATO Research Vessel Alliance during the Biological and Behavioral Studies of Marine Mammals in the Western Mediterranean Sea study.

A NATO research vessel conducting studies of marine mammals in the Mediterranean Sea (pictured in 2009).Credit: U.S. Navy Petty Officer 2nd Class Kristen Allen via Mil image/Alamy

Science has been essential to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), the political and military alliance founded 75 years ago this month. The 32-country alliance is admitting more members as it faces evolving geopolitical and military threats. The organization’s scientific work focuses largely on defence and civil-security projects that, for instance, investigate how climate change is affecting war, how emerging technologies could enhance soldiers’ performance and how to reduce discrimination and intolerance among military personnel. “The role of science and technology for NATO is likely to grow significantly over the next two decades,” predicts Simona Soare, a defence-technologies researcher at Lancaster University, UK.

How does NATO use science?

“We’re looking to make sure that we can provide scientific advice to the nations of NATO to enable them to maintain a technical and military advantage,” says Bryan Wells, a chemist and the organization’s chief scientist. Wells works at NATO’s Brussels headquarters, where world leaders gathered earlier this month to mark the organization’s 75th anniversary.

NATO has a complex organizational structure including both military and civilian staff. The civilian part of NATO is headed by a senior political figure from a member state and also includes diplomats representing member countries. The military part is headed by senior military personnel.

Much of NATO’s research and development (R&D) takes place through the Science and Technology Organization (STO), a network of more than 6,000 scientists at universities and national laboratories and in industry. They work together on defence research projects. NATO’s member states and non-member countries together contribute around €350 million (US$380 million) annually for the work of this network, says Wells.

The STO also has its own research laboratory, the Centre for Maritime Research and Experimentation (CMRE) in La Spezia, Italy. The laboratory employs around 150 people and is led by Eric Pouliquen, a physicist who has worked on underwater remote sensing.

NATO’s civilian arm provides grants for a Science for Peace and Security (SPS) research programme, headed by Claudio Palestini, a researcher in communications engineering.

The programme funds studies in areas such as counterterrorism and cyber defence. Earlier this month, the SPS programme updated its priorities. These now include studies on the impact on defence and security from climate change and from AI; protecting underwater infrastructure, and what it calls “hybrid threats”, which includes interference in elections and disinformation. Each of its larger grants is worth between €250,000 and €400,000 and lasts for two to three years.

Wells says the STO publishes research — mostly from the CMRE — in peer-reviewed journals where possible. “We recognize if we can publish openly, it’s very beneficial to do that,” he says.

However, many of its research projects are classified. NATO also does not publish a detailed breakdown of its R&D income and expenditure by country; nor does it release its funding trend data.

What sort of research is NATO doing?

Projects cover a spectrum of fields including using autonomous undersea surveillance to hunt for and identify mines; tracking and identifying submarines; quantum radar; and synthetic biology.

For example, one programme led by CMRE researchers explores how autonomous underwater vehicles can identify submarines using quantum technologies and artificial intelligence. Similarly, another project, ‘Military Diversity in Multinational Defence Environments: From Ethnic Intolerance to Inclusion’ studied the reasons for intolerance within NATO members’ armed forces as part of an overall strategy to improve diversity and inclusion across the organization..

NATO is examining how AI could affect troops’ ability to conceal themselves and evade detection. Another initiative is investigating how biotechnology could boost soldiers’ performance by enhancing the microbiome or through brain-computer interface technologies.

Why is NATO interested in climate research?

NATO is concerned that climate change has significant impacts on security. Melting sea ice creates more routes for naval shipping in the Arctic, for example, and NATO and non-NATO countries are increasingly operating in the region.

NATO is also interested in how temperature changes could affect the security of its member and non-member countries as well as of military installations around the world. In a 2024 review paper in the Texas National Security Review, CMRE researchers — along with colleagues from the University of St Andrews, UK, the University of L’Aquila, Italy, and the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich — found that submarines could become more difficult to detect using sonar in the North Atlantic Ocean as water temperature rises.

In another study, presented at last week’s conference of the European Geosciences Union in Vienna , CMRE researchers working with scientists at the universities of Princeton in New Jersey and Central Florida in Orlando assessed how extreme weather might affect 91 NATO military bases and installations. The researchers found that multiple bases and installations are likely to become susceptible to climate change as emissions continue to rise.

In another project, last year one of NATO’s research vessels moored vertical lines holding oceanographic and acoustic recorders in the Arctic Ocean. The intention was to monitor temperature, salinity and ambient noise throughout the water column. Other research projects are looking at the use of new materials for military clothing in warmer climates, says Wells.

In 2022, NATO also published the first of a series called Climate change and Security Impact Assessment. It is also developing a methodology to map greenhouse-gas emissions from NATO-member military activities and installations.

lower a Slocum Glider unmanned undersea vehicle into the Gulf of Aqaba during International Maritime Exercise/Cutlass Express 2022.

Personnel from NATO and the Royal Jordanian Navy lower an unmanned undersea vehicle into the Gulf of Aqaba (pictured in 2022).Credit: U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Dawson Roth

How has NATO’s expansion affected science?

NATO’s membership has more than doubled since its founding on 4 April 1949. Finland and Sweden are the latest countries to join. Three more — Bosnia and Herzegovina, Georgia and Ukraine — want to become members.

More members potentially means more funding and support for research and development, as well as access to a bigger pool of scientific expertise. However, Finland and Sweden both participated in NATO’s collaborative research for several years before they joined, says Wells.

Soare says that NATO’s defence science originally focused on aerospace, to help its members catch up after the Soviet Union launched Earth’s first artificial satellites — Sputnik 1 and Sputnik 2 — in 1957. “Throughout the cold war, ensuring air superiority was considered crucial,” she says.

What about a role for science in diplomacy?

In 1958, NATO established research fellowships and projects in what later became its Science for Peace and Security programme, to boost collaboration between nations including the United States and the Soviet Union. “Science provided a path for superpower adversaries to cooperate,” says Paul Arthur Berkman, founder of the Science Diplomacy Center in Falmouth, Massachusetts.

The fellowships and collaborative projects continued to provide a point of contact between NATO and Russia until 2014, when Russia invaded Crimea. That year, Russia, Romania and the United States were jointly developing a system to connect telemedicine capabilities across all three countries to provide medical care in remote and emergency situations. However, the invasion prompted NATO to freeze cooperation with Russia.

Berkman, who in 2010 co-organized and chaired the first dialogue between NATO and Russia regarding environmental security in the Arctic, is concerned at the alliance’s shift away from using science as a “safety valve” in its relations with Russia. He warns that cutting off scientific dialogue with Russia undermines democracy and nations’ ability to tackle global challenges such as climate change.

“Open science is akin to freedom of speech. If we turn off open science, in a sense we’re undermining democracy,” says Berkman.

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European ruling linking climate change to human rights could be a game changer — here’s how

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On 9 April, the European Court of Human Rights delivered a groundbreaking ruling: states are obliged to protect their citizens from the threats and harms of climate change. And in that regard, judges said, Switzerland’s climate action has been inadequate (see go.nature.com/4azjhvd).

This marks the first time that an international human-rights court has linked protection of human rights with duties to mitigate global warming, clarifying once and for all that climate law and policy do not operate in a human-rights vacuum. The ruling is bound to alter the course of climate protection around the world.

The case was brought by Swiss Senior Women for Climate Protection (Verein KlimaSeniorinnen Schweiz), a group of more than 2,500 Swiss women aged 64 or over. They argued that they are at greater risk of heat-related illness or death than most people — and that, given that temperatures are rising, Switzerland was doing too little to reduce its greenhouse-gas emissions and contribute to meeting the 2015 Paris Agreement targets. In doing so, Switzerland was violating its duty to protect them. The court agreed.

As a lawyer who helped to collate scientific and legal evidence to advise the court, I consider this judgment crucial in putting climate law and policy on a human-rights track. It sets a precedent for the 46 member states of the Council of Europe and will act as a benchmark for climate-change litigation worldwide. The ruling makes judicial history, in terms of the legal remedies and the judges’ reasoning.

Here’s what the ruling contains, why it must be seen as a success, and what nations must do to comply.

At its heart is Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR): the right to private and family life. Unlike most laws, human rights are formulated to be open-ended so authorities can secure the protection of these rights in the face of new threats. Climate change is such a threat — and one that, unlike conventional environmental hazards, “should carry considerable weight in the weighing-up of any competing considerations”, according to the judges.

The court held that countries need to “adopt, and to effectively apply in practice, regulations and measures capable of mitigating the existing and potentially irreversible future effects of climate change”. It differentiated between climate ambition — the level of protection from adverse effects of climate change to which people are entitled — and the means of providing protection. Ambition can be reviewed by the court; the choice of means, less so.

Without prescribing specific years or percentage reductions, the ruling set out how a nation can show it is compliant. It must set out a timetable and targets for achieving carbon neutrality, and pathways and interim targets for reducing greenhouse-gas emissions. Measures must be implemented in a timely, appropriate and consistent manner. Governments must also provide evidence that they have complied with targets, and update targets regularly.

Two more requirements follow from Article 8 of the ECHR. States must provide information about climate regulations and measures (or their absence) to the public. And they must take citizens’ views into account in decisions.

Switzerland has not met these requirements, the judges found by 16 votes to one. Its regulatory framework is not sufficient to provide and apply “effective protection of individuals within its jurisdiction from the adverse effects of climate change on their life and health”.

What must Switzerland do now? Both the executive and the legislature must act, from the Federal Council to parliaments and governments at the federal, cantonal and municipal levels. They must set a greenhouse-gas budget and emissions pathways with timetables that are scientifically sound, legally binding and capable of bringing about the necessary reductions. Authorities must become more responsive to the needs of people most affected by climate change and find ways of acting on their views.

Reactions to the ruling are not promising. Several Swiss newspapers, politicians and commentators have claimed that ‘foreign’ judges are ‘making domestic climate policy’, calling it ‘dangerous’, and warning of a ‘demise of democracy’. This is disconcerting for several reasons.

Fifty years ago, Switzerland voluntarily committed itself to the ECHR, and abiding by the rule of law is an essential part of being a democratic state. As the court emphasized, “democracy cannot be reduced to the will of the majority of the electorate and elected representatives, in disregard of the requirements of the rule of law. The remit of domestic courts and the Court is therefore complementary to those democratic processes”. Swiss domestic courts had a chance to adjudicate on the matter, but failed. The Swiss government also knew that it was doing too little, having for decades avoided introducing meaningful emissions reductions for fear of holding back the economy.

Switzerland should welcome the judgement as a nudge to overcome inertia, just as the Netherlands and Germany have done over similar rulings by their domestic courts. Thanks to the KlimaSeniorinnen, policymakers now know what level of protection they must guarantee, and they have access to cutting-edge studies on emissions budgets.

Countries are legally bound to protect their citizens from climate change. Until they do so, those who suffer the most will have to insist on their basic rights being respected.

Competing Interests

The author declares no competing interests.

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Do climate lawsuits lead to action? Researchers assess their impact

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Climate litigation is in the spotlight again after a landmark decision last week. The top European human-rights court deemed that the Swiss government was violating its citizens’ human rights through its lack of climate action. The case, brought by more than 2,000 older women, is one of more than 2,300 climate lawsuits that have been filed against companies and governments around the world (see ‘Climate cases soar’).

But does legal action relating to climate change make a difference to nations’ and corporations’ actions? Litigation is spurring on governments and companies to ramp up climate measures, say researchers.

“There are a number of notable climate wins in court that have led to action by governments,” says Lucy Maxwell, a human-rights lawyer and co-director of the Climate Litigation Network, a non-profit organization in London.

Nature explores whether lawsuits are making a difference in the fight against global warming.

What have climate court cases achieved?

One pivotal case that spurred on change was brought against the Dutch government in 2013, by the Urgenda Foundation, an environmental group based in Zaandam, the Netherlands, along with some 900 Dutch citizens. The court ordered the government to reduce the country’s greenhouse-gas emissions by at least 25% by 2020, compared with 1990 levels, a target that the government met. As a result, in 2021, the government announced an investment of €6.8 billion (US$7.2 billion) toward climate measures. It also passed a law to phase out the use of coal-fired power by 2030 and, as pledged, closed a coal-production plant by 2020, says Maxwell.

CLIMATE CASES SOAR. Chart shows a steep increase in legal cases relating to climate change have been filed in courts since 1986.

Source: Grantham Research Institute/Sabin Center for Climate Change Law

In 2020, young environmental activists in Germany, backed by organizations such as Greenpeace, won a case arguing that the German government’s target of reducing greenhouse-gas emissions by 55% by 2030 compared with 1990 levels was insufficient to limit global temperature rise to “well below 2 ºC”, the goal of the 2015 Paris climate agreement. As a result, the government strengthened its emissions-reduction target to a 65% cut by 2030, and set a goal to reduce emissions by 88% by 2040. It also brought forwards a target to reach ‘climate neutrality’ — ensuring that greenhouse-gas emissions are equal to or less than the emissions absorbed from the atmosphere by natural processes — by 2045 instead of 2050. “In the Netherlands and Germany, action was taken immediately after court orders,” says Maxwell.

In its 2022 report, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change acknowledged for the first time that climate litigation can cause an “increase in a country’s overall ambition to tackle climate change”.

“That was a big moment for climate litigation, because it did really show how it can impact states’ ambition,” says Maria Antonia Tigre, director of the Sabin Center for Climate Change Law at Columbia University in New York City.

What about cases that fail?

Cases that fail in court can be beneficial, says Joana Setzer at the Grantham Research Institute on Climate Change and the Environment at the London School of Economics and Political Science.

In a 2015 case called Juliana v. United States, a group of young people sued the US government for not doing enough to slow down climate change, which they said violated their constitutional right to life and liberty. “This is a case that has faced many legal hurdles, that didn’t result in the court mandating policy change. But it has raised public awareness of climate issues and helped other cases,” says Setzer.

One lawsuit that benefited from the Juliana case was won last year by young people in Montana, says Setzer. The court ruled that the state was violating the plaintiffs’ right to a “clean and healthful environment”, by permitting fossil-fuel development without considering its effects on the climate. The ruling means that the state must consider climate change when approving or renewing fossil-fuel projects.

What happens when people sue corporations?

In a working paper, Setzer and her colleagues found that climate litigation against corporations can dent the firms’ share prices. The researchers analysed 108 climate lawsuits filed between 2005 to 2021 against public US and European corporations. They found case filings and court judgments against big fossil-fuel firms, such as Shell and BP, saw immediate drops in the companies’ overall valuations and share prices. “We find that, especially after 2019, there is a more significant drop in share prices,” says Setzer. “This sends a strong message to investors, and to the companies themselves, that there is a reputational damage that can result from this litigation,” she says.

In an analysis of 120 climate cases, to be published on 17 April by the Grantham Research Institute, Setzer’s team found that climate litigation can curb greenwashing in companies’ advertisements — this includes making misleading statements about how climate-friendly certain products are, or disinformation about the effects of climate change. “With litigation being brought, companies are definitely communicating differently and being more cautious,” she says.

What’s coming next in climate litigation?

Maxwell thinks that people will bring more lawsuits that demand compensation from governments and companies for loss and damage caused by climate change. And more cases will be focused on climate adaptation — suing governments for not doing enough to prepare for and adjust to the effects of climate change, she says. In an ongoing case from 2015, Peruvian farmer Saúl Luciano Lliuya argued that RWE, Germany’s largest electricity producer, should contribute to the cost of protecting his hometown from floods caused by a melting glacier. He argued that planet-heating greenhouse gases emitted by RWE increase the risk of flooding.

More cases will be challenging an over-reliance by governments on carbon capture and storage (CCS) technologies — which remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and store it underground — in reaching emissions targets, says Maxwell. But CCS technologies have not yet proved to work at a large scale. For instance, in February, researchers criticized the European Union for relying too much on CCS in its plans to cut greenhouse-gas emissions by 90% by 2040 compared with 1990 levels.

“There is a tendency now for companies and governments to say, we’ll use carbon capture, we’ll find some technology,” says Setzer. “In the courts, we’ll start seeing to what extent you can count on the future technologies, to what extent you really have to start acting now.”

What about lower-income countries?

There will also be more climate cases filed in the global south, which generally receive less attention than those in the global north, says Antonia Tigre. “There is more funding now being channelled to the global south for bringing these types of cases,” she says. This month, India’s supreme court ruled that people have a fundamental right to be free from the negative effects of climate change.

Last week’s Swiss success demonstrates that people can hold polluters to account through lawsuits, say researchers. “Litigation allows stakeholders who often don’t get a seat at the table to be involved in pushing for further action,” says Antonia Tigre.

Maxwell thinks that the judgment will influence lawsuits worldwide. “It sends a very clear message to governments,” she says. “To comply with their human rights obligations, countries need to have science-based, rapid, ambitious climate action.”

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What happens when climate change and the mental-health crisis collide?

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An "Extreme Heat Danger" sign at the Badwater Basin in Death Valley, California, U.S., on Thursday, June 17, 2021.

Climate change can cause anxiety — researchers need to work out when that requires specialist help.Credit: Kyle Grillot/Bloomberg/Getty

Nearly one billion people worldwide — including one in seven teenagers — have a mental disorder. A growing body of research suggests that climate change is worsening people’s mental health and emotional well-being. Acute heatwaves, droughts, floods and fires fuelled by climate change cause trauma, mental illness and distress. So can chronic effects of global warming, such as water and food insecurity, community breakdown and conflict, as we report in a News feature.

Surveys are revealing that experiencing the effects of climate change — and awareness of the threat — can lead to psychological responses such as a chronic fear of environmental doom, known as eco-anxiety. Eco-distress, climate anxiety and climate grief are other terms used. In a 2021 survey of 10,000 people aged 16–25 in 10 countries, nearly 60% of respondents were highly worried about climate change, and more than 45% said their feelings about climate change affected their daily lives, such as their ability to work or sleep1.

Make the problem visible

Such reactions to an existential threat are expected, and many people can handle these feelings on their own — but some need specialist help. Although there is anecdotal evidence that people with eco-anxiety are increasingly going to clinics, the psychological toll of climate change tends to be invisible — one reason why it has been neglected.

Researchers and governments need better ways to measure the wide-ranging extent of climate change’s effects on mental health. Data scientists, climate scientists and climate-attribution researchers, among others, should join mental-health researchers in furthering the underlying science. Mental-health professionals also need training and support to provide help. Mental illness is already underdiagnosed and stigmatized, and mental health care in most countries is shockingly insufficient. Climate change makes the case for addressing this crisis even more urgent.

One key challenge for researchers is measuring the mental-health burden attributable to climate change and tracking it over time. Most research so far has been conducted in high-income countries, despite low- and middle-income countries experiencing the harshest effects of the warming planet. The day-to-day experiences of people in marginalized groups and Indigenous communities must also be captured.

Much research on climate and mental health has focused on one end of the spectrum of mental health — such as clinical diagnoses, emergencies or suicides2. But when around half the global population lives in nations with one psychiatrist per 200,000 people, it is no surprise that many conditions are undiagnosed and undocumented. Better monitoring and sharing of clinical mental-health data are needed. Researchers must develop and track standardized ways to measure milder or more fleeting forms of eco-anxiety and distress that fall outside standard diagnoses, and work out when interventions are needed.

A call to action

Some steps are already being taken. Researchers are, for instance, trying to develop global mental-health indicators that can be linked to weather and climate data, as part of the Lancet Countdown on Health and Climate Change, a collaboration of specialists from more than 50 academic institutions and United Nations agencies. The group welcomes collaborators to further this work, says Kelton Minor, a research scientist at Columbia University’s Data Science Institute in New York City who is leading the collaboration’s effort on climate and mental health.

A top priority must be developing and evaluating ways to effectively reduce climate change’s mental-health burden while strengthening the resilience of communities that are particularly at risk. Existing tools and treatments — such as cognitive behavioural therapy, which helps people to challenge unhelpful thoughts and behaviours — will be part of the solution. Some studies suggest that, for individuals, taking action to combat climate change could also help to manage their eco-anxiety3: a double win.

The problem amounts to a call to action on all fronts. The constant drip of research adding to evidence of a climate crisis — as well as leaders’ inaction — is itself probably a source of eco-anxiety and frustration. More than 55% of young people in the 2021 survey said that climate change made them feel powerless, and 58% that their government had betrayed them and future generations1.

Those who experience debilitating effects on their mental health caused by climate change need help from specialists. The many others who are scared or angry, but otherwise not unwell, need to know that these feelings are normal — and if they can harness their unease to spur action, they could help themselves, others and the world.

At the same time, it must also be recognized that world leaders’ inaction is a cause of distress — and action by governments is what is needed to soothe it.

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scientists wake up to the mental-health toll of climate change

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Every year for six years, Laureen Wamaitha hoped that her fields in Kenya would flourish. Every year, she’d see drought wither the crops and then floods wash them away. The cycle of optimism and loss left her constantly anxious, and she blamed climate change. “You get to a situation where you have panic attacks because you’re always worried about something,” she says.

Medical student Vashti-Eve Burrows, meanwhile, saw powerful hurricane Dorian rage through the Bahamas in 2019 and now she is fearful about the future of the country, an island archipelago that is vulnerable to sea-level rise and storms. “Will there even be a Bahamas in maybe 20 to 30 years?” she says.

Wamaitha and Burrows are part of a growing chorus of people speaking up about the impacts of climate change on mental health. Climate change is exacerbating mental disorders, which already affect almost one billion people and are among the world’s biggest causes of ill health. A global survey in 2021 found that more than half of people aged 16–25 felt sad, anxious or powerless, or had other negative emotions about climate change1. Altogether, hundreds of millions of people might be experiencing some type of negative psychological response to the climate crisis.

Scientists say the topic has been sorely neglected, but is leaping up the research agenda. “I’ve seen an explosion of research in the last five years for sure. That’s been very exciting,” says Alison Hwong, a psychiatrist and mental-health researcher at the University of California, San Francisco. The growing severity of heat, hurricanes and other impacts mean “it’s impossible to ignore”, she says.

Researchers want to unpick the many pathways by which climate change affects mental health, from trauma caused by hurricanes, floods, droughts and fires to ‘eco-anxiety ’— a chronic fear of environmental doom. Studies on methods that can help people prevent or manage these problems are also needed, although some work suggests that climate action and activism might help.

A seam of climate injustice is exposed by the research. Young people are likely to experience the greatest mental burden from climate change that older generations have caused. Groups of people that already experience poverty, illness or inequalities are most at risk of deteriorating mental health. “Climate change exacerbates already existing economic situations, where it’s the poorer people who are feeling even worse,” says Jennifer Uchendu, a researcher, climate activist and founder of SustyVibes, an environmental group based in Lagos, Nigeria.

Mental-health toll

The fact that climate change affects people’s mental health is not surprising: what’s new is the attention the issue is attracting — and the myriad ways that scientists are documenting its varied and sometimes shocking effects.

It is well known that extreme weather events and disasters can have an immediate traumatic impact — as well as “a long tail of mental-health conditions like post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, depression, substance abuse,” says Emma Lawrance, who studies mental health at Imperial College London. Also taking a mental-health toll in vulnerable countries are less sudden — but nonetheless devastating — disruptions caused by global warming’s impacts, such as forced migration, loss of livelihoods, food insecurity and community breakdown.

Turkana people source water from a low-level outdoor well to survive drought in Northern Kenya, 2023.

Research on how climate-change impacts, such as drought, affect mental health is growing.Credit: Simone Boccaccio/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty

There is evidence that directly experiencing higher temperatures can worsen mental health. A 2018 study of suicide data from the United States and Mexico over two or more decades showed that suicide rates rose by 0.7% in the United States and 2.1% in Mexico, with a 1 °C increase in average monthly temperature2. The researchers projected an extra 9,000–40,000 suicides by 2050 in the two countries if no action was taken against climate change. Other work has shown that higher temperatures are linked to poor sleep — which can in turn contribute to mental distress3.

Studies also suggest that people with existing mental illness are at greater risk of dying during extreme heat4, but “understanding why that is and what we can do to stop it is really unexplored”, Lawrance says. One potential explanation is that some psychiatric drugs can interfere with the body’s response to heat5.

Eco-anxiety goes global

Another striking field of research examines how the awareness of climate change and its impacts can lead to concern or distress, a phenomenon sometimes called eco-anxiety, eco-distress, climate grief or solastalgia (distress linked to environmental change). In a 2018 survey, 72% of people aged 18–34 said that negative environmental news stories affected their emotional well-being, such as by causing anxiety, racing thoughts or sleep problems (see go.nature.com/3vbbt7p). A 2020 survey6 in the United Kingdom found that young people aged 16–24 reported more distress from climate change than from COVID-19.

A few years ago, such ‘eco-emotions’ were sometimes dismissed as fretting of the ‘worried-well’ in high-income countries, Lawrance says. But research that shows the global reach of these feelings is challenging that view. The 2021 survey1 was the biggest so far on climate anxiety and included 10,000 children and young people in 10 countries. More than 45% of respondents said that worry about climate change had a negative impact on eating, working, sleeping or other aspects of their daily lives. Reports of climate change affecting people’s ability to function were highest in the Philippines, India and Nigeria and lowest in the United States and United Kingdom — contradicting the idea that eco-anxiety is just a rich-country problem (see ‘Climate anxiety around the world’).

Climate anxiety around the world: chart showing the results of a 2021 global survey of 10,000 people aged 16–25 years old.

Source: Ref. 1

For some, eco-anxiety might be linked to first-hand experience of climate-related devastation. The fact that young people in the Philippines reported some of the highest levels of worry was no surprise to John Jamir Benzon Aruta, an environmental psychologist at De La Salle University in Manila. In 2013, he saw first-hand the devastation and trauma caused in the Philippines by Typhoon Haiyan — one of the most powerful tropical cyclones ever recorded. “You see houses, communities devastated. You also see corpses all over the place,” he says. “Just witnessing the aftermath made me feel traumatized.”

But the 2021 survey documented widespread distress that went beyond those who were immediately affected by extreme climate events. Around 75% of respondents said that climate change made them think the future is frightening and 56% said that it made them think that humanity is doomed. People who felt their government was failing to act on climate issues were more likely to feel eco-distress.

Climate change isn’t the first existential crisis that humanity has faced. But researchers point out that it is different from some other threats: it is happening now rather than being a future risk, such as a nuclear war; it’s affecting the entire globe at once; and many people feel angry that they have to bear the brunt of climate change that other people have caused.

Feelings of eco-anxiety are not necessarily a sign of dysfunction. “If you are under immediate threat, it is a realistic, rational, healthy survival instinct to react by being anxious or to experience fear,” says Elizabeth Marks, a clinical psychologist at the University of Bath, UK, and one of the survey’s lead authors. It could even be harmful to think of these feelings as a disorder. “If we think of it as a diagnosable condition, that risks placing the blame on the individual as having an unhealthy response,” she says. That said, some people might become so impaired by their eco-distress that they would benefit from psychological help.

Social media is being used to monitor negative feelings linked to climate change. In 2023, Kelton Minor, a research scientist at Columbia University’s Data Science Institute in New York and Nick Obradovich, a climate mental-health researcher at the Laureate Institute for Brain Research in Tulsa, Oklahoma, reported an analysis of more than eight billion posts on Twitter (now known as X) that appeared between 2015 and 2022 from people who had opted to share their geolocation data. (The analysis was part of a wider report on health and climate change7.) The researchers analysed the tweets for positive words (such as good, well, new and love) and negative ones (bad, wrong, hate and hurt), and linked them to climate data from the tweeters’ locations. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the team found that heatwaves and extreme rainfall increased negative feelings and decreased positive ones compared with control days without extreme weather in the same place and time of year. They also found that these negative reactions became worse over the years (see ‘Eco-anxiety on social media’).

Eco-anxiety on social media: chart showing change in sentiment on social media during extreme heat.

Source: Ref. 7

Beyond the Western view

The full effects of climate change on mental health are hard to measure. A combination of factors, including the stigma around mental health and lack of access to health-care services, mean that many people with mental-health concerns go undiagnosed. When Wamaitha talked to her family in Kenya about how worried she was, they’d say: “It’s not a big deal, it’s part of life,” she says. Anxiety and depression are barely recognized as disorders in her region, she says. Mental-health services are scarce and older people just “think that you’re very sensitive” because they survived droughts in the past. In the 2021 survey, nearly 40% of young people worldwide said their concerns about climate change had been ignored or dismissed.

Researchers are particularly worried that countries and regions that experience the harshest effects of climate change are where the least climate mental-health research has been done. In her studies, Uchendu found that most research was Western-centric. “Not a lot of people were talking about these issues in Africa,” she says. In 2022, she started the Eco-anxiety in Africa Project, which, in collaboration with the University of Nottingham, UK, has documented the emotional turmoil that heat and erratic weather has created for people living in five African cities.

Another question researchers have is how context and culture affect climate anxiety. Some studies have shown that “connection to country” — through cultural practices such as hunting and gathering food — is important to the mental health and well-being of some Aboriginal Australians and Torres Strait Islander communities8, says Michelle Dickson, who studies the mental health of Indigenous Australians at the University of Sydney, Australia. But rising sea levels, drought and bushfires threaten those practices. Tools used in health-care settings “rarely take into account the important cultural values that underpin Indigenous mental health”, says Dickson, who is a Darkinjung/Ngarigo Australian Aboriginal.

Dickson is now co-leading a project to empower communities to design their own climate action plans — allowing researchers to test whether doing this could improve people’s mental health.

People fill water containers with drinking water from a tanker in New Delhi, India, as heatwaves increased demand for water.

Heatwaves — such as one that hit New Delhi in 2022 — can worsen mental disorders and are linked to increased negative feelings.Credit: Kabir Jhangiani/Pacific Press/LightRocket via Getty

Overcoming eco-distress

Addressing climate-fuelled mental-health conditions will be a colossal task when mental-health care globally is already poor: only around 3% of people with depression receive adequate treatment in low- and lower-middle-income countries, and 23% in high-income countries9. Lawrance says that many communities are finding their own ways to cope, but that the effectiveness of these efforts is rarely studied and shared. “There’s a massive gap around evaluation,” she says.

Some evidence suggests that taking action to combat climate change can help people to manage eco-anxiety. “There does seem to be an argument for supporting people to take collective action,” says Marks, such as joining campaign groups with like-minded people. It’s also important to “recognize that I feel this way because I care”, she says. “These climate emotions are actually something to be honoured and allowed, not pushed away.” Marks also suggests that some people who are feeling eco-distress limit the amount of time they spend ‘doom-scrolling’ through climate news.

Researchers are starting to take collective action themselves. Last month, the Connecting Climate Minds project, one of the most ambitious research efforts in the field of climate-related mental health10, released a series of regional ‘research and action’ priorities, including, for example, to understand how climate change compounds the stress of wars, violence and disease epidemics in sub-Saharan Africa. The project includes researchers, policymakers and people with first-hand experience of climate change. Uchendu says that in one of the meetings, someone joining remotely was standing in flood water in their room. “It was mind-blowing,” she says.

Wamaitha, who along with Burrows is one of many people who shared their experiences with Connecting Climate Minds, has turned some of her concerns into action. Last year, after trying and failing to grow drought-resistant crops, she quit farming and is now working at a non-governmental organization in Bura, Kenya, that is focused on poverty relief. She is earning enough to study for a master’s degree in public health, and she raises awareness of global health on the social-networking site LinkedIn. But she is anxious about the future and worries about whether to have children. “I don’t think I am in a good environment to be able to bring kids into this particular place,” she says. “That is the saddest thing when I think about it.”

Burrows, who is studying medicine at the University of the West Indies in Saint Augustine, Trinidad and Tobago, says she chooses to be positive and does small things to help the environment, such as walking instead of driving. She says that she prays that wealthy countries and companies “will really, truly understand what is happening and not just say smooth words to try to pacify us in the moment”. They should act to “help the smaller countries and the world at large”, she says.

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Climate change is slowing Earth’s rotation

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Three Gentoo penguins stand together on top of a small melting iceberg off the coast of King George Island, Antarctica.

As polar ice has melted and moved mass towards the Equator, it has slowed Earth’s rotation.Credit: Alessandro Dahan/Getty

Melting ice caps are slowing the rotation of the Earth and could delay the next leap second by three years. Adding or removing seconds every few years keeps official atomic-clock time in line with the natural day, which varies slightly in line with the planet’s rotation rate. Since the early 1990s, the flow of water away from Earth’s axis of rotation and towards the Equator has worked to slightly slow down its spin. “It’s yet another way of impressing upon people just how big a deal [climate change] is,” says geophysicist and study author Duncan Agnew.

Nature | 6 min read

Reference: Nature paper

Earlier this month, editors at the linguistics journal Syntax publicly announced their resignations in response to changes to the manuscript-handling process imposed by its publisher, Wiley. The move is the latest in what seems to be an emerging form of protest: the mass resignation of academic editors. Many such events are in response to changes to business models in the publishing industry. “The big theme [of mass resignations] is this tension of competing priorities,” says Ivan Oransky, co-founder of Retraction Watch.

Nature | 4 min read

Antibodies rejuvenate immune responses in old mice by targeting stem cells that replenish white and red blood cells. The balance of these stem cells changes as mice (and humans) age — this might be one reason why older animals mount less of an immune response against pathogens. Aged mice that received the antibody treatment had a stronger reaction to vaccination, and were better able to fend off viral infection, than untreated rodents.

Nature | 4 min read

Read an expert analysis by developmental biologist Yasar Arfat Kasu and stem-cell biologist Robert Signer in the Nature News & Views article (8 min read, Nature paywall)

Reference: Nature paper

Features & opinion

Injecting particles into the upper atmosphere could deflect some sunlight back into space — but experiments to test this remain controversial. Recently, Harvard University cancelled their solar geoengineering project amid opposition. Advocates say geoengineering might one day provide emergency relief from the worst impacts of climate change. Critics argue that artificially cooling the planet could have unintended consequences and that the idea could reduce pressure on leaders to tackle climate change. “For better or worse, momentum is growing in this space,” says environmental engineer Shuchi Talati.

Nature | 6 min read

The Chipko movement, named after the Hindi word ‘to cling’, began 50 years ago this week when Gaura Devi, an ordinary woman from a village in the Western Himalayas, hugged a tree, using her body as a shield to stop the tree from being cut down. The Chipko movement led to India’s Forest Conservation Act of 1980, and a 15-year moratorium on tree felling. But the villagers’ dreams of bottom-up development never materialized. “Ironically, Chipko, which had set these laws in motion, resulted in local communities losing access to the very forests that met their livelihood and subsistence needs,” writes sustainability researcher Seema Mundoli. Yet Chipko continues to inspire other protest movements led by marginalized communities today.

Nature | 9 min read

Author Rodrigo Culagovski has a murderous time grappling with mind-bending time-travel paradoxes in the latest short story for Nature’s Futures series.

Nature | 6 min read

A moisture-wicking adhesive patch makes wearable electronics more comfortable and stops them from losing signal quality or falling off when the user is sweating. A material that channels perspiration to the edges of the patch ensures that electronic components in the centre stay dry. In a week-long test, a sweat-wicking electrocardiogram (ECG) patch provided stable heart-rate readings, stuck to the skin better and was cooler to wear than other ECG patches.

Nature | 2 min video

Reference: Nature paper

Quote of the day

Programme manager Monica Tomaszewski pranked her Canadian PhD advisor for years by convincing him that his cactus collection smelled like maple syrup in springtime. (Nature | 9 min read)

This week, Leif Penguinson is visiting the mangroves in the Princess Alexandra National Park on the Turks and Caicos Islands. Can you find the penguin?

As always, thanks to Briefing photo editor and penguin wrangler Tom Houghton for his efforts convincing Leif to cling, lounge and hang in such surprising locations each week.

Flora Graham, senior editor, Nature Briefing

With contributions by Gemma Conroy, Katrina Krämer and Sarah Tomlin

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Climate velocities and species tracking in global mountain regions

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Mountainous regions represent 25% of Earth’s land surface and are rich in biodiversity, owing in part to their steep climatic gradients and complex topography1,2. The assumption that mountain species are responding faster to anthropogenic climate change through rapid upward range shifts leading to potential mountaintop extinctions has attracted extensive research3,4,7,8,9. Whether species are closely tracking the rate of climate warming is assessed chiefly by comparing the velocities of species range shifts with the velocities of climate change; that is, the rates at which isotherms move through the geographical space3,4,10,11,12. Past studies that assessed climate velocities have focused mainly on horizontal velocities, in km per year; that is, how fast isotherms are moving along the latitudinal and longitudinal clines of the horizontal plane (see the seminal work from Loarie et al.12 for terrestrial systems; this was then applied to marine systems by Burrows et al.13). Because isotherms are located closer to one another in mountainous regions, horizontal velocities of isotherm shifts are much slower and potentially omnidirectional in mountains, whereas they are much faster and oriented mainly poleward in the lowlands13. However, we know that climate warming also causes terrestrial species to shift along mountain slopes and thus not only horizontally but also ‘vertically’ when projected along elevation gradients—moving at very different speeds (usually expressed in m per year), and mainly upward but sometimes downward3,14,15. Despite this knowledge, global maps of the velocities of isotherm shifts projected along the vertical dimension of elevational clines in mountain regions still do not exist. This shortfall stems partly from the complex topography and the scarcity of weather stations in most mountain ranges globally5,16, which makes it difficult to accurately measure vertical velocities of climate change in mountain regions worldwide. Therefore, it is still an open question whether mountain species better track isotherm shifts vertically in elevation rather than horizontally in latitude.

Because we still lack global maps of the velocities at which isotherms are shifting vertically along elevation gradients as the climate warms, most local studies compute a rough estimate of this vertical projection of climate velocities by relying on a constant lapse rate of temperature (LRT). The LRT is defined here along mountain slopes as the normalized temperature difference at approximately 2 m above ground level between a low-elevation and a high-elevation weather station and thus it differs from a sensu stricto vertical lapse rate measured above a single geographical position. According to the laws of thermodynamics6, the LRT is 9.8 °C per km in the case of dry air1,6. Nonetheless, given that Earth’s atmosphere is not entirely dry, the LRT experienced by terrestrial organisms in reality will be less steep than 9.8 °C per km. Because of that, most studies that have compared the observed velocities of species range shifts along elevation gradients with the velocities of climate change inside a given mountain range inferred the vertical shift of isotherms by relying on a constant rate of 5.5 °C per km for the LRT11—a constant that is borrowed from limited ground observations concentrated in Europe7,17. Using this fixed rate, one can assume that if the temperature increases by 1 °C over a given period of time, then it is expected that isotherms will move upslope by about 181.8 m during that same period, which gives a vertical velocity that varies depending only on the magnitude of temperature change per unit of time. However, the LRT is not constant and varies across elevation gradients among mountain ranges as well as within a single mountain range18,19,20,21. For instance, by using long-term climatology (30-year means) from 269 weather stations in northern Italy, 205 in the Tyrol area and 166 in the Trentin–upper Adige region, covering a wide range of elevations, one study21 found that the annual mean of the LRT ranges between 5.4 and 5.8 °C per km in the Alps. In the southeastern Tibetan Plateau, the LRT was estimated22 to reach 8.5 °C per km. This large variation in the LRT partly stems from water vapour pressure because if the air condenses moisture as it cools—for example, in cloud forests—it gains some heat from condensation, which slows the cooling rate. Thus, moisture and surface temperature generate spatial variability in the LRT and consequently also generate spatial variation in the velocities at which isotherms may shift along mountain slopes as the climate warms by a given amount of temperature increase. Assessing mountain climate velocities by explicitly considering the determinants of the LRT is a crucial step in improving our understanding of species range shifts under anthropogenic climate change. Here, instead of relying on a constant LRT value of 5.5 °C per km in the Alps or of 8.5 °C per km in the Himalayas, we propose two different methods to map the spatial variation in the LRT, and we generate more meaningful estimates of the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts in mountain systems worldwide. First, we use satellite observations of land surface temperatures at fine spatial resolution to compute a satellite-derived version of the LRT (SLRT), based on local slope estimates of the relationship between temperature and elevation (Fig. 1a and Extended Data Fig. 1); and second, we use a more mechanistic approach based on the moist adiabatic LRT (MALRT), building on the laws of thermodynamics6 (Fig. 1c and Extended Data Fig. 2a,b). By combining information on the spatial variation of the SLRT and the MALRT at relatively fine spatial resolution worldwide with data on the magnitude of temperature change over time per spatial unit, we then compute maps of the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts in mountain systems: one that is based on satellite observations (SLRT); and one that mechanistically accounts for water vapour pressure conditions (MALRT). These two global maps of the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts in mountain regions are also compared to a third naive map that is based on a constant LRT of 5.5 °C per km. By using these global velocity maps, we subsequently identify the mountain regions with the highest vertical velocities of isotherm shifts in the world, and we quantify the variation in velocity values along several elevation gradients worldwide. Finally, we relate those vertical velocities of isotherm shifts, in m per year, to empirical observations of species range shifts, also in m per year, along several elevation gradients in mountain systems worldwide.

Fig. 1: Assessing the adiabatic LRT either through satellite observations (SLRT) or by using a mechanistic approach that accounts for water vapour (MALRT).
figure 1

a, An example mountain range in Taiwan with a series of elevation transects, in red, defined by the highest peak at one end of the gradients and several foothills and valleys at the other end of the gradients. The background raster layer depicts the mean elevation (in m above sea level) for each spatial unit of 0.05° (around 5 km at the equator) resolution. Details can be found in the Methods and in Extended Data Fig. 1. b, Global map of the SLRT, generated at 0.5° (around 50 km at the equator) resolution across all mountain regions worldwide (except Antarctica) using satellite observations from 2011–2020. c, Three-dimensional plot showing the effect of mean annual temperature and mean annual water vapour pressure on the absolute magnitude of the MALRT (in °C per km). d, Global map of MALRT, generated at 50-km resolution across all mountain regions worldwide (except Antarctica) using climatic data from 2011–2020. Note that the colour scheme does not show the full range of data to prevent highly skewed visualization driven by extreme outliers.

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We found that there was very large spatial variation when mapping the lapse rate at a global extent (Fig. 1), either from satellite observations (SLRT; Fig. 1b) or from the laws of thermodynamics (MARLT; Fig. 1d), with values ranging (at the 5th and 95th percentiles) from −5.14 to 8.45 °C per km and from 2.94 to 8.09 °C per km, respectively. Although the two global maps show a certain degree of spatial agreement (Supplementary Results), the SLRT shows much shallower lapse rates than does the MALRT in mountain regions that are located at higher latitudes, such as in northeastern Siberia, Alaska and northwestern Canada (Fig. 1b,d). The mountain regions showing the steepest lapse rates are located in the Himalayas, with values that are very consistent with the values recently reported for the southeastern Tibetan Plateau, which range between the values of free-air dry (10 °C per km) and moist (6.5 °C per km) adiabatic lapse rates22. For comparison purposes and external validation, we also extracted data from the Global Historical Climatology Network23, focusing on empirical field data recorded by weather stations situated in mountain regions worldwide. We manage to obtain temperature lapse rates from 144 weather stations (station-based LRT; see Methods) across a total of 48 mountain sites from 2011 to 2019 (Extended Data Fig. 3a). This validation exercise confirms that there are very few mountain regions worldwide in which the network of weather stations is dense enough along mountain slopes (n > 2) to compute the LRT. Nevertheless, we found a positive relationship between the station-based LRT calculated from these very limited networks of weather-station data and our computations of the MALRT (linear regression, F1, 46 = 5.54, p = 0.02, R2 = 0.108, n = 48, Extended Data Fig. 3a). By contrast, the relationship between the SLRT and the station-based LRT did not reach statistical significance (linear regression, F1,46 = 0.774, P = 0.38, R2 = 0.017, n = 48; Extended Data Fig. 3b). Owing to the relative scarcity of weather-station data and the fact that these data are concentrated mainly in North America and Europe, our subsequent analyses will focus solely on our computations of the MALRT and the SLRT.

After combining maps of the spatial variation in the LRT with data on the rate of temporal changes in mean annual temperature (Extended Data Fig. 2c), we found notable differences in the vertical velocities (in m per year) of isotherm shifts depending on the approach we used (Fig. 2), with the constant LRT-based and MALRT-based estimates generally yielding conservative climate velocities and the SLRT-based climate velocities showing the greatest variability. Velocity values for the SLRT-based map ranged from highly negative (−26.01 m per year; at the 5th percentile) to highly positive (34.08 m per year; 95th percentile) (Fig. 2g–i). By contrast, the MALRT-based map shows velocity values ranging (at the 5th and 95th percentile) from 1.81 m per year to 10.83 m per year. When we combined the SLRT-based velocity map with the MALRT-based velocity map to reach a consensus map on the mountain regions most threatened by climate change (Methods and Fig. 3a,b), we found that 32% of the surface area covered by mountains worldwide, Antarctica excluded, is exposed to high vertical velocities of isotherm shifts that exceed the 80th percentile by either the MALRT (80th percentile: 8.25 m per year; Fig. 3) or the SLRT (80th percentile: 11.67 m per year; Fig. 3). We delineated 17 mountain regions that are partly exposed to high vertical velocities, including those in the Alaska–Yukon region, western America and Mexico, Appalachia, the Brazilian highlands, Greenland, Scandinavia, the Mediterranean basin, southern Africa, the Ural mountains, the Iran–Pakistan region, the Putorana mountains, Mongolia, northern Sumatra, the Kodar mountains, Yakutiya, northeast Asia and Kamchatka (Fig. 3c and Supplementary Data 1). Intuitively, higher rates of warming lead to higher vertical velocities of isotherms shifting faster along elevation gradients. This is the case chiefly in dry regions with a low water vapour pressure, such as Greenland, the Putorana Plateau in northern Siberia, Kamchatka, Mongolia and the Alaska–Yukon region—owing probably to the limited heat capacity of these arid areas24,25 (Fig. 3d). In addition, by relying on laws of thermodynamics, we can also anticipate that regions with higher surface temperatures and/or higher water vapour pressure might also generate high vertical velocities because of shallower lapse rates: isotherms will shift faster along such elevation gradients for the same amount of temperature change over time. Notably, these regions are not necessarily those showing significant surface warming over time. For instance, northern Sumatra, the Brazilian highlands, southern Africa and Iran–Pakistan are typical representatives of such shallow lapse rates with little surface temperature increase (Fig. 3c,d). These are mountain regions threatened by high vertical velocities of isotherm shifts that have been difficult to detect in the past by surface temperature change alone, and thus are particularly worthy of further investigation.

Fig. 2: Mapping the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts across mountain regions globally.
figure 2

ai, Vertical velocities of isotherm shifts (m per year) in mountain regions worldwide using a constant LRT (ac), the MALRT (df) or the SLRT (gi) (1971–1980 versus 2011–2020). b,e,h, Normalized value from the corresponding panel (a,d,g) to show clear spatial variation in each panel. c,f,i, Histograms of the velocity values across all mountain regions for the constant LRT, the SLRT or the MARLT, respectively. Note the log10 scale for the histogram displaying the range of velocity values for the SLRT. The SLRT values were rescaled using the function sign(x) × log10(abs(x) + 1) to ensure that the shifting direction is preserved and to avoid interference from the value range of logarithmic transformation. Black dashed lines indicate the median; yellow solid lines show the 80% quantile; red solid lines show the 90% quantile. The corresponding values are labelled above. Note that the colour scheme does not show the full range of data to prevent highly skewed visualization driven by extreme outliers.

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Fig. 3: Identifying mountain regions threatened by high vertical velocities of isotherm shifts and underlying mechanisms.
figure 3

Consensus map of the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts as estimated from the SLRT or from the MALRT (see Fig. 2). ac, Mountain regions in which velocities are greater than the 80% quantile (that is, retaining 20%) in the calculation of either the MALRT or the SLRT are labelled as critically threatened (a,b) and displayed in red (c). d, Orange points and segments represent the mean annual temperature change between the periods 1971–1980 and 2011–2020; blue bars represent the mean water vapour pressure during 2011–2020 for each of the 17 mountain regions affected by relatively fast vertical velocities of isotherm shifts. Error bars represent s.d. See Supplementary Data 1 and ‘Data availability’ for a comprehensive breakdown for each region, including sample size information. Considering that near-zero SLRT values result in extremely high climate velocity, we removed 1% outliers that are close to zero in c. Data with alternative levels of outlier removal (0.5%, 2% and 5%) are shown in Supplementary Fig. 2. Supplementary Data 3 provides a high-resolution map.

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We further compared the effects of high warming rates and steep temperature lapse rates, which act as compensatory effects on climate velocities, between arid and more humid regions. We found that in arid mountain regions with a low water vapour pressure, the temperature lapse rate accounts for 3.6% of the observed variation in climate velocity, whereas changes in surface temperature account for 96.4% of the observed variation, on the basis of the random forest analysis we performed. A detailed analysis using the Shapley value further revealed that steeper lapse rates have a smaller negative effect on climate velocities compared with higher warming rates, which increase climate velocities (Extended Data Fig. 4a). In humid regions, the temperature lapse rate accounts for 11.32% of the observed variation in climatic velocity, whereas changes in surface temperature explain 88.68% of the observed variation, on the basis of the random forest analysis we performed. The Shapley value analysis showed that steeper lapse rates still have a smaller negative effect on climate velocities than do higher warming rates (Extended Data Fig. 4b). Of note, the explanatory power of the lapse rate in wet mountains is nearly four times higher than it is in arid mountains. This difference is likely to be due to the lower magnitude of the surface temperature increase in wetter mountains (Extended Data Fig. 4c,d). Although the explanatory power of the lapse rate is, in general, relatively much lower than that of the warming rate, the striking differences that we found between arid and humid regions, in terms of the relative importance, affects the spatial variation that we report in the vertical velocity of isotherm shifts.

Focusing on the MALRT-based velocity map, we found a complex pattern of elevation-dependent velocities for isotherm shifts (also known as climate velocities; Fig. 4), with the highest vertical velocities of isotherm shifts being concentrated at low elevations. This was especially the case in the Northern Hemisphere and at a latitude of 20–30° S in the Southern Hemisphere, whereas the lowest vertical velocities were located at high elevations in the Himalayas and the Andes. Statistical results indicate that isotherm velocities are significantly higher at lower elevations (slope: −0.285 m per year∙km, degrees of freedom (df) = 12,028, t = −4.243, P < 0.001) and higher absolute latitudes (slope: 0.048 m per year∙deg, df = 12,028, t = 24.163, P < 0.001) in the Northern Hemisphere, whereas the magnitude of the effect significantly changed in the Southern Hemisphere (P < 0.001 for all interaction terms composed of elevation, latitude and hemisphere; see Methods). In the Southern Hemisphere, the elevational effect is stronger with a more negative slope estimate (slope: −1.178 m per year∙km), but the latitudinal effect was completely reversed compared with the Northern Hemisphere (slope: −0.040 m per year∙deg). The reversed latitudinal effect we detected here is likely to be due to the reduction of land area towards higher absolute latitudes in the Southern Hemisphere, where oceans predominate over landmasses, leading to a relatively higher water vapour pressure (Extended Data Fig. 2b) and consequently a lower temperature rate (Extended Data Fig. 2c). We further analysed the effects of changes in surface temperature and the MALRT on the rates of isotherm shift with elevation (Supplementary Fig. 1). We found no significant linear correlation between the rate of surface temperature change and elevation when the effect of latitude was statistically controlled. However, the MALRT becomes steeper with increasing elevation, leading to lower vertical velocities of isotherm shifts at higher elevations compared with lower elevations (that is, a steeper MALRT corresponds to lower vertical velocities of isotherm shifts). On islands in the Northern Hemisphere, we found higher vertical velocities of isotherm shifts (7.46 ± 2.33 m per year) exceeding, on average, the mean vertical velocity we found across all main continents in the Northern Hemisphere (6.29 ± 2.61 m per year; Fig. 4d,e; df = 3, F = 352.9, P < 0.001). These results suggest that mountain islands in the Northern Hemisphere are even more threatened by the effects of climate change than are mountains on the mainland, and this poses a high threat to island biodiversity given that mountain islands have many endemic species26,27. However, mountain islands in the Southern Hemisphere do not show vertical velocities of isotherm shifts that are as high as those in the Northern Hemisphere (Fig. 4e).

Fig. 4: The velocities of climate change (1971–2020) along latitude–elevation gradients and in mountain islands.
figure 4

a, Mean climate velocity of mountains worldwide. Mountain summits are labelled for reference. b,c, The corresponding s.d. (b) and sample size (c) for a. d, Mean climate velocity of mountain islands. The s.d. and sample size for d can be found in Supplementary Fig. 3. The colour legend in d is the same as in a. e, The comparison between mainland and islands in the Northern and Southern hemispheres relies on ANOVA and post-hoc Tukey HSD tests. Other than the P = 0.002 between Southern Hemisphere mainland (S. Mainland) and Southern Hemisphere island (S. Island) (by Tukey HSD test), P < 10−16 is shown in all statistics (labelled as ***). The centre line of the box plot represents the median; box limits, upper and lower quartiles; whiskers, 1.5 times the interquartile range. The sample sizes for S. Mainland, S. Island, Northern Hemisphere mainland (N. Mainland) and Northern Hemisphere island (N. Island) are 1,222, 199, 10,331 and 284, respectively. f, Observed species range shifts against the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts. Areas labelled as ‘not applicable’ (in grey) denote instances in which the number of records in a taxonomic group falls below the stipulated minimum (in this case, 30) required to conduct a meaningful statistical comparison to the predicted environmental climate velocities. g, The different probabilities of species tracking climate velocities under a P = 0.05 threshold. Only mean values are shown. Upward and downward shifts are shown together with their absolute values. For results based on different P value thresholds, see Extended Data Fig. 6d,e. A total of 83 taxon–region pairs are plotted. Each plot represents 1 to more than 400 raw data points. See Extended Data Fig. 6b,c for details and Supplementary Fig. 4 for raw data points. All statistics used a two-tailed approach without adjustment for multiple comparisons.

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Next, we used our estimates of the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts in mountains and linked them to empirical data on the velocities of species range shifts along mountain slopes. We used a carefully curated dataset—BioShifts4—which provides the vertical velocities of species range shifts (in m per year along elevation gradients) per taxonomic unit after standardizing the raw range shift estimates reported by authors in their original studies. Because our analysis shows that the MALRT has a much greater explanatory power for predicting the velocities of species range shifts than does the SLRT (Supplementary Results and Extended Data Fig. 5), we report only on the relationship between the velocities of species range shifts along elevation gradients and the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts in mountains as calculated by the MALRT. Indeed, the Akaike information criterion (AIC) values from our models are 35,887, 37,016 and 51,398 for the MALRT, constant LRT and SLRT, respectively, ranking from best to worst in terms of model fit. This discrepancy between the MALRT and the SLRT is likely to be due to the fact that the satellite (MODIS) data measure the actual land surface temperature, which is influenced by microscale surface properties such as albedo, emissivity, rock type and vegetation cover. Hence, for the SLRT, the calculated lapse rate is characterized by considerable noise. Moreover, the SLRT data are available mainly in cloud-free conditions, which intensify these spatial variations. As a consequence, satellite data present several limitations, and thus have a limited capacity to explain species range shifts compared with insights obtained from theoretical calculations of the MALRT. Comparing the vertical velocities of isotherm shifts based on the MALRT with the observed rates of species range shifts, the probability that a given taxonomic unit tracks the vertical velocities of isotherm movements decreases sharply with increasing absolute velocities of isotherm shifts (Fig. 4f,g). Thus, we found that species seem to track climate change only at lower velocities along the elevational gradients, irrespective of the taxonomic group (Fig. 4g, Extended Data Fig. 6d,e and Extended Data Fig. 7). These results reveal the potentially catastrophic effects of rapid climate change on mountain biodiversity. Although the MALRT will probably undergo changes over time owing to temporal variations in the spatial distribution of temperature and water vapour along elevation gradients, it is important to note that the effects resulting from a shallow MALRT are expected to be worrisome.

Our assessment of mountain climate velocity yields a mechanistic understanding of the variability in mountain climate change globally. The thermodynamic theories of the MALRT, which consider water vapour and latent heat release, suggest that threats to mountain biodiversity can occur in the absence of rapid surface warming. As our range shift analysis shows, species are unlikely to track isotherms quickly enough to match the high velocities at which isotherms are moving along some elevation gradients. Our results suggest that the vertical distance between isotherms in mountains is a crucial factor driving species migration. Likewise, on the basis of thermodynamic theory, colder and drier conditions at higher elevations make temperature lapse rates steeper, which, in turn, leads to a contraction of the vertical distance separating isotherms (that is, isotherm spacing contracts when projected on the vertical axis), generating lower vertical velocities of isotherm shifts. This suggests that in many mountain regions, the vertical shift of isotherms decreases with increasing elevation. From the perspective of isotherms shifting upslope owing to warming, higher elevations will experience a slower rate of isotherm shift, meaning that organisms can reach habitats with suitable temperatures by moving shorter vertical distances. However, a steeper temperature lapse rate also means that the environment changes more rapidly with elevation. Therefore, in the case of mountains with a broader base and narrower peaks28, warming might result in a reduction of habitat area for organisms. Because the shape of a mountain affects the amount of habitat available to organisms28, understanding the velocity of climate change, as well as quantifying the suitable habitat area under warming conditions, will be essential for understanding the effects of climate change on mountain biodiversity.

Moreover, our findings suggest that all taxonomic groups will be similarly affected in their abilities to track isotherms along mountain slopes. Considering that the distance of climate tracking is several orders of magnitude shorter in elevation compared with latitudinal gradients, the moving capability of organisms is less likely to be the key constraint in mountain systems. Mountainous regions, with their complex topography, occupy a relatively smaller proportion of landmasses compared with other terrains in the lowlands28. As described above, the available habitat area for organisms in mountain regions is influenced by the shape of the mountain, and many mountains exhibit a reduction in area with increasing elevation. This, combined with biotic interactions such as interspecific competition29,30, might collectively limit the ability of mountain species to track isotherm shifts in the future. Mountains that we identified as facing high risks under climate change are particularly threatened by biotic attrition17, biotic homogenization31, population extirpation32,33,34 and changing ecosystem properties35. Many of these mountains are located in biodiversity hotspots (for example, Sundaland, Irano-Anatolia, southern Africa, the Mediterranean basin, the Atlantic forest, Mesoamerica, the California Floristic Province and Japan)36,37, reinforcing the need to develop climate-change adaptation strategies for the conservation of mountain biota. Other climatic drivers and mechanisms such as precipitation, snow albedo, radiation flux variability, aerosols and land-use changes can also influence energy balance regimes and further mediate mountain climates5,38,39. Despite many efforts to collect data on species range shifts in mountainous regions, the vast majority of data on species range shifts are still concentrated in Europe and North America4. This also creates uncertainty in assessing the biological effects of climate change at a global extent.

We emphasize that our results are crucial for assessing the vulnerability of mountain regions to climate change globally. By integrating surface temperature and water vapour pressure data with a thermodynamic model, we are able to make effective qualitative comparisons of global lapse rates and identify regions with comparatively higher or lower climate velocities. In particular, this approach enhances the explanatory power of our methodology over other existing methods (such as satellite data analysis) for assessing global species range shifts. However, it is important to recognize that our thermodynamic model still suffers from a low predictive accuracy when compared with field measurements of temperature lapse rates, and we cannot accurately quantify local-scale lapse rates solely on the basis of thermodynamic models. This highlights the need for refined mountain meteorological networks along elevational gradients to improve our holistic understanding of the processes that underlie local temperature lapse rates along mountain slopes. Furthermore, some studies have shown that changes in precipitation patterns can affect the range shifts of mountain species15,40, but historical data on precipitation patterns along mountain slopes are extremely scarce compared with data on temperature lapse rates. For that reason, establishing weather stations that also monitor precipitation patterns along mountain slopes remains key for assessing the large-scale effects of precipitation changes on mountainous organisms. We call for the establishment of networks to monitor climate change and its effects in mountain biodiversity hotspots, especially in mountains that are threatened by high velocities of isotherm shifts, such as those we have identified in our study.

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Climate change has slowed Earth’s rotation — and could affect how we keep time

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Climate change is starting to alter how humans keep time.

An analysis1 published in Nature on 27 March has predicted that melting ice caps are slowing Earth’s rotation to such an extent that the next leap second — the mechanism used since 1972 to reconcile official time from atomic clocks with that based on Earth’s unstable speed of rotation — will be delayed by three years.

“Enough ice has melted to move sea level enough that we can actually see the rate of theEarth’s rotation has been affected,” says Duncan Agnew, a geophysicist at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla, California, and author of the study.

According to his analysis, global warming will push back the need for another leap second from 2026 to 2029. Leap seconds cause so much havoc for computing that scientists have voted to get rid of them, but not until 2035. Researchers are especially dreading the next leap second, because, for the first time, it is likely to be a negative, skipped second, rather than an extra one added in.

“We do not know how to cope with one second missing. This is why time metrologists are worried,” says Felicitas Arias, former director of the Time Department at the International Bureau of Weights and Measures in Sèvres, France.

In metrology terms, the three-year delay “is good news”, she says, because even if a negative leap second is still needed, it will happen later, and the world might see fewer of them before 2035 than would otherwise have been anticipated.

But this should not be seen as a point in favour of global warming, Agnew says. “It’s completely outweighed by all the negative aspects.”

Synchronizing clocks

For millennia, people measured time using Earth’s rotation, and the second became defined as a fraction of the time it takes for the planet to turn once on its axis. But since 1967, atomic clocks — which tick using the frequency of light emitted by atoms — have served as more precise timekeepers. Today, a suite of around 450 atomic clocks defines official time on Earth, known as Coordinated Universal Time (utc), and leap seconds are used every few years to keep utc in line with the planet’s natural day.

Atomic clocks are better timekeepers than Earth, because they are stable over millions of years, whereas the planet’s rotation rate varies. In his analysis, Agnew used mathematical models to tease apart the contributions of known geophysical phenomena to Earth’s rotation and to predict their effects on future leap seconds.

Many metrologists anticipated that leap seconds would only ever be added, because on the scale of millions of years, Earth’s spin is slowing down, meaning that, occasionally, a minute in utc needs to be 61 seconds long, to allow Earth to catch up. This reduction in the planet’s rotation rate is caused by the Moon’s pull on the oceans, which creates friction. It also explains, for example, why eclipses 2,000 years ago were recorded at different times in the day from what we would expect on the basis of today’s rotation rate, and why analyses of ancient sediments suggest that 1.4 billion years ago a day was only around 19 hours long.

But on shorter timescales, geophysical phenomena make the rotation rate fluctuate, says Agnew. Right now, the rate at which Earth spins is being affected by currents in the liquid core of the planet, which since the 1970s have caused the rotation speed of the outer crust to increase. This has meant that added leap seconds are needed less frequently, and if the trend continues, a leap second will need to be removed from utc.

Agnew’s analysis finds that this could happen later than was previously thought, because of climate change. Data from satellites mapping Earth’s gravity show that since the early 1990s the planet has become less spherical and more flattened, as ice from Greenland and Antarctica has melted and moved mass away from the poles towards the Equator. Just as a spinning ice skater slows down by extending their arms away from their body (and speeds up by pulling them in), this flow of water away from Earth’s axis of rotation slows the planet’s spin.

The net result of core currents and of climate change is still an accelerating Earth. But Agnew found that without the effect of melting ice, a negative leap second would be needed three years earlier than is now predicted. “Human activities have a profound impact on climate change. The postponing of a leap second is just one more example,” says Jianli Chen, a geophysicist at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University.

Precision problems

A delayed leap second would be welcomed by metrologists. Leap seconds are a “big problem” already, because in a society that is increasingly based on precise timing, they lead to major failures in computing systems, says Elizabeth Donley, who heads the time and frequency division at the National Institute of Standards and Technology in Boulder, Colorado.

An unprecedented negative leap second could be even worse. “There’s no accounting for it in all the existing computer codes,” she says.

Agnew’s paper is useful in making predictions, but Donley says that there is still high uncertainty about when a negative leap second will be needed. The calculations rely on Earth’s acceleration continuing at its present rate, but activity in the inner core is almost impossible to predict, cautions Christian Bizouard, an astrogeophysicist at the International Earth Rotation and Reference Systems Service in Paris, which is responsible for deciding when to introduce a leap second. “We do not know when that mean acceleration will stop and reverse itself,” he says.

Agnew hopes that seeing the influence of climate change on timekeeping will jolt some people into action. “I’ve been around climate change for a long time, and I can worry about it plenty well without this, but it’s yet another way of impressing upon people just how big a deal this is,” he says.

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